Hell’s Worst Roomates
Summary:
When Dante signs a lease for the Inferno Apartments without reading the fine print (again), he and Vergil find themselves stuck in Hell’s most dysfunctional shared living situation. Between cursed appliances, mandatory wailing hours, and a very done-with-this Lucifer as their third roommate, survival seems impossible—especially when unresolved pining, impure-thoughts sensors, and Cerberus eating the Wi-Fi keep derailing Vergil’s attempts to maintain dignity. Add a disastrous housewarming party, Minos’ legendary guacamole, and Beatrice’s heavenly popcorn-munching, and you’ve got a sitcom-style descent into chaos.
Notes:
Accuracy? In MY self-indulgent Hell-com? It’s more likely than you think. (It’s not. This is pure vibes.) Listen. If you’re here for historical accuracy, airtight timelines, or Dante’s Inferno as a serious theological text, I have terrible news: This is a Wendy’s.
Do I have a bachelors in linguistics and cultural studies? Yes. Did I minor in classics and creative writing? Absolutely. Was my master’s capstone project about pre-Christianity and early Christianity? You bet it was. Have I read and written academic articles about The Divine Comedy? You know I have. Does any of that really matter here? NO! I’m a being of chaos and I do what I want.
Vergil wears a toga and knows what a microwave is. Dante’s hair is perpetually tangled because I said so. Lucifer & get to sing WAP with zero justification. The timeline? Gone. Physics? Fictional. The laws of God and man? Suspended for vibes.
This fic runs on three things:
1. Manic energy (like a glowstick snapped in a haunted Walmart)
2. My desire for escapism because literal hell seems better than America at the moment
3. The fact that Hell, much like my plot, has no rules
Did I mix up which circle of Hell does what? Probably, it’s been a while since I graduated. Do I care? No. Is Beatrice watching this mess like it’s The Bachelor: Eternal Damnation Edition? Absolutely.
Enjoy the chaos—or don’t. I’m not your afterlife coach. 🔥
Chapter 1: Moving in
The neon sign above the entrance to the Inferno Apartments flickered in the sulfurous air, its jagged letters casting an eerie green glow across the cracked pavement. “Vacancies Available (Souls Preferred)”
Virgil adjusted his toga and sighed. “This is a mistake.”
Dante, ever the optimist, clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, it can’t be that bad!”
The door creaked open before Virgil could argue, revealing a demonic realtor with too many teeth and a name tag that read:
“Hi I’m Ugolino!”
“Welcome, welcome!” Ugolino grinned, ushering them inside. “You must be our new tenants! Let me just say, we love poets here. Especially dead ones.”
Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose. The things he did for love.
Ugolino smiled like a used chariot salesman as they entered the leasing office, which smelled like burnt parchment and regret. Vergil stood in the cramped office, arms crossed as Ugolino slid a contract across the desk, the ink still glistening like fresh blood.
“Standard lease includes eternal damnation, eternal suffering, mandatory wailing hours from 9 PM to 5 AM, and no refunds on damned souls or torment,” Ugolino recited, tapping the parchment with a clawed finger. “Also, no pets. Unless you count the previous tenants.”
Dante barely gave the contract a glance before he grabbed the quill. “Sounds great!”
Vergil snatched it from him. “Dante, the last time you signed something without looking, you ended up in a timeshare with a demon named Piero.”
“But it was a really good deal on lakefront property and only cost three easy payments of my dignity!”
Vergil ignored him and scanned the contract. “This says we’re responsible for ‘acts of divine wrath.’”
Ugolino shrugged. “Landlord’s policy.”
With a resigned sigh, Vergil initialed the clause that read: “Tenant agrees not to pet Cerberus,” regretting every life and afterlife choice that had led him there.
Beatrice, watching from Heaven via divine surveillance orb, facepalms so hard it echoes across Paradise.
—
The apartment was exactly what one would expect from a budget afterlife housing option: peeling “Abandon All Hope” wallpaper that revealed screaming faces, a suspiciously sentient stain on the ceiling that muttered Bible verses and whispered “repent” every time someone walked by, there was a pile of unwashed robes in the corner, and a fridge that occasionally wept blood.
Vergil dropped his bag on the floor, which let out a pained groan. “This is worse than Limbo.”
Dante, meanwhile, was already poking at the stain. “Hey, do you think if we feed it, it’ll stop judging us?”
Before Vergil could answer, the front door burst open, revealing their third roommate.
Lucifer stood in the doorway; three faces locked in varying expressions. His left head was scowling, the middle was mid-yawn, and the right was humming “Never Gonna Give You Up.” He was holding a half-melted microwave tray and wearing an apron that said, “Kiss the Damned.”
“You’re my new roommates then?” he huffed before pointing at Dante, “you are banned from my wing of the apartment.”
Dante blinked. “We have wings?”
Lucifer’s middle face sighed. “No. But you still can’t come in my room.”
“What is with the microwave tray?” Vergil asked, regretting the question immediately after seeing the looks on Lucifer’s faces. “These STUPID HUMAN INVENTIONS are useless in hell. Why does it say ‘Press Start’ when NOTHING IN HELL EVER STARTS! This was the third exploded microwave this week and Minos, our superintendent, has been on my ass about it.”
Chapter 2: Falling In Love
Dante and Vergil had been living in the Inferno Apartments for about a week now. Things were unusually quiet—the mandatory wailing hours were over, and Cerberus had finally passed out after eating an entire cursed pizza (pepperoni and the box). Dante tiptoed past the snoring hellhound in the front hall and made his way to the living room, balancing two styrofoam containers of underworldly takeout—Soul Food Express: Damnation Delivered! scrawled across the bags in flaming letters.
Vergil who had been sitting on the couch reading through one of his scrolls looked up, one eyebrow arched. “What’s this then?”
Dante grinned, dropping the containers onto their rickety coffee table (which may or may not have been a trapped soul in a past life). He flipped open a lid, revealing something that resembled lasagna if lasagna had ever screamed for mercy. “Ta-daaa. Circle Three’s famous ‘Meat Sweats Special.’”
Vergil stared. “That’s just a pile of meat with a face.”
“A smiling face,” Dante corrected, nudging a fork toward him. “Come on, when’s the last time you ate something that wasn’t metaphorical?”
Somehow, between the questionable cuisine and Dante’s relentless chatter about “how cool Gluttony’s food trucks were”, Vergil found himself… laughing. Vergil often kept his feelings close to his chest—for all that he loved Dante, it was not always something he found himself capable of showing it. But in the face of Dante’s happiness and exhilaration he found himself unable to not share and that joy, and so he found himself laughing, a low, warm sound that made Dante’s chest do something stupid and fluttery.
“What?” Vergil grumbled, composing himself after seeing Dante’s starstruck expression.
“You’re pretty when you’re not sighing at me like I’m a lost cause.”
Vergil’s eye twitched. “You are a lost cause.”
Dante leaned in, undeterred. “Yeah, but I’m your lost cause.”
And then—disaster.
Dante’s elbow knocked over his glass of hell-wine, drenching Vergil’s pristine toga in something that smelled like regret and sulfur. For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Then Vergil grabbed Dante by the collar and yanked him forward.
The kiss was furious, all teeth and desperation, like Vergil was punishing him for existing (and maybe also for the wine thing). Dante made a noise between a gasp and a giggle, fingers scrambling for purchase on Vergil’s shoulders as the older poet growled against his lips:
“You are going to be the death of me.”
Dante, dizzy and delighted, whispered back: “Too late.”
Just as Vergil’s hands slid under Dante’s tunic (and wow, who knew ancient poets had such talented fingers?), the apartment’s fire alarm went off.
Not a normal fire alarm. A demonic one.
”REPENT. REPENT. REPENT.”
Cerberus, roused from his sleep, started barking up a storm.
Lucifer’s appeared in the hallway, popping out from around the corner as it peering into the living room, his middle face chewing lazily on a slice of toast. His right was humming “Should I Stay or Should I Go” as his left spoke. “Oops. Forgot to disable the ‘impure thoughts’ sensor.” He tossed a bucket of unholy water at them before walking back to his room. “Don’t make me separate you two.”
Dante, dripping and still pinned under Vergil, grinned up at him. “So… second date in the Lust Circle?”
Vergil dropped his forehead onto Dante’s shoulder with a thud. “I miss being pagan.”
—
Vergil and Dante were relaxing in the living room, The Real Housewives of Wrath playing at a low volume on their TV. The screen, combined with the flickering hell-light from their cursed lava lamp cast shifting shadows across the couch where Dante lay sprawled, his head pillowed in Vergil’s lap.
“You should take better care of your hair. Why do you let it get this tangled?” Vergil muttered, fingers carefully working the knots out of Dante’s loose waves. While they had been sharing a bed since they started living together and known each other for longer, it had only been a week since they had begun their… whatever they had together, and so being more tactile like this was new for them.
Dante grinned up at him, utterly unrepentant. “Says the guy who’s been dead for millennia and still can’t work a toaster.”
Vergil flicked his ear. “The toaster screams, Dante. That’s not normal.”
“But you still tried to make pop-tarts in it—ow!” Dante yelped as Vergil tugged a lock of hair a little too hard.
“Hold still,” Vergil chided, but his voice had gone soft, fingers gentling as they resumed their work. “If you’re going to insist on this ridiculous—”
“Romantic?” Dante interjected.
“—tedious ritual, then you could at least cooperate. You’re the one who asked if I would brush your hair for you.”
Dante hummed, closing his eyes as Vergil’s nails scraped lightly against his scalp. “You love it.”
A pause. Then, so quiet Dante almost missed it:
“…I do.”
Vergil’s hands were surprisingly deft for someone who claimed to have no patience for “modern frivolities.” After doing his best to manually untangle the hair he gently pushed Dante to the floor so that he was sitting with his back to Vergil, who was now able to run an actual brush through the hair. Once it was sufficiently untangled he separated Dante’s hair into three sections with meticulous care, weaving them together in a slow, practiced rhythm.
Dante peeked up at him. “You’ve done this before.”
“Shut up. And stop moving, you’ll make this uneven.”
“Was it for Beatrice?” Dante gasped dramatically. “Vergil, you minx—”
“It was for my sister,” Vergil snapped, ears turning pink. “And if you tell anyone—”
Dante reached up blindly to pat Vergil’s cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me. Though I am gonna ask Beatrice if she—OW! Okay, okay, I yield!”
Vergil huffed but didn’t stop braiding. “…She would have liked you,” he admitted after a moment. “My sister. She always had terrible taste too.”
Dante’s chest did something warm and fluttery. He caught Vergil’s free hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “I’d have braided her hair too. As thanks for making you such a softie.”
“I am not—” Vergil began as he tied off the end of the braid.
“So soft,” Dante sing-songed, dodging another half-hearted ear flick. “Like a little—oof!”
Vergil had abruptly released Dante’s hair, pinning Dante to the floor with a glare that lacked any real heat. “Finish that sentence,” he challenged, “and I’ll throw you to Cerberus.”
Dante beamed up at him. “Kiss me instead?”
Just as Vergil leaned down, the apartment’s infernal intercom crackled to life:
“ATTENTION TENANTS: MANDATORY FIRE DRILL IN THE PIT OF DESPAIR. REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A DRILL. WE ARE LITERALLY ON FIRE.”
Lucifer’s left face appeared in the doorway, his hand reaching around to remove a blunt. “Move it, lovebirds. Satan waits for no—is that a fishtail braid?!”
Vergil went rigid. Dante, still pinned beneath him, waved cheerily. “He’s really good at it!”
Lucifer’s other two faces popped into view, as he fully entered the living room all three now grinning wickedly. “Oh, this is going in ‘The Inferno Apartments Monthly’ newsletter.”
Vergil buried his face in Dante’s shoulder with a groan as Dante cackled beneath him, fingers gently tugging his newly-braided hair.
Somewhere in Heaven, Beatrice sighed and adjusted the celestial surveillance orb for a better angle.
Chapter 3: A Hellish Housewarming
Against Vergil’s better judgment—and, frankly, against the laws of several religions—Dante decided to commemorate their sixth month of living together by finally having a housewarming party.
The apartment was technically on fire, but that was just part of the ambiance.
Their guest list was… eclectic.
Francesca and Paolo showed up first, already mid-argument. “You promised we’d have a quiet eternity together!” Francesca wailed, throwing a wine glass at the wall.
Paolo ducked. “We are together! That’s the problem!”
Judas arrived next, nervously clutching a bag of silver coins. “I brought… uh… a housewarming gift?” He dropped them into the bowl by the door, then immediately tried to take them back.
Cleopatra arrived third, swanning in with Cerberus at her heels without so much as a hello before she began lounging on the couch, feeding cursed figs to the dog, who in a matter of minutes had already managed to chew through two table legs and was working on a third. “You’re a good boy,” she cooed, scratching under one of his chins.
Vergil’s eye twitched as he noted the damage. “Chin up my love,” Dante kissed his cheek and continued cheerfully “at least it’s not as bad as last week when Cerberus ate the Wi-Fi router!”
Cerberus wagged all three tails upon hearing his name before moving on from the table and Cleopatra’s tempting figs to chewing on one of the spare ethernet cords that Vergil had begun leaving out in the hopes that Cerberus would go for those instead of the one they actually needed to access Hell’s Wi-Fi, which was slow enough as it was. His left head paused it’s assault to bark happily while the middle continued to chew, and his right simply muttered “I regret nothing.”
Once everyone had arrived, Dante stood proudly in the center of the living room, arms spread wide as sulfuric smoke curled around him. “Welcome to the official Inferno Apartments Housewarming Extravaganza!” he bellowed over the wails of the damned leaking through the walls. “We’ve got snacks, we’ve got drinks, and yes, that is a sentient cheese platter—don’t make eye contact.”
Vergil, slumped on the couch like a man already regretting his afterlife, muttered into his glass of hell-wine: “I am a fool for love.”
Lucifer, meanwhile, had commandeered the (possessed) karaoke machine and was belting out “Highway to Hell” with unsettling enthusiasm. His middle face was providing backup vocals while his right fully asleep. Later, Dante joined Lucifer with the karaoke machine and the two had sung “WAP” together. It was horrible. It was amazing. No one could look away. Following that up was Francesca and Paolo attempting a very tense duet of “Love the Way You Lie” before the speakers burst into hellfire. Dante attempted to mediate between Francesca and Paolo, who each blamed each other for the fire, getting slapped by a copy of Lancelot and Guinevere for his trouble.
Once the speakers had been restored Dante, drunk on hell-wine, tried to rap The Divine Comedy as a “diss track.”
Vergil seated himself in the corner with a bottle of hell-wine (one glass alone was not enough) stared into the middle distance and reminded himself how much he loved Dante, how much he wanted the pilgrim to enjoy his time best he could while trapped in hell, and trying his best not to think about how much cleaning up they would have to do after everyone left.
Meanwhile, the pizza they had ordered from the Gluttony Circle (“All-You-Can-Regret Buffet”) and kept screaming whenever someone bit into it. Once he had finished fulfilling the mandatory wailing hours with 99 cantos, Dante unveiled his “Signature Inferno Wings”—which were in fact just regular wings, but haunted.
“This is a war crime.” Vergil grimaced after taking his first bite.
“That’s the spirit!” Dante grinned.
—
Despite Vergil’s wishes that everyone would just go home the party had continued until the apartment was in shambles—walls oozing something between lava and regret, the ceiling stain drunkenly singing “Like a Prayer” in Enochian, and Cerberus had somehow gotten into the liquor cabinet (all three heads were now wearing tiny party hats).
The living room looked like a tornado had swept through it—a tornado that also happened to be on fire and screaming in Latin. The sulfuric stench of hellfire mixed oddly with the aroma of fresh tortilla chips as Dante surveyed the wreckage of his apartment. Somewhere beneath the pile of discarded robes and hell-wine bottles, the coffee table whimpered softly.
“Okay,” Dante clapped his hands together, sending a small avalanche of glitter cascading from his sleeves. “Who’s ready for—”
The front door burst open before he could finish.
Minos stood silhouetted in the doorway, clipboard in hand, his usual expression of bureaucratic disdain undercut by the massive ceramic bowl he carried under one arm.
“You,” he announced, kicking aside a snoring demon with practiced ease, “are all terrible tenants.”
A beat of silence. Then—
“Is that guacamole?” Vergil asked, incredulous.
The damnation administrator sighed. “I was going to evict you. Then I remembered none of you heathens have ever tasted proper ambrosia-grade guacamole.” He set the bowl down with a thud that shook the foundations of the apartment. “This is an intervention.”
The party, which had been winding down after the Great Karaoke Incident of the Eighth Hour, suddenly reignited with unholy fervor.
Lucifer’s middle face perked up from where it had been licking wine off the floor. “Is that cilantro?”
“Grown in the Fields of Asphodel,” Minos confirmed, producing a bag of chips that crackled with divine energy. “The salt is harvested from the tears of overconfident heroes.”
What followed could only be described as a feeding frenzy. Francesca and Paolo paused their eternal bickering to double-dip (a sin so grave even Judas gasped). Cerberus’ left head whimpered ecstatically while the right head tried to bury the bowl for later. Vergil, against all his better judgment, took a bite—and his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Mother of Muses,” he breathed.
Dante, mouth full, pointed accusingly. “You! You’ve been holding out on us!”
Minos adjusted his tie with smug satisfaction. “You never filled out Form 666-B: Request for Culinary Mercy.”
As the night devolved into increasingly chaotic attempts to recreate the recipe (involving a stolen philosopher’s stone and several ill-advised pacts), Beatrice watched from her celestial observatory with growing amusement and not a small amount of fomo. Sighing, she scribbled a note down before using a bit of her grace to call for a divine carrier pigeon.
“Next time, invite me.”
Minos was now arm-wrestling Lucifer for the last chip while Vergil drunkenly recited agricultural tips from Georgics. Dante, sprawled across what remained of the couch, grinned at the ceiling.
“Best. Damnation. Ever.”
—
The next morning Lucifer was passed out in the bathtub with a “Hello My Name Is: NOT GOD” sticker on his left forehead, an “I ❤️ GUAC” tattoo (hopefully temporary) tattooed on his middle forehead, and three penises doodled in sharpie on his right. Cleopatra and Cerberus were snuggled together on Lucifer’s bed, both absolutely covered in glitter. Minos was passed out on the couch, clutching the guac bowl which had been licked clean by… someone. Judas had long since snuck out the window with the silverware. Dante and Vergil were cuddling in bed, Dante snoring and Vergil questioning his afterlife choices while staring at the new sentient stain on their ceiling, which was humming “Careless Whisper” at a thankfully low volume. Somewhere in the distance, the faint screams of the damned provided a strangely soothing white noise.
Chapter 4: Bonus: 🔥 INFERNO APARTMENTS MONTHLY 🔥
Chapter Summary:
The latest issue of the Inferno Apartments Monthly, hot off the presses.
Notes:
Just in case the image doesn’t load or is inaccessible to you, I’ve also added the text below! But I really hope the image loads for those of you that will enjoy it, I’m more proud than I probably should be.
🔥 INFERNO APARTMENTS MONTHLY 🔥
Where Damnation Meets Community
ISSUE 666 VOL. IX
Brought to you by Minos’ Eternal Suffering (and also the leasing office)
NINTH CIRCLE FROZEN OVER (AGAIN)
By: Minos, Superintendent & Reluctant Journalist
Residents are reminded that unauthorized ice-skating on Satan’s wings is strictly prohibited after last month’s incident involving Francesca, Paolo, and a stolen Zamboni from the Sloth Circle.
Violators will be relocated to the “Special Hell” (i.e., the boiler room).
🏆 TENANT OF THE MONTH 🏆
VIRGIL – “For Bravely Putting Up With Dante’s Nonsense”
Our resident classical poet has gone above and beyond this month by:
✔ Preventing Dante from adopting a “stray” hellhound (Cerberus does not need a sibling).
✔ Successfully filing a noise complaint against himself to avoid Lucifer’s karaoke nights.
✔ Mastering the art of the fishtail braid (see pg. 3 for tutorial).
Prize: One (1) coupon for “10% off Eternal Torment” (void in the Pit of Despair).
MINOS’ FINAL NOTES
Stop feeding the ceiling stain. It’s getting sentient.
The elevator is not a portal to Purgatory. (Stop trying, Dante.)
Complaints? File them in the “Eternal Flame” mailbox (aka the trash).
HOT GOSS FROM THE PIT
Dante & Virgil: “Just Roommates”?
Eyewitnesses report the two were spotted sharing a single scroll in the Lust Circle library last Tuesday. When questioned, Dante winked and said, “We were researching,” while Virgil spontaneously combusted (non-damningly).
Francesca & Paolo: Couple’s Therapy Fails (Again)
The star-crossed lovers have been temporarily separated after turning Circle 2’s “Eternal Whirlwind of Passion” into a literal tornado. Minos has mandated individual counseling with the demon therapist Dr. Beelzebub (results pending).
Cerberus Wins “Best Pizza Theft” Award
All three heads successfully stole 14 deliveries this month. Prize: A afterlifetime supply of squeaky toys (which he immediately ate).
UPCOMING EVENTS
Tuesdays: Wailing Hour Karaoke (Hosted by Lucifer’s Left Face)
Thursdays: Gluttony Circle Potluck (Bring a dish or your soul gets eaten)
Weekends: ”Escape Room” Night (Spoiler: You can’t.)
CLASSIFIEDS
FOR SALE
One slightly used harp (formerly owned by Orpheus). “Great condition, only lightly cursed.”
Timeshare in the Fraud Circle (ask for Piero). “No refunds. (Seriously.)”
ROOMMATE WANTED
Judas seeks new roommate—Minos is raising rent and 30 pieces of silver just won’t cut it anymore.
Until next month, sinners! Stay damned! 🔥
POSTSCRIPT: Beatrice has formally requested this newsletter stop spying on her ex. Request denied.
Chapter 5: Bonus: Beatrice’s Celestial Observations on the Infernal Roommates Situation
From her gilded balcony in the Empyrean, Beatrice leaned over the railing, peering into the swirling mists of her divine surveillance orb with the exasperated fondness of a scholar watching particularly hopeless students. Below, the chaotic domesticity of the Inferno Apartments unfolded in all its ridiculous glory.
“Honestly, Vergil,” she muttered to the empty air, “you used to debate the nature of fate with Augustus Caesar. Now you’re arguing with a medieval Italian about whether hellfire counts as a ‘usable kitchen appliance.'” She took a delicate sip of ambrosia-laced tea, shaking her head as Dante, in the orb’s image, nearly set his own sleeve on fire while attempting to toast bread over a pit of lava.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips when Vergil—stoic, unflappable Vergil—reached out to cuff Dante lightly upside the head before taking the fork from his hands with the weary patience of a man who had long since accepted his own damnation. The way his fingers lingered just a beat too long on Dante’s wrist did not escape her notice.
“Oh, you absolute hypocrite,” she murmured, grinning.
The scene shifted—Vergil, seated on the couch, Dante sprawled across his lap like an overgrown house cat, half-dozing as Vergil’s fingers carded idly through his hair. The poet’s expression was one of quiet, reluctant fondness, the kind Beatrice hadn’t seen since their living days.
“A fishtail braid?” she blurted, nearly dropping her teacup. “Since when do you—oh, oh no, are you blushing?”
She snapped her fingers, summoning a hovering parchment and quill to her side. “This,” she declared, “needs to be archived for posterity.”
By the time the orb showed Dante getting them kicked out of the Lust Circle (again), Beatrice had given up all pretense of divine dignity and was laughing openly into her silk sleeve.
“Oh, Dante,” she sighed, wiping a mirthful tear from her eye. “You wrote Paradiso for me, and yet this is the man you are? Covered in glitter?” She paused, considering. “…Actually, that explains so much.”
A Formal Assessment (Because Heaven Runs on Paperwork)
Strengths of This Arrangement:
- Vergil had finally has someone to drag him out of his “brooding classical poet” phase.
- Dante’s chaotic energy was, against all odds, almost charming when it wasn’t giving Vergil an aneurysm.
- Their bickering was, objectively, the best entertainment the celestial spheres had seen since that time Gabriel and Michael had a passive-aggressive duel over harp tuning.
Weaknesses:
- Beatrice was this close to developing a stress-induced halo twitch.
- Lucifer kept sending her updates like she’s their divorce lawyer.
- Vergil’s smile is illegally soft now, and frankly, it’s disturbing.
A Message, Sent Via Very Judgmental Seraphim Courier
Final Verdict:
“They’re disasters. They’re adorable. I ship it.” Beatrice sighed, flicking the orb’s image away with a wave of her hand. “God help me.”
Somewhere in the depths below, Lucifer’s middle face sneezed.
Final Notes:
PS: If you spot a ‘plot hole,’ congratulations! You’ve found the Hellmouth. Now scream into it like the rest of us.