#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ’ꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ; ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɢɪᴏᴜꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Alastor and Angel Dust 」

[burning-fcols]

✧ 「   @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ   」   ✧  - ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ★

「 ☆ 」 Slowly slipping into the darkness overtaking his mind, head lolls forward with painful, pathetic jolts of his neck. Mottled with bruises from large hands. Angel's feeble attempts to keep it resting against the rattling door— to force open his heavy eyes —making the arachnid appear like he is fighting off sleep; the blood smeared on the tile floor and painting his body ruining any potential innocence of the scene. Mind sluggish and body a cacophony of pains, Angel faintly wonders why he even still STRUGGLES against the temptation of surrender. It'd be so effortless to allow himself to retreat into the emptiness he knows awaits him...

It's going to happen anyway. Maybe it'd be best to hurry it along, rather than give his assailant the satisfaction of watching him take his final breath... Trembling violently where he's slumped on the ground, Angel can't blame it entirely on the merciless POUNDING against the door. Wood creaking, lock rattling, horrid words— insults and threats intermingling into an incomprehensible blob of familiar noise —leaking through as the spider flits in and out of consciousness.

He doesn't know how long it took before he finally collapsed onto the floor. Cold and hard, blood pooled beneath him blurring as his eyes flutter shut. Drifting into brief bouts of comprehension, Angel's head THROBS as the sounds of— ... what can only be described as Hell itself being unleashed, arises in the other room. Breaking past the splintered door and assaulting Angel's senses. Fur bristles with static, a tingling sensation dancing across him... Intense and yet unrecognizable amongst the overwhelming exhaustion, Angel unable to decipher anything aside from an instinctive understanding of danger.

But... not towards him. Not anymore. This symphony of sadism promising a safety Angel can't coherently comprehend, but FEELS. Knowing, in those faint whispers of consciousness, that the cause of the carnage is a good thing. That somehow, amongst the agonizing everything... there is still GOOD.

That's his last thought before he finally relaxes... The spider is limp in Alastor's arms when he's carefully retrieved from his filth-ridden hiding spot, leaving behind a bright smear of pink in his wake. Feeble rise and fall of his chest is the only indicator that Angel hasn't surrendered completely. Mouth slightly agape as air weakly enters, smear of blood shows where Angel had attempted to wipe it away with an arm. A small act of defiance on a body beaten to a devastating degree. Unfortunately, it's not the first time Angel has been put in such a state... When one lives the life he does— has been in HELL as long as he has —it's impossible to avoid.

But for someone who has never witnessed it firsthand, it's bound to be a shock.

Being gingerly held the way Alastor is? Having someone look down at him with such intensity, wanting— needing him to open his eyes, no matter how much it hurts? If only because it would hurt them so much worse if they were to remain closed... THAT is new. An incomprehensible turn of events that Angel doesn't get to realize the implications of. Or even fully understand through the haze. Robbed of the significance of the moment, a few unbearable breaths pass before Angel blearily open his eyes. Barely and blurred by moisture, but blessedly open.

He's awake... Through some speck of mercy, Angel gets to wake up. Enough to see a figure looming above. An unmistakable haze of red and feeling of static. A tear slides down his cheek, stinging in its trail. He can't quite— ... What is Alastor saying? He's talking, that much is clear but all meaning is lost. Angel too tired, his head swimming too violently. Were he in a better state of mind, there'd be so much to say. To ASK. The most prominent being ❛ Why are you here? ❜ Why go through the trouble of saving someone like Angel? It's not as if Angel would have permanently died. Sure, it would have been a pain to deal with. Another traumatic event to add to the pile. Another event to prove how LITTLE he actually matters—

But honestly, who cares? Even Angel is having trouble sympathizing with himself at the moment. Serves him right for being stupid enough to get into this situation. Right now, the person who seems most invested in his well being is—

❝ A-Alastor...? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

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「 ☆ 」 Alastor is bullshitting as soon as he opens his mouth… which is fine. So was Angel. There’s a sort of solidarity in it. Besides, Angel would be lying even further if he claimed not to enjoy Alastor’s dramatic show of faux-politeness. When most people see fit to treat him like complete shit—sometimes while showering praise —one can’t blame him for enjoying when actions match thoughtful words. Insincere as it all is, at least it’s HAPPENING.

And hey, he got a flower out of it.

Eyes widened with surprise at Alastor biting the bait, phone is absentmindedly tucked away as he gives the deer his full attention. Curious where this is heading, Angel plays along ( improvising to what other people desire is a strong skill of his ) with a coy upturn of his lips and a measured batting of his long lashes. Were it aimed at anyone else, they’d be thinking of railing him against the closest surface… Aimed at Alastor? Well, Angel knows he’s smart enough to catch the cheekiness. ❝ Yeah. I guess it’s a start~ ❞

Letting Alastor tuck the flower into his fur, Angel forces back the ever-so-slight shiver at the arguably non-sexual but strangely-intimate gesture. Fuck, it really has been a while since he’s been treated with a speck of gentlemanly-demeanor. If a lean-in and flower tuck is enough to make breath stutter in his chest. Pride wounded by this unseemly glimpse at his own humanity, Angel silently chastises himself for acting like a delicate dame. He’s the FURTHEST thing from such, and anyone in Hell with a horny-itch to scratch knows it. Even those who AREN'T in the market for what he provides still know of him. Besides, this ❛ courting ❜ shit is fun enough to pass the time with, but he can’t forget WHO he’s playing with.

Oddly, it isn’t fear of what Alastor may do to him that forces Angel to keep his excitement in check. It’s what he knows the deer WON’T do… Not that Angel truly minds it. He can find willing dick easily. But it’s best for his image if he doesn’t let the other man catch on that Angel Dust is capable of getting flustered, however faintly. Especially not by something as cheesy as what Alastor just pulled.

Bitch may never let him live it down.

❝ Oh? Well ain’t that an interestin’ question… I guess, if I had ta choose— ❞ Angel drawls, pressing a finger into his cheek as he raises his gaze. Pretending to mull over the inquiry, Angel had known the real answer as soon as it passed Alastor’s lips. He’d rather Valentino not be angry at all. That never ends well for him. So naturally, narrowed eyes ( a mirror of the other man’s ) focus upon Alastor as he flashes a sharp smirk. Leaning in a bit closer— not suggestively as most would expect, but in more of a challenge —voice drops to a growl as he bluffs, ❝ I want him angry enough ta rip my fuckin’ throat out wit’ his teeth. ❞

Cue a wink to break the intense demeanor, Angel’s tone following suit, ❝ Think ya can handle that, Smiles?~ ❞ 「 ☆ 」

@burning-fcols cont. from (X)

Grin spreading wider across his face, Alastor made a show of turning towards the spider, voice laced with insincerity as he gave a small bow of 'apology'. "Angel, my dear fellow, I hadn't seen you there!" Wrong, he just didn't want to provoke any potential oncoming's if he could help it.

This though, this had the opportunity to be very fun indeed...

"Do speak up next time, old chap! I would hate to subject you to ungentlemanly behavior such as this! Judging people so openly, where are my manners!" A dry laugh accompanied by a laugh track, the demon's eyes narrowing dangerously at the spider. "Oh of course, my dear! What was I thinking?" With a twist of a hand, a flower appeared in Alastor's hold like a cheap magic trick, it being offered to Angel with a bow and a.ꞩᵯīłē. "How's this, hm? Does it live up to your classy expectations?" No need to mention this particular flower was known to symbolize death in more than a few cultures.

Reaching out with little regard for personal space, Alastor tucked the flower behind Angel's ear (or, at least where he assumed where one was under all that fluff) before conjuring up a matching one of his own to tuck into his lapel. "Tell me, just how angry would your little boss be to learn we had a night on the town? Or rather, just how ⱥꞥꞡɍɏ ⱳꝋᵾłđ ɏꝋᵾ łīҟē ħīᵯ ⱦꝋ ƀē?"

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He was no fool. Alastor saw the way Angel seemed to deflate around Sir Pentious. & While everyone else was busy congratulating him or whatever, he slipped out & proceeded to follow Angel. Stopping at their door, he gives a light rap with his knuckles. "Oh, Angel. Is everything alright?" ( I'm yeeting him over first & I'll send Adam over later. :3 ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Today has been… enlightening.

Trudging back to his room, heels click down the hall with an echoing clarity that only emphasizes how utterly alone he feels. Arms loosely hugging himself, shoulders raised and spine slightly hunched, Angel’s only solace is that he knows no one is around to see him. They’re all too busy fawning over the slithering serpent that invaded his unlikely garden. Brows crinkling and fur bristling, grip on his arms tighten for a shaky moment. Claws digging into his sleeves with faintly felt pain, before he releases his hold with a shuddering exhale.

Deflated, Angel slowly slips into his room and closes the door with a quiet click. Collapsing onto his bed, Fat Nuggets sniffs at his hair, earning little more than an absentminded pat from the spider. ❝ Thanks, Nugs… ❞ Angel half-heartedly replies, turning to lay on his side, legs curling up as his gaze grows worriedly foggy. Fuck. Harshly wiping at them with the heel of his hand, he irritably sniffs before grabbing a pillow and roughly slapping in onto his face. Screaming into it, muffled sound abruptly cuts off at the rapping on his door.

Double fuck.

Sitting upright, pillow tossed to the side, Angel hastily fixes his mussed hair and wipes at the damp streaks on his face. Voice thicker than he’d hoped, it cracks against his Will as he barks out through a smile so strained it makes his cheeks hurt, ❝ Neva’ betta’, Smiles! ❞ Despite his outwardly chipper demeanor, internally Angel can barely catch his breath. Confusion isn’t the word for it… Not strong enough. Not panicked enough. Not grateful enough, even if the relief is one Angel shoves deep into the recesses of his core. Bewildered about Alastor coming to check on him, there’s a smidge of annoyance at being found out. Still, if anyone WAS to notice something amiss, it would be the Radio Demon. But not due to cunning alone—

Surprising as it would be to anyone, in the brief time they’ve known each other, Angel and Alastor have formed an… understanding of sorts. Two souls so blatantly unalike at a first glance, somehow interacting with more civility than the rest of Hell sees fit to bestow. Frankly, Angel is pretty sure Alastor only talks to him for the novelty of interacting with someone who’s strangely unafraid. Even Vaggie, brash as she may be, has moments of genuine unease around the deer. But while Angel’s curiosity had grown, his FEAR has yet to.

Maybe there’s none to spare, the spider stretched too thin as is.

Getting up, he walks over to the door and opens it a crack. Enough to show his face but not actively inviting the other inside yet. ❝ What’s th’ matta’… It gettin’ too chummy out there for ya? They all start havin’ an orgy or somethin’? ❞ Angel crudely jokes, instinctively trying to downplay the seriousness of Alastor’s question. Wanting to drive the other away… all while fighting the equally-strong urge to open the door and let someone inside. 「 ☆ 」

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Angel would you have a three way with husk and alastor?

「 ☆ 」 ❝ Are you fuckin' serious? Yer actually askin' me that? ❞ Angel laughs, taking a final swig from a bottle he'd swiped from the bar when Husk wasn't attending to it. Drained of its contents before Vaggie could find out and stop him, he haphazardly tosses it to the side, paying no mind to the shattering of glass. Niffty will take care of it before it can cause an issue. ❝ Have you SEEN those two? ❞

❝ Hell fuckin' YEAH I'd wanna be th' fillin' in a Smiles an' Sourpuss Sandwich! Jus' imagine th' kinda fun we could have togetha'. ❞ No need to imagine because Angel is already vocalizing it. ❝ Alastor could rip inta me wit' those teeth'a his, while Husk pins me down wit' his big-ass claws... Bambi could throw a few of his tentacles inta th' mix. I could finally learn whetha' Husk has a rough tounge an' barbed dick. An' I've been wonderin' if his wings are sensitive. 'Cause y'know, sometimes messin' wit' 'em gets people REAL horny. Or at least chills them th' fuck out. ❞

Either way, those two look like they could use some stress-relief.

Reclining in his seat, arms rest behind his head as he crosses one leg over the other, ❝ Same wit' those fluffy ears Smiles has... I have a feelin' scratching jus’ right around them could be very interestin~ ❞ Call it ingrained instinct or merely wishful thinking... but he stands by his statement. Not that it really matters, since Alastor and Husk don't seem like the threesome-having type. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

For once the sight of blood and carnage wasn't met with a laugh and the whistle of a jaunty tune from the sadistic overlord, not even a smile able to truly form on his face beyond a faint upward twitch of his lips as he looked about the litter of bodies (or rather parts of bodies) of the latest series of fools attempting to bring harm to the hotel. He didn't know what had happened, one moment Angel had come frantically through the door, haggard and bloody in an all too familiar way, and then there had been banging where he had slammed the door shut with desperation. "Fans" of his, the spider had said, feeling themselves obliged to take what wasn't willing to be given. That same ⱥꞥꞡēɍ that followed the first time Angel had called him for help suddenly had a suffocating chokehold where it gripped the dreaded radio demon's chest, Angel having been gently pushed aside with the promise that he would handle things. Handle things he had, by the looks of the new tapestry to paint the outer walls and walkways of the hotel, the only thing not that sickening red being one pink spot near blotted out by the sticky, sulfuric scent of decay. His fault his fault ĦĪꞨ ӺȺɄŁȾ- Blood soaking into his clothes as he knelt beside the spider, Alastor frantically tried to sift through the hazy static of the last several minutes to figure out just what he had done. There was no way this wasn't his fault, losing control like he had again. He was better than this, ħē ħⱥđ ⱦꝋ ƀē. The demon found his body trembling as he took in the sheer amount of damage accosting Angel's frail form, a promise leaving his desperately smiling lips in the only way he knew how to make one: "Angel? I need you to make a deal with me, my dear. You do not die, and I will share the burden of your pain to ensure it." Please please please take his hand ꝑŁɆȺꞨɆ- //whistles innocently - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Angel— despite how life and those found within it so often tries to make him feel —isn't helpless. He's proven such just as many times as he's believed otherwise, the spider having no shortage of carnage in his past. Capable of shooting, stabbing, or even shredding with sharp fangs through throngs of assailants should the mood strike. Whether the fight is fair or not, and it's usually not. But that's the thing about Hell, it refuses to let one get overly-comfortable. Or too cocky, lest they forget exactly where they are. Which is why Angel was quick to see the writing on the wall.

Already battered thanks to a day at the studio, practically thrown out the doors by a pissed off Valentino ( given a few choice insults and a reminder to be there bright and early tomorrow ) , he was in no mood to deal with one asshole... Let alone a gang of them. Especially when each one he took out seemed to spawn two more, Angel forced to cut his losses and retreat to the confines safety of the hotel. Tail between his legs and a grimace on his face, having FORCED his body to take him there; rather than accept the alternative and salvage his pride.

Bo would be pissed at him if he knew how often that thought arose.

Perhaps this is penance. Pain makes it even more difficult for an already-exhausted mind to cling to the dregs of memory that manage to slip through. Unsure how he got here in the chaos that followed, but VIVIDLY aware he's not alone in his state. Hell, compared to his would-be-assailants, he barely suffered a scratch... Faintly hoping the mess can be handled before Charlie or the others make it back from whatever ❛ well-meaning but ultimately doomed ❜ excursion the Princess managed to drag them on, Angel has the decency to feel guilty about his part to play in it.

Fuck. All this pink stands out garishly against the reds of the hotel... So out of place. Go figure, he can't even bleed out properly. He'd bitterly laugh at the thought if it wasn't taking all of his focus to merely keep breathing. Shallow... Shaky... Selfish breaths. Silently chastising himself for taking so long to slip his way back into limbo, he bristles at how excruciating a return it's going to be. Through the years, the deaths, he's learned that the more damage upon ones body— the more painful and difficult it is to return. This is going to be one for the records.

Blearily looking up at Alastor, a glint of surprise shines in tired eyes. Despite this not being the first time the other looked at him in such a way— Angel would call it worried, if he didn't know any better —he still can't get accustomed to it. Can't understand it. Right now, he's not in any state to even try... He doesn't realize he's smiling until a weak chuff of a laugh has passed soft lips, the fingers of one hand twitching as Angel wants to reach up and comfortingly gently pat Alastor's cheek. It doesn't move. Which is probably for the best, Angel doubting the Radio Demon would care to be touched in that manner. ❝ Trust me, Al... You don'— ❞

A pained cough, body contorting with the action before he grows limp once more. Grimacing at the fresh trail of pink trickling down the corner of his mouth, he's quick to replace it with a wry grin. As any good performer could. ❝ You don' want ta feel any part'a this. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

@shining-stxrs

so i did this today ^^; original pose by @mapleleauf

[burning-fcols]

💉💉 alastor to angel

- ✩ { @hazbinxdisaster​ } ✩

✩ { Meme } ✩

{ ☆ } Angel doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry... True, he’s already done plenty of both— even if the spider still refused to let himself completely break in front of the over-enthusiastic and incredibly stupid pieces of shit that managed to get the drop on him. Although to his merit, not everyone who attacked had walked away from the ambush afterward. Even as tears cascaded down his face, flowing from the agony and ‘amusing’-irony of it all, Angel never stopped mocking his captors, be it raucous laughter or a mere chuckle... He REFUSED to succumb. Refused to cease his torrent of snark and insults and blatant suggestions that they go FUCK themselves.

Needless to say, they hadn’t exactly appreciated it...

But who the fuck cares? Either way, it was going to be torment for him. The arachnid could see it in their eyes the moment those fuckers first jabbed him with a needle, fire seeming to course through his veins and steal his breath in an instant, Angel’s body tensing before spasming into abrupt darkness. It was like the hellfire promised to him, preached about by all those bible-humping posers, had suddenly been released into his very being. So yeah, definitely not on his top ten list of drugs... Weakly, Angel chuckles at his own internal coping mechanism joke, the sound broken by wretched coughing as the taste of iron coats his dry throat, pink blood splattering onto the ground and dripping down his chin, discolored and thicker than it should be.

Gross.

Grimacing at the vile taste covering his tongue, Angel resists the urge to spit it out, not wanting to waste what little hydration still lingers in him. Mind over matter, mind over matter. His body may be weak, battered and bruised and begging for an end... but his mind is— ... Another bitter chuckle as the thought ‘strong as ever’ flits by like an insult, Angel wondering whether he could ever REALLY have considered it such. Especially as of late. Eh, maybe this is just what he gets... His punishment for humoring the idea that he might possibly be able to go clean. This is Hell, after all... about time it started ACTING like it.

What does that say about him? Having actually preferred things , fucked up as they are, to what his living reality was. Preferring the abuse to the secrecy... The vices to the struggling... The lie to the truth. To the knowledge that he’s still the same terrified little dandy he always was, just perhaps a bit better at swapping out different masks to conceal it, instead of being forced to only use one. At least his old man taught him all he needed to know about handling situations like this one. Swallowing thickly, head lolls down as if too heavy to lift, Angel taking a moment to just focus on his breathing... God, his head is swimming. Kinda hard to forget a lesson given to you by example. It takes all he has just to keep from stumbling deep into incoherent ramblings, grasping into any semblance of a ‘thought’ he can.

His pop may have been an ass, but Angel has to give it to him... he made sure he knew how to take a beating. Tongue swipes across his lips, fur cracked and matted with dried blood and bile, Angel barely aware of the revulsion that arises... Maybe he ought to have some gratitude towards Val too, for knocking him around all those times. For getting his body accustomed to misuse, for getting HIM accustomed to pain... Even if being able to ‘handle’ it doesn’t prevent it from sucking a big fat—

Huh... It’s starting to get kinda cold again.

Straining against his restraints once more, he feels the coarse fibers BITE into skin, enticing more blood from where it had already dug beneath now-matted fur and rubbed flesh raw. Warmth drips down his wrists, Angel faintly wondering if Val’s handprints from before the ordeal— how many days has it been now? —have been scrubbed away by his frantic movements. Cleansed, as it were... Wincing as he gives a final tug, Angel then slumps against the chair once more, satisfied with the throbbing pain in his arms and stinging sensation around his wrists. Something to FOCUS on... Something to keep him grounded... Which is a lot better than when things start to become numb, hazy... dulled.

Fidgeting for a few more moments, eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to cease the room’s disoriented movements. Drugs or exhaustion, he can’t tell... but it needs to cut that shit out. Needs to stop the nausea from arising, needs to save what little food may still be inside his stomach... Swallowing thickly, body shudders as he wonders how long it’ll be before his captors return. Time is a fickle thing, but he’s learned to read his body’s warning signs. Drugged out of his mind with all manners of toxins, he feels them waning... It’s almost time for more. Of everything. Feels the trembles returning, his sweat-dampened body flushing with waves of heat and chills... It’s getting hard to breathe. Hard to think. To even EXIST. 

Why is he holding on so hard anyway? What is it all for? Stubbornness? Pride? Some deep-seeded instinct that recoils at the thought of death? Hadn’t stopped him before. Or is it something even more PATHETIC... Just the thought of drugs entering his system again?

The door opens with a rusty creak, a sliver of light slipping into the dingy darkness, illuminating the spider tightly fastened to a chair. A lone spot of dulled rose-white and pink, in a damp and suffocating atmosphere... True as clockwork, the only way Angel has to feel some passage of ‘time’. Forcing a defiant smile onto his face, curling with a slow, painful crawl, lips cracked and teeth stained with fresh blood— when had he bitten his lip? —he emits a soft breath, and weakly says,  ❝  Heh... Missed me alread—  ❞  

Gaze raises expecting to see one of his tormentors, but what he is met with is... a surprise. Maybe it shouldn’t be? With a mind too fogged to properly put together what he is feeling and a body too weak to coherently say it— if he could even understand it himself —all Angel can do is blink dumbly, as if expecting the figure in the doorway to disappear at any moment. And when he doesn’t, all the spider can do is breathe—

❝  Oh...  ❞  

So that’s why he was holding on so hard. { ☆ }

[burning-fcols]

「 ☆ 」 Glancing up from his phone, Angel spares a curious look the Radio Demon's way. This is the first he's heard Alastor show any opinion when it comes to romance... Even if it IS a judgmental one. Frankly, he assumed the other had no interest in relationships. Of ANY kind, but especially the ❛ courting ❜ sort. It's odd to think of Alastor trying to seduce someone. Emotionally or otherwise. Manipulate, sure... But there's a difference between romancing and the charming-yet-creepy demeanor the other is so willing to throw at people.

Although, the dancing checks out.

❝ Is this you shootin' yer shot or jus' bitchin'? 'Cause my night's free but I REFUSE ta not have a li'l ❛ frivolity ❜ thrown my way. ❞ Angel dryly inquires, not serious in the slightest. An even bigger surprise than Alastor looking for a dancing partner would be if he accepted Angel as one. For all his flirtations, Angel knows where he stands when it comes to the Radio Demon. But it's fun to toss an empty suggestion the powerful Overlord's way, seeing how long it takes until Alastor stops acknowledging him entirely... So far, he's been getting responses.

Disinterested responses, but amusing nonetheless. Daresay ❛ entertaining ❜ .

Lips upturning into a hint of a smirk, attention goes back to his phone with a flick of his finger ( figuring the conversation will be a quick one ) ; tone gaining a teasing tone as he adds, ❝ A classy date like me at least deserves some flowa's... ❞ 「 ☆ 」

Open RP - Alastor

"I have yet to grasp the frivolity of modern courtships. So much grandstanding and mirrors, does no one simply go out dancing anymore?"

[burning-fcols]

🍼 radiodust

- ✩ { @mcwscollective } ✩

Name: Andi

Gender: Fuck if anyone aside from their parents and themselves know... They go by they/them, and thrive on constantly being mistaken for both a girl and a boy. Only if/when their antlers come in will demons’ curiosity be satiated, and even then they are hardly ever seen without their Mama’s hat on- soooooo...

Sexuality: Attracted to boys/male-identifying

Voice Claim: Annie (2014)

✩ - They take No Shit from anyone; bold and proud and ready to throw hands both literal and verbal in defense of themselves and those they care about. When angered they can be quite foul-mouthed— or when feeling snarky —but tend to take after Alastor and use classier language when speaking in normal day-to-day conversations.

✩ - Well-versed in both guns and blades, Angel definitely made sure that they knew how to handle themselves if need be. They also dabble in a bit of magic, but have yet to become quite as skilled in it. Still, the potential is there if they could only work in better harnessing. Their emotions often get the better of them when trying to utilize it, which causes it to be unstable and at times weak. If they had to choose a favorite method of kicking ass, they’d have to go with guns though, being quite a sharp-shooter.

✩ - They prefer mixing masculine and feminine clothing together— even if their tastes could be considered leaning more towards the feminine side. With pants, dresses that are slit up the front like a jacket, bows and accessories of all kinds... But they are never seen without Angel’s hat on, even falling asleep in the garment.

✩ - As they grow older, some of their spots will begin to fade like a fawn. However, the majority of them stay much like the ones on Angel. They have multiple sets of eyes with alternating colors, hence the red and pink freckles. However they only have two arms and legs; something that they wish was different since they can attest that having multiple limbs that can come and disappear at will seems incredibly useful.

✩ - Their shadow is a living companion and often takes the form of a large boar that they’ve named- ‘Tiny’. They enjoy riding around on the creature and spoil the swine much like Angel does with Fat Nuggets.

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(*plops this down here because I Love it and therefore it Belongs here*)

[burning-fcols]

🌶- SLAPS THIS DOWN FOR AL

- ✩ { @sinfulredemptions​​ } ✩

{ ☆ }   ❝  Can I cheat an’ jus’ say everythin’?  ❞  Angel says with a quirked brow and smirk, hand resting on his hip and eyes glittering with mischief. However, after some light snickering the spider’s posture softens, as does his expression. Smirk smoothing into a smaller smile, gentle and sincere as his tone as a hand brushes through his bangs, gaze now downcast to the side,  ❝  But if I have ta list somethin’... I like his smile. His actual smile.  ❞  Fingers threading through silky strands, he focuses on the way they gingerly fall through his fingers as he muses,  ❝  Not that they aren’t ALL great... You can tell a lot about how he’s feelin’ from ‘em.  ❞  

All those dumbasses who claim that he’s so ‘hard to read’, that Alastor does ‘nothing but smile’ don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about... Truth be told, Alastor is just as expressive as anyone else. All it takes is for someone to open up their damn eyes to it. To understand it... From the slight tightening of a grin, to the ‘sharpness’ of a smile— It’s all right there. But Angel has to admit, the ones that make his stomach flutter the most, that make his chest bloom with a warmth that leaks into his cheeks and even threatens to make his chest turn rosy, are the ones he aims his way when it’s just the two of them together.

When Hell is quiet, aside from the sound of jazz and a crackling fire. When things are calm and sincere and everything just feels RIGHT. When he feels safe. When he believes that they both do... Sometimes that grin is tinged with playfulness, with amusement and mirth... Other times it’s laced with what Angel knows can only be described as love fondness... But regardless of what adorns it, the essence is always the same. A smile. An honest to God, sincere smile... like the many that Alastor has managed to draw from him.

❝  An’... I like his hands too...  ❞  Angel adds, upper arms loosely crossing in front of himself, gaze lowered and words falling for his own benefit. As if they weren’t already, most of his reasoning locked within his own mind. For him and Alastor alone.  ❝  They’re... heh- skilled~  ❞  The word is purposely exaggerated, Angel more than aware of WHAT will come to mind. Frankly, that’s what he’s going for. A way to downplay the seriousness of the moment, even as a lower limb runs a finger lightly across his other wrist... mind filling with thoughts of those ‘skilled hands’. Each touch so careful and... gentle... Methodical at times, studying him in ways that others never have. Ways that he... enjoys, ‘odd’ as the studying may seem to an outside eye.

How deft fingers trail across his wrists or the back of his neck without causing him to flinch, tracing the heart on his shoulder... Angel’s own heart tenderly placed within the deer’s palms. Angel always finds himself mesmerized by their movements; so elegant and precise. Be it sharpening blades or cleaning weaponry, tuning an instrument or flipping the page of a book... Alastor’s hands are capable of maintaining and repairing, but also of destroying and deal-making. Death and life dancing across agile fingers in a morbid and majestic display that Angel can’t get enough of. Perhaps that’s one of the things that makes it all so intoxicating...

The fact that hands capable of such terrible things... are often used to bring HIM such wonder.

He’s never felt safer than when meeting that smile, than when being held and touched by those hands... Than hearing his voice and enticing a laugh, than when existing beside and with him, than knowing that— even if his mind often tries to claim otherwise —he deserves to. Damn it, he’s WORTHY of being granted those rare sights, being able to read the hidden messages littered throughout Alastor’s words and mannerisms. Alastor certainly thinks so, even if that fact alone is met with more confusion than Angel’s pride would care for. But who the fuck cares? 

It’s not about anyone else... It’s about what THEY know.

He wouldn’t expect other people to get it anyway.

They simply aren’t smart enough~  { ☆ }

[burning-fcols]

💉💉 - (*hipchecks Al in for the spood*)

- ✩ { @sinfulredemptions​ } ✩

✩ { Meme } ✩

{ ☆ } Honestly, he should have seen this coming... He kind of did, in a general sense. As if he wasn’t a big enough target when prancing around wearing a collar with Valentino’s name sprawled on it, now that he’s working arm-in-arm— quite literally —with the Radio Demon, that just makes his non-existent ass an even bigger target for those with a bone to pick with EITHER of them... and enough stupidity to actually give it a try. While lashing out at Alastor might be nothing but a wet-dream for most, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that taking out his newest little ‘recruit’— Valentino’s former lap-dog, prancing around like he’s hot shit because of his ‘scary new owner’ —would be a satisfying substitute.

Doesn’t help that Angel hasn’t been subtle in his quest to rediscover himself... In attempting to embrace his newfound freedom, trying to reconnect with his roots in a way that suits HIM too. In a way that... makes it feel like he’s making the choice to, rather than simply reverting back to the only other thing he knows. So much havoc and posturing in so little time, so much grandeur and destruction and... God, he feels pathetic just thinking about it. 

What a fucking joke... No wonder people STILL don’t take him seriously.

To be fair, he had put up quite a scuffle when those assholes put the jump on him; the leader still sporting bandages around his eye from where Angel had practically scratched it out during an earlier ‘job’. Angel had nearly managed to claw out the other one before he was restrained by the others, flailing and clawing when his guns were wretched out of his hands and his arms were wretched behind his back, a shoulder giving a sickening pop before going worriedly numb. He had been so distracted by the grubby hands forcing him down that by the time the syringe jabbed into his neck was half-empty before he realized it was even there...

And when the toxins flooded his bloodstream... there was no missing it then.

He can’t recall if the scream was in his head or if he actually did it... but he does know that after the darkness overwhelmed him, he was DAMN SURE not to do it again. Never fucking again. With each hit, each backhand— would it kill the fucker to take off his damn, chunky-ass rings? —each shot and forced snort, each and every twisted manner they tried to break him with... Angel just glared defiant daggers, spatting out blood onto too-close faces and SINKING teeth into a hand when it decided to ‘caress’ his cheek like a certain patronizing moth used to.

The glowing message in exhausted eyes clear, even as darkened circles lingered beneath his them... Hit him all they want, crack his ribs and make him cough up even more blood, make his jaw feel as unhinged as a snake with every merciless punch, do whatever the FUCK they feel the need to... but touch him with that mocking gentleness, treat him as if he’s some pansy-ass pet that needs to be ‘trained’ rather than broken... and he’ll fucking BITE A FINGER OFF.

Refusing to scream with frustration and shame, fangs sink into his own lips to stifle agonized sounds, shredding his flesh and coating his tongue with the taste of iron. Pink cakes and darkens the area around his mouth, dripping down his maw and staining teeth as Angel shakily swallows another mouthful of it, not wanting to lose anymore blood than he already has... His own taste and that of his captors’ mingling in a nauseating mix, Angel coughs as he feels bile rise up in response. Stomach clenching and chest heaving, he doesn’t know whether to be concerned that there’s NOTHING to come up anymore... or relieved that he doesn’t need to sit through the scent again. He can still feel it covering his front thanks to a harsh jab into his gut after he shakily told someone to ‘get his fuck-ugly mug outta his face’. 

... God, he’s disgusting.

Some worthless piece of shit who is in way over his head. What the FUCK was he thinking? Actually believing he could ever be seen as more than someone’s property. Could be more than someone’s attack dog- No. He’s not even THAT. He’s more like Alastor’s stray little puppy... Some mangy mongrel with a dead-ass past owner that he took pity on, strutting around and baring his teeth while dressed up in his shiny new collar. Deluding himself until life decided to smack him in the face with reality, just like it ALWAYS does when he’s stupid enough to think that he might have found something worth- Stop it. Just stop it.

The drugs must be wearing off... His insecurities always scream relentlessly at him when the withdrawal starts setting in. That means it’s almost time for them to return, to rough him up and pump him up full of those damn drugs. Making his blood boil and his heart race so frantically he feels he may have a heart attack... but still, it stops this- numbness from overtaking him. Stalls the heaviness weighing down his chest. Silences his mind, distracts him and surrounds him with a familiar feeling that he used to willingly RUN TO all the time. He had gone so long without it... Trying to find a way to live without it... He had thought he could.

Then why does he want that damn door to open again?! Why does his body yearn for the pain of a different kind... Why does he writhe and strain against his restraints, blood dripping down his wrists and biting into his skin...  Where ARE those fuckers anyway?! Making him wait like this. Leaving him alone with his thoughts, with his failure? Growling animalistically as he struggles against his chair, eyes glowing and fangs bared, Angel calls out into the surrounding darkness, voice cracking as words rub against a throat dry and raw from misuse,  ❝  HURRY TH’ FUCK UP! JUS’ DO WHAT YER GONNA DO ALREADY, ASSHOLES!  ❞  

He can’t take this for much longer... The silence... The waiting... Just fucking end it.

Just... No. He can’t- ... He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want that. Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up— The door opens and light begins to stream into the room, shining onto the spider, seeming so small amongst the vast darkness... Dulled and dingy, blinking dumbly as eyes widen at the sight he’s met with. A sight that had crossed his mind MANY times in the— how long has he been here? —moments between pain and paranoia... A face that he had both wanted and dreaded seeing, because even now... he finds himself not knowing what to say. Not knowing what he wants to say... He’s crying. When the fuck had he started crying?

How many times is Alastor going to see him cry? How many times is the deer supposed to help save him, supposed to see him fall apart, see his soul barren and witness just how... broken and ugly he actually is... For once in this entire ordeal, Angel feels as if he might have finally done it, has finally experienced what HELL truly is... About time this place delivered on a punishment worthy of his sins. Swallowing thickly, throat bobs and tears drip down his face, dampening matted fur as Angel breathes out softly...

And plasters a weak smile on his face, that somehow hurting far more than anything else.

❝  Heh... Hey, Dolcezza... I’d get up ta greet ya, buuuuuuut—  ❞  { ☆ }

[burning-fcols]

Angel Dust: *is not eating*

Alastor(s): 

[burning-fcols]

SEVEN MINUTES xxx al or mox ♡

- ✩ { @sluttyspiderpolkacock​ } ✩

3. Shy/awkward kiss

{ ☆ } How the Hell did he get dragged into this infuriating pasttime? Seven minutes in Heaven. Such an open-ended name; how is one even supposed to realize what the other views as 'heaven' without prior communication? Without laying out rules clearly and efficiently. Although, he supposes that based on who dastardly chance had decided his partner is, that should have been on the obvious side.  

Preposterous. Ridiculous. Utterly... confusing. For a game with such broad possibilities— apparently, if he's understanding it correctly now —everyone certainly seems to have rather similar ideas about what it shall entail. But how was HE supposed to know? It's not as if anyone was very forthcoming when they dragged him into this. Frankly, he'd be well in his right to leave. To just barge out of the door he was ruthlessly shoved into alongside the spider— fur bristling and static screaming in the air as the world suddenly grew dark, for once thanks to the small space they're trapped in rather than Alastor's own doing —and take solace in his own room. Or perhaps in a nice, bloodthirsty romp to ease the tension tightening his shoulders... making his heart pound... his pulse race... his gaze frighteningly focused on—

Angel really is close, isn't he?

Perhaps if this was any other time of the year, this wouldn't be an issue. He wouldn't be under such stress from his base desires, his bodily instincts... Yet, as Alastor's gaze flickers down to Angel's lips— so soft-looking and likely very warm —he can't help but wonder, if it really is all that... Because at the moment, he briefly recalls having thoughts such as this even before the troublesome season arrived. Flickering moments here and there of- ... pondering. Wanting. Would it really be all that terrible to indulge in them, just once? To see what it's like... Maybe- Maybe it might help. Make it stop.

God, he wants these feelings to stop.

Swallowing thickly, static hinting the air and causing electricity to scatter between hair and fur, he can feel his cheeks rush with warmth, contemplative gaze riveted on the other's mouth as he desperately flips back and forth between his options. Fingers flexing at his sides, shoulders tense and chest heaving lightly with nervous breaths, strained smile and sweat-beading brow betrays his inner turmoil; something that normally, he'd be doing far better at concealing. Before he can lose his conviction—

Alastor darts forward.

Eyes shut and static exploding in the air— threatening to burst eardrums as lips make contact —Alastor raises himself up on his toes, for once cursing his troublesome stature, and presses a kiss against Angel's lips. It's clumsy and rushed, with lips firmly closed and arms stiffly at his sides, but he still DID it. That's got to count for something, right? Angel's lips are as warm as he imagined they'd be and they taste... sweet, in a way. A surprisingly nice sensation, making his head swim and his cheeks BURN with internal fire that spreads from his gut and makes his heart thump heavily.

Pulling away with a shaky breath, chest heaving with panic and back pressing against the wall with uncharacteristic uncertainty, dial-eyes are riveted on the spider as Alastor tries to catch his breath... What- What now? What does he even- HOW does he even begin to- What... What could Angel possibly be thinking after that horrendous display? What must the spider think of him now? So shaky and nervous and- and frazzled over one innocent, pathetic excuse of a kiss?

❝  I uh... I apologize for that- ahem... that sniveling display.  ❞  Alastor says in as calm a tone as he can muster, a finger tugging at his shirt collar— it's ridiculously hot in here —as he explains through a painfully-forced chuckle,  ❝  As you can imagine, I'm not too experienced in matters like... that.  ❞  { ☆ }

[burning-fcols]

“Welcome to detention young man, I’ll be your asshole.” (alastor for angel)

- ✩ { @helluvaxhazbin } ✩

{ ☆ }  Huh... Not something he ever expected to hear coming from Alastor’s mouth, but frankly, Angel isn’t gonna object to it. Although, he doesn’t know whether to laugh at the sheer awkwardness of its phrasing or make some crude joke about it. After a brief moment of contemplation, cheeks puffing as he holds it in and a brow quirking bemusedly, he sputters out a boisterous laugh. He always seems to laugh harder when around Alastor. 

A hand rests on his forehead before running through his bangs as genuinely-joyous laughter— not mocking or purposefully loud in an attempt to annoy or insult, like he USUALLY does —fades away into bubbly giggles, a hand swiping at a tear before he coughs into a closed fist.

Coughing a few times to compose himself, he then lightly hits the fist against his chest, fur squishing comically as his hand sinks into it a bit with each impact, before saying with a smart-ass grin,  ❝  Heh... Kinky~  ❞  Raising a brow, he leans in a little closer, careful not to encroach too much on Alastor’s personal space, and continues with an inquisitive hum,  ❝  Is this some kinda new roleplay scenario yer tryin’ out, Chuckles? Have I been a bad boy?  ❞  

Yes, honestly he has... but that’s not the point.

Bumping his brows, he places a finger by his bottom lip and playfully adds, ❝  Are ya gonna punish me or somethin’?  ❞  { ☆ }

[burning-fcols]

✩ { @hazbinxdisaster } ✩

ALASTOR HAD BEEN THE ONE TO SUGGEST that they spend the evening looking up at the stars. The radio demon had quickly noticed the arachnid’s FONDNESS for the night’s sky and thought what better way to enjoy it than to spend a night away from the hustle and bustle of the city and simply ADMIRE the view. He’d spent the day preparing the PERFECT spot for this, on a hill that provided a marvellous view of the sky. A blanket had been laid out and a picnic basket set nearby for if they got peckish. Some lanterns that emitted a SOFT light to complete the mood.

Frankly, Alastor was rather PROUD of what he’d managed to achieve. Though it was Angel’s reaction that had brought a genuine smile to his face. The look of AWE when they’d reached their little stargazing spot. A good start to the night and he hoped that it would remain that way until morning. A few hours into their time together, Alastor had been content to admire what stars he could see, though he’d made sure to pick a spot that DIDN’T have Heaven right in the middle of their view. No need to tarnish the night with worrisome thoughts about redemption and all that.

No, tonight was about ENJOYING themselves. Glancing over towards Angel, his brows raise in surprise when he finds his pink irises staring right back at him. “My dear boy.” He starts, smile softening. “I’m afraid you’ll find no stars HERE, is that not what you are here to see?”

{ ☆ } Angel always figured that people were full of shit with how they regarded Alastor... Not that his reputation isn’t well-deserved or that the deer couldn’t be a terrifying force of pure Hell unrestrained when desired or forced. Angel had witnessed only a fraction of his prowess firsthand, SEVERAL times, and still doesn’t doubt that if desired- he could be decimated with scarcely a sweat. But he hasn’t been, and he won’t be... Because Alastor is more than just the ‘Radio Demon’. Something people would see if they weren’t a bunch of blind bitches.

Then again... Perhaps he’s just special~ Call him selfish, naive, or whatever else you want... he kinda likes that option a bit better. With how difficult it had been to wriggle past Alastor’s defenses, to prove he was worthy and capable of standing beside the other through all manners of malarkey, both annoying and life-threatening, one can hardly blame him for feeling his already well-endowed chest swell with pride; a light fluttering accompanying it as a heart so-often-mistreated is placed confidently and comfortably into the other’s hands.

And why wouldn’t it be? Alastor has treated it with far more care than anyone else has...

Evident by the thoughtful set-up he’d been greeted with, the kind of atmosphere Angel used to merely dream of. Gentle lighting and a perfect view of a wonderfully star-speckled sky; untainted by pollution or towering buildings, no one around to bother or rip them away from the shared moment... To remind them of where they happened to be, aside from the crimson tint overtaking the light-riddled expanse above. But if one merely ignored that, this place could nearly pass for a little slice of ‘heaven’. As it would exist in Angel’s mind, at least.

That’s what the rare sense of peace flowing throughout him feels like... He’d been content to sit beside Alastor and admire the stars, silence occasionally broken by some random fact learned long ago during his initial self-imposed studies; although he’s been taking advantage of the hotel’s sparse library to delve into more obscure knowledge. It’s a shame what little humanity actually understands about their creation, even if the ‘juicier’ tidbits still lie out of Angel’s reach. However, Angel then finds his gaze drifting... fixating on the sight beside him rather than above.

And what a sight it is...

Alastor’s smile is nothing new to the untrained eye, to a gaze fogged by fear and assumptions. But Angel has learned to read them for what they ARE, signs of the deer’s true feelings when chosen to share— or unwittingly displayed, even the most practiced of performances having a few ‘tells’ here and there, as Angel himself can attest. Alastor’s smile is a gentle one, soft and tinged with genuine happiness... Own smile grows a tad amused as it occurs to him that the deer is much like the expanse of space. Mysterious and vast, perhaps even intimidating to some, but still capable of being understood. Of being admired and adored for what it is, for what HE is... If only someone would see it for the sparks of light contained, rather than the overwhelming ‘darkness’ so prominently displayed.

Then again, that might just be him getting all sappily sentimental and shit... Snickering lightly when Alastor takes notice of the new star he’s set his sights on, cheeks bloom with a warmth that bleeds down into his chest, but Angel remains composed as ever as he drawls,  ❝  Hmmmmm... I dunno~  ❞  Cue a shrug and a playful quirk of his brow,  ❝  I know stars, kay?  ❞  Fluttering his lashes teasingly, Angel lightly pokes a finger against Alastor’s bowtie to emphasize his following words,  ❝  An’ I’m pretty sure this still counts as stargazin’, babe~  ❞

Hand then moves to calmly rest between them, sliding a smidge closer in a silent offer of contact, but allowing the deer to decide that for himself. Either way, Angel still relishes in the feeling of being as close to Alastor as he already is... in more ways than one.

Gaze refocusing up at the stars for a moment, lights are reflected in a rose gaze, smile softening and a quiet sigh slipping past a slightly parted smile,  ❝  ... Thanks fer all this, by th’ way.  ❞  He adds, gaze flitting over to Alastor in an expression of gratitude, a sincere gaze very few have earned in his lifetime- in BOTH of them,  ❝  I love it.  ❞  { ☆ }