#. ♡ I COULD NEVER DEFINE ALL THAT YOU ARE TO ME ╱ r-adio.

[spiderslvts]

some new tags ?? some new tags !! + affiliate tags :]

  .   🕸️  HOW   OUT   OF   HAND   IT’S   GOTTEN       ╱     ooc.

  .   🕸️  MY   FLESH   IS   LACED   WITH   SUGAR   AND   MAGGOTS       ╱     asks.

  .   🕸️  YOU   SAY   YOU   MISS   ME    (  I’M   RIGHT   HERE  )       ╱     starters.

  .   🕸️  WITH   PINK   EYESHADOW   AND   A   SOBBING   PRAYER       ╱     isms.

  .   🕸️  ANYTHING   COULD   BE   HOLY   UNDER   NEON  LIGHTS       ╱     visage.

  .   🕸️  DO   YOU   FEEL   THE   EYES   OVER   YOUR   BODY   STILL?       ╱     promo.

  .   🕸️  TO   SWEETLY   MELT   IN   SIN       ╱     rp memes.

  .   🕸️  I   DRINK   ;   I   BURN   ;   I   SHATTER   MY   OWN   DREAMS       ╱     open starter.

  .   🕸️  YOUR   FISH   HOOK   IN   MY   MOUTH       ╱     crack.

  .   🕸️  EATEN   IN   PIECES   ;   NOT   MEANT   TO   BE    KNOWN   WHOLE       ╱     ic.

  .   🕸️  I   BELIEVE   YOU   LIKE   A    BEATEN   DOG       ╱     dash games.

  .   🕸️  I   WILL   NEVER   BE   FORGIVEN   FOR   WANTING       ╱     affiliates.

  .   🕸️  KISS   ME   WITH   MY   BLOOD   BETWEEN   YOUR   TEETH       ╱     ships.

  .   🕸️  TO   BE   LOOKED   AT    &.   NEVER   SEEN       ╱     art.

  .   🕸️  TOUCHED   DOWN   TO   THE   DELICATE   BONES       ╱     poetry.

  .   🕷  |   IN  NEON  LIGHTS     ╱     canon &. main verse.

  .   🕷  |   THE  CALL  OF  THE  ANGELS     ╱     overlord verse.

  .   🕷  |   FEATHER  BOAS  AND  GLITTER     ╱     70’s verse. (ft. sirserpentine)

  .   🕷  |   OVERSEER  OF  HELL     ╱     zestial’s employee verse (ft. zestials)

  .   🕷  |   GOOD  OLD  FASHIONED  LOVER  BOY     ╱     human verse.

  .   🕷  |   LACED  WITH  BELLADONNA     ╱     lost twins verse (ft. spyderdust)

  .   ♡  DO  YOU  LIKE  THE  SHOW ?  ARE  YOU  TIRED  OF  IT ?     ╱     videoaux.

  .   ♡  THE  LAST  SHRED  OF  TRUTH  IN  THE  LOST  MYTH  OF  TRUE  LOVE     ╱     hellsbroadcaster.

  .   ♡  I  COULD  NEVER  DEFINE  ALL  THAT  YOU  ARE  TO  ME     ╱     r-adio.

  .   ♡  BUT  I’D  NEVER  SAY  I  LOVE  YOU  JUST  TO  HEAR  YOU  SAY  IT  BACK     ╱     sirserpentine.

  .   ♡  I’M  PUT  TO  AWE  SOMETHING  SO  FLAWED  AND  FREE     ╱     dark-ambition.

  .   ♡  YOUR  BEAUTY  NEVER  EVER  SCARED  ME     ╱     gamblins.

  .   ♡  THE  FEAR  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  /  THE  FACE  IN  MONOCHROME     ╱     zestials.

  .   ♡  YOU  HATE  THE  APPLAUSE  /  YOU  CRAVE  THE  ATTENTION     ╱     xluciifer.

  .   ♡  BUT  YOU’RE  HOLDING  ME  LIKE  WATER  IN  YOUR  HANDS     ╱     oriiginis.

[spiderslvts]

ANGEL   B E A M S    ⸺    such a genuine and mirthful expression, eyes crinkling upward, seeming to  GLOW  with his joy.  he adjusts to sit cross - legged on the chair beside the radio host, hovering over the microphone in front of him.    he’s still  posing,  his collarbones popping out of the off  -   shoulder top he’s wearing,  still  never  used  to  the  idea  of  audio  -  only  media .  he cannot be seen,  but he imagines the eyes on him across the city. ( alastor's face might be made for radio, but this body was made for screens lighting up dark and lonely bedrooms ! )

❝    HAPPY TO BE HERE,  al  !   thanks for havin’ me.    ❞        he’s still not used to talking  DIRECTLY  TO  AN  AUDIENCE  :  such genres of his work was never his forte.        ❝   well ,  uh,   listeners,   the name’s  ANGEL  DUST  !   if ‘ya don’t know about me,  ‘ya husband probably does !   ❞

he looks over at the radio host and tilts his head.      ❝   ‘spose tonight may be a bit  . . .   RAUNCHIER than ‘ya all might be used to with ‘ya pal   ALASTOR.   but i fuckin’ intend to entertain !    ❞

HE'S FINALLY SPEAKING ANGEL DUST'S LANGUAGE. SEEMING TO HYPE HIM UP TO PUT ON A SHOW. the other is nothing short of a star performer, he has plenty of hours behind a camera. just how that might translate to a microphone is nothing that he worries about. they have enough charisma between the two of them to pull off a good show. he doesn't doubt the capabilities of his cohost in the slightest. knowing enough about his gab that he is capable of talking himself up a great deal. and what was better conversation than that? he brought ANGEL DUST here for a reason, and it wasn't to take him out of his element.

flicking the light, his tower turned LIVE. not giving him the chance to take a second thought about it. he sounded fully hyped up for the endeavor. no reason to allow him to back out on that. leaning into the microphone, ❝ GOOD EVENING, SINNERS, WE BRING YOU ANOTHER BROADCAST HERE TONIGHT, a little different from our others. a new face is joining us tonight, maybe one you've seen in passing. or if you're an avid enjoyer, you might know him quite well, my darling angel dust will be my cohost for this evening. bringing you the details, good and bad, from his side of the ring. ❞ looking over to angel dust, he expects a bit of an introduction, one that shows he isn't AFRAID.

[spiderslvts]

the  adoration  in  his  lungs  is  atavistic.   centuries - old, almost archaic in its sensation.  the same love that drowns angel dust’s shaking body is found in the pages of a diary a hundred years ago on earth, or in the delicate handwriting of a love letter between two angels in heaven.  A  MILLION  PEOPLE  HAD  FELT  THIS  SAME,  INFERNAL  HEAT  of being so desperately in love that it felt as if he might  die  again     ;     and truth be told, he didn’t know how anybody else had ever survived such a feeling. 

ANGEL  WAS  AWARE  OF  LUST.  he could handle the furious, carnal burn of ardor and sex.  but  LOVE  . . .  the wretchedly human desire to just be close to him, to remember every detail of his form, to know him again ?   it felt suffocating.  SOFT AND SWEET yet bloodied and raw in the same breath.  

it’s here that he sits in that feeling, his long legs hiked up to his chest as he watches   @r-adio   from afar, his eyes tracing over each movement he makes as he sips at his tea. the flickering fireflies radiate light from the wilderness side of alastor’s bedroom, painting the demon’s face in a faint shade of angelic gold.  HE  IS  SO  UNCHARACTERISTICALLY ETHEREAL  that it sends angel’s chest tightening all over again.

❝   uh  -   ❞      angel swallowed. the shattering of the silence made alastor’s head turn, and somehow that made the feeling burn hotter.       ❝   this might, uh  . . .  sound  real  fuckin’  stupid  or  whateva’  ,  but  . . .   y’know,  when i first met ‘ya down here again,  after  all  that  time  ?   didn’t  . . .  really think ‘ya would mean  this  much  to  me.   ❞

[spiderslvts]

@r-adio ⸺ long - ass plotted starter : blood - stained fawn

the night after the radio demon tore himself through the front door of the hazbin hotel, ANGEL DUST DREAMED OF LOUISIANA. he dreamt of a curly-haired, honeymouthed boy with a performer’s voice and soft hands. he dreamt of bayou summers, of wet air and rainy nights. he dreamt of a memory that took the shape of a childhood he had long since forgotten about, for what was the purpose of remembering such things? what was his benefit, lingering on memories, back when he had a heartbeat? there was none. there was none.

(  but he dreamt of it anyway. just for one night. as if the wicked universe was reminding him that he would never have it back, that he was not destined to be remembered. the radio demon would not remember his life. he would not remember anthony. but angel would remember, just as he’d remember the feeling of waking up in the middle of the night following the dream. he is eighteen again. he is drunk on a cocktail of stolen vodka and lovesickness. he is praying to god but he feels no reply, and he knows why.  )

new orleans used to be kind to anthony borrelli. lively city streets, radio stations that wrapped him up in upbeat jazz. in another world, he would’ve stayed there forever: a world where he didn’t need to keep returning to new york with his family. he would’ve stayed with the boy he grew up with, the one he’d known since the tender and wretched age of twelve. back when the world made so much sense and so little sense all at the same time.

and that was it, he supposed. he would’ve loved alastor if they stayed young forever. in another life, they were in that world. in another life, alastor was still teasing anthony for putting too much sugar in his coffee  ( “you’re ruining the flavor, you know. you might as well just drink a cup of milk and a pound of sweetener.” )  in another life, anthony was worshipping such sinful love from atop the kitchen counter. his heart feels as though a sunset has opened within it. in another life, nothing wretched had ever happened, and heaven and hell were simply words in an empty poem. 

that was the world angel had dreamt of that night. the world where he’d been able to stay. maybe he would’ve seen alastor fall apart. maybe he would’ve known why the radio demon had ended up in hell to begin with, and maybe he would’ve cared about him anyway.  (   how embarassing, wishing your friendship would’ve been enough to turn a monster into a man again.  )

in the flickering light inside of a dilapidated radio tower, its walls torn asunder by holy hands, angel dust finds the hunched and trembling figure of alastor once again.  all that was unholy, he looked awful.

the radio demon had separated from the group as the fight between them and the exterminator angels truly began, and angel had barely any time to think anything of it. it wasn’t until the chaos had died to smoke and rubble, when the ground was painted in shades of gold and crimson, that the realization of two losses had hit all of them. pentious was dead, alastor was missing, the hotel was in pieces, and perhaps the panic of it was what made it so easy for angel to slip away from the grieving group. he only found alastor because he knew him. there were few places he could’ve been.   (  ANGEL FOLLOWED THE DROPS OF BLOOD ALL THE WAY TO THE TOWER IN THE DARK. )

alastor’s pulled himself into a tight, shaking ball underneath the soundboard of the radio tower, halfway hidden, with his shadows cloaked over him in a half attempt to shield him in darkness. the antlers atop his head are grown a little larger than normal in the midst of his panic, though his body doesn’t appear to have fully transformed into his more demonic appearance. his ears are pinned back against his head, and mixed with the strained, grimace-like smile on his features, he looks like a frightened animal. his eyes snap up to look at angel as he takes a step forward, and his pupils look foggy, glazed over. his chest pours blood between his fingers, where a hand presses loosely over top. a gash from an angelic weapon. 

in spite of everything, angel kneels. like he’s praying again. how ironic. how odd. who do you pray for, and who do you pray to?  

(   you used to joke about being scared of being loved. in reality, you are scared of being loved by anyone that is not him. you are scared of housing all the love for him that you’ve held since you were thirteen. you are scared that there will be nowhere else for that love to go, and it’ll weigh on your shoulders forever. until eternal damnation finally teaches you a fucking lesson.   )

alastor’s eyes, fogged and feverish as they might be, glowed yellow when they met angel’s own. angel shook his head at the radio demon. his voice felt light ; as if it weren’t actually coming from his own body.

❝     no - one else is comin’.    ❞      he doesn’t know why it’s the first thing he says, but it’s a reassurance for both of them. this connection feels delicate ; one wrong move, and alastor didn’t have any reason not to rip him apart. why wasn’t he afraid ?   angel’s gaze flickered down to the wound on his chest, and for a moment, he wishes he’d grabbed some sort of first aid kit. something. anything.

[spiderslvts]

. * @r-adio : requested a 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝓘t’s 𝐎𝐃𝐃, returning back to the hotel, the entire building bathed in the rich darkness that only came in the earliest hours of the morning. this wasn’t angel’s first time returning home so late. these past few nights had been particularly lengthy, as if valentino was trying to stretch apart angel’s limits.  [ what would angel have been if not clay for the moulding, after all? ]   that evening he’d returned, body 𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 and his hair 𝙼𝚄𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳, he’d almost expected silence greeting him as he made his way to the bar. he arrived, instead, to the all-too-familiar sound of static buzzing, a sound akin to the crackle of a vintage radio.

angel barely looks up. he doesn’t have to. there’s only one bastard that would fill the hotel lobby with such a sound. with shaky, 𝐄𝐗𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 hands, angel grabbed one of the bottles of cheap vodka from the back of the bar and took a long swig, gripping the neck of the bottle in one hand. the heat the alcohol brings isn’t enough. it never was, not anymore.

he finds it in himself to GLANCE UP, eyes shadowed over with dark circles and shadow the DEMON simply stared, looking so unnerving, blending into the shadow with the same 𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙮𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙣 on his features. angel had gotten used to it, and yet somehow, it still felt like he was being MOCKED.

‘  can i help ‘ya, smiles ? or are ‘ya just gonna stand there and be fuckin’ weird ?  ‘

[spiderslvts]

❝   this  is  where  ‘ya  spend  all  your  fuckin’  time  ?     ❞   he’s  hanging upside-down  from a loose spot on the wall,  TRULY TAKING AFTER HIS DEMONIC FORM.  his chest was lit up with a sweet cocktail of childlike excitement and barely - concealed anxiety : angel might have been a  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐑,  but something about the . . . new medium was giving him an unfamiliar nervousness. he hops from the ceiling to watch the dials be twisted,  the GLORIOUS SOUNDBOARD  sitting before the radio demon.

❝    what the fuck do’ya even talk about on a radio show ?      ❞

you have a spider infestation in your office (angel dust is climbing up your walls)

@spiderslvts

ANGEL IS CLIMBING UP THE WALLS OF HIS RADIO BOOTH, NOT PICKING A PARTICULAR PLACE TO SIT HIMSELF. IT WOULD SEEM THAT HE WAS ANTSY JUST BEING THERE. picking up his cup of hot coffee, ALASTOR gestures towards @spiderslvts . ❝ make yourself right at home, my dear. there is no need to be so anxious. have you never been in the booth before? perhaps, this is to be expected from someone who only works in video. ❞

❝ this space is meant to be comforting, so relax yourself. ❞ turning the knobs on his soundboard idly, he prepares it for yet another broadcast. knowing that he would have company this time. but the other didn't need to say a single word. he was nothing more than company for the show. if that's what was getting a rise out of him, then so be it. ❝ i can't very well go on air with you rummaging around like that. take your seat, it's ready for you. ❞

[spiderslvts]

❝    oh,  i know all a-bout  bein’  vulnerable to the public  !   ❞         he  GRINS  and there’s a neon  -  pink mischief that glimmers behind his eyes, akin to the shimmer of his gold tooth.  he sits in the chair beside alastor, hiking his legs up over the arm so his body is draped over the surface of the chair itself.  angel watched with fascinated intent as alastor performed the last few tweaks to his system before the broadcast could begin. 

❝    YOU  LEAD  THE  WAY,  radio  guy.   i’ve got enough stories about my job to take up fuckin’  hours  of ‘ya  broadcast here. wouldn’t be too surprised if ‘ya end up with the  HORNIEST  SINNERS  THIS  SIDE  OF  THE  PRIDE  RING  bustin’ down ‘ya doors to come meet me aft’a’word  !    ❞

[spiderslvts]

had angel not known any better, he’d swear he was being  SO  STRATEGICALLY  SLICED  OPEN  ;   a  [ BODY ]  being slit from gullet to groin, flayed open, the chill of the evening air brushing its uncaring fingers across his insides. he could picture alastor’s words as the blade, his eager, expert hands tearing his heart out of his body,  INSPECTING IT  curiously.  picking apart every dark stain, every secret, every UNSPOKEN WORD.  perhaps he would lick the blood from his fingers as he put angel’s heart right back in its rightful cage.  perhaps he would walk away like he hadn’t just learned everything angel had to offer.  𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒. . .

angel’s grip  TIGHTENED  on the neck of the vodka bottle.  (  HIS HANDS WERE TREMBLING,  HIS BODY IS NO LONGER HIS OWN.  )    he focuses his tired, weary eyes on the vodka in front of him.  he was  right,  and angel hated every moment of knowing it.  FOR  WHAT  IS  A  PERSONA  IF  NOT  A  MACABRE,  BLOODIED  SHIELD  ?    there would be a day where the mask of angel dust was worn over his own features for so long that he was NOTHING without it.  anthony  would simply be a memory. the young sinner with the tired eyes would be  ABANDONED  in favor of the face that was marketable, that was desired.  if people did not want anthony, they would always want angel dust.  they would always want what  DID NOT EXIST.

angel downed the rest of the vodka in the nearly - empty bottle. the light, fuzzy sensation of being buzzed wrapped around his head, heating him from the inside. when he turns his shoulder to meet eyes with the staring overlord, he searches for anything but genuity in the uncharacteristically tender words.  (  𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗔 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗞 𝗢𝗙 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚.  alastor would brush past him in the kitchen on his way to fill his mug with coffee. charlie would be laughing with vaggie as she mixed her coffee with milk and sugar. husk would sit at the end of the table with his gaze focused on the news.  AND NOBODY WOULD KNOW.  )

❝    ‘s  more  . . .   complicated than ‘ya think it is.   ❞     his voice is blurry around the edges, laced with alcohol’s familiar touch.       ❝     you . . .      ‘ya  don’t  know  me.   ‘ya  don’t know my job, ‘ya don’t know my fuckin’  boss  ⸺     ❞    (  THE RESTRAINTS OF A PINK CHAINED DEAL  !   )            ❝    PEOPLE  WANT  ANGEL - DUST !  they  …   it don’t  matter  if it’s a persona or  whatever  -   they want me !     ❞

and   WANT   is such a strange word on his tongue.  he is wanted in the raw, unholy way that he was designed to be wanted. a prop, an actor, a placeholder.  and he will never be forgiven for the thoughts in the back of his mind, yearning for more. for a second, he isn't even certain if he's trying to convince alastor that he's wanted by the masses, or convince himself of the same.

HIS WORDS ARE ALWAYS COATED IN SUGAR, MEANT TO BE CONDESCENDING AT THE BEST OF TIMES. though, it's meaningful conversation that he's having with the exhaustion porn star. he can see the wear & tear from the day on him. the way that his makeup is smeared, his hair is a mess in places that it usually is not. there is much to see that is usually not out of place for him. someone who cares so much about their appearance would generally never allow themselves to look so washed out. ALASTOR understands this concept well, he's another who cares greatly about his appearance. the two of them share that in common. while, ANGEL DUST constantly compares himself to goods that are to be for the taking; he doesn't see it this way at all. the other values his appearance just the same way as anyone else would. he doesn't want to be seen like this. and yet, he's victim to ALASTOR'S CUTTING GAZE.

there is no escaping his watchful eyes when in his presence. EYE CONTACT is another form of formality that he doesn't forgo. but the other is clearly trying to avoid such in this moment. he's slinging back some more vodka like his life depends on it. who is ALASTOR to stop him if he wishes to be intoxicated? the more that he drinks, the more that he will be willing to talk. truthful statements are all that he is looking for in the moment. they might not be used against him, this is a private conversation between the two of them, he's looking for vulnerability, an honest word from him. something that would make him feel real.

❝ why of course, i enjoy doing it. it's my HEART and SOUL. spending my time with my viewers is when i get to release all of my inhibitions, a chance to be my true self. ❞ he is not so foolish that he misses out on what angel dust was about to say. he doesn't WANT to be doing it. so close to that statement, yet he clams up right before the importance of it comes out. ❝ MOCK YOU? do you feel as if i'm mocking you? i'm merely seeing you eye to eye, foot to foot, as a fellow member of SHOW BUSINESS. clearly, you know that we have some similarities. it's exhausting to put up a front all of the time, smiles for smiles, but you're never fully dressed without your persona. don't you feel the same? there is an idea of ANGEL DUST, and you must always put that forward when you're in front of the camera. then, once it turns off, you just become ... regular old you again. ❞ stopping for a moment, he adds in a cheery tone. ❝ but what would i know, i'm just the RADIO HOST. ❞

[spiderslvts]

it’s I R K S O M E, the way every word from the radio demon seems to taunt angel with every sugar-kissed word. he almost would’ve preferred being threatened - anything but this. angel’s shoulders are tight ; 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝. his eye makeup is smeared and his dark circles are the same color as the 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 across his collarbones. he’s too exhausted to put up any sort of real fight, but he isn’t exhausted enough to not expect one.

angel tried to glare at the other man over his shoulder before turning back around, sitting on one of the barstools with one set of arms wrapped around his torso. even with his back turned to the demon, 𝗛𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗟 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚. it’s unnerving, feeling invisible, shadowed eyes on him. he’d left the studio of one overlord, just to return to the judgemental gaze of another. 

❝   yeah, like you’d know fuckin’  ANYTHING  about my kinda’ show-business, asshole.   ❞        ANOTHER SWIG. the vodka had begun to lack any taste.   ❝   you’re a goddamn  𝗥𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗢 𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧  or whatever-the-fuck  because ‘ya  like doin’ it.  me, on th’other hand  ?  i’ve  ⸺     ❞

he almost says it. the words 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 spill out of him.  i’ve got no choice.  it feels like a confession, 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 or saving that he isn’t going to recieve. not by anyone, most definitely not by  ALASTOR.

❝   whateva’. nevermind. if ‘ya here to fuckin’ mock me, jus’ leave me alone.   ❞

WHAT WOULD ONE CONSIDER A PEACEFUL NIGHT IN THE HOTEL? a night where the lobby is empty, without a soul to be found? perhaps, that was as close as it would come. his radio wasn't tuned properly, anyone with ears could tell that. the crackle of static radiating from it's speaker, with a jumble of what was supposedly jazz music joining in on the assault. he was sitting in one of the big chairs in the corner of the room, with his stereo fixed right in front of him. he should have expected to have some company. the spider had been returning later & later each night. no DOUBT having to do with his deal with one of the notorious VEES. ALASTOR wasn't privy to the exact details of his deal, nor would he push for them, but it was obvious enough that he was being worked to the bone. so was the reality of selling your soul. it came with constraints on one's time & body. they were held captive by their owner; and his owner happened to be particularly sadistic about his rule.

he's already slinging back cheap vodka before ALASTOR can get a word in. but there really is no need for words. a silent agreement that the two of them would likely occupy the same space for some time. HE DOESN'T SLEEP, and the other has some adrenaline to steam off. his sleepy eyes might not suggest it, but they both know that he is not ready to give up for the night just yet. if he was, he would not have gone in for a drink. there is the chance that he's looking to forget, but it would take a lot more than a mere swig to do that. intoxication takes time.

❝ WEIRD? me? now, that's not very nice of you. i'm a guest here just the same as you. do i not have the rights to enjoy myself just the same as you? ❞ placing his hands in his lap, his microphone is leaning against the side of the chair. ❝ it's quite late, you must have had a busy night. but i suppose the show never stops for anything, does it? there is a lot of very nice alcohol on that counter, yet you picked the cheapest garbage that you could find. tells me that your night was particularly busy. SHOW BUSINESS is not all it lives up to be, is it? it's greedy. and the poor actors get the end of the stick. ❞

[spiderslvts]

without  the  smile  staining  alastor’s  features  with  darkened  shadow,  he looked   ALMOST  HUMAN   in the most heartbreaking way. the sound of angel’s own breathing felt loud in his ears, almost as unsteady and staggered as alastor’s own. he cannot look alastor in the eyes.  he fears a world where he looks into them and watches them turn brown again ; where crimson hair turned to darkened curls, and where the face of the  RADIO  DEMON  would morph right back into the face of the boy he once held so dear.  angel tore himself to shreds over the yearning he had to have that world back, and the bitter, bitter reality that even if he did have it back,  none of it would be the same.

(  MEMORIES  ARE  NOT  MEANT  TO  HAVE  COLOR.  but angel was still stained with the softened pinks and oranges that came with recalling him. how many nights ended in such a similar fashion back when they were alive  ?  he remembered waking in a guest bed, lightly hungover, making his way to the kitchen for water. he remembered seeing alastor’s mother in the dark, meeting her gaze. she smiled at him with such tender warmth that for a moment in his teenage mind,  HE  WONDERED  IF  SHE  COULD  READ  HIS  MIND.  )

something hot wraps its invisible fingers around angel’s heart at the sound of his name being spoken again.  ANTHONY.  he hears it in his memory ; alastor calling for him in the dark with whiskey on his tongue.  (  mimzy had once said that he turned into such a  kitten  after a few good drinks, and angel bit at his inner lip to ward back the smile that threatened to show.  DEATH  CHANGES  FEW  THINGS,  he supposed.  )    ANTHONY.    a name whispered with a cracked, weary voice, painted with murmured radio static that seemed to grow louder as the pain progressed.  ANTHONY.  a name whispered by a voice that sounded so eerily like home. he sees the hand reach out in the dark, shaking fingers outstretched, and LORD - it takes everything in him to keep steady.

❝     where  else  would  ‘ya  be  ?     ❞        A  SOFT  VOICE,  so uncharacteristically motherly and loving in comparison to angel’s usual tone. trembling, he hunched forward, finding himself close enough to alastor’s enervated frame to see the wound etched over his chest. the steady flow of blood, creating a PUDDLE of red underneath the both of them.

FOR  NOW,  THEY  COULD  PRETEND.   angel could pretend nobody else was searching for them, that nobody would ask any questions at their inevitable return. he could pretend that he knew how to fix the wound carved into alastor’s torso. that he wasn’t afraid.   he glanced back down at the wound, where alastor’s hand pressed tight, and he swallowed, trying desperately to remember a semblance of first - aid information. something. ANYTHING.

❝    shit, al   -    ❞     he reaches his hand forward without thinking, fingers brushing over the back of alastor’s wrist before he stops himself.   MEMORIES  BETWEEN  THEM  BE  DAMNED,  alastor would still tear someone apart for touching him without permission.     ❝    lemme help ‘ya, alright   ?   that  .  .  .   looks like it hurts.    ❞

HE STILL HAD REMNANTS OF THE PAST IN HIM, they were not completely lost on him. no, he still remembered booze - filled nights in underground clubs, dancing to jazz with only the fear of the cops finding out about the locations. there was no DEMONS, no fear of HEAVEN coming down to exterminate them. they were enjoying the presence of others, and an invisible fear of the law. spending their nights drinking like the sun wouldn't come up, singing along to the same tunes that would play by the week. sometimes, they would change it up. but there was always those popular songs that stuck with them; ones that they could sing with their full chest, no mistake in any of the lyrics, because they had heard them hundreds of times at that point. they would spend the evenings in each other's company, without worry that it would ever end — but it did, very quickly. that wasn't to say death was the cause, but something even more fearful, distance. one that couldn't be covered on foot, or even on car if one was wealthy enough for it. the roads were not so well - developed at the time. it would take a long train ride, and those cost quite the pretty penny back in the day. things that he couldn't very well afford while taking care of himself & his mother, all while on the salary of a wannabe radio host.

he could recall the mornings after rough nights of partying, ones where coffee felt like a solace, when in fact what was in order was a tall glass of water. seeing the other's messy hair in the morning from rolling around on the mattress in their guest bedroom the entire night. when they used to be a whole family, and his mother would accept the other's presence readily, as if he were a second son to her. they were always about family like that. ready to bring in anyone that was at their doorstep, when they were younger, it was a common occurrence. if anthony needed somewhere to stay for the night, their doors were open to him. he would tease him about the way he took his food, about how he couldn't quite handle the spices in the jambalaya that his mother used to make. offering him a glass of milk with each spoonful. though, it was truly a new orleans delicacy. because nothing was better than homemade cooking; especially when it was made with heart.

had the other been there for more, maybe he would have never ended up in HELL at all. or maybe, he was destined for it. the chain of events that happened were something inevitable, that not even ANTHONY would have been able to stop. his murder spree, following the passing of his mother was something that was ingrained in his psyche from the start. destined to become something worse; even after he achieved his dreams of being a RADIO HOST, it simply had never been enough for him. and maybe it never would have been, no matter who was there for him.

HE'S CURLED UP IN A TIGHT BALL ON THE FLOOR OF THE RADIO TOWER, UNABLE TO CONCEAL THE AMOUNT OF PAIN THAT HE IS IN. there is no point in trying, the wound is cut deep. the fact that it had come from an angelic weapon had to amount for something, because he'd never felt this amount of pain from any other weapon before. he'd been shot, he'd been stabbed, he'd been near maimed before — none of it could quite compare to the pain that he was in at the moment. a hot, searing pain down the front of his chest, burning worse with every moment. ALASTOR'S BODY shakes from the sheer pain that he is in, unable to control the trembling. his shadows hoovered around him almost protectively, but even those were weak at the moment. no longer something intimidating, they were just meager little spats on the floor. his antlers have formed on his head in two small sprouts, his body struggling between remaining a human - like form & reverting to his DEMONIC form when he was injured. ears were pinched back to his head, unable to make them perky when he heard someone entering. no, he was far too out of it to give much of a reaction at all.

no doubt that others had noticed his missing presence, worrying that he was dead. though, his location wasn't all that difficult to pin - point. it was only natural that he would have come back to hide in his only space that he had to himself. it might have been a mess, rubble all around him, but he stuck half under the desk for as long as he could. the voice was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure how much comfort that it brought him on first listen. there was nothing to fear about ALASTOR HIMSELF, he was a complete wreck in the making. his own wounds weren't healing nearly as fast as he had anticipated. usually, a scratch would have been gone in seconds, but this was from something that shouldn't have touched DEMONIC FLESH. it was intended to cause a great deal of harm.

reaching out with his hand, he tries to come out of hiding for a moment. looking up at the face with bleary eyes. for a moment, he swears that the face he sees is one from his past. his mouth works before his brain can think, letting out a pathetic. ❝ ANTHONY? ❞ he's never called the other by his name before, giving no indication that he would know it. they have always introduced themself as ANGEL DUST to him, seeming set on their newfound pornstar name. but this time, he opts for something more personal, the name coming from his memories. ❝ how did you find me? ❞ he asks, as if the question is one that is difficult to answer. wiping the blood from his lips as he speaks. for once, he's lacking a smile.