#RadioHusk Week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

indoodlingmadness · 1 month ago

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Radiohusk Week 2025--Day 4: Jealousy

I collabed with darkhymns for this! They are amazing and their vision of radiohusk is simply divine. I recommend all their works! ♥

This fic made me foam at the mouth at the delicious mutual pinning and toxic jealousy. My codependent, dense idiots. It's beautiful.

Disease

Husk yearns for Alastor's attention—but the feeling is overwhelmingly mutual.

That's the thing about jealousy. It's such a disease.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk, Vox, Angel Dust Rating: M Word Count: 7,522 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Written for Radiohusk Week, Day 4: Jealousy. This was in collaboration with @indoodlingmadness for their amazing art! (Check it out on bsky and twitter!)

Half-slouched on the couch in the hotel parlor, Husk swore that the television commercial in front of him was playing on loop. But it was never the exact same, minimal differences here and there, from the background set to the changes in script. There were dozens of different recordings put out on the dot of every hour. Vox’s desperation was so palpable that he could feel it coating his tongue with its slimy texture. Watching this might as well have made his brain bubble and melt within his skull.

The thing was, there really was nothing else good on TV.

“—And that’s why radio is archaic, boring, and absolutely worthless in today’s modern age!” Vox was holding up another weird stick drawing of the terrifying Radio Demon, somehow getting his smile just right. His desk was shiny, but rattled, the surface of it decorated in claw marks. The neon lights behind him seemed to crack and spark, pulsing in time with Vox’s breathing. Just a few commercials ago, it had been looking new and fresh. “Look at him! You wouldn’t trust that guy in an alleyway!”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea,” Husk spoke to the screen, taking a swig of his bottle. In that reception, he saw those antennas spark furiously from that oversized microwave for a head. Televisions were always a two-way deal down here in Hell, and even if the Overlord might have caught his sarcasm just then, he knew he wasn’t the real focus of his ire.

A small crackle that further ruined the reception of the screen. A horrible ruptured feedback that set Husk’s teeth on edge. But his discomfort didn’t match the intensity he saw in Vox’s eyes.

“Oh, Husker. You really should turn such a dreadful thing off. Think of the electricity bill!”

Alastor acted like he hadn’t been watching from afar for the past hour. Husk could tell, just from the very way his fur stood up, from that specific sensation of eyes watching from the shadows. Except, those eyes hadn’t been so directed at him either.

No, just these two Overlords staring at each other from across the room in some weird sickening obsession.

“Don’t you dare shut me off! I know where you sleep!”

“Likewise, old pal!”

When Alastor finally reappeared near the couch Husk sat on, he gave a small wave at the television screen. Another small crackle, one that seemed to make the outdated picture box overheat. Or maybe that was just Vox himself getting all hot and bothered.

Husk rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Was getting bored anyway.” He then reached for the remote that was by his side.

“WAIT I WASN’T DONE–!” Click.

Alastor sighed with a sort of euphoria. “Ah, sometimes, silence can truly be golden.”

“Really? This coming from the guy in love with his own voice.”

It had only been a few weeks since Vox had tried to get Sir Pentious working as a spy for him, but since that plan had spectacularly failed, the Overlord took things in his own hands. Soon, nearly anything with a screen in the hotel, such as a television set, a phone, and even the fucking fridge because it was using so-called ‘smart technology,’ was filled with the guy’s obnoxious face, shouting the same obscenities over and over to get at Alastor who only passed by such performances.

Husk was silently grateful to himself that he only moved with the times as far as flip phones and nothing beyond that. He didn’t know what he’d do if he had to wake up to Vox screaming in his ear about Alastor not paying attention to him.

And besides, the Radio Demon was paying attention to him. Even more than usual.

“Ha! Of course anything I say would have some worth, my friend.” Alastor tapped the head of his cane against his palm, sparing another glance to the now dead TV set. “But I truly don’t care what such a low brow television personality has to say about anything!”

Husk took another sip of his drink. The beer tasted more bitter than usual. “That why you didn’t mess with the cameras today?”

And why you let him see you whenever you can?

As he thought this, he let his gaze slide around the room. No, it wasn’t even just the television or the phones that Vox would spy from. A small flash of a camera lens peeked out from the torn wallpaper, another was wedged into a crevice somewhere on the mantelpiece in the parlor. All not so very subtle, not even a little bit. Charlie had wanted to get rid of them, but Alastor had insisted on leaving them in place. She wanted the hotel to be promoted, he reasoned, and now she got it!

But the real reason was because he enjoyed it. His boss liked Vox’s attention.

Husk tightened his grip on the glass bottle. Why was he even thinking about this?

“He can have his little toys if he wants, for there is nothing to hide!” Alastor said with another tinny laugh. “Perhaps he’s seeking a little redemption of his own?”

“You fucking know that’s not the reason,” Husk said, with more venom than he meant to. He couldn’t keep the words in, not with the way they burned his throat. “What do you get out of it?”

At that moment, he wondered if he revealed too much, but his boss simply chuckled before sashaying across the parlor, away from him. Suspicious-looking lights blinked above him, catching his every motion, his every step.

“I’m an entertainer, Husker! At the very least, I can put on a good show!”

“For an audience of one,” Husk countered.

“It doesn’t matter the size of the crowd. One must give it their all!”

He wanted to say something else—to shout something else. But an insistent vibration in his trousers pocket pulled away his attention. He didn’t even see where Alastor went, though likely to where the most screens were.

Husk pulled out the phone, flipped it open. He was greeted to a barrage of text messages in all caps.

[HEY!!11 WHERE’S ALASTOR?! TELL HIM 2 UNBL0CK MY NUMBR! AND 2 GET AN ACTUAL PHONE1!]

With a grimace, Husk gripped the phone until the casing cracked.

He was so fucking sick of this.

–

Even with the dense crowd at the shaking club, Angel had been able to find Husk—who was predictably sitting right at the bar, already going through his second bottle. Not exactly a hard search.

“Sooo is there a reason ya asked me out here?” Angel said as he pulled up a chair. He was wearing a pink, feathery shawl over his shoulders, completing his outfit with rhinestone-rimmed sunglasses. He leaned over the counter, flicking up his shaded accessories with a finger. “Knew it was only a matter of time before we hit the next level, whiskers.”

Husk gave him a sideways glance, then sighed. His claws tapped against the counter, which continued to vibrate with the beat of some song he never heard of. “I just needed to get out of the hotel. It’s fucking misery.”

Angel gave a cackle, slapping Husk’s shoulder. “Circuits-for-brains getting to you? Baby, it’s way worse in person.”

“I know. I’ve met this guy plenty back then.” It was one of the downsides of being an Overlord—you had to get to know the other Overlords and what territories they held, even if you hated the other’s guts. “He’s somehow gotten worse. Didn’t think that was even possible for that egomaniac!”

Angel already had a cocktail in his hand, sex on the beach style. Husk wondered if he just pulled it out of a purse. “Been meaning to ask ya. Does he and Alastor have some sort of…whatever going on? I know Vox has always been into voyeurism but usually he sort of like, does it to everybody instead of one person.”

Husk waved away the question, scoffing. “Fuck if I should know. They used to be friends or business partners, or whatever.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Ohhh, so they definitely have some kinky shit going on!”

Husk didn’t really want to think about it. So what if Alastor was into what Vox was doing? So what if Husk had to see it? It didn’t matter what his boss was into—there was already a laundry list of awful things Alastor craved that turned Husk’s stomach.

And this was no different.

Before he could even think of ordering another bottle, he felt Angel take his wrist, easily slipping him off the stool. His wings spread out to keep his balance, and his tail brushed against Angel’s right leg in reflex. There was the flash of a white and gold-speckled smile before him.

“Look, sourpuss. You didn’t call me out here just so I can watch you drink yourself into a coma. I already see enough of that at the hotel.” Two more hands grasped Husk’s waist, pulling him into the dance floor. “Let’s have some fun already! Then we can get wasted later!”

“Fine, but if you step on my tail, I’m calling it off.”

Still, Husk couldn’t help but smile a little bit, because like it or not, Angel was oddly good at cheering him up. The guy could be funny, could be charming when he wasn’t putting on his usual persona, and could take his mind off less pleasant things for at least a little while.

And besides, there were other ways to drown out his feelings besides through booze and sleep. Dancing to the club’s beat was a good start.

That is, until one is reminded.

Hours later, at some point in the night, Husk was more than a little drunk, and Angel was hanging off his shoulders, laughing at some nonsense that fell from his lips in chaotic fashion. “So that whole waterboarding thing is already out because the market is so niche, and Val’s pissed! Now we’re back to student-teacher junk, and he just tells me to look younger for it. Like bitch, I’m ageless already!”

It wasn’t even really that funny, but Husk was laughing, unable to stifle it in his chest. Angel just had a knack for telling work stories, which he’d tell even back at the hotel bar.

But he made the mistake of turning away, just for a moment. He only wanted to lean against a table, and didn’t trust his body to not fall on its ass. So he needed to use his eyes, and he happened to find something in the far off corner.

Laughing shadows, with sharp red eyes and wide smiles. One of them moved forth from a puddle of black on the floor, never minding the trash it maneuvered around—of discarded beer cans, wadded up condom wrappers, and spare change that sparkled in the club’s multicolored lights. The shadow was a small thing, a doll covered in stitches that held together its insides, with a stray green thread leading from its back.

It looked straight at Husk, tilted its head to the right. Then more, and more until the top of its horns were level with its nubby shoulder. It was mouthing something at him, its voice drowned out by the club’s music and the shouts of other sinners having the time of their afterlives.

Even so, Husk heard it. The voice pounded in his skull like a persistent beat.

Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. Bad.

And then the shadow sunk into the dirty floor, leaving nothing, not even a stain behind.

–

Nothing happened once he and Angel came back to the hotel. No acts of punishment, no pulling of the chain to make him fall to his knees. Husk expected some sort of retribution, for pissing off Alastor for ditching work.

But there were only eyes in his back as he walked back to his room, half-stumbling both from drunkenness and exhaustion—and they weren’t the eyes he expected, or even wanted right now.

In the hallway, Husk saw another camera, one that was perched in the corner. It swiveled, red light blinking. He heard the camera zoom in on him, the electricity sparking inside its metal casing.

With barely a second glance, he threw a card at it, slicing through. It bursted unceremoniously, the light on it growing dark.

Vox’s toys had always been such pieces of trash.

–

The next day, all the cameras in the hotel had disappeared.

Some had been ripped out from their placing within the walls, in the corners of rooms, or wherever else Vox had shown his ugly face on. This included anything with a screen. The television in the parlor was now unequivocally broken, the screen cracked, leaving nothing but static when one tried to turn it on. The ‘smart’ fridge was also completely wrecked, as if it had been torn apart by giant hands. (This also resulted in their food being destroyed, which Husk had to then make a shopping trip for and put it all in a good old icebox). Everyone made sure to hide their phones, but nothing Vox-related was streamed to them besides the occasional malware-infected ad or two.

Even so, Husk still felt eyes in his back. When he worked. When he chatted with others. When he slept.

He knew why.

A sliver of a shadow that ducked away at the last moment, of burning eyes and short arms. Small bouts of laughter he could barely hear, even in the dead of night. Suddenly, there was intense focus on him. It felt like hands around his neck, keeping him in place, just short of squeezing to cut off his air.

Still, Alastor hadn’t shown up or spoken with him. Instead, the Overlord had locked himself in his radio tower, the ‘ON AIR’ sign always on, blaring in the red-drenched sky.

Yet, when he’d dare turn on the radio in his room—a so-called gift from Alastor, one of old-make, crafted from wood, so that he could contact Husk whenever necessary—and find that dreaded radio station, he couldn’t hear anything. No songs, no screams. Just dead air.

Husk would sometimes sit on his bed, within the dark, waiting. He’d flick a glance to the corners, catch another small shadow doll staring, licking its lips, stifling laughter.

“What do you want?” Husk growled out. “I know it’s fucking you. Is this some new shitty prank of yours? Or are you mad I broke one of those cameras?” A bitter taste poisoning his very insides again. “Come out then and talk to me!”

A small twist of its head, the eyes refracting red light that spilled onto the floor. Another little shake of its body, a smile stretched in a copy of its very master, before it then finally slithered away back into the shadows.

But it didn’t really leave. He could still see the smile. The red eyes. Always in the corners, watching him.

He didn’t understand Alastor’s game anymore.

And he didn’t understand just why he wasn’t hating this as much as he thought he would.

–

Another week passed. Alastor stayed locked in his radio tower. His station only played dead air and nothing else.

The shadow dolls still moved about the hotel, trailing after Husk wherever he went. Even outside, he’d see them crawl along the cracks in the sidewalks, or hang from trees, tracking his every movement. They were rarely subtle now. Always watching.

Yet, there would be nothing else. Just waiting, and waiting for something to happen. To change.

“Still keeping this up,” he once said quietly, polishing a glass at his bar, feeling those eyes again. The little creatures were sentient, and certainly had their own consciousness. But Alastor had always used them to do his bidding, whether that was fixing up a broken wall to trailing down a victim for his next show.

“Can you even see me?” Husk asked next, looking straight at one of those little dolls that was behind a rye bottle on the shelf. This one was slightly larger, with sharp teeth that looked rusted. It was salivating, staring right at him with what looked like a blank gaze. “Or do you just hear me instead?”

Vox was the one with screens, with cameras, with all the voyeuristic tendencies to spy and get every detail he could.

But just as Alastor was a good talker, he was also a good listener. A skilled eavesdropper that didn’t need visuals to get any juicy information he needed. Words and sounds were usually enough for him. Also, he had once told Husk, ‘A great auditory experience will light up the imagination far more than what a picture box could ever do.’

What could Alastor have heard down at the club on that night? There had only been a mess of noise everywhere. No way he would have been able to pick up any sort of conversation.

The doll shifted, tapped its claws against the rye bottle, clinking away at the glass. Its red gaze burned and pulsed. It started to melt away into the darkness.

Husk grabbed at its head before it could leave, wrenching it back up. A glass bottle fell to the floor, spilling out all the rye. But for once in his afterlife, there was something else far more important.

He dug his claws against its cheeks. It was both soft and slimy at the same time—he could feel the rough fabric that was its skin, the stuffing that poked out from between its stitches. But he could feel something else, something wet and sticky, leaving his hand covered in tar.

“Alastor!” Despite the doll’s wicked teeth, he leaned in close so that nothing could be missed. “Tell me what you want!”

The doll opened its mouth, crying out, before devolving into unhinged laughter. It shook in Husk’s grip like a wriggling insect. If it was trying to say something, he couldn’t understand. Any words were swallowed up by its own laughter, high-pitched and keening.

Then, it stopped. It leaned forward, its red eyes shining bright. “Husker,” it said, its voice an awful mesh of monstrous and electrical, still sounding like it came from some sort of demonic speaker. “Just how obtuse can you be?”

Its red eyes continued to burn, growing hotter, until it engulfed its entire face. Husk felt the flames lick at his fingers, and quickly let go of the doll that had self-immolated in such quickness. It turned to ash before it could even hit the ground.

—

Alastor hadn’t left his radio tower because there was something wrong with him.

And it isn’t what everyone would think, of course.

His claws tapped against the metal dials before him, the soundboard of his station buzzing with frequencies to broadcast throughout Pentagram City. Lately, he hadn’t had as much time for his weekly broadcasts, with special Overlord guests to serenade his listeners with their screams of agony and rage. It had been such a popular program, always premiering at 6pm on Friday nights! A perfect lead in to the weekend and truly give his listeners something vital to unwind to. But he had been busy with the hotel, and he wouldn’t give his beloved audience any lackluster performance.

Yet, even so, he would turn on the mic, and let it play absolutely nothing.

He would let it play and play. Saying nothing. Singing nothing. Screaming nothing.

Because he was too preoccupied with listening.

Familiar little steps, along with high-pitched giggling, echoed from his right. He swiftly turned his neck, the bone cracking like kindling. The acoustics of the tower made the sound vibrate, falling along the metal grates, the barred windows, and the red-lit neon sign. In the dim light, he saw one of his precious minions, climbing up the legs of his chair to perch itself on an arm rest.

They were such beautiful, vicious little creatures. Always so eager to please. Always getting him the latest gossip. Always retrieving for him the most suitable guests for his radio program. And, there were few hobbies so relaxing than crafting them himself. A cross stitch for the arms, for the neck, shaping up their little smiles to align so well with his. After all, one must be proud of their own creations.

As the doll’s red eyes started into his, which blazed like the depths of a fireplace, it played back for him something from its open mouth.

“Boss,” spoke a voice, harsh like gravel. “It’s been weeks. Why are you avoiding me?”

Then the doll shut its mouth with a sharp snap, sharp teeth grinding. It snickered, blinking up at its master while its pointed tail wagged.

Alastor considered, tapping his claws against the metal of his station. He would have to make sure his little creatures were more hidden. Husker speaking to him ruined his experience. No, he would just listen in on his dear friend go about his day, speak with the guests, and make sure he had a goodnight’s rest. Simply overseeing, as was part of his own duties as the hotelier. After all, he had to make sure his employees were doing their job.

Darling Niffty could be trusted. But, Husker, on the other hand… he always had such little motivation. He was doing the layabout a favor! He even got rid of those cameras that his friend had complained so much about. There had been no other reason he did such a thing.

None at all.

Then, the doll opened its mouth again, the red eyes pulsing like a heartbeat. Alastor felt the tremor run over his back before he could even comprehend the emotion.

“Hey, whiskers! Talking to yourself again, huh? I ain’t judging.”

Alastor’s smile tightened. That same smile tightened on the doll’s face in perfect mimicry.

That spider was such a distraction for poor, slothful Husker. Yes. That was the problem here. That was why he felt such bile in his throat. Of course. The hotel’s first guest was making Husker the worst he’s ever been.

That was the only thing that made sense.

He quickly closed the doll’s mouth with a thumb. “Enough,” he said, the hum in his mind growing louder. “Such a voice has no place here.”

Yet that accompanying sound was getting much too common lately. It was rather unpleasant to the ears.

Alastor patted the little doll on the head, watching how it leaned into his palm like a pleased cat. Such creations would never disappoint him. He half-regretted bursting one of them into flames before. A lapse in judgment, an indescribable urge to reach out and hurt. Which is not uncommon, for it was something to be nurtured. Yet, not without at least some form of control.

He had done so much listening. He hadn’t broadcasted in a while, or spoke into the mic which was rapidly gathering dust. Just the silence. Not even in the mood for an old comfort song.

There really was something wrong with him.

The doll opened its mouth again, still seeking those pets. It was a mindless action. It had only wanted more of its master’s affection. Then, that harsh and discordant sound that moved through, meshing with the low gravel that he’d come to appreciate the nuances of.

“Ya need me to take you out on the town this time? Being at this bar got you acting like an old geezer more than usual!”

“Ain’t you the one asking out this ‘old geezer’ to begin with?”

Then, there was a laugh. From Husker.

Alastor couldn’t recall what quite happened after that. The humming had grown louder, shaking within his skull, drowning out conversation and melodies and all other comprehensible things.

He blinked. In his lap were the remnants of cloth and stuffing, along with the unraveling of green threads. Black liquid stained his clothes, dripping onto the floor from those ruined fabrics.

The hold he had on himself was so very, very delicate.

–

Alastor left the radio tower. Just for a moment or two.

It wasn’t enough to just listen anymore.

–

Maybe Husker was jumpier than usual. Still, it only served to heighten the experience.

A quick turn was never enough to catch Alastor. Swift shadows that blended with the dim hallways, with the dark corners of a room. Husker was staring into the darkness, and try as he might, he could not catch the eyes that would follow him.

The dolls, Alastor realized, were just not sufficient.

A fascinating thing about Husker was that all of his tells were shown in every part of him. It was rather amusing that he had ever thought he could keep his secrets. A flick of his ears, a swish of his tail, and the ruffling of his wings. All so telegraphic in their motions. All so easy to read. His downfall as an Overlord might as well have been foretold.

There was a soft rush of nervousness in Husker as he made his way to his room, once again looking to the corners. He even tried to still his breathing. Because after all, he knew he was being listened to.

Husker reached for his hat, slipping it from his head. His fur was ruffled, unkempt. It demanded a comb, a pair of hands to settle such wayward tufts to smoothness. His wings stretched, a loose red feather drifting to the ground, landing rather close to a certain dark corner.

But there was no movement from the dark. Husker was watching, eyes glaring yellow like twin torches.

“Feels like another camera…” he muttered underneath his breath. The end of his tail brushed the carpet. “The hell…’

There was another indescribable urge, one that nearly made Alastor leave from his place within the walls to reach out. More than just the fur, or even the luster of those wings against the soft lamplight. After all, Husker was always so entertaining to have around, and it was more than just his oh-so-sparkling personality.

Maybe a few inches closer, enough to swallow up that feather within a sea of black. Husker had turned away just then to hang his hat on a nearby rack.

But then, there was another shiver, even as Husker slipped off a suspender strap to get ready for bed. A raise of his eyebrow, another flick to the walls of his room. Husker was waiting, piercing through that darkness as much as he could. Oh, he’d always had such sharp eyes. But were they sharp enough?

A strap hung from his trousers, which was now more loosened around his waist. There was a quick flick of his right ear as he tried to pinpoint a sound. Any sound at all.

Then there it was. The dead air that lived in Alastor’s skull, now echoing across the room.

Oh, the control he had over himself was so, so tenuous.

“Wait.” Husker turned, looking towards the radio (and he took such great care of it, Alastor saw, with barely any dust or scuff marks on it) which was turned off. Then he looked around the room again. “You’re here, aren’t you? Like, actually here.”

There was a small tremor in his voice. It would have played beautifully over the radio, of that, Alastor was certain. Yet, he had to admit to himself that somehow such a sound did not translate the expression on Husker’s face. A mix of fear, revulsion, and yet a glint in his eyes. Expectant? Eager?

Husker was waiting.

And although Alastor was typically a very patient man—and one had to be, waiting hours for the perfect opportunity, the perfect moment to deliver his raison d'être—he found himself anxious. How easy it would be to move forward, to reach out and grasp at fur and feathers. It was akin to a hunger that one felt in the pit of one’s stomach, desperate to devour from the inside out.

Husker moved, just slightly, to remove the other suspender strap from his shoulder. His breathing was still rapid, just held inside his throat. Pointed ears flicked again. Every motion drawn out, like a jagged blade over skin, slowly cutting through in its sweet pain. Those golden eyes were hazy, dazed, and he opened his mouth to speak again—

Until, the most obnoxious ringtone he had ever heard broke through the silence.

Husker seemed to jump several feet in the air, then quickly reached for his pocket, holding up his falling pants with one hand. The melody was inane, inundated with a bass beat that sounded too familiar and like another night when he had caught Husker at his worst.

“Shit! I didn’t—”

But he didn’t have time to hear Husker’s little excuses. The serenity of the moment was over. So he slipped away from the walls, revealing his shape for just a moment before he slipped underneath the closed door. Husker locked eyes with him, but that didn’t matter. He had unfinished business.

–

Out on one of the balconies of the hotel, Angel was looking down to his phone with an impatient frown. He was leaning against the railing, tapping a finger against his waist. “Ugh, did he fall asleep again?”

It was laughably easy to startle him with a simple tap on his shoulder.

“Angel! Fabulous to have caught you here! I thought I missed you!”

If there was a certain tremor in his voice, he was sure to have fully covered it up. One would need sharp ears after all, and he doubted Angel had such things, always deep within his vices to even be aware of the world around him.

Angel backed against the railing, blinking rapidly as Alastor materialized before him. “Holy fuck! You coulda knocked or something!” He breathed hard for a moment, before an odd little smirk stretched his face. “It’s after hours, smiles. Ya looking for a good time? I prefer appointments over walk-ins, so maybe I can pencil you in for a quickie on Tuesday night.”

How charming.

Alastor held his mic cane in both hands behind his back. His fingers ached slightly. Maybe he just hadn’t eaten enough.

Holding himself to the very brink, he moved to wrap a hand around Angel’s shoulders, as if he were an old pal he had run into on the way to dinner.

“Walk with me!”

“Wait, what—”

A swift change of scenery, and soon they were walking the very hotel grounds, up on this stupendous hill that was not at all very accessible-friendly. That fact had always tickled Alastor and how that limited half of the Pride Ring’s residents, but currently, he could find no humor to the situation at hand.

Angel was frozen in place, and Alastor had to dig a few claws into his fluffy shoulder before he had the inkling that he should be walking right now.

“It certainly seems you’ve been taking Charlie’s dear friendship exercises to heart! I think she would love to hear some feedback on how you’ve been using this for your personal life!”

“Uh,” Angel started, then paled when he saw Alastor’s smile as they walked further down the hill. “Well, I, uh—”

“It would seem maybe redemption is in the cards after all! A shame that not everyone can achieve such a lofty goal, and to be quite frank, ha! I still have my doubts. But who knows! You very well could prove me wrong!”

“Did…did I do something? I’m not sure I—”

“And with the addition of my faithful staff, it has helped Charlie’s wacky dream considerably! You could almost call it a handout! I’m sure that’s something you’re quite used to yourself!”

Angel was trying to subtly leave his grip but Alastor kept him in place. For he was not done talking, and he wouldn’t allow Angel to be rude.

“But when one excels, sometimes another starts to make mistakes. Or fall through the cracks as it were! It would be rather shameful if all your progress was worsening another soul’s fortune.”

“Hold on, the hell are you talking about?” At that, Angel suddenly grew an attitude. He frowned at Alastor, slightly looking down at the Radio Demon. Those gaudy shoes of his were indeed good for something. “Are you blaming me for someone else fucking up? I’ve literally just been here and at work the whole time!”

“Haha! A nice little fib, but you can’t pull the wool over these eyes! If Husker’s work performance suffers, I will have to bring my complaints to Charlie and brainstorm a solution. We wouldn’t want to disappoint her now, would we?”

So invested in his own explanations, that certainly made sense to any sane individual, he hadn’t realized he’d let slip his very reasoning for being here.

“Huh? This is about Husk?” Angel was becoming cocky, shrugging off Alastor’s hold on him, uncaring that the action was rough. “Look, I don’t know what dead cannibal carcass crawled up your ass, but if Husk had any problems with me, he’d just fucking tell me. He ain’t like you, smiles.”

Something ruptured—a sound inside his skull. The static sharpening and gouging through his insides, like a rusted ax hacking away at a leg and ruining the meat until it was a sodden mess.

It’s wrong.

Alastor shifted and turned, and made sure to look down at Angel now. Until he was like the small insect that he was, with scrawny, tepid meat on fragile bones that would barely be satisfactory as a midnight snack.

“You don’t know anything.”

Angel stared, the wind of his earlier outburst suddenly deflating him. He stepped back, crushing one of the many plants that decorated the hillside, its lavender petals mingling now with the blood-stained grass.

“W-wait a sec—”

“If you haven’t seen someone at their very lowest, you can’t claim to know them.” A small twist of his neck as he continued to look down, and then he felt that very delicate grip on his instincts start to loosen. “You will never know how it is to hold someone’s very soul in your own hands.”

Yet, before he could even think to do the unspeakable, as he had done numerous times before with no remorse, and certainly it would not start now—especially not now—a melody played through the air.

It came from his radio tower.

Feeling the grin on his face begin to shake, he turned, feeling the pulse of the airwaves beat inside his very bones. The melody came from the soft, low tones of a saxophone. How it glided through the air like honey, or like thick blood that flowed down one’s throats. It was of an old song too, the kind that would only play on his radio programs.

What a curious thing to suddenly calm his violent bout of bloodlust.

With a quick glance to Angel, who had remained frozen in fear, he then reached out a hand to him. The size of his palm could have enveloped Angel twice over, could have crushed him into paste that would take this so-called actor decades to recuperate from.

He patted Angel on the head, the way he’d do for a pet. The other flinched but didn’t dare try to run. Good.

“Let’s not do this again,” Alastor said before he left, vanishing into the dark.

–

There was a certain image that Alastor would like to keep close to him, for it was the same as when he saw Husker on that night, when the gambler would love to entertain his very own guests. After all, he was a showman at heart, a much more natural talent at it than poorly cheating at cards.

He saw it once again in his radio tower, sliding up through the grates and spotting Husker within the sound booth. The saxophone in his arms as he played a resonant melody against the mic, careful to not be too close as to cause feedback. Even without his suit, he was the very picture of that night. He said nothing at all, preferring to hear the end of the song, determined to not interrupt a performance.

But Husker was always one to be a contrarian, for before he could even finish the final verse, he stopped playing. He then removed the strap of the saxophone and threw the instrument to the side with a clatter.

Then, he turned to Alastor, gritting his sharp teeth. “Now can we finally talk?”

A twitch in his eye, but the hands on his mic cane remained calm. Collected. There was nothing wrong. There was something wrong.

Husker’s eyes were digging through him, waiting impatiently. It was so clear by the flicking of his tail and the very low growl in his throat.

Alastor shrugged. “Why, you could have just called on the phone if you wanted to talk, Husker! Or even come over for a visit! I’m only down the hallway!”

Husker paused, then deepened his frown. “Your phone doesn’t work. And I did come by. I knocked.”

“Hm. I didn’t hear anything.”

“Oh fuck off with this.” Husker stomped over to him, his claws scratching against the metal grates. The red highlighted his fur with deeper shades of ebony, lengthening the patterns of his wings. “Just what is going on with you?”

Alastor moved his gaze to the discarded instrument on the ground. To think Husker still took care of it well enough for it to emit such a soulful sound. “Why did you stop playing?” he asked suddenly.

“What? Because I’m not here to put on a show for you! Stop fucking deflecting. It’s annoying.” Husker furrowed his brows. “Did you do something?”

“What an incredibly broad question! I certainly did a little broadcasting, completed my hotel duties, sent a telegram to Charlie, and indulged in some private musings of my own.” Alastor tapped his chin with a sharp finger, definitely not feeling like he was hanging on by a very thin thread. “I also ordered some hors d’oeuvres from dear old Rosie for a light lunch. You can join me!”

“That’s not…” And then, Husker was suddenly being very hesitant, very careful. He looked up at Alastor like he was about to attempt a treacherous climb. “What happened when Angel called me? Can you tell me that?”

Oh, he used to be so good at listening.

But now, all he could hear was the dreaded hum that made his chest feel like it was caving in.

It was a natural progression, to move closer to Husker, even as his friend stepped back. Yet, isn’t this what he was asking for? He’d always been such an indecisive person! Alastor always had to put his foot down and ensure Husker would make the correct choice. The only sensible choice.

Soon enough, Husker stopped moving—the tendrils that wrapped around his legs were certainly helping him with that.

“Husker, dear!” Alastor spoke, and he could hear the odd hollowness in his tone. It lacked the usual punch of his oratory talent. The spark. The drive. This had to be rectified. “I have to confess something, if you don’t mind.”

Saying it was like ripping off a bandaid, or ripping off a limb. Neither could compare.

“It appears I might be jealous.”

His hands delicately wrapped over Husker’s neck, fingers tapping along the fur, pulling at the strap of his bowtie. Husker remained still, watching the dials in Alastor’s eyes click dangerously to the right. Slow and methodical. Inevitable.

“And jealousy can really feel like such a disease.” He leaned forward. “I need the cure.”

There was something wrong with him and the cause of it all was right in front of him.

Angel was an obnoxious pest, but if not for Husker, he would have barely given such a sinner any second thoughts. No. If not for Husker, who had dared let himself wander, get distracted, and slack on the job, he would not be feeling this way. Husker just would not behave.

And then, the very memory of Husker laughing uproariously, his deep tones traveling through Alastor’s skull alongside Angel’s voice, was so very loud. With such sounds, there was the image of his friend underneath the garish club lights, looking away to another, and it sparked another inferno in him. Furious. Outraged. HE SHOULDN’T BE FEELING THIS WAY.

His hands just stopped short of squeezing over Husker’s neck. He towered further, his fingers growing long, and his back hunched. There was only Husker in his vision and nothing else. The shadow tendrils that streamed from his back continued wrapping around Husker’s limbs, locking him from any escape. No, he was not allowed to leave. Not until he fixed this.

Not until he fixed him.

Alastor stared down at the soul before him, his very being craving something he couldn’t truly understand. The weight of his antlers were so heavy, nearly making his neck break. His control was slipping further and further away.

“See what you’ve done to me.”

He expected Husker to resist, to try to run, or even bite at his hands and earn him a mark. If he did any of those things, Alastor would have no choice. He would have to kill him. Eat him. Ensure he could never stray from his path again. Bind him further and further until it could never be undone.

That wasn’t what happened.

Husker continued to look at him, even when Alastor grew, when his body distended, when his face was a veritable nightmare. He always had a face for radio, certainly the kind that most souls could not endure for very long. There were many times Husker had turned away from him, from his carnage and his rage.

Instead, Husker craned his neck up, looking into his eyes which were nothing now but black holes that looked into the abyss. His arms shifted, slightly pulling against the tendrils that were coiled around them—but not to be free. Hands reached out to place them against Alastor’s cheeks, fingers so close to sharp teeth who knew just the right way to tear through flesh efficiently.

Husker still hadn’t turned away, even as Alastor could feel him continue to shake underneath his grip. Fear. It was fear. Except not. It was something else.

“If you need a cure, then just look at me.” A soft furrow of his eyebrows, even as Alastor’s breath moved through his fur. “You want my attention? You got it. I was trying to give it to you all this time.”

Oh. Was that true? It made little sense. Alastor said nothing, staring down at Husker who still saw him as the monster he was, yet would not move.

Then, a soft growl, and Husk’s claws pricked his cheeks. Not deep, but they drew blood. They drew his blood. Noise ruptured around them, even as Alastor remained still. Husk ignored the chaotic sound.

“But you have to do the same for me. You have to pay attention to me. No more peacocking for Vox. It drives me fucking nuts.” Another growl, one that ran down Alastor’s spine. “And you don’t have to lock yourself away just to watch me.”

And there was that same spark in his eyes that Alastor felt inside his chest. The kind that wrung at his organs and made him ache and stumble. So, Husker knew this feeling too.

Hands left Husker’s neck, only to plant themselves on the wall behind him. The slam of his palms on metal earned another shiver in Husker, from his ruffled wings to the waving of his tail.

But those claws were still on Alastor’s face, keeping him in place. Keeping him grounded.

Easy to stay a monster, but Alastor let his body shrink so that he could better press his forehead against Husker’s.

“Vox is a memory,” he said.

“A memory that keeps coming back,” Husker countered. “You play his games too much.”

“Simply to stave off boredom.” The tendrils moved to wrap around Husker’s torso. “You’re not blameless. Always slacking off.”

“You already knew I was a shitty employee. Don’t expect any different.”

“Not what I meant.”

A small ripple of unease, but Husker made him calm by pulling Alastor closer. Those claws rushed through his hair, reaching just at the base of his still heavy antlers.

“I can have friends. You never said I couldn’t. But it won’t be anything more than that.” A pause, Husker’s face so considerate. “I can take a break from it.”

Another pull, until Alastor felt Husker’s breath against his lips. “I’m just fucking tired of not being noticed, boss.”

“Dear friend, you have all my attention,” Alastor said. “So much that you won’t ever have a moment’s peace to yourself.”

Maybe he said that as a warning. To really test Husker’s dedication and loyalty. That is, until Husker kissed him hard, his teeth scratching against both his tongue and gums. It was difficult to reject such enthusiasm, such drive, such…motivation. He could only give it back, tasting the alcohol on Husker’s own tongue.

The antidote must be taken slowly and deeply after all.

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