#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗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]

What Angel went through each and every day wasn't a secret, no matter how hard the spider tried to keep it to himself. Husk had seen it first (though one could argue it had been spotted through subconscious familiarity as opposed to it conjuring from observation alone), Charlie had seen it first hand (oh how he would have loved to see just what she would have done to the disgusting bug), and Alastor himself knew because he knew Valentino and how he'd treated Vox before... It didn't matter, Alastor knew Angel didn't ever leave that place unscathed, but he didn't know just how much pain Val put him through every day. He'd nearly forgotten about their deal, the sharing of pain to lessen Angel's fatal wounds by having Alastor shoulder half of the burden. Half of the pain was rather important, it meaning that what he had felt when he'd suddenly hit the floor earlier that day, cheek stinging with blood dripping down his chin despite no physical blow landing on him, it was only half was of whatever Angel was dealing with, and continued to deal with until returning to the hotel that evening. He'd expected the spider to be struggling through the doors with how his own body ached, but to Al's utter bafflement Angel looked no worse for wear. No bruise on his cheek, Al and him both having hidden it behind makeup (though Angel's work was far better than his own), no limp where the deer's leg threatened to buckle, nothing. It was impressive, if not horribly concerning, Al unable to dwell on what scared him more; the fact Angel was so adept at hiding his pain, or the fact that he even cared about such a thing, when a subtle bump of the spider's knee against Husk's bar had sent the Radio Demon to the floor. Wide eyed where he'd fallen to a knee, Alastor almost didn't register the cry of pain from his lips, the deer not able to process what had even happened until Angel loomed over him, angrier than Al had ever seen him. "Oh shit-" - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Angel hadn't wanted to accept Alastor's deal... Had been willing to wait for his mangled body to bleed out before he took the Radio Demon's hand. No offense to Alastor, but accepting the mercy of Overlords had been soured for Angel years ago. All thanks to the first and LAST one he was stupid enough to ensnare himself with in a deal meant for ❛ his benefit ❜ . Not that Angel would put Alastor on the same dangerous pedestal as Valentino. Not even close. Personal bias or not, it's difficult for others to scare the spider when the moth demands the lion's share of his fear.

When it comes to the Radio Demon, he's not sure where he stands. There's no blatant animosity between the pair— like one would expect with such drastically different and dynamic forces meeting —but it's not as though Angel is willingly baring his throat to the other. Not when it wouldn't surprise him if it was torn out seconds later. This is HELL... and Angel knows what his worth amounts to for someone like Alastor. Indifferent ( as far as he knows ) to the spider's wiles, even if he's surprisingly willing to play along with the others playful flirtations. But entertainment, nonetheless.

Frustratingly, Angel had been coerced into taking Alastor's hand... because he felt as though it would hurt the Overlord if he didn't. Unsure what bothered him more— being foolish enough to humor such a thought, or that he let it sway him —the spider decided to put it out of his mind. A one-and-done agreement, Alastor taking away some of the burden so Angel wouldn't contend with limbo. With no desire to dwell, that moment faded from a gnawing in his guts to merely a bitter taste in his throat whenever he did let it flicker to the forefront.

Seeing Alastor fall to the floor brought the nausea back tenfold.

Puzzle pieces didn't fall into place immediately, Angel aiming a concerned quizzical look Alastor's way when he cried out. All this time spent around the Radio Demon, yet he doesn't think he's heard the deer in pain. Initial shock slows Angel's reasoning, but it only provides a moment of respite before horrible realization dawns. Alastor's knee had buckled the second Angel's bumped the bar. It was barely anything to blink at for the spider— accustomed to enduring far more in even worse condition —but it seemed to immobilize Alastor... Fuck. This better be a coincidence. There better be an explanation aside from the manipulative motherfucker biting off more than he could chew. Otherwise, who knows what Alastor has endured today.

All because Angel couldn't do the decent thing and die.

❝ Yeah. Oh shit. ❞ Looming over the pitiful creature before he's fully aware, Angel pays no heed to the bewilderment he suspects will grip any witnesses. He's lost his temper a few times around the hotel, but not with Alastor ( oddly enough ) and never enough to YANK the other up by his lapels. Especially for something as nonsensical as ❛ being hurt ❜ . Few would dare lay a hand on the Radio Demon, and even fewer would bring that razor ❛ smile ❜ up to their face. Every eye open and glowing with barely-restrained rage, he gutturally growls through gritted teeth, ❝ You have five fuckin' seconds ta tell me you didn' do what th' FUCK I think you did... ❞

Fur bristles further as claws lightly tear into threads, Alastor brought close to the sinner's snarling maw. Angel grateful the deal only betrays the pain accosting his body and not the terror he feels weighing on his chest. One he tries to subdue with silent reassurances that Alastor can fix this. Surely the deal-maker can break chains he forged. After experiencing a day in the body of Angel Dust— somewhat, Angel recalling the conditions of their arrangement... misleading as they were —it would be ridiculous to do otherwise. There's no possible gain in this deal any more. Aside from proof that Angel isn't nearly as unaffected as he tries to seem.

But Alastor already knew that. 「 ☆ 」

[burning-fcols]

"I didn't leave on purpose, you know." An out of nowhere comment spoken in a delirious haze where Alastor found himself near bleeding out in Vox bed once again, his powers still not recovered from his brush with Adam, despite that being months ago. It had been stupid to start the squabble after just so happening to bump into Vox while walking past the front of his tower, whistling a jaunty tune he knew to be one of the TV's old favorites, but this wound had left him itching for violence, it having been too long since he'd been able to really let loose thanks to how slowly his body healed. It was like being human all over again, the threat of dying looming over his head and everything. Only this time he was sure there wasn't another Hell for him to manifest into. To get a second chance in.

He wanted a fight, and for all his posturing, he knew Vox wouldn't kill him, not with the weakened state he was in. That wasn't how they operated, kicking the other while they were down, it not beign any fun in such an unfair fight. Even if given a fair chance, however, Alastor had a feeling Vox wouldn't kill him, and Al almost hated that he could say the same. It would be so very dull without the stupid television around to pester whenever he pleased and knew he was safe doing so, no matter how many claw marks marred his body by the end.

This was only confirmed when Alastor not only woke up in general, but did so in Vox's room. The last he'd remembered their fight had taken them to the roof, and then...nothing. He'd burnt his powers out to the point that his body ached with even the thought of using them to any capacity. He was doing this too often, not giving himself time to heal. If he thought about it too much, he could almost call it a punishment, to be flirting with death like he was.

Slowly fading back into consciousness, Alastor used his radio frequency to find Vox when his body wouldn't respond, the natural hum of what he assumed was this body life force reaching staticy feelers out until pinging off Vox's own buzz. He was there, Al wasn't alone.

Any attempt at talking to Al would only lead to silence, though not from lack of trying. Body so drained, not even his vocal cords would respond beyond an unnatural crackling of dead air whenever he'd tried to speak. So he'd settled for simply using his frequency to communicate, it being buzzed or mellowed in lieu of a yes or no. He'd even panicked when he couldn't feel Vox in the room anymore after waking up from an impromptu nap earlier in the day (or maybe night? He didn't actually know how long he'd been there, and strangely, he was perfectly content to keep it that way until he was able to move again.) While short stretches of his unseen staticy appendage equated to hardly more than an inconvenient cough in terms of pain, when Alastor had reached all the way down to the lobby of the building, he had to suddenly cut the noise as his body protested in the form of throwing up what little he'd managed to eat since first waking up there.

He was pretty sure Vox had been up and at his side in the span of a mere blink, but with how his head throbbed, it very well could have been hours he'd lost to the pain. He still hurt, but it was less of an edge now that he could feel Vox in the room again, it being so much of a comfort, sinking him so deeply into security, he'd blurted out a secret only Husker knew (and that was only because the cat was so damned observant).

He didn't take back his words though, his eyes being set in the direction he was pretty sure Vox was in (when had everything become so fuzzy-) with what one could just barely call a smile on his face. "I was a fool, Vox. A twice damned fool..."

This was dangerous, trying to talk about it so blatantly. Even if he wanted to tell the whole story, he couldn't as part of the deal. Should he try to explain where he had been in earnest, it would feel as if his body was but a voodoo doll being stabbed over and over again. This was a time he didn't care, however, where he fought through the prickly warning beneath his skin. Vox needed to know he hadn't left of purpose, that it hadn't been his choice. He couldn't say why, or maybe he just didn't want to, but he needed his old friend to know.

- ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @hells-fvry 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Alastor's alluring annoying whistling had reached Vox's ears like a siren song, that damned Radio Demon acting like a ghost of the past. Taking every opportunity to haunt him, prodding at the weakness of who he used to be. Dangling the idea of who they he could have been just out of his reach; time and bad blood between them making it an even bigger impossibility than when they were on good terms. Yet Vox can't shed the ingrained bitterness only past hope could spawn, merely seeing Alastor enough to make him spark ( in several ways ) .

Vox used to think there was no personal Hell like when Alastor had gone missing for years but ever since the deer made his ❛ triumphant ❜ return, he's been doing everything in his power to prove Vox wrong. Yet Vox knows that, were he given the choice to go back to that uncertain time, he couldn't. Life without Alastor was... unsatisfying. A gaping emptiness in the hellscape, that refused to be filled no matter how much control he amassed or how much attention he garnered from Valentino.

Can he really be blamed if he comes running whenever Alastor calls?

Yes. And Vox shall continue to LOATHE his actions as they cause him to claw into the old-timey prick whose crushing grip never waned, even as the years trudged forward with no remorse... As well as carry Alastor's limp body to his own bedroom, dressing wounds and setting down the other's battered form ( pride in his victory tarnished by how clearly weakened Alastor was, now that Vox is calm enough to notice ) with more gentleness than anyone has experienced from the television demon.

Spending hours tending to the Radio Demon's needs, silent as the other aside from when he inquired about what was needed. His thoughts were loud enough. No need to add to the cacophony with idle chit-chat. Especially with someone who could barely provide a yes or no in response. Although he did play music from the room's speakers, if only for Alastor's benefit. A soothing serenade of jazz; playlist specifically made from the songs Alastor introduced him to during the start of their unforeseen companionship. Beginning with the very song used to lure him in.

When Alastor finally drifted into slumber, Vox had taken the opportunity to get some work done. After spending an hour or so standing at the bedside, just in case the deer woke up. This unexpected... inconvenience had stolen nearly his entire day, which would be exhausting at best and impossible at worst to make up without lingering consequences. He had barely managed to put a dent in the piled up memos before he felt that achingly familiar sparking presence. In an instant, the television had shot to the Radio Demon's side. Vibrating with barely-contained panic as if he expected the other to somehow be in danger, despite being in arguably one of the safest places in Hell. With how unsettlingly feeble Alastor is, the fear feels warranted.

Heavy breathing settles when he sees the room exactly as he left it, including the man upon the bed. Walking over with a practiced look of disdain, he's about to complain about being interrupted for seemingly no reason— would it kill Alastor to give him five minutes? —when the other breaks the silence instead. Steps falter, composure breaking in a manner unlike Vox. In a way Alastor never lost the ability to force from him. Narrowed eyes wide in clear shock, daresay unnerved at being met with a display of... honesty? Compassion. His only solace is that he doubts Alastor can see him through such dazed eyes.

Vox plasters on a more suitable expression regardless.

Stalking toward the bed, steps slow... reluctant calculated, hands leave their place behind his back to grip the side of the bed instead. Claws dig into the blanket, sparks dancing along his fingertips as he leans closer. Voice but a curt growl, filling the air between him and Alastor, not even the rest of the room permitted to hear. ❝ Alright. Let's say I believe you. Let's say you didn't intend to leave me for ѕєνєη ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ уєαяѕ... ❞ Voice cracks, Vox praying the trembling that follows will be mistaken as such, ❝ Why did I have to hear about your return— ❞

Swallowing thickly, he shakily exhales before hissing through the bitter taste in his mouth, ❝ —from Valentino. ❞ Over a week. Seven years of nothing and then when Alastor comes back, he didn't seek him out. Didn't so much as tell him. How is it that, after all the pain endured not knowing if Alastor had been slain without his knowledge, how Vox learned he was ALIVE is what hurt the most... 「 ☆ 」

[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. ❞ 「 ☆ 」