pixsistixs

[pixsistixs]

To Sever A Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 25/?

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•••

This update just happened to line up with RadioDust Day 2025, and I couldn't be happier about that. We're getting close to the end!

•••

The month after VoxTek: Alastor’s POV •• • Week One

The moment Angel Dust shut the door, Alastor felt a sense of heavy finality settling over him like a cocoon. It was a sensation he had felt before, that of the end of yet another chapter of his life, closing to make way for something new and fresh and exciting. Normally, that was something that brought relief; Alastor had never liked feeling tied to a responsibility to another person, not since the death of his maman and he had truly been left on his own. He didn’t want to be beholden to someone else. It felt too much like allowing another to control him, their expectations and wants and needs weighing on him and dragging him down.

Other people were distractions. They had never been anything except that.

Angel Dust was a distraction.

When Alastor first came to the hotel, he’d had a plan in mind: Charlie was alone and uncertain, a vessel that held so much power and potential without any idea of her true capabilities. She was the perfect victim, too trusting and too open and abandoned by her family, which left Alastor an ideal opening to slip himself in as her new trusted companion. No one else in the hotel was supposed to matter. Alastor would do the same thing he always did, take what he wanted and leave absolute chaos and destruction in his wake. It was how he liked to do things. It was funny. It was fun.

Angel Dust was never supposed to happen. And, now that he was gone, Alastor should have felt nothing but that usual sense of satisfying finality; the fact that Angel Dust was in pain shouldn’t affect him, just as the pain of others never affected him.

So why do I feel so miserable?

Alastor shrugged off his coat and sat forward, leaning his elbow on his knee and looking at the mangled stump of his left arm. Vox had known precisely what he was doing, liberating Alastor not only from his soul mate mark, but from his dominant arm and his deal-making hand. He was still uncertain if it was ever going to grow back, which meant his energy going forward was going to have to be put into compensating for a loss that might end up being permanent.

Was it worth it?

That was a dangerous question, and one Alastor couldn’t let himself explore. He wasn’t sure what was worse, deciding that it wasn’t worth it… or that it was. Because if it was, what did that mean? What about the loss of his arm was worth it, in the manner those words suggested?

Alastor didn’t want to know.

He allowed the fingers of his right hand to trail along the cauterized tissue of his left arm, shoulder twitching as his claws alternatively caught deadened and numb skin alongside hypersensitive scar tissue, the sensation at once hot and cold and painful and nothing at all. It was infuriating, but it was manageable. It would be, anyway. Alastor had overcome so many obstacles in his life, he wasn’t about to let this one defeat him.

He would forget about Angel Dust, in time.

•••

• Week Two

I feel no differently now than I did before the mark activated.

What the fuck does that mean?

Alastor had to get out of the hotel. He needed air, he needed to think, he needed anything that wouldn’t lead to people hovering or trying to talk to him or attempting to psychoanalyze his current state. While Alastor could begrudgingly admit that he was grateful to Millie, in a way, he still didn’t like the way she (and so many others) thought they could speak to him like he was some sort of precocious child who didn’t know what he was doing.

The Hazbin Hotel overlooked Pentagram City from its place at the far northeastern edge of town, nothing beyond it for miles except the barren wastelands that made up the largely uninhabitable Pride Ring. It was here that Alastor liked to go when he needed to think and couldn’t do so in his room; the huge, open nothingness allowed his mind space to breathe. It left him freedom to… reflect. Plan. Pick through the detritus of whatever it was he had just destroyed to search for what pieces were worth preserving.

He should have guessed he was growing predictable, but he didn’t think anyone would find him this quickly.

Alastor felt the presence behind him, but he didn’t bother turning around, his eyes fixed on the horizon far out beyond the city. His hand tightened around the hood of his microphone staff, claws threatening to scratch the surface, as the footsteps behind him slowed to a stop.

“Is this what passes for stoic brooding in Sinners these days?”

Alastor closed his eyes and released a long, sharp breath between gritted teeth. “What a strange question. One would think you would know, being our supposed… benevolent patriarch.”

“I have better things to do than monitor human tantrums.”

Damn him. Alastor slowly turned around, his grip on his cane tightening further, and he narrowed his eyes. “The fuck do you want?”

Lucifer raised an unimpressed eyebrow, one hand on his hip. “Out of quips already?”

“And patience. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a child to be disappointing down in the hotel?”

Alastor felt a small sense of petty satisfaction when Lucifer’s eyes flashed slightly, his expression twitching for the briefest moment before leveling out. “It’s because of Charlie that I’m here,” he said, obviously fighting against rising to the clear bait. Alastor was almost impressed, if annoyed that the King of Hell seemed to have found his self-control; he wasn’t positive that fighting Lucifer would make him feel any better, but it certainly wouldn’t make him feel worse. “I heard what happened at VoxTek.”

“Here to gloat?” Alastor asked.

“Not exactly.” Lucifer raised one hand and tapped his lapel, clearly debating. “She seems to be under the impression that I might be able to assist you with your current problem. Looking at you now, I think she might be right. You look like shit, Radio Demon.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need help from you.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, his expression turning to one of irritated disgust. “Sure,” he said sarcastically. “Because you’re doing such a great job handling everything on your own, right? If you think I’m doing this for you, you’re wrong,” he continued, before Alastor could answer the jab. “This is for her, and for Angel Dust, to a lesser extent. The fact that it happens to be directed at you is purely happenstance.”

“I’m touched. Truly.” Alastor raised one eyebrow at him. “Then why don’t you tell me what you’re here for so you can leave and relieve me of the burden of your presence?”

“You’re such an unbelievable dick,” Lucifer muttered. He then reached into his coat and produced a small black book, leather-bound and engraved with silver lettering. “...listen, Alastor. I’m not sure where, exactly, you were when you managed to become eldritch-touched. I’m not asking, either, because I know you wouldn’t tell me. But this book has… information in it that you might find incredibly useful. Provided you can actually understand and apply it, that is.”

He offered the book out, but Alastor didn’t move to take it. He looked at it, then at Lucifer, unable to stop that gnawing feeling of suspicion. “...where did you get it?” he asked. “And why would you give it to me? I would think that would be a level of information you would rather I not have.”

“Oh, trust me,” Lucifer laughed, “I really don’t want you to have it. The problem is, you’ve already got the power, and short of ripping all of your magic out, that’s not changing any time soon. You’ll be dangerous with it either way. At least, with this book, there’s a chance you’ll be able to better control it.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “...that’s… prudent,” he admitted. “You didn’t answer my first question.”

“It’s from my library.” Lucifer shrugged. “...well. It’s from the library of the first Goetia.”

Alastor’s eyes widened. “Bael?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

Lucifer blinked. “...yes,” he said, suspicion filling his voice. “You’re… familiar?”

“I studied demonology when I was alive,” Alastor hedged. “I thought he was supposed to be dead.”

“...something like that.” Lucifer shook off whatever thought he was having. “Bael knew more about the Space-Between-Spaces than anyone else in Hell. Probably more than anyone in Heaven. He was a monster, but his information was always good.” He sighed. “Just take the damn book before I change my mind, Alastor.”

The leather felt strangely cold as Alastor took it in his hand and looked at the cover. He could hardly believe he was actually holding something that was written by Bael, something that might be able to answer so many questions he’d had without anyone to ask. Despite everything, he nearly laughed. Oh, Bael, you’d be apoplectic if you could see me holding this, wouldn’t you?

Then again, perhaps he simply would have laughed.

Alastor had never been able to truly understand Bael.

“Will you be wanting this back?” Alastor asked, rather than anything else he could have said.

Lucifer shrugged. “As long as no one else gets their hands on it, I don’t care. But if I find out you’re using it to hurt my daughter, I’ll come to retrieve it, and I’ll take your other arm with it.”

Alastor felt his smile strain. “I’d love to see you try.”

“No. You wouldn’t.” Lucifer turned his back on Alastor, a gesture the Radio Demon couldn’t help finding intensely annoying, and began walking away. “Try to go against your nature and don’t do anything stupid,” he warned.

The urge for a parting shot was less pressing than the urge to look through the book. Alastor allowed his shadows to swallow him and transport him back to his room, deep in the comforting dark of his swamp.

He had a lot of reading to do.

•••

• Week Three

The book contained so, so much information, it was difficult to parse through all of it to find points of practical application. Eventually, Alastor was forced to narrow his focus, specifically to the topic of tenebrous solidification; he’d been able to make somewhat nebulously-shaped shadow tentacles that could touch and be touched, but creating shadows of more definitive shape that could do the same was a much more difficult ask.

After a few days, Alastor had managed to master the art of manifesting a shadow that wrapped around the scarred stump of his arm like a glove, stretching down in the shape his arm had once taken. It felt nothing and was freezing to the touch, but it could grab things, lift objects, and conduct every task that Alastor had once been able to manage with his real arm… with a lot of concentration, of course. Often, the fingers would become non-corporeal and slip through whatever he was trying to hold, or he would compensate too hard in the other direction and break or rip things, and it was exhausting trying to keep it up for more than a few minutes at a time, but it was progress.

It wasn’t his arm, but it would work. It was something.

Of course… there was a different problem with it, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about. But it was there all the same, and it was because of that little problem that Alastor found himself standing on the doorstep of a large black manor one evening. It was one of the only buildings in the Wrath District that actually stood whole and unbothered, likely because no one was brave enough to attempt to destroy it. This wasn’t a place Alastor liked to visit, mostly because he hated the feeling of vulnerability and uncertainty that came with it, but who else was he going to ask?

Alastor raised his arm and knocked twice on the old, heavy door that towered overhead, the sound echoing deep into the house and carrying a sense of loneliness and quiet with it. The door opened on its own, welcoming Alastor into the dark and cold interior as though he had been expected.

Maybe he had been. Zestial always seemed to know things, things he couldn’t possibly have known, and that was one of the reasons he put Alastor on edge.

Torches began to flare to life along the hallways, and Alastor followed them, keeping his back straight and his head up. He wouldn’t show fear, because fear was weakness, and he was on equal footing with Zestial; it would be foolish to cede ground to the former Overlord so quickly. The torches led to a small sitting room, a fire already roaring in the corner and a serving tray of coffee set between two comfortable chairs.

“Ah, Alastor, my dear friend.” Alastor looked towards the shadows and watched as Zestial emerged, his eyes narrow and his smile wide and sharp. “What glad tidings in such unexpected circumstances. Thy presence so rarely graces these halls, one might believe thou hadst mislaid the path to my domicile.”

Alastor smiled. “Hello, Zestial,” he said, keeping his voice polite. “I apologize for dropping in on you so unexpectedly. I do hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Thou wouldst be most aware, should other arrangements be occupying my attention. Please, sit,” he said with a gesture towards the chairs. Alastor did so, and Zestial sat across from him, beginning to pour coffee. “News of thy mischief at VoxTek has reached many ears. Word is that the Vees are most vexed even now, and little has been done to rectify the situation. I trust thou art recovering well?”

“Better than Vox is, I can only assume,” Alastor said, unable to help a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Has the old boy even left his ivory tower yet?”

“Carmilla received word from his assistant not two nights ago, assuring her that his master is in good health. Of course, thou knowest as well as I do that this is a ploy; were Vox truly unbothered, his presence would have been seen upon his screens by now.” Zestial chuckled. “But thou wouldst not come so far for word of Vox. Tell me, what is it that troubles thee?”

Alastor looked away. “...they say you’ve been around longer than any other Sinner,” he said. “I wanted to ask you if you know anything about soul mate marks.”

“Soul mate…?” Zestial echoed. “More than many and less than I would like. Ask thy question, and I shall see if a satisfactory answer may be given.”

So Alastor explained the situation, from the way the marks had awakened to the process of attempting to break it. He told Zestial about Vox tearing his arm off (words just as painful to say as the incident had been itself), about the loss of the mark, and… Alastor trailed off before he could get into the details of what had happened afterwards, when he and Angel Dust had stopped speaking.

“I see,” Zestial said, his voice thoughtful. Alastor couldn’t be positive, but he thought there was a lack of judgment in his tone. “A most difficult situation, indeed. But thou delayest most fervently in revealing thy query; t’would be accurate, I suppose, to say thou wouldst prefer the answer remain elusive?”

Alastor cringed. “I don’t like not having answers,” he said, rather than directly answering the question. He drew a breath before he set down his coffee and stood, removing his coat. With a little concentration, he conjured shadows to his scar, the heavy blackness solidifying and shaping itself into the approximation of the arm he had lost. He took hold of his shirt sleeve and unbuttoned the cuff, pulling it back over the length of solid shadow and repressing the urge to shiver as the cold threatened to seep through to his bones.

Zestial made a noise of fascination. “Ah, this would be thy compensation for thy loss?”

“Yes,” Alastor said. He pulled the sleeve up to almost where shadow met flesh, then turned it to show the crook of the shadow’s elbow to Zestial. “This is what I wanted to ask you about. I want to know why this is here.”

Zestial tilted his head as they both considered the shadowy appendage. Just as Alastor had worn on his true flesh the entire time he had been in Hell, the shadow bore a small mark… a little white spider, nestled in the divot of the faux arm just as it always had been.

“Thy shadows manifested the same image,” Zestial guessed. “This was not your intention?”

“No,” Alastor said. “I thought I was rid of this damn thing. Now I can’t even lose it by having my arm ripped off.”

Zestial chuckled, which was deeply annoying. “Oh, I should think it nothing so sinister as all that. I believe the answer thou seekest is of a much more simple nature: thou desirest the mark, therefore, the mark reappeared.”

Alastor stared at him, slowly sinking back into the chair. “...you think I want this mark.”

“Tis not I that think it,” Zestial said. “Hast thou not considered, dear friend, that thy stubborn nature wouldst prevent thee from confronting thy true thoughts? I think that mark to be no dictation of fate, but an excuse, conjured by thine own desire for love. Thou couldst not allow thyself freedom to love, so thou reliest upon the mark to alleviate thyself of all responsibility.”

Alastor glared at him, clenching his fist. “You sound like you’re calling me a coward.”

“Cowardice is thy word, Alastor, not mine.”

He couldn’t take this anymore. Alastor closed his eyes, clenching his jaw until his teeth creaked, and then simply let the feeling of darkness wash over him. He could hear Zestial chuckling as the shadows closed in, and even as Alastor’s world opened back up into his bedroom, he could still hear the ghost of the former Overlord laughing somewhere in the distance.

•••

• Week Four

When did I start letting others get the last word so often?

Alastor brushed off his coat and then summoned his microphone staff, turning his head to look up at the looming shape of the hotel behind him. Niffty and Husk were showing a level of passion about this particular topic that he was unaccustomed to seeing them exhibit; Niffty’s enthusiasm had been limited to cleaning for many years now, and Husker hadn’t had passion about anything in most of the time that Alastor had known him. This, however… it seemed to be important to them.

Did they truly care that much about Angel Dust?

If so, why were they so eager for someone like him to…

Alastor shook off the thought and turned back towards Pentagram City, looking out across the shapes of the buildings and streets as the sky began to grow dark. It was too early for the sunset, that darkness instead coming from the black and rolling clouds slowly beginning to take over the firmament overhead. The smell of rain was hanging thick and threatening around him, carrying with it the promise of a sudden turn to cold.

The rain in Hell is always so cold.

Alastor had no idea where to begin. Angel Dust was nowhere to be seen, and unlike the spider, he didn’t possess an uncanny ability to locate people who didn’t want to be found. Without any other options before him, he began to walk, heading into the city and looking for any sign that his quarry might have passed through. Fortunately, Angel Dust was still a celebrity, and Alastor had noticed quite some time ago that those who encountered him in the streets tended to make something of a fuss about it. He heard two girls giggling about a selfie they had taken and knew he must have been on the right track, taking care to call as little attention to himself as possible so that he didn’t derail the thoughts of passing strangers.

It wasn’t long before the rain began to fall, drops of water falling heavy and sharp and cutting into his skin with its cold. It wasn’t until Alastor was soaked through that it occurred to him he probably just could have gotten an address from Charlie, but even now, he wasn’t positive he could deal with the princess’s knowing gaze if he went to her for information. He still didn’t know what he was going to say to Angel Dust (if he even managed to locate him); trying to piece together what to say to anyone else was overwhelming and almost nauseating. His hair and coat began to grow heavy with rainwater, slowing his progress through the streets of Pentagram City, but never once making him think he should turn around and go back.

Husker was right about one thing. Alastor could deal with a great many things, but he was absolutely certain he couldn’t bear the idea of never seeing Angel Dust again.

He was close to giving in and just returning to the hotel to ask Charlie for an address when he heard a small group of men beneath an awning chattering about how excited they were, living in the same building as a porn star. Alastor didn’t need to ask, sweeping past them and turning their conversation to screams as he passed into the building’s lobby. It was nice enough, he supposed, just as one would expect from an apartment complex in the Greed district, and he took a perverse sort of joy in tracking rainwater and mud as he headed across polished marble to the staircase and made his ascent.

Alastor checked each floor for any sign of activity, finally spotting a couple of movers hauling boxes into an apartment on the sixth floor; he would have recognized Angel Dust’s handwriting anywhere, particularly since each box seemed to be labeled ‘MY SHIT’ with no actual indication of what was packed away within. Alastor waited for them to depart, growing colder as the wet fabric of his clothing pressed down on his skin, and he didn’t emerge from the shadows until the men were gone and the hallway was deserted again.

Not for the first time, Alastor realized he still hadn’t figured out what he was going to say. As he raised his hand and knocked his knuckles against the apartment door, his mind began reeling, desperately searching for any words that he could grab onto and use to build so much as a single productive sentence. Something pathetic and animalistic in him began to scream that he needed to run, even as he heard the locks sliding out of place and watched the door open.

“Didja forget somethin’ or…!” Angel Dust stared down at him, eyes wide; Alastor had a moment to take in his appearance, a simple pink sweater hanging off one shoulder and a pair of shorts, a pink headband decorated with a white bow holding his hair back out of his face. “...A… Alastor…?”

“H-hello, Angel… Angel Dust,” Alastor said, only realizing exactly how cold he was as he attempted to make his voice sound casual and could barely control his shivering enough to make himself understood.

Angel Dust seemed to be at a loss for words. “I… what are you doing here?” he asked. “You’re soaking wet.”

“It’s raining,” Alastor said, probably unnecessarily, especially as the words were immediately punctuated by a long roll of thunder outside and a gentle flicker of light in the hallway.

“...yeah,” Angel Dust agreed. He then shook himself and reached out, grabbing Alastor by the arm and yanking him inside. “Get yer ass in here, you’re freezin’,” he chided, shutting the door behind him. Almost instantly, Fat Nuggets ran out of a different room, took notice of Alastor, and hurried straight up to him, getting underfoot as Angel Dust navigated him into the dining room and sat him down on a wooden chair. “Stay here,” he said, his tone brooking no argument as he left the room.

Alastor just nodded to himself, glancing around at what he could see of the interior. It was far more tastefully decorated than Angel Dust’s bedroom had been, but considering how many of his things were still boxed up, he could only imagine that the tackiness would increase the moment the spider began truly making his mark on the space. He heard a sound behind him, but before he could turn around, a fluffy pink towel was dropped onto his head and he spluttered.

“Don’t struggle,” Angel Dust said, and Alastor was suddenly aware of hands on the other side of the towel, drying his hair and ears with a surprisingly gentle touch. Such contact would normally be unthinkable, but just the knowledge that it was Angel Dust made Alastor feel like he could begin purring. He resisted the urge, allowing his eyes to close and not moving as Angel Dust carefully dried his face and pulled the towel back enough to make eye contact with him. “If I give you clothes to change into, will you do it without complainin’?”

Alastor looked down, then away. “...I didn’t realize it would start raining.”

Angel Dust sighed, then stood up, taking Alastor by the hand. “C’mon,” he said, and not for the first time, Alastor couldn’t read his tone. He wasn’t sure if it was because he just wasn’t capable of it, or because he didn’t want to know, but he didn’t protest as Angel Dust led him down a hall and into a bathroom. “Just hang yer stuff on the curtain rod,” he said, gesturing at his shower. “And come out as soon as you’re done, I wanna talk to you.”

His host didn’t wait for a response, just leaving the room and shutting the door to give Alastor his privacy. Alastor couldn’t really blame him; after all, Alastor had appeared out of nowhere and hadn’t given anything even close to a reason for his presence. In truth, he was surprised that Angel Dust had let him inside, because if the other Sinner had demanded an explanation in the hallway and then shut the door in his face… well, maybe part of Alastor had anticipated that. Maybe he had even been counting on it. Rejection was painful, but it was easier than explaining, wasn’t it?

It was like running away without any of the responsibility, in a way.

The clothes Angel Dust had left were simple, just a black and pink sweater and a pair of those white linen pants he liked to wear when he was relaxing and had nowhere else to go. Alastor carefully began stripping himself of his clothing, and despite his uncertainty, he still had enough wherewithal to be impressed at just how wet all of his clothes had gotten from the simple act of walking in the rain. His coat felt pounds heavier, his shirt and trousers were soaked… hell, even his socks were dripping when he hung them over the curtain rod as instructed. Angel Dust’s clothing was soft and warm and dry, which offset the truly alien feeling of someone else’s clothes touching his skin. He didn’t look at himself in the mirror, not sure he could handle the sight of himself looking like a drowned rat in ill-suited casual clothing, and took as much time as he could straightening his own drying attire before he let himself back out of the bathroom.

It didn’t feel anywhere near as cold as he headed in the direction of the only sounds in the apartment, following them to the kitchen, were Angel Dust had opened a cardboard box on the counter and was in the process of brewing what smelled like very strong coffee. Alastor didn’t want to interrupt, instead just watching the lines of Angel Dust’s body as he prepared two mugs while the liquid began to percolate. Alastor was so engrossed that he was startled by the feeling of Fat Nuggets bumping into his leg, and the little pig’s excited snuffling drew the other Sinner’s gaze.

“There you are,” Angel Dust said. “I was makin’ coffee. You still look like you need warmin’ up.” He picked up both mugs and crossed to Alastor, but he didn’t take hold of him this time. He simply waved a free hand and said, “C’mon. This way.”

Angel Dust led him into the living room and directed him to sit on the couch, the same ugly monstrosity he’d gotten for his bedroom back at the hotel. He pressed a mug into Alastor’s hands, then sat on the other side of the couch, wrapping his hands around his own mug and looking at the Radio Demon expectantly.

Alastor had known this was coming, of course, but even the reality of being in Angel Dust’s apartment hadn’t given him any idea what he could possibly say to him now. Alastor looked down at his coffee, opened his mouth, and said the first thing that came to his mind: “I’m sorry.”

Angel Dust didn’t answer right away, like he wasn’t expecting that. Finally, he asked, “For what?”

“For everything,” Alastor said. “For… treating you the way I did. The way I always have. For being callous. For abandoning you.”

“Alastor…” Angel Dust looked away. “You don’t have to apologize for that shit. It… you said it yourself, it was just—!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Alastor said, cutting him off sharply. He looked up at Angel Dust and found the other Sinner staring at him wide-eyed. “I wanted it to be simple. I didn’t want it to be anything else, because I couldn’t begin to imagine what I would do if it was anything else. I wanted everything to go back to the way that it was before this began. I thought it would be that simple. But it isn’t,” he said vehemently. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I can’t go anywhere without thinking about you. The kitchen, the private lounge, the streets of the city, my bedroom, even my radio tower; I can’t go to any of them without my mind immediately turning to thoughts of you. You have… infected every single aspect of my life, and now that you’re no longer in it, nothing feels complete anymore. You created a space for yourself, and now that you’ve left, that space is a vacant and empty hole, and I can’t stand it. I thought it would get better, but every day it grows more and more unbearable, and every day I spend more of my time wishing you were just… near me.”

Angel Dust opened his mouth, shaking his head slightly. “I…” His voice trailed off before he tried again. “What are you saying, Alastor…?”

Alastor put his coffee down and, ignoring everything telling him that this was a bad idea, took one of Angel Dust’s free hands in his only remaining one. “I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again, Angel,” he whispered. “You have completely ruined my life, restructured it, made yourself a part of my world that is not up for debate or compromise. I feel like I can no longer operate without the knowledge that you’re nearby. You’ve destroyed me, and I love you, and I would give anything you asked for the opportunity to prove to you that I need you to stay with me.”

The silence was only disturbed by the sounds of Angel’s breath shaking, his eyes glossed with tears as he stared at Alastor. “...you’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said, his voice trembling.

Alastor felt his smile quirking into something real and sad. “I knew I would be.”

Angel shook his head, closing his eyes, before he practically threw his own mug onto the coffee table and lunged forward. Alastor let out a surprised noise as he was knocked backwards, arms wrapping around his waist as Angel buried his face in Alastor’s chest and began to sob. Alastor didn’t allow himself any hesitation, wrapping his arm tightly around Angel’s shoulders and pulling him closer, stroking his back and burying his own face in the spider’s hair.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, almost drowning out Angel’s whispered, “I love you too, you idiot.”

Alastor tightened his hold on Angel and closed his eyes. Everything was about to grow so much more complicated. But for now… for these few minutes… he could let himself believe it was simple. He could let himself feel love, and he could tell himself it was alright that Angel loved him too, and he could simply… be.

Just for now, everything could be alright.

•••

[pixsistixs]

adhd paralysis sucks bcuz im just sitting there and my brain is like

YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME

no work done no rest gained. literally no point of this at all

[pixsistixs]

oh no my pornography is turning into an angst-filled character study

[pixsistixs]

Dancing with Demons Chapter 26: You Make No Sense

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61264528/chapters/160706476

[pixsistixs]

As a kid learning about the holocaust, I never understood how people could let Nazis rise to power. But now I’m watching it happen in real time.

[pixsistixs]

any time i hear the insufferable transphobic athlete arguments i think of that one time in middle school when my boys lacrosse team did a full-contact scrimmage against the girls team (who typically play with limited contact) and i, a six-foot, 180lb defender, got utterly laid-out by this 5-foot-nothing girl experiencing the newly-unleashed animosity accompanied by violent sport and as i looked up at my assailant from flat on my back i experienced a brief bout of heterosexuality and fell wildly in love and then had to be taken to the ER because i had a concussion

[pixsistixs]

I'm a preschool teacher. I am trained to stick stickers on faces. lol

would you put a discarded fruit sticker on my forehead in whimsical jest yes or no

[pixsistixs]

The term 'ship' is too vague. I don't think they should date i think they should be fucking regularly. I don't think they should date i think they should yearn for eachother endlessly but never have it be requited. I don't think they should date i think they should kiss one night and never talk about it again. I don't think they should date i think they should hate eachother so much that it turns into bottled up lust. I don't think they should date i think one of them should have a one-sided crush on the other. I don't think they should date i think they should have a situationship that ruins their lives. I don't think they should date i think they should stab eachother

[pixsistixs]

Dancing with Demons Chapter 25: Shadow Man

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61264528/chapters/160504396

[pixsistixs]

I can't stand him. I love him so much I actually can't look at him. It effects me physically like I have to kill him with hammers immediately. I have a smash a barrel . over his head

[pixsistixs]

To Sever A Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 24/?

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•••

This chapter is short and was always intended to be so; it wasn't supposed to take this long, but I've been incredibly sick lately. I'm so sorry.

•••

The month after VoxTek: Outsider POV •• • Week One

“What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, her eyes still on the stairs as though she thought Angel might reappear after his obvious tactical retreat. Vaggie leaned harder on her arms, eye moving from what she could see of the upstairs hall to her girlfriend and back. Charlie didn’t seem to notice. “Maybe I should go talk to him?”

“I wouldn’t.” Vaggie turned to look at Husk, who had put his work down and was leaning one arm on the bar. “Angel went to talk to Alastor, and it clearly didn’t go well. I’d give him some space.”

“But…” Charlie began helplessly, before she let out the rest of her breath in a soft huff. “Maybe. But isn’t ’giving them space’ what caused the whole problem last week?”

“It won’t get that bad, babe,” Vaggie assured her. “We won’t let it. But Husk probably has a point. They’re both under a lot of stress, and what they went through is still pretty fresh. They still need rest, anyway.”

“...and if I start pushing either of them, they might stop being so agreeable about getting that rest,” Charlie concluded, crossing her arms. “I know, I know, I just don’t like feeling so helpless.”

“You need a hobby,” Husk said.

Vaggie snorted. “This from you? What do you do besides tending bar and complaining about tending bar?”

Husk shrugged. “I’m not the one with so little to do that I’m obsessing over the other residents. Look, Charl, I’m not judging, I’m serious. Your whole life has been this hotel ever since before it even opened, right? Might do you a bit of good to have something else to focus on besides what the other people in the hotel are doing.”

Charlie groaned, letting her head fall back. “I’m not good at hobbies. I’m good at stressing.” She ran her hands over her face, then went back to the ledger, her face that one of concentration she got when she wasn’t actually paying attention to her task, but was concentrating on trying to concentrate on said task.

Obviously unimpressed, Husk waved Vaggie over. When she reached the bar, he spoke to her in a low tone. “Why don’t you take her out somewhere this evening?”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow. “...like a date?”

“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?” Husk asked. “She’s spent too long cooped up in this building. She’s driving herself crazy, and you have to have noticed she’s driving everyone else crazy, too.” Vaggie wanted to be offended on Charlie’s behalf, but Husk had a point. “Just give her something to think about for a few hours that’s not the hotel or Heaven or any of that bullshit. Niff and I will keep things under control here.”

“Yeah?” Vaggie asked.

“I’m not going to say nothing will happen,” Husk said. “But whatever does happen, the two of us can handle until you get back. And we’ll keep an eye on Angel and Alastor, too. Alright?”

“...yeah,” Vaggie said on a sigh. “That’s… that’s a good idea. Thanks, Husk.”

“Don’t thank me. Just get out of my hair for an evening.”

Vaggie smirked and pushed off the bar, heading over to Charlie and taking her hand. “Okay, babe. Book down.”

Charlie blinked, watching without protesting as Vaggie removed the ledger from her grip and placed it back on the counter. “Book down?” she asked.

“Book down. You’re coming with me.”

•

Husk watched Vaggie pull Charlie away from the desk and up towards their room, waiting until she was out of sight before he came out from around the bar and went off in search of Niffty. She was always either quite easy to find, or completely impossible, and it took him nearly half an hour of tedious searching before he finally heard the familiar sounds of her scurrying around in the ventilation on the third floor.

Raising his hand, Husk knocked his knuckles on the wall. “Niffty,” he called.

Another rattle answered him before a grate in the ceiling opened, several dead bugs falling onto the carpet. Husk grimaced, backing away (even though they were several feet from him already), and instead focused on the ceiling again as Niffty poked her head out and stared at him upside down. “Husk,” she answered, her mouth splitting into a wide grin.

“I wanna ask you something,” he said. “Could you keep an eye on Alastor for me?”

Immediately, Niffty’s face changed. Husk wasn’t one to express concern of any kind about Alastor, much less go out of his way to get someone to look after him. “Why?” Niffty asked suspiciously.

Husk frowned at her. “I’m not being shifty,” he said; the accusation was clear in her eye. “I just wanna make sure he doesn’t pull any shit or do anything we’ll regret while he’s in recovery. Besides, Vaggie and Charlie are gonna be out for a while and I said we’d keep an eye on things here.”

That made Niffty gasp. “Official business!” she chirped, before she dropped out of the grate (and onto the bugs, fucking gross) and scurried over to Husk. “I will be the best Alastor babysitter,” she said, with way more enthusiasm than Husk thought the situation called for.

“I’m sure you will,” he said dryly. “Just… bugs first.”

“Oh, yes, I’m making funeral preparations for them right now,” Niffty said, looking back over her shoulder at the small pile of insects. “I’m going to make quite the example of them. I think now the bugs will finally realize who’s in control here.” She giggled.

“…you do that. I’m leaving,” Husk said, turning on his heel and leaving her to her deranged little Vlad the Impaler playacting. He hesitated at the second floor landing, then stepped into the hallway, glancing down towards Angel’s door. It was closed, and he could hear music coming from inside; he was half tempted to go check on the kid, but knew Angel would probably see it as hovering, so he decided to leave it be for the night. He started turning back towards the stairs when movement in the shadows caught his eye, and he hesitated, focusing to try and catch it again.

It wasn’t in the shadows, it was the shadows. Husk had long ago gotten used to Alastor’s shadow, a thing that was (in some ways) more mischievous and dangerous than Alastor was himself. While the Sinner possessed the ability to mask and control himself, the shadow was always blatantly projecting thought and intention, as indecipherable as those thoughts and intentions were. At the moment, Alastor’s shadow was across the hall from Angel’s door, and it appeared to be… pacing, in a sense, flitting back and forth as though feeling indecisive.

Husk had seen the shadow wear many expressions in the past, but he had never seen it look worried.

I don’t need to get involved with this. Husk backed away before the shadow could notice him and headed back downstairs. This was all above his pay grade, and besides… whatever bullshit Angel and Alastor had between them, they were going to need to work it out themselves.

Somehow, he doubted either of them would.

•••

• Week Two

The Hazbin Hotel looked a lot cuter and more inviting when approaching it as a guest, rather than as a spy or an infiltrator. In many ways, Millie could understand the princess’s vision just by looking at the place, even if it was meant to appeal to human souls and just wasn’t her personal cup of whiskey as far as aesthetics went. As she drove up to the door and parked the car, killing the engine, she wondered if the place really would work.

Would Sinners really be better off in Heaven?

She didn’t see how, but she supposed that a Hellborn couldn’t really understand the human desire for redemption, so… if that was really what they wanted, she hoped it worked, for their sake.

Millie stepped out of the car and took what had to have been her three hundredth calming breath since leaving IMP headquarters. She’d been fit to be tied when she’d set off, and while she was still mad, the drive had calmed her down enough that she wasn’t about to go in swinging and get her block knocked off two seconds in.

Not for the first time, she wondered what she was thinking, charging in to lecture the Radio Demon on… love? Relationships? She wasn’t sure what, exactly, she just knew it wasn’t her place to do this kind of thing. Of course, she also knew that no one else was gonna do it, and that was why she hadn’t turned back.

The door to the hotel had been fixed quite expertly since their last visit, and the hinges didn’t even creak as she pushed her way in and headed through the lobby. It was a little sad to see that the hotel still didn’t seem to have attracted any new residents. It wasn’t like she had reason to expect it to—all of the recent attention had, after all, been more focused on the residents and less on the hotel itself—but she couldn’t help feeling awful for the princess, working so hard with comparatively little to show for it.

Of course, we didn’t think it’d work, either.

That was a gentle way of putting it.

“Oh! Millie!” Charlie looked up when she heard hoofsteps on the tile, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. She smiled in that unique way people had when they were deeply stressed but still genuinely meant that smile. Millie was very familiar with that expression.

“Hi, Princess,” Millie said, clasping her hands behind her back and stepping up to the desk. “Don’t worry, I ain’t here cuz’a any trouble. Just wanted t’ know if y’might be able t’ point me to Alastor’s room.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. “Alastor?” she echoed. “Ah… I could,” she hedged. “Can I ask why?”

“Just wanted t’ talk,” Millie said. “I’ll make sure no damage comes t’ th’ place. Promise.”

The princess still looked hesitant, but Millie could also see something else in her expression. Was it relief? “I… sure,” Charlie said, pointing down a hallway off the lobby, just past the main stairway. “Right down that way, third door on your left. He almost never lets anyone in, though, so don’t be surprised if he doesn’t answer.”

“Oh, he’ll answer,” Millie said confidently. She waved, heading off. “Thanks!”

“Good luck!”

As Millie passed out of the lobby and into the hallway, she was immediately struck by a different sort of feeling that seemed to permeate the corridor, or perhaps just this entire area of the hotel. The air was heavy, but not quite stale; there was something almost abandoned about the atmosphere, as though almost no one ever actually came down this way. Of course, from what she’d been told, everyone else lived up on the second floor. Why was Alastor so far away from everyone else?

The door in question wasn’t hard to find. It didn’t exactly look different from every other door in the building, but it also did, somehow; it even felt a little colder as she stepped closer and raised her hand to knock firmly on the wood. There was no response at all, but Millie didn’t let it deter her, just knocking again. “Alastor?” she called out, still feeling a little strange about calling the Radio Demon his name to his face (or door). “Alastor, it’s Millie. Y’know, from IMP?” Still no answer. She just… presumed he was listening and continued. “I got some stuff I wanna say t’ you. And I can either say it in yer room or say it out here in th’ hallway where I know you can hear me.” Apparently, even that threat wasn’t enough, so she took a deep breath. “...okay. I just came from our offices, and I was talkin’ t’ Angel Dust, and he–!”

The moment she said that name, she heard a click from inside the wood. The door remained closed, but when Millie turned the handle, the door creaked open. There was a fleeting moment of reminding herself that she still had time to turn around and leave—good to know her sense of self-preservation was still working, anyway—but she squared her shoulders and let herself inside.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it sure wasn’t a combination sitting room, office, and bedroom that opened up into what looked like a whole-ass swamp from somewhere on Earth. Alastor was standing at the edge of the platform that ended his room and turned into marshland, turned away from the door with one hand behind his back.

Oh, right. His only hand now, huh?

His other sleeve was folded, pinned to itself, probably to keep the fabric from flapping around while he was working. He didn’t turn when he spoke, but Millie could hear him quite well, his voice masked in a thick layer of radio static. “You truly are quite brave, coming here on your own,” he said. “Don’t you remember what almost happened to your employer, the last time he was alone with me?”

Millie didn’t let herself feel fear, just holding onto the quiet anger that was the simmered remains of her hot rage. She put her hands on her hips, glaring. “Yeah, well, Blitzø’s a dumbass,” she said. “Besides, it ain’t bravery, I’m here t’ ask you what th’ fuck you think you’re doin’.”

Alastor tilted his head curiously, then turned it without turning his body, looking at her over his shoulder. It was much easier to see that his eyes were glowing in the dim light of his room. “I fail to see what you mean, my dear.”

She scoffed, gesturing with one hand. “Yeah, right,” she said. “If y’didn’t know what I meant, y’wouldn’t’a let me in when I said Angel’s name.”

He squinted at her, then pivoted his body to match the angle of his head. He then vanished into a shadowy mist on the floor, emerging in one of the chairs before the fireplace. He gestured to the other. “I suppose I’ll admit to feeling intrigued. Please, sit.”

It was phrased as a request, but Millie knew it wasn’t. She refused to let any fear show on her face as she plopped herself down, knees together and hands braced on her thighs. Alastor was watching her expectantly, so Millie asked, “Why’re you avoidin’ him?”

Alastor’s eyebrow arched. “Is that what he said?”

“No,” Millie said. “But he told me what happened. Y’know, with yer mark and all.”

Something flashed in Alastor’s eyes for the briefest instant, nowhere near long enough for Millie to determine what it was. “Then I should think everything self-evident,” he said, his voice light and airy in a way she would absolutely have believed if she hadn’t known someone like Blitzø as long as she had. “We had an arrangement, which came to its conclusion. I fail to understand why everyone is making such a fuss over all of this.”

Millie frowned at him. “Y’really care that much about th’ mark?” she asked disbelievingly.

He laughed. It was a little too loud. “Oh, my dear Millie, I have never thought that thing to be any more than a potential inconvenience. I hardly put any stock in what some unseen force has decided as my fate.”

“...then…” Millie squinted at him. “...y’know yer contradictin’ yerself, doncha?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Alastor sounded uninterested and dismissive, but he was way too focused on her for that to be true.

“Well… y’said you don’t think that th’ mark means nothin’,” Millie said. “But you were willin’ to nearly get yerself killed goin’ after Angel Dust just a couple’a weeks ago, and now yer actin’ like you ain’t even thought about him in days.” Alastor didn’t answer, just kept watching her. “...okay, lemme just… ask you this. How d’you feel about him?”

“About Angel Dust?” Alastor asked with a raised eyebrow. “No different than I felt before the mark’s activation, before this whole affair… began…” He trailed off, his eyes widening slightly, but almost instantly schooled his expression and tilted his head at her. “Why so keenly interested in this topic, anyway? You hardly know either one of us, yet you came in here with pure Hellfire in your eyes.”

Millie clenched her fists against her thighs. “...Moxxie and I ain’t soulmates,” she said. “I’ve never met mine, and his…” She trailed off, cold anger filling her at the simple memory of the broken soulmate mark on her husband’s skin. “And ever since th’ two of us started datin’, the people who know give us shit for it. His dad fuckin’ despises me, an’ my parents won’t even give him a chance. Fuck, my siblings pretend he doesn’t exist. My brother tried settin’ me up on a date, last time I went home.”

Alastor tilted his head a little. “But you married him anyway, didn’t you? So, clearly, you don’t care.”

“No, I don’t, but that don’t make it no less exhaustin’ to deal with,” Millie said. “I had to convince him that I wanted t’ go out with him, an’ just ‘cause I don’t care what anybody thinks don’t make it easy to put up with people makin’… remarks.” She looked away. On top of the other reasons people think we shouldn’t be together, of course. “And I almost listened t’ all the shit they were sayin’. I thought about it. And it… it would’ve been th’ worst mistake I ever made.”

Alastor didn’t answer right away. The silence was thick and weighted; Millie didn’t need to look at him to know he was thinking. Finally, he said, “Is that what this is? An intervention because you think I’m making some kind of mistake?”

“No, I ain’t tryin’ t’ tell you what to do,” Millie said, shaking her head. “But I saw how people act around you. I know how scared they are of you. And I’m pretty sure none of ‘em are gonna tell you this shit.”

“Do you know why they’re scared of me?” Alastor asked. When Millie looked up at him again, his eyes were glowing. “Because I’ve killed for less than this. You saw what I did to Husker for challenging me. What makes you think you’ll fair better?”

Millie shook her head. “I don’t think you’ll kill me. Besides, it ain’t gonna make you feel no better if y’do.”

Alastor stared at her. There was a lot he wasn’t saying. Finally, he closed his eyes. “You should leave.”

“Okay,” Millie said with a shrug, sliding out of the chair. “I said my piece. Your choice what t’do with it.”

She crossed the room and opened the door, but before she could step out, Alastor’s voice gave her pause. “Tell your boss… that I owe him a favor.”

Millie blinked, glancing back, but she didn’t see Alastor anymore. She smiled a little. “Okay. I’ll do that. Bye, Alastor.”

As she closed the door behind her, she thought she could hear a voice that murmured, goodbye, Miss Millie.

•••

• Week Three

“He’s really not doin’ too hot, is he?”

Cherri turned her head and watched Mimzy slide into the bar seat next to her, but the shorter Sinner wasn’t actually looking at her. Cherri followed Mimzy’s line of sight to where Angel had attracted a small group of admirers; it wasn’t odd to see him surrounded by people, but it was weird that most of the little group seemed to be some variety of woman. It looked like Angel had been invited to join their table, and while he was happily answering questions and taking selfies with some of them, he didn’t seem to be flirting with the two or three more male-looking Sinners.

“No,” Cherri said, allowing a little of her worry to escape now that her best friend was fully occupied elsewhere. “I’ve never seen him this bad. I mean, not this way, at least. …makes me wanna go back to the hotel and blow Alastor up.”

Mimzy cackled. “It’d serve the little bastard right!” She sobered quickly, drawing Cherri’s gaze back to her. “He was askin’ me about places for rent around the city. Sounds like he’s thinkin’ about a little cut and run.”

Cherri sighed. “…fuck’s sake,” she muttered, turning back to the bar. “Well, what am I supposed to do about it? Angie wants to go, that’s his business. He should be allowed to make his own choices.”

“Chill out, babydoll, you don’t gotta do shit. Just thought you’d wanna know.”

Cherri drummed her fingernails against her glass. Mimzy wasn’t the sharpest french fry in the crayon box, as the saying didn’t go, but she still noticed a lot more than people thought. There was a heavy implication in Mimzy’s tone, one that said you’d know better than anyone why he wants to leave.

But that was fucking stupid. She’d left because she didn’t want to be there anymore, full stop, and she didn’t need anyone telling her different. If Angel leaving had anything to do with Alastor, then that would mean that her leaving had something to do with Husk.

And it didn’t. It wasn’t like she missed the crotchety old bastard; he drank too much, he always saw the negative in everything, he gave up too easily, he… well, he was kinda funny and charming, when he wanted to be, and he certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes for a fuzzy sorta guy. And there was that little smile he got when he—

But what, was Mimzy trying to suggest that Angel missed Alastor?

When Cherri left the bar, Angel told her he would stick around for a bit longer, so she made the trek back to her apartment by herself. As she walked, she let her mind wander to that afternoon that Angel had first told her about the mark. He’d been so confused, so… scared? Was that the word for it?

I should have taken things more seriously.

And when Angel had been taken to VoxTek, Alastor had seemed so legitimately enraged. Cherri couldn’t remember ever seeing him like that; usually, he played his cards so close to the chest, it was impossible to even guess at what he was thinking. So, what, was she supposed to believe Alastor actually cared about him?

That… was a really, really big ask.

Cherri stopped outside her apartment, freezing when she saw a note on the wood, a knife stabbed through it to keep it in place. She took hold of it and pulled, glancing over the single word of greeting, ‘Matiu’.

Yeah, sure, deadname me twice, why don’t you.

She let her eyes skim down the still-too-familiar curves and jagged edges of her father’s handwriting, but when she hit the words ‘no son of mine is going to be seen out with’, she crumpled the paper up in both hands and ignited the ball with a loud bang and flash that quickly reduced the paper to nothing but ash. She then let it fall to the carpet in the hallway, dusting her hands off before she entered her apartment. No fucking way was that thing coming inside with her.

Door locked securely behind her, Cherri spun on her heel and flopped back onto her couch, her already dim mood soured considerably by the memory of her father hanging over her head once again. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, running her thumb across the black screen in thought.

Talking to Angel wouldn’t do any good; if the stubborn bitch had made his mind up, he’d made it up, and that was it. And, obviously, she couldn’t talk to Alastor. Charlie? No. Cherri liked the princess well enough, but she got the feeling that would only make matters worse.

She realized she’d turned her phone on and gone to her contacts without thinking. Husk’s number was lit up, ready for her to call or text. Cherri stared at those four letters, wondering… would he help her? Would he even pick up if she called? There was a time she never would have asked that question; before the stupid spade on her left shoulder had ruined everything, she’d had a friendship with Husk that would have weathered any number of late-night phone calls. He had always had time for her, and she always had time for him. She wasn’t sure why she was so comfortable; it wasn’t normal for a guy like that to put her so at ease, when that sort of rough-around-the-edges, gruff, unapproachable man had been the first to call her slurs and throw beer at her when she was alive. And before she could figure it out, the goddamn mark had gotten in the way and tried to tell her what she was supposed to be feeling, and it freaked her out, and it freaked him out, and now… now, she’d never know.

Cherri was so frustrated she could scream. She had no one to call, because everyone at the Hotel would—

Her eyes widened. Oh. Shit. I know.

Thirty seconds later, phone held to her ear and her hand rubbing a tear from her eye that she pretended not to feel, she listened to the rhythmic ringing before she heard the click and a deep, resonant voice filled her ears. “Miss Cherri Bomb?”

“I’ve told you, Rocky, you don’t have to call me that,” Cherri said as she walked towards her apartment window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer out onto the street below. “I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

“Huh? Oh, no, we’re still on… hiatus,” he said after a careful pause. “Nobody knows when the studio’ll be running again. Uh, anyway, what’s up?”

Cherri let out a long breath. “…okay, this might be a sensitive topic, but I really need you to stick with me. It’s about Angel.”

“I figured,” Rocky said, and she could hear something sad in his tone. “How’s he doing?”

“That’s a complicated question. He’s healed pretty well, physically.”

“That’s good.”

Cherri nodded to herself. “…I just wanted to ask you… how he was at work, like… the last month before everything blew up.”

Rocky made a surprised noise, then lapsed into what sounded like thought. “…quiet, for Angel. I mean, he never really… Mr. Valentino didn’t like him socializing with us too much, y’know? But he always did as much as he could, especially once he didn’t live in the building anymore. We figured getting out and into a new place… y’know, made him braver. It was just the past few weeks that he got all thoughtful and shit, like he always had something on his mind. I mean, we all noticed the mark, but nobody said anything, since we knew Mr. Valentino’d lose his shit if we did. I figured it was that. Wasn’t it?”

Cherri sighed. “Yeah. I mean, I guess.” She tapped her fingernails against her arm. “Did he seem… upset? About the mark.”

Rocky made a low sound, punctuated by some splashing and clinking; he must have been doing dishes or something. “Nah. I wouldn’t say that. He seemed like he was in a better mood than usual, especially those last couple of weeks. And one of the guys on the makeup team said he saw him running his fingers over it and smiling to himself. …we figured, whoever it was, Angel must’ve been real happy about it.”

Resisting the urge to start cursing, Cherri let her head fall backwards and stared at the ceiling. “You think so?”

“He never said so, but… when you work with a guy for so many years, you get to figure out his tells, y’know?”

“I guess you’d have to. …thanks, Rock, sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. Was that helpful at all?”

“It was… insightful, anyway. I’ll let you get back to your night.”

“I’ve been standing these dishes up for a date for nearly a week. They’ll break up with me if I take any longer.”

Cherri almost laughed as she said goodbye and hung up, her expression sobering as she folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against the window. This would have been so much easier if Angel had been miserable.

Then again, it was just like Alastor to go and actually make him happy before breaking his heart, wasn’t it?

•••

• Week Four

“Put the damn bottle down.”

Husk was difficult to startle. Maybe it was because he had spent way too long not letting anything catch him by surprise, or maybe he just wasn’t jumpy, but he was difficult to consistently sneak up on… unless, of course, you were Niffty, and Niffty just so happened to be exactly that. The whiskey bottle hit the bar top before the bartender even registered lowering it, judging by the expression on his face, and his surprise morphed into a frown as he glared down at Niffty, watching her scramble up a stool and onto the bar itself.

“I’m off duty, I can drink if I want,” Husk grumbled. “What do you want?”

Niffty crossed her arms and glared up at Husk. “We’re gonna go talk to Alastor.”

“Pass.”

“Why not?” Niffty demanded, stomping her foot. “You know Angel’s leaving, and we need to do something about it!”

“No, Niff, we don’t.” Husk folded his arms and leaned back, looking away from her. “Angel’s a grown-ass man, no matter how he acts sometimes. If he wants to leave—”

“But he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t!” Niffty glared at him. “Don’t make me play my trump card.”

Husk squinted at her. She could tell that he really wanted to dismiss her, but he was way, way too curious to just let it slide. “...the fuck are you talking about?” he asked after a long pause, his voice so reluctant, she could hear how much he hated that he was asking.

Niffty put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “You’re just scared that if you manage to keep Angel from leaving, you won’t be able to tell yourself that there was nothing you could have done about Cherri and you’ll have to face the fact that maybe you could have gotten her to stay, too.”

Husk’s ears actually flattened at that. “You’re crossing the line, Niff.”

“I don’t care,” Niffty said. “Angel’s our family, Husk, and whether you wanna admit it or not, so is Alastor. And if we don’t do anything, all the progress Alastor’s made since coming here’s gonna be undone. Do you want to see that happen?”

He looked away, then closed his eyes. “...Alastor never listens to me.”

“But he might.” Niffty let her voice soften. “...please, Husk? I won’t be able to convince him by myself. Just… please, can we try?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dropped his rag on the bar and walked around it, heading for the side hallway. “Come on, let’s get this over with,” he said. Niffty squeaked and hopped down, scurrying along after him and following him down the hallway; she only stopped when she heard footsteps, and she glanced backwards just in time to catch a brief glimpse of Angel as he headed through the lobby and towards the front doors. She felt the urge to run after him, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Not right now.

Alastor’s door was locked the same way it always was, and Niffty raised her small fist, knocking repeatedly. “Alastor, open up!” she called through the wood. “Come on, it’s us, let us in!”

With a heavy sigh, Husk took up knocking when her hand got tired. “Niffty’s pretty determined,” he called. “We can stand here all night if we have to.”

The door didn’t unlock, but a sudden shock of cold darkness from underneath the door made both of them back up quickly to give Alastor’s shadow room to manifest on the door. It looked distressed as it glanced between the two of them, and then seemed to deflate, like it thought they might be someone else.

“...will you let us in?” Husk asked the shadow. “It’s… pretty time sensitive.”

The shadow shook its head, body language obviously dejected.

“Please,” Niffty said, clasping her hands together. “We just wanna make everything better, okay? Can’t you just let us try?”

A soft purring sound filled the air as the shadow rubbed its hands together, looking like it was debating something. Eventually, it vanished under the door again, and Niffty heard the lock click. She released a breath she didn’t even know she was holding as Husk opened the door and ushered her in first.

Alastor’s room was an absolute wreck. It was worse than the broken desk had been; now, it looked like he had been on a mission to absolutely destroy everything he could get his hands on, furniture splintered and cracked and strewn everywhere. Niffty winced, tearing her eye from the disastrous mess (must clean must clean must clean) and forcing herself to look for Alastor.

“He’s probably in the swamp,” Husk said, offering his arm out to Niffty. “Come on. Let’s go look for him.” She nodded, scurrying up his arm until she was on his shoulder. He then began walking, heading out into the seemingly infinite marshland that surrounded Alastor’s bedroom.

It wasn’t long before they lost track of anything else, all semblance of the hotel falling away until Niffty could have believed they really were out in the middle of nowhere. Husk was quiet as he walked, so Niffty took up the mantle of calling for Alastor, cupping her hands around her mouth and pausing after each repetition of his name to see if she heard someone. Minutes passed, so long that Niffty started to feel lost, and she was about to suggest they retrace their steps when it suddenly started getting really, really dark.

“Shit,” Husk muttered, falling still instantly.

“Don’t say it,” Niffty hissed in admonishment; she already knew he was right, she didn’t need an ‘I told you so’ to make herself feel worse. “...Alastor?” she called out carefully.

A creaking noise behind them made both of them fall silent. Neither of them dared turn around as they felt a presence approaching; Niffty could feel hot breath on the back of her neck, something that was at once terrifying and thrilling. “Get out,” Alastor hissed.

She could feel that Husk was shaking, just a little, as he drew a steadying breath. “...no,” he said.

“No?” Alastor echoed. It was growing even darker, and Niffty could suddenly feel that Alastor was circling them. “Have you finally truly become in touch with your wish for death, Husker?”

“If you want us to leave, throw us out,” Husk said, instead of answering. “Normally, I’d be fine with letting you just ruin your own life, but Niffty really wants to talk to you, and I’m not gonna let you bully her.”

Alastor seemed to hesitate at that. “...what do you want, Niffty?”

Niffty looked in the direction that his voice seemed to be coming from. “Angel’s leaving.”

There was a long silence. “I know,” Alastor said finally. She thought it sounded painful for him to admit.

Niffty frowned. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”

“No.”

She heard him turn away and raised her voice before he could leave. “Alastor, come back!” she snapped. “Why are you doing this?!”

“I’m not doing anything,” Alastor hissed, his voice distant, swallowed by shadow. “Angel Dust chose to leave. I had nothing to do with that.”

“And you’re just okay with that?!”

“NO!” The exclamation was so loud it hurt her ears, and out of the darkness, a figure swelled before them huge and imposing. His eyes were crazed, his smile strained and violent, his posture angular and sharp and standing over them like he had been broken and stitched together over and over again. Both Niffty and Husk shrank under his gaze, but to Husk’s credit, he didn’t move away. “But what am I supposed to do about it?! I have no right to speak to him! He probably has no desire to ever lay eyes on me again! I have never done anything except hurt him, and it will be better for him to leave! He’ll be happier without me around!”

“Alastor…” Niffty whispered.

Husk drew a deep breath. “...Alastor,” he said, keeping his own voice level. “Do you really believe that?”

Alastor snarled, looking away, and didn’t answer. He seemed to be shrinking into himself, as though his usual intimidation tactic was nothing more than posturing this time. It wasn’t long before he was roughly the same size as he usually was, and his eyes…

…is Alastor crying…?

Niffty placed her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping in shock. She felt Husk stiffen, but when he spoke, he kept from sounding like he had noticed. “...look,” Husk said, “I know I don’t get it, not… not really. But I also do, better than you might think. And whatever you do now, that’s completely up to you. Just remember it’s what you do right now that’s going to matter, even if you change your mind one day. And… if you let Angel walk away right now, you’re never going to see him again. Not the same way, anyway.” Husk tilted his head a little. “...are you alright with that?”

Alastor opened his mouth. He slowly turned his head, looking between the two of them, his expression… confused. Lost, maybe. Niffty might have even gone so far as to say he looked scared, and he probably had no idea. “...no,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“Then go,” Niffty said. “If you really aren’t okay with it, then go talk to him!”

Alastor shook his head. “He doesn’t… he doesn’t want me to…”

As he trailed off, Husk said, “It doesn’t fucking matter, Alastor. You have minutes to make a decision that’s going to affect the rest of your life, and if you’re going to let your stubbornness lock you into something that will make you miserable, you’re going to have to deal with that. I know you don’t like other things deciding your fate, but that’s too damn bad, because when you have any kind of relationship with another person, what they decide matters, too. So do something.”

Alastor stared at Husk, and for a second, Niffty thought he might strike out at him.

Then, the shadows swallowed him, and he was gone.

Niffty blinked. “...did he go find him?”

“Who knows?” Husk asked, his voice suddenly drained. “Whatever he decided to do, it’s not our problem now. And as soon as we find our way out of this fucking place, you’re making dinner tonight.”

“Ugh, fine, okay.”

•••

Yeah, Cherri's a trans woman in my headcanon (and Maori!)

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This scene would kick off my obsession that has lasted a year and is ongoing

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he was having a tea party with the duck in the party hat. how have i never noticed this before

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Dancing with Demons Chapter 24: Emotional Support Cyclops™

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Sign-ups Close February 1st!!

Gosh, everything is flying by. Including writer signups that close in just five days!!

We have so many writers and we're so excited to get to work on some pretty amazing projects!!

Theres still some time for you to sign up as a writer and be part of an amazing community!!

And you artists!! We'll be opening the doors for you come May!!

We've got a lot of work to do before then and we'll be putting on our typing shoes and making some amazing works!!

If you wanna be part of this as a writer, theres a link for signups at the bottom, and if you wanna be apart of the artist, then give us a follow to stay up to date and get notifications for when those signups out and mark your calendar! Its gonna be wild!

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Dancing with Demons Chapter 23: Common Ground