#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴀ ᴋɪʟʟᴇʀ ꜱᴍɪʟᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Alastor 」

[burning-fcols]

"You have been jumping through quite an extensive set of hoops to avoid me, łīⱦⱦłē đᵾȼҟ, and I wish to know why." Cornering Lucifer in his own room in a wisp of shadow, Alastor's smile was as big and sharp as ever, but pulled just a bit too tight as he loomed over the smaller demon. Something wasn't right, things had been fine, even after they- Things had been fine, until all of a sudden Lucifer seemingly vanished from the halls of the hotel, Alastor unable to shake the feeling that somehow he had been the cause. How was he meant to get Lucifer's attention play with the little king's temper if there was no king to poke? //🦆🥚🦌 - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 This shouldn’t be possible… Granted, Lucifer doesn’t know EVERYTHING there is to know about these things. The workings of his own anatomy is an enigma to say the least, both him and Lilith flabbergasted at Charlie’s conception. But it still feels like this shouldn’t be occurring. Like he’s somehow committed a heinous sin against Alastor despite the deer being very involved in the act as well. If anything, Lucifer would argue it’s mainly Alastor’s fault for confronting him in the first place! Honestly, he may go so far as to say it’s solely Alastor’s— Okay, fine. That’s not true.

It’s still mostly Alastor’s fault though.

Pacing with his head down and mind swimming, the sharp click of hooves echo in the spacious room. Forging his usual attire in favor of pajamas— rubber-duck-patterned pants and a loose-fitting shirt with an image of one asleep —messy hair and frantic mutterings don’t help with his frazzled demeanor. This is insane… It’s utterly nonsensical! How could it even— Why would it—

Alastor hates him. No he doesn’t. Alastor hates him. If he did, then why is spawn preparing to enter the world? … Alastor is going to hate him, once he learns of this. Alright, that makes sense. Hands subconsciously resting over his stomach, Lucifer barely feels any different. Yet he KNOWS what is brewing. At first, he’d been confused but not suspicious. Husk offering him food— insisting he take it —had been strange, but nothing to obsess over. That nagging urge to find Alastor, the near-anxiety of not being in close-proximity to the deer… it was annoying, but Lucifer could still brush it off as an unfortunate effect of the— … shift in their relationship.

Lucifer always has been a bit on the clingy side ( ironically, it’s one of the strongest reasons he can have an unfortunate habit of distancing himself ) … and Alastor has been confusing as of late. It’s no wonder that after being— cared for by him, he wouldn't know how to act around the deer. That was the assumption until he found himself hurling into the toilet, a sudden and strong bout of morning sickness making him fall to his knees... and he NEVER gets sick. The only other time he ailed like this was when— Hence, the madman pacing as he tries to fight back the tightness in his chest.

Two days. He has TWO days... Technically one before he starts ❛ showing ❜ , and then the egg will be here. There will be no hiding it then. Especially not since nesting instincts will glue him to it, tasked with keeping it safe for WEEKS ( twenty-eight days, to be exact ) until it's ready to hatch. Practically bedridden, needing to warm and diligently turn the precious creature, lest things go... badly. And he REFUSES to let any harm befall his newest child... His and Alastor's chi—

❝ Oh fuck. ❞ He mutters, skidding to a halt as the subject of his panicked pondering materializes in front of him. As if summoned by being the SOURCE of Lucifer's problems, the deer now towers over him, sending a shiver up the ❛ little duck's ❜ spine thanks to that stupidly-enjoyable nickname. The same one that set this whole dance into motion. ❝ You— You want to know why? Oh. Okay. That's... That's um, that's— doable. Yep. I can definitely do that. ❞

Mouth rambling without his agreement, Lucifer internally reprimands himself for spending so much time fretting over how Alastor may react to the news, yet not figuring out how he was going to TELL him. Short of shoving an egg in his face and saying ❛ Guess what? ❜ . Barking out a nervous laugh, crimson hues flit around the room as he briefly considers teleporting out of there. But whatever few moments that would allow him still wouldn't be nearly enough to compose a plan... It still takes him a second to shake off the temptation.

❝ I, uh... Well. You see— I... have a— ... We have— ❞ Coughing into a closed fist, Lucifer then looks up at Alastor, takes a deep breath and ever-so-delicately... BLURTS out, ❝ I'm pregnant. ❞

❝ And it's yours. Just in case that wasn't clear. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

「 ☆ 」 There it is... Angel would say it's ❛ right on cue ❜ but truthfully, he's never CERTAIN if the notorious Radio Demon will entertain his antics. So far, Alastor seems up for the spider's little game. Offering responses that only fuel the ❛ flirty ❜ fire. But there's no telling when that may run out. Whether it's considered such to the deer is the real question, but it hardly matters either way... It's still FUN.

❝ You heard me. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

Staticy, loud record scratch.

"what?"

[burning-fcols]

"My beloved undead heart, what...is that?" Normally not one to use that staticy filter over his voice when it was just the two of them, Aster had slipped into old habits when the sight of something oblong and purple caught his attention. No no no NO- He'd heard the stories, this wasn't supposed to happen, someone like him wasn't supposed to- Shouldn't- Bebe he understood, but him?! No, there had to be some mistake. He knew how deep the love his partner in both life and death held for him, and him for them in turn, but surely whoever was in charge of all this couldn't think it was a good idea to give someone like the Radio Demon this level of happiness responsibility, no matter how much joy it would bring his fellow deer. Was that it? Was this a blessing for them both Bebe for how horrible his end had been because of Aster? He...felt as if he should apologize, though he knew Bebe wouldn't see a reason for it. He knew the man well enough by now that this... It would be seen as nothing short of a miracle. What could never have even been a thought on earth now able to come to life, literally, in Hell of all places. On earth, any child wouldn't have been 'created' by them, and while that wouldn't have mattered, somehow this feels even more like a...like a blessing, knowing it was theirs in every single way possible. On earth, they never would have been able to even adopt a child. They would have been killed long before that could ever happen. Alastor had never allowed himself to think such thoughts in life, soley because there was no reason to. Why upset himself with something he could never fix? Sometimes he wondered what Bebe's thoughts on the matter were, not able to remember if they'd ever talked about even the most mundane of domesticity while alive. He was sure they must have, and that his mind simply wouldn't let him remember with how painful reality had been back then. Reality now was only marginally better, the fear of their death not so much an issue anymore, but... "...Bebe?" He was scared. Tell him this wasn't real, tell him that wasn't a tiny, delicate little soul for him to possibly break as his own father had broken his. He was a killer, worse than his father within the law of humanity. If he hurt this child, this extension of Bebe and himself... When Bebe had died, he'd become a far more bloodthirsty killer in his name. If something happens to this child because of him, what sort of monster would he become then? - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Sitting silently on their Aster's bed, downcast gaze is obscure by blue bangs and how FIXATED it is upon the curious object in Bebe's lap. Small... delicate... a beautiful purple hue, calming in the right circumstances. Terrifying in others. Carefully cradled by gentle arms, Bebe can feel warmth radiating from within the helpless creature. They bring it closer, ever-so-slightly, as if trying to share whatever body heat they have to spare. More, even.

They'd gladly give it all, should the egg need it.

Ears resting back, end of the fluffy appendages twitch when Aster speaks. Static not going unnoticed... nor what it means. It's honestly understandable, the apprehension Aster must feel. Even in life when the concept of children was traversed— rare a topic as it was, usually accompanied or brought on by heavy drink —it was a somber subject. One Bebe tried to change soon as possible, painfully aware of how pointless it was. How it would only hurt the man they love. Part of Bebe, an insistence festering beneath their skin like an infection, claimed Aster must hate them for it.

Whether their crimson companion was even aware of it... Even if he miraculously didn't, Bebe could never forgive themself for what they robbed Aster of. The trouble they caused by merit of who— of WHAT they were. But now? It's finally happened. A blessing undeserved of the blue belle, but greedily accepted nonetheless. A continuation to Aster's legacy... Born of his flesh and blood, Bebe serving as the conduit to help bring the others creation to life. Could one really blame them, if they can't find the decency to be ashamed over having the honor?

❝ I— I'm sorry... for not being sorry. ❞ Bebe begins, gaze finally raising to look at Aster. Tears brim within delicate hues, threatening to slip down as Bebe quietly admits, ❝ I know I should feel guilty or— or worried... but I don't. Not even a little bit. ❞ Even with the fear they KNOW is hitting Aster at the concept of a child, Bebe can't shake off their elation enough to give the proper concern. The proper comfort. What sort of mate does that make them? Is it a good sign... Showing the faith they have in Aster. Or is it a bad one? Showing the selfishness hidden deep inside.

Either way, lips upturn into a small... shaky.... but shamefully sincere smile. Pale complexion painted pink, the meaning of his tears now clear. Not born of sorrow but unfettered joy as they shakily admit, ❝ I'm just... so unbelievably happy. ❞ Hugging the egg closer, eyes shut as they nuzzle their face against it, staining the shell with tears. Weakly laughing, sound is light and airy. Like the flutter of an injured bird desperately trying to stay afloat, Bebe not accustomed to laughter. Tragically beautiful, as most things are with the doe. ❝ I did it. I– I finally did it... ❞

Bebe couldn't count how many times they wished to have been born in a different form. Prayers speckled like stars across the sky, to be changed into someone who could bear Aster's children. Who he could love openly. Who didn't bring suffering to the others life as effortlessly as they somehow brought joy. Many-a-nights spent lamenting over how cruel a joke of fate it was to find their missing piece... only for them to still not fit as perfectly into Aster's life as they should. But now?

Those shortcomings don't matter anymore.

❝ I've given you a child. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

✧ 「   @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ  」   ✧

❝ You. Wish. ❞

It comes out of nowhere, Lucifer standing in front of the ❛ Radio Demon ❜ , hands clasped behind his back and spine straight as it'll allow. Aiming for whatever much-needed height it'll provide. Looking way too proud of himself, smile stretches across his face as his eyes gain a devilishly-dorky light.

❝ Y'know earlier— when you said ❛ Fuck you ❜ ? And I didn't really get a chance to respond... ❞ And had been too angry to think of a proper one, anyway. Raising a finger triumphantly in the air, he barks out a laugh and exclaims, ❝ Well I CAN now! ❞

❝ Soooooo... ❞ Leaning forward, he peers up at the taller demon and growls—

❝ You wish. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

" We are never going to be a thing, FeatherDuster " - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʀᴏʟʟɪᴇꜱᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Stupid as this hotel may be, it DOES have some pretty decent perks. The staff— some of them, anyway —being one. It never fails to amuse Angel how most sinners would prefer to give the ❛ Radio Demon ❜ the widest berth possible, instead of really getting in there and seeing what makes him tick... Or in this case, what ticks him off. All in good fun, of course. Good, wholesome, teasing someone who could rip out his throat in seconds fun~

The sort of concerning fun Angel Dust has always been adept at.

Especially when Alastor is making it so damn easy. ❝ Aww... Don' be like that, Berries~ ❞ The spider coos, meeting the accidental nickname with one as ❛ seemingly ❜ nonsensical. Honestly, it's as purposeful as anything Angel does. Whether people realize it or not. ❝ No fair goin' around givin' me cute li'l nicknames an' then tryin' ta play hard ta get right afta'... It ain't very gentlemanly ta toy wit' hearts like that, y'know~ ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

「 ☆ 」 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?"

[burning-fcols]

For some unknown reason, Alastor is completely wasted. Maybe he just needed a night of unwinding, to forget everything. Well, he certainly did, having him winding up wherever the hell he is now. Cheeks are flushed & he's clearly not seeing straight. His suit is a bit off his shoulder as he stumbles forward, muttering nonsense under his breath as he gets comfortable on whoever's bed this is, holy shit it was comfy. He's ignoring protests, probably? Alastor isn't sure, but he's determined to sleep this off. ( Have a drunk off his ass Al, for whichever muse! Surprise me! ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Vox is too tired for this shit.

After an exhausting day, the LAST thing he needed was to walk into his room and see the Radio Demon inside it. Let alone passed out on his fucking bed. Initial reaction had been the expected shock outrage. Vox fervently interrogating Alastor over what possessed him to invade V Tower. He hasn't been back since he turned down Vox's offer years ago. Mainly rhetorical questions along the lines of ❛ What the FUCK, asshole? ❜ and ❛ Why are you here?? ❜ . He hadn't expected any satisfying answers, but Vox had assumed he'd at least get a reaction.

But Alastor is apparently too atomized drunk off his ass.

Exasperation dying into begrudging acceptance, Vox figures he has a few options... the easiest of which would be letting the prick use his bed for the night. Hopefully when morning comes and Alastor is contending with what will no doubt be a MASSIVE hangover— Vox can smell liquor reeking from him —wounded pride will encourage a hasty exit. If he knows Alastor ( and he likes to think he does ) the other wouldn't want to delve too deeply into specifics about whatever... this was.

Standing beside his bed, judgmentally glaring down at the dozing man, he wonders how— out of everywhere Alastor could have gone, ANYONE he could have bothered —he was unlucky enough for the deer to trot his tail into his room. Shaking his head with a growl, Vox hastily shrugs off any further wonderings. A stroke of misfortune, that's all. A mind fogged by booze making an unintentional decision. As random as it could possibly be... If he lets himself humor thoughts of Alastor subconsciously WANTING to be here, he'll drive himself insane.

Spinning on his heel, he straightens his coat with a sharp tug of his hands. Sparing a glance over his shoulder at the bane of his existence, he snarkily mutters, ❝ Guess I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight. ❞ He can't exactly leave Alastor unattended when in such a state. For the other's benefit as well as his own peace of mind. Who KNOWS what kinds of problems may arise if the deer was disturbed? Best to remain in the room and pray this is settled quietly. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"What's the matter, can't handle a little truth being tossed back to you?" Alastor just smirks more, pleased with the way his comment hit home. "Or are you too chicken to admit it? Why else would you be this obsessed?" ( rip Vox ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Vox has heard some pretty batshit insane things since being thrust into literal Hell... and BEFORE it, to be honest. But the open eccentricity of people had definitely stepped up once damnation was a-given. Yet in all his decades of life and afterlife, he's never been taken off-guard NEARLY as much as Alastor managed to do a mere breath ago. Spewing such outrageous filth with that unwavering smile, smugness radiating off the deer's face as if he actually believed every word.

Which he COULDN'T because Vox has been vehement in his hatred of the Radio Demon. To the point where there could be no doubt that should Alastor drop dead on the spot, Vox wouldn't care. Hell, he'd throw a celebration! As far as anyone needs to know. Sure, perhaps there'd been... camaraderie in the past. A sense of trust foolishly given on the Television's part. Which Alastor graciously repaid by treating him as if he were worthless. As if everything between them had been a WASTE. Velvette and Valentino were smart enough to recognize his potential power and prosperity when it was placed on their laps. So why couldn't Alastor?

Maybe he had harbored ❛ feelings ❜ for Alastor in the past... before he knew better. But not in the way the other Overlord was implying! Anything Vox may have thought was completely misguided and misunderstood, even by himself. Despite being aware Alastor is just trying to get a rise out of him— knowing smirk like nails upon the chalkboard of Vox's patience —he can't help but indignantly bark ( once he's blinked out of his flustered stupor; eyes wide and breath catching with a shock of static ) , ❝ Why? WHY?? Oh, I don't know— maybe because I fucking Ⱨ₳₮Ɇ you? ❞

❝ Believe it or not, Al— everyone isn't as fucked up in the head as YOU! Not everything is this grand deception. Some people just think certain OTHER people are complete and utter pricks who should be spit-roasted by an exorcist spear! You think I'm chicken? Well, I think you're delusional to suggest there's anything going on other than me being endlessly-annoyed by your incessant ฿ɄⱠⱠ₴Ⱨł₮! ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"I blame you for this, you inept tangle of overpriced circuitry." Though his words were biting and cold, they were said with that ever present smile, Alastor not even truly bothering to hide his boiling rage from the TV demon as he sent a glare his way. "Well, I do hope you're happy, seeing as that portal was our only way back to hell. Tell me, was this little trip worth it for a few moments of childish mockery?" Head twisting to the side at an unnatural angle, static filled the air as that sadistic grin grew to take up nearly Al's entire face, it not being a question that was meant to be answered. "Oh well, very little we can do about it now, thanks to you. I suppose we'll need to find another way back home." A sigh still filled with venom, but more resigned now as the radio demon gave a snap of his fingers, his otherworldly appearance soon giving way to that of a normal human with a flash of green smoke and lingering crackles in the air. "Goodness, it's been some time since I've worn this face, it feels far more restrictive than I remember." Said as he tugged at his blazar and tie to settle them more comfortably on this new body, his grin couldn't manage to be quite as wide with the mask he now wore. "Well then, shall we see if we can find a way to fix your unfortunate blunder? With any luck, we'll be back in hell before my tea grows cold." - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Mouth opens to snap at Alastor as soon as the first insult is out of the infuriating deer’s mouth, only to get caught in his throat at the annoying flex of power creepiness. Stiffening where he stands, Vox hastily shakes off the feeling of instinctive dread that arose at having a front-row seat to the spectacle. It’s been a while since he’s had the opportunity to be in such close proximity to Alastor. One can’t blame him for being somewhat susceptible to the deer’s tactics. He’s out of practice, that’s all. But it fades, unease quickly replaced by a far more potent rage and recklessness.

There. That’s better.

The others less-imposing human disguise might ALSO have something to do with the quick turn-around, but Vox refuses to acknowledge it. ❝ Oh no. No, no, no no ₦Ø— ❞ He firmly retorts when Alastor has finished his judgmental spiel, a finger pointing at the other man. ❝ You are NOT blaming this screw-up on me! Let's not forget, the only reason I'm here is because YOU needed help in the first place! ❞

Granted, Vox could have saved his boasting for after they were safely through the portal. But his excited lapse in judgement isn't the cause of this predicament! Merely an... unfortunate addition to the already FUCKY situation. ❝ When the ❛ independent and powerful Radio Demon ❜ — ❞ Hands wave in mockery of the title, Vox's tone dripping with disregard, ❝ —needs to call someone else for assistance, tail between his FUCKING legs... I more than deserve to rub it in your stupid, smiling, shitty face. ❞

A face that is very human right now... Unlike Vox. Grimacing as he's abruptly thrust from his high-horse, he can already feel the power shift. Bitter irony tainting the far too brief taste of SUPERIORITY he had over the other Overlord. Despite the impending realization, Vox stubbornly refuses to draw attention to his lack of a disguise. Or his inability to manifest one as seamlessly as Alastor had.

Arms crossing, in a desperate bid for control for as long as allowed, he simply averts his gaze and snarkily adds through faux-composure, ❝ Anyway, I don't suppose you have any ideas for how to fix this mess YOU dragged me into. Or are you planning on aimlessly wandering around looking like a complete idiot. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[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...? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

“I don’t know why you’re acting like such a brat. You broke up with me remember?” Al @ vox for the exes AU - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟᴜᴠᴀxʜᴀᴢʙɪɴ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Oh this mother FUCKER.

Vox can barely keep from blowing a fuse as blame is placed solely on his shoulders. As if HE'S the one who set their demise into motion. Technically, one could claim it is the television’s fault. He was the mastermind behind the idea that Alastor firmly stomped to death beneath his gross hooves. But that was unprecedented! It should have been a done deal, an unspoken contract between the two. They were partners for fuck’s sake! How was Vox supposed to anticipate that Alastor would turn down an offer to join his alliance?

He's usually good at predicting what people will do. Controlling them as he sees fit, be it through force or old-fashioned manipulation... But Alastor had thrown him off-guard, as the deer often does. What is usually an intoxicating thrill twisted into something unsavory, nowadays. Tainted by the past, yet still tinged with a ❛ secret ❜ longing that Vox desperately tries to veil with anger.

They were already intertwined thanks to their relationship— a far stronger link than Vox has with those engaged in solely ❛ business ❜ affairs, the Overlord somewhat biased when dealing with personal matters ( a weakness he knows he should get under control ) —so dealing in matters of business shouldn’t have been such a source of conflict. It only made sense. Hell, Vox was being generous in trying to include his boyfriend in the empire he was constructing! An empire that Alastor could and SHOULD have helped immensely with.

Isn’t that what a good partner does? Help the person they love?

❝ ᴬᴺᴰ ᵂᴴᴼˢᴱ ᶠᴬᵁᴸᵀ ᴵˢ ᵀᴴᴬᵀ, ᴬˢˢᴴᴼᴸᴱ?! ❞ He snaps, electricity cracking his words and sparking across his outraged screen. Fixated upon Alastor with glowing eyes— as he often is whenever the other is in view —an accusatory finger points at the deer, ❝ YOU'RE the one who treated our relationship like it was nothing! ❞ A step is taken forward, Vox unable to even consider getting himself under control. Painfully aware that this show of emotion is not helping his standing with his ex the other Overlord, voice distorts as it raises in volume, ❝ I gave you the offer of a lifetime— a deal other demons would KILL for —because I cared about you! And what did you do? You refused! You acted like it was a joke! Like I was a fucking JOKE! ❞

Perhaps he's exaggerating, memory distorted by the unexpected blow to his pride. The lingering shame at having acted so rashly as a result. Lashing out to try and gain some semblance of control in the situation. Over ALASTOR; a man who had captured his interest because of his untamable nature. Yet in the heat of rejection— however minor it could seem to the Radio Demon —Vox had destroyed one of the things perceived as a threat. Something that could and had unintentionally hurt him.

❝ And THEN as if that wasn't bad enough, when I broke things off— you just LET me! ❞ Voice breaks as it switches from infuriated to disbelieving, hands raised in front of himself in a subconscious plea to understand, ❝ ᵂʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ FUCK ʷᵃˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ?? ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

sinfulredemptions​:

It was another night and as always, his nightly ritual had been joined by one very exhausted looking spider. Alastor was no fool, the low shoulders, the rather opaque robe (which was the one that he wore when he was feeling awful Alastor had noted), the forced smile that greeted him as he settled into his seat by the fire. Even how tightly he grabbed his mug and held it close…the low eyes and the tight shoulders as though the long-limbed spider wished to curl into himself and disappear.

Everything spoke of that filth Valentino.

Tonight’s attire was comfortable as always. A black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up as he tended to one of his instruments this night..which happened to be a pitch black violin with bright red strings. Though after a moment of heavy silence, he paused, putting it aside to pluck his own mug up from its place on the table, leaning back and taking a slow sip.

The jazz in the room was slow and melancholy, the soft dulcet of a woman crooning an almost sorrowful song, before it kicked up into a much brighter tempo. He lowered his mug before he studied it a moment.

”Angel.” His voice cut through the heavy atmosphere like a knife as he glanced to the spider next to him, a hand coming to lightly slide his monocle off his face and tuck it out of the way so he could examine the other better. The static that normally held onto it had faded away for a moment, the tone low and just what he knew would get the other to look at him.

“I’ve been pondering over these last few months, and I wish to make you an offer!” Alastor said with a hum as he put his mug down, leaning back on the couch comfortably.

“Would you care to hear it?”

@burningfcols

{ ☆ } It had been a rough night... and Angel can’t blame anyone but himself.

He knows what happens when he tugs too harshly at the strings that keep him connected to Val. The contract he bound himself by long ago. When he pushes his limits and the moth’s patience, dares to act like anything aside from the grateful little slut Valentino paints him as, wants to believe he is... has TRAINED him to be. His little Angelcakes~ His favorite toy to pamper and play with and punish as he pleases~ But sometimes- sometimes the toy has enough... Sometimes the toy just has to open his damn mouth and verbally bitch slap its owner because he’s tired and hungry and was forgotten on a damn curb for the fourth time that week and- ... and...

 And sometimes... that’s when a toy gets broken. 

Before Alastor, he would have retreated to his room once the ordeal was over. Retreated to booze and tears and destruction before collapsing into a shattered, self-loathing heap... But that’s not an option any more. Well, it is... but it’s one that has lost what little appeal it may have ever had. Now, Angel had felt his legs automatically carrying him towards the parlor where he knew the deer would be waiting for him, constant as clockwork. As the sun overtaking the crimson colored sky, bright and powerfully-burning... Or the moon illuminating the night, beautiful and deceptively-strong... Always there, no matter what.

The least Angel could do is offer the same.

Even if it was physically painful to flash that false smile, weak despite its size and dull despite the flashing of ivory teeth. Most might have been satisfied with such a display, but Angel hardly was. Knowing that it likely wasn’t convincing enough for Smiles... but unable to offer anything more. Ironic, that the confident, defensive grin is so much easier to don than the smaller, soft smiles that he often shares with Alastor. Curled up against the armrest of the couch as if wanting to be engulfed in it, gaze fixated on the flames and fingers TIGHTLY gripping his mug, Angel tries to focus on nothing but the fire. But its colors... Its sound... Its warmth... Anything and everything but- Grip grows tighter, shoulders hunching as Angel blinks rapidly.

STOP IT. 

Not now. Not right now. Not in front of him. 

A lower hand pulls at his robe, shuffling the thick fabric closer to cover what little chest fluff was beginning to show thanks to the slipping garment. Legs curling in closer to himself, brows knit further as his hold on his robe grows tight enough for claws to rip slightly into the fabric. Crap... He’ll have to sew those up later. But it’s hardly anything new; if one were to look closely, they would discover many instances where Angel had to fix little rips and tears. But from a distance, the robe looks good as new. Like nothing had happened at all. But Angel knows.

Al seems like he knows too.

Blinking with surprise when Alastor’s voice cuts through the thick air and his heavy thoughts, Angel flinches slightly at the interruption— still on edge from earlier events —before aiming a gaze over at the deer. Eyes widen with curiosity at the missing static, body tensing as he thickly swallows and waits to hear what the other male has to say. Not out of any underlying fear of Alastor... but simply of- ... having to talk at the moment. A distrust in himself not to give something away, to shatter the semblance of control he’s desperately clinging to. Of breaking down. Being weak. Making Alastor think lesser of him.

❝  ...  Yeah?  ❞  Chimes a quizzical and wary reply, brows furrowing slightly as he studies Alastor’s behavior, clearly wondering what the fuck he’s going on about. What he could have possibly been ‘pondering’ for the last few months. If it were anyone else, they’d have likely left the couch the instant the word offer was uttered... but Angel isn’t frightened or threatened by the concept of Alastor’s deals. Merely... skeptical. But it’s hardly personal. As far as he’s concerned, the ONE deal he took managed to dick him over more heavily than he’s ever been before. A true feat. So one can hardly blame him for being bitter towards the concept. Besides, at the moment, it’s difficult to even envision anything Alastor might desire from him.

One doesn’t make offers without wanting something in return, after all... and as far as Angel is concerned, there’s very little of value on his side of the arrangement. 

Still-  ❝  What have ya got in mind, Smiles?  ❞  What’s the harm in asking? { ☆ } 

[burning-fcols]

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. 「 ☆ 」

[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]

✧   「   @wrinkled-sheets-and-sunlight   」   ✧  - Continued from ★  

「 ☆ 」 Vox… doesn’t know how he would feel if Alastor died. Genuinely died. He knows what he would DO. He’d openly celebrate, probably get fucked by his boyfriend business partner, and then set things into motion to gain a better grasp on the gaping hole in the power dynamic of Hell that would be felt with the Radio Demon’s absence. Things like that are seldom around for long, after all. With how ravenously denizens of Hell act when there’s so much as a sniff of imbalance. It’s not dissimilar to what he did when Alastor merely disappeared… for years. After their- … violent spat.

He doesn’t care to recall how he felt when his former friend infatuation rival vanished. The confusion. The panic. The anger. The shame. The weakness. Should Alastor perish, Vox would be a fool to think the emotional turmoil wouldn’t be far worse. Sure, he could get swept up in the fantasy. So long as it was detached. Subconsciously unreachable. A way to expel years of hurt. Free to cheer and complain and not actually comprehend the possibility of Alastor being defeated. It was Alastor. An annoying constant of damnation— … most of the time. How easily one can slip back into taking someone for granted.

Besides, if anyone was going to kill Alastor… Part of him, twisted and disgusting, would want it to be him. He’s not entirely sure why.

He’d rather not dwell too deeply on it.

Hands slowly work at buttons, almost an unwitting reverence in the action. When Alastor appeared at the tower, he had been shocked to say the least. Down in seconds, embarrassingly fast but having acted before he could consider the implications. A pattern that remained strong, the pair now in the privacy of his room… with clothing being removed. Only Alastor’s shirt and due to morbid curiosity, but still. It’s enough to make his screen heat up, Vox grateful he’s managed to keep from sparking. However he didn’t manage to keep quiet.

Tensing as Alastor draws attention to muttered words he had NOT intended to let slip— lips always were looser around this damn deer —gaze doesn’t leave Alastor’s chest. ❝ Get bent, Al. If anyone here’s an ❛ antique ❜ , it’s the Radio Demon. ❞ Older vernacular slips thanks to the odd familiarity of such a scene, rather than the usual ❛ Fuck you ❜ he's come to adopt. Careful to change his persona along with the steady march of progress through the decades. Even internally correcting himself whenever slang from when he was alive enters his thoughts. It's not much of a change from BEING alive, Vox the sort to weed out overly-casual speech in order to keep up appearances. Frankly, he's become a lot more crass since entering Hell.

Stubbornly fixated, he finally opens the garment, revealing a brutal looking wound. Sucking in a sharp breath, brows knit over wide eyes. Gaze dulls at being faced with the reality of the fight... of almost having lost Alastor. It settles heavily on his chest, making it difficult to breathe. Nearly making it impossible to speak. He only snaps out of it when his fingers are slowly reaching toward Alastor's chest, intending to gingerly brush down. Blinking when he's torn from the haze and back to the absurdity of the moment, fingers hastily curl as his hand retracts.

With a thick swallow, he takes a step back. Clearing his throat, he straightens his suit with a sharp tug, still refusing to meet Alastor's gaze, ❝ ... Those stitches look like shit. ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

It was a near picture perfect copy of their living days, albeit more bloody, friends by chance before coming the lifeline the other couldn't go on without. Until, of course, they had to. Al remembered that day all too vividly, it being the beginning of the end, far more than even when his mother had died by his father's brutal hands. Holding what he, what most everyone had deemed his other half as he died from a blow that was meant for Aster. Unnecessary repayment for all the times their roles had been reversed, just like their first meeting, so small and innocent on their school's playground with only red standing between bullies threatening to add black to to the blue in the dirt. It shouldn't have been a surprise that their first meeting in Hell would start the same way. A cackle, no doubt familiar despite the static intermixing with the forcefully joyous sound, would be the accompaniment to a symphony of screams echoing through the alleyway and into the streets proper, it sending every passerby scrambling in fear from the source. Good, this was something not meant for their eyes. Shifting from his monstrous form once the rampage had reached its end, Aster was covered near completely with blood, that shout of fear from his fellow deer having sparked something old and primal from his living days. "Well, that was fun!" Chipper as ever, that smile the same as it had always been hiding pain meant to never see the light, Aster turned with a flourish to the figure he had been protecting, a bloody hand offered in assistance as that radio static left his voice more genuine than it had been in years. "Hello, old friend. Apologies it took so long to find you again. Can you ever manage to forgive me?" A question that ran deeper than what this moment offered. - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @ʜᴇʟʟꜱ-ꜰᴠʀʏ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 When one is as... awash with the sensation of being watched as Bebe is, it becomes difficult to distinguish what is real and what is merely overinflated instincts. Never a calm sort even when alive, it's no wonder they'd be recreated as a deer in Hell. Skittish and sullen as ever, albeit with blue a more permanent aspect of their appearance rather than one merely clung to in clothing. Granted, it HAD taken some getting accustomed to. But being impressively adaptable— or perhaps worryingly malleable is more accurate —helped speed up the process.

Needless to say, they'd been snuck up on yet again by demons taking their shy stature and delicate features as an invitation... To do WHAT exactly, Bebe isn't certain. But they hadn't been eager to find out. Even less eager than they were to try and avoid unnecessary carnage, the capable yet uninterested deer preferring to keep their slaughters to a minimum. NEEDING to feed upon others— tearing into other sinners to consume them completely: flesh and bone and blood —a fitting parallel to how they treated others in life. Reducing lives to mere tools at their disposal. Trading countless ones in favor of the only soul who DID matter.

A man who Bebe would do anything for, not a single regret to be found even with eternal torment as their final reward. With no one benefitting from their violence aside from themself, it's far less compelling to murder. Of course, self-preservation still keeps them killing. Fear of pain pushing them to perform JUST enough to prevent feeling the pangs of starvation ( and the oddly even more agonizing re-awakening after death ) over and over again.

Back against the wall— shoved down by their assailants, a sharp cry having echoed in the alley —draped in the unforgiving darkness of the alleyway, Bebe looked tired rather than afraid. One doesn't need to be when containing the inexplicable strength they do. A dangerous creature draped in the deceptive demureness of a doe. Already exhausted from having to maul what they hadn't planned to, a spark of life had only entered their dulled gaze when an achingly-familiar cackle drifted into the air. Surrounding them in a way that caused lips to slightly part in silent surprise, fluffy ears raising from where they rested against their head to give a twitch. Faintly, a hint of color rose to their cheeks, dusting pale skin a telltale pink.

Bebe's attackers had a far different, more vocal reaction. One that was over as quickly as it began, the symphony of slaughter playing out before Bebe's eyes with merciless accuracy. Brutal bloodshed filling the alley, excess gore flings in their direction during the onslaught. Staining crisp blue with beautiful scarlet, the deer flinching as a bit of flesh lands in their hair. Yet they make no move to pick it off, too transfixed upon the man who had materialized between them and their prey predators. Like a deer in headlights, wide ice blue hues stare up at their savior...

One they hadn't expected to ever see again.

❝ Aster... ❞ Bebe breathes, name barely breaking the deathly-still air. Tears filling an awestruck gaze, they look upon Aster as if he were an angel. Literally dripping with devastation as the red deer may be, Bebe takes his hand with more certainty than they've done anything since waking up in Hell. Pulled onto their feet, a smile— shaky yet painfully sincere —beams on their face as they rush forward, arms wrapping around Aster's neck. ❝ It's actually you... ❞ Face buried in the crook of their friend's neck, hands clutch at the back of Aster's coat in a trembling yet desperately firm grip. As if terrified he may slip away in the shadows and out of their life forever.

Tears streaming down their cheeks, Bebe pays no heed to the blood getting on them as they cling to their long-lost companion. Scarlet smeared on their face, they hide against the other male, words muffled as they joyously weep, ❝ I— I thought... I would never s-see you again... I— ... I missed you so... so much. ❞ 「 ☆ 」