hi

by lovinfries4

go

Preface

If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/54129139.

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon) Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Female Character(s), Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/You, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Reader, Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) & Original Character(s), Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust & Husk (Hazbin Hotel) Characters: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne Morningstar, Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel), Adam (Hazbin Hotel), Fat Nuggets (Hazbin Hotel), Frank (Hazbin Hotel), Original Characters, Reader, Lucifer Magne Morningstar, Rosie (Hazbin Hotel), Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Velvette (Hazbin Hotel), Niffty (Hazbin Hotel) Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Reader is AFAB - Freeform, Reader Has A Name, Post-Season/Series 01, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor Is Not Okay (Hazbin Hotel), Teasing, Banter, Idiots in Love, Angst, Asexuality Spectrum, Reader is adorable, Adam is a Bum, ??? to Friends to Lovers, Alastor plays a Piano (Hazbin Hotel), Reader is a sinner, The Grumpy One is Soft For the Sunshine One, Reader-Insert, Minor Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Original Character(s), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Pining, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mind Games, Dramatic Irony, Mistaken intentions, Romance, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Protective Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust Being Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Platonic RadioRose, One-sided Radiostatic, huskerdust, Demisexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Demisexuality, Eventual Smut, Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Confusion, Heavy Petting, Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Sex
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of RadioCotton Series: Alastor x Verity (OC) ️ Stats: Published: 2024-02-28 Completed: 2024-03-20 Words: 110,038 Chapters: 24/24 If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All

by bapple

Summary

Post Season 1. (Reader-perspective; reader is a named female OC)

After the attack from the angels, the Hazbin Hotel now stands stronger than ever. Hell offers a new option to newly initiated sinners; join the frays and freedoms of the pits of Hell, or start your time in Hell on an immediate path to attempted redemption in the Princess of Hell's rehab for wayward souls.

The first to choose the latter option, you wind up in the hotel from your first day in Hell; making new friends and discovering new adventures.

You are blissfully ignorant to the Radio Demon's past and are therefore hilariously oblivious to how dangerous an interest in him could prove to be. In fact, you think he might just be the nicest guy around!

Bunnies and deer get on famously…. Right?

Notes

Hello! This is my first time publishing fanfic again in a loooong time - like many of us right now, I am deep within the Hazbin hyperfixation hole and it has inspired me to write again. Both for fun, and to offer some escape from the horrors of the real world. Let's enjoy the fictional horrors of Hell instead! *wink*

———

A NOTE FROM BAPPLE OF THE FUTURE (one year after I originally published this fic!):

Hello again! Firstly I'm super flattered and surprised that people are still finding this fic and reading it for the first time. Secondly, I'd just like to point out that my writing style has developed & improved a lot since I wrote this fic, so if you're coming from one of my more recent works to read this one, it might seem a little janky in places But aren't we all? But anyway, happy reading!

Padded First Steps

If You Can't Say Somethin Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All

Part One of the Radiocotton Series

---

On the first day in Hell…

…There's noise. Lots of noise. You blink slowly, feeling like you're suddenly awake after being asleep for a long time. Your heart is racing; adrenaline left over from some earthly moment you can't quite recall this instant.

Your mind begins to clarify. Your eyes begin to deglaze. You look around. The noise is the chatter of other people around you - faces with varying emotions. Some confused, some worried, some apathetic, some excited.

"Where are we?"

"What's going on?"

As a group, you stand in-front of two huge black gates. There's a bizarre looking crab-like humanoid creature… thing, stood by a small desk. It seems to sigh as it grabs a megaphone and begins to assault your ears with a nasal monotone voice.

"Welcome to Hell," the voice booms, sounding incredibly bored. "Purgatory has deemed your souls to be doomed to a life of Eternal Suffering due to your actions in the living world. Congrats."

The creature pops a party popper; it explodes feebly into a pathetic display of tiny confetti with a small squeaky feeeeep.You hear varying responses from the group of people.

"What did I do?"

"I didn't think this was real…"

"Hell yeah!"

"You now have two choices," the bored sounding creature continues into the megaphone. "You can now enter Hell freely and enjoy eternal damnation and all it brings, debauchery an' all, or you can choose a path of attempted redemption and…"

The creature pulls a scrunched up ball of paper from its jacket pocket and squints at it with a look of annoyance. It begins to read from the copy.

"…Become a better person, atone for your sins, make new friends and hopefully maybe get into Heaven. Or whatever."

The creature re-scrunches the paper and shoves it back into its pocket with a cynical huff, before pressing a button on the desk. The giant gates begin to slowly open.

"Those of you going ahead with the fun choice, off you go. You'll figure it out I'm sure. Anyone wantin' to do the other one, stay behind."

You release a breath you didn't realise you'd been holding in. This was all a lot to comprehend - I died…? And now I'm in Hell? It's going to take more than a moment to decide what you should do, surely?

You watch in surprise as the entire group (bar yourself) dashes towards the gates. Each human soul transforms before your very eyes as soon as they cross the threshold - morphing into creatures of all sizes and shapes.

You are left standing alone; hesitant, cautious.

I guess I'll go for the second option, then.

The crab-creature-man rolls its eyes and beckons you closer with a lazy gesture. Sans-megaphone now, but still sounding bored as anything, it now addresses only you. The only sinner left standing.

"You choosin' the redemption path, are you?"

You nod. The creature sighs.

"Well, that's a looooot more paperwork for me, but alright… if you insist."

---

You stand in an office. It's dank; the air smells stagnant and musty, and there's dust particles floating around. The desk is stacked with stained papers, empty mugs, and cigarette ash. You notice that there are several framed photographs on the wall; they're photos of the very crab-man demon stood in-front of you, each captioned with "Only Employee of the Month".

You twitch nervously.

"Okay, we got a lot to get through, and there's gonna be a new group for me to greet in 10 minutes, so let's make this snappy, kid."

The crab demon yanks you - you let out a little yelp - moving you to stand in-front of a full-length mirror.

The demon speaks as if reading from a script.

"Here's ya new form, the wonders of Lucifer in action," it drawls. "Please take a moment to familiarise yourself with your new appearance."

You turn to the mirror and let out a little gasp.

It's you… sort of? Same height, same strawberry blonde curls, same face, more or less. Your new eyes blink back at you, glowing with a yellowish hue, pupils round and currently blown out in wonder as you take in your reflection.

Atop your head you now have two smallish bunny-like ears; one of them flicks reactively as you notice. You reach up cautiously and feel one. It's warm; the soft dusty-mauve fur is as fluffy as it looks. You place your hands at the sides of your head… no human ears to be found. Your once-human nose has been replaced by a small black button-like bunny nose; it twitches when you scrunch your face, testing the unfamiliar sensations of your new features. You bare your teeth in a grimace, noticing they look a little more pointed. You run your tongue over a canine, discovering new-found sharpness. That doesn't make much sense.

You look at your hands next - okay, normal. You still have fingers, that's good. You cast your eyes downwards, noting how your narrow torso leads to a new pair of legs - wider at the haunches, tapering into neat pointed little feet. Like a hare.

A thought occurs to you suddenly; you twist your body to bring your rear into view. Yup. As suspected, there's a cotton-poof of a tail poking out of the basic short black dress you appear to be wearing. You feel the internal flex of new muscles being tried out for the first time as your tail wiggles at you in the reflection.

An irritated cough interrupts your investigations.

"Yeah, yeah," says the crab-man demon. "You got lucky kid, you're one of the cute ones. Even Lucifer has favourites."

The demon now has on a pair of glasses with a chain, and he absent-mindedly pushes the mirror (which you now see is on wheels) away from you while squinting at a booklet in his hand.

"Now you must choose your name," he says robotically, clearly reading from the instructions. "You can either keep your Earthly name or choose a new name entirely."

He looks up from the booklet and eyes you impatiently.

"So? I don't got all day as I said, so think fast."

"Uhhhh," you stall, hearing the sound of your own voice for the first time since you arrived.

On Earth, you had been known as your given name... But perhaps this was a chance to start anew?

The crab-demon's eyes narrow and he sighs. Panicking under pressure, you mumble something out.

"What was that?"

"Uhh, Verity?" You say, not really knowing why or where the name came from. It just sounds right.

The demon snorts in amusement and rolls his antennae-like eyes.

"Leanin' in to the whole cuteness and innocence thing, are ya? Allllright, not sure how far that'll get ya down here but I ain't here to argue. Verity it is," he says, walking over to his desk to key something into a dilapidated-looking computer.

The computer bleeps in response.

"Alright, that's approved," the demon says. He takes in a deep breath.

"Now I gotta read you this fine print so listen up. You, subject A, newly fallen sinner… Verity, are now officially enrolled into the Hazbin Hotel redemption programme as created, carried out and overseen by the Princess of Hell."

The demon pauses to look up at you briefly.

"I hear her daddy is livin' there now too, so, I'd be on your best behaviour if I was you. As in, Lucifer. The devil. Main man. Head honcho. Scary stuff. Just sayin', that's not in the fine print but you better-- whatever, anyway, ahem… Where was I? Right okay, okay. Yadda yadda yadda, I am legally obliged to inform you that your soul is still your own, blah blah blah, welcome to Hell. Again."

The demon throws the booklet over his shoulder. It lands on the desk, knocking over a mug in the process. The mug falls to the ground and smashes, oozing out some sort of disgusting-looking viscous liquid. The demon either doesn't seem to notice or doesn't care.

You throw him a weak and shaky smile.

"…Thanks," you manage.

"Don't mention it," he says. "Literally don't mention it, I ain't got time. A car will be here to collect you any minute now, you can wait outside."

He points to a glass door leading out of the office. You glance out, noting the crimson hue of the sky. This is all feeling a bit too real…

"Okay, but what abou—" you start.

"You're not my problem anymore," the crab-demon says, opening up a book and conjuring the beginnings of some sort of spell with a hand. He throws you one last glance, a pithy look of dejection.

"Good luck, kid. Try not to get eaten alive on your first day."

And with that, he was gone.

---

The backseat in the car is… sticky. Some sort of cheap pleather. You notice a hole, out of which nasty grey foam is threatening to burgeon. The driver seems to be some sort of shadow-like impish being. It hasn't said a word to you this whole time. It had merely pulled up to the pavement, gotten out, opened the back door, and silently beckoned for you to enter. Which you had done so, as instructed. Blind in your faith.

You sit, tight and tense with your hands clasped in your lap, anxiously looking out the window as the streets of Hell pass you by. You try not to look too hard at the depravity and gore that whizzes past, but... You can't help feeling a small twinge of thrill at some of the neon lights and tall buildings. It's not all bad, right?

It's the sky that awes you the most. Bright, purest red. Misted with swirls of darker red clouds; purples and maroons that eddy and twist. And even - if you look hard - small pricks of light that seem to be not unlike stars.

The car stops at a traffic light. You hear the muffled sound of the radio coming from the front seat, even through the privacy divider.

"…More on this later as we join our… scene of the event… last month…"

Out the window you see a blue amphibious-looking female demon pushing a pram, in which sits a bulbous, ugly-looking child. There's a goat man-demon holding a sign that reads "It's nigh time for the end!"

The child in the pram throws something at the goat demon's head; he curses, drops his sign, stoops to receive it, then looks up, shaking his fist (and middle finger) as the mother and child walk on by.

The traffic light changes, and you feel the purr of the car's engine restarting. There's a pull in your stomach; a sinking feeling of dread and uncertainty at the ambiguity of what lies ahead.

You haven't even had a moment to catch your breath, let alone dwell on the circumstances. This is it; you really are in Hell. No jokes, no pranks. Just the blood-red skies and slight scent of sulphur. You let out a small yawn; you find yourself feeling suddenly quite exhausted. Your memory is lagging. You try to prod and kick your mind into action, to remember; remember how you died, how you lived, why you are here.

You remember teeth; teeth sinking into flesh. Your flesh. You remember anger, pain, rage. Frothing. Being strapped to a bed, flailing wildly; cool damp towels pressed to hot skin, soothing words falling on your unhearing ears. You remember your skin stinging; itchy, a prickling that had blossomed from the bite wound into your veins, your marrow, your mind. The voices, the confusion. The fever that had consumed you. That had ruined you.

The car pulls to a sudden halt, thrusting you forward with a jolt. Your jumpy little heart lurches in frantic beats in your ribcage as you grapple to steady yourself.

Flustered, you crane your neck to peer out the window. A gigantic - and flashy - building stands before you, fit-to-burst with glowing lights, eccentric details and ornate windows. The car door opens by itself, prompting you to step out into the open expanse of Hell, vulnerable and exposed.

Just as soon as you step out, the car door slams behind you - you flinch, leaping forward for fear of your new-found tail getting caught. The vehicle is gone in moments. You look up at the building, eyeing the sheer height of it, and the light-up signage that seems to buzz and pulse its lettering into your retinas:

Hazbin Hotel

You eye the grand entrance, simultaneously impressed and afraid, and notice the huge ruby-red apple adorning the front.

Come in, it seems to beckon. Take a bite.

And so you do.

It's a Hard-Knock Life

You'd thought your first moments in Hell were a sensory overload; entering the hotel for the first time is… Something else. Before you can even push the door open, it swings agape in-front of you; revealing a demon who looks like she might burst from joy - like an aggressively happy piñata.

"Ohhh my gosh, ohmygosh OH MY GOSH," she says, her rosy cheeks straining with the width of her smile.

She reaches forward and grabs both your hands with her own.

"Hello HELLO HI," she chatters at you with the speed of a coked-up hamster. "Welcome welcome, please come in! Come in! We're so happy to have you, oh my gosh…"

She practically launches you into the lobby, giving you a firm - but not violent - push into your back. You wobble slightly on your haunches, still not used to your new legs. You feel one of your hands being grabbed again - the demon has it - and she's shaking it so hard you feel like your arm might just pop off its socket.

"I'm Charlie, Princess of Hell, daughter of Lucifer, y'know, haha, just me! It's so nice to meet you! Oh, haha, yes and WELCOME! To the Hazbin Hotel! I know you must have so many QUESTIONS, and so many things to SEE, and—"

As Charlie rattles on, and your arm begins to go numb from the hand-shaking, your eyes dart around the lobby. You can't help but admit - it's beautiful in here.

"—Aaaand we do games, and a weekly night out! Although if night-life isn't your thing, then we can always find something else, I know I wouldn't mind reading more myself, personally, I mean—"

The lobby is huge; a grand central room with a wide looming staircase in the centre. In your quick assessment you notice a luxurious well-stocked bar in one corner, plush velvet sofas, a check-in desk, and a huge sparkling chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"—Although don't pay that any attention, that's a work in progress, ahahahah…. And OH! Well there's so many people to introduce you tooooo… I mean we have a lot to get through! But plenty of time I guess, all of eternity really sooo…"

Your eyes snap back to Charlie's face; she looks like she has finally run out of breath. She smiles and lets out a nervous laugh.

This is not what I expected. She seems really… nice.

"Anyway where are my MAN-NERS?" She says, finally releasing your hand, much to your relief.

She stands with her hands on her hips, looking at you with kind eyes.

"Sooooo I saw in the registration email that you chose to go by… Verity, is it? CUTE name, by the way, very cute. LOVE it. Umm, so I guess I'll show you around? Or to your room? If you're tired, I mean I'm SURE you're tired, first day in Hell and all that, ahaha…"

You are tired. But a nagging, itchy curiosity from within jumps up your throat and motions you to speak.

"Where are the other guests?" You ask, immediately feeling like it might be a rude question. You fiddle with a strand of your hair nervously.

"Oh, WELL," Charlie taps her chin in thought. "Actually, everyone's kind of out right now. Angel is at work, Alastor is at some Overlord meeting… thing. Niffty is… somewhere. She's the cleaner. OH and Vaggie - that's my girlfriend - she's getting ready for her interview…"

You hear a disgruntled noise from a corner, and turn to see a winged demon with cat-like features leaning behind the bar; he looks the very picture of annoyance.

"OH! I mean, hahaaa, not everyone is out! Silly me, I misspoke. Verity, this is Husk," Charlie says, more than a little frantically.

She pulls you by the hand over to the bar and gestures grandly at the demon. She throws him an apologetic look with an unconvincing grin; he rolls his eyes.

"Might has well be a fuckin' barstool," he mutters, before looking you in the eye and giving a quick upwards nod. "You just get in today?"

"Yeah," you say, starting to feel the exhaustion of the day begin to seep into your bones.

"Mmmhmm." Husk acknowledges. "You got that whole bright-eyed and bushy-tailed thing goin' on. You may as well have 'fresh meat' branded on your forehead."

Charlie laughs a little nervously.

"Ohhh he's just joking," she says, with a tone that is clearly meant to sound playful but comes out as unconvinced.

She shoots Husk a warning look - be nice! - and he sighs.

"How 'bout a drink, anyways? I bet you could use one after the day you've had so far."

Within moments, you are sitting at the bar and a drink is produced in-front of you.You swirl the glass in your hand, watching as the amber liquid cascades over the ice cubes like thin golden honey. Smiling politely, you give it a careful sip.

Oooooof. You splutter a little. Both Charlie and Husk laugh - but not unkindly.

"Not used to your liquor, huh? That's a new one round here," Husk says, but he's grinning at you lazily.

You adjust yourself on the barstool, and watch as Husk takes the glass of… whatever that was, and downs it himself. He pours something else and places in front of you.

You eye it suspiciously.

"It's just milk," he says. "Although if anyone asks, it's a White Russian. I got a reputation to keep intact, y'hear me?"

"You keep milk back there?" Charlie says, leaning to try and peer over the bar counter.

Husk emits a low growl and she backs off, sheepish.

"I guess cats like cream, right?" You try, nervously.

Before either can react, you hear the hotel doors open.

"Honeeey I'm hooooo-oooome," calls out a voice.

"Angel!" says Charlie, clapping gleefully. "Perfect timing!"

---

The spider demon groans wearily as he slumps down on the bar stool next to you. He face-plants the bar with a whoomph.

You watch as Husk chuckles to himself. He mixes and pours a martini, placing it gently on the bar next to Angel's head.

"Thankphss Whiskerthhss," comes Angel's muffled voice. He raises his head.

"I'm BEAT. You know what that no-good PRICK Val had me doin' today?!"

Charlie lets out a small throat-clearing sound. Angel's eyes widen as he looks at you suddenly, giving you the once over.

"Oh. Right. Yeah. How ya doin', toots?"

He gives you a grin full of sharp teeth and a flash of gold.

"Weeeeeell," says Charlie, rocking on her heels. "How about I let you guys get to know each other? I need to go help Vaggie with her prep, anyway… Angel, you can look after our new guest for a little while, right?"

Angel blinks.

"Please?" Charlie adds, her tone hinging just slightly too far into whiny.

Angel sighs.

"Yeah, yeah. I got this."

"Eeeeee! Thank you Angel, thankyouthankyou THANK YOUUUU," Charlie says, rushing to try and hug Angel.

With well-trained and lightning-fast reflexes, Angel holds her back with one of his… many arms.

Charlie huffs in defeat, then turns to you with a beaming smile.

"I'm going to leave you in Angel's capable hands—"

Husk and Angel snort in unison.

"—Buuuut I promise I will be back later, and we can finish up your initiation! I'm so sorry I can't stay longer this very moment, Vaggie has this important interview with 666 News about… Well you don't need to know that RIGHT now, but I promised I'd help her prepare, she's no good at these kind of things but they wanted to talk to HER and not ME cause she's an ang— ANYWAY, I gotta go do THAT and then—"

"Charlie." Angel says, tone tight. "I said I got this."

"RIGHT! Right. Okay. See you in a bit!"

And with that, the Princess of Hell is gone.

Angel turns to you and eyes you up once more. He lets out a small tck sound.

"So you're some kind of bunny-rabbit, huh?" He says, lighthearted and smiling. But you can tell he's exhausted.

You watch as he downs the martini and nods when Husk motions to make another.

"I guess so," you say, shyly.

Angel lets out a small laugh.

"Well, how 'bout that," he says. "What's up, Doc?"

You giggle. It earns you a wide, genuine, toothy grin from Angel.

"Sooooo… How'd ya die?" He asks in a sing-song voice.

The question startles you a little, and your ears go rigid. Both Angel and Husk are watching you, expectant. Curious. You take a sip of the milk. It's smooth and sweet.

"I, uh— my memory is hazy. But, uh. Rabies. I think."

Angel whistles.

"Jeez-Louise, whadda way to go. That's some gnarly shit right there. With the foamin' and everythin'?"

You shrug. Husk cleans a glass, you guess just for something to do with his hands - well, paws, really…

"And what'd ya do to get sent down here with the likes of us then, uhhhh… What was it?"

You blink.

"Your name, kid?"

"She goes by Verity," Husk answers for you.

"Uh-huh, Verity," Angel nods, like he knew it all along. "I mean, another V! Just what we need, am I right?! Ahaha... I'm just pullin' ya leg. But seriously, what? You kill someone? Steal somethin'? Break into a bank? Slept with the whole of the White House and then stabbed the bitch that found out?"

You let out a small laugh.

"Nothing as exciting as any of that. It's… it's complicated…" you hesitate.

"Awww c'maaaaaan!" Angel says, throwing a hand up. "You can't leave us hangin' now!"

You sigh.

"You really wanna know?"

Both Angel and Husk nod; Angel slightly more animatedly than the latter.

"Alright. So I worked in a nature reserve, a really beautiful park. The kind you see on magazines and documentaries, you know. It was idyllic, really pretty. Anyway, I was a ranger. My job was to go around, keep things in check, make sure all the wildlife was looking okay, no poachers or traps, things like that."

"You got caught in a bear trap!" Angel interrupts, gasping.

"Will you shut your goddamn mouth, spider? She already told us how she died, you idiot. Let the damn girl speak," says Husk.

Angel looks annoyed for a second, then rolls his eyes playfully before sticking out his tongue at the bartender. Husk huffs a little.

"Riiight, right. Sorry toots, long day; my head's scrambled. Go on."

"It's okay," you giggle shyly. "So yeah. I loved my job, did it for years. Until I found out something not-so-savoury… basically it turned out the park was privately owned, and the company that owned it were…not good. Not good people. They were… doing all kinds of shady things."

You finish your glass of milk.

"Ain't that always the way," Angel muses. "Lot of greedy selfish fuckers out there, Cotton-Tail. An' all of 'em end up down here."

He sips from his drink.

"I'm still not seein' how this is leadin' to you bein' thrown into damnation though."

"Well," you start. You sigh. "Basically… I was complicit. I thought if I stuck around long enough, bided my time, witnessed… things, got evidence I could… I could stop it. I signed off on checks that never happened. I did things I'm not proud of. I was too frightened to act. I just stuck around and turned a blind eye and… and people got hurt cause I stood by and did nothing."

Both Angel and Husk were listening attentively now, wide-eyed and po-faced.

"Arghh, it was awful," you confess, letting yourself open up. "They were running tests on the animals, trying to make them stronger, injecting them with all kinds of things. I read a file this one time, I think… I think they were trying to engineer some sort of bio… super… weapon… I don't know, what do I know?"

You swallow thickly, the memories of your past life dancing in your minds eye.

"Anyway, I found where they were keeping them. These animals. So many of them… all kinds. They were all in cages, I mean, literally all kinds. Birds, reptiles, bob cats, foxes, deer…"

You notice the other two demons stiffen slightly. You nod.

"I know, cruel right? It was horrific. Anyway, I got it into my head it was a great idea to let them all go. Release them. I dunno… I panicked. I wanted to do the right thing. So I did. I released them. And these animals they… they weren't normal anymore. They were angry, strong. Violent. I got bitten. I managed to get away, but… some other people got killed. I didn't mean for that to happen. But it did."

You sigh. Looking at your hands, you knead the muscle of your lower thumb anxiously.

"Eventually the bite got infected, or whatever. I got sick. I had a fever… I mean the hospital said it was rabies but… I'm not so sure. I honestly don't know. And I guess I died. Well I mean, obviously I did, that's why I'm here."

You let out a soft self-deprecating laugh.

Both Angel and Husk are silent, staring at you sympathetically. Angel takes a deep breath in.

"Holy shit," he breathes out. "And they never knew it was you? You never got caught, I mean?"

You shake your head.

"No, and I never owned up to it either. I have no idea what happened, if they're still doing what they were doing up there. I don't remember any of that. I just remember getting sick, being in hospital, and then… this."

Surprising you both, Husk lets out a grunt of acknowledgment.

"Your heart was in the right place, kid. You did what you thought was best. It ain't your fault it went haywire. Sometimes things don't always work out the way we plan."

"I guess," you say, grateful for the kindness.

"And I suppose that's why you look like you stepped off the set of some bullshit fairy-tale movie, all fluffy tail and button nose, instead of lookin' like some of the ugly evil motherfuckers down here," Husk says, smiling wryly. "You're only down here on a technicality."

"Pfffff," Angel snorts, amused. "Now I know that ain't right! Cause I did all kinds 'a shit in my lifetime, real shit, and I mean look at me!"

He gestures to himself, sliding a hand through his hair and arching his back. Husk lets out a low grumble of laughter.

"Some of us just win the jackpot when it comes to looks, eh toots?" Angel ribs you gently with an elbow, throwing you a wink.

Husk scoffs.

"You ain't no cute lil' bunny and you know it," he says.

"Don't hate me cause I'm beautiful," Angel sasses, shaking his glass cheekily at Husk for a refill.

You laugh at their banter, comforted by the clear familiarity and warmth between them.

"But you," Angel turns to you, a middle arm posed in a sharp point at you. "You're down right adorable. You seen yourself yet?"

You nod, embarrassed.

"You know…" Angel starts, his tone conspiratorial. "You could—"

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence, spider. Goddamn finish your drink and keep your ideas to yourself," Husk warns gruffly.

Angel shrugs, but he throws you another wink.

At some point, Husk had refilled your glass with more milk. You hadn't even noticed, but you are grateful for it now. You sit, watching the two demons bicker and banter with each other, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. Time passes without you even really registering it.

What a day it has been.

You let out a large yawn, stretching your arms out - one shoulder still aching from the effects of Charlie's… enthusiasm.

Angel turns to you now, a fond smile on his features.

"Right there with you pal, I'm bushed," he says. "How bout I shows ya to your room, huh?"

"But what about meeting the others? Charlie said—"

"Ahhh, pfff, don't worry about that," Angel says, flapping a hand nonchalantly. "There's plenty of time for that in the mornin' tomorrow."

Angel stands, towering over you - you hadn't realised just quite how tall the lanky demon was. He stretches, and you hear the sound of several limbs popping and cracking with the effort.

"Whaddya say?"

You look to Husk, who nods reassuringly.

"Alright," you concede. "I could do with some sleep, honestly."

Angel throws a nod and a smile to Husk, who returns the gesture, and soon the spider demon is leading you up the grand staircase. Your feet pad gently on the crimson velvet carpet.

After a short ride in an elevator and a walk down a long corridor, you stand outside a door.

Number 117.

"Well, this is you, Ears," Angel says.

"Thank you," you say, with a weak and tired smile.

"Don't mention it kid! You just tell Charlie tomorrow what a great job ol' Angel Dust did takin' care of ya. I could do with good word bein' put in for me after that whole sofa fiasco…"

Angel's eyes narrow with the memory.

"Don't ask," he says, putting up all four hands out in rebuttal.

You let out a breathy laugh.

"Okay, I will," you say, nodding. "Put in a good word, I mean."

"Yeah? You mean it? Gee, thanks kid. You ain't half bad."

Angel beams at you.

"Now get some rest, I'm sure Charlie's got all kindsa bullshit planned for you tomorrow, so, make the most of the peace 'n quiet while you can."

And with that, the spindly demon is on his way back down the corridor. You turn nervously to the room door; this time, it doesn't open unprompted. You turn the handle and step inside.

It's… it's a normal hotel room.

A bed, a wardrobe, a vanity and chair… a comfortable looking armchair, a tall mirror… and peeking round you can see an en-suite bathroom, too. Everything is decorated in luxurious shades of red, gold and deep purple.

The bed, a spacious double, is almost singing at you in your mind to come and lay down. Closing the door behind you, you step towards the bed, and notice a small envelope.

Inside the envelope is a card - it's a crudely hand drawn image - crayon, you think - of you and Charlie holding hands and smiling. It has some words; it reads 'WELCOME VERITY'. You chuckle. She must have done this while I was downstairs at the bar.

You open the card. Inside is a written message:

To Verity!

I am so honoured to welcome you to the Hazbin Hotel Redemption project!

Here's to your first day of many but hopefully not too many cause we hope you'll be redeemed really soon! But also we're happy to have you for as long as you need!

Your new friend,

Charlie

You laugh to yourself, amused. How bad or scary can hell be when everyone here is so nice?

You collapse on to the bed, exhausted. Your body aches from a day of using new and unfamiliar muscles. It doesn't take long at all before your eyes flutter to a close and your breathing takes on the slow and heavy thickness of sleep.

You sleep heavily, but littered with dreams; dreams of spiders, shadows, apple cores and crayons. You dream of glasses of milk that turn into whiskey before your eyes. You dream sounds; voices, melodies you've never heard before…

And a sound that's somehow both familiar and unknown - a harsh, static crackle, that seeps and weaves throughout all the dreams; the buzzing noise of an un-tuned radio, humming out in alien frequencies.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

On the second day in Hell…

You awake to the sound of distant voices; laughter, shouting, some sort of commotion happening downstairs. You stretch, your limbs still weighty from sleep, and pad to the bathroom to refresh yourself. You are grateful to discover complimentary toiletries - a toothbrush and paste, various different shower gels and potions, a robe, some slippers and towels.

You can't exactly bring anything with you to the afterlife, I guess.

Feeling fresher and with curiosity bubbling inside you, you glance in the mirror quickly, smoothing down your dress. You retrace your steps from the night before, leading you back to the elevator and down to the central hotel lobby. As you close the distance, the voices become clearer.

"It was a disaster!" a deep female voice says, tone tinged with despair.

"No it wasn't! You were great! You were GREAT," you hear Charlie's voice saying. You hear another burst of laughter.

"Oh puh-lease," you hear Angel say, his voice filled with mirth. "She crashed and burned."

"Angel! Can we? Be supportive? Please?" Comes Charlie's strained voice.

You gingerly make your way down the staircase and turn the corner to survey the scene ahead of you.

A group of demons - some you recognise, some you don't - are gathered around in what seems to be some sort of lounge area. There's a small television on a rickety-looking table in the centre. It's been muted, but it looks like a chaotic news channel is playing in the background.

A grey-skinned demon with long white hair sits in an armchair. She claws at her own face and groans. Charlie stands next to her, a supportive hand at the back of the grey-skinned demon, rubbing in slow circles. Angel Dust is reclining the entire length of his body across one sofa; one arm dangled lazily off the edge, one hand stifling his giggles, and his middle set of his arms gripping his midriff.

"Ohh, oh," he wheezes. "My stomach hurts. Oh."

You spot Husk stood near him, leaning forward over the back of the sofa. He looks amused too.

Your eyes then glance over at the other demons present.

A female demon with a single eye sits on the floor, near Angel. She slaps her leg and wipes a tear from her one eye.

"Right there with you Angie," the demon says, in a thick Australian accent that surprises you. "Proper fucked it you did, Vaggie. Kudos, bitch."

She removes another tear of merriment from her eye, then wipes her hand on the carpet. This causes a smaller, also one-eyed demon nearby to frown, scurry over and immediately start brushing at the carpet with a cloth.

"Alright, alright, chill ya fuckin' boots, wouldda Niffty?" The larger cyclops says, scooting away from the tiny cleaner.

On another sofa, you notice a male demon dressed entirely in red. He has a wide and toothsome grin plastered on his face - I guess he found it funny, too. Whatever it was they're laughing at. He sits tensely, legs crossed, and clutches an old-fashioned microphone in one hand. His eyes are lazy and half-lidded. As you step - cautiously - into the lounge, his pupils immediately dart in your direction, but his grin stays fixed.

"Verity!" Charlie yells, waving violently, as if there is any risk of you not noticing her stood only a few metres in-front of you.

She makes an enthusiastic beckoning motion for you to join them.

Suddenly, you feel eleven eyeballs fixed on you. The hackles on your neck prick a little with the heat of embarrassment.

You're sure that your face must be conveying your shyness and discomfort, as Angel shifts himself upright, then pats the empty spot on his sofa encouragingly. You give a quick, oh-so-grateful smile and pad into the room, taking the offered seat.

"Everyone, this is Verity, our newest guest!" Charlie says proudly. "The first - might I add - to take us up on our new Alternate Path programme!"

You feel a slap on your back - Angel - and you cough, eyes bugging, as the air in your lungs is walloped out of you.

"She's already met the best of us here, ain't that right kid?" Angel jibes, clearly in high spirits.

"Oh that's right! Introductions!" Charlie says, a little flustered.

"Verity this is Vaggie, I mentioned her before… You both have 'V' names, isn't that fun?" Charlie laughs in a short, bashful intake of breath, aware that Vaggie isn't in the mood to meet new people right this second.

Vaggie raises her head from her hands and throws you a strained smile anyhow.

"Hey," she says, and you try not to stare at the "X" over her missing eye.

"Aaaaand this is Niffty, I think I mentioned before," Charlie continues. She gestures to the tiny one-eyed demon, who is staring at you with a vacant and focussed look.

"And I'm Cherri, nice to fuckin' meet ya," the Australian-accented demon says, grabbing your hand and shaking it aggressively. "I wouldn't normally be seen dead with these pricks but, what can I say? They're growin' on me."

Charlie narrows her eyes and grins through slightly gritted teeth at Cherri, before shaking it off.

"And this," Charlie says, gesturing to the sofa directly opposite, "Is Alastor. He's our wonderful hotel host!"

The room goes quiet, and you glance over to the well-dressed demon in red. His eyes widen as he seems to remember his cue.Standing, he steps over, and beams at you.

"Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure," he says, outstretching a hand.

You allow him to take yours and he shakes it. Gently.

"It's always a joy to welcome a new wayward soul to our marvellous hotel - truly you must have excellent taste!" He says cheerfully.

You notice the static and filtering of an old-fashioned radio mixing with his voice.

You hesitate, shy, and then smile at the demon.

"I like to hope so," you say, slightly pathetically.

Alastor's features are unreadable, but his grin strains on his face.

"I certainly look forward to seeing your progress here, hmm? There's plenty for you to get involved with. I'm sure Charlie will fill you in on aaaall the details."

"Thank you," you say, smiling. Well, he certainly knows his manners!

Angel makes a small choking sound, which you ignore.

"Alastor, are you going to-" Charlie begins.

"Ahhh, I'm afraid I must leave you all to enjoy the frivolities of the morning by yourselves," Alastor says. "I have a busy day of business ahead of me! And you know what they say…The devil makes work for idle hands," he says, a wolfish expression on his features.

He seems to collect himself and lets out a contented sigh, eyes closing.

"It was nice to meet you," you say, earnestly.

Alastor opens a single eye and regards you for a second, before beaming at you again.

"The pleasure was all mine, my dear! Now stay out of trouble, won't you, hmmm? Wouldn't want your first full day as our guest to have any slip ups now would we?"

His features settle into a thin close-mouthed smile, and you let out a small giggle.

"I'll do my best," you say, joining in on the banter shyly.

"Lovely," he says, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"Farewell for now, chums!" He says. "Until we meet again!"

You hear an old melody suddenly kick in, from… Alastor's staff? You hear him humming along; we'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when…

The sound grows distant, then fades. The room is once again silent.

You turn to Angel, suddenly desperate to get conversation going again.

"What, um… what were you laughing at earlier?"

---

"I cannot watch this again," Vaggie says bitterly.

"Oh come onnnn! Don't spoil our fun now!" Angel pouts.

Charlie looks stressed. Husk sighs and mutters something about having shit to do before leaving the room. Niffty has mysteriously disappeared somewhere.

Angel yanks a remote out of Vaggie's hand with an errant arm that seems to sprout from his torso. He makes a small guffaw of victory.

"Angel! No, please come on-"

"Ha-HA!" Angel laughs triumphantly, as he rewinds the television. He grabs a handful of popcorn from a bucket that has suddenly appeared in Cherri's hands.

"Prepare yourself Verity, for the laugh of a lifetime. Or… death time. Whatever, just watch it, shit's fuckin' hilarious."

Angel presses play, and Vaggie covers her face with her hands once more.

It's an interview on the news station. As it plays out on the small TV screen, you watch the news presenter shove a microphone in Vaggie's face. The on-TV Vaggie looks pale, sweaty and awkward under the news crew's lights. She stares down the camera lens with a deranged fear.

The interviewer begins to ask questions - questions about things you don't understand. You can pick out words you understand, sure - words like "angels", "exorcist", "war", "Adam", etc. Vaggie bottles each and every question, her voice cracking into abnormally high ranges and her remaining eye bulging in fear.

"Wait, wait, wait, this is the best part," Angel says gleefully, turning up the volume.

"And how does it feel to be the first-known fallen exorcist angel in hell?! Must be a hell of a trip!" You hear the news presenter say smugly, and there's a laughter track sound.

The Vaggie on-screen looks agahst; her eye darts frantically between the lens and something just behind it. You imagine it may have been Charlie behind the camera. Probably throwing an aggressive double thumbs up.

"Uhhhh, YEAH ITS REALLY GREAT AND I'M FEELING GREAT ABOUT IT," the on-screen Vaggie says, a vein throbbing on her forehead. "OKAY I'M GONNA GO NOW THANKS BYE!"

And with that, the on-screen Vaggie runs off-screen. The camera shakily turns to follow her, zooming in as she sprouts a pair of brilliant-looking white wings and flies off into the distance. The camera pans back to the news presenter, who makes some petty jokes about the interview and passes back to the studio.

Angel and Cherri break out into a fresh fit of laughter, falling around and gripping their stomachs. Vaggie lets out a guttural groan. Charlie makes a noise that sounds like she's dying a little inside but in a cheerful way.

"I mean, at least you tried," you say, trying to be kind.

Vaggie looks up at you then. She looks drained.

"That's sweet of you to say, but, yeah, no. I sucked. Big time."

She sighs and stands up, throwing Angel and Cherri a filthy - and slightly threatening - look. They immediately stop laughing and glance at each other with mock sheepishness.

"I need to go lie down," Vaggie says through gritted teeth. "For-EVER."

"Yes, go get some well-earned rest, my little… TV Star, you!" Charlie tries heartily, thrusting a crooked arm in emphasis.

Vaggie lets out another groan and disappears. You hear thumping up the staircase. Charlie laughs a little, nervous and apologetic.

"Did I hear that right?" You ask. "A fallen angel?"

All three demons remaining in the room look at you then, wide-eyed. They then glance at each other nervously.

Charlie clears her throat.

"Aha, haaa… well I suppose there's no point in hiding things from you, not when it's all over the news anyway. I may as well fill you in on all that's happened…"

---

At some point during Charlie's rambling and chaotic explanation of the events of the last six months, Cherri had quietly and discreetly slinked out of the room. Angel zoned out, scrolling on his phone. You had sat and listened intently, trying to take on board the influx of new information.

Charlie finally stops word-vomitting and begins to hyperventilate to catch up on breathing.

"And so Vaggie is Hell's only fallen angel?"

"Only known-of fallen exorcist angel," Charlie corrects, an index finger pointed, still slightly breathless.

"Aren't you forgettin' toots? The original fallen angel?" Angel says, nudging you a little.

Oh. Right. Lucifer. Yeah, duh.

"But why 'known-of'?" You ask.

Charlie and Angel share a look.

"Weeeeell," Charlie says, inhaling comically.

"The first man Adam is hidin' in our hotel like a sack of useless shit, wallowin' in self pity," Angel interrupts, and Charlie deflates, looking crestfallen, her hands falling to her sides.

"But didn't he die?" You ask, confused. "Or did I misunderstand?"

"Oh no, yeah. He died alright. He was stabbed to shit," Angel says, smirking. "But turns out some deities get special privileges, wouldn't ya know it. Guess the big guy upstairs has got a soft spot for his first Ken doll."

"He's condemned to Hell now," Charlie confirms, tone a little curt. "We can't really have the rest of Hell finding out right now… buh-leeeeve me, that'd be a total mess I REALLY don't want to get into… Basically my dad- uh, Lucifer, has put him on house arrest. Hotel arrest, I guess."

You blink dumbly.

"He's stuck here for now, and it's a secret, capeesh?" Angel says.

You nod.

"No problem. I won't tell anyone."

Charlie lets out a sigh of relief.

"Thank you! Honestly it's unlikely you'll ever bump into him… he just spends all his time moping around in his room, and truthfully he's kind of… Well to put it bluntly he's a —"

"Massive douche?" Angel finishes, not looking up from his phone.

Charlie laughs and nods.

"Yes. That."

She claps her hands suddenly, making both you and Angel jump; your furs puffing out in surprise.

"ANY-WAYYYY," Charlie says. "How about we finish your induction, Verity? I still have so much to show you!"

---

Hours later, you find yourself collapsing into the armchair in your room, a deep exhale escaping your lips.

It has been a long day; forms filled, tours taken and many, MANY rambling explanations from Charlie. She is… intense, to be sure, but you appreciate her enthusiasm, warmth and earnestness. You imagine that it's unusual to meet a wholesome demon down here; Charlie seems like a rare diamond.

You muse on the discoveries of the day. So many new faces, new tidbits of information. It was all quite exhilarating, really.

On Earth, you'd often pictured Hell as a burning cesspit of suffering and anguish; but the demons you'd met at this hotel had thus far been nothing but friendly, and the hotel itself a seemingly charming sanctuary.

Can it really all be that bad?

You sleep for a little while, napping in the chair, only to wake some time later with a jolt. You glance at the clock on the bedside table. 3am.Disoriented, and heavy with half-sleep, you stand up, clumsily. You head to the bathroom and splash your face with some water, before looking up to meet your own gaze in the mirror.

Your glowing pale-yellow eyes stare back at you. You prod at your still-unfamiliar new face, feeling the change in textures between the smoother skin of your cheeks and the thicker fluff of your ears.

Your ears; ears that now prick up and twitch with the sound of something in the distance. Your left ear turns instinctively, twisting to hear better; music. You can hear music.

This late at night?

You step towards your room door and press your ear against it, straining to hear. It's a piano; you can make that much out.

Opening the door - carefully - just a crack, you close your eyes and try to focus on the sound. You can faintly hear a soft, melancholy-sounding tune being played on the piano. It sounds sad, but… beautiful.

Who is playing that at this hour?

You pad out into the corridor, gently closing the door behind you, and allow your ears to guide you towards the sound.

You are led by the siren call of the music down the corridor; down a staircase, deeper and deeper into the dark labyrinth of a hotel. Without Charlie as a guide, you are sure you are going to get completely lost, but you cannot resist satisfying your curiosity.

Eventually you reach a room that has a door cracked open slightly; light spilling out into the gloomy halls. You step lightly, craning your neck to hear, and your ears are rewarded with the bounty of your search - the source of the music.

You peek carefully through the gap in the door. From what you can see, the room looks like a typical old-fashioned music room; ornate light fixtures and patterned wallpaper, and large floor-to-ceiling windows with huge red curtains drawn across them. On the floor lies a gigantic rug, beautifully patterned with intricate designs; and on top of that, stands a glistening, dark blood-red grand piano.

The figure playing at the piano pauses; you take an involuntary sharp intake of breath.

"Come in my dear, no need to dilly-dally at the door," the voice says, in a lowered tone.

You tread carefully into the light of the room. Alastor turns to assess his intruder; he smiles at you. It's a relaxed-seeming grin, but his eyes are wide and alert.

"Close it behind you, would you dear? I do apologise if I happened to disturb you."

"No, not at all," you say, closing the door as you enter the room proper.

You move closer and can't help but admire the splendour of the piano. The shade of red is so deep and opulent, it would almost look black; were it not for the dim lights reflecting off its glossy surface, tempting the true red tones into view.

"It's beautiful," you breathe. "I've never seen a piano this colour before."

Alastor lets out a pleased-sounding huff.

"Yes, isn't it? I had it made especially, you know. Just one of my many contributions to our decor."

You nod, enamoured.

"That song… that was you? Playing?" You ask.

Alastor lets out a soft chuckle, and you swear you can hear the quiet sound of an audience laughing.

"Well of course, my dear, who else is here?"

His neck twists slightly, and he peers at you at an odd angle.

"Mm, true," you giggle, and you glance around the room, admiring the elaborate decorations.

"It sounded like a really sweet song," you add.

Alastor says nothing, but stares at you; his teeth-baring grin a firm fixture on his face.

"What was it?" You ask.

"Oh, nothing much," Alastor says, waving a clawed hand flippantly. "Just a little ditty I know from times long since passed. Occasionally I find myself indulging my sentimentality - not something I'd make a habit of, mind you!"

He laughs then; a short but chaotic arrangement of 'ha ha's.

There's a tiny screeching sound of electrical disturbance.

"And what, may I ask, were you doing walking the halls so late at night?" Alastor asks you, inspecting his claws in a lackadaisical manner.

"I was just curious," you say. "I heard you playing, I just thought it sounded so lovely… I wanted to find the source. I'm so sorry if I bothered you, I really didn't mean to."

Alastor's eyes narrow just a fraction.

"My, my," he says, "What excellent ears you have my dear!"

All the better to hear you with.

"Certainly hearing as good as that is a valuable asset, wouldn't you say?"

You reflexively reach up to one of your ears and scratch at its base bashfully.

"I guess so," you say, smiling.

"Ohhh I'd certainly say so!" Alastor says, standing now and carefully pushing the piano stool back in place.

He walks closer to you, looming slightly as his height exceeds your own. His features darken a little.

"I bet they could also lead you to plenty of trouble," he says, his tone a little deeper.

You shyly avoid his gaze. Had you looked him in the eye, you would have noticed the split second his pupils changed to glowing dials.

Blink and you'll miss it.

"I hope not," you say, laughing nervously. "I'd like to avoid that, if possible!"

Alastor claps his hands together and smiles at you proper. The moment feels jovial once more.

"Well, if that isn't music to my ears!" He says, cheerfully.

You notice his ears then, now that he mentions them; not too dissimilar from your own. You allow yourself a quick glance - nothing that could be construed as rude staring - and register his fluffy, upright, tapered ears, tipped with black.

"Cute," you say, smiling.

A crackle of feedback.

Alastor seems surprised, frozen in place. You notice the horns - antlers? - next.

"Oh!" You say, your face the picture of epiphany. "You're a deer!"

Your memories creep out at you then. Your time as a park ranger, traipsing through forest, tracking the herd of deer to make sure their numbers were intact; finding them in a clearing, quietly watching as they grazed, their heads bobbing up and down to listen for danger, ears flicking when you snapped a twig; then how they ran, leapt and bounded away to the safety of the dense brush, younglings in tow. How you'd longed for them to stay longer; to be closer to the flighty creatures; to admire them.

"I didn't notice before," you say, smiling. "It's nice to know I'm not the only demon who looks like a woodland creature!'

You let out a faint chuckle.

Alastor's eyes narrow and his smile becomes tight-lipped and strained. Your own ears twitch again; you can make out a hum of static.

You think nothing of it.

"I suppose us prey animals should stick together, eh?" You try, throwing him a sincere smile.

Alastor laughs at you then; a bright, harsh laugh that cuts through the feedback humming in the background.

You are pleased with yourself; I think he likes me! Phew!

Alastor composes himself, adjusts his monocle and grins at you darkly.

"My dear," he starts. "I think it's high time you returned to your room, hmm? As much as I find your company deeply entertaining."

"Right, of course," you say, suddenly feeling awkward. "It is late, yeah. Sorry."

"Not at all, my dear!" Alastor says, guiding you to the door with a firm clawed palm flattened against your back. "I am always happy to share the wonders of music with a fellow melophile, but perhaps at a more reasonable hour? Hmm?"

To your surprise, you feel yourself almost gliding along the floor towards the music room door; not quite sure how.

"Yes," you say, a little breathless. "I'd like that."

"Fabulous," Alastor says, the filter on his voice strong and buzzing headily in your ears. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Now, on your way with you! A frail thing like you… my, I'm sure that scattered little heart might just give out completely should you not get enough sleep!"

You feel the palm against your back flex just a little, with the slightest prick of claws.

"That would be a poor, poor show. Can't be having that now, can we?" Alastor says.

You shake your head, finding yourself in the corridor.

"Oh, and… Verity, was it?" Alastor asks, standing in the open doorway.

The glow of the room behind creates a hazy orange halo around his silhouette as he stands; prim and proper, arms clasping his microphone staff.You nod with an earnest smile.

"You'd be wise to keep this in mind, but the only prey around here…"

He leads forward, face closer to your own, and his eyes blacken.

"Is YOU."

You feel a quick instinctual urge to run; to test the limits of your new haunches, to have them propel you to safety with your heart hammering in your chest.

But you don't. You ignore the feeling; you disregard it as a misplaced bit of anxiety.

He's clearly just joking around, no need to over-react. Everyone here is nice, after all.

Alastor leans back, maniacal grin in place, and you stare up at him with wide doe eyes.

The door slams shut before you can utter a word, and you are left in the darkness of the corridor, an unsaid goodbye left on your lips.

"Right, uh, okay." You mutter to yourself, and you begin the journey back to your room; unaware of the small whisper of shadow that creeps in tendrils behind you for a moment, before it recoils back again.

---

Unseen by you, or anyone else for that matter, something curious happens. Behind the closed music room door, the Radio Demon pauses, inhales sharply, and wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, which is knotted together in perplexity. His eyes dart from one side of the room to another, as he tries to comprehend the conversation.

Had you been toying with him?

Or are you just a fool?

Whatever your intentions, he is frustrated, and worst of all, confused.

Alastor doesn't like this feeling. He's been confused about his feelings before; and he almost died for it. He snarls, clenching a palm with a quick motion that immediately snuffs out all the lights in the room, and he melts into shadow that oozes into the walls, disappearing from the room.

Tread lightly, little one.

Drip Drip Drop, Little April Showers

On the third day in Hell…

You make your way down to the lobby in the morning, only to find it deathly quiet. You had expected a similar scene to yesterday's antics, the demons of Hazbin congregating in the lounge; but no. A quick peek into the lounge reveals nothing but empty seats and silence, and the dark-black screen of a powered-off television.

You glance around, looking for a sign of life; immediately relieved to see movement at last. Husk; unpacking a delivery of crates and restocking the bar with bottles of various sizes.

You hop over to him with a sunny smile on your features.

"Morning," you say, brightly.

He grunts a response, not looking at you; then seems to remember himself with a small sigh, looking up.

"Mornin'," he says. He has bags under his eyes and a weary expression.

You laugh.

"Not a morning person?" You ask.

You watch as he empties the currently open crate in-front of him, placing a large green bottle on the bar counter. Its label reads "Abstain-inth!"

"No," he says, voice thick and gruff. "I'm not a fuckin' mornin' person."

"What's that?" You ask, tactfully glossing over his apparent bad mood. You point to the bottle.

Husk lets out a small groan of disdain.

"Some bullshit non-alcoholic shit. Charlie wanted me to get some in. Y'know, incase there are more sinners that aren't drinkers comin' in."

You let out an amused (but self-conscious) exhale, and step over to the bar to inspect the bottle; mostly just for something to do. It's huge in your hands, and the glass is a brilliant lustrous shade of emerald green. You scrutinise the label. It's got a drawing of a cute little fairy, dressed in green, winking coyly; she's tipping a cartoonish wand which has a cascade of sparkles emitting from it. At the bottom, you can see print that states: "Less than 0% Alcohol Content!"

"How can it have less than 0%?" You ask no-one in particular, amused.

"I don't fuckin' know, I just order the damn shit," Husk says, and he grabs the bottle from your hands, a little roughly, before placing it on a high shelf.

You fidget awkwardly. He sees your expression, assesses you with slightly wide eyes, and lets out a slow exhale.

"Sorry, kid. Like I said, I ain't a mornin' person."

"It's alright," you say, giving him an understanding smile. You hop up onto a barstool and swing your legs a little.

"Where is everyone?"

Husk busies himself with re-organising the shelves to make room for the new influx of bottles. Your eye catches some of the labels; 'No-Sin Gin!' 'I Sure Wish This Was Whiskey!', 'Rumember Rum? Well This Isn't That!'

"How the hell should I know," Husk says. "…I mean Angel is at work. I know that much."

You spin a little on the barstool and it lets out a mewling squeak.

"And Niffty's over there," he adds, turning to point.

You follow the direction of his outstretched claw until your eyes land on the pint-size demon. She's atop the chandelier, dusting the glass adornments with a frenzied energy. She spots you for a moment, offering a rapid wave that almost causes her to lose her balance. You wave back, apprehensively.

You spin back towards the bar, the stool whining out another squeak. Husk's right eye twitches just a tiny amount.

"Where does Angel work?" You ask.

Something clouds Husk's expression in that moment, and you feel a brief twinge of regretting asking the question.

"That ain't my story to tell," he says, shrugging. "He'll be here at the bar later. Why don't you ask him yourself then?"

You take the hint. I know when someone wants to be left alone.

"Sure, that sounds like fun. I'll come for a drink tonight," you say, sliding yourself off the stool.

You throw the grouchy bartend a quick smile that you hope conveys the sentiment of 'I'm so sorry I bothered you and made you order non-alcoholic drinks that you hate and made the stool make a weird noise and asked annoying questions'.

"Meanwhile I guess I'll… just look around?" You ask.

Husk shrugs again.

"What you get up to ain't any of my business, do what you want, kid. Just keep your wits about you."

A few moments later, after you've excused yourself from the bar and begun to explore the lobby at your leisure, you glance back at the bar. Husk is already asleep, on his feet but leaning from his side of the bar with his arms under his head on the counter. Your sensitive ears pick up the slightest of soft snores. You smile to yourself.

A much needed cat-nap.

---

Despite already having been shown so much of the hotel on Charlie's whirlwind tours, you have to admit - it's nice to just freely wander. Now, you explore the ground floor of the hotel - the corridors and rooms that twist out from the central lobby. You re-discover the music room - empty this time - and find another room that looks like some sort of banquet hall.

Eventually, you stumble upon a painting of a proud looking demon, dressed in a 19th century-looking uniform. The painted eyes of the serpent-like demon gaze off into the middle distance, thoughtful and heroic.

This must be the demon Charlie told me about. The one who sacrificed himself.

Your right ear twitches a little as you become aware of a small sniffling sound.Looking down, you spot a tiny egg-shaped… demon? Creature? It, too, is gazing up at the painting, its pinprick yellow eyes round and dribbling tears.

"Oh, hello," you say gently, not wanting to startle it.

You squat down on your haunches slowly.The egg creature teeters a little on its tiny legs, and it looks at you with surprise.

"It's okay," you soothe, "I'm not going to hurt you. Are you alright?"

The egg first nods its head, then shakes it, looks puzzled, and nods again. You let out a small but friendly laugh.

"That's okay," you say, attempting to sound reassuring.

You glance back up at the painting, noticing now that other identical egg-like creatures are also immortalised in the brushstrokes.

"You knew this demon, huh?" You say gently.

"Uh-huh," says the egg boy, his voice a goofy babble with an air-horn like quality. "That was my boss."

"I'm sure you miss him a lot," you say.

"Yeahhhh…" the egg says, and fresh tears begin to spill as he looks back up to the painting. "And my brothers."

Your heart twinges with sadness for this little egg, who has apparently lost everything he had.

"Do you have a name?" You try.

"Uhhh… Yeah! It's Frank," says the egg. He wipes his face with a tiny arm and offers a weak salute. You giggle.

"Nice to meet you Frank. I'm Verity."

"Ver-er-y?"

"Verity."

"Verily?"

"Ver-i-ty."

"Oh that's a good name!" Says Frank, happily.

You grin at the egg boy, happy to see him perk up a little.

"Thank you Frank, yours is very good too."

"Oh! Uhhh… Thank you!" The egg blushes and rubs the back of his shell bashfully. "I gotta go now!"

You lift yourself back up as you watch the egg scurry away. Just before he's around a corner, he turns.

"And, uh, Miss?" Frank says.

"Mmm?"

"Watch out for the new boss man, won't ya? He's mighty scary. But he lets me go outside sometimes so I guess he's kinda nice too!"

And with that, the little egg boy was gone.

New boss man? You wonder who Frank was referring to. Possibly Lucifer?

You haven't met the King of Hell just yet - I mean, it has only been less than a few days since you arrived, and you assume he isn't exactly the most accessible person in the world… But from what Charlie has told you, he doesn't sound particularly scary. You shrug it off. Oh well!

---

The rest of the day passes in a blur of boredom, as you stroll around the hotel aimlessly. Occasionally poking your head in this door or that door, noticing how… empty, the hotel is, you hum to yourself to distract from the quiet. You know of at least one other guest - the disgraced Adam, tucked away somewhere hidden - but you never catch any kind of clue as to his whereabouts.

You head back down to the ground floor lounge and let yourself fall onto a sofa with a flumpf. You grab the remote and turn on the TV, grateful that most things down in Hell work as they did on Earth.

You flick through the channels, looking for something to occupy you, and settle on a bizarre quiz show called 'Count Your Days!' that looks suitably brainless. You zone out, bouncing a leg absentmindedly, as you watch the demons on screen scrabble and rough-house their way through various obstacle courses to retrieve giant comical-looking foam numbers.

You're just starting to understand the concept, when you hear the main hotel doors open and close with a bang that echoes throughout the lobby.

You hear female voices, and your ears flinch and flicker. Charlie and Vaggie.

You overhear parts of their conversation as they head upwards; you assume to their room.

"…don't understand what they're keeping from us," you hear Charlie say. "But I'm determined to find out."

"Isn't that asking for more trouble?" Vaggie says. "We just got the hotel back on its feet, shouldn't we—"

"But that's why we need to know," Charlie says, full of conviction. "It might be important."

After that, you can only make out certain words - secret, redemption, for nothing - and then their voices fade away to quiet as they grow too distant to follow.You hear the low groaning hum and feel the slight shudder of the hotel elevator being in use.

On the television, a demon has successfully gathered all foam numbers (one to seven) and is posing victoriously. He's then immediately shot in the head, causing you to gasp; but then the demon picks himself up and throws the camera a giddy thumbs up, now with a gaping hole in his forehead. It oozes gelatinous looking muck and reseals itself.

"See you next time, on Couuuuuunt Your Days!" Says the presenter, and you turn off the TV.Demon television is weird. But then, there were some bizarre programmes on television when you were alive, too, so, you shrug to yourself and stretch.

Strolling back into the lobby, you're relieved to see it looking a little more lively. You spot Angel at the bar, chatting with Husk, and Alastor is sat on a stiff-looking armchair in central reception, face buried in a newspaper.

You almost trip as you stumble over Niffty laying on the floor.

"Oops! Sorry," you say quickly, glancing down. The small demon smiles up at you, her glowing orb of an eye giving you the world's most intense eye contact.

"It's okay," she says casually, laying on her stomach with her chin resting on her hands. She kicks her legs and returns her gaze to a small crack in a floorboard.

"What, uh… What are you doing?" You ask, not sure you actually want to know.

"Waiting for the centipede king to come back out," she says brightly, before adding in a much darker tone: "I'm gonna destroy his empire."

"Cool," you say, because what else is there to say?

You leave Niffty to her… Nifftyness, and move to join Angel at the bar. He and Husk are smirking at each other, sharing some joke you're not privy to.

"Oh, heeey, Cotton-Tail!" Angel calls out as he spots you. "How's kicks?"

"They're good," you say, laughing, and you take a seat. You notice Angel has the squeaky stool this time.

"Soooo… Whatcha been up to?" Angel drawls, fingering the rim of his glass in a slightly obscene way.

"Not much today, it's been… it's been quiet," you say. "But, uh, yesterday was a LOT, so, maybe it's been good to have a slower day today."

"Uh-huh," Angel says, clearly disappointed you didn't have any kind of gossip.

"Watchya drinkin', kid?" Husk says.

You narrow your eyes at the bottles. Both demons look at you expectantly, and eager to impress, you decide to live a little.

"I don't think I like whiskey," you confess, with a chuckle. "But… Maybe a cocktail?"

"Virgin?" Husk says, and Angel spits out his drink. "I mean with or without alcohol, get your mind out of the gutter."

He says this sternly, but he laughs a little himself, and he and Angel exchange a fond look. You feel a surge of determination.

"Fuck it," you say. "Gimme something with booze in it."

---

Your body feels… nice. Languid, but in an easy, pleasurable way. You feel a slight tingling in your nerves, and a happy buzz in your chest.

Five Long-Island Ice Teas will do that to a demon.

You'd had your questions answered; Angel had opened up to you about his contract with Valentino, and all that involved. He had seemed dispirited after being so vulnerable; you'd felt awful for him. You'd wanted to make him feel better, and so you'd been encouraged to keep drinking when he'd seemed cheered by your new-found courage.

Over the course of the evening, Cherri had joined you at the bar, and now the sound of raucous laughter from the three demons conversing beside you is a warm comfort to your ears.

You're not quite sure how much time has passed, or how late it is. Your vision is a little blurry - not too bad, but not laser-focussed either. You hiccup with a giggle as your eyes look around the lobby for an anchor, settling eventually on to the distant figure of Alastor, still sat in an armchair in the reception part of the lobby. Still buried in a newspaper.

"Y'know, I saw him last night," you say suddenly, unprompted, interrupting some story Angel was regaling.

"And then I said— Wait, what?"

"Him," you say, pointing at Alastor.

Husk, Angel and Cherri all turn to follow your point in unison, before looking at you, and then each other.

"Playin' the piano," you say, sounding more than a little drunk.

"Ooo-kay I think that's enough spirits for you, light-weight," Angel says, and the other demons laugh.

"No," you say, belligerent. "It's true. I'm not lying!"

You pout. Sloppily. You fold your arms and the effort almost has you slipping off your stool. Husk throws Angel a look you can't decipher. The spider demon looks back at you, a little concerned.

"Wait, really?" He asks.

You nod, in an exaggerated display of solemness.

"MmmHMM. Late, late last night. I heard it, I followed, he was there."

"Fuck me," says Cherri. "That's a bit rando."

"Did, ah… Did anything… happen?" Husk asks, his voice low and hushed.

"Why are you being so quiet?" you giggle, flapping a hand in Husk's face. He watches your hand almost graze his whiskers with a deadpan expression.

"It's not like he can hear us, he's aaaallll the way over there," you say, gesturing pathetically to the other side of the grand lobby hall.

This is true; Alastor is on the other very far side of the spacious lobby, his face still hidden by the wide tabloid in his hands. What is also true, is that he hasn't turned a page for about an hour.

"And no," you say, waggling a finger now, "Nothing HAPPENED. I mean, we chatted for a bit, I guess."

Angel raises an eyebrow.Husk looks stressed.Cherri is grinning like this is the funniest shit she's heard in months.

"I called him cute, actually," you say, laughing and letting out a snort.

Unbeknownst to any of you, a red ear twitches ever-so-slightly in a far corner.

"You WHAT?" Angel says, whisper-yelling at you, half incredulous, half amused.

"Yeah, cause, he's like a deer, right? I love deer. Deer are great. They're super smart but also, like, really scared of everything? It's hard to get up close. Really pretty animals though, one of - HIC - one of my favourites."

The three demons stare at you in silent astonishment.

Far away, a red-clawed hand grips paper a little too tightly.

"Super territorial as well!" You continue, very much lost in the sauce. "The bucks - ah, the, um, boy ones - they'll like, kill each other and shit, over territory. It's brutal. They grow their antlers, and like…"

You motion by smushing your hands together.

"…Like duke it out, sort of thing. But then? Weirdly matriarchal as well? So it's like a strange blend of angry mommas boys fighting it out to be seen as the toughest kid on the block. But they're so skittish too! They're a real enigma, haha…"

You trail off, feeling for your half-finished sixth drink on the bar. Angel grabs it quickly with a free hand.

"Hey!" You protest.

"But nothing… bad happened?" Husk asks again, taking the glass from Angel and pouring the remaining liquid down the sink.

"Pfffff, noooo," you say. "Why would it? He's just as nice as the rest of you!"

Angel lets out a loud "HA!" which echoes obnoxiously throughout the lobby. You wince as your ears flatten to your head.All four of you glance quickly over to the far side of the lobby. Alastor is unmoved, apparently oblivious to being the subject of conversation. To your eyes, anyway.

"Listen, kid," says Husk, voice low. "You don't wanna go messin' around with the likes of him. I mean it, he's… he's-"

"Ohh, pshhhAWW," you say, waving a hand again. "You guys worry too much. He's been nothing but perfectly polite to me! He's got good manners, and my father always said, 'You can trust a guy with good manners'. And his - HIC - his clothes are smart too!"

You stand up - very ungraciously - and sway on your feet.

"Now ifffff you'll excuse me," you slur, "I think I'm going to go to bed."

And with that, your knees finally buckle; five demon eyes are glued to you as your body collapses to the floor with a thud.Your mouth lolls open and you begin to snore.Angel raises an eyebrow.

"Shotgun not carryin' her drunk ass upstairs."

The three demons work together to lift you up to your feet. In the distraction caused by you passing out, not one of them manages to catch the fast, dark movement in the background; a ghostly slip of shadow running along the marble floor, up a wall, and into a vent.

The forgotten newspaper is left, strewn, pages open on a side table. Had any one of those demons investigated, they would have noticed the puncture holes and tears on the pages; the creases of too-tightly held paper; and the article the paper was left open on, with a headline that seemed to shout off the page:

"RADIO DEMON TOOK A HOLY THRASHING - IS HE WEAKER THAN WE THOUGHT?"

Buck Moon

Chapter Notes

Alastor POV, anyone?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The Radio Demon hums to himself pleasantly as he dips a claw into his teacup. He stirs, then idly places the claw in his mouth.The tea is steeped to perfection; gloriously bitter and with a full-bodied bite.

Lovely.

He continues to hum the old show tune to himself as he removes the tea diffuser from the cup, placing it - carefully - on the matching saucer. Alastor holds the cup proper, then, and takes a deep sip, content.

He sits at the iron garden table placed in his borrowed little corner of swamp; the very same corner he conjured into existence and somehow attached to his hotel room. The sound of bayou wildlife soothes him.

It has been several days since your little… outburst, at the bar that night. Since then, the demon has kept his distance. He'd watched through narrowed eyes as you'd groggily descended from your room the next morning, with croaky apologies for the group and a heavy head. He'd stood, smiling blankly, observing as you went through the motions of the day after that; watching as Charlie had guided you through all sorts of banal activities.

He'd really watched.

Watched the sinewy muscles of your legs pulse as you stepped; watched the way your ears were always pricked and alert in company, only becoming floppy and relaxed when you believed you were alone; watched how you'd laughed, joked, smiled and cheered during the team-building movie night.

Of course, Alastor liked to keep tabs on all the demons in the hotel. It was a sensible thing to do! He wouldn't want to be caught off guard by anything. You are no different; it's just standard practice to size you up.

At least, that is what he tells himself. That is the logic he uses as rationale when he finds himself tensing at a flash of your bouncy poof of curly hair, or catching your scent just ahead of him down a corridor.

He's just being vigilant, nothing else.You are new. You are… unpredictable.Not once thus far have you shown him fear, nor disdain, nor mistrust.

Alastor takes another sip of the tea, relishing its astringent flavour.

No; all you had shown him was foolish, naive friendliness; smiles and waves and kind words said to others. Which he has of course heard.

Silly girl.

Even Charlie knows not to trust him completely, despite her unrelenting optimism and benefit of the doubt.

In this moment, Alastor tries to savour the inner sanctum of his room; the quiet, the peace. The opportunity to contemplate without eyes or expectations or noise.

He contemplates on what can be done. Whatever is he to do about you?

He doesn't trust you; but then again, he barely trusts anyone. He can count on a single hand the amount of demons he truly trusts; Niffty being one of them, strangely enough. The Overlord of Cannibal Town, Rosie, being another.

But certainly not you.

Alastor admits to himself; your lack of fear is… intriguing. It is very rare indeed for him to meet a lowly sinner (such as yourself) who does not cower from him, or avoid his gaze, or begin to perspire in this presence.

Most of Hell knows about his conquests at this stage; but even newer, dumber sinners know to stay clear of him. They sense it in his aura. They hear the molten violence in his voice. They see the murderous intent in his eyes.

But not YOU.

The handle of the teacup snaps clean off as Alastor looks down in annoyance. He casts his eyes over his paled knuckles and the broken cup and tuts to himself, brow furrowed, repairing the cup with a luminescent swish of magic.

He places the cup back down and pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

The Radio Demon's shadow leaks out from underneath him, a fanged grin at its lips, and Alastor feels a light pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he mutters to no-one. "Best get on with the day."

Alastor vanishes the crockery away with a hand flick, then stands, taking a moment to smooth down his coattails.

Leaving his quarters, he takes the elevator down to the basement. He paces down a dark corridor, twirling his staff with jollity, before arriving upon a locked door. He flourishes a palm and a glowing green key manifests into existence, which the demon then uses to unlock the door.

Alastor grimaces - almost imperceptibly, and with his smile still intact - at the sour scent that hits him as he opens the door; but he greets the room's dweller cheerily none-the-less.

"Good morning, Adam!" Alastor says, the radio filter thick and layered on his words. "And what a great morning it is. Time to rise and shine!"

---

Adam looks - and feels - pretty damn bad. Being cooped up in a basement hotel room for a month will have that effect on a guy, sure,but good lord. He has let himself go.

Adam's room is a crusty mess of takeout cartons, pizza boxes and beer cans; things the shadows have brought him intermittently. A television buzzes irritatingly in the background, and the air is dank with sweat and self-loathing. It is disgusting.

Alastor strides in, assesses the scene, and hums disapprovingly. He pokes at an empty beer can gingerly with a claw; it topples off its resting spot (atop a chest of drawers) and falls, landing on the carpeted floor with a feeble doof. It dribbles a tiny leftover trickle of beer into the carpet.

"My, my," Alastor drawls. "Isn't this all a bit cliche?"

Adam sits on the bed, maskless, in an oversized black t-shirt and baggy shorts. He scowls at the Radio Demon stood in his doorway.

"Go fuck yourself, Bambi," Adam says bitterly, returning his gaze to the television screen.

Alastor's eye twitches a little, but his open grin is unfaltering.

"A little on the tetchy side today, are we?" He says, taunting.

"I'd say I've earned the right to be a little fuckin' tetchy, asshole," Adam says. "And I could fuckin' take you right now if I wanted to, so don't test me, bitch."

Alastor raises an amused eyebrow. There's a small screeching sound of disturbed frequency.

"And I don't mean that in a sex way, just to be reeeeal fuckin' clear," Adam continues, chewing on an old dried out slice of pizza. "I mean I could literally fuckin' kill you right now. If I wanted to."

Adam lets out a burp and the movement causes his gut to distend slightly out of his t-shirt.The television bleeps out that a show called 'Holy Hoarders' is about to start and Adam sits up a little straighter.

"Oh Hell yeah," he says. "Fuckin' love this show!"

Alastor throws an annoyed (but still ever-grinning) look at the television - infernal contraption - and clears his throat.

"You were saying?"

Adam turns to look at the demon then, expression full of vitriol.

"I'm telling you to back the fuck up, fuck off to your creepy-ass shitty little radio tower, and leave me the fuck alone, or I'll come over there and—"

"And what?" Alastor says, leering. How entertaining this was proving to be!

"And fuckin'…" Adam hesitates. "Fuckin' SHIT, I dunno, just go the fuck away."

Alastor laughs. Cruelly. Wickedly.

"Oh come now Adam, come now! You can do better than that."

Alastor steps further into the room and inspects a chair. He uses his powers to lift a pair of underwear off (thrown to the floor, with a hum of disgust) and takes a precarious seat, one leg crossed over the other.

"Don't forget who almost fuckin' actually killed you, asswipe," Adam says, eyes glued to the TV screen now, mouth full of pizza. "Until you ran away like a scared little bitch."

"Yes, well," Alastor says, inspecting his claws with affected nonchalance. "A small misjudgement on my part, but one that shan't happen again."

Adam scoffs, too lazy to respond. The glow of the TV's flickering in the dim room is starting to give Alastor a headache.

"And you're not quite so powerful now, hmm?" Alastor goads, tone cheerful and light. "Not without your heavenly powers."

Adam stiffens but says nothing.

"Don't you miss those lovely wings of yours? Oh they were quite a sight to behold, weren't they, quite a sight! Oh and that axe… or was it a guitar?" Alastor chimes.

Adam groans in frustration and mutes the TV. He turns to Alastor with hate in his eyes and bile in his throat. Although that was probably just acid-reflux.

"Look, are you gonna get to the fuckin' point of whatever this is or am I gonna have to sit here and listen to your lame-ass fuckin' transatlantic bullshit all day?"

"Happy to oblige!" Alastor says gleefully, clapping his hands together. "How about a deal?"

"Fu-hu-huuuuck no," Adam says. "No fuckin' thanks."

"But you haven't even heard my proposal!" Alastor says in a mock-petulant tone. "Surely you'd like to know the terms of the agreement, hmm?"

Alastor notices some sort of roach out the corner of his eye. It scurries out of a can and into the pocket of a discarded pair of shorts. His upper lip curls above his teeth.

"You could be offering me super fine babes covered head-to-toe in oil served on a platter of solid gold and I still wouldn't accept a deal from you," Adam says, then after a beat, he adds, "And anyway. What exactly do I have to offer you right now? I can't even leave this fuckin' room."

"Well," Alastor says, eyes half-lidded. "How'd you like to get out some more?"

Adam raises a finger and then stops, mouth open, eyes narrowed.

"Out… Out of this room?" He says.

"Sure!" Alastor says, tone dripping with malicious enthusiasm. "Stretch those legs, get some air… I imagine you'd need to take a bath first, but what's a little hot water to contend with…"

Adam scowls.
"Why, I could have you up and about in no time! How does that sound?" Alastor says.

Adam considers it, still suspicious.

"Total freedom?" He says, skeptical.

Alastor laughs, his eyes widening. He slaps a leg in theatrical amusement.

"Oh-ho-ho, no," he says, open grin returning. "I'm afraid you'd only have the hotel as your oyster, but anything's better than this, surely?"

Alastor gestures to the room. Right on cue, a wardrobe door creaks and falls from its hinge.

"Right, cause Lucifer still calls the shots, huh?" Adam says dryly. "Can't fuck with his rules, can you, Bullwinkle?"

Alastor tenses. The thread of his patience is threatening to snap - oh, and there it goes. Snap.

"Don't forget who put you in here," he says, standing, features darkening. The room starts to buzz and crackle, and reality distorts in erratic jolting glitches. The shadows of Alastor's emerging antlers begin to dance on the walls.

"As long as you're in this room, you are MY prisoner."

Alastor grabs Adam by the collar, lifting him slightly. His claws slowly tip-tap their way around Adam's neck and begin to squeeze.

"Now. Where are your manners," Alastor snarls, his voice thick with darkness. His grip on Adam's neck tightens.

"Sh-Shit, okay," Adam manages, straining. "Ok-okay, okay, just put me down. I'll hear you o-out."

"Wonderful!" Alastor says, immediately returning to normal.

Adam falls back down onto the bed and scowls, rubbing his neck.

"Christ, was that really necessary?" He says. "Fuckin' ridiculous."

Alastor returns to his seated position and smiles a close-lipped grin. Adam sighs.

"Alright," Adam says, defeated. "What's the catch?"

Alastor smiles wide, pleased-as-punch to have won the game.

---

What a long day it has been for the Radio Demon. Back behind the closed door of his quarters, Alastor allows himself a small weary sigh, smile relaxing a little, as he massages the back of his neck, ears flat against his head.

After successfully striking his deal with the fallen first man, there had been other matters to attend to, and then further matters beyond that. But - alas - such is the burden of being an Overlord.

But the deal with Adam had been the real success of the day.

When Adam had appeared in Hell, blinking stupidly, it had been a week after the attack on the hotel. He'd been discovered in the outer hotel grounds and dragged - quite literally dragged - into the lobby by Charlie. Now, without his powers, Adam is… helpless.

Alastor smirks to himself at the memory.

There'd been a meeting of sorts amongst the hotel collective - what should be done about Adam? Until it had been decided by Lucifer that Adam should be confined to the hotel until further review, and that his presence was to be kept a secret. The Radio Demon had sat around the table, tense and poised to make suggestions, but had kept a tight lip. Lucifer had left the table; unconvincing in his conviction, clearly out of his depth; and then Alastor had spoken up.

"Well, well. Why don't you let me handle it from here? I'm sure I can find somewhere suitable for our new… guest," he'd purred.

And Charlie, stressed with… something else, (a trifle matter, no doubt) had waved a hand and hummed a vague agreement.

"Wonderful,", Alastor had said. "I'll get right to it..."

And thus, Adam had been dragged to the pits of the hotel, thrown into a run-down room and locked inside with the Radio Demon's magic keeping him prisoner, with nought but the odd conjured goon or shadow to deliver him necessities.Oh, and - Alastor may or may not have fucked him up a bit; just a scratch. What's a little discipline to get even?

And what a smart idea it had been. With Charlie and the rest of the hotel barely sparing Adam a thought - none of them eager to see him again - no-one asked about his whereabouts. Alastor visited him occasionally; just for the pleasure of gloating, really. After all, an injured pride surely deserves a salve. And what a salve it had been to see Adam fall from "grace" quite so spectacularly.

So Alastor had bode his time, hoping - no, knowing - that Adam would be useful eventually. And now, here was the perfect opportunity.

The terms of the deal were thus: Adam will be released from his room into the hotel proper, and in exchange, he must do what Alastor requires of him. Nothing serious; just a little bit of field work, a smattering of spying, all with the intent of gathering intel.

Intel… on you.

After all, you trust everyone! Trusting little you; so happy to engage in conversation with just about any old demon, always ready with your questions and genuine smiles. This is the perfect opportunity for Alastor to find out more about you while keeping his own personal cards close to his chest, at a safe distance.

The Radio Demon started the day with tea, and that is exactly how he means to finish it. Removing his coat and hanging it carefully on a standing coat-hook (with an eyeball that blinks bizarrely) he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and heads to his bathroom sink.

It will take more than soap and water to wash off the stink Adam has left seeping into his veins, but it'll have to do for now. Alastor removes his monocle, places it on a small dish on a counter, and runs the tap. Deftly, he fastens the longer parts of his hair back with an elastic tie, creating a small tuft of ponytail. He washes his hands with the meticulous care of a feline; eyelids low and lazy as he welcomes the decompression that his evening routine brings.

Despite being a born performer - and an excellent one, at that - it is admittedly a relief to drop the mask in the privacy of his own four walls.

Feeling somewhat refreshed, Alastor leaves the bathroom and heads to a plush armchair in a corner of the room. He relaxes into it, and runs a hand through his fringe, eyes closing. His clawed fingers graze upon his antlers; he feels one a little, noting how they ache still from their expansion earlier in the day.

"…they'll like, kill each other and shit, over territory. It's brutal. They grow their antlers, and like…"

The memory of your drunken words come to Alastor's mind unbidden; he flinches, eyes opening, and he frowns. (As much as one can frown while still smiling, of course.)

Nonsense, that's what it was. Nonsense.Alastor is no more a deer than Angel is a spider; a physical coincidence, that's all it is. A shallow imitation of features and qualities.And to think; the girl - you - had really called him cute.

Alastor swallows thickly, irritated, and conjures a teapot, cup and saucer, which float and land on a small side table that scoots itself closer. He waits the appropriate amount of time for the tea to diffuse, then tastes it. Content with its potency, he slinks back into the armchair. Brooding.

Alastor feels a stressed twinge in the base of his spine and is forced to acknowledge the sensation of his tail, his greatest embarrassment - god forbid he ever be considered adorable - and his eyes narrow.

He cannot let you find out about that.

He runs his tongue over a fang to self-soothe. Yes. Still sharp. Still capable of tearing flesh.

Alastor is no prey-animal. He is no cautious fawn that flitters wildly through meadows; stilt-like legs bounding away from danger. He is no butting buck rutting against another; hide a prime target for gun-shot.

Alastor is a hunter. His resemblance to the earthly creature is mere ironic poetry.

At least, this is what he tells himself. It is what he must believe, in this moment; as he sits, with his cheeks aching from endless smiles and an unsettled feeling in his core.

You do not know him.

Alastor takes a large sip of the tea - a chamomile blend, naturally for this time of day - and finds himself enjoying the slight sweetness more than usual.

You do not know him.

But oh. Ohhh. You will. Oh how you will know him.

Chapter End Notes

Alastor is very much giving Joe Goldberg in this chapter - this wasn't a deliberate choice but it did make me laugh during the proof read

Also, I get something slightly inaccurate in this chapter. According to Alastor's wiki page, it has been stated that Alastor likes black coffee but not tea - something I failed to see before writing this chapter. So... my bad, lols. Just pretend he had a change of heart. SORRYYY.

Gunshot

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Okay, from tha top, ladies!" Angel Dust yells, his upper pair of hands cupped around his mouth in projection and the middle set clapping to the beat. "Five, six, seven, eight!"

You laugh giddily and wipe perspiration from your forehead as you spin, bop and weave with the other demons; Charlie, Niffty, Cherri, and a reluctant and disgruntled Vaggie. You all move in unison; stepping, pivoting and finger-snapping your way through the choreography.

It had been a dull and uneventful Sunday afternoon; the whole gang loitering in various parts of the lobby. There'd been nothing for anyone to do, no excitement - until Angel had the hilarious idea to teach you all his favourite dance routine. Charlie had clapped her hands excitedly; Cherri had shrugged her shoulders with the essence of fuck it, why not; Niffty had vibrated on the spot, just happy to be involved; You'd laughed and agreed cheerfully. Vaggie… Vaggie had tried to escape, but had been frozen in spot by Charlie's aggressive puppy dog eyes, before relenting with a groan.

Husk had made it clear he would merely watch from the bar - You're not draggin' me into this spider, I ain't no performin' monkey - and Alastor observed from the sidelines, softly amused but mostly occupied with other thoughts.

Angel had made quick work of retrieving a pink boombox from his room, and had gone through all the crucial steps, teaching you the footwork and correct gestures to the sickly-sweet (but catchy) pop song. He'd also shouted slightly less than helpful pointers:

"You gotta PUSH those tits, really SHOVE them out there!"

"Put a little more ASS into it!"

"Vaggie can you at least TRY to pretend you have some sex appeal?!"

"That's right girls, dance like you gotta pay RENT!"

Now you all stand, panting, hot and sticky, having successfully completed the full routine with no missteps for the first time. You all look at each other, grinning like fools. You come together and hug as a group, whooping, cheering and laughing. Even Vaggie looks a little exhilarated.

"I'm so proudda my girls," Angel says, wiping a melodramatic happy tear from his blackened eye.

Husk rolls his eyes, but his grin betrays his amusement and fondness for the group. Niffty squeezes and pops herself out of the group hug and scurries her way up to the bar, fists clenched with excitement.

"Did you see me, did you see me?!" She asks Husk, tone slightly manic.

Husk throws her a tired but easy smile.

"Uh-huh," he says. "You sure were dancin'."

Niffty lets out a deranged little giggle and clambers on to a stool, spinning wildly.

"Ang-UL!" Charlie says to the spider demon, brightly. "You just led your first team-bonding exercise! I'm so PROUD OF YOU!"

She rushes over to him, swallowing him in a hug. All four of his arms are pinned against his body as he goes rigid.

"Yeah, yeah…" he says cynically, but you can't help but notice a small smile playing on his lips.

"Man, I'm so fuckin' PUMPED now!" Cherri says, throwing her arms into the air. "What's say we keep the good vibes flowin'? Let's hit the fuckin' club!"

Niffty claps her hands; Angel looks invigorated, a flash of gold tooth glittering as he grins and agrees with a fuck yeah! You notice that Husk looks to Angel to gage the spider's response first, then shrugs and throws down his bar towel to join them.

Charlie looks unconvinced.

"I'm… I'm not so sure," she says, abashed. She glances over to Vaggie, who gives her the secret warning look every couple has - the look of absolutely fucking not.

"Yeahhhh… we might get an early night," Charlie says, and Vaggie looks relieved.

"Suit yerself, bitches!" Cherri says, but not cruelly. She gives Charlie a playful, well-meaning mock punch to the shoulder, earning a strained grimace from the demon.

"What about you, sweet-cheeks?" Cherri says to you then.

The party look to you with expectant eyes, and Angel wiggles his eyebrows.

"I uhh… I might sit this one out," you say, letting out a little nervous laugh. "I'm kind of tired too."

"BOOO-RING!" Cherri says, but she's grinning at you.

"Hey, leave her be," Angel says. "We all know she can't handle her drink and I do NOT wanna play baby sitter tonight."

He throws you a wink.

As Charlie and Vaggie make their escape, the rest of the gang get ready to leave. Husk approaches you then, a self-conscious arm tucked behind his head.

"Hey, uh, kid?"

He avoids direct eye contact, seemingly embarrassed about extending some kindness.

"I uh… I left out a bottle of milk for you at the bar. Y'know, incase you want somethin' to drink, seein' as I'll be out and all."

A grateful smile appears on your features.

"Thank you, that's sweet of you," you say. Husk tenses and you swear you see his fur puff a little.

"Ahhh shit. Don't mention it, I'm just doin' my job," he says, and he turns to follow the others leaving.

"Have a good night!" You say, waving them off.

The lobby is left in silence, and you suddenly become very aware of the sensation of being alone. You sigh contentedly, though; happy you are fitting in so well. Happy that the group accept you as one of them.Your eye catches the sight of the aforementioned bottle of milk - and a glass that has been left out, too - and you shrug to yourself.

May as well drink it, don't want to look rude.

You take a seat at the bar and pour yourself a glass. You taste it - it's just as rich and smooth as before. You muse to yourself that you'll relax here for a little, then head upstairs to your room to retire for the night. After all, what is there left to do down here now you are alone?

Across the room, a set of red eyes narrow slightly at the sight of a target spotted; the air begins to feel thick with the hum of a low buzzing frequency.

You have forgotten, of course, that you are not actually alone.

---

Alastor just can't help himself. He'd promised himself he'd be careful - cautious, even; the events of the last few months have given him a few too many close calls. He needs to be more guarded, even more secretive than before. He has his plan and he will stick to it… but. But here you are, unchaperoned, alone. Vulnerable.

And isn't he curious? By gods, he is curious. To test you. To see if he could finally inspire some fear. He'll hold himself back, of course - wouldn't want to spoil the fun of his plan with Adam as his pawn. But perhaps… perhaps for tonight he can just get a taste.

Curiosity killed the cat, you know.

---

You hum the pop song to yourself as you sip your milk; the earworm of the chorus firmly implanted into your brain forever, now that you'd heard it umpteen times during the dance rehearsals. Your ears catch the gentle sound of footsteps before you hear a voice.

"What a splendid evening we're having, wouldn't you agree?"

You startle a little and turn, meeting the gaze of the Radio Demon. Oh, it's just this guy. Alastor stands before you, pose stiff; his staff resting on the ground with his claws held together.

You smile, a cheery expression of greeting.

"Oh, hey, Alastor," you say, pleasantly. "How's your day been?"

The question seems to take the demon by surprise for just the slightest of moments before his features relax into smug contentment.

"Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that… I couldn't help but admire the gaiety taking place earlier. How I do love a good show," he says.

You laugh, feeling a little exposed.

"I'm a terrible dancer, honestly," you offer.

"Nonsense!" Alastor says, waving a hand. "Why, I haven't seen such legwork since Cab Calloway's Jumpin' Jive!"

You laugh then, flattered by the demon's kind words.

"I find that hard to believe," you say. "You wanna join me?"

You gesture to the empty stool next to you.

"All I've got to offer is milk though, I'm afraid," you say. "I'd rather not get on Husk's bad side by helping myself to anything else."

Alastor lets out a wry chuckle and sits himself down.

"I wouldn't worry about that, my dear," he says. "Any demon worth his salt knows not to cross me."

Alastor uses his magic to bring forth a bottle of rye - real rye, you note, not the mock stuff called 'Ryely? You're Drinking This?" - and pours himself a tumbler with little effort.

You think nothing of his comment and take another gulp of the milk.

"So," Alastor starts, eyeing you with a half-lidded gaze. "How are you finding things here?"

You beam at him then.

"Good! Really good, actually. I mean everyone is so lovely," you say, looking away then. You fiddle with the glass in your hand. "Which is weird, given this is… y'know, Hell."

Alastor says nothing and leaves you with dead air to fill.

"And Charlie seems to think I'm making good progress, even though it's only been just over a week or so… although she doesn't seem super keen to answer my questions about.. the other place," you say.

"And what of your other comrades, hmm? You seem to be getting along swimmingly."

"Yes, I think so," you say, looking up at the demon then. "I hope so, anyway."

Alastor's grin strains a little.

There's another slightly tense pause and you once again feel the urge to fill it.

"But, uh, anyway," you say, incredibly aware of your own awkwardness. "Tell me more about yourself, Alastor. I feel like I haven't had much of a chance to get to know you."

"All in good time, my dear; all in good time," the demon says smoothly. He waits a few beats, then adds: "I'm interested to know what you've already heard about me, if you'd care to divulge."

Oh god, you think. I really hope I don't mess up and offend him!

"Uhh, honestly? Not much," you say, and you register a slight twitch from one of his eyes. "Uhh… let's see. I know you're the host of the hotel. I know you have a radio show… or had one, I think. Right?"

"Mmm! Quite so!" Alastor says, seeming to be cheered up. "Tell me, do you know the nature of my broadcasts?"

You shake your head, embarrassed at your lack of knowledge.

"I don't, but… I'd like to listen in sometime," you offer, with a kind smile.

Alastor throws you a sardonic grin that you don't understand the intent of. Maybe he's shy about it…

"And, uh—" you start again, keen to change the subject. "I know that you fought in the… the battle with the, uh, exorcist? Angels?"

You trip over your own words a little as you hope you're using the right terms. Charlie had, of course, filled you in on everything that had happened, but in such a rushed and chaotic way that it had been hard to fully process it all.

"It sounds like you did a lot," you say, genuine, but also hoping to flatter him a little. "I can't imagine that was very fun or easy… for any of you."

There's a sudden harsh shriek of radio feedback. Alastor seems to take a moment to collect himself before he speaks.

"All in a day's work, my dear," he says, low-lidded and inspecting a hand. "I'm not at all opposed to a bit of fruitful violence when the circumstances call for it."

You giggle then, and the demon eyes you, his expression unreadable.

"It is Hell, after all," you say, hoping it sounds like the light-hearted joke you mean it as.

"Right you are!" Alastor says. "Well observed."

You sit together quietly then, although not in complete silence - there is an old, radio-filtered tune coming from… somewhere. Alastor hums along a little, swirling the rye in its glass. He closes his eyes in contentment. You take this rare moment of close proximity as an opportunity to get a better look at the demon.

You notice the shape of his neck; how it glides upwards, leading to the taper at his nape. His skin is a pallid warm-grey, his nose is sharp and pointed; his red monocle sits smartly on his face. His small antlers are swamped by a mass of fluffy red hair, tinged in places with black - and of course, those large, equally fluffy ears. Your hand itches with the forbidden urge to feel how soft they are.

Alastor is humming with his mouth closed, but you recall his sharp yellowed smile; the one that's permanently plastered on his face. He puts a brave face on all of it, you think. It must be a self-preservation thing.

Only now, this up-close, can you really register how much taller the demon is than yourself. His broad shoulders attenuate into a narrow lanky torso; even when sitting, his physical presence swamps your own. Alastor has one long leg crossed over the other, and you notice with a tinge of interest that the sole of his shoe has the pattern of a cloven hoof.

You find yourself admiring the pinstripes of his perfectly tailored coat. The shade of red is simply beautiful - you've never met anyone who dresses so smartly before. It's refreshing. In a world of sin and debauchery, it is nice to see a demon who relishes in exuding such class. You notice his hands then; how his narrow wrists lead to delicate sinewy fingers tipped with sharp claws. You can't help but ogle them, and some unknown sensation flutters in your chest and stomach.

Your gaze wanders idly back up to his face; you are mortified to find he has a single eye just about open, its pupil fixed on you. His smile opens up slowly, revealing those pointed teeth.

Busted.

You feel your cheeks prickle with the heat of your feverish blush, and you look away immediately. Panicking, you focus back on the bottle of milk, emptying out the last of its contents into your glass.

You are cringing so, so deeply at having been caught eyeing him all over. What on earth is he going to think?! That I'm some kind of pervert?!

Your heart pitter-patters in your chest as you try to collect yourself.

Had you braved another glance towards Alastor's face, you would have seen the expression on his features - one of being very fucking pleased with himself.

Like the cat that got the cream.

---

Bingo.

Alastor relishes in the sight of your flustered movements.

The girl does fear me, after all, he thinks. It's delicious. He savours the nervous energy in the air; the scent of your anxiety. He notices with great pleasure the fearful twitches that your ears are making.

He saw you, of course; saw your terrified eyes glazing over at the sight of him. How wide those eyes had gone when they'd met his own watchful eye.

Unbeknownst to the Radio Demon, he is reading it all wrong.

But in this moment, he feels vindicated. Satisfied. This is enough.

"Well, I think I'm going to turn in for the night," he says with jolly brevity, standing.

You look at him then, your expression the picture of distress.

Alastor drinks it in.

"Right, yes, of course," you say. "G-Goodnight."

"Goodnight my dear!" He says. "Pleasant dreams. I expect I'll see you bright and early in the morning, hmm? The start of a new week brings so many opportunities!"

You give him a nervous smile and a nod.

Alastor can't resist a final bit of torment - he knows just how to seal the deal of your fear. And so, just to show-off, he sinks into his shadow and dissipates into the floor; only the echo of his demonic laughter left behind.

---

Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god

You watch in chagrin as Alastor makes a speedy exit, disappearing in-front of you.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You swallow the lump in your throat. I scared him off. I creeped him out!

This has gone terribly. You are horrified at the concept of the demon having been weirded-out by your staring.

Unbeknownst to you, you are reading it all wrong.

But in this moment, you think back to the meadows of the park you once patrolled on Earth. The deer always had run from you then, startled by your clumsy footing; history repeats itself.

"God-fucking-damnit," you mutter to yourself, and you smack a flat palm to your forehead with a thwap.

Later, in the dim lighting of your room, you collapse onto the bed with a heavy sigh. You have to make this right. You can't bear the idea of having upset or offended someone - let alone the host of the hotel…

You realise with a fresh pang of regret that you do, in fact, care very much what the Radio Demon happens to think of you. He's a respectable, stand-up kind of guy, right? An important and admired figure… At least, as far as you could tell. If he thinks you're a weirdo, what chance do you stand!?

You stare at the ceiling. Ears quivering, you can make out the sounds of the city outside; vehicles, sirens. Faint and muffled, but ever-present.

You feel a tightness in your gullet as you think back to the events of the evening - sitting at the bar with Alastor. How your eyes had lingered on the back of his neck; how you'd wished so fiercely to reach out and touch one of those cute little antlers…

You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the trail of thought.

Is it just… the fact he's a deer?

Is the nature-lover in you just… drawn to that?

You remember the sound of the song he had played that night - that sweet, slow tune, seeping and melancholy in its melody. The demon is a mystery to you.

And you have to admit… he is quite handsome. Very dapper. And such a charmer.

Oh god.

You roll over on your side, curling yourself into the fetal position.

You try to ignore the butterflies threatening to emerge from their chrysalises in your gut.

This is bad.

You resolve to yourself that you will fix this - somehow, someway or another - and you try to block out the rest of your thoughts so you can try to get some rest.

And eventually, you fall asleep. It's the light, frantic sleep of an anxious soul; your body convulsing in tiny spasms, as you dream of chasing a red stag through a field.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run. run.

RUN.

Chapter End Notes

Look at these clueless goobers trying to function, oh my days. Oh, the dramatic irony of it all!

Both of them blissfully unaware of the other's true feelings, both of them chasing thinking the other is running... Will they meet in the middle, eventually, do we think...?

Ring Ring

Chapter Notes

Hello! Quick note just to say thank you SO much for all the love on this - all your comments are making me laugh so much, I'm so happy other people are enjoying this little silly story as much as I am enjoying writing it!

ALSO: I have made a Tumblr specifically for this fic! There's not much on there at the moment BUT I have plopped some doodles on there of how I imagine Verity (the reader-insert OC) looking! Q is also on so feel free to submit stuffs for meeee:

https//bapple117

Alright, on with the chapter ~

The morning hits you like a slap in the face; you groan a little. A glance at the bedside clock - 8:16am - tells you it's high time to get up and attack the day.

You pull the covers tighter around you and bury your face into your pillow, re-cringing at the memory of the night before. You kick your feet free of the blankets around you and make a distressed whining sound as embarrassment tingles in your veins. Urgh.

There are no two ways about it: you must redeem yourself.

Not your soul of course - oh, no, that can wait - but rather, you must redeem your self image. Namely, how you are seen by the Radio Demon.

After all, how can he possibly think you're anything other than a little freak after all that's happened?

Bursting in on him playing the piano… passing out drunk in the lobby… ogling him last night…

You sit up in bed and groan, your hands pulling on the skin of your face in discomfort. No; it simply will not do. Something must be done.

You get up and stretch, flexing the muscles of your nimble legs. You hop in the shower; grateful that the heat and steam help to calm your nerves somewhat. Body wrapped in a towel, you step back into the bedroom. You use another smaller towel to dry your hair, enjoying the feeling of brushing it against your ears. You move to the mirror to make sure you haven't made a complete mess of your curls, and in that moment, you notice a gift bag on the vanity table.

Stepping closer, you spot a tag. You cautiously lift it to read.

To Verity,

Thought you might want some new styles to try!

Love, Charlie

You smile. You have no idea when the Princess of Hell had left this for you, but you made a mental note to thank her later. Peering inside, you spot quite a few new clothing options.

You settle on a pinky-red playsuit that cinches in at the waist with a black belt; a bow-tied ribbon in the centre. It's a flattering cut - no sleeves, and short on the leg, with slight frills that could be mistaken for a skirt. You decide to pair it with a small cropped black cardigan with wide baggy batwing sleeves.You blow-dry your hair, then assess your reflection again.You can't help but admit to yourself - you look really cute.

Good. You need as much confidence as you can get today. You're on a mission, after all.

Project: make the Radio Demon like me.

Opening your room door with the intent to leave, you discover Charlie on the other side, her hand raised as if she was about to knock. Startled, you flinch backwards slightly with a small yelp.

"Morning!" she says brightly. "Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump there, ahaha!"

You collect yourself and smile.

"It's okay," you say. "Thank you for the—"

"OH WOW," Charlie says, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around. "You look GREAT! I'm so glad you found something you like in there. I wasn't sure what to pick out or what your tastes are so I just kinda threw a bunch of stuff in there but oh my goodness! You look UH-MAY-ZING!"

You giggle, a little dizzy on your feet.

"Yeah, thank you," you say. "I appreciate it."

"Ohhhh don't mention it," Charlie says, pleased. "Actually, I have something else for you, which is why I'm heeeeere…"

Charlie conjures a small box into fruition with a gesture; it lands softy into her hands. She holds it out for you.

"I figured you could probably use one of these, now you're settling in. I hope you don't mind but I already did most of the setup for you…"

Charlie babbles on as you eye the box. VoxTek sPhone 69.

"A phone?" You say suddenly, interrupting Charlie's stream of consciousness.

"…and there's infinite da— yeah!" She says, beaming at you. "I already put in mine and Vaggie's numbers for you, so any time you need us, you can just give us a call or a message. Handy right?"

You let out a small laugh.

"I'm familiar with the concept," you say dryly, but your tone is light.

"Oh! Right," Charlie says, a little abashed. "I forgot you're one of our more modern sinners so you… you uh, probably had something similar on Earth, right?"

You nod, amused.

"Yeahhh… well I'll be sure to add you to the hotel group chat too, we're all in it… it's useful for a lot of things and—"

"Is Alastor in it?" You ask, interrupting again.

Charlie laughs.

"Oh noooo-ooo," she says. "He refuses to get a smartphone. Not his style, I don't think. Thinking about it, he kinda avoids anything VoxTek in general…"

Charlie taps her chin in thought.

"Anyway! It's all yours," she says, handing you the box.

"Thank you, Charlie", you say, sincerely, taking the box into your hands. "For everything. You've been so helpful and kind. I really appreciate it."

Charlie immediately starts to well up as she clasps her hands together. She looks at you with wide, sparkling eyes, misted with tears.

"Ohhh you!" She says, and she wipes her face with her sleeve. "You need anything at all and you just hit me up! As they say…"

You let out a small laugh.

"Alright, well, I'll leave you to your day - I have some things to be getting on with, so, you okay with keeping yourself busy?" Charlie asks.

"Yeah, no problem," you say. "Oh - you wouldn't happen to know where Alastor is right now, would you?"

Charlie's eyes narrow a little. She looks at you with slight confusion.

"Alastor? Uhh… honestly? No idea. He kind of just does what he wants. I haven't seen him yet this morning, so I'm not really sure what he's up to… Why?"

"No reason," you say, a little too quickly. "Just curious."

Charlie pauses a moment; the slightest hint of concern clouds her features for just a second; the beat passes, and she shakes it off with a grin.

"Okie-dokie!" She says, cheerful again. "I'll see you later, Verity!"

And with that, the Princess of Hell zooms off back down the corridor.

---

After unboxing the phone and assessing its functions - which you are surprised to discover are not really any different to the phones you'd had when alive - you struggle to find a suitable place to keep it.

With your outfit having no pockets, you hum to yourself as you try out some different ideas. You shove it up a cardigan sleeve, only for it to pull on the fabric weightily. You consider tucking it into the front of your playsuit, but then it bulges unattractively and falls out as soon as you take a single step forward.

How do the others do this?!

You settle on simply carrying it in your hand, and you make your way downstairs. A pang of hunger pulls at you, so you decide to head towards the communal kitchen.

While waiting in the elevator, you scroll through some of the apps on the phone - Sinstagram, Voxflix, Envee - and then take a look at your contacts. As promised, Charlie has preloaded her number (and Vaggie's) for you. The elevator dings the announcement of having reached its destination. You figure you'll take a better look at the phone later.

You let out a small yawn - it's still early, after all - and pad your way to the communal kitchen area. Opening the fridge, you peer inside looking for something edible, noticing then how there's a real mess on the kitchen counter; eggs, milk and flour have been left out, and there's dirty dishes in the sink already…

"'Sup," says a voice, and you startle, your fur prickling.

"Gah!"

You turn, and see a… demon…(?) sat at the kitchen table. He's bigger than some of the others you've met; a tall, wide demon, with a heavy-looking black robe and two giant jester-like horns, black with red tips.

He smirks at you and throws you a bored-looking wave. He has a mouth full of something, and your eyes dart to a huge stack of pancakes and other breakfast foods on various plates in-front of him.

"Well you sure startle easy, don'tcha?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "Chill your tits, no need to freak out."

You're frozen in place, surprised to be meeting a stranger this far in to your time at the hotel.

"I don't… I don't think we've met," you say, sounding as unsure as you feel.

"You wanna pancake?" The demon says, gesturing to an empty seat at the table. "I got plenty."

You twitch.

"Uhhh…" you stall, hesitant.

"C'maaan, don't be a hater," the demon says. "So you're the new kid on the block, huh? Verity, right? Heard a looooot about you already. Ol' Snazzypants has got his slacks in a real twist over you, I'll tell you that much."

Wait, what? Ishe talking about Alastor?

You timidly take a seat at the table.

"Adam," the demon says, stretching out a greasy-looking hand.

You pause. Adam's squints, rolls his eyes, wipes his hand on his robe and then re-offers it to you. You take it gingerly and shake it.

"Pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," Adam says, shoving a strip of bacon into his mouth whole.

How does that even work with that… mask… thing? Wait. What did he say? Adam?

"As in, the first ma-" you start.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we don't have to do all the 'oh my god! It's that fuckin' guy!' shit," Adam says, pantomiming a mock star-struck expression.

Your stomach betrays you as it lets out a grumble. Adam leers at you smugly and then wiggles his eyebrows in the direction of the plate of pancakes.

"How 'bout it, huh? They look goooood, right?"

You take one, then allow yourself a small bite; infuriatingly, it is delicious. It's thick, pillowy and still warm, with a light creamy flavour and subtle sweetness.

"It is tasty," you say reluctantly, defeated, and you take another larger bite in earnest.

"HA! Told ya," Adam says, pleased with himself. "The secret is buttermilk. Cooking is just one of my many talents."

You watch in slight disgust as Adam slurps down a whole fried egg by tipping his plate directly into his mouth. He wipes his face on the sleeve of his robe and then eyes your phone on the table.

"You really just… leavin' that out?"

You shrug.

"I don't have any pockets," you say.

"Now ain't that just the patriarchy in action?" Adam says mockingly. "Why not just use subspace like the rest of us?"

"…What?" You say.

"What are you, deaf? Or just some kind of fuckin' idiot? SUB-SPACE," Adam says, using a pinky finger to pick his teeth.

In this moment, Angel's words from before echo in your mind: Massive douche… massive douche… massive douche…

"I don't know what that is," you say, tone dry and unamused.

Adam snaps his fingers and his own phone appears in-front of him in a poof of magic, falling into his open palm. He waggles the phone in-front of your face, then squeezes his hand around it, making it disappear again in another poof.

"Simple really," he says, smugly. "I'd of thought that was baby stuff. Thank Christ you're kinda hot, cause OOOF. Dumb and ugly would be a tough gig."

You move to stand, fed up; Adam waves his hands frantically to motion you to stay.

"Wait! Wait, sorry, okay? Jeez. Just… stick around a sec, why don't ya?"

"I don't see why I should," you say, bitterly.

Adam seems to struggle to think of a reason, his eyes shifting from side to side. Then you remember - he'd mentioned Alastor.

"What did Alastor say about me?" You find yourself asking without really thinking about it, and Adam blinks at you stupidly, before his features settle into a lazy grin.

"You're interested in knowing more about that guy?" He asks, that damn eyebrow arching on his smug face once more.

You nod, impatient.

"I got you," Adam says, conspiratorially.

You settle back into your seat and pick up your half-eaten pancake. You take another bite, finding yourself incredibly annoyed at how such an asshole can make such good-tasting food.

"Are you friends with him?" You ask.

"Who me?" Adam says, almost choking on his current mouthful of food. "Fuuuuck no."

You raise your own eyebrow then, and Adam seems to scramble to rectify himself.

"I mean, uh… I'd say we have a… working, relationship, right now. Something like that."

Alastor probably hates this guy, you think to yourself. I don't really blame him.

"Uh-huh," you say. Your face must be the very image of skepticism; Adam seems to sense his leverage to keep you in the conversation is slipping.

"But I can tell you stuff about him," Adam says quickly, and he snatches your phone from the table.

"Wai— Hey!" You say.

"Reeelax," he says. "I'm just giving you my number. Gimme a sec…"

Adam inputs his number, takes an obnoxious selfie of himself with his tongue out and a "rock-on" hand gesture, types something, then hands you back the phone. He's set the picture as his contact image, and sent himself a message from your phone that says "UR THE RADDEST DUDE I'VE EVER MET".

You look back up at him, your expression dripping with agitation.

"What?" Adam says, shrugging. "So I've got your number back."

"Uh-huh."

Adam leans forward then, tone a little more hushed.

"Hey," he says. "How about we strike a little… deal?"

Every nerve in your body feels repulsion at this man and his every movement; your inner-voice yells at you to get up and walk away. But for some, perhaps-Alastor-related, reason, you decide to hear him out.

"What kind of deal?" You ask.

Adam grins.

"How's about… You hang out with me every once in a while, and I'll tell you all the things you wanna know about Mr. I've Got A Cane Up My Ass."

"Hang… out with you?" You say, incredulous.

"Look, don't make me sound like a fuckin' beta about it," Adam huffs. "I'm not exactly spoilt for choice on people willing to spend time with me, alright? The whole fuckin' Scooby Doo gang hate my fuckin' guts, okay?"

Gee, I wonder why.

"And being locked up for weeks on end with no real company does things to a guy. There's only so much more shitty daytime TV I can take. Playing Sinner Shooter solo is no fuckin' fun. The online co-op sucks. It gets lonely."

Adam wheezes a little and slumps forward.

You scrutinise his expression then; you see the tiniest flicker of genuine sadness resonate on his masked face. If anyone has a bleeding heart, it's you, and that very heart thumps in your ribcage.

God-fucking-damnit.

"Alright. Fine," you say, tersely. If it means maybe finding out more about Alastor, it will be worth it. After all, what did he say they had? A working relationship?

Adam sits up straighter, his expression surprised.

"Wait, really?" He says.

You nod.

"Fuck yeah!" He says, forgetting himself for a moment. "I mean— cool, cool. Whatever. No biggie."

You both hear movement above you; floorboards creaking, the rumble of the elevator in use.

Adam looks to be sweating a little.

"Well, that's my cue to get the FUCK out of here," he says, nervously eyeing the ceiling. "Don't really wanna run into any of the Brady Bunch. I'll… uhhh… I'll text you, okay? I mean- whatever, it's whatever. And don't fuckin' tell any one!"

"Alright, sure," you say, nodding.

"See ya round, babe," Adam says, and he disappears into a cloud of glittering gold magic with a whoompf.

You look back down at your phone in your hand and try giving it a squeeze, imagining it disappearing. Much to your delight, it does vanish in-front of your very eyes, just as Adam had done. You envision it reappearing as you snap your fingers, and voompf! The phone is back in your hand.

Huh.

You smile to yourself.

It's been a productive morning!

---

Later, you're lolling around lazily on your bed when you hear the tell-tale vmmppf vmmppf of your phone vibrating. You grab it and move to unlock it, holding it above your face. It slips out of your hands and lands on your face. Swearing, and rubbing your nose, you sit up and take another look at it.It's a message - from Charlie - in the aforementioned group chat.

charlieeee

17:34

HUGE NEWS GUYS!!!

GROUP MEETING AT 8PM TO DISCUSS

everyone meet in the lounge then please!!!

You watch as more messages chime in.

AngelBabyCakez

17:35

K I'll be there xoxo

CH3RRIxXx

17:35

CH3RRIxXx

17:36

AngelBabyCakez

17:36

lol Cherri

JustAHusk

17:38

You laugh to yourself, then type your reply.

-VeryVerity-

17:39

I'll be there!

You wonder what the news will be. You've been searching the hotel for Alastor all day - to no avail, frustratingly. Surely he'll be at the meeting? You had hoped to get him on his own, so you could explain to him about last night. You let out a long sigh.Maybe he's avoiding me on purpose.

At least the day hadn't been a complete waste - despite the fact he's a massive dick, Adam might prove to be a useful connection to have, especially if he has insight on the Radio Demon. So, a little step in the right direction, even if it isn't what you'd originally hoped for.

You laze around a little more, browsing the apps on your phone. Noticing after a while that it's getting close to 8pm, you then decide to get yourself spruced up for the meeting. You head to your vanity, brush through your hair and apply a little mascara.

Not for any particular reason, of course. You'd just like to look your best… That's a normal thing to want to do, right?

It's not like it has anything to do with who may-or-may-not be present at the meeting. Certainly, it doesn't have anything to do with wanting them to think well of you.

No, no, no. Not at all. You are just taking care in your presentation.

Perfectly normal behaviour.

Your body tenses as your memory brings forth a the visual of a single red iris upon you, its gaze focussed. You feel your pulse quicken and your cheeks burn.

God-fucking-damnit.

Maybe it's better if he's NOT there, you find yourself thinking.

Because surely - surely - it's going to be as obvious as anything. Plain as fucking day. Clear to anyone else in the room:

You have a goddamn crush on the Radio Demon.

You are in trouble.

Game Over

You head down to the lounge for 8pm as promised, surprised to find everyone else already there, except for Charlie and Vaggie. Angel and Husk share a sofa; Cherri perches on the sofa arm next to Angel; Niffty is sat on the floor picking at a bit of loose thread on a rug. With a sharp twinge of… something, you notice Alastor has taken his seat on one of the armchairs. You avoid looking at him directly as you enter the room, and the others greet you.

"Any idea what this is gonna be about?" You ask the room, taking your own seat on the other empty sofa. Husker shrugs. Angel flaps a hand in amused dismissal. You don't dare to peek at Alastor for fear of simply dying of embarrassment.

"Knowin' Charlie, it's just gonna be some rainbows-and-sparkles plan for the hotel or some shit," Angel says, and Husk chuckles a little.

"Didn't she have that big meeting today?" Husk asks then. "The Pentagram City… board meeting? Or whatever."

"What's that?" You ask.

But before anyone can answer, Charlie bursts into the room with the momentum of wrecking ball. She is followed by Vaggie, and another demon you don't recognise. Dressed all in white and with an apple-topped cane, he steps into the room with what you sense as a regal presence. You notice he has the same blonde hair and dappled cheeks as Charlie, and— Oh. Oh.

That must be Lucifer.

"Hellooooo HELLO hello, everyone!" Charlie says.

She looks like she might explode with excitement. Vaggie takes a seat next you on the sofa and you throw each other smiles of greeting. You can't help but notice; she looks exhausted.

"I have some of the MOST exciting news to share with you all - oh but first, where are my manners? Dad, meet Verity, our newest resident!"

Charlie gestures to you, and the King of Hell grins in your direction.

"Charmed," he says, and he tips his hat towards you. "I hear you're the first to try out our new "Day 1" programme! I really didn't think anyone would go for that…"

Lucifer looks to the side, a little awkwardly, as he lets out a nervous laugh.

"But here you are! And I know Charlie is so happy to have you here. A friend of Charlie's is a friend of mine, so it's good to finally meet you!"

Lucifer steps forward then, to shake your hand - you lean forward in your seat and allow him to do so.

The slightest crackle of electrical interference - so small that most would miss it - is picked up by your ears. Just for a second.

"AN-EE-WAAAY," Charlie says, clapping her hands together, clearly impatient to spill the beans. Lucifer returns to stand next to her, his hands on his hips.

"I have an announcement to maaaake~" Charlie sing-songs. "It was agreed at the Pentagram City board meeting today—"

"Told ya," Husk says, and Angel snorts out a small laugh.

"—THAT this year, the Hazbin Hotel will be hosting… drum roll please…"

There's complete silence as no-one makes any attempt to imitate the sound of drum roll.

"The annual Hell Belle Benefit Ball!" Charlie says, throwing up her arms into comical jazz hands.

There's more complete silence. You think you even hear the sound of a cricket somewhere in the distance.

"Wooooo!" Lucifer says then, clapping theatrically. "Let's hear it for Charlie!"

No-one joins in with the applause; Lucifer loses steam quickly, his clapping devolving into slow uncomfortable-seeming efforts before he eventually stops.

Charlie looks disappointed in the lack of reaction, and feeling sorry for her, you decide to say something.

"What's the Hell Belle… ball?" You ask, hoping you remembered correctly.

Charlie perks up then. She opens her mouth to start explaining, but Angel gets in first.

"It's some fancy-schmancy once a year event where the big names and rich socialites of Hell gather together to get drunk and rub shoulders," he says, sounding a little cynical.

"Oh, like… like a gala," you say.

"It's so much more than that, Angel," Charlie says. "Every year the Hell Belle Benefit Ball is held to raise money for a specific cause, and it's a great opportunity for networking, and-"

"I hear last year they held it in the Lust Ring. People ended up complainin' about the dick-shaped hors d'oeuvres," Angel says, laughing.

"Ain't that shit for Hell-born royalty and the upper classes?" Husk asks.

"Well, yes, there will be royalty there but-" Charlie says, her palms together.

"Then what the Hell would they want us involved with it for? We ain't no high society," Husk says.

"Well they are," Angel says, pointing at Charlie and Lucifer.

"Well, see, it's more about—" Charlie tries.

"Fuck me, I don't know about blendin' in with no blue blood," Cherri says, elbowing Angel.

Niffty is sitting with her arm raised, straining with the effort of trying to be noticed. Much to her chagrin, no-one does, so she clambers on top of the coffee table.

"Will the rest of the Seven be coming?" she asks, voice frantic. "I wanna meet some more bad boys."

Angel lifts Niffty off the table and plops her back on the floor as if she's a naughty house cat.

"Well, I mean, maybe, so if I could just—" Charlie tries once more.

"This seems like a real stupid fuckin' idea," Husk says.

The group begin to murmur amongst themselves with similar sentiments. Charlie looks crestfallen.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!"

Your ears flatten against your head as you wince at the sound of Vaggie shouting right next to you. She's standing now, and the room has gone silent.

"Look, we've had a very long day of meetings and Charlie has worked really hard to secure this and it could mean really big things for the future of this hotel. So would you all PLEASE just shut up and listen to what she has to say?!"

Vaggie sits back down in a huff; Charlie throws her a grateful smile.

There's some muttered apologies from the group and then apprehensive silence; the stage is set for Charlie to continue. You risk a quick glance at Alastor, who you realise has been quiet this entire time. He seems to be listening in collected amusement; one leg crossed over the other, his expression a close-mouthed smile and eyes low-lidded. Those eyes move then, meeting your own; you look away immediately. You try to swallow the knot of humiliation you feel in your throat.

"Thank you, Vaggie," Charlie says. "As I was saying… The Hell Belle Benefit Ball is a fabulous occasion where denizens of Hell can come together for a night of sophisticated fun. Everyone dresses smart, there's dancing, I mean, it's all very glamorous. And there's always a charity fundraiser attached. Every year it's held somewhere different within the Seven Rings of Hell, and it was decided today that we will be hosting the event this year."

Charlie pauses a moment to catch her breath.

"I knew that event hall we put in when we rebuilt would come in handy one day…" she says, more to herself. "This is a fantastic opportunity for us to get some good PR for the hotel - all the biggest names in Hell will be here, and there will of course be some media coverage…"

You notice Alastor tense slightly in your peripheral vision.

"…AND, even better," Charlie continues. "It's been decided that this year, we will be raising money for a cause very dear to all of our hearts… we will be raising funds for the people of Cannibal Town, to help with residents who were either affected by or lost family members during the battle with the Exorcist Angels."

"It's important to show them our support," Lucifer chimes in then, his tone serious. "Charlie asked them to lay down their lives for us, and they did… Now we have a chance to repay them and give them their time in the spotlight."

"Yes, exactly," Charlie says, nodding. "Thanks Dad."

"Well, I think that all sounds delightful," Alastor says, and Husk jumps a little as he seemingly forgot Alastor was in the room. "I know Rosie will be most pleased to hear about the fundraiser. And who doesn't love a good soirée?"

"I mean, I won't say no to a chance to get dolled up and flirt with rich people," Angel says, wiggling his eyebrows. "I'm guessin' there's gonna be a dress code?"

"Yup," Charlie says. "This is an important and prestigious event, so the dress code is black tie."

You feel a slight sensation of panic as you realise you definitely don't have anything suitable to wear. You'll have to ask Charlie about that later.

"But guys," Charlie says, her eyes full of hope. "This could be huge for the hotel. We're seen hosting this and… and who knows what the future holds? It could lead to more residents, more opportunities, getting our name out there… This could be really great for us."

Lucifer is smiling at her fondly.

"I quite agree," Alastor says then, standing. "I think this is a wonderful idea. And I'm sure we'll all be ready and willing to help Charlie out… won't we?"

His features darken a little. There's a murmured sound of agreement from the room.

"We have a lot of work to do," Charlie says, nervously. "I hope I can count on all of you. We have only a few weeks to plan everything, so I need you all to give it all you've got!"

"It's gonna be great!" you say, and suddenly all eyes are on you. "We got this. Let's make it a night Hell won't forget!"

"YES! Thank you, Verity," Charlie says, relieved. "That's the kind of energy we need to get this ball rolling. Sooooo if I could see you all here tomorrow morning for our first planning meeting? Please? Guys?"

---

The next morning, several things are decided upon during the planning meeting. Alastor elects himself as the one to go and meet with Rosie to inform her about the event, so she may select some of her people to be in attendance (along with herself, of course) to receive the beneficiary award. He also notes that he will be able to conjure apparitions and "helpers" to function as the staff for the evening - to run the coat room, serve drinks, etc - so that every hotel resident can simply enjoy their evening without having to work.

Husk is to oversee ordering and managing the stock of drinks; Angel is given the task of recruiting some musical talent to perform on the night - tasteful talent, Charlie emphasises. Angel reassures the group that he has plenty of performer friends who would be more than happy to keep their clothes on for an evening and enjoy a stage at a classy event for once, and Charlie is satisfied. Cherri volunteers to be in charge of explosives, which causes Lucifer's eyes to almost bug entirely out of their sockets in panic. Vaggie asks if Cherri could consider acquiring some other kinds of pyrotechnics; they will, after all, need some fireworks for the end of the evening, as well as other details such as lanterns and sparklers. Cherri shrugs and agrees without too much reluctance.

Charlie asks Lucifer to be in charge of creating and sending out invites (cause who's gonna say no to the King of Hell?); Vaggie is given the title of "event coordinator" (which basically just seems to mean doing odd jobs for Charlie and making sure everyone is behaving) and Niffty is tasked with preparing the event hall, ensuring it's clean and fit for purpose. Charlie also stresses to everyone that they need to find something suitable to wear, then sends everyone on their way for the rest of the day.

This leaves you, stood waiting to hear what your role should be. But first, you need one thing cleared up…

"Charlie," you say, catching her just as she's about to head out the lounge behind everyone else.

"Hmm?" She turns to you with a friendly smile.

"I, uh… I don't think I have anything suitable to wear. To the event, I mean," you say. "And uhh… I don't exactly have any money to go out and buy anything. I mean, I haven't even left the hotel once yet, I don't even know where I'd start with trying to find a job or anything like that, umm…"

You trail off, fiddling with your hands anxiously. Charlie lets out a kind laugh.

"Oh Verity, you don't have to worry about that! I'll help you get something, we can go shopping for something on the weekend! It'll be fun, we'll have girl time! And don't worry about the money, it can be my treat."

"But you've already given me so much," you say, feeling guilty. "And I will need to make my own money eventually…"

Charlie looks thoughtful for a moment as she rubs her chin. She seems to have a eureka moment and she taps her left fist into her right palm with resolute purpose.

"I've got it," she says. "Howwww about I hire you as my… decoration.. advisor, for the ball, and I'll give you a real wage? And then after the event is done, we can go about finding you some more permanent employment, hmm? Consider it part of the redemption project package. But your dress for the ball can still be a gift, I insist on that."

Your heart swells with gratitude and affection, and you can't help but embrace Charlie in a hug. She seems a little surprised at first and then hugs you back.

"Thank you Charlie," you say. "You're the sweetest. I will be the best damn decoration advisor you've ever seen."

After Charlie composes herself (from happy tears, naturally) you agree to let her take you on a shopping trip on Saturday, putting it into your phone calendar app; and with that, she rushes off to work on things for the ball. You smile contentedly, so relieved to be in such good hands.

Just as you're about to put your phone away, you get a barrage of text messages. You grin, thinking it's going to be Charlie, probably to tell you something she forgot to say in person; glancing down, you are exasperated to see it's Adam.

D1CKMASTUR01

10:03

meet me in games room latur

D1CKMASTUR01

10:03

its on the basement floor

D1CKMASTUR01

10:04

bring snacks

D1CKMASTUR01

10:04

GOOD ONES

---

Despite every cell in your body telling you that you really do not want to spend any time with Adam, you find yourself heading down to the basement of the hotel that evening, a bag of Halo Crunchies you've pilfered from the kitchen tucked under your arm. After all - if you are meeting your end of the bargain, Adam will have to as well, and that means finding out more about Alastor.

The basement floor of the hotel is… certainly not as nice as the rest of it, and that is putting it kindly. It's dingy; the overhead lights flicker randomly in a headache-inducing way, emitting strange buzzing noises. The carpet is stained, and several roaches scurry out from a crack in the wall as you walk past. You make out a distant dripping sound and shudder.

You feel a sliver of sympathy for Adam in this moment - is this where he's been forced to live all this time?

You eventually come across a set of two rooms with paper signs on their doors - one says "ADAM'S ROOM STAY OUT!", the other says "SUPER AWESOME GAMES ROOM COME IN!"

You put an ear to the second door and listen; from inside, you can hear the sounds of a video game. You knock on the door; you hear Adam swear to himself, and the sounds of the game stop as you assume he's paused it.

The door opens before you, and Adam stands in the doorway, leaning one arm on the door frame.

"Sick, you made it," he says in a very, I'm trying to be cool and casual and failing miserably, kind of way; he throws you a finger gun. "Come in, take a seat… I got some soda, you like soda?"

The room is as dimly lit as the corridor. You notice a large glowing flat screen TV with a few different gaming consoles connected to it. In-front of the TV is a large moth-eaten-looking sofa, and a low-level table, covered in old snack packets and half-finished soda cups. Adam spots you eyeing the detritus and looks sheepish for a moment; he quickly moves to clear up some of the trash, grouping it in his arms and disappearing it with magic.

You step into the room and place the bag of Halo Crunchies on the table. You sit on the sofa, trying to touch as little of it as possible, your body tense with mild disgust.

"Let's see… I got Fizzarolli Cola, Vox-Up… Uhh…"

"I'll take the cola," you say, keen to have the interaction done with as soon as possible.

Adam brings you over a drink and you take it, giving it a sip. It's actually pretty good.

"So… what are we gonna do?" You ask, watching as Adam slumps on to the sofa next to you. He throws you a controller.

"Sinner Shooter," Adam says, unpausing the game and returning it to its main menu. You see the aforementioned title in huge red letters, and the menu screen has the image of a masked figure in grey shooting a demon in the head. You roll your eyes.

"Isn't this a little… demeaning?" You say.

"You wanna sit here and stare into each other's eyes instead, Thumper?" Adam says, dryly.

"Good point," you say. "Fine, how do you play?"

Adam explains the game - it's a pretty straightforward first-person shooter; you'd played similar things on Earth. He tells you that he usually plays local co-op.

"My, uh… The person I used to play with, I don't… I can't play with her anymore, so you can use her character," he says. "Just try not to fuck it up."

You play a few rounds, getting into the swing of it. You'll never admit it out-loud to Adam, but the game is actually… kind of fun. If you ignore the fact that it's basically a game centred around murdering the people of Hell, of course - but then, aren't all video games just fictional versions of real life? You suppose it would be a bit hypocritical of you to complain too much about this one, given you'd played equally violent games about normal people on Earth.

Adam is a noisy gamer; constantly shouting at things, barking orders and swearing when he misses a shot. You manage to get a particularly juicy headshot and he gives an unexpected cheer.

"Ha-HA! Fuckin' good shot Lu— uhhh, Verity," he says.

You both fall into the rhythm of the game, becoming so used to it that it begins to feel like you're on autopilot.

"So what d'ya wanna know about Smiles McGee, anyway?" Adam says, not taking his eyes off from the screen. His masked features are frowning in slight concentration as his on-screen character throws a holy grenade.

"Alastor?" You ask.

"Uh-huh," Adam says. "Listen, I don't know why the FUCK you'd be interested in knowing about him, but a deal's a deal, sooooo… Spill it."

You consider your words for a moment. The cartoonish screams of demons in-game wail out from the television in the background.

"I guess… I guess he kind of fascinates me?" You say, the buttons of the controller in your hands clicking as you make several good shots. "And I dunno, he's a closed book. Out of all the other residents of the hotel, he's the one I know the least about, and yet he's the one that interests me the most."

Adam lets out a small pfff and you can't tell if its at you or something in the game.

"And I dunno… He's so well-mannered, and impressive, and polite… And always so cheerful-seeming, but I feel like there's more underneath that, and that… it just intrigues me. He's so hard to read. And he's well-dressed, and charming, but he seems so…"

"Lame?" Adam finishes your sentence for you.

"No," you say, unamused. "I was gonna say sad."

Adam lets out a guffaw then.

"That guy? Sad? Bitch please, he's like… he's like the least feeling guy in the world. He has no emotions. He's like… a sociopath, or some shit."

"I don't think that's true," you say. "I think that's an image he likes to push out there. It's like the always-smiling thing. I think it's a defence mechanism, or something. A way he keeps people at arms length. Like he's scared to show his real emotions."

"Look at you, Little Miss Armchair Psychologist," Adam says mockingly. "Fuckin' SHIT!"

He misses a shot, and you get the rampant demon hurtling towards you both instead. Bang.

"If you think you know him so well," Adam says. "Why don't you just go up to him and say, "Hey Creepy McCreeperson, I'd like to psychoanalyse you over a nice cup of joe", and be done with it?"

You hesitate.

"I think… I think I might have… uhhh…"

You stall, trying to think of the best way to word what you want to say. Without giving Adam any ammo to completely and utterly mock you until the end of time.

"I think I kind of messed up, and now I think Alastor thinks I'm a complete weirdo to be avoided," you say, finally.

Adam laughs then; loud obnoxious laughter. You narrow your eyes and wait for him finish.

"You, think YOU'RE the weird one? Oh that's fuckin' precious," he says, wiping a non-existent tear from his mask. "Girlie you have NO idea."

You groan.

"I mean, the other night for example. We were sitting at the bar… just chatting, and I… uh… I dunno, I was a bit… intense? Maybe? He caught me kind of looking at him… well staring, I was staring, I mean I thought he wasn't looking and then he was and it was weird and then I was embarrassed and then I got all flustered and he was all "Right-o I'm jolly well off to bed now bye!" and urghhhhhh…"

Adam pauses the game, and you let your controller fall into your lap as you cup your face with your hands.

"It was awful. I'm so embarrassed about it."

Adam says nothing, and you look up from your hands. He's eyeing you with a huge shit-eating smile plastered on his mask.

"What?" You say. "What now?"

"You fuckin' wanna fuck him, don't you?" Adam says, eyes narrowing in how absolutely hilarious he is finding this.

"What?! No!" You say, waving your hands in-front of you. "No no no! It's not like that!"

You feel your cheeks positively burning with the ferocity of your blush.

"Oh my god, it totally fuckin' IS!" Adam says, and he theatrically acts out clasping his face in horror. "You want his weird old-timey dick!"

"NOOOO!" you say, mortified. "No please, Adam, it's really not like that at all!"

"You want to jump his creepy-ass bones," Adam taunts, making a suggestive vulgar gesture with his hands.

"Noooooooo…." You groan, covering your face with your hands again; you let out a big sigh. "Okay, okay so I—"

"I FUCKIN' KNEW IT!" Adam says, and he starts laughing maniacally. "Oh MAN. This is the funniest fuckin' shit I've EVER heard!"

"Adam! No! Will you just… Will you just let me explain? Please?"

Adam is lifting his mask ever so slightly, to wipe tears of amusement from his face. You get the slightest glimpse of stubbled chin before he lifts it back down and the animated mask face takes back over.

"Okay, so I admit that I… have some… confused feelings, about him," you say, trying to say as much as you can before Adam throws another laughing fit. "But it's not… it's not like what you're saying. I think it's just a silly little crush, and it'll pass! That's all it is."

Adam has opened the bag of Holy Crunchies and is shovelling them into his mouth.

"Go onnnn," he says, clearly finding this the height of entertainment.

You groan again, in complete humiliated agony. Well, you've come this far. And who exactly is Adam gonna tell? Given he never speaks to any of the other residents…

"I just… I just found myself looking at him the other night, and… and liking what I saw," you say, wishing you were having literally any other conversation right now.

Adam looks like he's about to say something so you cut him off.

"It wasn't like what you're thinking!" You say, holding your hands up. "It was just… I dunno. He's handsome. I liked his hands."

Adam chokes on a Holy Crunchie and smacks himself on the chest. You narrow your eyes. He tells you in a strangled-sounding voice that he's okay, and takes a huge gulp of his drink.

"And I dunno… I just found myself having all those little feelings you have when you have a crush, y'know? I'm sure it's just a stupid three day crush and then it'll be gone and I can stop feeling so weird about it."

"Are you on drugs?" Adam asks suddenly. "…Can I have some?"

"What? No!"

"You don't wanna share? I get it, that's—"

"No! As in I'm not on drugs!"

Adam seems to regard you a little more seriously then, an eyebrow arched in confusion.

"Then I'm not getting it, cause that guy? He's an actual psycho. Look, I don't know much about his history in Hell cause - well, I mean, I haven't been here that long and no-one talks to me, okay? But from what I have seen and…experienced, he's a total nut job. Yeah. Real murdery edgelord vibes, you get me?"

"Oh, and you're the poster boy of ideal men yourself, are you?" You say, a little meaner than maybe you should have.

"Alright, don't listen to me, what do I know," Adam says, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I don't fuckin' care anyway. It's your funeral, sweetheart."

"I'm already dea-"

"I fuckin' know, alright? Don't get smart with me babe."

You sit together in silence for a while, playing the game again. After a while, you check your phone and see that it's already past midnight.

"Shit, it's late," you say. "I better go."

Adam shrugs and pauses the game. You sigh.

"Look, I appreciate you trying to… Look out for me," you say, and Adam looks at you, surprised. "I get it. Alastor isn't everyone's cup of tea. But I like to give people the benefit of the doubt until they prove me wrong, and I'd like to give myself the opportunity to get to know him better before I make my own conclusions. Is that so bad?"

Adam shrugs again, looking a little sulky.

"I can come again sometime… if you want. We can play games again," you say, without really thinking it through. There's a little part of you that feels a bit bad for him, even if he is a complete dickwad.

"I mean, yeah, duh," he says. "Obviously."

"Okay. Cool," you say, suddenly feeling a bit awkward. You get up, readying to leave.

"Whaddya want me to find out about the dude? If I even can, that is," Adam says, his voice weirdly subdued sounding.

Better give him a project. It'll give us something to talk about next time, you think.

"Uhhh… see if you can find out some of his favourite things," you say, only half meaning it. "Something I can use to get in his good books, or use as an ice breaker. Anything like that."

"You mean, other than death, being creepy as shit and the colour red?"

You raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, alright, got it," Adam says, rolling his eyes. "Taste profile on Captain Freak, got it."

You say your goodbyes and leave Adam to play the game solo, closing the door behind you. He is definitely an… acquired taste, but you suppose he's not all bad. Just a bit… lacking, in social skills. Or empathy. Or tact.

You make your way back up to your room, bone-tired and ready for bed. It has been a long, long day.

---

Hours later, Adam - still awake, glued to a different video game now - feels a chill down his spine. The TV gives out suddenly, screen going completely dead.

"Aw what the fuck," he says, throwing his hands up.

Alastor materialises in-front of him and he almost jumps completely out of his skin.

"Shit," Adam says. "Don't fuckin' DO that, alright? God. Would it kill you to just knock like a normal person?"

"This is a rather late night for you, isn't it Adam?" Alastor leers at the first man. "Haven't you heard what they say? To sleep is to dwell in safety, you know."

"Don't you fuckin' recite scripture to me, asshole," Adam says. "Just tell me what you want and let's get this shit over with."

Alastor spins his staff idly.

"My shadows tell me you're keeping up with your end of the deal? Meeting up with our… newest guest, as we agreed, hmm?"

"Yeah, she came by earlier," Adam says. "What of it?"

"I'm simply looking to see what you have to report back to me, old pal. Anything of note?"

Alastor narrows his eyes then, his grin widening.

"I ain't your pal," Adam says. "But yeah, I guess you could say I've discovered something pretty fuckin' interesting."

"Oh good, good!" Alastor says, cheerfully, before his features become clouded with darkness. "What is it?"

"It would seem that little bunny-paws has got the hots for you. Fuck knows why, but, there it is."

Alastor blinks. Once, twice. Three times.Adam's eyes shift nervously as he waits for Alastor to react.

"Uhhh, hello?" Adam says, waving a hand. "Did you not just fuckin' hear me?"

"Are you quite sure?" Alastor says, his voice sounding uncharacteristically unfiltered.

"Oh I'm sure alright," Adam says. "I mean, she clearly needs therapy, or some kind of intervention, cause holy shit does she have the worst taste ever… But yeah."

Alastor takes in this information. It sits uncomfortably within him; his hands tense around the top of his staff. He takes a moment to compose himself.

"What exactly did she say?" The Radio Demon asks, sounding impatient.

"She said some shit about wanting to get to know you and how she was staring at you the other night thinkin' how much she wanted to lick your hands or some shit like that, I dunno," Adam says, reaching for his soda.

Alastor knocks the soda off the table with his staff, just before Adam can grab it.

"Hey! Fuckin'… Rude," Adam says, annoyed.

"I wouldn't test my patience if I were you, old chum," Alastor says. "I'd very much like to know what exactly was said. Now, won't you be a dear and fill me in on the details of your little conversation? Or perhaps you'd like me to find alternative ways to get it out of you…"

Alastor flexes a claw, his eyes glowing.

"Okay, okay! Just.. fuckin'… chill. I'll tell you everything she said," Adam says, sighing.

And so he does.

---

Alastor retires to his quarters that night - or, morning, technically, as it's the early hours of the next day by this point - with a heavy head. A head full of the details of your evening with Adam and exactly what had been said; it rolls around in his skull like a boisterous marble.

It is very rare indeed for the Radio Demon to feel lost for words, or confused; and yet here he is, sat in his armchair, one hand rubbing circles at his temple. His mind reeling at this discovery.

You are not afraid of him.

You are… infatuated with him.

Alastor has never encountered such a dilemma before. How irritating this is proving to be. Most demons keep their distance - that's how he likes it. And here you are, wanting to get closer, dive deeper, know him better. Alastor can't imagine anything worse.

And yet… and yet. Something in him stirs. That conniving, fox-like mischievous side that lives within his very fibre of being; it lurches now, coiling out and tantalising him with an idea.

What if… What if he can can use this to his advantage?

He's played a part all his life; kept a mask on this long… What's another layer to the charade?

After all… you are well-liked by the others, trusted by Charlie… Perhaps you could prove useful. He could indulge your flight of fancy a little, let you think you've achieved your so-desired closeness, and keep you as a pawn. Leverage. Influence.

This is a lot to consider; and certainly not the kind of decision Alastor wants to make on a mere whim. He resolves to himself he will discuss this with his trusted confident - Rosie - tomorrow when he meets her in Cannibal Town. Yes, that seems like the smartest thing to do. He cannot simply dive into faux-courtship without guidance… This will take careful planning, strategy…

Alastor knows nothing of courtship. Admitting this to himself - admitting a weakness - causes him a painful jab to his ego. But; he cannot deny it to himself. He has no idea how to go about this - should he even go ahead with this plan. Sure, he danced with the odd gal or two back on Earth, in life; he'd chatted to many a merry whiskey-sodden flapper in his prime. But that's all it had been; chat, or dancing - nothing serious. He'd never had any interest in pursuing any of that nonsense. It was distraction; frivolity. He enjoyed keeping females as friends, sure. But never had he longed for anything more.

He can't even really put a finger on why; it just wasn't something he prioritised. At least, when he'd died, there'd been one sin he hadn't committed; intercourse before marriage.

Because, of course, he hadn't even so much as kissed a girl, let alone anything… else.

The only woman he'd really loved was—

Enough. Alastor sits up in his chair, drained of colour with fatigue. Enough. He stops his train of thought with well-practiced skill. He can ill-afford to go down a sentimental self-indulgent pity path now; he has work to do.

Alastor has a restless nights sleep, over what few hours he has left to get any. His dreams are filled with images he struggles to interpret; dark twisting paths, blurry lights, stains of blood.

When he wakes, he remembers only one thing he'd dreamt of; a pair of browny-grey ears, bobbing just out of reach through the grasses of a swamp.

And the sight of a quick, slip of cotton; a fluffy white tail, disappearing into the ether.

Just A Taste

Chapter Notes

Can I offer you a nice Alastor POV in this trying time?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Despite his inner bad mood - a mixture of sleep deprivation and his new little problem - Alastor arrives at Cannibal Town with a spring in his step. It is, after all, one of his favourite places in Hell; somewhere he's spent a lot of time in, and when he casts his memory back - yes, he even lived here at one point. A long, long time ago.

Stepping into Rosie's Emporium, Alastor is unsurprised to find it bustling with activity; he raises an eyebrow as a small goblin-like cannibal nearly falls over itself, running under his feet. Alastor decides to wait patiently in the queue, eavesdropping all the while to the gossip that flitters and bubbles from the cannibals within.

It's not as if Alastor is nervous about what he needs to speak to Rosie about… Not at all. He could - if he wanted to - march to the very front of the queue and demand to speak to her there and then; not a single soul would dare challenge it. But… he supposes it's nice to show some decorum, once in a while. Delaying the inevitable has nothing to do with it.

Alastor ignores the whisper of discomfort that threatens to rise up within him. He squashes it down. Firmly.

When he's about three places back from the front, Rosie catches his eye and waves; always happy to see him. Alastor waves back, throwing her a genuine smile. He represses a lurch in his gut.

By the time he's at the front of the queue, Alastor feels a maddening nervousness in his abdomen. It's infuriating. No-one would ever know, of course; for on the outside, he is the perfect image of cool and collected, his typical grin present and plastered-on as always.

"Alastor!" Rosie says, her hands outstretched.

"Rosie, my dear!" Alastor replies, and he takes her hands in his own. They greet each other with exaggerated air kisses - mwah, mwah - and Rosie beams at him with a smile just as full of sharp teeth as his own.

"Always a pleasure to have you here, Alastor, always!" Rosie says. "But to what do I owe the pleasure this time? Ya here on business or somethin' more personal?"

"A mixture of both, actually," Alastor says, poking at a display of candy packets - 'Kidney Stonez' - that sit on the front counter. "I was hoping we might find somewhere more private to converse. I realise we are in the midst of business hours… however, I am more than happy to wait."

Rosie - knowing her fellow Overlord and friend as well as she does - senses something in Alastor's tone. His time is precious; he does not usually waste a minute of it. If he's offering to just sit around and wait for her to be done with work, then something… something ain't right. She glances up at the skull-shaped clock on the wall and looks back at him with a reassuring smile.

"We close for lunch in about 45 minutes. You wanna head up to my parlour upstairs? I got some fresh liver in the fridge, why don'tcha help yourself, hmmm? Sounds temptin', I know! I'll come up and join ya when I take my break. How's that sound?"

"Wonderful," Alastor says. "Much appreciated."

---

Alastor is not comfortable with silence; for the most part. Sure - he looks forward to the quiet peace of his room at the end of a day, but there's nearly always a favourite record playing in the background to fill the dead air. What he decidedly does not enjoy is having to sit quietly with nothing to do except saturate in his thoughts.

Alastor likes chaos, action, noise. He likes to be busy - to stay focussed on something, to be entertained. It keeps him distracted. Keeps him present and his thoughts firmly and solidly in the moment.

Breaking the momentum and pausing with nothing to do, well… It's risky. Sitting alone with one's thoughts for too long makes a person vulnerable; opens them up to senseless introspection and dwelling on past failures.

At least, it does in Alastor's mind. He sits in Rosie's parlour; a very 1910's style room with a currently unlit fireplace, seating area and lavish decorations. He takes some comfort in the decor of the room; it is, after all, somewhat nostalgic.

But what he cannot take comfort in is the silence. The Radio Demon usually does a great job of keeping his own personal demons at bay; the mental tormentors of his memories, mistakes, regrets, grief… But sitting with idle time to pass… it is dangerous for him.

Alastor retrieves a pocket watch from his coat and inspects it. It has only been fifteen minutes since he took his seat. He allows himself a small growl of frustration - no-one is present to hear it, after all - and pockets the watch again. He props his staff up against the side of the armchair he's sat in, folds his arms and leans back.

Perhaps he'll just allow himself a small nap. Yes, that seems like the most reasonable way to pass the time. It might help to clear his head, after all. Alastor allows himself to close his eyes and doze a while; drifting off quickly as he is so dog-tired already.

Several minutes pass - thirty three, to be exact - and he awakes with a jolt to what he hears as the sound of gun shot. His pulse quickens.

"Sorry, sorry," Rosie is saying. The noise was the parlour door opening. "I got caught up with somethin'. You know how it is, hungry eyes and needy faces everywhere! But I've put a sign on the door sayin' we're closed 'til two, so, we got a couple hours."

Alastor straightens himself up and clears the sleep out of his throat with a small cough. Rosie enters the room proper and closes the door behind her.

"Can I get ya a drink? Somethin' hot? Or somethin' stronger?" she asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Coffee," Alastor says on impulse, forgetting his manners - and his affected accent - for just the slightest moment; he recovers quickly. "Ah, a most generous offer! A coffee would be wonderful. Thank you."

Rosie lets out a pleased-sounding ah-huh and heads over to a kitchenette.

"You take it black, right?" She calls over her shoulder.

"Right you are, my dear," Alastor says. "As black as my soul."

They both laugh together.

Rosie boils a kettle, prepares a cafetière and brings it over to the low table on a tray with two mugs. She takes the seat opposite him.

"Soooo… What's got you all worked up?" She says, not bothering to mince her words.

"Ah Rosie," Alastor says, wistfully. "Nothing misses your eye, does it? Am I truly that transparent?"

"I just know it when I see it," Rosie says, pressing down the cafetière plunger and then pouring them both coffee. "You got that nervous little crease on your forehead goin'. That smile may be permanent but it can't pull the wool over my eyes."

She passes a mug to Alastor and he takes it, grateful for something to hold. He takes a sip. The coffee is hot and fantastically bitter. Alastor welcomes the much needed pick-me-up the caffeine will bring.

"Well, first, I actually have some rather pressing and delightful news," Alastor says, feeling relieved to have something else to talk about.

"Oh? Well don't keep me in suspense, Alastor, tell tell!" Rosie says, adding cream and sugar to her own mug of coffee. She stirs it with a silver spoon, then leans back into her own chair.

Alastor regales Rosie with the revelations from the last couple of days - that the hotel will be hosting the Hell Belle Benefit Ball, and that the people of Cannibal Town have been chosen as the beneficiary of the fundraiser. Rosie listens intently, her eyes wide, and when Alastor finishes by extending an invitation, she claps her hands in delight.

"Oh! Oh this is wonderful news!" She says.

"Mmm, I knew you'd be pleased," Alastor says, eyes closed in satisfaction as he takes a sip of coffee.

"Well, this is just… I knew I was right to put my faith in that girl," Rosie says. "Of course I'll be there, and I'll pick a few of my best and brightest to be there with me - they'll behave themselves, I'll make sure'a that… Oh my stars, I gotta get somethin' new to wear, somethin' fancy…"

"There's plenty of time for all of that, I'm sure," Alastor says, but he looks content with having made his friend so happy. "The event isn't until next month. And of course, the optics of all this… for your people, I mean… Well. I'm sure it goes without saying, but this could be a huge boon for this town."

"I'll say! We been tryna push Hell-wide tourism to our little corner for a while now, but wouldn't you know it, people ain't so keen to visit a place where there's even a small risk they might get eaten… Maybe this'll spark some interest," Rosie says, a glint in her eye.

Alastor lets out a chuckle.

"I'm sure you'll work your magic as always," he says, smile wide but genuine.

"Oh you," Rosie says, flapping a hand in bashful dismissal. "But, uh… What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

Alastor tenses slightly then. May as well just get it over with.

"Well, ah… It would seem I've stumbled upon a little situation that isn't exactly my area of expertise," Alastor says. "I thought I could run the matter by you. Get your thoughts on it."

"Anything, Alastor. You know that." Rosie says, smiling. Encouraged, and feeling pepped up from the coffee, Alastor continues.

"I find myself in uncharted territory, you see," he says.

"New turf up for grabs?" Rosie says, looking excited then.

"Ah-ha, no, not quite," Alastor says. "Sorry to disappoint. No; I mean that metaphorically. Recently we took on a new resident at the hotel. She's gotten on well so far; been engaged in activities, is well-liked by the rest of the cohort… Seems to be taking the whole redemption thing seriously. A model pupil, really."

"So what's the problem?" Rosie says, leaning forward a little. In the hopes of some gossip.

"Well," Alastor says, feeling a shred of dignity starting to slip from his grasp. "It pertains to matters of the heart."

Rosie lets out a small gasp, her mouth a perfect o-shaped hole.

"Now, now," Alastor hurries to clarify. "It's not what you think."

"I was gonna say," Rosie says, "The only hearts that matter to you are the ones on the menu for lunch!"

Both demons laugh together then; the dark, rich, demented laughter of Overlords.

"I have heard from a…somewhat reliable source that this new resident has… some interest, in myself, as it were." Alastor says then, the shred of dignity long-gone.

Rosie's eyes narrow in confusion, so he adds:

"…Romantic interest."

"Well," Rosie says, letting out a disbelieving sigh. "I'll be damned. I never thought I'd see the day! Well, even Satan is someone's flavour of the month, if you catch my drift! And, uh… I take it you don't feel the same?"

Alastor stiffens at the question; insulted that it's even being asked. There's a high-pitched sound of feedback.

"Forget I asked," Rosie says, waving a hand, noticing Alastor's eyes widening. "I know your kind, Alastor. As I told ya before."

Alastor inspects the claws of his left hand with contrived nonchalance.

"Yes, well," he says. "It's all just rather amusing. I have no interest in pursuing the carnal desires of the flesh. Not unless someone is getting ripped apart, of course."

Alastor lets out a dark chuckle.

"But I can't help but think it might be an opportunity for some fun." He continues, clenching his hand into a fist.

Rosie looks at him with a blank expression.

"I'm not followin'," she says. "I'm more than happy to sit here and give ya romantic advice - it is my speciality after all! - but, it don't sound like that's what you're after…"

Alastor grins widely, cheeks straining with mischief.

"Quite the contrary, my dear friend. That's exactly what I came here for."

---

The Radio Demon sits and explains his plan to Rosie, as she listens with wide eyes and attentive ears. He details how he sees this as the chance to liven things up a little; to entertain himself by indulging you, to let you think he shares your interest, gain your loyalty… And perhaps, win himself even further influence over the Princess of Hell.

After all, what does one turn to when once-beloved hobbies turn stale? Why, new sport, of course!

It could be an advantageous little venture; with minimal risk to Alastor and the potential for high returns… As well as equipping him with a new skill set, in an area that - he admits - he is woefully inexperienced in.

Rosie considers his plan and places her mug down on the tray. She lets out a conflicted sigh.

"I mean, it all sounds good on paper, Alastor," she says. "But you're gonna be toyin' with this poor girl's emotions. I mean, how far can you possibly take it? How much are you willin' to pretend? I don't think you've thought this through all the way."

Alastor's eyes narrow.

"I mean," Rosie starts again. "Don't get me wrong: I love a good jape, but… This ain't no constitutional stroll around the block. This is gonna be a challenge for you."

Alastor smiles then, smugly.

"Well, that's exactly why I think it'll be good for me! It never hurts to widen one's knowledge." He says, brightly. "And if… when, things seem to get a little too…"

"Real?" Rosie provides.

"…Right," Alastor says, nodding. "Should I find myself in a hole of my own making, I can just put an end to it all. After all, isn't it the done thing for young lovers to be united suddenly, only to tear themselves apart just as quickly?"

Rosie looks unconvinced.

"You are worrying about this all too much, my dearest friend," Alastor says. "I appreciate your concern, but really now. Do you honestly think something as trifle as a little courtship is so impossible for me to pull off?"

Rosie sighs then. There's no arguin' with him when he gets an idea, she thinks. May as well leave him to it.

"Alright," she says, resigned now to the idea. "But don't come cryin' to me when she's askin' to pick out curtains. You get yourself into this mess and you'll have to get yourself out of it, y'hear?"

"Naturally," Alastor says, tone gloating in triumph.

"But do come and tell me all the gory details still, won'tcha? Cause you know me - I wanna know everythin'," Rosie says, grinning wickedly.

"Rosie, my dear, I wouldn't dream of denying you such a pleasure," Alastor says. "After all, I do believe I am going to need some of your speciality advice if I am to pull this off."

---

Alastor leaves Cannibal Town, his spirit aflame with inspiration and his core buzzing with new information. Feeling renewed by the fresh air (and the caffeine in his veins) he mulls over Rosie's words of advice as he steps lightly.

Be polite. Give her compliments. Do nice things for her. Be a gentleman. Spend time with her. Get to know her. Show interest in what she says. Be charming.

It all sounds ridiculously easy. Alastor laughs quietly at ever having doubted himself; why had he ever worried? This is going to be as easy as any other deception, especially given he already has a clear advantage: you are already interested. His quick and reflexive mind begins to formulate plans, pulling together ideas and little quirks to form his scheme. Rosie's words continue to echo in his head:

"Why don'tcha invite her as your date to the ball? That's sure to be a swell night, plenty of opportunity to sweep her off her feet and leave her swoonin'…"

An excellent idea, Alastor thinks to himself; he had agreed as much in the moment. An obvious path to take. He has a number of weeks until then; ample chance to begin the game, to attach the puppet strings to your oh-so-willing little frame.

Ah! What a jolly mood he finds himself in now - and he didn't even have to kill anyone!

---

When Alastor arrives back at the hotel, he is greeted by a small commotion in the lobby. Angel Dust is sat at the bar, having a conversation on the phone of some mildly irritating nature; Husker is dutifully behind the bar as he should be - good man!

Alastor spots Charlie sat on the lobby floor; a very large sheet of paper covered in notes and illustrations is laid out beneath her. You are sat with her, holding one of those awful tablet devices.

"I think, maybe something like this, for the flower arrangements?" You say, turning the tablet for Charlie to inspect.

"YES!" She says, in that shrill tone of excitement. "Oh yes, those are PERFECT!"

"Greetings!" Alastor says, slightly annoyed that no-one had reacted to his arrival. "Busy with plans I see?"

Both You and Charlie startle; clearly you'd been deeply engrossed in your activities. Alastor smirks.

"Oh! Alastor, sorry, we didn't see you come in," Charlie says.

You look downright aghast.

"Verity and I are just brainstorming some ideas for the decorations for the ball. We, uh… We needed the floor space."

"Wonderful! I'm sure the two of you will come up with the most brilliant of ornamentations," Alastor says.

The Radio Demon makes his way over to the bar; after all, it's been a most successful day! Any fellow knows the best way to reward oneself for a job well done is with a congratulatory drink and some respite.

"Husker, my dear soul," Alastor says, tone dripping with irony. "My usual, if you wouldn't mind."

Husk lets out a grunt of irritation but does as instructed, pouring out a rye whiskey on the rocks.

"Much appreciated!"

Alastor sips his drink and tries to ignore the spider demon oh the phone next to him; his eye twitching just so.

"Yeah? That would be amazin'!" Angel Dust is saying. "Yeah yeah yeah, don't worry about all that, we got you covered. But you'll do it? UGH. You're a peach. Hey, if I was into dames, I'd kiss you right now. I mean, I will for the right price still, but— ahahahaha! Exactly toots, exactly!"

Angel lifts the phone down and covers the bottom with a hand.

"I got your talent sorted, Charlie!" He whispers over his shoulder, before replacing the phone to his ear. "I owe you, BIG time. I mean, you'll be paid an' all, but you're really helpin' a guy out here. Yeah. Yeah. No. Yeah. Alright I'll come by tomorrow. Yeah. Okay. Alright."

Alastor's grip on his glass tightens just slightly.

"Alright, I better go," Angel says, suddenly all too aware of the company he has at the bar now. "I'll see ya tomorrow. Hugs and kisses, baby!"

Angel hangs up, grins stupidly at Husk, then spins on his stool.

"I did it!" He says, full of cheer. "I fuckin' pulled Lumia Lynch!"

Charlie comes over to join the demons at the bar; with you not far behind.

"The famous jazz singer?" Husk asks then, surprised.

"The one and only!" Angel says, chest puffing with pride.

Alastor's ears prick up a little.

"Angel, that's… that's amazing!" Charlie says, sounding breathless. "How in all of Hell did you pull that off?"

Angel runs his hands over himself, his expression full of proud achievement.

"Let's just say, I had some favours to cash in."

There's a pause; no one asks, but Angel elaborates anyway.

"I fucked her agent this one time," he says then. "He's married and, uh… gave me an IOU for keeping it on the down low. I asked him to set up a call, and wouldn't you know it, she's up for the gig."

There's a merry ruckus as the group praise Angel on his success; more drinks are poured, and Charlie practically drowns the demon in repeated and profuse thanks.

Seems we are all celebrating today!

"And hey," Angel says then, addressing Alastor. "Even Smiles here can't complain about jazz, right? Ain't that your whole thing?"

Alastor grins.

"Guilty as charged," he says. "I look forward to the performance!"

A performance that Alastor knows will be, no doubt, highly enjoyable. It's true; he adores jazz; and swing, and blues. Anything at all from his golden era. It's sure to make the evening far more lively and respectable, no doubt about that.

But it won't be the singer giving a performance of a lifetime. Oh, no.

Alastor smiles to himself.

That honour will solely be his.

Chapter End Notes

Me not use copious semicolons challenge: impossible
I just think they're neat!

Twin Harmony

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You gawk up at the sheer height of the ceiling in the event hall. It is massive.

It's Friday morning and you are busying yourself with work; right now, you are assessing the hall, which will be the venue for the benefit ball. It's a huge, grandiose room; like something out of a Regency-era costume drama film. There's a small raised stage at one end, several impressive candelabra hanging from the ceiling, and lavish fabrics draped in graceful folds on the walls. It's gorgeous. And very empty; aside from yourself.

"Hellooooo!" You say, and your voice echoes back at you around the giant room: Ooooo….ooooo…

You giggle to yourself, and setting down your tablet (well, one Charlie is lending you) on a dust-sheet covered table, you begin to run the full length of the room. Your strong leporine legs send you bounding down to the other far end; your body fills with giddy pleasure at the sensation of finally being allowed to enjoy its full potential.

"HELLOOOOO!" You yell again, feeling a sense of childlike glee at hearing the echo parrot your greeting back to you.

"Well, that's one way to greet someone," a voice says, and you startle, embarrassed.

You turn then, and notice - with increasing mortification - that it's Alastor.

How long was he stood there for?!

"Oh! Alastor," you say, panting slightly. You step quickly to gather up the tablet and you hold it against your chest. "I didn't see you, I'm sorry-"

"Nonsense, nonsense!" The demon says, smile aloof. "No need for apologies. I just came to see how you were getting along with your planning, hmm?"

"Oh, yes," you say, getting your breath back. "It's going well I think! I've come up with some ideas on how we can really make this hall look its best. I mean, it's already stunningly beautiful, but you know. Just, uh, a few ideas."

You're rambling, you mentally tell yourself.

You glance at him then, shyly. You've been trying to avoid eye-contact with him since… well, ever since that night at the bar. But you let yourself meet his gaze now. You give him a tense smile.

"I'd be interested to hear them!" Alastor says, cheerfully.

Wait. What?

"Oh, right! Okay, of course, no problem," you say, fiddling with the tablet to unlock it.

He is the hotel host, after all.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer not to look at that vile device," Alastor says. "But I'm all ears if you'd be kind enough to describe your plans?"

And so you do. You walk Alastor around the huge hall, pointing at various locations and explaining the types of decor you have in mind. He nods and hmms politely at all your concepts, looking pleased.

"Well, it sounds like you've got it all in hand!" He says then, brightly. "I look forward to seeing it realised."

"Ah, thank you!" you say. "I can't really take too much credit honestly, I found a lot of inspiration online."

"On where now?"

"On— Ah, don't worry," you laugh nervously.

There's a small pause. This is the chance I've been waiting for, you think.

"Look, Alastor; there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about," you say.

Alastor looks a little tense for a moment; perhaps even a tiny bit taken aback.

"So soon?" He says, and you have absolutely no fucking clue what he means by that.

"I meant to, uh, apologise for the other night. I feel like I came across a little weirdly, and uhh… Yeah. I felt awkward about it, and I feel like maybe… Maybe we haven't gotten off on quite the right, uh, foot?"

Or hoof, your mind provides unhelpfully.

Alastor blinks at you and there's a low hum of that radio buzz you've gotten so used to.

"Oh!" He says then, sounding genuinely surprised. "Well, I hadn't really given it any thought, my dear! I fear you may have been worrying needlessly. I can't recall anything that's worth dwelling on, hmm?"

"Oh, okay," you say, sounding unconvinced. "That's, uh… that's good then."

You fiddle with the tablet case in your hands. there's a little bit of silicone that's come loose; you pick at it with anxious energy, looking down.

"I just wanted to make sure," you mumble.

"I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. Chin up, hmm?"

You feel every nerve in your body frazzle with electricity as you register a sensation under your chin; a hand - Alastor's hand - raising your face up to meet his gaze once more.

At first, you look at him with wide, frightened eyes; your ears listing back ever so slightly, shocked at the sudden physical contact. But then you see his expression; he's smiling at you in such a soft, genuine way, that you can't help but smile back.

Alastor lets his hand fall back to atop his staff and he lets out a noise of satisfaction.

"I must confess," Alastor starts, beginning to walk back to the hall entrance. "I regret that I have not yet had much opportunity to better know you, Verity. That's something I'd very much like to rectify as soon as possible."

"Oh!" You say, moving to walk alongside him. "Yes, I, uh… I'd like that too. I'm working right now of course, but… um, unless you'd, ah, like to help?"

"I fear I'd only get in your way," Alastor says, chuckling. "But I recall I may have promised you a recital? Before?"

Your memory casts back to that night; the night you'd stumbled upon Alastor in the music room, led like a moth to flame by the sound of his piano playing.

"Oh, yes!" You say, pleased. "Yes, I would like that a lot. I adore any kind of music, really, that would be… that would be lovely."

Alastor looks pleased.

"Wonderful! Until later then - shall we say, 7pm? How does that work for you?"

"That's fine, yes! Absolutely!"

"So glad we had this little talk," Alastor says. "I look forward to it."

And with that, the Radio Demon disappears into a haze of black shadow, leaving you stood alone; absolutely speechless.

---

What… what just happened?

You manifest your phone into your hand and think frantically of who you can tell about this. Angel. You tap out a hasty message and press send.

-VeryVerity-

11:17

EMERGENCY (not really but HELP)

You watch in real time as the delivered receipt changes to seen. The little typing bubble pops up as Angel crafts his response. It must be handy always having an extra spare pair of hands to type.

AngelBabyCakez

11:18

U ok? I'm on my way to meet Lumia

Send me a voice note if u want xoxo

You press down on the voice note button and record a panicked-sounding message. You keep your voice low and hushed, paranoid that someone might hear you. Or that it might echo.

"Hey Angel! I'm sooooo sorry I'm bothering you, but the weirdest thing just happened and now I'm kind of freaking out… Sooo basically Alastor is suddenly being really extra friendly to me, like I mean he's never been RUDE, but, he came to see me while I was working and he touched my face and he's asked me to meet up with him later and I don't know what's going on. Okay, bye."

You chew on a finger nervously while you wait for Angel's response; a couple of minutes pass, and then your phone starts ringing. It's Angel.

"Hey," you say, answering.

"Okay, start from the beginnin', cause I ain't followin'. What the fuck just happened?"

You fill Angel in on the events of the morning; he agrees with you that it's a little strange.

"And are ya gonna go? To meet him later?" Angel asks, and you can hear the sounds of the city in the background.

"I think so," you say. "I want to. It'll be good to get to know him better."

There's a pause; you hear the sound of a siren from Angel's side of the call.

"Look, Verity," Angel starts. "I'm gonna be honest with you. Now see, I don't like talkin' about folks behind their backs, it usually comes to bite me in the ass… But Alastor is a dangerous guy, okay? He's done some weird fucked up shit in the past, or so I've heard… I mean, he's done some good things for us, and he's never hurt one of us, but… It could still be risky, y'know?"

"That's bullshit," you say.

"What?"

"You LOVE gossip and talking about people behind their backs," you say, laughing.

Angel laughs then.

"Okay, okay, I'm guilty baby, you got me. But I mean it, alright? Just promise me you'll be careful?"

"I will," you say.

"Look, I gotta go, I'm almost at Lumia's studio," Angel says. "But you just call me if anything goes sideways, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks Angel."

"Any time, kid."

You hang up the call, feeling even more confused.

I need a lie down.

---

You finish your work in a slight daze; it's not exactly taxing work, though, honestly. You strongly suspect that Charlie has merely given you this job so she has an excuse to offer you some cash without the role itself being too demanding; you are grateful for it. You draw up a few (shoddy) sketches on the notes app of the tablet and make a few more mood boards on Sinterest, satisfied with your ideas so far. You'll meet with Charlie on Monday to discuss them, and then the two of you can go about ordering things and acquiring materials. And, of course, you'll see her tomorrow; for your shopping trip.

You glance at the time - 3:21pm - and head back up to your room to rest for a little while. You have a lot to think about, after all. Feeling suddenly very thankful for the quiet privacy of your room, you plug the tablet in to charge and slump down on the chair next to your vanity.

You meet the eyes of your reflection in the mirror and stick your tongue out. Bleugh. What a weird morning it has been… You think then about what Angel had said; how Alastor is a dangerous guy.

People keep telling you this, keep trying to warn you, and… really, you have to admit, there is something a little… unusual, about the demon. As you'd said to Adam before, Alastor seems like a closed book. A demon who simultaneously desires the distraction of the company of others, while also holding them at arm's length. He has a number of… intimidating features, that is to be sure. You've seen his face grow dark with intent; you've seen hints of a malicious nature peeking out underneath, but, you've chalked it up to… well, just demons being demons. Never once have you allocated it much deeper meaning than that.

And who doesn't deserve to move forward from their past? If what Angel has been told is true, and the Radio Demon has a sordid or even… violent past, couldn't it be true that he is also working to move beyond it now? He's the host of a hotel made for sinners trying to redeem themselves, after all. Surely that counts for something?

You massage your right shoulder; it aches slightly. I probably slept on it funny.

You lower your cardigan a little and turn to inspect it in the mirror. You're slightly surprised to see a mark on your shoulder blade; a bite mark - or rather, a scar? It looks old and faded, but the tell-tale ring of tiny white pricks is undeniable.

It looks exactly like a bite…

You let your fingers trace it carefully and a memory from life comes to you; you gasp through it, like coming up for air after being underwater for too long.

You see yourself, falling backwards, cowering; as rage-filled creatures swarm and dart past you. The facility - red alarm lights and sirens - the animals you'd released… A four-legged shape towers over you, a strange bellowing growl engulfing you… And then the sensation of the bite - hard, ridiculously painful - deep and deliberate in your shoulder. You hear faint screams, blood-curdling and desperate; and something else… the sound of flesh being torn apart.

You flinch violently at the memory and immediately snatch your fingers away from the scar.

Guilt and discomfort fill you. Catching your reflection again, you see yourself looking back, pupils blown wide open and ears flattened against your skull. You try to still your breathing. You let yourself fall back into the chair and take in slow breaths to get your heart rate to calm down.

I'm in Hell for a reason, too, after all, you think to yourself then.

You've done things you aren't proud of; even if your intentions had been in the right place, people had still… died. As a direct result of your actions. Sure, you hadn't held a gun to their head or a knife to their throat, but… it seems like that's just semantics now. Wouldn't it make you - or any sinner, for that matter - a hypocrite to allow a chance for redemption for some demons and not others?

You sigh, feeling the adrenaline in your veins slowly easing off, and your body beginning to relax again.

You trust Angel, though. And come to think of it, hadn't Husk seemed concerned too? Before? You make a mental plan to head to the bar soon; you can ask him about it then.

This seems like a win-win situation; you could get to know Alastor more and discover he's a great guy - done, sorted, cool. Or, you might find out the unsavoury details that people seem to be so eager to warn you about (despite never telling you what they are) and you can move on from your silly girlish crush. You can get on with your afterlife, free from the burden of letting the Radio Demon live in your head, rent-free.

Maybe spending some time with him will remove the mystery and allure that's thus far pulled you in; maybe you will realise it's just a trivial hyper-fixation of sorts.

That seems reasonable, right? Right?

---

Once you've collected yourself and are feeling up to it, you emerge from your room and make your way down to the bar. You are relieved to spot Husk there, cleaning glasses; you can't help but notice, though, that he looks a little troubled.

"Hey, Husk," you say, gently, so as not to make him startle. He grunts a response.

Uh-oh.

"What's up?" You say, taking a seat at the counter.

"Nothin' much," he says, but it's obvious as anything that he's lying through his teeth.

You raise an eyebrow.

"You, uh… you sure about that? I got some time, if you wanna talk about it."

Husk looks at you then, and seems like he's going to say something, before it catches in his throat and he huffs it down.

"It's nothin'," he says. "It's stupid. We don't have to talk about my problems. That ain't what I'm here for. What're you drinking?"

"White wine spritzer," you say, having only heard of it a few hours ago. Thanks, Sinterest.

Husk looks amused - just for a brief moment - and busies himself making your drink. He seems so tense and forlorn; you can't help but push the subject.

"Will you please tell me what's wrong?" You say, your tone veering on whiny. "You're making me worry."

Husk lets out a tired sigh as he places your glass on the counter. You give him a soft thanks, take it, and give the drink a cautious sip; you're delighted to find it's fresh, sweet and crisp on your tongue.

"Fine," Husk says then. "But if you tell anyone I swear to fuckin'-"

"I won't," you say. "I promise."

Husk looks at you then, assessing you; he must see the earnestness on your face, because he decides to open up.

"Alright. Well. Y'know how Charlie said we could bring a date, or a, plus-one to this…uh, ball… thing?"

You nod, taking a heartier sip of your drink.

"Well… I got someone I'm thinkin' of, uh, askin'… to be that. For me."

"Oh!" You say then, beaming. "That's great!"

Husk looks dejected.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But it ain't as simple as that. I don't even know that… this person, will say yes. I mean, shit, I ain't good at this stuff, okay?"

You nod sagely. You say nothing in an effort to prompt him to keep talking. He slumps a little over the bar, resting his chin in a hand.

"I mean, how do I know it's even the right time, to… to… make that step, y'know?"

He's talking about Angel, isn't he, you think to yourself. I bet he is.

"Well," you say, being careful with your wording. "How well do you know… this person?"

"Mmm. I'd say pretty well," Husk says then, and his gaze goes a little distant. "We're friends - good friends. I mean, there's a definite… I'd say there's somethin' more there. Shit, I dunno."

You lean back a little, in thought for a moment.

"Well, why don't you ask them and say, 'Will you be my date for the ball, we can go as friends or something more if you want?'" You suggest.

Husk repeats the last few words of what you said, mulling over them. He grins at you.

"Y'know, that ain't half bad," he says, seemingly cheered a little. "That could work."

You throw him a cheeky wink.

"You're welcome," you say, pleased. Husk's improved mood is fleeting, though; his expression clouds once more.

"Arrghhh, who am I kiddin'," he says, sour again. "Knowin' him, he's already got a line of slicked-up buff guys he can pick from, someone he'll make eyes at all night and cling to with those damn arms."

You sip your drink, as Husk realises what he's said in mild horror.

"I, uh… I mean-"

"It's okay," you say, softly. "I knew we were talking about Angel already."

Husk's face turns a brilliant shade of crimson; his fur puffs out a little in pure embarrassment.

"Fuck! Kid, I mean… I ain't…" he pauses for a moment, then: "…It's that fuckin' obvious, is it?"

You let out a laugh, but it's full of fondness.

"You barely talk to anyone other than him, and whenever he's not working or doing one of Charlie's activities, he's sat here, in this bar. With you."

"Well, he sure as shit ain't here now," Husk says, grumpily.

"He still out with the singer?"

"I suppose so."

A few beats pass, and Husk groans, burying his face in his hands.

"You wanna know the fucked up irony of this? He used to make passes at me. Yeah. He was all, no boundaries and shit about it, constantly up my ass with some innuendo or proposition. And then he pushed me to my limits, but… but then we became friends. Real friends, y'know?"

You nod, a little starry-eyed at how open Husk is being.

"And I got to know the real Angel - I mean, the real Anthony. And that night, the night before the exorcists came, I mean… I thought I felt somethin' between us then. Nothin' happened, but… It's easy with him. He gets me. And I see him for who he really is, under that bullshit mask. He's a good guy. He doesn't deserve all the shit he goes through."

Your mouth falls open a little.

"You… you're in love with him," you say, softly.

Husk immediately tenses, looking like a cat that got electrocuted.

"Don't say that shit! Goddamn it, I regret sayin' anything…"

"No! No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you say quickly, worrying you've overstepped. "I'm honoured that you're telling me this, really. I get it, I do. I'm so pleased that you trust me."

Husk sighs.

"You're probably the only one I trust with this, kid. There's just somethin' about you, I guess."

You smile gently; kindly.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," you say, reassuring. "And uh… Want me to do a little… reconnaissance work for you? I can get the vibe on Angel, see if he's got a date lined up… or whatever."

"You'd do that for me?" Husk says then, eyes wide and vulnerable. Kitten-like.

"Of course. I can be discreet," you say, winking. "Leave it with me."

The two of you chat about other things for a little while as you have a second drink; your work, the acid rain that had happened overnight… Just small talk. At one point, you ask Husk where everyone else is, and he explains that most of the residents are usually out on a Friday night, either together or doing their own things. You realise with a tug of empathy that Husk must have been waiting for Angel to get back. Your suspicions about Angel being still out with Lumia are confirmed when he sends a blurry looking selfie to the group chat. In the picture, he's throwing up peace signs with two hands and holding a drink with another. He then sends another picture of him sat next to an absolutely gorgeous-looking demon with a classy smile, a slick bob of brunette hair and seductive heavy eyelashes.

Charlie replies to the chat wishing Angel a good night and praising him on doing excellent client-liaison work; both you and Husk share a dry amused look of yeah right. You joke about how it's a little early in the night for blurry selfies, and then you realise with a jolt that you have somewhere to be.

You see the time then - 6:48pm. Husk seems to notice you rushing to finish your drink, but he tactfully doesn't mention it. Instead, he tells you that all this talking has got him beat, and he might just close up early if that's alright with you. He thanks you again for hearing him out, and you both wish each other a good night.

You're grateful for the liquid courage the two white wine spritzers have given you, as you feel the nervous emergence of butterflies in your gut. You realise with a slightly hazy twinge of oh, yeah that you forgot to ask Husk about Alastor. Ah, well. It's too late to change any plans now.

Better make my way to the music room.

---

You arrive right on time; just a few minutes shy of bang-on the hour. You let yourself into the music room; marvelling again at how exquisite it is, but also noticing that it's…empty. Hmm.

You allow yourself to wander absent-mindedly over to the piano, keen to get another look; it's just as beautiful as you remember. Its perfectly glossed surface catches the light in a way that you find mesmerising. This shade of red… it's a dark, bloody, brooding shade of red, and it looks as black and bottomless as molasses in the parts that are cast in shadow.

You notice the empty piano seat then; its claw-footed legs resting on the rug beneath, gorgeously ornate and gothic. On impulse, you lower yourself to sit on it, and - just for something to do - you find yourself lifting the piano's fallboard, revealing the keys underneath.

The bone-white and ink-black keys inspire in you the same feeling that a blanket of undisturbed snow does; they are begging to be touched.

You place a cautious finger on what you know is a low C note, and the piano sings the note in response to your touch. You smile.

It has been years since you played a piano. You'd had some lessons when you were younger, nothing serious; you can't even read music. You remember a few things, sure, but - nothing that would do this glorious instrument justice.

Despite this, you find your left hand moving to play the base part of a tune you'd memorised as a teenager… a low, descending note progression that evokes moody rhythm and blues. You play it over a few times, humming the melody and hearing the lyrics in your head: Hit the road jack, and don't you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more…

"What a pleasant surprise! I didn't realise you played," Alastor says, standing right by the piano - how does he do that?!

"Jesus Christ," you say, spooked, unable to censor yourself. The piano lets out a strangled noise of mixed notes as you flinch.

"HA! Not quite," Alastor says, grinning devilishly; he taps his chin in thought. "Although, I'm sure we'd get along famously."

You're laughing then; the genuine, carefree laughter of someone who's had two drinks, is calming down from a startle and who thinks the image of Alastor interacting with the son of God is hilarious.

"Do you make a habit of just appearing and making people jump like that?" You ask, still laughing.

"Maybe," Alastor says, smiling wide.

You make a hmm of amusement and move to get up.

"I think I'm better off leaving the piano to someone who knows how to properly use it," you say, half-teasing. "I promise to never touch it again."

"You're more than welcome to it," Alastor says. "It's free to use for anyone who so wishes."

You get up, and stand on the opposite side of the piano; the grand instrument between you both.

"Well, I'll spare you the suffering, then," you say, giggling. "I'm a complete amateur."

"Everyone has to start somewhere, my dear," Alastor says, with a kind smile.

You feel a flitter of giddiness in your abdomen and you talk quickly to try and ignore it.

"Won't you play me that song? The one from before? Please, if you wouldn't mind," you say.

"Ah. Yes." Alastor says.

The Radio Demon summons a tall, free-standing coat hook, on which he hangs his coat; he then rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and takes a seat at the piano.

Such theatrics, you think to yourself. But it's charming all the same.

You notice how the warm-grey skin of his arms fades in a gradient into his black hands, before finally ending in those red claws. His forearms are slender but well-defined, peppered with light scars; you watch the muscles contracting as he stretches his hands in preparation to play.

You feel a quick palpitation in your chest. You hope it's just the wine.

You know it isn't.

Alastor begins to play, and you find yourself almost breathless as you listen. The song is even more lovely than you'd remembered. It's a jazz lament, with slow and meandering progressions into minor chords. There's a tone of hope in the melody, and it builds to a crescendo for a moment, before sweeping back down into melancholic valleys and ending softly on a long, sustained note.

You find yourself utterly moved, and you give some quick, soft applause.

"It's beautiful," you say, wishing you could think of something better to say. "Really beautiful. Did you write that?"

Alastor looks up at you, and despite his never-faltering grin, you sense what looks like sadness in his eyes.

"I did indeed," he says, and he breaks the eye contact, looking down at the keys. "A long time ago. When I was still human, now I come to think of it."

"It's a very sad song, for someone who's always smiling," you say, before you can stop yourself.

Alastor tenses and his gaze darts back to you.

"Well, I suppose I'm not immune to the odd moment of sentimentality," he muses, recovering his usual nonchalonce.

"Mmm," you say, your hands feeling empty and drink-less. "You're very talented, I wish I could play that well. Whoever you wrote it for must have meant a lot to you."

There's a harsh shriek of static; the strongest you've ever heard - so sharp it makes your ears flinch. Alastor is looking at you, with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. His smile could not look more strained if he tried.

You sense you've misspoken. Damn that wine!
"Sorry," you say, quickly. "It's none of my business. But thank you, for playing it for me. It was really special."

Alastor seems to relax a little.

"You're quite welcome," he says, sounding pleased despite himself. "Perhaps one day I shall tell you more about the meaning behind it, but for now, that is for me to know."

Relieved to have avoided any upset, you hum a small noise of acknowledgement.

"Tell me," Alastor says then, intertwining his hands together. "Do you know the name of that progression you were playing earlier?"

"I don't, no," you say, suddenly intrigued.

"That sequence is what's sometimes known as an Andalusian cadence. You can find it in a lot of compositions; I believe it dates back to Ancient Greece, even."

Alastor recreates the sequence of notes with his left hand.

"Huh," you say, a little dumbly. "That's really interesting."

"Isn't it?" Alastor says, content. "Music is a world of magic, truly."

He begins to play another tune; a relaxed, calm sounding jazz tune with a warmth to it.

"I agree, actually," you say, and he looks up at you then, still playing. Show off.

"Oh?"

"I've always loved music," you clarify. "My dad, he uh… He loved it too. I learned everything I know about it from him, really. He… Anyway, yeah. Music has always been a big part of my life."

You look down at your hands and fiddle with a cardigan button.

"Maybe that's why I've got these things," you say, gesturing to your ears. "Some sort of silly joke about having a good ear or something."

Alastor stops what he's playing; you look up, about to tell him to keep going, but he cuts you off.

"Would you care to play a duet?"

You can feel your cheeks reddening.

"Ohhhhh-ho no," you say, your hands raised in rebuttal. "There's no way. I'd only make a mess of it, and I'm not going to know anything that you do, I-"

"Come now, I'm sure I can teach you something," Alastor says.

"That bench is so tiny, we won't both fit on it," you say, grasping at straws.

Alastor considers this for a moment, then stands. He uses magic to elongate the stool; it floats, coated in green glowing power, then stretches out long enough for two.

"There," he says. "Much better. Now sit."

And so you do.

And somehow, amazingly, it works out.

Alastor has you take the right side so you are at the higher end of the piano, and he teaches you a simple but sweet little melody. You pick it up reasonably quickly - albeit, with a few stumbles. Your part by itself doesn't sound like much, but when Alastor joins you with his contribution, the song evolves and blossoms into a jaunty ragtime tune. He throws you tidbits of praise - that's it, now you're getting it - and you find yourself grinning, heart light with happiness. You don't know how long you spend practicing, learning, watching; but by the time you're ready for a full performance, your fingers sting a little at their tips from friction.

The two of you play together then, the whole tune realised from start to finish. When it comes to an end, and you let out a victorious laugh.

"I can't believe I did that!" You say, a rush of endorphins coursing through you.

"See what you can achieve when you put your mind to something, hmm?" Alastor says, and he looks pleased.

"Mmhmm!" you say, beaming up at him then.

You hold his gaze for just a beat, and then-

"Thank you for letting me take so much of your time," you find yourself saying. "It's late, I should probably, uh… head to bed."

"Hmm! I suppose you may be right."

You both stand; the seat immediately shrinks to its normal size with a thwapp!

"Allow me to escort you to your room," Alastor says, putting his coat back on and dismissing the hook.

"Oh! Oh, you don't have to do that, really, I-"

"I insist," he says. "For who is a man without his manners?"

And so you do allow him; all the while trying to ignore the fires happening inside your mind. Why is he being so extra nice to me all of a sudden?!

It's been a wonderful evening, and you tell him as much when you reach your door. Alastor agrees that he, too, had a most pleasant time, and then he lingers for a moment longer.

"I realise we did not have as much chance for conversation as I would have liked. Perhaps you'd care to join me on a stroll tomorrow? I'd be honoured to show you around the city a little more."

You can scarcely believe your ears.

"Oh, I, um… I can't tomorrow, actually. I'm all booked up to go shopping with Charlie, actually."

"Oh that's right," Alastor says. "A worthy venture to be sure. Perhaps Sunday, then?"

"Alright," you say, the word leaving your lips before you can think it through.

"Fabulous! Then it's settled. I know just the right place. I look forward to it, my dear."

And with that, the night is over, and the Radio Demon leaves you; standing alone outside your door. Dumbfounded.

Did he…

Did he just ask me out on a date?

Chapter End Notes

What can I say? I'm a sucker for piano duet trope

Also, if anyone is interested, this is the song I used as my reference for imagining Alastor's Song:
https/youtu.be/fczxPs8SmTU?si=ItSTRRBG2svRlJnw

It may not sound exactly like this, but this is very much the vibe. Feel free to use this as a demonstration :)

Al Dente

Chapter Notes

Hello! Before we begin, I have a little treat for anyone interested; I've made a companion playlist for this fic, full of songs that I feel are fitting and that I have taken inspo from ~

I personally use apple music BUT I have made a public Spotify playlist for it cause I know most people use that. Enjoy!

https/open./playlist/1x3ekyTOV4m99gutuS6ntz?si=c21a223b516b4979 =1 =3491a0f5816a4dc9

There will be another little treat at the end of the chapter ~

See the end of the chapter for more notes

When you wake up on Saturday morning and check your phone through bleary eyes, you are amused (but not really that surprised) to see that you have a text from Charlie already.

charlieeee

07:17

Hey Verity! It's shopping day ~

I'll meet you downstairs whenever you're ready

You glance at the current time - 8:39am - and let out a croaky groan, trying to shake off the last of sleep. You message her back to say you'll be down soon, and you ready yourself for the day.

In the shower, you find yourself humming the tune you'd learnt last night; the one you played as a duet with Alastor. It floats around in your head still as you dress, dry your hair and check yourself in the mirror. Good to go.

Down in the lobby, Charlie is sat in one of the seats in the main foyer, her leg bouncing with… excitement? Impatience?

"Sorry, sorry," you say, walking over. "Have you been waiting ages for me?"

Charlie sees you then, and beams at you with a giant effervescent smile.

"Not at all!" She says. "I'm just so excited to be taking you on your first proper outing in Hell! I already have quite a few places in mind we can look around, and OH! There's going to be so much for me to show youuuu…"

Charlie continues to ramble on as you make your way out the door. You listen, smiling fondly. Never change, Charlie.

You're a little nervous to be out in the fray of Hell properly - sure, you'd seen some of it from your very first taxi ride over to the hotel, but… that's it, really. You at least feel a little more at ease having Charlie with you, and gradually, you start to relax and enjoy yourself.

Charlie first takes you to a coffee shop, where she picks out the most ridiculous-sounding drink that comes with a mound of whipped cream and about seventeen different syrups in it. You make a joke about how you're not sure she even needs caffeine or sugar to keep her going, and then you pick out your own beverage; a flat-white. You're relieved to find that coffee in Hell tastes pretty much the same as it does on Earth.

Feeling energised, the two of you make your way around the centre of Pentagram City's shopping district. You marvel at the luxurious window displays and sheer volume of buildings. Demons of all sizes and types swarm on the streets; some are dressed in finery, carrying bags with what look to be designer logos on; others sit shabbily in dingy corners with empty cups, waiting for a coin. I guess cities are the same down here, too.

You make your way around a few different department stores, trying to find something to wear for the ball, but nothing feels quite right. After more than a few failed attempts, the two of you slump on to a bench, exhausted.

"It's a shame we can't jump down a few rings," Charlie says. "I know a fantastic place in the Envy Ring that I just know would have just what we need!"

"Why can't we?" You ask then, eyes wide with curiosity. You've heard a few bits and pieces about the different rings, but haven't really given it too much thought.

"Only Hell-born can travel through the rings," Charlie explains. "Sinners are confined to the Pride Ring. It's a real shame, cause there are some great places in the other rings… Maybe one day we'll figure out a way to get that changed."

"Oh," you say, feeling dumb that you don't have anything else to add.

Charlie seems lost in thought for a moment, then smacks her fist down on her other open palm in resolution.

"I've got it!" She says. "I think I know somewhere else we can try!"

She looks at you then, a little hesitant.

"It's a… it's an interesting… town, but I know someone there who I'm sure can help us. How are you with… uh, unusual and slightly intense types?"

---

Cannibal Town is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Charlie has given you a brief warning about making sure your limbs don't dangle around too temptingly, which causes a small twinge of worry. But, you have to say - generally speaking… it seems pretty pleasant.The town has an old-timey whimsy to it, as the denizens wander around in vintage-looking outfits and the streets are lined with old-fashioned style barbers, butchers and bakers. You see two elegant-looking female cannibals walking arm-in-arm, touting laced parasols.

"It's like being back in time," you say. Charlie hmms an agreement.

"I had my reservations, before, but… These people really helped us during a tight spot, and I have a lot of respect for them," she says. "Just, uh… don't give anyone eye contact for too long."

I bet Alastor would like it here, you think to yourself.

Eventually you reach the destination Charlie has in mind; a large, lavish-looking building with a sign that reads:

Franklin and Rosie

Emporium

"What happened to Franklin?" You say to Charlie, half-joking, and she throws you a shrug.

Inside, the spacious store is full of demons - cannibals - all chatting amongst themselves agreeably and shopping. You notice all kinds of goods; there's a delicatessen, what looks to be a sweets counter and sections for vintage-looking clothes and furniture. Charlie beckons you in the direction of a queue and you join it with her.

A small cannibal seems to eye your fingers hungrily; you bunch your fists together and hold them against your chest.

When you reach the front of the queue, a tall female demon with gaping black pits for eyes and a shark-like grin lets out a pleased-sounding squeal.

"Oh your highness," she says, clapping her hands together in delight. "It's so nice to have you back! And who's this new chop on the block you got with ya, mmm?"

You wince a little at the imagery. Charlie laughs nervously.

"Rosie, this is Verity. She's our newest resident at the hotel! I was hoping you might be able to help us with something."

Rosie's already wide eyes seem to bloom out even wider for a moment as she pauses, her stare frozen on you for a beat or two. Then she relaxes; all smiles and charm.

"Well is that so! Anythin' fun?"

"We need a dress. A nice one, for the— Well, I know Alastor must have told you about the ball by now, right?" Charlie says.

"He did indeed! Oh I can't tell ya how excited I am. Well girls, lemme take yous to the dressin' room we use for tailorin' out the back. I'm sure we can find somethin' that tickles your fancy!"

Rosie places a sign saying "Come Back Later" on the main desk, causing some sounds of annoyance from the queue, and ushers you both into a backroom.

"Now, let's get a look at you pair," she says, eyeing you both up.

"Oh, not me!" Charlie says, a little frantic for a moment. "This is just for my friend here."

Charlie looks at you with encouraging eyes.

"Uhh, yeah," you say finally. "Something elegant but not too… heavy?"

Rosie grins at you, her teeth pointed like daggers.

"Oh honey, I think I have just the thing."

---

You look at yourself in the full-length mirror. You have to admit; the dress is gorgeous, if a little… gory.

It's a floor-length sleeveless dress, with a slit on one side that goes up to the thigh. The inner-lining is a deep maroon; the outer fabric, however, is a velvety and sooty black, aside from the detailing on the bodice. Sparkling, bloody-looking beads and sequins start from the chest and cascade down the front of the torso in perfectly stitched drips. A delicate assortment of ruby-red jewels are attached in a neck piece, connecting from a black choker to the bust. The look it all gives is that of a slit neck; spilling blood in a spectacular shining waterfall down to your hips.

Despite the macabre theme, you find yourself wholly admiring it.

"Eh? Eh? What I tell you," Rose says, standing behind you and meeting your eyes in the reflection. "Ain't it somethin'?"

"It is beautiful," you concede.

Charlie looks pleased - and a tiny bit relieved - and agrees.

"You look amazing!" she says.

"I can't help but feel I'm not doing it justice," you laugh nervously. "My hair is a mess, and I really feel it needs something else…"

Rosie and Charlie both pause for a moment; then Charlie seems to have an idea.

"Here," she says. "Let me give you an idea of how it could look on the night!"

Charlie uses some magic; glittering gold covers you for a moment, and you watch as your reflection transforms.

Your hair is now pinned up in elegant curls, with a few tendrils hanging sweetly; you have a little makeup on your features, now, too - most notably, a bloody-red lipstick staining your lips.

Rosie gasps.

"OH!" She says, theatrically. "Aren't you just a sight for hungry eyes! My, I think we've outdone ourselves here today girls. You're gonna be the tastiest little thing there, I just know it!"

You giggle, and nod.

"I love it," you say, and both Rosie and Charlie are pleased-as-punch.

---

After settling up with Rosie, you leave with the dress secured (and hair and face back to normal) and head back to the hotel with Charlie. You've been out for hours; a look at your phone reveals it's now mid afternoon.

As you both enter the lobby, you're met with a long whining groan coming from… somewhere.

"What the Hell is that?" You ask.

"It's Angel," Husk says, from the bar. "He crawled in the door about an hour ago and he's been throwin' some amateur dramatics in the lounge ever since."

"You mean he's-" Charlie starts.

"Hungover to Hell? Yeah, I'd say so," Husk says grouchily. "But this is some prima-donna bullshit. I tried to offer him water but he won't drink it. I give up."

You throw Charlie a glance and the two of you head to the lounge to investigate, ignoring Husk muttering under his breath.

"Angellll…" Charlie says, gently, like she's trying to carefully approach a feral toddler. "Heyyyy buddy!"

Angel looks an absolute mess. He's bedraggled over a sofa, face down; hearing the two of you enter, he looks up briefly. His skin is sagging around his eyes and his cheek seems sodden with drool.

"Mmfffthh," Angel says, and his head flops back down.

"Awesomeeee," Charlie says, trying to keep her tone light. "Had a good night with Lumia, huh?"

"Mmmmrrmmfff," comes the noise from Angel's head. He rolls himself over clumsily and lets out a hollow sounding moan. "It was a great night. She's amazin.' And now I wish I was dead. Again."

You laugh then.

"I thought you could handle your drink?" You say, teasing.

Angel sits up and frowns at you with the irritation of a wounded ego.

"I can handle my drink, toots," he says, speech still sounding a little slurry. "But not like last night. Her whole entourage are crazy! Last night I practically had a hosepipe of tequila attached to my face, I was drinkin' that shit like it was the salvation. And we started drinkin' at like, five in the afternoon. I'm never drinkin' again."

He falls backwards into the sofa again with a thumpff, muttering about how much his head hurts.

"Alright," you say then. "I think we need to get you up to your room."

"I can't waaaalk," Angel says, in a pathetic voice.

"I'll help you," you say, and you set your shopping bags down.

"Nooooooooooo," Angel says, and he's flapping a hand at you.

You roll your eyes.

Charlie moves to start helping too, but you shake your head.

"It's okay, I've got this. You've done enough today."

"You sure? There's… there's a lot of him," Charlie says.

Angel makes a sound of annoyance.

"I'm sure, he barely weighs anything. I can help him up to his room."

"If you're sure then," Charlie says, sounding unconvinced. "I'll take your bags to your room, at least… I'll just drop them by your door."

You give Charlie a quick thanks and she hurries to take the shopping up for you, leaving you to tackle the gangle of limbs that is Angel Dust.

"Come on then," you say, lifting one of his arms on to your shoulder. "Ready? One… two… THREE!"

---

Miraculously, you manage to get Angel to his room. Sure, it takes a little while, and you tolerate a lot of whining from his end, but you get there. Eventually.

You watch as he falls onto his bed in a heavy but still graceful thud. He groans again. A small, demonic-looking pig emerges from out its nest of bed covers, and licks Angel's face gently.

You let out a small gasp.

"You have a PIG?" You ask, louder than you mean to. Angel growls in pain and grips his forehead, wincing.

"Sorry, sorry," you say, whispering this time. You take a seat on the edge of his bed and hold your hand out to the little pig.

It sniffs it, gives it a soft lick, and butts its head into your palm. You pet it, starry-eyed and hardly breathing for fear of spooking it away. The pig lets out soft grunts of happiness.

"He's called Fat Nuggets," Angel says, his eyes closed and a hand still at his forehead.

"Fat Nuggets," you repeat, awestruck. The pig looks up at you cutely. Your heart melts into goo in your chest.

"He's so cute," you add.

Angel lets out an amused sound and pushes himself to sit up in bed. Fat Nuggets immediately curls up in his lap. You resist the strong urge to take a picture on your phone.

You take a quick, not-trying-to-be-rude look around Angel's room. It's hazy with neon pink lighting; there are clothes strewn all over the floor. The vanity area is twice the size of your own; dressing room lightbulbs frame the mirror and a slew of cosmetics, perfumes and beauty tools cover every inch of its surface.

On the walls there are string lights and an overwhelming amount of posters and polaroid pictures; you spot one above the bed of Angel with an arm around Husk's shoulder. There are many of Fat Nuggets in various adorable poses and even some little outfits. A pink feather boa is interwoven into the iron frame of the bed's headboard.

"Wow," you say. "I love how you've decorated in here, Angel, It's so glamorous. It makes my room look so basic."

Angel laughs, his voice sounding hoarse with hangover.

"Thanks, toots. It's a mess, but it'll do."

You glance again at the picture over his bed and inspiration strikes you.

"Hey, uh… Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, as long as it ain't 'will do do shots with me right now'. Shoot."

"Do you, umm… Do you have a date for the Hell Belle ball?"

Angel tenses, then looks at you with an expression full of both amusement and confusion.

"I'm flattered," he says. "But you ain't exactly my type."

"Oh! No, that's not what I meant," you say, cringing inside. "No I meant… Well I'm just asking cause I thought maybe… I dunno. I'm just curious."

Angel's eyes narrow a little, but he sighs and leans back against the bed frame.

"No, I don't," he says, voice soft and slightly sad-sounding.

"Yeah, me either," you say too quickly, exhaling nervous energy.

Angel looks at you mischievously then.

"What about your new boyfriend?" He says wickedly.

"Who?"

"Y'know. Alastor?"

You feel your cheeks burn and a knot in your throat.

"He's- He's not my boyfriend!" you say, appalled.

"I'm just pullin' your leg," Angel grins impishly. "But, uh… What happened in the end? Last night."

You tell Angel about the piano… date, with Alastor. You go into detail about how well the Radio Demon plays, how lovely the song had been, and how you had played a duet together.

"It was actually really nice," you say, finally. "I had a really great time. He can be really pleasant when you just spend time with him, one on one… He asked me to, uh, run errands or something with him tomorrow."

Angel's eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open a little. If he'd looked tired before, then he's certainly perked up now.

"You're serious?" He says.

"Mmhmm. He seems alright to me, y'know? I think you were worrying too much."

Angel looks uncomfortable for a moment before he speaks.

"Look, kid," he starts. "Maybe… Maybe I oughta tell you what I know-"

"No, don't," you interrupt him. "I know you mean well, but… I've decided I don't want to know. It's his past. If he wants to tell me about it, then he can. And… and if he ever does something… bad, to me… then that'll be that. But I'd like to give him the chance to have a clean slate with at least SOMEONE. Maybe… maybe that can be me. I know I'd want that chance."

Angel is speechless for a few beats, then seems to remember himself.

"Wow," he says. "You're either a dumbass, or the nicest person alive- uh, dead. Or both."

You giggle.

"But okay," he says. "I won't get meddle."

Speaking of meddling, you think to yourself…

"Hey, um. You and Husk seem really close. Why don't you ask him to the ball?" You say, bravely.

"Funny you should say that," Angel says, and he leans back again, sighing. "I want to."

This time it's your turn to sit there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"You do? That's great! I mean, um, I think you guys would be, uh, good together."

Angel looks at you, his face full of sadness.

"I was hypin' myself up to do it last night, y'know? I thought I'd come back and do it then, but… I got so distracted out on the town, and then I got so wasted… Anyway, maybe it's best that I don't."

"What? Why?" You ask.

And so Angel explains. He tells you how he'd come on too strong in the past; always pushing himself on to Husk, flirting with him; and now that they're good friends, he doesn't want to break Husk's trust by going back to his "old ways". Angel tells you how he wants to respect Husk's boundaries, as they're so close now; he can't risk jeopardising that. You listen attentively, nodding sympathetically.

"Well," you say then. "It sounds like you're trying to be considerate of his feelings, which means you're a good friend, and a good person. Maybe… maybe ask him as a friend, and see how it goes?"

Angel thinks on this for a moment.

"Maybe," he says, and his voice is soft and completely lacking in any kind of performative tone.

He's Anthony, after all.

You decide to leave to let Angel rest. You tell him to message you if he needs anything, and leave him with a wave and a firm instruction to drink some water.

---

Returning to your room, you retrieve the shopping bags Charlie left for you outside your door and let yourself in. You hang the dress carefully in your wardrobe, admiring it again. You make a mental note to ask Charlie to do your hair and makeup again for the actual event, as she'd made it look so perfect.

Your phone - that you'd thrown onto your bed as if it was a skimming stone - vibrates softly into the bedsheets. You take a look, immediately disappointed to see it's a text from Adam; asking if you're free to hang out.

Absolutely not.

You sigh. You type back a message saying no; you're too tired from a busy day. Then, despite yourself, you feel bad - so you quickly send another suggesting Monday evening instead.

You scoff as he has the gall to reply simply with "k".

You roll your eyes and regret extending any kindness. You flop back on your bed and idly scroll through a few apps when a thought occurs to you.

Couldn't I just… search online for "Radio Demon" and see what comes up?

You think about it for a moment, then decide against it. After all, you wouldn't want someone looking you up online behind your back - not that there would be anything to find, but, still. Thinking of Alastor, then, you realise with jolt that you hadn't settled on a time to meet him tomorrow.

Damnit. Why doesn't he just have a phone like everyone else?!

You reluctantly get up and head downstairs to the lobby to see if you can find him; alas, the demon is nowhere to be found. Weirder still, there's no-one around at all now. The lobby is deathly quiet and completely empty. You huff, frustrated, standing in the empty lounge.

"Alright, Alastor," you say out loud then, feeling dumb for doing so. "You seem to have ears in all the walls cause you always know when to pop out at me, so… If you can hear me, then… show up."

You wait.

Nothing happens.

"Cause, we, uh, didn't establish a time for tomorrow…" you try again.

There's only silence.

You feel like an idiot.

Grateful that no-one was around to witness that, you cobble together your dignity and head back to your room. You take the stairs, and when you finally get back to your room, you discover a note pinned to your door. There's a message written in scraggly, scratchy handwriting upon it:

"10am sharp tomorrow! I shall see you in the foyer. - Alastor"

You turn around, glancing down the hallway, suddenly paranoid.

He DOES have ears in the walls?!

You rip the note off and hide yourself away in your room, mortified. You decide to head to bed out of pure shame.

If only you'd known the truth; if you'd waited in your room instead of going to look for him, you would have known. Coincidentally, it had occurred to Alastor too that he hadn't arranged a time with you; chance is a funny thing. He'd visited your door, knocked, only to receive no answer; so he had left the note, then hummed contentedly, walking away.

As it is, you spend a slightly restless night full of anticipatory nerves for the day ahead of you; a day with the demon dressed in red.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter was a little dialogue-heavy, soz

ANYWAY it's time for treat number 2!

I did some art of how I imagine The Dress - it's on the companion tumblr blog now, along with some art of ~The Look~ from Chapter 7 (sans Al's monocle cause I forgot it and I cba to re-upload it lmao)

https//bapple117/744306458946158592/veritys-ball-outfit?source=share

Yes this is what I've been doing the last couple of days with my life, so sue me

But He Talks Like a Gentleman

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You're standing in the lobby; nervous energy crawls under your skin and makes your muscles ache with tension. You glance at an ornate clock on the far wall - it's 9:46am. Only a few minutes until he'll be here…

You are, of course, waiting for the Radio Demon to show his face for your outing together. Your insides feel twisted; sick and salty with anticipation. The only extended amount of time you've spent with Alastor alone thus far is the other night, and even then, you'd had the buffer of the piano to ease any awkwardness. This is sure to be different - the two of you walking alone together, to god-knows where, for however long Alastor pleases. You are about to be at his mercy.

You feel clamminess beginning to form on your palms as you swallow thickly. You look at the clock again. 9:51am. The lobby is strangely quiet and empty; you assume most are having a lie-in, as it is Sunday, after all. You can't help but wish some of the others were down here now; it would make the wait a little less painful. But then… Maybe it's better that no-one knows what you're up to. After all, they'd probably try to talk you out of it.

You feel a shiver fizzle upwards from the base of your spine to your nape; Alastor materialises from shadow in-front of you. Your heart rate increases a little and you try to ignore the heavy thumps in your chest. This is it…

Alastor regards you with his typical sharp-toothed smile.

"Ah, Verity! Always so punctual, truly commendable. And how are you this fine morning, hmm?"

"Uh, good, thank you," you say, a little timidly.

"Wonderful! I, too, am feeling most spirited today. I do so look forward to a brisk stroll on a Sunday morning."

You smile weakly and fiddle with a strand of hair.

"Shall we make a start?" Alastor says. And so you do.

---

Yesterday, when you'd been out with Charlie, you had noticed that the denizens of Hell had looked at you with hungry or curious eyes; today, however, that is not the case. In-fact, you feel as if they are actively avoiding you. As you walk down streets with Alastor at your side, demons and Hell-born creatures seem to make way for you and avoid your gaze; only risking quick nervous glances in your direction.

You find yourself quite amused by this.

"I trust you got my note," Alastor is saying. "I mean, clearly, you did. It did come to me in a sudden realisation last night that we hadn't settled on a time before; I do apologise for the mishap, it is most unlike me not to iron out the finer details of a plan."

You narrowly avoid tripping on a slab of broken pavement as you step.

"I, uh… yeah," you say dumbly. "Did you, um… did you not hear me? In the lobby?"

Alastor's eyebrows furrow a little but his gaze is fixed on the street ahead.

"Hear you, my dear?"

"I assumed you did, cause, y'know. You've got shadows in all the walls, listening all the time… or, something. I was looking for you in the lobby."

Alastor lets out a flighty laugh; it babbles and trickles out of him like warm red wine.

"Well, I am flattered! As much as I wish it were the case, my dear, I am unfortunately not omnipresent. But please! Keep talking to the walls; don't stop on my account."

You feel a sickly heat burgeoning in your gut as you try not to die on the inside.

"You know, your life would be a lot easier if you just got a phone like everyone else," you say, a little bluntly. "I could have just messaged you."

Alastor makes a sound of disgust.

"I have no use for any of those noisy, loathsome, time-wasting gadgets."

"You prefer to communicate by carrier pigeon, I suppose?" You tease, laughing a little.

Alastor lets out a huff.

"If I'm unable to convey what I want to say via conversation or broadcast, then the written word serves me fine. Nothing wrong with good old pen and paper, my dear!" He says, his grin a little strained.

"Mmhmm," you say, smirking. "I suppose you don't like anything that came after you died, huh? What year was that?"

Alastor seems to tense a little; he removes his monocle, cleans it on his shoulder and places it back with feigned nonchalance.

"1933," he says tersely.

It's more or less what you'd assumed, but it's interesting all the same to hear Alastor reveal anything about himself at all.

"Mmm," you say. "I thought it would be around then. Is there anything modern you like?"

Alastor narrows his eyes; you fear you've annoyed him.

"I'm asking genuinely," you clarify, trying to sound gentle.

He considers the question for a moment before responding.

"I suppose… there are some things. I never got to hear a lot of music from the 40s or 50s in my lifetime… Obviously. When that began to find its way into Hell, I did find myself enjoying certain records."

You're laughing then; true, robust giggles.

"I said modern," you say. "That's still vintage!"

You laugh again as you see Alastor roll his eyes sassily. He says nothing in response; you fill the silence.

"I mean, it's okay," you say, keen to assuage his irritation. "Sometimes the classics are the best. There's a lot of really great music from that era."

Alastor's ears seem to prick up a little then, and he side-eyes you curiously.

"Oh? Do you know of any?"

"Sure I do! Buddy Holly, Benny Goodman… Ella Fitzgerald… Louis Armstrong… There are so many greats," you say happily.

Alastor raises his eyebrows and seems impressed; this fills you with a satisfied pleasure.

"Well, you are full of surprises," he says. "It's admirable that someone as… recently dead as yourself is so well-versed in music from before you were born."

You smile genuinely then.

"I told you, I love music. It's important to me," you say.

"I do recall," the demon says. "Which is why I have a feeling you are very much going to like our destination."

---

The pair of you walk together a little longer, down meandering streets and deeper into a district within the city. When you finally reach the destination, you are thrilled to find yourself stood in-front of a beautiful, old-looking building, with a sign that reads "King's Jazz Cafe".

"Aha! Here we are," Alastor says.

You stare up at the building with wide, excited eyes.

"Come now, we mustn't loiter at the door," Alastor says, and he holds the door open for you.

Inside, the cafe - well, club, really - is seeping with atmosphere; dark and moody, there's a rich scent on the air, like fine spices and incense. A pretty-looking demon with thick eyeliner and a slim narrow body greets you at the door. You eye her, a little envious of the way her black cocktail dress clings to her frame so chicly.

"Alastor, a pleasure to have you back, as always. Your usual table?" The hostess demon says, her voice a soft and melodious drawl. You feel another small pang of jealousy.

"Please, that would be lovely," Alastor says, all smiles and charm.

The hostess leads you both through the dingy club; through a mass of tables and oh-so-cool looking demons sat and stood in every corner.

"We're just setting up for the next act," the hostess informs Alastor. "You came at the perfect time, they'll be on stage in a few minutes."

"Wonderful! What fortunate timing," Alastor says, sounding genuinely enthralled.

The hostess gestures towards a table; she quickly removes a "Reserved Indefinitely" sign and motions for you to take a seat. Despite never having been here before, you can tell already; it's the best seat in the house. It's a booth seat in a far corner, close to the stage and on a slightly raised platform. The booth seating is upholstered in a luxurious red leather; there's a vintage glass lampshade hanging over the table, emitting a warm amber glow; the table itself looks to be a rich, glossy mahogany. There's some framed art on the walls, and a few lit candles on the surface of the table.

"Wow," you find yourself saying. Alastor lets out a chuckle.

You both take your seats opposite each other, and the hostess asks if you'd like any drinks.

"I will take a coffee, black, if you wouldn't mind," Alastor says, then he looks at you.

"Oh! Uh, coffee for me too, yes please. Um, a cappuccino? If that's okay?" You say.

The hostess seems to eye you with slight judgement but she smiles tightly anyhow.

"Great. I'll make sure those are brought over for you now."

"Thank you my dear!" Alastor says brightly, and the hostess slinks away.

You look around, admiring the stage. Various demons dressed in black are currently setting it up, re-arranging things and sound-checking instruments. There's the sound of lively chatter, and you spot various Hell-born creatures and demons in the audience. They all look so stylish. Many are smoking, some are drinking tumblers of alcohol; others have tiny espresso cups.

"It's amazing in here," you say, turning back to Alastor with wonder. He looks pleased.

"Isn't it? I often find myself coming here for a little R from time to time."

"How in Hell did you get such a good table? This has to be the best seat in the house," you say.

"Oh, well," Alastor says, inspecting his claws. "I suppose you could say I have a bit of influence in these circles."

"And they just hold this one for you? All the time?" You say, barely able to conceal your genuine awe.

"That they do! I am a frequent patron, after all. Having some renown does occasionally have its perks."

A small male demon with a beret brings over your coffee then; he gives a tiny nod to Alastor and a short bow to you before scurrying away. You take a sip of the cappuccino; it's velvety, hot and smooth.

"This place is... really something," you say. "I bet it's great in the evening, too."

"Mmm! Perhaps we can make a point to return sometime, hmm?" Alastor says, his eyes low-lidded and relaxed.

"I'd like that," you say. "Very much."

The stagehands are still setting up for the next act; you take the opportunity for more conversation while you can.

"Alastor, can I, uh… Can I ask you something?"

---

The aftertaste of Alastor's black coffee is a bitter (but welcome) sting on his tongue; he raises his eyebrows a little when he hears your question.

"Of course, my dear," he says.

Always so inquisitive, he thinks to himself. It's not wholly vexing; Alastor doesn't usually mind an opportunity to brag about himself or inform you on some subject or other; in-fact, he often finds himself enjoying it.

"Why, um… Why the sudden interest? In… In me, I mean. Don't get me wrong, you've always been polite and friendly, but… Y'know. Why all this?"

Alastor eyes you as you wave a hand around, gesturing to your surroundings. He smirks, tight-lipped.

"Why wouldn't I want to get to know our newest resident?" He says, his tone a contrived display of innocence. "And anyway. I happen to find you quite interesting."

Like a fish nibbling on a hook; like a fly tangled in a spider's web; like a rabbit caught in a snare; there you are. Pupils dilating, cheeks blushing; your gaze nervously fluttering between meeting and avoiding his own.

"You… you do?" Comes your soft voice.

Alastor mentally congratulates himself on being so good at this courting thing. Honestly! It's so effortlessly simple!

"I do," he says. "It's very unusual for me to find someone I have things in common with. And when I do, it's usually… well. I have many penchants; not all of them suitable for delicate company. You happen to be quite intriguing."

Despite himself, despite the ruse afoot; Alastor finds himself mostly speaking the truth. There is something about you that genuinely interests him; and haven't you been so willing and complimentary so far? Alastor can admit to himself; his ego thrives on attention, either via admiration or fear. Although, usually, it's the latter. It's a strange but not unwelcome sensation to have more of the former.

"I see," you say, sounding a little unconvinced.

Alastor thinks for a moment he should have said something more romantically beguiling, but before he can amend his statement, the sudden sound of microphone feedback causes his ears to flatten against his head slightly.

"Ladies and gentledemons," a figure on stage booms into the mic. "Please welcome to the stage: The Spiked Rye Band!"

A collective of musicians appear on stage; applause fills the venue. A tall demon with shades on takes a seat at the piano and purrs into his mic.

"Alright, cool-cats and jive-kids; some like it hot, but we like it even hotter down here."

There's a cheer from the room; Alastor looks at you then and regards your expression. You look enamoured at the scene; Alastor feels a gratified twinge of pleasure in his chest.

"Let's get things started with one I'm sure you all know. Ah-one, ah-two…"

The band begin to play; Alastor recognises it immediately, but is surprised to hear your small noise of excited exclamation.

"I love this song!" You say to him in a hushed whisper, and you turn back to watch the musicians at work with your eyes full of stars.

The music flows over the room in heady syncopation.

It don't mean a thing, if you ain't got that swing…

Alastor taps his coffee cup to the beat; he watches the musicians avidly, but does find his eyes drifting back to you.

You're watching intently; one of your legs is bobbing in time with the rhythm, and a huge grin is plastered on your face, causing your cheeks to bunch rosily with joy. You look exhilarated. Your hands are clasped together, held just in-front of your chest; your ears alert and pricked-up, pointed towards the stage.

A thought intrudes its way into Alastor's mind; it's all quite endearing.

He notices the thought and stiffens a little with irritation, looking away. No, no; it's just the music; he is merely happy to enjoy the splendour of live jazz.

He risks another quick glance at you; he takes in the sight of your own eyes fixed on the stage dreamily, your sweet features the very picture of joy at the music being performed before you both.

Alastor feels two things at once. The first is a hard, tight pull somewhere in his core; a firm tugging of muscle contracting tensely. The second is a flooding of fizzy pleasure in his head; a tingling mass of synapses reacting, leaving him momentarily light-headed and feeling unsure of himself.

Just for a moment.

The Radio Demon shakes off the unfamiliar feeling with disdain. He disregards it as getting carried away with the atmosphere, and takes a larger gulp of his coffee.

He keeps his eyes glued to the stage for the rest of the performance.

---

You're clapping; enraptured by the band. They're bowing on stage and thanking the audience, and then they make their way off; their set is complete.

"That was fantastic!" You say in an exhale, turning back to Alastor.

"Yes! Quite a show," he says, but he seems a little tense. "And now, I do believe we should be getting back."

You find yourself making a noise of disappointment, and Alastor lets out a dry chuckle.

"I assure you, we will return," he says. "There will be plenty of other opportunities to visit, I'm sure."

"Alright," you say, smiling then.

Alastor takes a red leather wallet from his pocket, removes a handful of notes and leaves them on the table.

"Oh, thank you," you say, embarrassed that you'd forgotten to bring money with you.

"It's my pleasure."

The two of you ready to leave, and you begin to make your way out of the club, weaving your way through the crowd towards the entrance. Just as you are about to leave, a demon - short, blob-like, with a moustache - approaches Alastor with a deranged smirk on its face.

"Hey Al," he says, in a thick Bronx-like accent.

Alastor turns to face the demon, still smiling (of course) but clearly irritated.

"Hmm?" He says.

"Heard you got your ass beat by an angel. How's that taste, eh?"

The demon leers crudely, then eyes you. It sticks out its tongue and winks at you in a lecherous way. You shudder. You look up at Alastor; he's rigid with tension and his eyes look a little manic.

"I wouldn't trust everything you read in the papers, old boy," Alastor says, the radio filter on his voice harsh and thick. "Not all of it is to be believed."

The demon sniggers, clearly unconvinced.

"Yeah, right," it says, and it elbows another demon next to it. "I hear they're showin' the proof onVox News later."

"You're lucky I have respect for this establishment," Alastor says, gripping his staff tightly. He leans over the demons at their table. "I don't want to dirty their floors. But I'd suggest watching your back elsewhere, chum."

Alastor straightens then; the mustachioed demon scoffs a little, but you can tell it's shaken.

"Shall we?" Alastor says to you then, intent on leaving.

As you walk back through the streets of Hell, Alastor is uncharacteristically quiet. He's humming a jazz tune; sure, but… You can tell the provocation in the club has bothered him.

You remember what Charlie had told you. How Alastor had fought Adam, the then-leader of the exorcist angels; how he'd needed to retreat, injured by an attack from Adam. You find it hard to imagine; the Adam you know is a total wash-up.You chew on the inside of your cheek nervously; all-too aware of Alastor's silent seething. You feel as if you should say something.

"You know, I met that guy. Adam?" You say, and Alastor says nothing. You persevere. "I know that's… that's who they were talking about, just then. Charlie told me all about the fight."

You walk in tandem; the only sounds you hear are those of your steps on the pavement and the city around you.

"It must have been a real fluke for him to get a shot in, if… if he did," you say. "Cause that guy? Hoo-boy. He's a total loser. I can't imagine him ever beating you in a fight."

Alastor eyes you then; his head unmoving but his pupils gliding in your direction. He makes a small huffing sound. You take this as encouragement to keep talking.

"I mean, pfff. He has no class. None!" You say; and you do mean it - Adam is a bum. But you also find yourself eager to sooth Alastor's wounded pride.

"Hmm. I quite agree," Alastor says, finally.

You feel relief, and you let out a small laugh.

"Hey," you say then, feeling braver. "It's hardly like being the first man is anything to brag about, anyway. Everyone knows, the first pancake out the pan is always a dud."

Alastor laughs then; a high-pitched HA. You grin, pleased at yourself.

"A shrewd observation Verity," Alastor says, returning to his usual self-satisfied demeanour.

"And now look at him," you say, feeling a little bitchy but rolling with it; whatever - Adam is an asshole. "The only people that would find him impressive now are the people that run all-you-can-chug beer competitions."

You and Alastor laugh together then; you feel accomplished.

---

Once back at the hotel, the two of you investigate the sounds you hear coming from the lounge. You feel a little embarrassed as everyone turns to look at you; you try to ignore the clear confusion on everyone's faces as you enter the room with Alastor by your side.

Angel wiggles his eyebrows at you and you give him a warning glare. He rolls his eyes, smirking, but you can tell he's going to keep his mouth shut.

"What are you watching?" You ask.

You and Alastor still stand; there are no seats free. Charlie and Vaggie share one sofa, Angel and Husk share the other; Cherri is sat crossed-legged in an armchair and Niffty is on the other, her legs dangling off the edge.

No one answers you; there's a tension in the air. You look at the screen; it's a demon presenting. He looks to have a flat screen television for a head. Weird.

Charlie is eyeing Alastor nervously, and you catch a few words coming from the television:

…But is the Radio Demon still licking his wounds? After getting a beating from the leader of the exorcist angels, is he finished? I think it's safe to say viewers, this guy isn't a threat anymore!

A crude and fuzzy clip plays on a loop for a few times; it's a distant shot of a rooftop. From what you can make out, it looks like Alastor getting hit by a weapon and falling backwards into a wall.

"Hey!" Vaggie says suddenly, making you jump. "Who wants to watch my terrible interview again?!"

"Oh, I do! I do!" Niffty says.

"Fuck yes," Angel says, sounding a little too salacious.

But then everyone is looking behind you; you turn, and the sight of Alastor makes your blood run cold.

He looks monstrous. His antlers are expanding grotesquely; they're spreading across the ceiling with sickening speed. His eyes are huge, glowing; his pupils replaced entirely by the silhouette of dials. Green magic is throbbing around him, and his body is stretching out with the sounds of bones cracking.

"Oh, no," you hear Charlie say, and you glance at the group quickly.

Everyone looks horrified; Angel is gesturing to you with slight panic to move; you ignore him, turning back to look at the eldritch being next to you. Somehow - you don't know how - you find you aren't afraid.

You hear a gasp from behind you as you do what you do next; you place a hand on Alastor's arm. His head whips in one fluid motion to you then; you hear a snarl, and his eyes seem to bore into your own.

"It's okay," you say, gently. "Don't listen to it. He's just some dick on TV. You're better than him."

Alastor's intense stare is fixed on you for a moment, and then, something miraculous happens; he begins to shrink. Within moments, he is returned to his usual form, and he smiles cheerily at everyone.

"Well, I do believe I still have some errands to run! I shall leave you all to enjoy your afternoon."

With that, he turns on his heel, and leaves. You face the group once more; they are all looking at you, speechless.

"Holy shit," Vaggie says, and the whole room erupts into relieved and slightly confused-sounding laughter.

---

The bath tap drips; the sound of the droplet hitting the bath water echoes in the bathroom.

Having retired to your room for the evening, you sit now in the bath, soaking in the hot water. You lean back against the back of the tub. Your body feels molten and languid; there is salty perspiration on your forehead. You luxuriate in the feeling of the water lapping against your body; it stirs with the gentle movements of your legs.

You think on the events of the day. It has been… interesting. Nice. Yes; it's been… very successful, you could say. You feel as if you've had a rare glimpse into the inner world of the Radio Demon; learned a little more about him. Felt… admired, by him, even. Or perhaps that is wishful thinking.

And of course… the outburst in the lounge had been… insightful. But you're sympathetic; no one wants their most humiliating moment played on television for the whole of Hell to see. Sure, Alastor's way of reacting to things is a little more… intense, than the average demon's. But you think it's understandable. And anyway, for the most part, he is usually the very image of decorum and charm.

So much for the getting-over-the-crush plan, though, you think to yourself. You sink a little deeper into the water until it's almost level with your lips; you sigh, and it causes a ripple on the surface. If anything, the more time you spend with Alastor, the further you find yourself… falling into the pit, so to speak. He's… enticing, in a way you don't completely understand. Endlessly interesting. Perpetually charming. Often amusing. Occasionally kind.

But always… mysterious. You know there is more under that masked-smile than meets the eye; you just know it. You yearn to prise off that mask and look deeply within; to gaze into the open maw of him, to pull out and inspect all the hidden parts of him. You want to know his past. You want to know who he wrote that song for; who he clearly loved once-upon-a-time… You want to know him. Who he really is - who he's hiding under all that showmanship and pretence. And you hope - you really hope - it's not all gaping blackness and vitriol. You have to hold on to the idea that there is something small, something vulnerable in there that is worth coaxing out.

If you sit still enough; quietly enough, wait patiently enough… perhaps the deer will come to you and feed from your waiting palm.

You shake off the imagery.

You allow yourself a few more indulgent thoughts. You think of visual memories; glances of Alastor's face you'd taken. His eyes darting to meet yours. The flex of his hand. A genuine smile he'd thrown you across the table.

You groan and sink fully under the water; fuck my life. Your crush has never been stronger.

Eventually you pull yourself out of the tub, feeling washed clean of the day. You try to imagine the thoughts you'd had swirling down the drain along with the bath water; you won't sleep if you continue to dwell on it all. Your muscles are so relaxed they feel like hot liquid under your skin. You towel yourself as dry as best you can - somewhat more of a challenge now that you have fur in some places - and then you wrap yourself in a huge fluffy robe. You're delighted to find it has a hood.

You pad over to the "hotel mini bar" (a small fridge) and grab a soda that appears to be lemon & lime flavour. You crack the can open with dexterity and relish the first refreshing sip; it hits your throat with crisp coolness and it's fucking fantastic. Bliss.

And that's when you notice it; a small brown envelope. It's been pushed under your room door.

Picking it up, you see it has your name written on it. You recognise the handwriting - a chicken-scratch scrawl - and your stomach lurches.

It's from Alastor.

You open it up, hands trembling a little, and read it.

To Verity,

Look! The wonders of the written word, as promised. See how much more enjoyable this is than a cold, impersonal screen?

I wish to thank you for providing me with such enjoyable company today, and for your courteous display of support earlier. It has truly been an absolute pleasure getting to know you further over the last couple of occasions.

I hope that I can continue to closely observe your progress here. I also look forward to furthering our own connection in due course.

Seeing as you expressed such a keen interest in the option of a communication channel for us, I am pleased to tell you I have found a solution; should you wish to reply, you can simply place a letter in the box (behind your door; it would not fit underneath as I'm sure you understand) and it will be materialised to me. Give it a try some time; I'm sure you will find it most satisfactory. It is certainly better than relying on the auditory skills of the walls.

Warmest regards,

Alastor

You roll your eyes at the sarcasm at the end, but find yourself grinning like an idiot despite this. Feeling a little giddy, you open your door a crack. Sure enough; there is a red box on the other side. You grab it quickly and bring it into your room.

It's just a box; it looks like a gift box, a red cube with a lid. You lift the lid and take a look inside; revealed within is a ominous and endless-seeming pitch blackness. You think about poking your hand in there but you stop yourself - probably not a great idea…

You're sure you've seen some hotel stationery in a drawer in your room; a quick search confirms your memory and you find a notepad, pen and some envelopes. You start to write a reply:

Dear Alastor

Thank you for your letter and for this terrifying box that seems like it might eat my hand if I stick it in too far. If you end up with one of my fingers appearing on your desk, I'd be most grateful if you could send it back post-haste.

You start laughing at yourself then; if he can be a sarcastic bastard, so can you. You continue:

I too had a lovely day. The jazz club was fantastic - I'd very much like to go there again soon. Thank you for taking me.

You chew on the pen lid then, thinking about what else you can say. What was it he had said? Something about furthering the connection? You press your pen to the page once more.

I probably wouldn't admit this in person cause I'm terrible with words but I really enjoy spending time with you. You are one of the most interesting people I have ever met.

Alright, that's enough compliments.

Goodnight, Alastor.

Sincerely, yours

Verity

You pause; is the sign off too much? Too obvious? You hesitate for a moment longer, then - fuck it - fold the letter and place it in an envelope. You write his name on the reverse side and gingerly drop it into the box; green flames appear for a moment, burning the letter into shadowy wisps. And then… it's gone.

You feel a flutter in your chest. You can't help but find the whole thing irresistibly charming.

---

Alastor sits in his armchair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His mind is full of dark and violent thoughts about the Television Demon; that cunt Vox. How dare he humiliate Alastor like that… And why now? Why has he sat on that drone footage all this time? Sure, there's been speculation and reports in the papers; nothing Alastor can't simply scoff at or refute. But now… Vox has been biding his time with that footage. And he chooses to air it now?

If he hadn't been stopped, Alastor is sure he would have left immediately to visit Vox, and he wouldn't have come home until he'd had blood on his hands.

But… he had been stopped. Odd. Curious. Your hand on his shoulder; it should have made him flinch. He should have recoiled. His rage had been so blistering in its heat, he should have let his powers override his senses, blowing him up into full demon form. He should have refused to rest until Vox was bloody and dangling in his jaws; hotel reputation be damned.

But you'd calmed him. Your soft touch, your kind eyes - stupid, naive girl. But… Alastor had to admit… you had provided him with distraction in that moment. Mental respite. A chance to collect himself.

He hasn't met anyone that could do that for… well. Since he was alive.

Alastor muses to himself on a job so-far well done; he thinks the courtship plan is going rather well! It hardly feels like an effort; he's actually enjoying himself. After all, he's mostly getting to do things he'd want to do anyway. It's quite pleasant to have some willing company, for once. How droll this is turning out to be!

Your letter appears in-front of him then; it bobs gently in mid-air next to him, a shroud of shadowy black curling around it in smoky tendrils. Alastor plucks it from the air with a satisfied and smug grin.

He takes a sip of his drink and then places the glass on the side table; he leans back into the armchair and reads your letter. He lets out a shrill small laugh at your finger comment; and grins at the rest.

He folds it neatly and places it back in the envelope, which he then leaves on the side table. He vibrates with self-satisfaction. Yes, this is all going incredibly well.Alastor finishes his drink in one final gulp; partly so he can ready himself for bed, but partly for another, much more pressing reason. The other reason being: he can now blame the feeling jittering wildly in his gut on the alcohol; a feeling that he wishes more than anything to ignore. Disregard. Repress.

The feeling of boyish joy at the two little words he'd read:

Sincerely, yours.

Chapter End Notes

I think this might be my favourite chapter yet buttttt I have SOOO many juicy scenes coming up in the next few chapters, I cannot WAIT to supply the feast to you all mwehehehe

WE CAN FIX HIM Y'ALL *wheezes*

Also anyone who gets the chapter title reference gets a big sloppy kiss MWAH

Follow me on Tumblr!
https//bapple117

Listen to the companion playlist!
https/open./playlist/1x3ekyTOV4m99gutuS6ntz?si=c21a223b516b4979

Tastes Like Honey

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Alastor is drunk. Head buzzing, nerves tingling, loose-lippedly drunk.

It's Monday evening; Alastor is sat with Rosie in her parlour. Having spent the better part of the day marinating in a Vox-flavoured rage, Alastor had decided enough was enough; he needed to seek comfort in the company of his trusted friend. Rosie had taken one look at him when he arrived at her door that late afternoon, then had whisked him upstairs and brought out her heaviest bottle of rye.

Now, many hours later, they are both dizzy with alcohol. After spending some time discussing Vox and the travesty that had been the news report, they had eventually moved on to other subjects; the activities of other Overlords they despise, and other idle gossip. They laugh together with the easy familiarity that old friends share.

There's a record playing in the background - sweet, low jazz - and both demons sit among a pile of cushions on the floor. Rosie, hatless and relaxed, sits with her head resting in her hand, propped up on a mound of softly stacked cushions. Alastor's coat hangs on the wall, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow; a measure taken to combat the flushes of heat caused by the whiskey. His shadow, let loose and free like a pet dog, dances around the walls.

None of the hotel residents would believe the scene if they saw it. Only Rosie has the real honour of being privy to all of Alastor, especially as he is now; inebriated, unvarnished and candid, laughing boyishly at some gossip-ridden joke.

Alastor moves to refill his glass with sloppy imprecision; he chuckles at himself as he almost misses the glass entirely.

"So," Rosie says, finally ready to broach the real meat of the conversation. "How's it goin' with the girl? Verity?"

"Well enough, I guess," Alastor says. He smirks to himself a little.

His affected accent isn't quite as prominent as it would be if he was sober. The usual radio filter has all but ebbed away, and his real voice peeks through far more than usual; the drink washing away his pretences like rain washes chalk from a pavement. Rosie always loves him like this; she feels a sisterly twinge of fondness for him now, relishing in the softness of his truer self.

Most of the time, he's a performative (and dazzlingly charming) wicked creature of impressive and monstrous aptitude - and she loves him like that, too, of course. But now, he sits in her parlour, stripped-back and capricious; his features eased, his lanky frame relaxed. He'd only been in his thirties when he'd died; and now like this, she can see the impish young man he'd been, written on his face.

"Oh?" She says then, remembering her cue. "You asked her to the ball yet?"

"I'm working on that," Alastor says.

"I helped her pick out her dress, ya know," Rosie says then, grinning sharply at having a juicy tidbit of information to supply. "She looked like a million bucks in it."

"What? Really? She was here?" Alastor says, eyebrows raised.

He's distracted for a small moment as the record in the background skips briefly; one of his ears twitches in its direction reflexively.

"Mmmhmm. She seems like a real sweetie, y'know, Alastor. I hope you don't go crushin' her heart in those claws of yours too badly."

"Mmm," Alastor muses then, staring at his glass. His brow is a little crumpled.

What's that frown about? Rosie thinks to herself.

"So what's it been like? Tell me, tell me," she says, pawing the air with a hand.

"Well, it's been surprisingly easy, I have to say," Alastor says, swirling the liquid in his glass. "She's… She has many qualities that make it a fairly tolerable experience."

Rosie raises an eyebrow.

"Ohhhh?" She says, prompting him to spill the rest.

"Well," Alastor says, and he keeps his gaze fixed on his glass. "She's quite good company, really. She's fairly interesting. Funny, sometimes. She clearly admires me. She's quite knowledgeable about music, which is… I enjoy that."

He looks up at Rosie then; his face earnest.

"And most surprising of all; if you can believe it, she chooses to be kind to me. I… I don't think she fears me, or if she does, she does not show it. But she often displays kindness. It's naivety, of course, but… Intriguing all the same."

Rosie nods understandingly and pours herself another drink. She leaves deliberate dead air in the hopes that Alastor will reveal more; and he does.

"And it's quite pleasant keeping company and conversation with someone who isn't… required, to do so with me - other than you, of course, my cherie."

Rosie smiles.

"I find myself quite looking forward to our meetings," Alastor adds then.

Oh boy.

"Alastor, dear, I gotta be honest with you," Rosie says then. "It don't sound like you're havin' to fake much of this."

"What is your meaning?" He asks her, confused.

"Well. You enjoy her company, you seem to like - or tolerate! - her, and you want to spend time with her… So what part exactly about this is a fake courtship?"

Alastor opens his mouth to speak, a finger raised; he pauses, shuts his jaw, then looks dumbfounded.

"Well I suppose you have a point," he concedes. "But really. You know me. I don't exactly pursue romantic entanglements."

"But you like her?"

Alastor rolls his eyes.

"She interests me and she's inoffensive," he says.

Rosie narrows her stare.

"And she has some good taste," Alastor adds.

"Uh-huh," Rosie says, unconvinced.

Alastor doesn't know if its the alcohol in his veins, or the shitty morning he had brooding over Vox, or the comforting warmth of the music; but he decides to open up just a little more.

"Well, if I must acknowledge it… I have been experiencing some… unknown, feelings," he confesses.

Rosie's eyes widen; black and bottomless.

"Oh? Do tell?" she says.

Alastor sighs through his smile; the only element of the mask still intact.

"I've… I found myself interested in her - Verity - since she arrived. At first it was just curiosity, cautiousness. But I heard the way she speaks about music… And other things. And it both infuriates and tantalises me the way that she shows no fear. It is most vexing but… there is also something thrilling about it. I have never felt that before."

Rosie looks at the demon before her with kind, understanding eyes. This dumb schmuck, she thinks fondly.

"And as I say. She's highly agreeable," Alastor says.

Highly agreeable is an upgrade from inoffensive, at least.

"Ain't bad to look at either, is she?" Rosie says, a twisted smile on her lips.

"I shall take your word for it," Alastor says, shrugging.

"C'maaaan. Surely you can admit she's a fine piece of coney," Rosie says with a wink.

Alastor laughs into his drink clumsily as he goes to take a sip; the drink almost goes up his nose. The two demons cackle together tipsily.

"I suppose I could agree that she has some… handsome features," Alastor concedes.

Rosie laughs again; her laughter is like cool, crystal music to Alastor's ears. He grins at her playfully, feeling buzzed and endlessly happy to be in her company.

"Don't you just wanna eat her right up?" Rosie says, and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

Alastor scoffs then.
"If you're implying what I think you're implying, then the answer is no," he says. He considers a beat longer, then adds: "…I don't think so."

"You don't think so?!" Rosie says, scandalised.

"Well. It's not really something I've ever… desired," Alastor says, choosing his words carefully - he is still a gentleman after all. "But perhaps there is a small part of me that is curious. From a purely academic point of view, of course."

He muses for a moment, exhaling slowly.

"She is infuriating. I find myself thinking on how satisfying it would be to win her over; have some… possession, over her. And I suppose that includes all the… ways, that would be possible."

Rosie has a hand to her lips in a mock-aghast expression.

"My, my," she says, tone teasing. "So candid after half a bottle of rye!"

"It is merely an afterthought," Alastor says, closing his eyes and running a hand through his fringe. "It is certainly not the driving force for my agenda. It would be… experimental investigation. And purely hypothetical at this stage."

Alastor looks unsure of himself then, and more than a little uncomfortable; so Rosie decides to drop that particular line of inquiry. She takes all the new information in, a little sluggishly - she is drunk, after all - and lets out a light sigh.

"So whaddya gonna do about it all, hmm? You clearly like this girl in… whatever way makes sense to you, and you wanna spend more time with her, sooo…"

Rosie gestures a hand in circular motions, in the way that people do when they mean so therefore….?

Alastor seems a little slow on the uptake, but he shrugs and looks conflicted.

"Doesn't really suit my image, now, does it?" He says.

"You worryin' about your reputation?" Rosie asks, genuine.

Alastor lets out a small scoffing sound.

"My reputation…" he says. "Hmmm. That's currently in tatters thanks to that no-good WRETCH Vox."

Rosie sees the darkness on his features then; keen to re-lighten the mood, she looks at him with a glint of cheeky inspiration in her eye.

"Hey, y'know what would really press his buttons?"

"What?" Alastor says, taking a drink.

"If you were seen publicly datin' someone… after you rejected him that time and told him you'd never date anyone? He never got over that, did he?! Can you imagine how worked up he'd be if he saw you with someone else that isn't him?"

Rosie laughs cattily. Alastor looks up at her, and his grin widens.

"Oh, that's… that's delicious," he says, and they both laugh together.

"I know, I'm a genius," Rosie says.

She looks at Alastor then; really looks at him. Even after all he's done - all she knows he's capable of doing - there will always be a part of Alastor that Rosie sees for what it is. The part of him that's an act; a cover, a protection. The lies he tells himself to massage his own ego or keep his narrative intact. The performance he uses to mask any areas of inexperience.

He's a cold-blooded killer, that much is true; and, well, so is she. But when Rosie looks at him now, their respective guards down, their edges frayed with drink; she sees the lost boy inside of him. The part of him that interacts with the world as if he is an alien, learning the rules of the game; before he takes those rules, breaks them over his knee (so to speak) and forces everyone to play with new ones. His rules. Because if he's controlling, then he's not losing.

Rosie doesn't know where he was in those seven long years; she doesn't push the subject. Like a feral cat, if Alastor is pushed too hard then he'll be pushed away; she knows that if and when he wants to tell her, he will. She's just happy to have him back.

What Rosie does know, is that deep down, Alastor is lonely. Sure; he has her, and the cohort at the hotel; but living in a fortress of your own making - metaphorically speaking - gets isolating. He keeps everyone at a far distance, only revealing glimpses of his true self when it suits his games.

And, sure; he has nights like tonight, where he comes to Rosie downtrodden and needing a drink. They let loose together, and she gets to see and love the deeper endearing parts of him. But one random night every few months is not enough real connection for him; she knows it isn't, even if Alastor will never admit it to himself.

The record has stopped; Rosie realises, gets up, and flips it over, replacing the needle. Music fills the room once more. She sets herself back down on the floor and lets out a jolly 'hmm!' of ah, isn't that better?

"So what do I do now, mon amour?" Alastor says, sighing.

Rosie's heart squeezes in her chest as she looks at her dearest friend; his motherlessness never looking more apparent than it does in this moment.

My poor little devil, she thinks to herself.

"Maybe… maybe you gotta be more honest with yourself," Rosie tries, her tone gentle and careful. "If you wanna spend time with her and pursue somethin' more than just bein' acquaintances, then that's okay."

"I don't even know what I want," Alastor says, and his voice is clear; completely devoid of either filter or transatlantic accent.

"Well… That's okay too," Rosie says. "You don't have to. You know she's interested at least, right?"

Alastor considers this and bobs his head in gesture of concession.

"Based on what Adam tells me, anyhow," he says, his affectations recovering slightly.

"Well. Does she blush at the things you say?" Rosie says.

"Yes."

"Does she show interest in spendin' more time with you?"

"Yes…"

"Does she laugh at your jokes, show you kindness, say nice things to you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Oh honey, I know you're clueless about this stuff but I don't know how much more obvious that poor girl can be. Won't you put her out of her misery?" Rosie says, laughing.

"But the faux-courtship plan is so perfect!" Alastor says, throwing up a hand in despair.

"Perfect for keeping you safe, hmm? Keeps you from admitting a vulnerability, that kind of perfect?" Rosie says, her tone just a little teasing.

Alastor squints at her, annoyed. Rosie knows she is taking great liberties, but if you can't do that when drunk, when can you?

"Look," she says then, her tone a little more stern. "There are a lotta tactical advantages to pursuin' this, that's for sure. But it also sounds like somethin' you want to do. What have you got to lose?"

"You'd be surprised," Alastor says then, cryptically, and he's staring at his glass. "Letting people… in, isn't… it doesn't come easy to me."

Rosie lets out a loud guffawing laugh causing Alastor to look up at her, surprised.

"Oh my lawd, you think I don't know that?!" She says, still laughing. "You only talk to me like this when you're completely wasted! And even then, that's only cause you've had a crazy few months and some really shitty press."

Alastor laughs a little then, abashed. Rosie wipes a tear of mirth from her eye, lets out a long exhale, then eyes him with a fond smile.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have someone else on your side?" Rosie asks him then. "Someone other than me. Someone else you can be real with."

Alastor pinches the bridge of his nose with a hand and groans.

"I don't know what's left for her to be interested in if I was to reveal it all," he says. "You know what I've done, what I do. You know what I am. She's not like you; she's… I highly doubt she relishes in violence."

Rosie smiles, her eyes full of kindness. She knows what Alastor means; he believes you'll be scared away if he actually opens up to you, and truthfully… he may be right. It's safer for him to play-pretend and act a part, even if it's ultimately dissatisfying for him.

"You just gotta give her a chance, hmm?" Rosie says.

"I'll think about it," Alastor says, a slight warning tone of drop this now please in his voice.

"Good. I'll start plannin' my weddin' outfit," Rosie smirks.

She yelps as Alastor shoves her in the shoulder, and both demons break out into fresh, drunken giggles.

"Infernal woman!" Alastor says, but his tone is playful. "Now put another record on and tell me again about that customer who ate all her ex-husbands. I'm dying to remember the details."

---

You are drunk. You're about five cans of beer in, controller in hand, swearing at an easy in-game shot you just missed.

You realise with a slow, creeping sensation that this makes you a hypocrite for the joke you made about Adam yesterday. Adam, who is sat next to you on the sofa, in his basement games room; also several beers deep.

You're hanging out with him as you'd promised before. A slightly guilty conscience from having made him the butt of the joke with Alastor had wracked you a little, and you'd made your way down to the basement earlier with a 12-pack under your arm and grocery bag full of snacks. Gifts of apology; for a slight Adam doesn't even know had happened.

"Don't get sloppy now," Adam says to you, as he acknowledges your missed shot.

You think woozily to yourself that sounded like something Alastor would say; then mentally curse your thoughts for always re-directing back to him.

"Sorry, sorry," you say, your s's slurring just a little.

Your mouth is filled with the hoppy - but not unpleasant - aftertaste of beer. The level ends, and you take the opportunity to grab a handful of puffed, crunchy snacks from a bag; they taste of honey and salt. You peer at the packaging - Beezlebubbles.

"These are good," you say, unprompted and mouth full.

Adam laughs, amused to see you acting so slobbishly.

"Oh yeah? A fellow woman of culture, I see," he says, smirking.

You have to admit to yourself; Adam can be… fun. Certainly, after a slew of beers and a few rounds of Sinner Shooter, he's lightened up a bit; dropping his insults just a little and not being quite as much of an ass.

Maybe it's all insecurity, you think to yourself.

All men are the same.

"You wanna go another round?" You say, gesturing with a side-nod towards the TV.

"Eh, let's take a break," Adam says. He sets his controller down and stretches his arms with a groan.

"Mmmkay," you say, shrugging.

You watch as he changes the TV over; he flicks through a few channels then settles on a music video channel. The current music video playing is a pop song; a seductively gorgeous demon with wings and a tail is singing on-screen, her long hair swishing around as she dances.Adam wolf-whistles his appreciation and you roll your eyes.

"What?" He says. "She's hot, so sue me."

"Uh-huh," you say, but after a moment, you add: "Alright, I'll give you that. She is hot."

You drain the last of your current can of beer and assess how many are left. There's two left; one each.

"Shall we finish these up?" You say, and Adam nods, shrugging. Why not.

You both crack open your last can each, then tap them together in a cheers.

"I am gonna regret this tomorrow," you say, but in this moment, you truly don't care.

"If there's anywhere to regret your life choices, it's Hell, babe," Adam says, and you laugh a little.

"That's true I guess. And you? You regret your life choices?"

You mean it as a playful comeback; the words coming to you impulsively. Adam scoffs a little too genuinely.

"I mean, sure, who doesn't? I got regrets. Sure as fuckin' shit ain't telling you any of them."

You feel you've touched a nerve; you falter, trying to find the right words to get the conversation light again. But your synapses are weighted with booze, and you find yourself simply staring at him.

Adam sighs.

"It's fuckin' hot in here," he says, and to your utmost surprise, he lifts off his mask, tossing it over the back of the sofa.

You let out a soft gasp as you see his true human face for the first time. He rolls his eyes as he shakes out his unkempt mop of hair.

"Yeah, yeah," he says, but it's half-hearted.

"You're just a dude under there," you say, tipsily.

Despite himself, Adam laughs then.

"I mean, yeah. What were you expecting? First man, babe. First man."

"I know but… I changed, when I came here," you say.

Adam snorts.

"What can I say? You can't improve on perfection," he says with a smirk. He flexes an arm with mock-bravado.

You laugh properly then; it comes out of you like a melody, full of childlike mirth.

Adam finds himself grinning. You sip your beer.

"So why do you keep the mask on?" You say, genuinely curious.

Adam shrugs.

"I dunno. It's comfy, I guess. In Heaven it was kinda just to blend in, and y'know, it looks cool and shit."

Your eyes widen at the mention of Heaven. It's the first time you've ever really heard anyone talk about it - other than Charlie, of course.

"What's it like there?" You say, uninhibited.

Adam grimaces a little, uncomfortable.

"It's… uh. It's… I mean, it was fuckin' rad, for me, most of the time. Total fuck-fest."

You roll your eyes, mentally berating yourself for expecting anything sincere from Adam. He clocks your eye roll, then seems to stop himself from saying something else. Without his mask on, his expressions are a lot more open and easy for you to read; a human face betrays its true emotions much more readily.

"Do you miss it?" You say then.

Adam groans and stares at the TV.

"Yeah, okay? I fuckin' miss it. I mean, I don't miss having someone up my ass all the time about boring lame-ass paperwork and shit, but… Yeah. It sure as shit beat being down here."

You feel a little bad; you also turn your gaze to the TV out of awkwardness. An info card pops up as the song ends - Verosika Mayday - and a new one springs up as the next song starts.

"I mostly miss my friend," Adam says then, and you're surprised at his earnest tone.

"Friend?"

"Mm. Lute. She was my right-hand bitch. Fuckin' hardass and kind of intense, but… She was pretty much the only woman that stayed by my side, in the end, thinking about it."

You turn to Adam then, your eyes wide at his vulnerable confession; he looks at you with disgust.

"Aw, fuckin', shit, don't look at me like that, okay?" He says, brow furrowed. "Christ. I'm drunk, alright? Don't you fuckin' judge me."

"I'm not!" You say, your voice sounding higher pitched than you mean it to. "I'm not judging you, I'm… I feel bad for you."

"Well that's even worse," Adam says, bitterly. "It's pathetic, I know."

"No, it isn't… I'm… I'm sorry," you say, sincerely. "It's hard to lose everyone you care about. I'm sorry you went through that."

Adam regards you then, and he seems to accept this. He sighs.

"Alright you're done playing Dr. Phil," he says. "My turn."

Adam takes a chug of his beer and eyes you with a raised brow.

"You fucked Chuckles yet?" He says, expression dripping with devilment.

You choke a little on your current mouthful of beer and Adam hollers at you in huge, sweeping laughs.

"N-No!" You stammer out, wiping your chin on your sleeve.

Adam is still laughing, hugging his abdomen with both arms.

"Your fuckin' face!" He manages between laughs.

You frown then, irritated. Adam tries to calm himself; a coy, mischievous quirk remains on his lips.

"No," you say, trying to sound reasonable and grown-up about it. "I have not… I haven't had any physical relations with anyone, ever, thank you very much."

Adam's eyes widen and you realise what you've said.

"Fuck, that's not, I mean-"

"You're a fucking virgin?" Adam says, and you can tell he's very fucking amused.

You groan and drag a hand down your face in anguish.

"Yes," you say through gritted teeth. There isn't much point in lying now.

"Holy shit," Adam says, clearly entertained but also appalled. "Bruh. That sucks for you. What, were you a mormon or some shit?"

"Not even," you say, laughing a little. "Just awkward and shy."

"But you're…" Adam stops himself. He scratches the back of his head awkwardly.

"I'm what?"

"Never mind. Forget it," he says, then quickly adds: "So you want ol' Red Eyes to pop your cherry, huh?"

You scoff in distaste.

"I never said that," you say, tense.

"You don't need to. I can see it in your fuckin' eyes," Adam says, grinning.

You groan then. You set your beer down on the table and bury your face in your hands. After a moment, you look up from your palms; Adam is watching you intently. You sigh, weary from the conversation and the drink.

"It's that bad, huh?" Adam says, his tone jovial. "You're fucked up, y'know that? That guy is a fuh-reak."

And then, something bizarre happens; you find yourself spilling your guts, words cascading out of you like vomit. You tell Adam about the piano duet, about the outing yesterday… About all the little moments, and kind words, and shared looks between you and Alastor. You explain how he's been pleasant to you; charming, debonair. How he set up a means of communication between you. How you'd calmed him from an outburst.

You rattle on, talking about how you know the Radio Demon has some sort of sordid history, how you don't care to find out what it is right now. How you believe there is something else underneath the smiles and radio static; how you want to see it for yourself. How you find yourself thinking of the red glow of his eyes on you in the moments before you sleep. How obsessed you've become. How frustrating it all is; how you're confused about his intentions.

When you're done rambling, you realise Adam is staring at you, a sheepish expression on his face. You become painfully aware of yourself, as if you are out of your own body and observing from the ceiling; you are embarrassed.

"That was a lot, sorry," you say. "I'm definitely just drunk."

"Yeah, no shit," Adam says, but it comes out a little breathless.

"Take no notice of me," you hasten to add, and you tip the remaining beer left from your final can into your mouth.

Adam hesitates.His brain works slowly, wading through his thoughts with the burden of inebriation. He tries to process everything you've said; eventually he comes to the conclusion that it's none of his fucking business and not his problem.

But - despite himself - he likes you. Sort of. In an, annoying kid-sister, kind of way, he supposes now; alcohol softening his outlook.

Adam eyes you now; you look tense and exhausted.

"Hey, uh, maybe we should call it a night," he says, his tone earnest.

"Yeah, alright," you say, shrugging. "You can keep the rest of the snacks."

You stand up, more than a little unsteady on your feet.

"You, uh… You alright there?" Adam asks.

"Mmhmm, I'll be fine, s'only an elevator ride up," you say, and you clumsily retrieve your phone from the table, vanishing it with a squeeze.

"Oh hey! You figured it out!" Adam says, pointing at you.

"I suuuuuure did," you say, pleased with yourself, and you skilfully repress the sudden urge to throw-up.

---

You stumble into your room, giggling at yourself stupidly. You'd felt fine sitting down on the sofa; standing and having to exert yourself to get back to your quarters now has you feeling light-headed and wobbly, all-too-aware of your drunkenness.

You teeter on your legs, closing your door behind you. You feel an overwhelming desire to be in bed. You strip off your clothes, leaving them strewn on the floor, and pull on an oversized t-shirt to suffice as a nightdress. You fumble with your toothbrush, just about doing a good enough job to rid yourself of the lingering taste of beer. You spit.

Your eyes look at you in the mirror, dazed. Hazy. You skitter out of the bathroom, smacking the light switch a little too hard - owwww - and move towards your bed.And then you see it; out the corner of your eye - the box.

That weird box.

You snort in amusement to yourself as an oh-so-funny idea glimmers in your booze-addled mind. You scrabble on your vanity to find a pen and paper; makeup items and various detritus fall to the floor in the effort.You write a message - sloppy, but legible - on a piece of paper. It reads:

Heyyyyyyyy Alastor

How's it going? You're probably out doing something fun

I got drunk with Adam hahaha

He's not so bad I guess. I still think you could take him in a fight now though

Anyway hope you're having a nice night whatever you're doing

We should go on another date soon - if they've even been dates ?????

Dunno not sure haha you tell me

I hope so

Okay byeeeeeeee

Verity

You giggle to yourself, thinking this is the best possible idea ever right now, and you fold the paper and drop it in the open gullet of the box. It disappears before you.

Satisfied with your endeavours, you collapse into bed. You're snoring within minutes.

---

Alastor is sitting up in his own bed; he'd made his way back from Cannibal Town to the hotel with… some effort. The walk had taken him a little longer than usual, but the cool night air had sobered him some, and he'd had time to think.

He thinks on Rosie's words of advice and playful encouragement; letting them take root in his mind for a short while. Despite this, he allows his usual senses to return to him, and he bats the trail of thought away with concerted effort.

No; he will keep going as he meant to originally. He will continue to behave as if nothing has changed; this is a ruse - a game! That is the most sensible way to go about it. He can't afford to risk anything else.

At least, this is what he tells himself.

Your note appears by his bedside then; surprised, Alastor turns and retrieves it from the air. This late?

He notices with a small tut how it's lacking an envelope, but he opens it all the same. His eyes widen a little as he reads the message. He feels a brief sting of irritation at the mention of Adam; but then, he re-registers your final comments.

There it is; plain as day, written confirmation. Were these dates?

You hoped so.

Alastor grins to himself.

Game. Set. Match.

Chapter End Notes

Drink responsibly y'all!

I love platonic RadioRose so much AUGHHH my heart I love them I LOVE THEMMMMM

Follow me on Tumblr!
https//bapple117

Listen to the companion playlist!
https/open./playlist/1x3ekyTOV4m99gutuS6ntz?si=c21a223b516b4979

Mama We All Go To Hell

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Your eyes are sticky; gluey with sleep. You prise them open and a dull ache in your forehead greets you. Your body feels cold and sickly. Urghhhhhhhh.

The room is still dim; with your curtains drawn, you have no sense of what time it is. You grab your phone from the bedside table and squint at it; it's 1:42pm. You slept in.

You sit up, slowly. Your pulse throbs in your veins with sluggish exertion. Six cans of beer on a mostly empty stomach had been a very bad idea indeed. You check your phone properly then; you have a number of messages, including about fifteen from Charlie.

Shit. You were meant to have met her this morning for work. You feel awful; both physically and in your guilt. You quickly send her a message back, apologising madly, explaining that you're not feeling well and need to stay in bed. You omit the fact you're hungover - you feel it would just create a whole new barrage of questions - so you just stick with some vague illness story. Charlie responds immediately, telling you she's sorry you don't feel well and to get better soon, and she'll send up some supplies for you.

You feel awful lying to her, but, you also don't really want to explain that you'd gotten drunk with Adam. It's better to keep that on the down low. You message her back a thanks, and she suggests that if you're feeling up to it tomorrow, you can join her and Vaggie on an errands trip. You reply to say yes, that would be great; you thank her and apologise again. She sends back three red heart emotes.

Feeling a little cheered, you head to the bathroom to try to freshen up a little. Your hair is matted, your eyes look dead inside; you feel and look like hot garbage.

I can't let anyone see me like this, you think to yourself. Especially not…

Thinking of Alastor then, something creeps into your memory; it comes back to you in a wave of dread. The note you'd sent last night. Oh, god. What had it said?!

You're struggling to recall what you'd written; you just know it was probably something incredibly embarrassing. You groan in anguish; your voice comes out hoarse and thick. You wrap yourself in the fluffy robe and resolve to spend the day hiding in bed.

You step out of the bathroom, and then you see it; a letter, floating near your vanity in a shroud of misty blackness. You gingerly pluck it from the air; the shadow magic dissipates and the envelope is left in your hand. Your name is written in that tell-tale handwriting on the back.

Shit.

You open it, feeling like you might throw up.

Dear Verity,

Good morning! I can tell you must have had a most enjoyable time last night; I am sure you are feeling the fruits of your labour today! So I shall keep this brief.

As far as the company you keep; that is your business, of course. I can only hope that perhaps you are now eager to cleanse your palette with a little refinement; I would be more than happy to offer my services if this is the case.

As for the other matter you mention… Yes, I must confess: I have every intention of courting you. If you find this agreeable, then please consider our future outings as 'dates'.

I keenly await your thoughts.

Kind regards,

Alastor

You close the letter in a daze, placing it back into its envelope and then stuffing in your bedside drawer. You clamber into bed, trying to process what you've just read: Yes. The Radio Demon wants to date you.

You're too hungover for this; you know you should write him back, but your head is clouded with fog and your whole body aches. You curl up in bed and plan to reply to him when you feel better; for now, you sleep.

---

Alastor is having his breakfast; just a coffee today, sat on the iron garden table in the swamp part of his chambers. It's been a whole day since he sent you his letter yesterday morning; a whole twenty-four hours has passed since then, and he has heard nothing.

He had spent some time in the lobby yesterday, hoping to bump into you. All it had resulted in was him overhearing Charlie explaining to the others that you weren't feeling well and were holing up in your room. Nursing your hangover, more like. Alastor too had suffered a minor headache, left over from his frivolities with Rosie. Frustrated, he had turned his mind to other matters. Or tried to, at least.

But now, a whole day later, with still no response? Alastor cannot think of anything else. The whole plan will be for nothing if you have changed your mind; this is what weighs heavily on him now. He considers sending an additional letter, but swats this idea away almost as soon as it enters his mind; no. Best not look too desperate, that's not his style.

Alastor supposes he should just get on with his day. He heads downstairs, hoping that maybe he may find you with the others; instead, Charlie bounds over to him as soon as he manifests in the lobby.

"Alastor, there you are!" She says, beaming at him. He grins back, a little tensely. "Can I uh, talk to you? For a moment?"

"Of course, my dear! Whatever you need; I am all ears," Alastor says then, voice booming; as if he is a stage actor suddenly remembering his lines.

"Great, great," Charlie says, and she gestures him over to a quiet corner. "So, uh. I have something I need to, um, run past you."

"Spit it out why don't you, my dear? I'm quite a busy man, you know."

"Right, yes!" Charlie says, nervous. "Sooooo, about the ball. I know I mentioned this before, but… there is going to be some… media, presence, at the event…"

Alastor's eyes narrow and there is a crackle of feedback. Charlie looks at him with apprehension in her eyes.

"…I know, you don't exactly… get on, with uhh… how can I put this," Charlie falters. "The leader, of, uh, VoxTek Enterprises…"

Alastor's grip on his staff tightens. But he remembers his role.

"Charlie, really, you needn't worry!" He says, tone cheery. "I understand completely. In order to maximise the publicity, I know that there must be certain… undesirables, present on the night. I am well aware of how these things work, you know!"

"You… are?" Charlie says.

"Of course! I'm sure everyone will be on their best behaviour, myself included," Alastor says, slightly sassily. "What's a single evening of tolerating my enemies in close proximity? Why, that's child's play. Ha! I do it every day. Pay it no mind."

"You're sure?" Charlie says, unconvinced but looking a little relieved.

"I am quite sure," Alastor says. "I am perfectly capable of handling myself with decorum."

"Oh, that's… that's great! I'm so relieved," Charlie says, and she babbles on for a little bit before Alastor cuts her off.

"Tell me, Charlie; have you seen Verity anywhere yet this morning?"

"…and I was so worried and— Verity?" Charlie says, her expression betraying her curiosity. "She's out with Vaggie running errands, I'm about to go join them… Why?"

"Oh, no reason," Alastor says, inspecting a hand. "Just keeping tabs on our newest arrival."

"Oh," Charlie says, letting out a short breathy laugh. "Can you believe she's almost already been here for three weeks now? I think she's doing really well!"

"Mmm, I quite agree," Alastor says, but he's distracted. "Well I shall leave you to your chores! Mustn't let the day get away, you know."

Alastor bids Charlie farewell; as soon as he is alone, he liquidates into shadow and rematerialises in his radio tower. He needs to think.

Of course, he knew Vox and the other Vees will be present at the event already; it doesn't sit with him comfortably at all, but… At the very least, might it not be some entertainment? After all, Alastor delights in any opportunity to torment Vox, and he seems to do that just by existing. And what was it Rosie had said? That it would drive Vox mad to see Alastor there, with a date dangling on his arm?

Alastor sits at his control station; the familiar environment of his radio studio eases his turbulent thoughts a little. It's even grander now than it had been before. With the rebuild of the hotel, his radio tower had been re-made; now it's a pristine fortress of crimson glass windows and polished surfaces.

He reclines back into his chair; it lists a little under his weight. The plan to taunt Vox will only work if you are willing; if you actually agree to be his date. With just under two weeks to go until the event, Alastor has no more time left to waste. He needs to cement this as soon as possible.

Infuriating creature - why didn't you simply reply?! Alastor's lack of control over your actions fills him with ire. He cannot keep turning to Rosie for advice; she will simply continue to make all the… real parts feel too real.

A flash of thought enters Alastor's mind then, and his reflexes aren't quite fast enough to repress it from transcending into the forefront; his mother would know what to say.

Alastor flinches, his ears flattening; a visceral reaction to being confronted by his grief. His grief, which normally lays dormant, suppressed; confined to the deepest recesses of his mind. He is furious to be accosted by the feelings, the sadness of his loss; he snarls to himself. He wants to kill something. He wants to tear flesh in his fangs and feel blood running down his throat. His claws tighten on the armrests of his chair.

Alastor calms himself with effort; he squeezes his discomfort back into its prison cell, repressing it with practiced skill back into the dark, gloomy depths of his psyche. No; violence will not do, not now. Not with you in consideration; he needs to keep his hands clean for the moment. At least, until he bores with the game. What he needs now is patience, and cunning. For now he will plan; he will keep his mind busy with musings and stratagems. For that is all he can do.

---

You get in after a long day of running errands with Charlie and Vaggie; you'd visited suppliers, collected materials and taken inventory of the various items needed for the ball. A busy and productive day; and fun, too. Charlie and Vaggie are both good company, and you enjoy the talks you have with them. Nice to have some girl time. Of course, you didn't mention Alastor, or Adam; but when Charlie mentioned the Radio Demon once or twice, you found your ears perking up regardless.

Happy to be back at the hotel now, you have a quick dinner. You laze around a little with the gang in the lounge, watching awful shows that make you all yell at the TV and fall about laughing. When it starts to get late, you wish everyone a good night and head up to your room.

Despite being exhausted from rushing around all day, you find yourself unable to sleep. You scroll on your phone for a while mindlessly, then try in earnest to get some sleep. You move around restlessly for some time, trying to think of relaxing things and attempting to still your mind. You sit up, frustrated, and check the time: 00:38am. You sigh.

You realise with a slow, creeping sensation that your unrest is perhaps due to your unfinished business with Alastor; you still haven't replied to his letter. You feel a small twinge of guilt, then. It seems a little cruel to leave him in suspense out of your own cowardice.

You get out of bed. Leaving the warmth of your comforter makes you shudder a little, so you put on a pair of black leggings underneath your baggy t-shirt. You sit at your vanity (which is more frequently double-timing as a writing desk these days) and put together a note.

Hi Alastor

Sorry I'm sending this so late, I can't sleep. I realise I never got back to you, please forgive me. Can we arrange to meet, maybe tomorrow? We can talk about it then.

Verity

You fold the note and release it into the box. Within moments, you have a reply floating before you. It makes you jump with how quickly it manifests before you, and you hope you didn't somehow wake him. It's not even in an envelope; it's merely a folded piece of note paper.

I am also unable to rest. Would you care to join me now, in my radio tower?

You notice that Alastor didn't even address or sign-off the note; the handwriting looks even more ramshackle than usual. He wrote that in a real hurry. Then your brain processes what he's said; join him? In his radio tower?

"Oh god," you say out loud, unsure of what to do. You tear off a small piece of paper and write a quick reply:

I don't know the way

You watch it disappear, and another response appears within the minute.

Not to worry; I shall send my shadow to collect you.

"Oh GOD," you say, rambling out loud to try and calm yourself. "Okay, alright, fuck. This is happening, okay."

You quickly glance at yourself in the vanity mirror and adjust your hair, fluffing it up. You put on a large, baggy cardigan; it's thick, black, cable-knit wool. Good enough.

A few moments later, you see a darkness curling out from the gap under your door; you open it, revealing Alastor's sharp-fanged shadow grinning at you on the carpet. It moves in an uncanny glide on the floor, expecting you to pursue it; so you do. You follow it up several staircases, all the way to the very highest floor of the hotel; down a narrow corridor, then out a door. The night air hits you in the face as you realise you're stood outside the hotel, on what looks like a metal-framed fire exit. The shadow moves in a long slick line down a thin ironwork bridge; you're thankful that your legs are nimble as you follow, stepping carefully on the precarious bridge.

You look up; before you is a gorgeous red tower, crystalline and shining with scarlet glass. A huge antler-like antennae juts out on one side. The shadow is waiting for you at the tower's base; you can see there are steps that lead up to a hatch.

You tread lightly upwards, and the hatch door opens for you; Alastor's shadow swishes past you to return to its master, who is stood waiting for you. He stretches out a hand to help you up into the tower, and you take it, grateful for the stability. You release his hand once you're safely in the room; your fingers flex a little.

You notice then; Alastor is dressed differently. He's wearing a maroon turtleneck sweater over his shirt, and his usual monocle isn't present on his face. His hair looks a little more unkempt than typical, as if he's been running his hands through it. He looks a little tired.

"That's new," you say, rushing to say something out of nervous compulsion. You gesture to the knitted sweater.

"Ah, hmmm," Alastor acknowledges. "I tend to feel the cold this late at night, don't you?"

"I guess so," you say. "It looks nice."

Alastor grins.

"Would you care to join me on the balcony? It's not large by any means, but, the view is quite spectacular," he says.

You nod, and he slides open a glass door. It leads out on to a very slim balcony; it's only really enough space for two people to stand and lean against the railing. Which is what you do.

You have to admit; the view is incredible. Below you, the city sprawls out and is visible even from the hill that the hotel sits upon. You can see the lights of buildings, cars moving in the distance; it's breathtaking. You carefully lower yourself to a sitting position - there's just enough room for you to do so, and you let your legs dangle through the wide gaps in the railing. It feels as if you are floating on top of the world.

Alastor watches you, and he follows suit; he crouches at first, then he slips his legs through the railing as you have. He looks a little unsure of the arrangement, but his smile is fastened tight as always. You sit together for a moment, quietly appreciating the view; you are the first to break the silence.

"So," you start. "Your… letter."

"Mmmm," Alastor hums, still looking out to the city.

"You're… interested, in me?" You ask, voice cracking just a little.

"I am," Alastor says, and he turns to look at you then. His expression is relaxed.

"In… in a more-than-friends way?" You say, seeking clarification.

"Yes," Alastor says, and he nods. "Is that… alright?"

You look away then; embarrassed. You grip a piece of railing with a hand and hope that the night air cools your face, which is rapidly growing warmer with blush.

"Yes," you say, quietly. "It's… yes, it's more than alright."

"Then I am content," Alastor says.

There's a break in the conversation for a moment; you can hear sirens in the distance. You let a leg sway in the air idly, enjoying the sensation of how the breeze swooshes around it.

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you, actually," Alastor says then.

"Oh?" you say, turning to look up at him.

"I was wondering if you would consider being my date for the upcoming ball?"

The question seems obvious once it's out there, but you find yourself surprised all the same.

"Oh! Wow, um… yes, I'd… Yes, I'd like that," you say.

"Wonderful," Alastor says, and he returns his gaze to the view. "I'm sure it will be a night to remember."

Your body is alive with the buzz of adrenaline and energy; you can't believe what just happened. The knowledge that Alastor just asked you out refuses to sink into your consciousness; you feel a little derealised, like this isn't actually happening. But… you are pleased, all the same. And excited.

You look up at the Radio Demon sitting next to you; he is watching the city move beneath you through low-lidded eyes, his smile soft and close-mouthed on his face. He looks a little thoughtful, maybe even slightly subdued. The temptation to ask him what he's thinking about creeps up on you, but before you can speak, he does first.

"I should probably warn you, Verity. I am… this is a relatively new venture for me. I do not possess extensive experience in… romantic, matters. I am likely to make missteps," he says.

You are taken aback slightly by how soft his tone is, and the vulnerability of his confession.

"It's alright," you say, with a kind smile. "I don't either. Have much experience, I mean."

Alastor turns to you then, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Oh?" He says.

"Mmm. Yeah. It just never happened for me in life." You say this with a shrug, and you look out at the view.

"May I ask how old you were when you died?" Alastor says.

"I was 29."

Alastor hums a sound of sympathetic acknowledgment.

"I find it quite hard to believe that no one indicated any interest in you in all that lifetime," he says.

You laugh.

"Oh, they did. I'm just… I was just never interested in anyone myself. I never had those feelings. I guess... I just never found the right person."

"Hmm. I can understand that." Alastor says.

There's another comfortable silence as you both look out to the city. The air smells that way that night air does; clean, crisp and addicting. You breathe it in deeply. It fills your lungs, cool and fresh. You revel in the feeling. A thought occurs to you then.

"But the song?" You say, turning to look at the demon beside you. "The song you wrote? It sounded like a song written for someone you loved. I thought a lover, maybe…"

Alastor lets out a dry, short laugh.

"Not quite, but you're not entirely wrong," he says, and he lets out a sigh, still looking out at the view. "I wrote that song for my mother, actually."

Oh.

"I'm sorry… Did she—" you start.

"Yes. And no; she's not here."

There's a pause; you feel awful.

"I'm really sorry," you say, after a beat. "I… I lost my father. I assume he's up there too."

You gesture with an upwards nod towards the unsaid other place. Alastor looks at you then.

"You should be too, by all accounts," he says.

"That's kind of you to say," you say, letting out a shaky laugh. "But I don't think so. I did some bad things."

Alastor scoffs a little, eyeing a helicopter in the distance.

"I think your concept of bad things is a little skewed, dear. Accidentally causing the death of others is hardly a—"

"Hold on, I never told you about any of that," you say.

Alastor tenses and his eyes widen, his ears rigid.

"Oh god," you say, but you're laughing. "You heard me, that time I was talking to Angel? And Husk, at the bar?"

Alastor's pupils glide to you, but his head is frozen facing forward. His grin is strained; you can't help but giggle. He looks the very image of someone who just got busted.

"See? This is why I think things like the walls have ears," you say, and he lets out a small relieved laugh then.

You watch as his expression relaxes somewhat.

"I may or may not have been in the lounge at the time," he says, sassily. "I happen to have exceptionally good hearing."

"Uh-huh," you say, but you're not cross. "Any other eavesdropping sessions I should know about?"

Alastor considers this for a moment, his hand on his chin.

"I don't think so. Oh! No, wait. Yes. That time you were inebriated and waxing lyrical about elk. That was a highlight," he says, grinning widely. "But I was sat on the other side of the room, in eyeshot no less. You can hardly blame me for that one."

You groan, embarrassed. You drag at your cheek with a hand.

"You probably think I'm an idiot," you say.

"Not at all! It was quite charming, really," Alastor says. "You are very informed about wildlife. You must have been passionate about it."

"I do love animals," you concede, with a shrug.

There's another break in the conversation, but it's not awkward. You do feel a little self-conscious at knowing Alastor had heard you, especially as he himself has deer-like features; which you'd thought about, of course. You'd found yourself many times admiring his ears, and noting how his antlers had grown that one time he'd had that outburst. He certainly doesn't have the mannerisms of someone who had been meek or preyed upon in life, though, you muse.

Sure; he shares some traits with the real animal. At least, as far as you've observed; he's attentive, quick to react. Cautious. Alert. He carries himself with a delicate but slightly manic energy. He's hard to get close to. But you suppose that's where the similarities end.

You find yourself ruminating on what he could have been like in life; had he been very different to how he is now?

"Alright, so you know why I'm here," you say then. "Why are you?"

Alastor looks a little stiff, and you feel suddenly rude for asking.

"It's okay," you say hastily. "You don't have to tell me."

He looks at you then.

"I can understand your curiosity," he says, carefully.

"Mmm," you agree. "But you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. Everyone is here for a reason… If this really is to be a fresh start, then part of that should be getting to leave that behind."

Alastor muses on this; he lets out a soft hmmm.

"It's a novel idea," he says then. "I fear it would not apply to me. I think you'd agree, if I told you."

"Well, try me," you say, shrugging.

Alastor looks conflicted; his pupils dart around a little. He runs a hand through his fringe, then sighs.

"Would you mind if I didn't, in this moment?" He says then, meeting your eyes. "I fear you will not see me the same way… I'd like to enjoy our time together without spoiling it. At least, for a little longer."

You look up at him; you see earnestness in his eyes. You choose to trust him.

"Of course," you say, kindly. Then, with a little more of a smirk, you add: "Alright. How about we make a deal?"

Alastor's eyes widen a little, but his brows are raised in amusement.

"My my, Verity! I didn't take you for a dealmaker," he says. You laugh.

"Nothing serious," you say. "Why don't you tell me after the Hell Belle ball? That's, what… about two weeks away? Meanwhile we can enjoy… seeing, each other, without you having to worry about it. And you can tell me then, if you feel comfortable."

"I think I can work with that," Alastor says. "You have a deal."

"Not for your soul, though?" You say, joking. Alastor reacts with a loud HA!

"A little early in the game for that, my dear!" he says cheerfully.

You laugh together then.

"I'm sorry about my… uh… drunken note, the other night," you say then, feeling enough at ease to bring it up. "Not my finest moment."

Alastor waves a hand in dismissal.

"Oh, nonsense," he says. "I'll hear nothing more said about it. It was endearing, I assure you."

You make a noise that's somewhere between a cough and a laugh.

"Hmm," you say, unconvinced. "And you? Where were you that night?"

Alastor smirks to himself.

"I was out, actually. Meeting with my good chum, Rosie."

Your ears perk up then.

"Oh! Of Cannibal Town?" You say.

"Mmm. The very same. She did mention she'd met you," Alastor says, his eyes half-lidded.

"Yes," you say, enthused. "I adored her. She's wonderful."

Alastor seems pleased at this; his grin widens.

"Isn't she? Hmm. I would say she's the only true friend I have in this place."

He looks out at the stretch of Hell before you both; you can't help but feel there's a tinge of sadness in his tone.

"I'd like to be another, if you'll let me," you say, meaning it.

Alastor hums a quiet approval, still looking out. You look at his face then; noticing how his hair falls against the skin of his cheek. His eyelids are low and lazy, his smile is soft. You find yourself resisting the urge to brush his hair from his face.

You're not sure if it's the lack of sleep, or the leftover adrenaline in your veins, but you find yourself voicing the thought that comes to you impulsively.

"You really are quite beautiful, you know," you say.

Alastor immediately whips his head towards you, his ears are alert, flicking; his eyes wide.

"Oh my god," you say, looking away. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I said that, ignore me, I'm sorry, I'm just tired, I guess, argh."

"No, it's quite alright," Alastor says, and you risk a look at him; he still seems tense but he smiles at you genuinely. "I'm flattered you think so, my dear."

You blush; looking away. Your heart thuds against your ribcage.

The two of you sit there for a little while longer, in peaceful quiet, watching cars and demons in the distance. Eventually, you start to get sleepy; you slump, your body leaning against Alastor's, your head on his shoulder. That's the last sensation you remember; at some point, you fall asleep. You wake some hours later - still very early morning - in a startle; finding yourself in your own bed.

You think for a wild moment that maybe you dreamed it all; and then you realise you're still wearing the cardigan, and you see the notes on your vanity. It had been real.

You let yourself succumb back to sleep then; thoughts full of the events of the night. Thoughts of crisp air and distant lights.

And thoughts of a hand; his hand. How it had felt in your own, as he'd helped you up those steps.

A gentle feeling of longing permeates your dreams.

Chapter End Notes

DATING START!
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All getting a bit real now, pals, ain't it? :))))

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Kill V. Maim

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Anthony looks in the mirror and likes what he sees; his hair is quaffed to perfection, his gold tooth glitters appealingly. His outfit hugs his body, his makeup is applied pristinely; his sex appeal is effortless.Anthony admires himself in his vanity mirror; Angel Dust looks back at him.

He's distracted from his preening when his phone begins to vibrate on his dresser. He gawks at it; it's Valentino.

"Oh fuckin' what now?" Angel says, but he picks up anyhow. "Val, hey…"

Valentino's venom-laden voice seeps through into Angel's ear like toxic nectar.

"Angellll, baby," Valentino coos. "What are you doing right now?"

"Nothin'," says Angel, truthfully. A sick knot of dread starts to twist in his gut. He paces his room, his middle set of arms gripped around his abdomen.

"How dull," Valentino says. "Well, turns out I don't need you tonight, change of plans."

"Oh yeah?" Angel says, suspicious but hopeful.

"Mmm. Vox wants to see us for some emergency meeting."

Angel hears the sound of Valentino inhaling on his cigarette; he almost feels the smoke down his neck as he hears the exhale.

"Oh, that's… That's too bad," Angel says.

"It's a travesty, yeah," Val says, sarcastically. "So I'll see you tomorrow, mi amorcito. I guess you have some play time on your hands, hmm? You going to do anything fun?"

Angel swallows tightly.

"Uh, yeah, I'll… I'll figure somethin' out," he says.

"Mmm. Something with your little friends, I bet?" Val goads. "What's the Radio Demon up to lately? Has he finished bleeding yet?"

Angel grimaces.

"He's fine," Angel says tensely, and without thinking, he adds: "He's busy with the newbie."

"Ohhhhh?" Val says, finally interested in the conversation. "I didn't realise you had carne fresca up for grabs. Alastor's got himself a little hobby, has he? Good for him! Maybe he'll finally get that stick out of his ass."

Angel mentally swears at himself for giving Val any kind of new information. His mind is scattered as he thinks of a recovery.

"He's just doin' his job," Angel says.

"Well that's understandable. And I expect to see you here tomorrow to do yours, hmm?" Val breathes down the phone.

"Yes, Val," Angel says. "I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Ciao, baby," Val says, and he hangs up.

Angel looks at himself in the mirror again; Anthony smiles back. Weakly.

For today, at least - he is free to do what he likes. He takes a quick look at the time - it's only early afternoon. A night off! What a goddamn luxury. Angel lets out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in, feeling relieved. He heads downstairs to the lobby to see what's going on; the answer is, not much. He spots Husk at the bar, and he makes his way over in long spindly strides.

"Hey," he says, nodding upwards in a greeting to Husk. "Where is everyone?"

Husk greets him in response and then shrugs.

"No fuckin' clue. With that damn ball to plan for, everyone's always comin' and goin' doin' some bullshit job lately."

Angel laughs and takes a seat at the bar.

"But not you, eh Whiskers?" He says. Husk is already making him a drink; a martini.

"I already did my part," Husk grunts. "Until the actual night itself, I mean."

"Yeah, me too," Angel says.

"You killin' time before work?" Husk asks.

"Val gave me the night off," Angel says, puffing his chest and stretching his arms. "Some bullshit about a meeting."

Husk makes a non-committal sound, but he looks pleased; he's cheered by the unsaid fact that sits between them now. Unsaid, because it doesn't need to be announced; the fact that Angel will now undoubtedly spend the rest of his afternoon, evening and night glued to Husker's side, either at the bar or in the lounge.

Husk's mood is substantially improved.

"Well, cheers to that," he says, and he clinks a bottle against Angel's glass with a grin.

"I'll fuckin' say," Angel says. "I really needed a break. Shit's good timing."

The two of them enjoy each other's company in an easy routine. They discuss a myriad of things; some of it absolutely nothing at all, just meaningless conversation about trivial matters. Things Angel saw online and shows to Husk. Little observations Husk noticed while behind the bar that he fills Angel in on (which can almost be construed as gossip) and that Angel laughs at. Angel's laughter is a tonic to Husk's ears; it soothes him like the tones of a harp.

They banter back and forth with their trademark mixture of bickering and flirting. Angel's heart is full, and so is his glass - thanks to Husk's attentive top-ups. A little tipsy, they both lean on the bar, sharing a joke over how Niffty had left a graveyard of roaches on Charlie's bed as a peace offering.

Husk's warmth covers Angel in comfort like an open fire. He could bask in-front of him forever, feeling more like his true self than he does with anyone else. When Husk makes a smart comment, Angel grins back; and Anthony's boy-heart does backflips in his chest.

After a couple of hours, they are absolutely where they both most love to be; entrenched in their own little world. Absorbed in each other's company and gazes. Husk feels brave now; he's been waiting for a moment like this. Just quiet ease between them; no racket, no… anyone else, to spoil the moment. He pounces while he can.

"Hey, uh. About that ball," Husk starts.

"Mmm?" Angel says. His body is languid with relaxation and contentment.

"I was wonderin'… You, uh. You goin' with anyone?" Husk says, and Angel spots the blush a mile away.

"I ain't asked anyone, if that's what ya mean," Angel says, and he's teasing a little. Old habits die hard.

"Right, yeah," Husk says, avoiding eye contact. He clears his throat. "Maybe, uh. Maybe you'd wanna go with… me? I mean, as friends, if you want. Or…"

"Or?" Angel says, his eyebrow raising and a coy grin on his face. Husk looks at him then, and the fervent blush on his face is undeniable.

"Or whatever," Husk says, bottling it a little. Angel smiles wide, his teeth bared.

"I thought you'd never ask," Angel says, smirking. Husk looks alarmed.

"So, that's… You're saying yes?" He says.

"I'm sayin' yes, Whiskers," Angel says. "And I'll take the whatever option."

Angel is all teasing charm and salacious looks thrown Husk's way. Anthony is screaming internally with joy. Husk is rigid, his fur almost standing on end, and he's speechless. Angel laughs.

"What? Cat got ya tongue?" Angel teases. Husk is still blinking slowly, unsure of himself. Angel laughs, and adds: "Aw fer cryin' out loud. C'mere."

Angel moves then; he grabs Husk's bowtie and pulls him forward - gently - and shifts to close the gap between their faces.

"This okay?" He says quickly, oh-so quietly. Husk's quick wide-eyed nod is all Angel needs as confirmation.

Angel presses his lips to Husk's; he kisses him sweetly, carefully. He can feel Husk's initial tension; it eases, and then Husk is kissing Angel back. He hooks an arm around Angel's neck and almost pulls him right over the bar in enthusiasm.

After several heated beats, they pull apart, and grin at each other like idiots. Husk is laughing. Angel - Anthony - beams back at him.

"Guess I got you in the end, huh?" Angel says.

"Don't act so fuckin' smug about it," Husk says, but he's grinning.

---

You make your way down to the lobby sometime in the early evening; you hear voices at the bar. Some sign of life!

You pad your way over and notice with a jolt of fondness that both Angel and Husk are at the bar. You can't help but feel the joyous energy coming from that corner of the lobby; they both look relaxed and glowing.

"What's got you guys so happy?" You say, walking over to join them.

They both startle a little at your intrusion; it breaks them from their immersion in each other, but they smile at you in greeting.

"Oh heeeeey, Verity," Angel says. Husk throws you a wave. You notice that his bowtie looks crooked.

Both demons are looking at you with such an obvious air of contrived casualness that you put two and two together immediately. These boys, honestly.

"You, uh… You in a good mood for any reason, guys?" You say, your tone playful. You take a seat at the bar.

They both hesitate and eye each other; neither sure of how much the other wants to divulge. Angel shrugs at Husk; he shrugs back. Before either of them can speak, you cut in.

"Let me guess," you say, smiling. "Both of you have a date for the ball?"

They both look at you, sheepish.

"The date being each other?" You say, with a bug-eyed expression that says pick up what I'm putting down here, guys.

You frown, deadpan, as both let out a cacophony of scoffs and pathetic rebuttals. After a moment or two, they trail off, and you laugh.

"Nothin' gets past you, does it, kid?" Husk says, and Angel grins.

They look at each other fondly. You look away then; feeling like an intruder. But you are full of happiness for them. You can't contain your own secret for too long, though; it bubbles up and out of you unbidden.

"I've got a date too," you say, giddy.

"Ohh?" Angel says, because he already suspects who it may be.

You look up then, a shy smile on your face. Husk is leaning on the bar, propping his head up with one hand; his other is resting on the bar, palm up. You pretend not to notice how one of Angel's hands slips into it discreetly; looking so natural and at-home there.

Both demons are looking at you now, though.

"Mmhmm," you say, second guessing whether you should tell them who.

"Don't tell me its—" Angel starts.

"Ahh, ah—," you say.

"Who?" Husk says, looking at each of you in turn.

"You ain't EVER gonna believe it," Angel says.

"Angel," you try.

"Well who the fuck is it?" Husk says, confused.

"I'm right, ain't I?" Angel says then, turning to you. "It's him?"

"Who, goddamnit?" Husk says, gruffly.

You nod, grimacing a little like a guilty dog. Angel stares at you; speechless.

"I can't believe it," he says.

"Motherfucker, WHO?" Husk yells now.

"Alastor!" Both you and Angel yell back in unison, and then you look at each other; shocked for a moment, then both laughing.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Husk says, and he looks at you with genuine concern.

So you explain. You tell them everything (more or less) about last night; how sweet Alastor had been. How you are being careful. How it's just dates; nothing serious. How you're having fun.

Husk is groaning; his head in his hands. Angel sips his drink with a I'm stayin' outta this expression on his face. Both you and Angel wait for Husk's lecture.

"You know what," Husk says. "Fuck it. Power to you, kid. Hell; if anyone can be a good influence on that motherfucker then it's you."

You and Angel both look at him, surprised.

"Wait, really?" You say. Husk shrugs, grinning.

"Yeah. What do I know? And I'm in a really good fuckin' mood so. Work your magic on him kid. Maybe you're his blessin' in disguise."

Angel looks at Husk with the soppiest goddamn expression on his face; you sense your cue to leave them to it.

"Thanks," you say, smiling warmly. "I think I'll go… Uh, tidy my room. Have a nice evening, boys."

You exchange some quick goodbyes, and you leave them back in their own little bubble. Halfway up the main staircase, you chance a look back. Angel is bent over the bar, a leg raised; their faces are joined in an embrace. You smile to yourself, endlessly pleased for them.

---

Back in your room, bored, you decide to send Alastor a letter. Feeling inspired by (and slightly jealous of) Angel and Husk's… canoodling, you can't help but think about how you haven't heard from the Radio Demon all day.

You write a quick note to ask what he's up to, and you pop it in the box. You wait a few minutes; there's no reply, so you decide to have a shower to clear your head. By the time you're pacing back into the room, towel-drying your hair, there's a reply waiting for you.

Dearest Verity

I was actually enjoying some solitary brooding before you so rudely interrupted me. Pray tell, what can you offer me as recompense for such a liberty?

Alastor

You roll your eyes and let out a short laugh. That sarcastic fucker! You write back, trying to one-up his over the top, formal sass; you smirk to yourself as you jot it down.

Most Esteemed Sire,

I am terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you in such a horrific way. Truly, I have caused myself great injury knowing I have pained you so hugely.

I cannot possibly think of a token large enough to convey my misery - perhaps thou would like-eth some company this fine evening and I can try to offer entertainment?

Waiting with the utmost and warmest possible regard,

Verity

You giggle to yourself as you put it in the box. You imagine him reading it; how he will react. Will he laugh? Or will he find it obnoxious and ignore you? You don't have to wait long, as you have a reply sooner than you expect.

My dear, I thought you'd never ask. Room 333. Come whenever you are ready.

"Oh Jesus Christ," you say, both at the thought of now going to Alastor's room and at the implications of the final sentence - which you're almost certain aren't intended, but… Still.

You ready yourself then; getting dressed into a simple ensemble of a red top tucked into a black floor-length skirt. And then you're out your door; making your way up to Alastor's room. It's a short elevator ride, and your heart is in your chest as you make your way down the corridor. Locating the right door, you give it a soft knock.

Alastor opens the door; he stands before you, in his red shirt and slacks. And slippers.

"Always a pleasure to see you, my cherie," He says, and there's something in his voice you don't recognise at first. "Please, come in."

And then you see it; there's a slight wince on his features. Imperceptible to most, but you have a keen eye for these things. He's in pain.

You do as instructed and enter his room. It's like yours but a lot larger, a lot grander; with significantly more furniture. You notice some sort of swamp-like area in your periphery and you make a mental note to question that as soon as it's appropriate.

But for now you're distracted; Alastor is gripping his side with his left arm and seems unnaturally quiet.

"Are you okay?" You ask then, gesturing to his waist.

"Quite fine," he says, but his voice is strained. "Just a… headache."

"On your ribcage?" You ask, incredulous. Alastor tenses.

"Just an old wound giving me some gip," he says, through gritted teeth. "A trifle matter, I assure you."

And then you remember; the news piece. The clip that had been played over and over on that crude loop; Alastor getting brutally hit in the chest and crumpling into the wall.

"I can take a look, if you like? I'm used to treating wounds. I have a fair amount of experience assessing healing injuries."

Alastor hesitates; he smirks at you, despite himself.

"On people, or livestock?" he says, teasing, but his voice is still hoarse with pain.

You roll your eyes.

"Well, yes, sure. Mostly on the animals I tended to as a ranger. But there's a lot of transferable skills!"

"Well. If you must," Alastor says, surprising you greatly. Oh. Okay.

He moves to untuck his shirt from his waistband; alarm bells ring loudly in your mind. DING. DING. DING. He lifts his shirt up then, just one side pulled roughly up to the armpit. You don't even have time to register semi-shirtless Alastor as your eyes are immediately pulled to the huge gaping scar slashed across him; starting at the sternum and sweeping down diagonally to his waist.

"Goddamn," you say. "That must have been nasty."

"Yes, well. Let's just say this particular injury was the impetus for me reconsidering a lot of things in my life," Alastor says.

You step closer to get a better look. You touch it gently with a fingertip; Alastor hisses in pain. You utter a quick sorry and assess the scar tissue. You can see where the wound was stitched back together somehow. It's mostly fully healed, but the scar tissue is still a little raw-looking in places. You let your finger trace the outskirts of the deepest part some, tutting to yourself as you imagine how deep the wound would have been originally. Poor guy.

"It's healing fine," you say then, pulling back. "Sometimes scar tissue can just become painful in random flare ups, something to do with the nerve endings. It's nothing to worry about. There's no infection or anything. You stitched it yourself, huh?"

Alastor hmmms in response; he gives a quick nod. He lowers his shirt.

"You have quite a few scars, I've noticed," you say then, matter-of-factly. Mostly joking, you add: "You get into a lot of scraps?"

Alastor chuckles a little then.

"Something like that," he says. "Anyway. What would you like to do?"

"Well," you say. "If you're not feeling good, why don't we just relax? We can, uh… We could watch a film, or something?"

Famous last words.

---

There are three things that you hadn't expected to discover this evening. The first, that Alastor has a small lounge adjacent to his room; a lounge he uses as a private cinema, complete with an old projector and screen. The second, that he happens to have a penchant for classic cinema of a certain era; but you suppose that one isn't so surprising. The third, that Alastor hadn't been exaggerating when he said he had very little romantic experience; watching him awkwardly stumble his way through time spent alone together feels akin to watching a fawn trying to stand for the first time on new, bandy legs.

You sit together on the sofa; an old black and white film plays on the screen before you via the projector. It's a silent film, but it has an orchestral score; the dimly lit room becomes even darker in the moments the black inter-title cards flash on screen.

You can tell that Alastor is uncomfortable; and not just emotionally. He's sitting too upright, too stiff; his arm is still hooked around his waist, clearly still in pain. For goodness' sake, you think.

"Do you want to lay down?" You say, gently. Alastor looks at you then; his expression almost makes you laugh. His eyes are wide with confusion and his smile is a tight line on his face.

You pull a cushion from behind your back and place it on your lap. You give it a little pat pat.

"You can put your head on this, if you want. You might be more comfy," you try.

---

Alastor regards you with a mixture of curiosity and horror as you motion to him to lay in your lap. His thoughts are addled and slow-moving, due to the pain; but his initial instinct is to refuse you. The concept fills him with more than slight discomfort.

But then he looks at your earnest expression, your kind smile; you are well-meaning.

Strange girl, he thinks, but not cruelly.

He muses to himself what someone-who-is-dating-someone-else would do. Surely, they'd give in to the request? Mightn't he sabotage his own game if he spurns you in this moment? Alastor considers this all as quickly as he can in the moments he has before the pause is too long, too drawn out; he comes to the conclusion that he should do it.

How bad can it be? You have a caring instinct, after all; surely it's in his best interest to indulge you now? It'll further his plans. And so, he concedes.

Silently, he takes off his monocle and places it on a side table. He moves himself into a laying position, and allows his head to fall upon the cushion in your lap.

---

You watch in amazement as Alastor lowers himself to lay down on the sofa; his head comes to rest on the cushion, facing the screen. You think how he must really be hurting quite badly, as he's barely said a word. You feel a twinge of sympathy and a desire to comfort him.

Alastor's head is heavy in your lap, like a large house cat; you find it hard to focus on the film. You can feel that he's still tense on you; you surmise that he's probably not overly used to physical contact like this. It's quite cute.

His eyes are focussed on the film. You take this rare opportunity to look over his features then; the lights from the screen are dancing in reflections on his skin and in the shine of his eyes. You find your hand acts on instinct, playing out your impulse as it comes to you in real time; you reach out a hand and brush a tuft of hair from his cheek. Alastor stiffens immediately.

"Is that okay?" You ask quietly.

"It's… different," Alastor says, and his voice is unusually low. "You may continue, if it pleases you."

You return your hand to his hair, and you stroke it gently. You feel him start to relax; you take that as a good sign. You return your gaze to the film, letting your hand massage idle circles and lines against Alastor's hairline, just behind his temple.

---

The Radio Demon is feeling a number of conflicting sensations. The most prominent at present is that his pride is injured; he is supposed to be the one charming you; not the other way around! And yet here he is, putty in your hands; confounding demon that you are.

This is his game; and yet here you are, making up new rules constantly! But; he's in pain, and feeling somewhat subdued. He resolves to himself that he supposes he can leave you to enjoy your flights of fancy; for now.

After all… It is not a complete torment to endure.

In fact, your hand at his scalp is somewhat soothing. One could even get used to this, Alastor muses.

Your wayward hand finds a spot at the base of his ear; Alastor feels a slip of electricity in his nerves as he registers your thumb massaging it gently. He hates that he has to admit to himself; it feels… pleasant.

A thought drifts into his consciousness; if anyone could see him now… What an embarrassment it would be. That is what the privacy of a hotel room is meant for, though, he supposes. And anyway! Isn't this all just… pretend?

Alastor comforts himself; it's just the game. It's not real. It's not real.

Your hand strokes his ear in an upwards motion and a wave of pleasure oozes down Alastor's spine; he has to stop himself from reacting audibly.

His pride takes another swift stab to its core. He is both enraptured and infuriated.

Alastor lets you continue your motions; he decides then and there that as soon as he has his chance, he is going to settle the score.

---

You are delighted; the fur of Alastor's ears is so soft. At this point, you aren't even looking at the movie. You stay like this - with his head in your lap, your hand in his hair and at his ear - until the end of the film. Alastor sits up then, leaving your lap feeling longingly empty. He shakes out his hair a little, running his hands through it.

"I have another picture show I think you may like, if you'd care to stay a little while longer?" He says, gently.

You nod, dazed. Alastor uses his magic to lazily prepare another film, and it begins to play. To your utmost surprise, the Radio Demon takes a cushion and places it on his own lap.

"Perhaps you'd like to lay this time, hmm?" He says.

You hesitate, blushing.

"Seems only fair, my dear!" Alastor says then, and you can tell his cheeriness is a little forced.

Just be normal about this, Verity, you think to yourself.

And so you do. You lay yourself down. Slightly disappointingly, you find that Alastor does not stroke your hair. What he does do, is place his hand on your shoulder. The contact makes your skin feel like static is coursing through it.

The film is a comedy; The Kid, starring Charlie Chaplin. You recognise the iconic actor immediately. Both you and Alastor are laughing at the slapstick humour together.

"I love Chaplin," you say. "Modern Times is another one of my favourites."

You can tell Alastor is impressed; you feel the vibration of his hum of approval against the back of your head.

"We can watch that one also, if it would please you?" He says.

"Sure," you say, and you are deeply happy.

You find yourself feeling a little more confident now that you are not looking at him; with your gaze fixed on the screen, you initiate a little more conversation. You're not quite sure why you choose the topic you do; it just springs into your mind like a loose coil unfurling.

"So um. That TV demon. Who is he?"

Alastor tenses somewhat; you sense you maybe should have picked a different topic. Nonetheless, he gives you a brief summary about Vox; who he is, what he does, about the other Vees… and about Vox's personal rivalry with Alastor.

"And he'll be at the ball, I'm afraid to say," Alastor says, shifting a little to ease the pressure on his scar. "So you may have the displeasure of meeting him there."

"Hmm. I'm not sure I want to," you say. "I caught a bit of that show. He seems pretty tacky."

Alastor laughs then; bright, loud, genuine laughter. His grip on your shoulder tightens slightly.

You ease into the night together; watching a few more movies, chatting about this and that, and laughing together at the comedy on screen. At some point, you sit back up, cross-legged on the sofa; the movies become background noise as you find yourself talking about all sorts of things. You talk about music you like, other old films you happen to enjoy… You mention films Alastor hasn't seen, that you think he'd like. You both talk about Rosie for a time, and the hotel in general. Alastor tells you a little about his life on Earth; how he'd had a radio show, and where he'd grown up (New Orleans, of course.)

Eventually, you notice that Alastor looks exhausted; you suppose that he's still been in pain this entire time.

"I should head to bed, let you get some rest," you say. "But this was really nice! Thank you for having me."

"The pleasure has been all mine," Alastor says, grinning widely. "I should be feeling right-as-rain tomorrow. Perhaps I could take you out, hmm? Back to King's, in the evening?"

"Oh! The jazz club? Yes! Yes, I'd like that, very much," you say, beaming.

And with that, you make your goodbyes, and you head back to your own room.

---

Alastor closes his door after watching you leave. He heads back into the lounge to turn off the projector; the room suddenly feels very quiet and very empty.

The memory of you laying in his lap comes back to him. The memory of how when you'd made that joke at Vox's expense, his grip on you had tightened; not out of anger, but out of another… feeling. A feeling of being so pleased with you, so surprised at you. Of wanting to keep you, always; as his very own. Alastor realises he doesn't want to share you with anyone. His thoughts are a slurry of possessive sensations; he wants to hold all of you in a cage of his own making. He finds himself having thoughts of desiring your soul, wanting to consume your waking moments; wanting to keep you as his pet.

Alastor is astonished. Confused. Enamoured. Obsessed.

Tomorrow evening can't come soon enough.

Chapter End Notes

No but the song this chapter title is taken from fits Angel SO well, I was so very very pleased with myself for discovering that. I love that Grimes album a lot anyway and have listened to it for years, but !! Gosh if that ain't a good Angel song. You kidding?

"B-E-H-A-V-E arrest us
Italiana mobster looking so precious, uh
B-E-H-A-V-E never more
You gave up being good when you declared a state of war"

Like? COME ON. Give it a listen if you don't know it and tell me that I'm wrong (You're gonna look at me and you're gonna tell me that I'm wrong? Am I wrong?.gif)

It's actually on the companion playlist I made ;) There's a few other Angel tracks on there - see if you can figure them out!

Also yes we are reaching the point of the fic where we have some really excessive fluff now I'm sorry I have to feed my children while I can. Open up open up open upppp

(And enjoy it while it lasts...)

Follow me on Tumblr!
https//bapple117

Listen to the companion playlist!
https/open./playlist/1x3ekyTOV4m99gutuS6ntz?si=c21a223b516b4979

Like The Moon Needs The Stars

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The next week or so passes by you in a blur of work activities and dates with Alastor. There is, of course, the evening you spend at the jazz club; where you drink together - white wine spritzer for you, rye for him. Alastor, in hushed tones, fills you in on gossip about other demons sat in the club, which you find hilarious and giggle at profusely. You both enjoy the music, and the Radio Demon impresses you by regaling you with stories about some of the famous jazz musicians he'd met when he was alive.

Then, there is a day he takes you out for a walk though a park, where he insists on taking your arm in the crook of his own. He parades you around, chatting your ear off about this or that; other demons looking on in a mixture of fear and curious amazement.

There is a time where Alastor shows you his radio tower properly, letting you play with dials and switches. He seems especially pleased during this date, grinning madly as you express how awe-inspiring you find it all. He gives you a quick theoretical tutorial of how a broadcast is carried out, leaning over your shoulder to show you the technical methods on the control board.

One evening, Alastor takes you to a very fancy restaurant; you're a little perturbed at him ordering venison, but you decide not to read into it too much. He is friends with a cannibal, after all. Despite this, you have a wonderful evening, drinking very expensive wine and enjoying the glamour of the venue. You share quick, banter-like conversation with comfortable ease, over the flickering candles and delicate plates of beautifully presented food.

Of course, spending all this time with Alastor, you start to get some… questions. One afternoon, Charlie turns up at your room door, her smiling face full of well-intended concern. You explain that you're just getting to know Alastor better, and that everything has been very positive so far. Charlie listens, making no effort to conceal her frowns of surprise or worry; but she accepts what you say, and doesn't intrude any further.

It seems as if Charlie tells the others not to get involved either; no one asks you any more questions after that conversation. You can't help but feel it's a little unusual for her to not get overly involved with the business of others - the way that everyone talks about Alastor, you'd honestly expected an intervention. You say this much to Angel in a conversation with him, hanging out in his room - so you can see Fat Nuggets, of course - and he reassures you. He tells you a brief story about Charlie that convinces you that maybe boundaries with hotel residents is something she's actively working on. You suppose that's why she's leaving you to it; Angel agrees, but he also adds that the second Alastor fucks up, the whole hotel will be at his neck for your sake.

"Everyone here loves ya, toots," he says then, and you feel so, so lucky.

And now, you are getting ready for another evening with Alastor; it's late afternoon, and you are in your room. You're just checking yourself in the mirror, thinking some trivial thing - how you sort of miss being able to wear earrings, actually - when you feel a strange sensation at your ankles.

You glance down; it's Alastor's shadow. It's pawing at you with wispy claws, tendrils of shadow licking at you in smoky threads.

"What? What's up?" You say to it, as if it's a dog.

The shadow's expression - hard to read as it is - looks frantic and distressed. It gestures towards your door and seems to pull at one of your legs.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," you say, and you follow it.

Alastor's shadow leads you up the now-familiar route to his radio tower; this time, there is no help with opening the hatch door. You push the heavy door upwards on its hinge and climb into the room. The shadow moves across the floor in a black expanse; it guides you to the real Radio Demon, sat on the floor in a corner.

Your eyes widen in horror as you see a trail of blood.

"Alastor!" You say, breathless, and you hurry to be beside him.

He's bleeding from a gash in his arm, and his mouth; blood is dripping down his chin in fat drops. One of his eyes looks bruised; his monocle is broken. You remove it from his face gently, and he looks at you then. He regards you with an unreadable expression, but you sense he's surprised to see you. He's still smiling, but his eyes betray his true feelings; they are creased with anger and pain. His ears are flat against his head. Your heart is racing.

"What h-happened?" You say, eyes scanning him for further injuries. "What happened, Alastor?"

"Just a little… a little accident, my dear," Alastor manages, his voice weary. There's sounds of radio feedback glitching. He looks haggard.

"Don't try to pull that," you say, stern with shock. "Come on. Let's get you to your room. Can you walk?"

Alastor hesitates.

"Can you get up, Alastor?" You try again. He sighs, the exhale causing him to cough out a little blood.

He grips your arm, tightly; you feel a bizarre sinking sensation as he pulls you both into his shadow. There's a loud rushing sound in your head as blackness overwhelms you; it fills your tender ears with an intense screeching. With heady realisation, you notice that you've materialised together into Alastor's room; you stumble as you get your balance.

Once your vision clears, you help him get to his arm chair, carefully aiding him in removing his coat first. Your instincts take over in a rush of adrenaline; you gently roll up his shirt sleeve to assess the wound. It's a deep, gory slash; the open flesh of his forearm glistens before you, red and ripe. You inhale sharply through your teeth.

"I'm going to get you cleaned up, okay? Then you're going to tell me what happened," you say, and Alastor is too exhausted to offer a rebuttal.

You manifest a first aid kit from subspace with a gesture - earning a small eyebrow raise from Alastor, despite himself - and you rifle through its contents. The injury on his arm seems like the most urgent matter, so you tend to that first. You wipe it clean of blood as much as you can, then disinfect it with antiseptic solution, uttering repeated apologies to Alastor as he growls in pain. You work quickly, remembering times you'd treated wounds on creatures before. Using skin-closure strips, you cover the gash with them to hold the split flesh together; you then cover the whole wound with soft gauze.

Once you are satisfied with that, you look at Alastor's face. His eyes stay fixed on you as you softly grab his chin and turn his head this way and that, looking for any other wounds. He seems to have stopped bleeding from his mouth, as far as you can tell; you make a quick trip to his bathroom and return with a warm, dampened flannel.

You wipe the mixture of dried and still-wet blood from his face, carefully.

"This truly isn't necessary, dearest," Alastor says, but he makes no motion to stop you.

"Hush," you say. "Hush now."

---

Alastor watches as his precious pet fusses over him; watches as you cleanse his face with meticulous detail. Sweet thing that you are; of course you are eager to help him.

Usually after an altercation, Alastor simply retreats to his quarters and fixes himself up as best he can, hiding himself away so no-one witnesses him in a weakened state. But now, here you are; attending to him with care and urgency. His chest swells with affection for his darling plaything.

He's more than a little annoyed; of course. This isn't the image he's trying to present; all the courtship thus far has hinged on Alastor's strengths. Performance. Showmanship. Charm. He's wined and dined you; shared small glimpses of his prowess.

But now here he sits; injured, vulnerable. Letting you take over. He's surprised to find that his hurt pride and irritation are somewhat eased at the sight of your devotion to him; you'd wasted no time in rushing to his side. His shadow had acted autonomously, fetching you; but Alastor supposes that a small part of him had desired for you, and the comfort that you bring.

His sweetest Verity.

The fight had been wholly unexpected; Alastor had spent his morning at an Overlord meeting. It had just been a standard catch-up type ordeal; Alastor had taken his usual seat next to Rosie. They'd chatted a little while, and Alastor had been both disappointed and relieved to find Vox not present. Vox had sent Valentino instead, who sat at the table smirking, rarely contributing, and taking huge drags of his cigarette in its holder.

After the meeting, Alastor had made promises to Rosie to come visit her soon - and update her on his endeavours with you - and then he had begun his walk back to the hotel, a pep in his step as he planned where to take you that evening.

Distracted with his thoughts of you, Alastor had failed to notice the group of demons ready to ambush him. He was pulled into an alleyway, and then he'd reacted with quick instincts; the demons upon him in a swarm, about eight of them. Alastor had grown in size, had crushed several of them; one demon with a large scythe-like arm had caused the gash in his arm.

Alastor had growled, and a black tentacle had immediately stretched out and destroyed the demon in a vice grip. Alastor tore demon flesh between his teeth; and when the fight was won, he had retreated, travelling within his shadow until he had reached the sanctuary of his tower.

And now, Alastor is confronted with a bitter truth; that his enjoyment of you is making him… careless. He'd been worried about this; he knows that distracting oneself with the frivolities of companionship can make one vulnerable and prone to mistakes. It's something he's avoided his whole life; save for the kindred spirit he found in Rosie, his parental affection of Niffty, and the… friendships, he allows himself at the hotel. Friendships that he tells himself are mere advantageous, shallow entertainment.

But now, with you; you are different. This had started as a game, and it still feels just as fun as one; but the rules have shifted, slightly. Alastor regards you as his true… possession now. Even after only just over a week of courtship, the Radio Demon is consumed with his own feelings of obsession; the pleasure that having you near him brings. He's not willing to give that up. He'll simply have to get sharper.

He rationalises it to himself in the way he does with all things, so that he still sees himself as having the upper hand. You are his pet. What he'd really like - what he tells himself he should want - is your soul. A deal to have your soul, why - that would be the perfect way to keep you on his leash. Forever.

And yet… There are softer feelings, too. Affection. Fondness. Amusement at your jokes; wonder at your knowledge on shared interests. He fills with joy when he does something that pleases you; when he is the cause of your smiles. And Alastor has begun to… appreciate, the smaller details about you. Your fine little rabbit-like ears, and how they twitch and turn; your wide eyes and how endearingly they stare up at him. He's found himself wondering what your true demon form will look like; how gorgeous you'll be in your rage, should it emerge.

You break his reverie now; your voice wading through to him like a soft bell, breaking through his wandering thoughts.

"Okay, I think you're okay," you say to him, and you dump the bloodied flannel in a bowl.

You kneel at his feet.

"You gonna tell me what happened?" You say, your eyes adoringly open and earnest.

Alastor can't help himself; he reaches out a hand and caresses the back of your head. Your slight surprise is delectable, but you lean into his palm, resting your cheek on the arm of the chair. The comfort of the contact somewhat eases the dull aches and stings all over his body.

"I was ambushed," he says then, simply; your expression is ablaze with fresh concern.

Oh, my sweet. Look how much you care.

"Ambushed?" You repeat.

Alastor hums.

"It would appear Vox's little show may have given others false hope," he says.

You seem to consider this for a moment.

"You mean, when you got hurt? You think… you think other demons are trying to get a hit in, that kind of thing? Inspired by that?"

"Perhaps."

"But that was… that was an angel," you say, the unsaid implication sitting in the air between you.

Another demon couldn't take him down, surely?

Alastor sighs.

"It's no matter for your concern, my sweet," he says, and your ears prick slightly at the new endearment. Alastor is pleased. "I will handle it."

"And the demons? The ones that attacked you, where are they no—"

"All taken care of," Alastor says, cutting you off. "They won't be returning."

You pause then; Alastor hopes you drop the line of inquiry. He doesn't particularly wish to assault your frail little ears with the grisly details; but should you ask it of him, he won't spare you the truth. Should you beg him to know, he will submit.

For whatever reason, you decide to drop it, and Alastor is relieved.

"Okay," you say, softly. "I'm just glad you're alright."

---

Alastor's blood is still all over your hands, and you notice this now with sudden clarity.

"I'm just gonna go wash up," you say, and he nods.

You head into his bathroom, taking the dirtied flannel and bowl back with you. You wash your hands carefully, watching as blood mixes with soap and water, then glides down the drain. You allow yourself a few deep breaths to steady yourself, still shaken. It had almost ruined you to see Alastor like that; you're surprised at this.

You mean, of course; you care about him. You like him oh-so-much; your girlish crush has only grown in spades over the course of the last week. But you are still taken aback at how terrified you'd been to see him, injured and dripping gore. But then - you'd have felt that way to see any of the friends you've made in that position.

When you leave the bathroom, you're startled to see Alastor stood in the middle of the room. You tut to yourself.

"You should really sit down and rest," you say, but he shakes his head.

Alastor steps over to you then; he grabs your chin in his hand. Your pulse races.

"Thank you, for taking such immaculate care of me, my dear," Alastor says, his voice low and practically purring into your ear. "I believe that calls for a reward."

You can barely breathe; words fail you, and you inhale sharply as he leans forward. He places a quick, chaste kiss on your cheek.

Alastor pulls back; his height looms over you a little with him stood this close. He looks a little tense, but his expression his clear; he's scanning your reaction, pupils fixed on you.

You're almost positive that he must be able to hear how fast your heart is beating. You're entirely flustered.

"D-don't mention it," you say, your voice barely audible. Your blush burns within your skin. Alastor grins wide.

"My, my," he says, teasing. "Such a reaction for such a small token of my gratitude!"

You laugh nervously, looking away.

"I wonder what would happen if I was to give you a real kiss?!" Alastor says then, in a cheerful, casual way. "Hmm! I think I'll keep that for another day."

He moves to turn away; your thoughts feel like goop in your skull. You imagine that your mind might just start leaking out of your ears any second; you are a mess of hormones and emotions.

"Actually, on second thought," Alastor says then.

He turns back to you, grabbing you by the small of your back and pulling you towards him in one fell swoop. Your nerves are buzzing with the thrill of it, and before you have time to really comprehend what is happening, Alastor kisses you properly on the mouth.

It's just a kiss on the lips; closed, a little rigid, but. Oh god. It's… good. There's a slight taste of blood still, but you don't mind; you kiss him back, matching the movements of his mouth in harmony.

Alastor pulls away and you repress the urge to whine in reluctance at the parting. He's once again assessing your reaction. You can't stop the breathless giggle that leaves your lips; you are smitten.

"I believe that suffices adequately, hmm?" Alastor says, his smile cunning but pleased.

"Yes," you say, still giddy. "It… s-suffices."

"Good. Now I don't know about you, my dear, but I'd quite like a drink."

---

You're sitting together in his room; Alastor had manifested a second armchair for you, but you'd insisted on sitting on the floor near him instead. It just felt more comfortable.

His fireplace is lit with green flames, and you both have a drink; red wine for you - a little on the nose, given the gore earlier - and a tumbler of rye for Alastor. He relaxes as he sips his whiskey, and you are feeling good, too. Very good, in fact. Content and full of girlish, happy, nervous energy.

"I was quite impressed at you using your powers, my sweet," Alastor muses, tone light. "When did you learn to do that?"

"Huh?" You say then, not following. Alastor laughs. The green glow of the fire flickers in reflections in his eyes.

"When you produced the medical supplies," he says. "You've learnt how to bring items into manifestation."

"Oh!" You say, realising he means the subspace magic. "Yeah. I, uh… figured it out."

"Very well done," Alastor says, approvingly. "Such a smart little thing you are."

Praise from Alastor feels like winning the lottery; it sits in your chest like golden treasure, filling you with joy and warmth.

"You need to warn me the next time you're gonna do that shadow teleportation thing," you say then, laughing. "That felt so strange."

Alastor laughs with you.

"Not for the faint of heart, I suppose," he concedes. "I shall be sure to give you ample forewarning next time, my dear."

You talk a little on other things then; demon magic, the powers Alastor has, the potential that you may have. Alastor rambles on a little, talking animatedly at how he'd be eager to guide you into discovering more of your own demonic power. Truthfully; you are only half listening. You can't help yourself - you find that you're simply staring at him, luxuriating in being in his company. Thinking of the kiss he had given you.

But then your mind kicks into gear, and you find yourself forming coherent thoughts.

"Would it… would it help me if I was ever… in danger?" You say then. "Learning more of my… potential, I mean."

Alastor looks at you then, his expression serious. His smile is a taught closed curve.

"I won't allow that to happen," he says, bluntly. "As long as you are by my side, I won't let you come into any danger, my dear. I can assure you that."

You let out a soft hmm, comforted. But your mind still supplies you with fresh questions.

"But that attack, earlier. What if that happens again?"

Alastor sighs. He runs his hand through his hair, then seems to realise his monocle is missing.

"It was broken," you supply, following his train of thought. "I left it in the radio tower."

"Drat," he says. "No matter; I can get another. And I'll need to make a visit to the tailor, no doubt."

He takes a sip of his whiskey.

"Alastor, please answer my other question," you say, trying not to sound too pleading. "How do you know you're not going to just get attacked all the time now?"

"I strongly suspect I know who the real culprit behind it is," he says then. "If I deal with that, then… I doubt it will become an issue."

Alastor explains to you that he firmly believes that Vox is somehow involved; directly. Sure; his nasty little news bit probably has caused some damage to Alastor's reputation, but; even then. It's still unlikely that a group of low-level demons would just make an attempt on his life out of nowhere like that; no. This was orchestrated. Planned.

"And you've got history with this guy, right?" You say then.

Alastor coughs out a dry laugh; you feel like you're missing a joke somewhere.

"You could say that," he says. "We were… in business together, at one point. Many years ago. He made me an offer; I refused. He wasn't happy. There was… some messiness. I very nearly killed him, actually. He came away from it far worse off. And then I left."

You process this. Muddily, somewhere in your consciousness, you know that there are clues in the conversation that should be red flags to you; but they're faint and foggy on the horizon of your mind. It's easy enough to look away. You focus instead on the feeling of contentment that's oozing in your core.

"I suppose he's still holding a candle, so to speak," Alastor says then, and there's another boyish smirk you don't fully understand.

"That's pretty juicy," you say, giggling a little.

Alastor laughs. He hmms in response. He seems to want to drop the topic.

"Come here," he says. Your stomach lurches.

You set your wine down on the side table and shift yourself closer. Alastor has outstretched his free hand (the other is holding his glass); he's beckoning you to come to his lap. You rest your arms on his leg, letting your head fall to one side on top.

Alastor runs his hand through your curls. His movements are a little rigid - despite his charming demeanour, you can tell this is still new and a little awkward for him. Each new venture into physical contact is an experiment; a testing of waters for him.

You let your eyes close as you sigh, content. Alastor runs his hand up the back of your right ear; the sensation causes you to shiver, and your eyes are suddenly open and wide.

"No good?" Alastor says, voice low.

"No, it's… nice," you say, censoring yourself a little from divulging exactly how nice. "You just startled me."

"Payback, my dear, payback. Revenge is treat I find most appealing."

You laugh softly. You close your eyes once more and relax into Alastor's touch. He continues to stroke at your hair and ear.

"What do you have planned for tomorrow, mon petit lapin?"Alastor says.

"Hmmm. I have to work," you say, your tone laden with the implicit statement of but I wish I didn't have to.

"Mmm. That's a shame, my dear. But I suppose you are so dutiful."

"Only about a week to go until the ball now," you muse, eyes still closed.

"My sweet," Alastor says, and his voice is clear and filter-free. "I can hardly wait."

---

Later, you're back in your own room, in your bed. You try to ignore how cold and quiet the room feels.

The last week or so has gone so quickly, you're almost dizzy; it's felt like speed-running a relationship… although, you suppose, you aren't actually in a relationship. No formal conversation has been had; as far as you're aware, you and Alastor are just… seeing, each other.

And now you had shared your first kiss; the memory of it makes you squeal internally. You flail your legs free of the covers and feel a buzz of giddiness in your veins. Your cotton-poof of a tail twitches.

He kissed me.

You're not sure if Alastor had done it because he wanted to, or if he just did it for your sake; you truly can't tell. It had been a good kiss, as far as you know - it was your very first, of course. It's not like you have a lot to compare it to.

You do worry a little about the fight he'd been in. He'd obviously managed to get away, but… where were those demons now? Alastor had told you not to think about it, but… You couldn't help but feel concerned.

Something tugs at your mind then - what had Alastor said? Something about his reputation?

Other demons have alluded to this, of course; you've been warned countless times by the rest of the gang that Alastor is unusual. Messed-up. Dangerous. Without knowing the details, you want to give him the benefit of the doubt; you want to hope in the best in him. You pride yourself on how you give others a chance. You assume kindness in others unless they prove you wrong. You think this is an admirable trait to have; others would construe it for naivety.

And truly - honestly? You just want to bury your head in the sand. You're witnessing more and more indications that Alastor might have… something, else to him that you don't know. He'd been so cagey about why he's in Hell; the things that others have said… His proclivity for getting involved in violence, even if - to you - it doesn't seem to be his fault.

And you know he has a slightly… sadistic, side. When you really think about it.

But you've never been given attention like this before; you've never had someone treat you with such charm, such manners. You've honestly never had so much in common with someone before. All the things you'd liked on Earth had made you seem weird to your peers. Your tastes in old music and classic films had made you untrendy; your encyclopaedia-like knowledge on wildlife and your willingness to share it had made you intense.

And something had magnetically drawn you to him, after all; you'd had your crush long before you knew of his interest. You consider yourself a good judge of character - surely your instincts wouldn't fail you?

Those minor, nagging warning sensations; you push them away for now. You want to pretend they aren't there; you want to ignore them more than anything. Your rationality is clouded with a rush of endorphins and gooey chemicals that alter your judgement. You like him. You trust him.

You're… falling, for him. Slowly, hesitantly; but falling all the same.

And now, you're bone tired. The day has eaten at you, and now you desperately need sleep so you can be energised for tomorrow. You let yourself rest, dropping into sleep quickly. You dream of a resplendent dance floor, buttery lights bouncing off its marble surface; and you, turning, twisting, gliding, with Alastor as your dance partner.

Chapter End Notes

OH GIRL it's getting REAL

Finding the balance between writing Alastor in-character BUT also how I want to portray him is a challenge, but I hope I achieve it Like I know a lot of people are like "guys he's a manipulative murderer stop trying to make him a soft sad boy" to which I say "why not both? both is good" asgdgshdgshggfghsf

It'll aaaalll make sense when y'all see where I'm going with this. I already have it planned out AND a potential sequel fic already oh LAWD

I promise that's the last bit of nurse-trope for a while too LOL sorry can't help meself (someone pls draw fan art of Verity in a nurse uniform before my demon hand acts on impulse and I do it myself)

ALSO thank you SO much for all the comments you're all leaving, they literally have me scrumping screams into my phone screen every time I check my emails GAH. I'm so happy you're loving it and are in the sin-bin with me, ily you all 3 ANYWAY BYEEEEE

Follow me on Tumblr! (For doodles, art of Verity and more!)
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Listen to the companion playlist! (Updating with new songs as we go along!)
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Four Conversations

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Vox sips on a coffee; it tastes like black tar. It's silty and astringent in his mouth. He assesses his cohorts with tired eyes, slowly losing the will to live. Velvette is on her phone; Valentino is also on his phone. Vox sighs from his seat at the head of the meeting table. He slams his fist on the surface then; his coffee cup shudders at the impact, spilling liquid. Valentino swears under his breath. Velvette rolls her eyes.

"Yesterday," Vox begins, and he stands from his seat. "We need to discuss the findings from yesterday. Val. What - if anything - did you get from the Overlord meeting?"

Valentino sighs with camp impatience; he shrugs.

"Nothing. It was as dry as an old hooker's coño," he says. "Nothing to report."

"Hmm. And… Alastor?" Vox says.

"Oh, he was there," says Valentino. "He didn't do anything… but he was there. You want me to describe what he was wearing? Would that get you off?"

"Cute," Vox says, irritated. "But no. I know what he was wearing. Same thing he always fuckin' wears…"

Vox presses a button on a control panel. A holographic screen emerges on the centre of the table; it begins to play recorded footage of the attack on Alastor in the alleyway. Valentino and Velvette both watch in amused curiosity as it unfolds on screen; Alastor growing, manic, jaws agape. Blood and guts strewn all over. The demon that managed to carve the wound into him; its wet, garbled screams as Alastor's errant tentacle squeezes its body into oblivion.

"Well, that's one way to do bondage," Val quips.

"You did this?" Velvette says then, looking at Vox. "You hired a bunch of goons to, what exactly? Try and kill him?"

Vox laughs.

"No, Velvette, not kill him. At the moment I'm just trying to provoke him."

"Bit bloody pathetic if you ask me," Velvette says, scoffing and looking back at her phone. "Haven't we got anything other than Alastor to talk about? Chance would be a fine thing."

Vox narrows his eyes and turns off the hologram playback.

"Well, that ball is next week, and we all have to be present. I suppose we need to liaise on that." Vox says then, bored.

Velvette smirks.

"You expectin' Alastor to dance with you then, Prince Charmin'?" She says, laughing. Valentino laughs with her.

"Oooh, and then he can just stab the bitch and be done with it," Val says, cackling.

Vox's left eye is twitching.

"We can't afford to make a scene. Not with Lucifer present. Not to mention all of Hell's royalty…" Vox says, a little lost in thought.

Valentino scoffs.

"Mmm. A shame. Although from the sounds of things, Alastor's already found his dancing partner, anyway," Valentino says.

Vox's head whips around; his expression a perfect blend of intrigue, annoyance and exhaustion.

"What's that now?" He says.

"Mmmm. A little birdy told me that Alastor has his own little mascota now. Angel says they have some new stray taken in at that sad-sack hotel," Val says, checking his claws.

Velvette looks up, interested, raising an eyebrow; she begins to type on her phone, and within moments she's holding it up to the others.

"Says 'ere that he was spotted prominadin' with some slice up at Devil's Gate Park last week," she says.

Vox snatches the phone out of her hands; he's confronted with paparazzi images of Alastor. Images that show Alastor and you; your arm hooked on to his, and your face smiling up at him. Vox growls and almost crushes the phone, but Velvette's temper tantrums aren't worth it; he calms himself and hands it back to her. She retrieves it with an annoyed tut.

Vox immediately pulls back up the hologram screen, but this time he's sifting through various surveillance drone recordings of the Hazbin Hotel; he keeps going until - there! - he spots it; a shot of you and Alastor leaving the hotel together. Vox rewinds it slightly, then presses play; the clip plays out before all three of the Vees.

In the clip, Alastor is waiting for you outside the hotel doors. You emerge, he greets you - by taking your hand and kissing it - and the two of you leave together, smiling and chatting. You are recorded clear as day; your features clearly visible. Alastor, however, glitches on the screen throughout the playback.

"Who the FUCK is that?!" Vox says, enraged.

"She's actually kinda pretty," Velvette says impishly. "I could defo use her as a model. Bunny girls are very on-trend right now."

"Do bunny girls ever really go out of trend?" Valentino coos. "Every horny fucker is a sucker for a pair of bunny ears, you know."

"Will you two, PLEASE, shut the FUCK up," Vox says. He is fighting the urge to either kill or crush something; he regains his composure with effort.

"I'm sure she's no-one," Vox says then. "She's clearly just some… collateral damage, in one of Alastor's tricky little plans that he's always scheming. That fucker doesn't have any space in his non-existent heart for anyone but himself."

Valentino smirks.

"Mmm. If you say so. Or maybe he just didn't have space for you," he says. Velvette lets out a cackling laugh.

Vox grabs his still-full coffee cup and lobs it in the direction of Valentino's head; the moth demon dodges it just about, swearing curses in his mother language.

"Well then," Vox says, re-adjusting his bow-tie. "We'll see about that."

"Please tell me you're finally gonna fight him?" Velvette says. "Although, we all know how that went last time. Total shit show."

"No," Vox says, sharp grin widening. "If I can't hurt him physically at this… ball, then maybe I can torment him another way."

Valentino and Velvette look at each other.

"I don't get it," Valentino says. Vox rolls his eyes.

"I might not be able to attack him," Vox says, acid dripping from his lips. "But let's see how Alastor likes it when I take his new little toy away."

---

The Radio Demon is once again visiting with his closest friend and confidant; but times are desperate. He'd been lucky to catch Rosie about to take her break for lunch, and now they both sit at the fine table in her parlour. She listens with concern as Alastor describes the attack that took place after the Overlord meeting; she can't help but notice her friend looks a little drained of his usual pep.

"He's planning something, I'm sure of it," Alastor is saying. "Vox, I mean. I just don't know what."

"You think he's gonna try somethin' at the ball?" Rosie says. She takes a drink from her teacup.

"No," Alastor says then, squinting as he looks away. "I don't think he'll try anything at such a public affair. Not with… Lucifer, there. He'd be a fool to think that would end in anything other than flames."

"Mmm, you may be right," Rosie says.

"Something is afoot, I just don't know what it is," Alastor says, and his fist is clenched in frustration. "I'm normally always four steps ahead of him. I need to be better. I've been… distracted, I suppose."

Alastor lets out a short and huffy sigh. Rosie brightens a little then, keen for some gossip.

"Oh yeah!" She says, tone lively. "How's it goin' with the girl?"

Alastor turns to her then; his face beaming.

"It's been wonderful," he says, and Rosie is shocked to hear how much earnestness is present in his tone. "She's delectable, really. I'd say my plan has been executed with flawless ease!"

Rosie's eyebrows raise.

"And you, uh… You still like her?" She says.

"Like her?" Alastor says then, and his expression darkens. "To say so little would be an insult! Rosie, my dear; I want to consume her. I want her glued to my side so everyone can see exactly who owns her. I want to be all she thinks of, all she needs… I want to eat the heart out of her."

Rosie says nothing, stunned.

"Not literally, of course," Alastor says sassily, with a laugh. "What a waste that would be! Although I'm sure her heart would be delicious, oh-ho!"

Rosie laughs along; but she's slightly hesitant.

"It sounds like it's gettin' serious," she says. "You have proper feelings for her, then?"

Alastor scoffs.

"Well I don't know about all that love nonsense that I suppose you're insinuating," he says. "But, I will admit. This is the strongest I have ever felt about wanting to possess another… It's the most I've ever longed to own a demon's soul without destroying them. I want all of her to belong to only me, while being everything she admires and needs. I want her to worship me… but I find myself worshipping her in the process."

Rosie blinks.

"Alastor, sweetie," she says, carefully. "I hate to burst ya gory little bubble, but… that does sound like love."

Alastor snarls then, his grin curling at the edges.

"Love is a sickness that opens the foolish up to weakness," he says. "This is different. It is making me insane and elated all at once; if I am not with her, then I am thinking of her… thinking of ways to make sure she never gets away from me again."

"Love looks like a lotta different things, Alastor," Rosie says, and her tone is full of sorrow for her poor, misguided Radio Demon. "It looks different for everyone, and what you're describin'? Sounds an awful lot like it."

Alastor rolls his eyes and sulks a little, avoiding her gaze.

"And as much as I love your blood thirsty ways," Rosie starts again. "I can't help but feel like you'd… you'd be a lot happier if you just embraced this. If you were just… more real, about it, hmm? Or you might end up pushin' her away."

Alastor looks at Rosie then, and his eyes are wide. He speaks with clarity; no filter, no faux-accent.

"I refuse to lose her," he says. "I cannot lose her. If anything happens to her, I won't have anything real left."

Rosie's bleeding heart is crushing inside her ribcage for the lost boy before her. To her utmost surprise, Alastor's smile eases - just for a moment. Rosie's never once seen him drop it; it sends a chill through her bones.

"If anything happens to her, and I lose… I lose another, then I will lose the last shred of control I have left. Don't you see? I-I won't handle it well. I will burn it all down," he says.

Rosie understands then; the realisation hits her like waking from a dream. He's not worried about himself getting attacked. He's worried about you.

"Alastor, maybe… Look, if you're, uh… feelin' jumpy about the ball, why don't ya just give Verity some of your power? Temporarily. Just incase somethin' goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong," Alastor says, sharply. Rosie internally curses that damn arrogance of his.

"I'm sure it won't," she says, "But it never hurts to have a backup plan."

"I'll think on it," Alastor says. And think on it, he will.

---

The box of supplies in your hands is heavy; you lift it up with effort and carry it into the lobby. You wipe light perspiration from your forehead.

You're working; helping Charlie and Vaggie carry deliveries of supplies for the ball into the hotel. Husk and Angel watch you together from the bar, unhelpfully. You stick your tongue out at them; they both laugh.

Charlie and Vaggie join you in the lobby, dropping their own boxes next to yours.

"Phewf!" Charlie says. "Who knew one night would be this much work?"

"I did," Vaggie says, dead pan. "I literally told y—"

"Ohhh, hush," Charlie says, flapping a hand. "Oh! My phone is ringing, that'll be the caterer - be right back, ladies!"

Charlie throws you both a finger gun and she darts off to answer her call. You laugh; you turn to Vaggie, expecting a similar reaction. You're surprised to find Vaggie is instead looking at you with intense focus.

"I need to talk to you," she says, sternly.

Before you can say anything, she grabs your arm; you hear a distant, amused oh shit from Angel as Vaggie pulls you into a cleaning closet. She locks the door behind you both.

"What are you doing?" You say, laughing at how silly this all is.

"This isn't funny," Vaggie says, impatient. "Look, I need to talk some sense in to you, because no other pendejohere seems to have the guts to."

She has her hands on her hips; her brow is furrowed with frustration. You wait for her to speak again, confused.

"You're dating Alastor? Are you insane?" Vaggie says then.

You're a little taken aback; your ears list backwards in the discomfort of confrontation.

"It's fine," you say, quietly. "It's going… well."

"You cannot be fucking serious," Vaggie says, and she's pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of all the people you could choose to date, you choose him? Do you have any idea who… what he is?"

You're staring at the floor now, fighting against the prickle of tears threatening to form in your eyes.

Why do people keep saying this?

"You have NO idea," Vaggie says. "Clearly, cause if you did, you'd stay the fuck away from him. I can't believe you've managed to get this far without anyone telling you. I'm fixing that, right now."

"No!" You say, looking up. Vaggie startles a little; she seems to soften when she sees the upset in your eyes. "I want to hear it from him. We… we made an agreement. He said he would tell me about his past after the ball. It should come from him. It's his right to tell me."

Vaggie stares at you, exasperated.

"Can you… can you please just let me do this the way I want to do it?" You ask.

Vaggie sighs; she turns and unlocks the door - but then - turns back to you.

"Did you choose your name, Verity?" She asks.

"What?"

"Your name. You picked it, right?"

"Mmm," you say, not following.

"Do you know what it means?"

"No, it just came to me, and sounded nice, I guess," you say, still unsure of where this is going.

Vaggie lets out a small sound of ironic amusement.

"Truth," she says then. "It means truth."

"Oh," you say, not sure what else you can say.

Vaggie sighs again.

"Look, I won't get involved for now. But if Alastor doesn't tell you after the ball, then I will."

She opens the closet door and moves to leave, before turning to look at you with pity.

"I hope you get your truth, Verity," Vaggie says, and she walks away.

You're left stood alone in the closet. One of the tears you'd tried to hold back betrays you; it slips down your cheek. Trailing down to your chin, it drops softly to the floor.

It occurs to you in a hazy, distracted thought; that's the first tear you've shed in Hell so far. And you're not really sure who it's even for.

---

Later that night, while you're readying for bed - an early night, after such a tiring day - you get a letter from Alastor. It floats temptingly beside you as you undress and put on your night shirt.

My sweetest pet

Will you come to see me? There's something I'd like to discuss with you and really, it must be done in person.

Alastor

It's not really that late; but you're tired, and full of upset thoughts from the conversation with Vaggie. Your head is too busy; you're confused, a little anxious. Not really in the right mood for company, even if it's charming, handsome company.

Not tonight, I'm tired. I'm sorry. But we can write to each other for a little while, if you'd like? Before I go to bed. How was your day? Is your arm okay? - Verity

You feel a twinge of guilt at denying Alastor his request to see you, but; there's something quite thrilling and clandestine about the exchanging of magical letters at night all the same. His reply arrives shortly.

Mmm. My day was productive - the wound is fine, thanks to you, my heart. It is healing well. It would have been a better day had I been lucky enough to see your sweet face. I do loathe being apart from you. Tell me - how was your day?

You smile to yourself; you secretly love it when Alastor lays on the charm so thickly like this. You can't help but swoon. You jot down a quick response.

My day was good, just lots of work. I have tomorrow completely free, so we can see each other then, if you'd like? - Verity

Alastor's next reply comes through so quickly that it makes you jump. You can't help but think how much easier this would be if he would just give in and get a phone; but seeing his handwriting is somewhat nicer, you have to admit.

My dear, I assure you, I am counting down the minutes until my eyes are on you once more. And whatever else you desire to be… on, you.

Your rabbit-heart jolts awake; your pulse vibrates in your gullet with several heavy palpitations. You can hardly believe what you just read. At first, you feel understandably flustered; your blush spreading across your face like wildfire. But then… you pause. Is he just saying the things he thinks you want to hear? Or… does he mean it himself?

Can I ask you something? - Verity

Anything my pet, anything at all.

You swallow hard as you gather your courage to write your next reply.

When you kissed me yesterday… Did you actually like it? Or did you just do it to get a reaction out of me? - Verity

Alastor seems to take a little longer to send his reply, and at first you worry that you've said the wrong thing; but then it appears before you. Relieved, but also nervous, you unfold the paper.

It is precisely because I enjoy your sweet reactions that I find pleasure in trying new experiments with contact.

That's not enough, Alastor. I don't want you to be doing anything you're not comfortable with just for my sake. You need to want to do it too. But it's okay if you don't want to, too. - Verity

No reply appears before you then, even after you wait a few minutes; you think perhaps Alastor no longer wishes to continue the conversation. You head to the bathroom to brush your teeth; when you return, Alastor's reply is bobbing in the air. You snatch it greedily and devour the message, falling back to sit on your bed.

I do want to, my sweet. I never have wanted to do these things with anyone else before in my life, ever. But with you, it's different. You are an exception. I will admit, it is taking me a while to grow accustomed to new and unfamiliar sensations. I am still testing what the limits of my comfort are, but I assure you - I do not make a habit of martyring myself for others. I only do what I wish to do.

You read his reply a couple of times to let it sink in; you are comforted. You feel the need to break the tension that he will undoubtedly be feeling after being so open, so you decide to make your next reply a little bit flirty.

Okay, I believe you. For now. You can prove it to me in better detail tomorrow, maybe. - Verity

Alastor's near immediate reply only contains four words; but these four words are enough to make every nerve in your body tingle with anticipation.

Whatever my pet desires.

Chapter End Notes

Guys I stayed up until 1:30am U.K. time just to finish this chapter so you'd all have it asap. Don't say a mother doesn't work hard to keep her children fed ('ω') It's a slightly shorter chapter, sorry The good news is I have everything up to chapter 21 drafted now so it's gonna be coming thick and fast for the next few days ;) ️ GET READY

(Those of you reading this fic in the future after it's long since finished, happy binging from bapple in the past!)

Side note Tigerlily by La Roux is SUCH a one-sided RadioStatic / Radiosilence coded song

And it's also on the companion playlist! HUGE COMICAL WINK, CAMERA ZOOMS IN ON MY FACE AND OUT AGAIN

https/open./playlist/1x3ekyTOV4m99gutuS6ntz?si=c21a223b516b4979

https//bapple117

Weaving

Chapter Summary

Warning: this chapter contains some sexually suggestive material that is not suitable for minors.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

"Okay, what the fuck is this about? Hey, quit draggin' me, goddamn it—"

"Shhh!" Angel says, as he drags Husk into his room.

Angel had spotted Husk in the elevator on his way down to the lobby; as soon as the spider demon had joined him in the lift, he'd pressed the cancel button and then the button for his floor. Ignoring Husk's confused outcries, Angel had brought Husk to his room door through a combination of pushing, pulling and beckoning; Husk swearing and objecting the whole time.

Now Husk is shoved into Angel's space; he's more than a little bit annoyed, but flustered all the same to be in Angel's private dwellings. Angel closes the door behind them.

"I gotta talk to you," Angel says, conspiratorially. Husk can see there's frantic energy in his expression. "In private."

Husk lets out a gruff noise of impatience, but he sighs in concession; he can't stay mad at Angel for long.

"Alright," he says. He spots a ball gag that sits atop a pile of random junk in an open dresser drawer and tenses a little; where is Angel going with this?

"I saw somethin' yesterday," Angel says then. "Y'know, after Vaggie dragged Verity in the closet?"

Husk thinks back; oh yeah.

"What were they doin' in there anyway?" Husk says.

"Fuck knows, probably some work thing," Angel says. "Y'know. The prep work they're doin', or whatever. Anyway, that's not the point. I was walkin' past after, when I was goin' up to my room, and Husk - Verity. She was cryin'."

Husk is surprised.

"Crying?"

"Yeah. Like real soft and quiet. I think Vaggie said somethin' that upset her… I'm worried it was about Alastor."

Husk considers this. He lets out a hmm.

"You think Vaggie told her the full story?" Angel asks. He seems anxious; clearly distraught at the thought of his friend upset.

Husk shakes his head.

"Nah, we'd know by know if that were the case. Some real shit would be breaking loose," he says.

"I guess so," Angel says, unconvinced. He takes a seat on his bed and covers his face in two hands. "There's… there's somethin' else."

Husk waits; he doesn't push. He lets Angel speak when he's ready.

"I let it slip to Val that we have a new resident," he says, and he looks up at Husk with dread in his eyes. "I don't… I don't think anything will happen, but I'm worried, still. It means they know, too. All of the Vees."

Husk steps forward then; he places a paw on Angel's shoulder.

"They'd have found out one way or another, kid," Husk says, his tone gentle and reassuring. "They've got all kinds of fuckin' eyes everywhere. Verity ain't exactly a secret."

"I know but, she's so… she's so pure, y'know? She's not like us. She can't fight for herself," Angel says.

"You don't know that," Husk says, shrugging. "She's survived so far. Looks can be deceiving, you know that."

Angel sighs; he falls backwards on to the bed, his legs dangling off the edge. Husk stands there, a little awkwardly; he looks around the unfamiliar room for the first time. Yup. This is how he imagined Angel's room, alright. But, when he looks - when he really looks - he can see traces of Anthony, too. Husk smiles to himself, full of fondness for the spider demon before him.

"It's cute that you're worryin'," Husk says then, voice low. "But I don't think you need to. It's all gonna be fine."

Angel groans. He sits up then.

"Y'know, it's weird. I ain't ever seen Alastor be so… normal, and nice, even. The other day he even told me my hair looked good. He! Gave me a compliment! A real one!" Angel says, gesturing at the aforementioned hair.

Husk chuckles then, folding his arms.

"That ain't like him, Whiskers. He's being so…" Angel struggles to find the word; his eyes dart around as he thinks on it.

"He's happy," Husk says then, simply.

Angel looks at the cat demon stood in-front of him with wide and disbelieving eyes.

"What? You think he's… changin' for the better, or something?" Angel asks. Husk shrugs.

"I didn't say that," he says. He sighs and paces a little. "I'm gonna tell you somethin' I should have told you a while ago."

"Okay," Angel says, unsure. Husk takes a seat next to Angel on the bed side.

"Alastor… He's the one who owns my soul," he says. The confession feels simultaneously like a burden lifted and a new strain added. "I'm not proud of it, but. There it is."

"I mean, yeah," Angel says, dryly. "No shit. I kinda figured that out."

Husk puffs up; his ears twisting back as he looks at Angel, stunned and vexed.

"Well I never fuckin' outright said it!" Husk says. Angel shrugs.

"You kinda didn't need to. I figured it out. I'm a smart cookie," he says, with a sassy wink. Husk groans.

"The point is," Husk continues. "I know him, alright? I've known him a long fuckin' time. And in all those years, I've seen all kinds of sides to him. He has that sadistic side, there's no arguin' about that. But… there's more to him than meets the eye."

Angel looks amazed.

"You mean like that broad said? The one that crashed the welcome party for Lucifer?" He says.

"Mimzy? Hmm. Yeah. She knows him from before too, like she said."

"Yeah," Angel says. "You disappeared during that conversation at the bar… but she said that there's like, another side to him? Is that true?"

Husk smirks; but it's tinged with something else. Angel thinks he sees sadness in it.

"Sometimes, I got glimpses of the demon worth knowin' in there, y'know?" Husk says. "The good things. There was more of that in the early days, before the deal we made happened. But… all those good parts… I dunno. They got harder to find as time went on."

Husk sighs. Angel is listening attentively, wide-eyed.

"As he got more powerful, he got hungrier and hungrier for control and more… desperate. It was like, the darker parts of him started takin' over… and all the things I'd… liked, about him… the parts of him I trusted… They all started to fade away."

Angel knows exactly how Husk feels; he's lived the exact same experience with Valentino. He places a hand against Husk's back; the winged demon smiles at him in response.

"Why is he like that?" Angel asks, genuinely curious.

"One night, a long time ago, he got drunk at my bar. My old bar, in my casino. He didn't tell me everythin', but from the sounds of it, he's got some serious baggage he's runnin' from. Real shit. Trauma. I think all the violence and control is how he handles it. I mean, shit - we can all relate to that to some extent. I know I sure can."

"Yeah, but," Angel says, hesitating. "Not like him."

"Well, yeah," Husk concedes, shrugging. "No shit. Don't get me wrong; get on his bad side, and he will end you. Whatever shit he went through, it doesn't excuse his actions."

Angel nods. Husk sighs again.

"But… deep down? I think there's still a chance for good in him."

Angel lets out a small gasp.

"You… you really think that?" He asks. Husk nods.

"I like to hope so. I think… I think the friend I once had is still in there, somewhere. I think he's got a lot of shit to figure out, and he'd need to want to change, but. I think if anyone can bring that side out of him, it's Verity. And if she does, well. Could be good for all of us, y'know?"

Angel nods soberly, staring off into the distance.

"I guess I never really thought about it," he says.

"Hmm. And who knows? Maybe I could even get my soul back," Husk says, half-joking.

Angel smirks then, and he lets out a wry laugh.

"I'd do anythin' to break my contact with Val," he says. "He'll never change, though. I got no hope there. Not when he treats me the way he does."

Husk looks at Angel then; his eyes full of empathy.

"Alastor's only threatened me once or twice," he admits. "That time Mimzy was here, actually. I mentioned somethin' I… shouldn't have. I triggered his pride. It scared the shit out of me at the time, but… I know some of it's just for show. I was an Overlord too. I know how that shit works. And I've seen some shit since. I think he's at a turnin' point now."

Angel lets out a long, shaky exhale.

"Well fuck me," he says. "If there's hope for Smiles then there's hope for us all, eh Whiskers?"

They laugh together. Angel can't help but notice how exhausted Husk looks after baring his soul like that.

"Hey," he says then. "Come lay down with me."

And so they do. A little awkwardly, at first; mostly from Husk's side, as he seems tense and frightened to touch anything. But he eases, gradually; and they lay on either side of the bed, facing each other.

"Where's the pig?" Husk says then, suddenly. Angel laughs.

"Nugs? He's with Verity. She was desperate to pig-sit so I let her have him for the day."

"Oh," Husk says, blinking.

"So… we're all alone," Angel says, grinning wickedly.

"Oh," Husk says again. He swallows.

Angel doesn't push Husk past any boundary he can't yet cross; he's careful, slow. The demons embrace, holding each other as they kiss. Angel wraps his middle set of arms around Husk's waist, pulling him in closer. He's delighted to find that Husk is purring.

"That's cute," Angel says, pulling back.

"Shut the fuck up," Husk says, but he's grinning.

"Gladly," Angel says, and he leans into the kiss once more.

Anthony can't believe his luck. He kisses Husk with everything he has; every drop of sweetness he has in him, it rises up now and wants to break free. Husk is holding him, now, too; a hand at his face, his tail curling around them, their legs interwoven.

For now, they both know they won't do any more than just this; tasting each other's lips with endless, adoring appetite. But for now, it's enough. It's heaven. It's salvation. It's home.

---

"Are we eating the pig?" Adam says.

You look at him, appalled. Fat Nuggets sits in your lap; he's snoring.

"No! We're not eating him, what's wrong with you?!" You say, giving Nugs a protective pet along his back.

"Shame," Adam dead-pans. You roll your eyes.

You have come down to hang out with Adam for the afternoon, feeling a bit guilty at how frequently you're ignoring his texts these days. You've been… busy.

The two of you sit together on the sofa; some brainless prank-stunt TV show is playing in the background. You watch as a demon attempts to roller-skate over a gap between two cliffs; the demon fails, falling to a violent fate below with a crash. You and Adam both let out a unified ooooooohff in reaction.

"That's gonna hurt in the morning," Adam says.

You look down happily at the sleeping pig in your lap, enjoying the warmth and comfort he brings.
"Don't you try anything like that, little Nuggets," you say, your talking-to-a-pet baby voice peeking through. You scratch behind his ear; the pig oinks sleepily in contentment.

Adam scoffs at you. You throw him a grin.

"Do you remember when we first met, Adam?" You ask.

Adam shrugs.

"Uhhh… yeah?"

"Do you remember the deal we made? I mean, we didn't shake on it or anything, but… you said you'd find out stuff about Alastor for me."

Adam looks hilariously caught-out; without his mask on, his expressions are hard for him to conceal. You laugh at how clear it is that he'd forgotten his end of the bargain.
"Uh-huhhh," he says, tense.

"Well. Did you?" You say. Teasing him is fun, you think.

Adam looks sheepish and says nothing. You laugh again.

"Well hey! It's not exactly like I have him on fuckin' speed dial or some shit, I barely ever see the guy! He's always off doing something; the last time I saw him was weeks ago."

"Hmm! I guess he's been busy," you say with faux-innocence. "But it's okay. You don't need to worry about it anymore, that's all I was gonna say. I think at this point, I have my own ways."

Adam shrugs at first - ok, whatever - then he realises what you've said.

"Whattya mean?" He asks then.

You explain to Adam how you've been seeing Alastor properly; dating him. Spending alone time with him. Receiving kisses from him. Adam listens; stunned into uncharacteristic silence.

After a moment, it's bothering you how little he's reacting; you make a gesture with your hand that indicates you gonna say anything, or…?

"Hello?" you say, waving a hand in-front of Adam's face.

"Y-Yeah," he says finally, his voice high and breathy. "Wow. Uh, congrats, I guess. I mean, y'know how I feel about it, but, uh. Yeah. It's your life, I guess."

You let out a huff.

"You and everyone else," you say. "Everyone is constantly trying to tell me it's a bad idea."

"Hey, babe," Adam says then, his usual snark returning. "You ever think for one little bunny-brained second that maybe that's cause it is?"

You scowl at him.

"You're telling me you've never wanted to do something, despite everyone telling you not to? Wanted to try it for yourself, and ignore all the voices telling you no? Hoping that it will turn out okay, against all the odds?" You say then, fed up.

Adam sighs.

"Yeah. I guess so. I do know how that feels."

You let out a hmmpf of victory.

"I want to give him a chance," you say.

Adam looks at you then; there's something in his expression that surprises you. Something honest. Something… human.

"Look, listen to me cause I'm gonna say my piece and then I'm gonna drop it. You're better than most, Verity. I mean, you're a fuckin' dumbass and a total lightweight, but…"

Adam looks away, uncomfortable. Fat Nuggets stirs a little in your lap; you place an absent-minded hand on the pig without looking down. You're staring at Adam in astonishment.

"Being stuck in his hotel - being stuck in Hell - has been one of the lowest points in my life, and that's sayin' some shit. And I'm… I'm starting to think that maybe I deserve it, y'know?" Adam says. "But, uh… Just… just be careful, okay? You've been a friend to me when I had none left. So. Thanks for that, I guess."

You smile then.

"You're welcome," you say, then you add, teasing: "You going soft on me?"

Adam looks away, scoffing; he takes a sip of soda.

"Don't get fuckin' used to it," he says. You laugh.

"You know, even though the agreement is a moot point now… We can still hang out sometimes, if you want. Just as friends," you say.

Adam looks at you then.

"Yeah? You mean it?" He says. You nod.

"And I'm sure the others will come around eventually, if you try to work on things. And yourself," you say.

Adam lets out a loud, crass laugh.

"I highly fuckin' doubt that. I murdered literally thousands of their people."

"You were a soldier," you say, shrugging. "You were doing a job. You were doing what you thought you had to do. It doesn't make it any better, and I'm sure parts of you did enjoy it, but. You can still change."

Adam looks at you, perplexed for a moment. Then he shrugs it off and blows a raspberry to break the tension of the moment.

"Major bummer conversation topic, am I right?" He says.

And just like that, the moment is broken. You laugh, and the two of you turn back to the TV, resuming your chorus of ooohs, ahhhs and oooofs at the antics on screen.

---

In the afternoon, you return Fat Nuggets to Angel; knocking on his door with the tiny pig tucked under your arm. The door opens a small crack; Nugs leaps out of your arm with a squeak and dashes inwards, knowing that it's home time.

Angel pokes his head out; he looks uncomfortable and slightly… dishevelled.

Oh.

"Oh, hey, Verity," Angel says, his voice betraying his embarrassment. "Thanks for bringin' him back. He was okay?"

"He was good as gold," you say, beaming. "I'll happily steal him off you forever."

Angel is doing his best to keep his door as un-open as possible; he's shifting his body to cover any possible glimpse of the interior from view. You smirk.

"Good, good, great," he babbles. "Okay, well if that's all…"

"Yep!" You say merrily. "Bye Angel."

And then - with a cheeky burst of inspiration:

"BYE, HUSK!" You call out.

Angel's humiliation blooms on his face in real time; his eyes widen, and his cheeks are tinged with pink.

You laugh; he groans, and then the door is closed. You smile to yourself.

You check your phone then; as you suspect, it's about time to make your way up to Alastor's room, to meet with him as agreed. You can't help but feel a little burst of excitement at the thought of seeing him, and you bound happily over to the elevator.

The sight of Alastor opening his door for you will never get old, you feel; he greets you with an easy, wide smile. As usual. You can tell he's just been in his room for the day; he's without his full get up. His coat hangs on its rack. He's dressed simply in a shirt and slacks; you notice with a hint of amusement that his house slippers have made a return.

"What do you wanna do today?" You say, happily stepping into the room. "You wanna head out somewhere?"

Alastor blinks at you.

"Would you mind terribly if we didn't?" He says, closing the door behind you. "I think I would prefer if we stayed in, today, my dear. Away from prying eyes."

"Mmm! Sure," you say, just happy to be around him again.

All the discomfort and weird feelings you'd had left over from the conversation with Vaggie fade away; leaving only your effervescent joy at being around the demon beside you.

"What did you want to talk to me about, by the way?" You say, remembering then.

"Oh, that can wait. It's a trifle matter," Alastor says, flapping a hand.

"Okay," you say. You're distracted; you're eyeing the bayou that's tacked on to his room. "Is now a good time to ask what the Hell is going on over there?"

Alastor laughs.

"Would you like to see?" He asks. You nod, enthused.

He guides you towards the outstretch of swamp, and you step into the edge of it together. You're amazed as cool night air hits you; and sounds that you hadn't heard from the normal part of his room are suddenly picked up by your ears. Strange animal noises. Trickling water nearby. Insects. The soft hush of trees and grasses moving together against a breeze. The air smells fresh; that smokey earth scent of the turf and loam beneath your feet.

You let out a small gasp.

"It's… It's incredible," you say. "Is it always night here? Is this real? Some sort of gateway to Earth?"

Alastor smiles brightly, clearly proud and eager to show off.

"Not quite," he says. "Think of it more like a small recreation. A copy. A little bit of encapsulated imitation. And yes, it's always night in here. It's a static facsimile, after all."

"Ohh," you say, understanding. "Like a snow globe."

Alastor laughs, and he folds his arms. You can't help but notice how the creases of his shirt strain a little, pulled taught at the movement.

"I suppose that's an apt comparison, my dear," he says, standing a little cockily with a hip jutting. He surveys the bayou with fondness.

"And you made it?" You ask then. "With your magic?"

Alastor nods.

"Wow," you say. "It's amazing. How far does it go?"

"So many questions, my dear!" Alastor says, but you can tell he's pleased. "My, my, aren't we eager today?"

You giggle.

"It's not a large area by any means, but would you like to take a walk together? I can show you around," he says then.

You nod, enraptured. You look down at his slippers.

"Won't those get muddy?" You say, amused. Alastor follows your gaze downwards. He frowns - with only his eyes, of course.

"Hmm, I suppose you're right," he says, but he's grinning like it's all a silly game.

"You could go au naturale like me," you say, a little saucily, as you stick out a leg. Your shoeless bunny-foot wiggles back at you.

You step away from the boundary edge between the swamp and the room; your feet make contact with soft, cool grass. It feels wonderful; you hadn't realised until now just how much you've missed the sensation of nature. Your leporine feet feel so at home padding around on the turf; in your excitement, you allow yourself a few giddy skips around, giggling. It almost looks like hopping.

Alastor watches you, with a mixture of amusement and relaxed ease; but then he looks at his own feet and seems to hesitate. You watch as he eases one foot - hoof! - out of a slipper and gingerly makes contact with the ground.

He looks unconvinced; you're sure that he's going to be repulsed by the improperness of it all. But then, much to your surprise, he doesn't seem to mind. He removes the other slipper and stands then, on his narrow, black cloven-hooves; tipped with red. Of course.

If he didn't have his typical plastered-on grin, you'd say his expression is almost… curious. His eyes widen as he tests out the new sensation of his bare hooves on real soil; he looks at you then, and you're laughing.

"Do you not like it?" You say, stepping over to him.

"It's quite fine, my dear," he says, with more than a hint of bravado.

He takes a step forward and wobbles a little; his brow creases in heated frustration, grin straining. You stifle a small laugh.

"Come on," you say fondly. You take his hand, pulling him along as you bound forward.

Alastor resists for the slightest of moments; but then, he relinquishes, and allows himself to be cajoled. After a few bandy steps, he seems to get used to it; you let go of his hand to let him walk alone. You're pleased when he seems to settle into it. You walk together at a steady pace; looking briefly back over your shoulder you can see the sight of the real room beginning to get further away. It's an odd feeling. But the bayou is stunning.

Fireflies bob and weave through the air; it's humid, but not unpleasantly so. When you look up, you can even see a glimpse of a faux-moon through the thick network of trees.Walking together, you imagine that you and Alastor look rather picturesque in this environment; like a bunny and deer, frolicking together in the wild.

"It feels like being back on Earth," you say then, breaking the easy quiet. Alastor hums in response.

"Yes. That was my inspiration for creating this space. A touch of nostalgia, I suppose."

"You miss home?" You say then.

Alastor's smile is small and soft.

"I do," he says.

You let a few moments pass in comfortable silence. Your lungs are full of heady night air; it's delicious.

"Can demons go to Earth?" You ask then, suddenly curious.

"It's not unheard of," Alastor says. "It's complicated and powerful magic. Hard to come by. Only a select few have access to it."

"Oh, I see," you say, and you don't ask any more questions for a little while.

---

Alastor watches you with keen, fixed eyes as you admire the flora around you. The glow of fireflies dances on your skin; he finds the sight of this wholly addicting. He can't help but muse how sublime you look in this setting; he imagines what it would have been like to meet you somewhere like this, back then. Back on Earth.

"You know, I can't help but think it's fate that we ended up meeting," he says then. You turn to him, your sweet eyes wide.

"Oh?" You say.

"I've never really believed in fate before, of course. But lately I find myself thinking on it more," Alastor says, and he steps to be closer to you. It's never close enough.

"Mmm," you say then, smiling. "We'd have never met in life."

"No," Alastor says. "I'd have been much too old for you."

You're laughing then; the sound of it is like opium injected directly into Alastor's veins.

"I don't think you'd have been alive, Al," you say, and it's the first time he's heard you shorten his name before. He's electric with pleasure.

"You'd have to have been like… one hundred and twenty years old," you add, still laughing.

"And still looking this good," Alastor says, grinning.

You're in a proper fit of giggles then; Alastor is filled with the sudden urge to lock you in a room and do nothing but produce laughter and joy from you for the rest of his life.

"I'm sure you would be," you say then, regaining composure.

You walk together a little more. Alastor thinks all the while on the decision he has not yet made; whether he will lend you some of his power for the night of the ball, or not. For now, he decides not to bring it up; it's probably better for him to keep all of his power for himself for the night, after all. He doubts that giving you any will be necessary.

Despite this, there is still an itching, maddening feeling within him; anxiety claws at his insides.

"Will you stay here tonight?" He finds himself saying, surprising both himself and you.

"In this swamp?" You say, light-hearted.

"With me, in my room. Will you stay tonight, pet?"

Your eyes are wide then. Don't startle, sweetness. Stay. STAY.

"You mean… sleep over?" You say, quietly.

Alastor nods. He wants to keep you in his sight at all times anyway lately, but especially now. His manic fear of something happening is building, growing; it's driving him to grasp for control.

"I'd like to make the most of all the time we have together, after all," Alastor says, and he's still being truthful.

Because after all - he hasn't forgotten; you will ask again about his past after the ball. And then… you may try to leave. The game may be spoiled. Alastor banishes the thought.

"Okay then," you say, shyly.

Alastor's nervous system vibrates with pleasure; he is soothed. He looks at you, his sweetest heart; your soft curls swaying a little in the breeze.

"I will of course let you have my bed," he says then. "I don't need much sleep. My chair will suffice."

You're laughing then; Alastor is bewildered. Have I amused her?

"Always the gentleman," you say, and you step closer. "You can sleep in the bed too, you know."

There's a loud screech of static feedback.

"Oh," Alastor says, simply. "Is that what you wish?"

You nod, smiling.

"We don't have to do… anything," you say, bashful.

"Well I assumed we'd sleep," Alastor says, stating the obvious.

You laugh again; Alastor wants to bottle it and drink it down.

"I'm fine with sleep," you say. "Sleep is always good."

---

It's later in the evening; the excursion into the bayou completed, you now sit in-front of Alastor's fireplace, each in an armchair. A chess set lays out between you on a small table; a game half-played. You're playing with white; Alastor with the black pieces.

"I still don't get this," you say. You're sat cross-legged in your chair; one of your knees bounces with frustration.

Alastor smiles, and makes his move. He looks at you expectantly. You analyse the board and try to remember what he's taught you so far. The shapes of the pieces all seem to blur together.

"Al, I'm too stupid for this," you say. "I give up."

"Now, now! You were just getting it. Come on now. Try harder," he says, amused.

The green flames in the fireplace flicker wildly; the heat is pleasant but invasive. You sit in just your red playsuit; your cardigan hangs discarded on the back of the chair. Too hot.

You're distracted at the sight of Alastor's forearms; his sleeves rolled up to the crook of his elbow. The gradient shift between his two skin tones fascinates you.

"Focus, pet," he drawls. You frown.

You make a move, second-guessing yourself the whole time; Alastor seems pleased.

"There! That wasn't so difficult, now, was it?" He teases.

"Mmhmm," you say, not really agreeing.

Alastor considers his next move with narrowed eyes. You watch as his pupils dart around the board; clearly playing out the strategy in his head. His hand hangs over a piece for a moment, sharp red tips almost making contact, but then he changes his mind and moves another instead.

You look at the board and have no idea what just happened.

"What do I do now?" You say, looking up at him. He laughs.

"The point is for you to decide, darling," he says. He rests his elbow on the arm of the chair and leans his face against his hand. "If I tell you what to do next, then it rather defeats the point. I could just tell you to make moves that fall directly into my strategy and set myself up to win."

"That's a bit mean," you say, amused.

"That's chess, dear," Alastor says then, grin wide. "It's a game of the mind, not the fist."

"This is too complicated," you say, but you make a move anyway.

Alastor raises an eyebrow, then leans forward and studies the board with his hand to his chin. You realise you must have done something he didn't expect.

While he's focussed on the board, you let your mind drift a little. You think about how you find it impossible to think rationally about the Radio Demon when you're with him; when you're away from him, you at least have some rationality. But here, now, in his room; you are bewitched. Incapable of sensible thought. All of your senses feel fixed on him; your mind feels soupy and feeble.

Looking at Alastor, watching him, admiring him… It's all consuming. You can't help but chase his approval; when he praises you, it feels like all will be right with the world. And every time he rewards you with a glimpse of his true self, you like him more and more.

There's a tapping sound as Alastor makes his move and sets his piece down; you are dislodged from your reverie.

"What does that mean?" You say, confused at his move.

"Sadly, my dearest, it means you're done for," Alastor says. "You should resign the game now."

"What? Why?" You say, but you're laughing.

"You can't claw out of this play now. It's inevitable that you'll lose in a matter of moves. Resigning the game is the done thing."

"Damnit," you say, and you throw your hands up.

"You did well! For your first try," Alastor says, his tone just a little gloating.

"Mmmm," you say, and you pretend to sulk.

"Oh come now. I can teach you how to be better over time," Alastor says, and he leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. Slippers back on.

"I'll do my best," you say.

"Good girl."

The praise hits you like a shot of sweet honey thrown back in your throat. You give yourself a moment to recover; you are keen to keep the conversation moving.

"Will you teach me the piano, too?" You say.

"Oh! I'd be more than happy to, my dear," Alastor says, and he stretches; his arms lifting up above his head. You stare.

"I'd like that," you say. "Now we need to decide something I can teach you."

You tap your chin theatrically.

"Oh wait! There isn't anything!" You say, comically.

Alastor laughs, and the difference in how it sounds surprises you; it has none of the usual contrived, practiced air to it. Instead, the laugh comes out of him seemingly unbidden; warm, rounded and boyish.

"I'm sure we can find something," he says then.

You think for a while, and shrug.

"I've got nothing," you say. "I don't have any skills that you'd find useful."

You spot a small crease form at the top of Alastor's nose bridge.

"Now I know that's not true," he says. He considers it for a moment. "Ah! I know."

"What?" You say, expecting some sassy joke.

"You're teaching me how to do all of… this," Alastor says, gesturing with a hand at the space between you. "How to be… close, with someone. Like this."

Oh. You blush.

"I suppose so," you say shyly. You let out a yawn.

Alastor glances at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room.

"We've let the night get away from us," he says then. "I think it's high time you got some rest now, hmm?"

---

Later, you lay in Alastor's bed; in a pink silk nightgown he's conjured for you, as you obviously don't have any of your own night clothes with you.

Alastor sits beside you, upright, still fully dressed, but with his hair tied back now; reading a book. The expectation was that you would sleep, but due to the circumstances, you're finding that somewhat difficult.

"How are you reading that?" You say then, and Alastor answers without looking away from his book.

"By using my eyes," he deadpans.

"But it's so dark in here," you say.

"It is night time, dear," Alastor says, patronisingly. You huff.

"Yes, obviously," you say. "You mean you can read that in this little light?"

Alastor sets the book down then, and looks at you. With his hair pulled away from his face, you can see the angular lines of his jaw structure so much better. You gulp.

"Can't you?" He says then, and he holds the book out. You take a quick look; you're surprised to see you can read it fine.

"Oh," you say then; Alastor rolls his eyes and goes back to reading.

"I suppose that makes sense actually. I hadn't thought about it before," you say.

"What does, dear?" Alastor says, absently.

"Well. Both deer and rabbits have scotopic vision. Meaning they can see really well in the dark. I guess it never occurred to me that I've not once struggled to see in the darkness the whole time I've been… here. In Hell."

"Fascinating," Alastor says, and you can tell he's only half listening. "I've always found myself preferring the night time. Even when alive."

"Oh yeah?" You say.

"You are meant to be sleeping," he says then. But then he adds: "But yes. I find early evening and early morning to be the times my mind is most… alert."

"That's funny," you say. "Deer are crepuscular. So are rabbits, actually."

"Meaning?" Alastor says, turning his page.

"Meaning that they are both most active at dusk and dawn. Like most prey - and predator - animals."

Alastor closes the book then, setting it on the nightstand. He turns, leaning on his side, propping up his head with his arm. He uses his free hand to brush strands of hair from your face.

"Aren't you a clever bunny," he says. "So what you mean to say is, we are compatible?"

You tense a little, startled.

"In terms of sleep schedule, I mean," he says, grinning openly.

"Oh," you say, and you let out a laugh. "Well. I suppose so."

"Mmmm," Alastor says, content. "So on a perfect day, we'd start in the early hours, while the rest of the world is still asleep. Share conversation over breakfast—"

"A nice breakfast," you say, remembering something Vaggie once told you.

"Of course," Alastor says, amused.

"Then we'd head out on a walk, run some errands," you say, joining in with the fantasy.

"Naturally," Alastor agrees. "Then retire in the afternoon for some respite."

"Mmm," you say, stretching your legs out. "I love an afternoon nap. Or even just a film on the sofa."

Alastor is stroking your forehead with the back of his fingers. He makes a sound of approval.

"Then back out on the town when we perk up in the evening, hmm?" He says.

"Yes, like the jazz club!" You say. "We could go dancing."

"And then return home to our own little haven away from everyone else," Alastor says, a little distant sounding.

"Mmmm. It all sounds perfect. Yes; let's do that every day from now until forever, and I shall be happy," you say, half-joking.

"You are content here?" Alastor says.

You look up at him then. His face is searching yours for truth.

"Yes, I am," you say quietly. You curl towards him a little. "And I'm sure this goes without saying, but I want to say it anyway. I, uh… I really like you. And I'm really liking… this. And I want to keep seeing where it goes."

Alastor looks at you with quickly dilating pupils. He leans down and closes the gap between your faces; he kisses you softly. You can feel a hint of sharp tooth at your lips, but; you don't mind. You kiss him back, deepening it; you reach a hand round to the back of his neck and push him closer inwards. Alastor moans a sound of approval into your mouth. Oh my god.

After a few glorious moments, Alastor pulls back.

"Alright," he says, and he's panting slightly. "Now you must sleep."

You can't stop yourself; you whine.

"No, please," you say, cheeks flushed. He eyes you.

"A deal then," he says, tone strained. "Ten more minutes of… that, and then you sleep. You need your rest."

"Deal," you say, and he doesn't waste a second.

Now, it's fervent; Alastor's kisses are greedy, hungry. You feel the slightest intrusion of tongue and you welcome it, unfurling for him. His tongue meets with yours; the feeling is divine. Your core is aflame.

You let out a soft moan as Alastor breaks the contact of your lips; he paints your face with kisses. You turn your head, exposing your neck; he takes the cue, and mouths at your neck, small nips that feel criminally good. Your breathing is ragged. You turn to look at him then; his face is florid, eyes manic with wanton need. He DOES like this.

"I could just devour you, sweet creature," he says then, breathlessly, and you feel something in you change irrevocably.

"Please, do," you say, hardly able to talk at all.

Alastor makes a guttural sound; his antlers grow a little. He puts his mouth back against your cheek, peppering it with kisses. You can feel his heated breath in your ear.

"Don't tempt me," he says, low and feral-sounding. "God knows I will."

"Fuck," you breathe out. You can feel his chest pressing against you; it's not close enough. Your hips buck upwards.

"But a deal is a deal," Alastor says then, and he pulls away.

You bleat in objection, pouting. Alastor straightens himself up and sits back upright, re-adjusting his hair in its tie. He laughs at you then, side-eyeing you with low-lidded eyes.

"My, my," he says. "That's a new reaction."

"You are cruel," you say.

"I can be," Alastor muses, sassily. "True. Are you saying that was unpleasant?"

"…No," you say, sulking.

"Didn't think so," Alastor says, and he retrieves his book. "Now. Sleep."

And so you do as you're told. Reluctantly.

Chapter End Notes

Demisexual Alastor has entered the chat 8)
Originally I wasn't going to write any smut in this fic and then I changed my mind like two days ago LOL so more of that to come I guess :)

Also, we made it to over 10k hits! I can't believe it. Thank you so so so much to all of you for the support and love on this fic. I only started writing it about two weeks ago and I've been using it as hyperfixation escapism during a bit of a stressy point in my life. I'm having an absolute blast writing it and interacting with all of you on here & on tumblr. Originally it was just for myself, but seeing all of you in on the journey with me literally fills me with joy. I am so so grateful.

I've had the overall story for this fic planned since the very start and I'm so excited that I'm bringing it to life AND that you guys like it. Truly a dream come true.

ALRIGHT I'm done with my oscar speech jeez who do I think I am pff get over yourself bapple *wheeze*
ily all ️

Rip Out The Wings of a Butterfly

Chapter Summary

Warning: Chapter contains description of violence, parental death/loss, and some sexually explicit material which is not suitable for minors.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

There is a reason the Radio Demon tries to avoid sleep. There's a reason why, instead of resting soundly as anyone else would, he often sits awake throughout the night; resisting the siren call of slumber like the moon avoids the day.

It is because of what happens when he does sleep; which is to say, that he dreams.

His self-imposed insomnia has adverse affects, of course; he's often sleep deprived, with a short temper. Nothing he can't handle. It's worth it to avoid the dreams.

He sleeps when he absolutely must, of course; when his reserves of energy and power become so depleted that he must let himself trudge into the depths of sleep for rest. Each of these nights are a fight 'til dawn; a clawing against oil-slicked walls, dragging him under into the recesses.

The last few nights have been especially restless, but not for quite the same reason. You've spent the last several nights sleeping in Alastor's room, at his request. Just a safety measure, Alastor tells himself. The pleasant side effect of having you near throughout the night is a welcome one. He finds himself admiring you as you sleep, each night no longer a torturous wait until day break; for now he has entertainment. He watches your chest heave with the soft billowing breathing of sleep; watches your limbs twitch. Alastor is charmed whenever you make any small sound.

If he only he can just keep you here, forever, then maybe the nights won't be so bad.

And he incentivises it for you, of course; each night you spend in his bed bringing forth a slew of rewards. He treats you to embraces, mouths together. A small taste of how much he'd really like to do, he's discovering. It's a little startling; Alastor finding that desires he'd assumed either did not exist in him or lay so dormant that they'd never arise to the surface are beginning to creep into his consciousness. Desires to be with another. They exist for you, and you alone. Conditionally.

So escaping the void has not been all suffering, these last few nights. But he has still resisted.

But now; he is reaching a crucial point. There are only two more nights remaining before the ball. Alastor is growing more and more paranoid each day that something disastrous is going to happen; his razor sharp intuition rarely fails him.

And so, the Radio Demon must do what he runs from; he must sleep. He must restore his energy. He has two nights left to try and glean some of the restoration that sleep typically provides; the third night will bring with it the event he both awaits and dreads.

This night, the first of the two left, he does something that seems to surprise you; he comes to bed in a silk pyjama set; burgundy red with antlers in monogram print. He's amused to find you raising your eyebrows.

"Those are new," you say.

"Are you truly surprised to discover I own night clothes?" Alastor says to you dryly.

"Considering you've come to bed, fully dressed and refusing to get under the covers for the last four nights: yes," you say. You shiver a little under the sheets.

You won't be cold for long, sweetest.

"Hmmm," Alastor says. "Even I need to sleep once in a while."

"Like a vampire," you say, joking.

Alastor huffs, but he's entertained none the less. He lifts back the black covers and slides himself into the four-poster bed.

You're rubbing your legs together to try and warm yourself; you'd both been out together this evening, so Alastor hadn't lit the fireplace in his room. There is an undeniable chill in the air.

"Are you cold, my heart?" Alastor says tenderly.

"A little, but it's okay," you say.

"Well that simply won't do."

Alastor embraces you then, your nightly ritual taking place. Usually there is a divide between you; the covers that he always refuses to get under. But tonight there is no such barrier.

He holds you, lighter than he truly wants to. Really, he'd like to grip your limbs in his hands, dig his claws into your flesh; not enough to break skin - can't have his pet marred - but enough to hear you whimper. But for now, he holds himself back; he kisses you with care, heat beginning to emerge from the friction between you.

Your wandering little hand makes its way to one of Alastor's ears; you repeat the action you'd discovered had worked so well before, stroking in an upwards motion. The feeling of pleasure it causes him earns you his low growl into your neck.

"Must you do that, my dear?" He says darkly.

"Mmm," you say, distracted. "Why? What's wrong?"

Your faux-innocence is an insolence that Alastor can barely tolerate. And yet; it's also exquisite.

"I am trying to keep some semblance of control, here," he says then. Your hand is at his nape; you brush your fingers against the tapering hair there.

"Don't, then," you say, and your tone makes Alastor want to live in this moment forever. Blissful purgatory.

He bites down on your shoulder then; over the nightgown, the fabric of which proving to be protection enough to avoid skin breaking. You inhale sharply and buck against him. Alastor breathes you in; you smell of night air and wine. Divine.

But all good things must eventually come to an end, and Alastor holds back. He's not ready for anything further than this… yet. Partly because it is still unfamiliar, new; a little overwhelming. And partly because he fears that once he tastes all of the sweetness you have to offer, he will go mad. And he'll never get anything else done ever again.

He leans above you, delighted to see how flushed you are now.

"Warmer?" He says, teasing.

"Mmm," you say, your voice betraying your longing. "You sure know how to leave a girl wanting more."

"Always leave them wanting more," Alastor says. "A good rule to live by."

You muse on this for a moment.

"Not forever, though," you say, and you look up at him with pleading eyes.

Alastor feels his heart beating in thick thuds; a heart that finally has a reason to beat at all.

"My darling, there is nothing I could even try to deny you," he says then, and he eases himself down to lay upon the pillow. "Certainly not forever."

You are pleased; you show this by grabbing his hip and pulling him closer. You bury your face in Alastor's chest.

"You'll sleep tonight?" You say, voice barely audible.

"I will," Alastor says, and he holds you against him.

And he does.

Even with you in his arms, breathing softly - warm precious girl - even with this sweet salvation; it's no use.

The dreams come for him, anyway.

---

He's human again; it's some time from his past. Late 1920's. For this dream is no spontaneous imagining; no. This dream is a cruel action replay.

This dream is the one he spends all of his nights trying to avoid. And it has come for him at last.

He's ending a radio broadcast for the day; he heads out, catches his reflection in a store-front mirror; a handsome slip of a man with a mop of chestnut-brown hair and small round glasses grins back at him.

He walks down the street with a pep in his step, a song humming in his throat. New Orleans is his kingdom, and the wilderness is his playground, where he often hunts deer for sport. But not today; no. Today he heads home after work. He picks up a bouquet of flowers from the florist on the corner - thank you, my good man! - and paces the familiar route home. The ever dutiful son.

The dream becomes darker; distorted. The front door of the house is already open. Alastor is alarmed; the bouquet falls to the floor. There is blood.

He runs in and the energy of the dream is choking him.

Mother?

MOTHER?

Mother where are you?

She is on the floor; she is bleeding out. He is with her then; he holds her. Her blood is on his hands. He is shaking.

Who did this? Mother, please. Tell me who did this to you. Please, don't leave me mother.

Her hand is at his face; she smiles. She is bleeding. He is crying.

Don't cry, Alastor. So long for a while, remember

You're never fully dressed without a smile

He realises: it's gunshot; her abdomen is shot, twice - no - thrice. His hands are there, holding it, trying to force the blood back in.

No, please, mother… Please don't leave me

Her hand slips

She fades

She's gone

He's the only soul left in the room

The dream is throbbing around him. He is filled with rage and torment and he wants to destroy every last person on Earth just to guarantee that he destroys the person who killed her

He swears to himself in this moment that he will avenge her, hunt down her killer if it's the last thing he does

The last thing he does

---

Alastor wakes in a sweat, his heart racing; his stomach is sick. He's hyperventilating, he's grimacing, eyes manic. His arms are empty, he's reaching out for her, he… He realises he's awake; the dream is done. The last of its grip releases; he is fully lucid and conscious.

Alastor looks to his side; there you are. He is still filled with adrenaline and fear. He sits up and tries to still his breathing.

The movement stirs you; you're waking, you're looking at him. You see immediately that he's upset - of course you do, tender-hearted girl - you're up then, your hand at his arm.

"Alastor, what's wrong? What happened?"

He can't answer. He can't breathe.

"Okay, okay," you say, realising. "It's okay."

You hold him then, scooping him into an embrace with his head against your chest. You're rubbing circles into his back; you're hushing him, soft shushes in his ear.

"You're okay, it's okay," you're saying. "It was just a dream."

When Alastor feels calmer, he sits himself up again. He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

"What was it?" You ask gently. "What was the nightmare?"

Alastor looks at you, his most darling thing, his sweetest Verity; and he can't lie to you. Whatever you ask of him, he will now tell you truthfully. He cannot deny you anything.

"I dreamt of my mother," he says, his voice raw and hollow. "The day… The day she died."

He doesn't bother to affect an accent or apply the filter, even out of habit; what would be the point? There is no performance here.

Your expression softens, his hurt becoming yours; you're holding him again, pressing kisses into his face.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you're saying.

After a while, you lay together, sitting with your backs against the headboard of the bed. Alastor is calmer. You sit with your hands held together. You are the first to break the silence.

"Whatever… Whatever happened, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

Alastor looks at you. His smile is a thin, barely-there line.

"It wasn't," you reiterate. "It wasn't your fault. And I know she doesn't blame you, either."

You are speaking aloud words that he has not heard once in his entire existence. Words that directly contradict his own beliefs about himself. He lets this treasure soak into him; he knows something has altered forever.

"I have not lived a life worthy of deserving a gift like you," he says then. "And yet, you have been gifted to me anyhow. I cannot fathom how I can ever begin to live in a way that brings me even close to being deserving of you."

And there it is; Alastor's confession. It sits there, raw and vulnerable. He is a broken man; he has been a broken man, wandering alone through shattered dreams, sleepless nights and manic episodes. And now here you are; his own, his blessing. His truth.

And he cannot deny the truth anymore. Alastor can hide from it no longer. He does not speak it aloud just yet; he does not dare. But he knows.

He knows that he will never be the same again.

He knows that he loves you.

He will tell you; but for now, he lets it sit within him, saturating him entirely.

---

Later in the day, in the afternoon, you sit together in his lounge. Alastor is laying on you, his head against your chest - no cushion, this time; both of you stretched out across the length of the sofa. Your arms rest across his chest, either side of his head. You hug him close. You look as if you are two people together in a canoe.

You've been talking together, openly. The shared experience of parental loss hanging in the air between you; a new chasm explored, raw and dripping. You place a kiss into the back of his head, between his ears; you are so far past the point of overthinking your touches at this stage. You give into every small impulse that comes to you.

Grief makes a mockery of all other trivial concerns, after all.

"I need to talk to about something else, my heart," Alastor says then, and he sits up. Your arms feel cold without him there.

"Mmm?" You say, sleepily.

Alastor runs his hand through his hair; his poker tell, you think idly. You know whatever it is, he is in some sort of unrest about it.

"Tomorrow night, the ball… Look, I highly doubt anything is going to… go wrong, so to speak. But, I am worried."

You consider this for a moment.

"Worried that you'll be attacked again?"

"No, my sweet," Alastor says, through dry laughter. "Not me. I'm worried about you."

You find this understandable; he's just had one of the most traumatic dreams he could possibly have, and he's on edge. Of course he's going to be a little anxious. You empathise.

But the ball is going to be fun, right? It's going to be a wonderful night of dancing, and music. What is there to worry about?

Alastor registers your hesitation.

"I'd like to give you some of my power. Just temporarily, just until the event ends at midnight," he says.

Your eyes widen.

"Your… power?" You say. He nods.

"My shadow," he says. "We'll have to do a deal - shake on it, I mean, a real deal - but I can grant you that power until then. If we shake on it, it will be binding. That power will transfer to you and help protect you. You'll be able to use it to teleport to wherever I am at any time."

You nod, transfixed.

"As long as you're by my side, you'll be safe, Verity. I won't let anything happen to you."

You look at the demon before you; you see the same broken pieces in him that exist within yourself. You want to reach out and hold him together, keep him as one; gather him in your arms, so he can sleep soundly at night again.

"Alright," you say, and Alastor is immediately relieved. "But if we're doing a deal, what are you asking for in return?"

"Hmm." Alastor considers this. "All I ask for is a dance with you tomorrow night."

"I feel like that's a given anyway," you say, smiling then.

"Then it's an easy deal to make, hmm?" Alastor says, and he smiles back.

He stretches out a hand to you.

"Okay. It's a deal," you say, and you accept his hand.

Green magic consumes the room; there's a sound you can't place. Magic insignia dance around on the walls. Alastor's antlers are huge; but you're not afraid.

You feel something transfer; there's an energy within you. You can feel it coursing through your veins and swell within your being.

The room settles; as does Alastor.

"That should do it, my dear," he says. "You'll have this power until midnight tomorrow night."

You suddenly feel guilty.

"Won't you need it?" You say, wondering if you've made a mistake. Alastor laughs, harsh clarity breaking the hazy energy in the room.

"I may be a little weaker than usual during this time," he says, tapping his chin. "But it's a small price to pay. Believe me - I have enough power to spare for the both of us."

"Okay," you say, still unsure.

"Shall we give it a practice, hmm?" Alastor says then, standing. He holds out a hand to lift you to your feet.

You do as instructed; you leave the lounge, and walk to the other side of his main room. Once there, you harness the power, imagining being reunited with Alastor; lo and behold, you are dragged into darkness. Your very being melts into shadow. You re-materialise next to him back in the lounge.

Alastor is beaming at you.

"Well done, my heart," he says, and you are pleased.

Alastor closes the gap between you and cups your face with a hand.

"You are most impressive," he says. "You astound me every day. You have astounded me every day since you came here."

Your heart swells; and you know. You know.

You know you have fallen. You don't speak it; you don't dare. But it sits within you, and you are suddenly breathless.

"Kiss me," you say. "Please."

As promised, Alastor cannot deny you anything; he kisses you, long and hard. You feel as if your souls might join together through the connection.

---

Some hours later, you are all gathered in the ground-floor lounge. Charlie has shepherded you all together for one last group meeting before the big day tomorrow.

Alastor takes his seat in his usual armchair in the lounge; everyone is a little surprised to see you perch on the arm of it. They are even more surprised to see Alastor's hand snaking its way around your waist, his arm wrapping around you. You feel like your insides are made of molten happiness.

Charlie takes the room through a few important notices and plans, but the conversation soon diverts to the excitements to be had tomorrow. Everyone is looking forward to something different; Cherri promises that her midnight fireworks are going to blow everyone away. Angel once again congratulates himself on bagging the best jazz singer in Hell. Charlie thanks everyone for their hard work.

The room is jolly with atmosphere and excitement; someone exclaims they don't know how to ballroom dance, and you're all up then, pushing chairs and tables to the walls to create a makeshift dance floor.

"Someone put some music on," Charlie says.

"I got it!" Lucifer calls.

Alastor smirks and raises an eyebrow; he gets in first. He taps his staff to the ground and a gramophone materialises into being. Lucifer rolls his eyes and curses under his breath.

You throw Alastor an amused look; show off. He winks at you, and your heart is full.

Determined not to be upstaged, Lucifer throws up a hand; magic fills the room, the lights dim, with glowing orbs of colour giving the impression of club lighting.

And then the music starts; you watch in glee as Charlie and Vaggie spin around together. Husk and Angel look a little awkward, but Angel is laughing, leading; Husk is swearing, but following. Niffty begs Lucifer to dance with her; he concedes reluctantly, unsure of how it will work. His answer is given when Niffty simply clings to his leg like a koala.

You turn to Alastor and he's laughing; always amused by Niffty and her antics.

"Shall we?" You say to him.

"If it's all the same to you, my dear, I will save that treat for tomorrow! I prefer the main course to be left unspoiled by appetisers."

You shrug, giggling. You notice Cherri is without a partner, so you join her and the two of you bob along to the music. The record changes; something upbeat and lively, and then all of you dance together. All of you, aside from Husk; he slinks discreetly to the far wall to stand next to Alastor. You spot them talking as you dance; you can't make out their words over the music. You don't care. You are elated.

Who needs Heaven? You are already in it.

Angel grabs your hands and spins you round; you pirouette delicately on a pointed foot. Everyone in the room cheers, impressed, and you laugh with giddy delight. Later, after everyone begins to filter out to the bar, you hang back with Alastor.

"Did you see my spin?" You say, childishly hopeful for praise.

"I did indeed," he says, and he tugs you inwards with a hand at the small of your back. "Most impressive. I am your ever adoring fan."

Alone in the lounge, Alastor allows himself a small sampling of you; he bends down and your mouths are once again joined in a kiss. It's careless, roguish; but you don't give a shit.

Neither of you notice the single pair of eyes that witness this; Husk, his head turned back by chance as he is the last out of the lounge door. He doesn't linger.

You join the others at the bar then, all of you happy and full of relief that weeks of preparation are nearing their peak; the reward of a lovely evening ahead of you to reap tomorrow.

As much as you are loving being amongst the fray, with its addicting atmosphere of merriment, a part of you - the part that's had two drinks, probably - is longing to be alone with Alastor. You look at him then, and he seems to read your mind.

"I find myself quite satisfied with frivolity for one night," he says to the group then. "I shall wish you all goodnight until tomorrow."

No one really seems to react; there's a murmur of acknowledgement from the group. But then, your little voice ripples the stillness.

"Yeah, me too," you say, and it's obvious as anything exactly where you are going.

There's looks from the others then; you don't stick around long enough to analyse their expressions. Feeling a little uncharacteristically performative, you decide to give your captive audience a show. You grab Alastor by the hand.

"Goodnight, everyone!" You say cheerfully, trying not to break out into laughter. "Bye!"

You bring forth Alastor's shadow; the lent power surging in you. You envision Alastor's room, and the darkness swallows you both up. The two of you manifest together - a little clumsily, it's only your second try after all - into Alastor's quarters. You're giggling wildly.

Alastor looks at you, and you can tell he is delighted with you.

"That was delicious," he says, gleeful. "Their fucking faces!"

You gasp, scandalised.

"Language!" You say, but you're laughing. "It was funny though."

"I am obsessed with you," Alastor says, and his coat is on the floor. He lifts you then; your legs wrap around his waist.

He's looking at you like he wants to eat you; at this point, you're sure that you'd let him. You hook your arms around his neck.

"You are the best idea I ever had," he says. "I want to lock you in this room with me and never leave."

"But we need to dance together tomorrow," you say, mock-pouting.

"To Hell with tomorrow," he says, and he's kissing you. You are gooey with rampant hormones and pheromones and lust.

You break the kiss apart then and Alastor's lips chase yours for a moment as you do.

"Will you sleep tonight?" you ask, concerned now. You want him to be able to rest.

Alastor laughs; it's deep and wicked in his chest.

"I think I will do much more than sleep, if it's all the same to you, sweetest."

---

Night clothes or covers are hardly concerns even worth considering on this night, this second of the two nights Alastor had left to sleep. And honestly, neither is the prospect of sleeping, anyway. He carries you to the bed; carries his precious girl to the only place he desires to be.

Alastor's bed used to be his enemy; a prison ripe for his torment. But now, it feels like sanctuary; an oasis for you to share. He wants to drink in all of you.

Drown it all out, sweet thing.

The bed is still unmade from where you'd both left it this morning; it's of no matter. Alastor drops you together into it, then he pulls back, standing. Your whine of rebuttal is music to his ears.

"Come here," you say, sitting up on your elbows.

Alastor is a little unsure of himself then; this is new territory, after all. He looks at his prize, looks at you; laying in his bed. He knows he desires closeness, closer contact than you've had before; but he's not sure what the options even are.

He curses at himself internally for spoiling the moment.

"This is… new ground, for me," he says, and his voice is low with embarrassment.

He watches as understanding crosses your features.

"It's okay," you say, gently. "What do you want to do?"

"I want more than we've had already, but, I fear I may still have a limit to it all still. For now," Alastor confesses.

You move to stand and he backs up a little to make room for you. You're kissing his neck; he is melting.

"It's okay," you mutter between kisses, and Alastor could listen to you tell him that forever. "We don't have to rush into anything."

"Mmmm," he says, unable to string a coherent sentence together.

Your nimble hands are working at the buttons of Alastor's shirt; dexterous thing! He looks down in surprise - three are already undone.

---

"This okay?" You say then, searching Alastor's face for signs of willingness. He nods.

You unbutton the rest and his shirt opens before you like a stage curtain parting. You're reunited with the sight of that scar; you lean forward and press your lips to it, gently. You give the skin there a brief lick with a pointed tongue. Alastor breathes in a sharp inhale. Your hands are at his bare waist; you begin to stipple kisses against his sternum.

"How do you—" Alastor gasps in the middle of his question as you place a kiss on his left pectoral. "—how do you know what to do?"

"Hmmm?" You say, lost in the sea of his exposed chest. Your hands slide upwards in parallel, resting on the widest part of his ribcage.

He groans and leans into you, his own hands holding your hips. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"How do you know the order of play?" He asks.

"I don't," you say. "I'm just as inexperienced as you, remember? I'm just following my instincts. Doing whatever comes to mind."

Alastor leans back then, his eyes are open and vulnerable. Full of want.

"There's no rules," you say. "Or if there are, then we decide them. Together."

"You are perfect," he says. "Just perfect. What did I do to deserve you?"

He kisses you; his hand at your cheek. It feels like falling into bottomless ecstasy. You can taste the whiskey he'd had at the bar; it's honey and spice on your tongue.

"What do you want to do?" You ask him now. His mouth is at your neck; he nips at your jaw.

"I want to feel your skin against my own," he mutters into your collarbone. He's stooping to reach it; you can't help but feel this would be easier laying down.

"Well, that's easy," you say, trying to sound confident, but your voice is raspy with need.

You guide him gently to sit on the edge of the bed; he allows your hands to push him down. You slide his open shirt away from his shoulders; Alastor senses your goal and assists you. The shirt drops to the floor, immediately forgotten.

The Radio Demon looks up at you with blown-out pupils; his scars are bared before you. You want to kiss every single one of them.

You stand between his legs and cradle his face into your chest; you feel him breathe you in. His hands are clawing at the back of your playsuit; he's trying to peel it off you.

You aid him in his venture, slipping the top half of it down to your waist, leaving your chest now also bare. Alastor seems alarmed - flustered - to be immediately confronted with your exposed breasts.

You can't help but giggle at this; he looks at you, perplexed.

"Is it not customary to wear lingerie anymore, in your time?" He says, voice trembling a little. You realise he means when you were alive. You laugh gently.

"Yes," you say, and you take his left hand in yours, guiding it to your right breast. "It is. I just happen to not be wearing any."

Alastor's face floods with red at the new contact. He looks younger to you now than he ever has; stripped entirely of any part of his usual performative demeanour.

"Any?" He asks then, and there's a hint of mischief creeping back in to his tone.

There you are.

You giggle.

"Well, yes, some," you say. You slide the rest of the playsuit off you; revealing your pair of black lacy panties.

"Oh good," Alastor says then, his confidence coming back. "I was afraid I was going to have to lecture you on how to conduct yourself properly."

"Hmmm," you say, amused. "Not necessary, sir, I assure you."

Alastor lets his tongue curiously graze against your left nipple; you gasp.

"Good?" He asks.

"Yes, g-good," you say. You feel heat pooling in your abdomen.

He releases your other breast from his grip and uses both hands to pull you in closer now; he runs his tongue up the length of your sternum. You shudder against him.

"Alastor," you say, and he doesn't register you for a moment. "Alastor."

"Hmmm?" He says then, preoccupied with placing kisses upon your breast.

"Do you know… do you know anything about what it is that… lovers, do?" You ask.

Alastor huffs impatiently against your skin; his breath hot. He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are frowning, frustrated.

"I'm not uneducated," he says. "If you're asking if I know what procreation is, then yes, I do."

You run your hand through his hair and he seems to forgive you your transgression. You run a finger over one of his small antlers and he closes his eyes.

"There's more to it than that, though," you say. You swallow hard, mustering bravery. "Do you ever… seek your own pleasure?"

You're trying to use language that won't seem crude to Alastor; he opens his eyes, seemingly just so he can roll them at you.

"In what way?" He asks. "I do many things purely for my own enjoyment."

You clear your throat.

"I mean. I mean like this. What we are doing now. But when you are alone."

"My sweet, you are making no sense," he says then. "How could I possibly do this alone when the whole point is we are only able to do it together?"

Oh. He really doesn't understand.

"Alright, let me rephrase," you say. "Do you ever find yourself seeking… release?"

Alastor considers this for a moment.

"I suppose," he says. "Of sorts. Doesn't everyone? Catharsis is needed for the soul, I think."

You notice with chagrin that his radio filter is heavy again. He's confused and trying to cover it up.

"Alastor," you say. "I'm asking if you ever touch yourself."

The Radio Demon looks at you then with low-lidded eyes. He grins.

"I know," he says, the filter gone. "I'm fucking with you."

Your stomach drops. You're speechless. You fell right into that trap.

He laughs at your reaction; but not cruelly. He's just very pleased with himself and his little joke.

"I'm inexperienced; I'm not a moron," he says then, smirking.

His accent is so different when you're alone together like this, you realise; it loses almost all of its transatlantic quirk. He sounds so… normal.

You can't help but love it.

"That was mean," you say, but you're smiling.

"Fun though," he says, and he pulls you into the bed.

Checkmate.

You're under him now, your body sinking into the mattress. He holds himself up, propped on an elbow, and he buries his face into your neck. You let out small, soft moans.

You are quickly becoming slick with need.

"Yes," Alastor says against your temple then, and he uses his free hand to graze a thumb over your nipple.

"What?" You say, confused. It comes out shaky.

"I said yes," he says. He covers your breast with his whole palm; he kneads it gently. Your back arches, pushing your chest forward. Closer. Need to be closer.

"Yes what?" You say, still not following. You're unable to string any kind of coherent thought together.

"Yes, I fucking touch myself," Alastor says, darkly.

You feel as if you may come undone just from those words alone.

"But you're such a gentleman," you joke, unconvincingly. You're trembling.

Alastor laughs against the skin of your cheek. His hand begins to trace shapes on your stomach.

"Is that what you think?" He says. He pulls back to look at you; his expression is amused, an eyebrow raised.

He's fiddling with the lace at the edge of your panties.

"I'm re-thinking it, now," you say, and you let out a small laugh. You squirm with need.

"Ohhh, come now, there's no need for that," Alastor says, teasing. "I am a gentleman when I need to be. I pride myself on that, my dear."

He's opened the game; the move is yours to take.

"And do you need to be one now?" You ask.

Alastor grins widely and nuzzles his mouth into your neck. He licks upwards from your collarbone to your jaw; you are on fire.

"No," he says. He slips his hand under the fabric of your panties.

Your hips jut upwards to meet his touch; his eyes are scanning you for your reaction.

Right. Inexperienced, but not with his words. Got it.

"You're all talk," you say, but your tone is playful.

Alastor's fingertips are sliding against the wetness he's found. His eyes are wide. He's too stunned to make a comeback.

"You've bloomed for me," he says, enamoured.

"I have," you say, voice jagged with desire. His middle fingertip grazes against your clit; you react with a shudder, gasping.

"May I taste?" He asks. "Please?"

You look at him then; goddamn this demon, you think to yourself. How can one man contain so many contradictions?

The gear change from dark teasing to now earnest pleading is jarring, but in the best way possible. Alastor in bed is just as he is anywhere else; a constant conflict between his two sides, each fighting to be in the driving seat.

Your hesitation is worrying him; he's fixed on your gaze, waiting. Hoping.

"Please," you say. "I am begging you to do so. Yes."

"Then I shall worship at your alter, my love," Alastor says.

He uses a claw to cut you free from the panties; you can't even pretend to care that they're ruined.

He lifts himself up then, bending over you, trying to figure his angle out. You help him; twisting yourself around on the bed so that your legs are either side of his lap where he kneels.

Alastor seems to understand your move and he reciprocates; he grabs your waist with both hands and adjusts you slightly. Finally, he has a clear view. He lowers himself; finally, his tongue makes contact with your cunt.

His tongue flicks against you with wild abandon; you are left gasping for air.

"Don't stop," you tell him.

"Couldn't if I tried," he mutters, and he laps you up.

His hands - his claws - dig into your thighs as he holds you open. His tongue concentrates on the bud of nerves; you are already so close.

Alastor groans into you; the vibration hums through your core. His tongue is relentless.

A thought comes into your mind unbidden then; surely no human on Earth could have made you feel like this?

This is positively demonic.

You glance down; and you are ruined at the sight of Alastor over you. His antlers have grown as he's fucked you with his tongue; the sight of this unravels you.

You come against his mouth; he drinks you down greedily, holding you there until each wave has passed. You are left panting; your whole body languid.

You're only barely aware of Alastor moving you both carefully; he lays beside you, assessing your state with adoration.

Your breathing calms and you grin at him. He grins back, and then you are both laughing.

"You taste divine," Alastor says. "I could do that forever. Luckily, we have all of eternity, so I think that might actually be possible."

You giggle.

"You'd get tired eventually," you say, coy.

"Madame, you severely underestimate my prowess," Alastor says, and he's planting kisses on your jawline. "Overlords don't get tired."

You're shivering with leftover adrenaline; Alastor throws the cover over you both. He moves closer to you under it and holds you against him.

You realise with a twinge of amusement that he's still wearing his slacks.

"You can't wear trousers to bed," you say, yawning. You nuzzle into his chest.

"That's where you're wrong, my dear!" Alastor says, the filter and accent coming through; but it seems a little self-parodying. "The Radio Demon does whatever the fuck he wants."

You laugh into him, coiling your arm around his torso.

You yawn again.

"I'm getting even tomorrow, by the way," you mumble against his chest. "If… if you want that."

Alastor is yawning too now; you are relieved that he will get some sleep.

"I shall hold you to it, my dear," he says.

You lay together, curled into each other. You notice after a while that Alastor is already asleep. Sleeping soundly, no less; in fact, the Radio Demon has the first restful night's sleep he's ever had in Hell.

Content, you follow suit. You drift off, knowing that you have found your truth.

Your first fall was to the depths of Hell.

Your second fall happened in the weeks that came after; you know this now.

You love him.

Chapter End Notes

Song vibes for this chapter:
https/youtu.be/BM2LhsGkJ-s?si=s7IkUNIPEZuOObnu

So when I first started writing this fic I didn't plan to write smut, mostly as I wasn't confident I could (this is my first time ever writing/posting it) and I was a little embarrassed. I'm STILL a little shy about it but. It's here now, and it's here to stay, and it's a lot more... outright than I planned, lmao. But. I love writing these two together and I want to be an adult about it and explore all of it - I hope that's okay with everyone :) (And I hope I did an okay job at it asgdggfg)

See you at the ball, everyone.
️

Good in Red

Chapter Summary

Warning: Chapter contains some sexually explicit material which is not suitable for minors.

Also - this is a *long* chapter. It is divided into two sections to make it a little easier to digest. Happy reading!

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

*

Kill your demons, kill 'em dead

In your mirror, in your bed

In your heart, in your head

Don't you look good in red?

Slay your devils, kill 'em all

Take your throne, paint the walls

And if you make it out alive, hold that bloody head up high

*

(Good in Red - The Midnight)

---

Part One - The Day

It's the morning; you wake first, your body still feeling wonderfully relaxed from the efforts of the night before. You can tell it's early. You have that slightly chilled feeling in your bones that only the early hours can bring.

You sit up and look at Alastor next to you. He's still sleeping, softly. He looks beautiful.

You get up, padding softly to the bathroom to refresh yourself. It's cold; you grab a robe from a hook and drape it around yourself, black silk hanging off you. You think then of your dress, the one you will wear later; you are so excited for Alastor to see you in it. You giggle to yourself at the thought of his reaction.

You manifest your phone in your hand and take a quick look at the time - 5:48am - oof. Too early to be up and about. You slip yourself back into bed, carefully, so as to not wake the Radio Demon next to you. You stay sitting upright, enjoying the returning warmth of the covers over your legs. You look at Alastor again then, taking this rare opportunity to see him without his smile.

Even he cannot force a smile when unconscious, after all; his mouth is relaxed, parted slightly as he breathes. You are filled with adoration. You are so in love with him; the headiness of first love is filling you, electric within your soul. Your senses are alert, all attuned on Alastor.

Your brain is flooding you with endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine; other hormones. You've never felt anything like this before; you think you finally understand why people write songs and literature about love, now. It truly does feel like a drug. It is blinding.

You take a glance around the room; it looks altered somehow, different. Nothing really has changed, but it seems like a new realm all the same.

You look at him again then; he appears to still be sleeping, eyes closed, but you notice with amusement that his smile has returned. You raise an eyebrow.

"You're awake, then," you say, softly.

Alastor opens a single eye.

"What gave it away?" He says.

"Your smile," you say.

He grins and his eyes are closed again.

"Does it bother you?" He says. His voice is low and soft with sleepiness, but his tone is calm.

"Not at all," you say, and you stroke hair from his face. "I like everything about you."

"Mmm," he says, dozing.

"I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on your emotions, anyway," you say then. "Your eyes never lie."

Alastor makes a low rumbling sound of amusement. He stretches a little; you can't help but think he looks feline as he does so. He rolls slightly on his side until he's almost laying on his stomach, the crook of his arm underneath his head. His hair is messy and ruffled, gorgeously so; his ears are limp and relaxed.

"You're perceptive," he says, and his words are a little muffled. "That's one of the things I like the most about you."

"Oh?" You say then, surprised. Happy to be praised. You're eyeing his exposed shoulder blades; you want to bite them.

"Mmm," Alastor says. "Not many people read me correctly, but you nearly always do."

You think on this for a moment. You slink down against the headboard, letting your body slump further into the bed a little.

"Well. You do such a good job of keeping everyone away from you," you say.

"Touché," Alastor mumbles. You are suddenly filled with the strongest desire to hear him speak French against your ear for hours.

"Isn't it exhausting, though?" you say.

"What, my dear?"

"Always performing like that?"

Alastor opens his eyes then; you worry for a moment you've offended him some how, but he seems to genuinely consider your question. He shifts slightly to look at you better.

"No," he says. "I'm a natural-born performer, I delight in it. It's how I like to live."

"But that's sad," you say, and Alastor is furrowing his brow in confusion. "No one gets to see the real you."

"You do, now," he says, softly.

"I know, and I love that," you say. You let yourself slide completely back into bed, laying beside him. "But I wish the others knew you like this."

Alastor raises an eyebrow. You giggle.

"Alright," you hastily clarify. "Not exactly like this, but you know… See the other side of you more."

Alastor sighs and closes his eyes again.

"Why would I care about what they think," he says, scoffing.

"'Cause then, they'd understand why I love you so much," you say, and Alastor's eyes are wide open.

You're embarrassed; you hadn't meant for the confession to just leak out of you like that. But it sits between you now, the truth laid out in the bed with you both. You fluster; you consider saying something, but you can't object against your feelings. There's no retracting it now.

"What did you say?" Alastor says, and he's moving himself upright. "Do you mean it?"

You pause; you look at him, and you see the desperation in his eyes. You can't lie to him.

"Yes," is all you say, softly.

Alastor is wide awake now; he's up, he's on you, he's kissing you, on the lips, all over your face. You are delighted, giggling. You feel like your heart might burst out of your chest.

"I can't tell you how happy that makes me," he says against your face, placing a kiss on your chin now.

"That's all I want to do," you say, breathless. "Make you happy."

You're kissing properly, then; your mouths combined. You sink into it; all concept of time, space, anything else falls away from you into oblivion.

Alastor lifts himself away and you huff in frustration. He leans back on a propped-up arm.

"Do you want to know something?" He asks you.

You sigh a little at the make-out having been halted; your curiosity is piqued nonetheless.

"Mmm?"

"When you first came here, I was so confused about you," Alastor says. You laugh.

"Why?"

"I couldn't understand why you weren't afraid of me, like everyone else is." Alastor is laughing a little too, slightly bashful. "It vexed me endlessly."

"Why did you want me to fear you?" You say, and you're giggling because it sounds so stupid now.

Alastor sighs. He's picking at the tie on your robe idly with his free hand.

"It's easier being feared than liked," he says then.

"That's why you perform," you say. He hums in agreement.

"It's not all for show, though," he says. "There's truth to the… other, side, still."

Alastor flattens his palm against your abdomen. He lets his fingers slide underneath one side of the robe; they just about make contact with your skin. You quiver; you immediately forget what he just said.

"Can you read me?" You ask then, your voice shaky; it broadcasts your blatant desire.

He looks at you then, amused.

"I'd like to think so," he says, teasing; his hand tenses against you, claws digging in a little. You squirm. He adds then: "Not at first, though."

"Oh?" You breathe out.

"Mmm. That one time at the bar, do you remember?"

You cast your mind back. Oh. You cringe at your past self.

"I thought I'd scared you off," you say. Alastor lets out a crystalline laugh - ha!

"I thought you were eyeing me with fear," he says, grinning. "I thought I'd finally got you."

You giggle then.

"No, quite the opposite," you say, and you blush. "You did get me, though."

"Hmm," Alastor says, and he is pleased. "You confounded me back then. You've always been able to see into the core of me, I couldn't understand it. You offered me kindness, from the very first moment. I was… angry, about it."

He's looking into your eyes; he's opening up before you. You're finally getting what you've always wanted; a look behind the mask. You can't believe your luck.

"Why were you angry?" You say, softly. Alastor shakes his head.

"I don't know," he says. "One gets used to a pattern for so long it becomes… normal. One side is allowed to be dominant for long enough… I suppose you forget how to let the other shine through."

You want to cry for him. You want to hold him forever; you want to save him. You want to pull him up and out of this black ocean of his own making so he can breathe again.

"Will you try now?" You say, so quiet its almost a whisper.

"Try what, my love?"

"Will you try to let this side come through more? For me?" You say.

"I would do anything for you," he says then. "I adore you. From this moment on I will be living and breathing only for you."

"Do you promise?" You say, breath hitching as Alastor is kissing your neck.

"Mmm," he says. "I promise I will try."

You take his face in your hands and guide his lips to your own; you're kissing him then, with a sweetness that wasn't there before; somehow breaking new ground, even now. Emotion swells within you. It's tender; it's perfect.

Alastor pulls back and he's smirking.

"What?" You say.

"You can't stop me fucking around with people sometimes though, my love," he says.

You're laughing.

"Well I can hardly ask you to stop being a show-off, can I?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear."

"Hmm. It's okay," you say, and your hand is absently pinching gently at the back of his neck. "I like it."

"You do?" He says, and he brightens.

"Mm. I like both sides of you."

Alastor tenses a little; he hesitates, looking away. He seems to consider saying something, his expression clouding; pupils darting.

"Alastor," you say, trying to re-anchor him to you. "It's okay. We don't have to talk about your past right now."

He looks at you; he looks like he's lost out at sea in his mind. Come home, love.

"I know we said we would, today," you continue. "But I know it's painful for you. So… just for today, why don't we just enjoy this? We can talk about it some other time, when you're ready. And… I will understand, I promise. Whatever it looks like."

Alastor is looking at you like you are some sacred piece of art.

"I love you," he says, simply. "I love you so much it makes me insane."

Now it is you that is lost at sea; your heart thrashes like waves against your ribcage. His words have you shipwrecked.

"Please don't ever leave me," he says.

"I won't," you whisper. "I won't, I promise."

"Please," he says, and his face is in your chest. "I won't survive it."

"I won't, I'll stay, I'll stay forever," you say. Your hands are in his hair. "I'll stay every night, here."

"You will?" Alastor asks, his voice muffled against you.

"Mmm," you say. "Your room is much bigger than mine, after all. Nicer, too. I like the fireplace."

Alastor is laughing against you; the rumbling warmth of it blankets you in joy. His laughter is like dark red wine in your throat. He looks up at you then.

"Will you spend today with me, mon amour?" He says. "Every waking minute of it?"

"Yes," you say, and you couldn't be happier.

---

Alastor is getting used to an unfamiliar sensation. Or, at least, he's trying to; he doesn't know if he can ever truly get used to this feeling. This… happiness. It's so novel, so real. He can barely breathe with it.

You lay together, your head is on his chest; it's still early morning. You'd dozed together a little while. Alastor feels so well rested; he can't remember the last time he'd had such a full, clear night of sleep. His synapses are rounded out, losing some of that frazzled harshness that comes from sleep deprivation. He feels… Well. A part of him still hates to admit this, truly loathes it, but; he feels a little more human.

And now, the two of you lay, luxuriating in the morning that outstretches before you. Alastor doesn't want this day to ever end. He wants to be frozen in time, living with you in a purgatory of his choosing, like the bayou in his room; static, never leaving. Just relishing this feeling forever. The feeling of being saved by you.

Alastor is stroking your hair as you lay on his chest; your arm is coiled round his torso. He lets his index finger trace light circles on your neck, the point of his claw gently dancing on your skin.

You seem to stir a little; he can't see your face, but he feels your movement.

"Can I ask you something?" You say then, your voice soft.

"Anything, my love," Alastor says. He slips his hand under the neckline of the robe and skims his hand over your shoulder blade in delicate strokes.

"You know last night when you said… yes, to my… question," you say.

Alastor thinks back to the night before. Oh. You mean about him touching himself. He smirks.

"Mmm," he says, still somewhat distracted by the softness of your skin; his hand at your back.

"Was it… Was it true?" You say.

"Yes," Alastor says simply. What else is there to say?

"Oh," you say. "I thought you were just saying it."

"Why?" Alastor says, enjoying the game.

He watches as you adjust yourself slightly; rolling over so you're facing him, laying on his abdomen. Your eyes are wide; Alastor notices with pleasure how your pupils bloom, dilating, when you look at him.

"I… I just would have never thought that… you did," you say, and you're blushing.

"Why?" Alastor says again, grinning. This is delightful good fun. You let out a bashful huff.

"I don't know," you say then, looking away. "I just thought you were't interested in pursuing any kind of… Y'know."

"Gratification?" Alastor supplies. He watches you with predatory captivation as you startle a little.

"Yeah," you say simply, still not meeting his gaze.

"Hmm! Well. I never have with others," Alastor says, cheerily. "You're the exception to that rule, it would seem. As I keep telling you."

"But, alone, I mean," you say, and you're picking at the edge of the bed cover nervously.

"Well of course, that's different," Alastor says then. His tone is wicked with mischief. "I still have physical needs."

You're looking at him then; he can see how worked up you're getting. It's delicious.

"You… do?" You say.

"Mmm," he says, and he strokes one of your ears gently. "It's not something I do frequently by any stretch of the imagination, but. It can build up and become… frustrating. I like to keep a clear head. Occasionally, a little relief is necessary."

Alastor is frustrated now as you sit up out of his grasp. His arms are longing for your return.

"Why do you like it with me?" You say. "You're not just… pretending, to make me happy?"

Oh, my love.

"No," he says. "I want that record set straight this moment, I am not pretending."

You're looking at him, open; waiting. Alastor sighs.

"I honestly don't know why. It just feels right. I want all of you and I want to enjoy you in every way possible. I want to do all of the things that I never have before; not for the sake of doing them, but because I can do them with you. Does that make sense to you, my sweet?"

You nod.

"I feel the same way," you say.

"Good," Alastor says. You seem to pause.

"So, just so we're clear," you start. Alastor narrows his eyes: he knows what you're about to say. "Are you a—"

"Yes," he cuts you off.

"You don't know what I was going to say!" You protest then, laughing.

"Yes I do, and yes I am," Alastor says, shortly.

"You don't know what I was going to ask," you say, and you're pretending to pout.

Wicked, tantalising creature. Alastor rolls his eyes.

"If I am a virgin?" He says then, terse.

"No," you say, shaking your head theatrically. "I was going to ask if you're a morning sex person."

You're laughing; you wink at him. He can't help himself; he's laughing too.

"You wretched MINX!" He says, and he's all over you in an instant.

Alastor relishes your giggles as he assaults your skin with kisses; he peppers them hungrily over your neck - he pulls the robe down, away, slightly - and there are more kisses all over your collarbone.

"I don't know, actually," Alastor says, mouthing at your neck for a moment before speaking again. "Why don't we find out."

He feels you soften in his arms; feels your pulse quicken under your skin. You let out a soft moan and he is sinking into you, into this.

He's clawing at the robe, needing your skin exposed. Come to me, sweetness. Let me see you.

"Helped yourself to this, I see," he murmurs with amusement, meaning the robe.

"O-Oh, sorry," you breathe out. He chuckles.

"No, by all means. Take it. Take anything you want from me. Take it all," he says.

Alastor runs his tongue along your jawline; you are whimpering. Without needing to look, he undoes the tie of the robe; it falls, revealing your naked chest. His hand is at your breast, kneading gently. But you're still tense.

"We don't… We don't have to do anything you're not - ah! - ready, to do yet," you're saying, in ragged bursts.

Alastor realises then; she's holding back for my sake.

"Verity," Alastor says, and his mouth is at your cheek. He kisses there, softly. He lifts up; kisses the spot at the base of your ear. He keeps his voice low. "I appreciate your concern, my love, I really do. But if you don't touch me right now, then I fear I may perish."

It's the key to a door Alastor hadn't realised had been locked; it's open now, and you come to him. Your hands are on his chest, at his back, pawing at him. You kiss him with a feverish energy that is beautifully demonic. Alastor is buzzing with it.

The robe is gone then; it slips away, leaving you naked. A feast. Alastor feels your hand pulling at the fabric of his slacks.

"Get these off," you say, between kisses. Alastor laughs into your mouth.

"So demanding," he says, but he's pleased. So pleased. He is wanted. Needed. It is his undoing.

"It was stupid to wear them to bed," you say, petulant.

"You may be right," Alastor says then. He feels your scoff against his mouth.

He gestures a hand; with magic, the slacks are gone, leaving him just in his red boxer briefs. Alastor feels a small warning feeling in the background of his mind - his tail. He tells himself he will endeavour to keep it hidden, still.

"Hey!" You're saying then, pulling away. "That's cheating."

Alastor leans back on his elbows, keen to press his body against the mattress. And keep his tail hidden. He raises an eyebrow.

"How so?" He says.

"I wanted to see you take them off," you say. Alastor is amused.

"The end result is the same," he says, smirking. You roll your eyes.

And then you're straddling him; Alastor doesn't quite register how it happens, you move so nimbly - but you're on him, his hips are between your legs. And you're moving against him, grinding.

"Fuck," Alastor growls then. You look divine on him.

You lean forward to kiss him; he accepts the gift of your lips on his. Alastor knows you must be able to feel how hard he is now; demonstrable proof of his desire for you.

You sit back then, rocking gently. Alastor watches with undying interest as you take one of his arms; he allows it to sit limply in your hands. Anything, anything you want. You are kissing up the length of his forearm; then his hands.

"I love your hands," you say. You place a kiss into his palm.

The Radio Demon is rendered speechless. He can only make sounds. He grunts his acknowledgement at your words. Sacred girl, consume me.

"And your arms, too," you say. You are licking at his skin.

This is torture, this is Heaven.

"This bit," you say. You're tracing the part of Alastor's arm where the gradient of the skin shifts from grey to black. You kiss, you mouth; you bite, gently.

Alastor moans; he cannot stop the sound from leaving him.

"I think about it all the time," you say, and Alastor is rock hard underneath you. He knows he is panting; he's sweating, desperate.

"I wonder if it looks the same," you say, sounding sweet with faux-innocence. You look at him, blinking coyly.

"I-If what does?" Alastor manages, and his voice is strained with want.

"Your cock," you say, and Alastor feels like he might just die.

---

You watch Alastor as he reacts to your answer; you feel how he reacts. You have no idea where you are getting this audacity from; Alastor seems to be having the same train of thought, as he is looking at you with amazement.

His ears are flat, low against his head, but not backwards; sideways. You know it is a good sign. His face is burning with blush; it's gorgeous, it's madness. You feel like you have him caught in a trap between your legs, and it fuels you.

Alastor clears his throat and tries to huff in amusement - bravado - it comes out shaky, trembling.

"I believe my lent powers may be giving you more strength than I originally intended, my dear," he tries; radio filter glitching feebly as he tries to cover his voice with it.

You giggle; you shrug cheekily.

"May I find out?" You say then, and Alastor needs a moment to realise what you're asking. Then the penny drops.

"Yes," he says, voice a raspy whisper.

You scoot yourself backwards slightly, resting your straddle on his thighs. You assess the view; Alastor's desire is obvious and bulging. You notice with amusement the colour of his briefs; red. Of course. The fabric is taut against his erection, which is pressed flat against his abdomen. You place your hand there, gripping gently; it's warm and oh so hard.

Alastor lets out a guttural noise; you glance quickly at his face. His expression is pained with need. You don't even need to speak the words; he catches your eye and nods for you to proceed, breathing heavily.

You lift down the top of his briefs; his cock bounces free, and you are rewarded with a sight that confirms your suspicious. Yes. Just as you thought; jet blackness at the tip, shifting in a gradient into his lighter skin tone at its base. It twitches before you.

You run your index finger along the underside, following the natural curve. Alastor hisses an exhale through gritted teeth.

"May I hold it?" You ask.

"My love, you may do whatever you want to me," Alastor says, voice sharp as glass and strained with effort.

"But you want this?" You say.

"Yes."

"You want this for you," you say, and it's a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

Alastor is panting, frustrated; it's delectable. You decide to continue playing dumb. You let your finger trace upwards again; you are gifted with the sight of his cock flexing at your touch.

"So this is good?" You say, and you're grinning.

"Are you toying with me?" He says.

"Yes, I am," you say, and you grip him fully then, your hand clasping around him firmly. He moans and it's all you ever want to hear forever.

You pump the fist closed around him a few times, watching for his reaction; his claws are digging into the sheets, his antlers are expanding. A bead of pearly fluid emerges at his tip; you spread it with your thumb. Alastor tries to buck his hips upwards, but his movement is limited with you atop him.

You begin to move your hand in a steady, consistent pace.

"Is this what you do?" You ask him.

"What?" He says, and it's barely audible through his shallow breathing.

"When you're alone. Is this what you do?"

"Yes of course," he says, and he's impatient. "What else is there to do?"

You laugh at the annoyance that flashes on his features; teasing him is too much fun. You're sure that he can feel your own arousal on his thighs; you are dripping.

"I can think of a couple things," you say, and you lift your hips.

"No," he says then, panicking slightly. "Not that. Not yet."

"That's not what I'm doing, don't worry," you say.

You brush your hand against your sex, then back to his, transferring your wetness from you to him. It lubricates your efforts.

"Fuck," Alastor hisses. It's honeyed praise to your ears. You're having so much fun.

"How long has it been?" You say, still working at him.

"What now?" He growls. He's cursing under his frayed breath.

"How long has it been since you last had release?" You ask.

Alastor looks at you, and you can tell he is considering the question, despite the circumstances. Play along, love.

"Last week," he grunts out. You squeeze him in your fist. "After you… after you left. The time we watched films and you—"

His breath hitches as you squeeze harder.

"—you had me lay on you."

You slow your movements a little, and Alastor whimpers almost imperceptibly.

"Oh really?" You say, genuinely curious. He nods. "Huh. What got you so worked up?"

"You, you infernal woman," Alastor snarls. His hips are moving; trying to thrust his heat harder into your hand. "Being near you. Being touched by you."

You're so pleased.

"And that… thing, you did," he adds then.

"What thing?" You say, genuinely clueless.

"The ear thing," Alastor says, and you can tell he's losing his patience.

"Oh. I'll remember that then," you say, and he groans. You quicken your pace. Reward.

"My love, I don't think I will last much longer," he says then.

You take your hand off of him and he is aghast. A shattered exhale leaves his lips and he is panting.

"That is a dangerous game, my sweet," he says darkly. His eyes are wide and manic. The edges of his grin are curling upwards.

You draw yourself backwards a little more, and you lean yourself forward over him. Your lips are within touching distance of his prick. You look up at him; his ears are back, but he's blushing. You hover your mouth above the tip of him.

"This okay?" You whisper.

He nods once, astonished; you take him into your mouth. You roll your tongue slightly and—

He comes immediately.

You swallow it down; happy to accept every part of him. You're so focussed on the task at hand that you hardly even register the feral sounds he makes as he finishes.

You sit back up and look at him happily; you can't help but notice he looks embarrassed. You wait for his breathing to still.

"Good?" You say, grinning.

"Yes. Although… my apologies, for the… abruptness," he says. "What you did was unexpected."

"Mm. No, I'm pleased. It means I did well," you say.

"You did very well," he says, and his tone is almost melodic. "And now we have more time for me to do you."

You succumb to him then; his touches, his tastes of you. He manipulates your body under his hands, moves you, grips you. His mouth is on you then, on your sex, and it's mere moments before you are relinquishing your own release into him.

You lay together, across the width of the bed rather than the length; both dewy with perspiration. Alastor takes your hand in his. He raises it to his lips and kisses it softly.

"I think the answer is yes," he says, and you're not following. "Yes to… this, in the morning."

Oh.

"Yes to this in the mid-morning," he says, and he places a kiss on your chest. "The midday. The afternoon. The evening. The night."

Each word is marked with its own kiss.

"Any time of day. Yes."

You're barely able to breathe.

"Devour me, always," he says.

And by God; you will.

---

Later, Alastor bathes you. You are sat in his black claw-foot tub, he is sat by its side. He caresses your skin with the wash cloth, carefully. Gently. He is meticulous with it; taking great care to ensure every part of you is cleansed with the hot water. Baptised.

He sees it then; the white-spotted bite mark scar on your shoulder. His fingers linger there for a moment, and he thinks with a heat of panic that he may have done that to you.

"That wasn't you," you say, seemingly reading his mind. "Don't worry. I think it's some sort of leftover echo from… from how I died."

"Oh," Alastor says, and he's distracted then by the sight of a rivulet of water dripping down your back. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you say, and you look at him. You're happy, relaxed; he is content.

"Will you get in with me?" You ask him then. He cannot deny you.

Alastor undresses and slips into the tub, behind you. The water licks at his skin as he lowers himself. You lean back against his chest; he holds you, the water volume rising to accommodate you both.

He places a kiss on your shoulder.

"How did you die?" You ask then. You pull his arms around you.

"I was shot," he finds himself saying, simply.

Alastor is alarmed at himself for a moment; alarmed at how willingly he provides answers to anything you ask.

"That's awful," you say, and your voice is low. "I'm so sorry."

You're kissing his hand. Alastor wants the subject changed.

"You were so delightful to watch yesterday, you know," he says, knowing you are a glutton for praise.

And it's true; seeing you use his power in-front of everyone had pleased him beyond his wildest dreams.

"Oh?" You say, fishing. He smirks. Hook, line.

"Of course! You know how much I love a little showmanship, my dear," he says, heavily filtered.

You're laughing; the movement makes the water ripple.

"It's deeper than that, too," he says then. "You publicly accepted a part of me. You showed them that you're with me. You behaved like I would. It drove me mad - in the best way."

"Clearly," you say, and your hand is stroking his leg. "It feels good. Having more power, I mean."

"Oh darling! Doesn't it just?" He says, elated. His lips are pressed to your nape.

"Mmm. A little scary, though," you say.

There's a break in conversation; the tap drips.

"Maybe you can show me," you say then. Alastor is brought out of a reverie.

"Mmm? What's that?"

"Maybe you can show me how to use more of my powers, sometime," you say, and Alastor is alert then.

He is practically vibrating with eagerness at your words; oh! Oh. The thought of you, unleashing true power, being magnificent in it… Alastor is practically frothing at the bit. He lets himself imagine what he hasn't dared to thus far; you together - Overlords, together. Whatever throne he achieves; you with him in it, in his lap.

You're humming approval at something; Alastor is confused for a moment, and then he realises. You can feel his excitement against your back.

"You like the sound of that, huh?" You say. He can't see your face, but he knows you are pleased with yourself.

"Hmmm," he hums into your shoulder. "Very much so."

There's conflict within him now, though; you are so pure after all. And he loves that about you; he loves your tenderness, your sweetness. It would pain him to tar you; to drag you down with him into the void.

"We'll see," is his answer to you, and you seem satisfied.

After a while of soaking together, Alastor gets out first.

"Oh my god," you say, and he's startled. He turns to you, but you're smiling.

"You have a tail after all," you say, lifting yourself out of the tub.

Shit.

The aforementioned tail flicks in irritation at your discovery.

"You weren't meant to know about that," he says, abashed.

You're laughing then.

"Alastor," you say. "Earlier this morning you finished down my throat, and you're worried about me knowing you have a tail?"

He huffs, irritated. His annoyance lasts only moments; you are beside him then, your wet body pressed to his. You place a kiss on his shoulder blade.

"That's enough vulgarity from you, my dear," he says, but he's smirking.

You squeeze his tail; the smirk is wiped from his face.

---

You spend a perfect day with Alastor. After you have both bathed and dressed, you find that you are ravenous - for food, that is. A meal is conjured - bread, fruits, cheeses - you eat together at the iron garden table in the bayou part of his room. You chat together with new-found ease.

After, you relax in Alastor's lounge; you are delighted to discover he has acquired a DVD player for you, set up with his projector so that you can show him some of the films you'd mentioned before. He's even acquired some of the films you'd listed. Alastor still regards the technology with disdain; you joke about how it's decades old at this point so he shouldn't mind too much.

The first film you select does not go down as well as you'd hoped; Alastor spends the whole time arguing with the plot; pointing out flaws in the villain's plan, or scoffing at the choices the characters make. You're charmed still, though; amused at how his ego and arrogance extends even to fictional characters.

You're giggling into his shoulder, by his side on the sofa. Alastor tells you that he must really love you if he's willing to tolerate such nonsense; and you feel it. You feel loved.

Alastor prefers the second film you choose; a classic slasher flick from the 1980's. You impishly reassure him that this one is from the nineteen-hundreds, so he should like it; this earns you an eye roll. But; the film is a surprise hit. Alastor seems to become far more invested in this one; he revels in the gore and violence. You laugh as Alastor exclaims encouragements every time Freddy Krueger is on-screen.

"I have a feeling you're going to like my dress later," you say then, thinking of how macabre it is.

Alastor is distracted by the bloodshed unfolding on-screen.

"Mmm? That so?" He says, not looking away.

You look at the time then - it's later than you'd realised.

"Speaking of, I need to go get ready," you say. Alastor finally drags his eyes from the film.

"Right-o, my dear," he says, looking at you expectantly. "Take us to your room then!"

You laugh.

"You can't come with me," you say. "It needs to be a surprise later!"

Alastor seems panicked then. His ears are prick up, alert.

"I won't look, my dear," he says. You shake your head.

"I won't be long," you say. "I'll see you downstairs later, hmm?"

You move to get up; Alastor grabs your arm.

"Please," he says, and his eyes are frightened. "Please, I can't be apart from you."

He's beginning to hyperventilate. Oh.

"Alastor, it's okay," you say gently, understanding. "I'll be fine. I'm just going to be in Charlie's room getting ready with her and Vaggie, okay?"

He seems to relax at the mention of Charlie; he looks up at you, eyes wide.

"You don't need to worry, hmm?" You say. "I'm safe. I'm safe."

"If anything happens, use the power, won't you?" He says, and his anxiety is so evident.

"Oh my poor buck," you say, running your hand through his hair. "I know you're anxious about being apart, but I promise I'll be fine."

You wait until he's calm.

"That's new," he says then, meaning the pet name.

"Do you mind it?" You say.

"It's a little on the nose," he says, grinning. "But you could all me anything at all, and I would like hearing it."

You're pleased. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table; Charlie, telling you she's ready for you. Alastor sighs. He knows his time is up.

"I have to go," you say.

He grips at you then.

"It's going to be torture," Alastor says. You let out soft laughter; but it's kind. Fond.

"I think you're being slightly dramatic," you say, trying to make light of it. "I'm going to be gone for about an hour and half, and then I'm going to be glued to your side all night. And then every day and every night after that."

"Go straight there," he says then. "Use my power to take you."

"I will," you say, and you place a kiss on his face, on the bridge of his nose.

And then you're gone.

---

Part Two - The Night

Alastor is waiting in the lobby. Waiting, yearning, hurting. For you.

The rest of the hotel residents are starting to congregate in the lobby, dressed to the nines; Alastor himself is suited in a beautifully tailored black tuxedo, a red pocket square in the breast pocket. He is itching for you to be back by his side; it's gnawing at him like some kind of infectious disease.

"You look like you could use a drink," a voice is saying.

Alastor jolts into the correct mode and assesses his surroundings; Husk is there. Alastor eyes him.

"Husker, my good man! A very merry evening to you," Alastor says. "And no. I think I will stay sharp this evening, if it's all the same to you. But I appreciate the sentiment!"

Husk grunts a response. He too looks up at the grand staircase.

"Waiting for Angel, are you?" Alastor says cheerfully.

"Yeah. What's it to you?" Husk says, gruffly.

The Radio Demon is thoughtful for a moment.

"Good for you," he says then, voice clear. Husk tenses in surprise, eyes wide.

"What'd you just say?" Husk says.

"I'm pleased for you, old chum," Alastor says. "You beat all of his other suitors to the punch, did you? Good show!"

"Uhhh… Yeah. Thanks," Husk says.

"You know, I have been thinking on all of that lately, Husker," Alastor says then. His eyes are transfixed to the top of the staircase; his pupils scan it constantly.

"Mmm. Verity. You guys are… you're together now, huh?" Husk asks, knowing he is allowed at least a little candidness with the Radio Demon.

"Ohhh-ho-ho, I'd certainly say so!" Alastor says, brightly. "Why, I swept her off her feet, of course."

"Uh-huh," Husk says.

Alastor shifts slightly. He stands rigid and proper; the very picture of a gentleman. His staff in his hands; his hands behind his back.

"I was wondering if I might ask something of you, actually, old pal," Alastor says then. Husk groans a little.

"What now?" He asks.

Alastor releases his gaze from the staircase then, turning to Husk.

"Will you keep an eye out for her?" He asks, and his voice is genuine. Husk is startled. "Please. If you should ever see her in trouble; swear to me that you will intervene."

Husk scans Alastor's face. Against all odds; he finds earnestness.

"Yeah. Sure," he says.

"Wonderful! I do so appreciate it, old sport," Alastor says. Husk nods towards the staircase.

"There she is now," he says. Alastor's head whips like lightning.

And there you are; making your way down the staircase with Charlie and Vaggie in tow. Alastor drinks the sight of you in; he feels whole again. And that dress! You look like a Goddess. Alastor thinks to himself that you are more beautiful than even Lilith herself.

Alastor can't stop himself; he gasps. He knows that Husk has heard him then; he does not care. But his stage is still lit, anyway.

"Ah-ha! My date awaits me. Until later, Husker dear!" Alastor says, and he's coming to you.

Husk has seen everything he needs to; he knows.

---

You're trying not to trip over the hem of your dress as you step lightly down the stairs; you feel a little self-conscious, but that feeling ebbs away when you see Alastor. He's looking at you like he hasn't been able to touch you in a millennia.

Alastor meets you at the bottom of the staircase; his hand is outstretched for you. He takes yours, kisses it; lingering, his eyes fixed on yours. You melt. He looks so handsome.

"You look divine, my darling," he says. You're besotted.

"You like my dress?" You say.

Alastor assesses it properly then.

"It's exquisite," he offers.

"It's a bit gory looking, huh?" You say smirking.

"Yes, well. I like that, of course," Alastor says.

"I knew you would," you say.

You ascend the final step and your arm is nestled in the crook of his within moments. Alastor breathes you in; his mouth is next to your ear.

"I like what's underneath even more," he says in a hushed voice. You shiver.

Charlie is bounding over to you both; she looks resplendent in her red ball gown, and she is exhilarated.

"Charlie!" Alastor says, fully filtered now. "I am looking forward a most wondrous evening! Truly, it is going to be a spectacle most auspicious. Everything ready?"

"I think so," she says, and Vaggie is at her side in a black cocktail dress. "I hope so."

"Ohhh I'm sure it's all going to go perfectly," Alastor says, and he flaps a hand foppishly.

You look at Vaggie nervously; she's eyeing Alastor with daggers. But then; she looks at you, and she seems a little surprised to see how comfortable you are with him.

Alastor tenses suddenly, and you're not sure why; but then you hear your answer before you see it.

"Okay, PLACES, people!" Lucifer is calling out. "Benefit Ball is a-gooooo!"

The King of Hell is there then, and his hand is on Charlie's arm. He's dressed in a black version of his usual attire; you wonder idly if he had the new top hat made especially. He throws you a quick polite smile.

"Charlie, sweetie," he says. "The guests will be arriving soon. You good?"

"Yes, dad," she says, and her expression is full of determination. "Let's do this."

---

Together you are huddled in a group; you, Alastor, and everyone else - aside from Charlie and Lucifer, who will shortly be making an address on the stage. You're gathered near one of the round tables towards the back of the enormous event hall; everyone is sat around it, aside from you and Alastor. You stand together, arms linked.

The hall is filling with demons of all shapes and sizes; some absolutely huge. It's overwhelming. The lighting is dreamy; string lights adorn the walls, there are lit candles scattered around, and soft glowing orbs of magical light bob and duck throughout the air. You can't help but think how romantic it is.

Everyone looks amazing; dressed smartly in formal attire. The whole scene exudes class, and you are captivated. Alastor is holding your arm to his side tighter then, and you look up at his face; his eye is twitching.

"Awww shit, here we go," you hear Angel say in the background.

You follow Alastor's gaze; at the other far end of the hall, three demons have just arrived. You only recognise one of them; Vox, the TV-headed Overlord.

"It's okay," you whisper to Alastor.

He doesn't acknowledge your comment, save for a small ear flick. His stare is fixed. He looks like an elk who heard a twig snap; moments away from bounding to the safety of the brush.

He relaxes slightly when Vox is out of eyeshot; the hall is huge, after all, and rapidly filling with hundreds of attendees.

"Okay?" You whisper then, and he realises you are addressing him.

Your voice retrieves him from his trance; he looks at you. He nods. He smiles. You are liquid in his glass.

His ear twists then; he's heard something else, but he looks relieved.

"Alastor!" A voice calls. You both turn; it's Rosie. You feel Alastor relax. She looks incredible, in a slinky form-fitting black dress. A few smartly-dressed cannibals trail after her.

Rosie makes her way over to you both, and Alastor is grinning. They greet each other, and you are cheered to see the easy friendship between them. She beams at you.

"My, my, Verity! Don't you just look a dream in that dress, eh?" She says. "I knew it was the one!"

You smile shyly. Rosie smiles widely; all fangs and good-humour.

"Doesn't she look great, Alastor?" She says then, ribbing him with an elbow.

"She does," Alastor says, and he's looking at you; his eyes are brimming with sweet fondness. "She looks breathtaking."

You heart melts; you want to kiss him there and then. Rosie is blinking at you both.

"Well then! Should be a night to remember," she says. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to ya chirpin'."

Rosie turns to leave, but then she winks at Alastor.

"Come see me for tea sometime soon, hmm?" She says. "I'm sure we have a lot of catchin' up to do!"

Alastor is laughing then, and you're missing the joke.

"Of course, my dear!" He says. "You can count on it."

After Rosie leaves, her cannibals in tow, you turn to Alastor.

"What was that about?" You say. He smirks.

"Oh, nothing. She just wants an opportunity to say I told you so. She does so love to gloat," Alastor says, but he's amused.

"About what?" You say. You're eyeing a huge demon in the distance; all fluff and feather plumes.

"You," Alastor says, and you look at him then. "She knew I loved you before I did. And she's going to be so smug about it."

You blush; the realisation that Alastor has had conversations about you with his friend is almost too much to take in. It's giddying.

There's applause; Charlie has taken the stage. She looks nervous, but delighted. She welcomes everyone and thanks them for being there. You all listen as she delivers a heartfelt speech in typical Charlie fashion.

"Hmm. She's done well," Alastor mutters then, and you're surprised.

More applause; Lucifer has stepped up now. He bows theatrically, ever the ringleader. Alastor rolls his eyes and curses under his breath as Lucifer makes his speech.

"Thank you, everyone!" Lucifer says. "And now it's my pleasure to introduce to the stage; LUMIA LYNCH!"

Lumia and her band take to the stage, and within moments there is music. Alastor seems to ease. The first song of the night is a smooth jazz cover of a song you happen to love; the '80s track sounds fantastic arranged like this.

Demon couples start to take to the dance floor; it's magical. Alastor is releasing you from his arm, you're surprised, but then; he's in-front of you, his hand outstretched. He bows slightly.

"May I have this dance?" He says.

"Of course," you breathe out. And you love him.

You're dancing then; your head against his chest. He leads you, stepping expertly; of course he's a good dancer, you think. You can feel his heart beating under your ear; fast, hard.

Lumia croons into the microphone.

Oooh baby, do you know what's swell?

Oooh, Heaven is a place in Hell

You're amused at the changed lyrics. Fitting. You can't help but agree. You sigh happily.

The song ends, and Alastor bows again.

"Thank you," he says. "For your end of the bargain, mademoiselle."

He's laying it on thick; and you love it. You giggle.

"Don't talk too much French to me," you say. Alastor raises an eyebrow.

"Why ever not?" He says.

"It does things to me," you say, and your expression is full of mischief.

Alastor realises what you mean, and there it is; oh you've missed it - his tell-tale radio static feedback. He grins at you darkly.

"I'll remember that," he says. You pray he does.

You return together to the little corner the gang have taken residence in. Charlie is there now; she reunites with Vaggie sweetly, hands clasped together. She talks animatedly at Vaggie; you smile.

With your arm securely fastened in Alastor's again, you lean against him comfortably. Lucifer is making his way over to the group table.

"Can't stay and chat too long," he says, to no-one in particular. "I got a LOTTA networking to do. Hoo-boy! A LOT. Of networking…"

"What a pity," Alastor says then, loud enough for Lucifer to hear. "I'm sure we will be lost without you."

Lucifer squints at the Radio Demon. But then he looks at you, and he smiles. Unsure.

"I'm sorry I haven't had much of a chance to get to know you more, uhhh…"

"Verity," you supply.

"Right! Right. Verity," Lucifer says, and he laughs nervously.

You can practically smell the testosterone coming off of Alastor; he is livid with territorial energy.

"It's fine," you say, smiling kindly. Lucifer is looking between you.

"Sooo, uh… You two, huh? You're uh… Dating? This guy?" He says, pointing to Alastor.

"I am," you say, firmly. Alastor is looking at you.

Lucifer doesn't look convinced.

"Well! That's nice. Best of luck to you with that one," he says, wheezing a little. "Gotta go - I just saw Satan, and BOY. He does NOT look happy."

Alastor is still so tense.

"Relax," you urge him. You rub his arm a little with your free hand. "Why are you so stressed out?"

He sighs.

"You would be too," he says. "If you were in a room with all of the most powerful beings in Hell - many of them your enemies - with the single most precious thing you want to protect most in the world."

"Well, I— Wait what do you mean enemies?" You say, letting out a small laugh. He's so dramatic.

"Champagne?" A soft voice says, and one of Alastor's conjured helper-spirits offers you a glass from a tray.

"Oooh! Yes please," you say, and you take one.

You forget the line of conversation immediately; you are delighted to see Angel and Husk in the distance, looking just as loved-up as you currently feel.

---

Vox is furious.

He sits with fists clenched; his table feels like it's miles away from the object of his gaze: Alastor, with you at his arm. He stares with impunity.

"He won't fuckin' leave her alone!" He mutters now. "How the fuck are we supposed to do this?"

Valentino sighs; he's also at the table.

"Beats me," he says, uninterested.

"Where is Velvette, anyway?" Vox says, growing more irritated by the minute.

"Over there," Val says, gesturing. "Trying to secure a new contract, no doubt."

Vox growls with impatience.

"She better fuckin' stick to the plan," he says. Val huffs.

"Relaaaax," he coos. "She's on it."

"How can I relax," Vox says, through gritted screen. "When Alastor is over there making googly-eyes at some third-rate bitch?"

Vox can't even disguise his resentful jealousy. It drips from his every word. No matter how many years pass, it still hurts; Alastor had been his friend, after all. His best friend. Vox had wanted more, so much more; and Alastor had spooked. He'd run, out of Vox's grasp; and he'd broken Vox's heart.

Alastor had told Vox that he could never feel that way about anyone, let alone him; Vox had held on to that, all this time, as some sort of crutch to get over the sting. If he couldn't have Alastor, then at least no-one would; but now. Now. Here the Radio Demon is, looking cunt-struck in-front of the whole of Hell.

Velvette is sauntering over with mischief on her features.

"You're gonna love me," she says.

"What?" Vox says, blunt.
"Like, really love me," Velvette says.

"What?" Vox says. His patience is a worn thread.

"Only went and managed to get some of the nano mics on the glasses of champers before they were handed out," she says.

"Okay, and?" Vox says, not following.

Velvette juts her hip and rests her hand cockily.

"And, Little Grey Rabbit over there has got one of 'em," she says. "I've got a live feed of her and Alastor's convo right now."

"Link me," Vox says immediately, and Velvette does so with a swipe of her phone.

"Okay, Al," Vox says, menace pulsing in him. "Let's see what you're up to."

---

Alastor is tired; he is done. He sits with you at the table now, the others are close by, dancing. There's too much noise; it's hurting his ears and all he wants to do is to take you up to bed and be alone with you. But Alastor knows you are happy here; he knows you want to be here for the whole event, and so, he tolerates. For you.

Alastor knows, too, that you'd quite like to be up and dancing with the others; but, sweetly, kindly, you've stayed sitting with him. Your loyalty and devotion is a tonic to him amongst all this tension. He watches you now as you tip champagne into your mouth; he thinks idly how much more exposed your neck is with your up-do.

Alastor leans into you then.

"I have to say, my dear," he says. "I do so happen to like your hair like this. Quite a lot, actually."

You're happy then, looking up at him.

"Oh?" You say, always fishing for more. But he's happy to provide.

"Mmm," he says. "You have a very biteable neck. I deeply enjoy seeing it on display, very inviting."

You're giggling then; even over the racket of the room, he can hear it as clearly as dawn breaks through the night.

"Shush," you're saying, but you're pleased. "Someone will hear you."

"No they won't," Alastor says, low. "And anyway, I find myself struggling to care if they do."

You're looking out at the dance floor then, your eyes full of stars. Alastor feels a pang of regret he's not showing you a better time; but it's keeping all of his energy just to stay alert for threat.

"Will we tell people properly?" You're saying, and Alastor is unfocussed.

"Tell them what?" He says.

"About us," you say, and Alastor considers. What is there to tell?

"They know we are courting," he says simply. You huff a little; but it's not serious.

"Well, yeah, but they don't KNOW know," you say. "That we're properly together."

Alastor is frustrated, but he tries to not let it show. Must they? Must they know it all? Is nothing sacred?

He just wants to take you away, far away; and never let anyone look at you ever again, just incase they hurt you. It would also mean admitting to everyone that the barbaric Radio Demon has a soft side; something he can't even yet begin to fathom entertaining.

"Do we need to announce what we do in the privacy of my room to the others?" Is what he says, and you're giggling. Good. Keep this light.

"No, not that," you say. "But… I love you, and I want to be able to act like I do in-front of others. Freely."

"Mm. I suppose that doesn't sound awful," Alastor says with a grin; but there's truth there. "I shall think on it some."

You seem content; you look back out to the fray. Alastor can't help himself; he sorely needs some entertainment after all. He leans forward and speaks in a low rumble against your ear.

"We'll keep the heavy petting to ourselves, though, shall we?" He says; he is rewarded with your startled blush.

You murmur an acknowledgement; and then you're turning to him, your eyes wide and full of candlelight.

"Kiss me," you say, in a whisper.

"Now? Here?" Alastor is surprised, but not vexed.

"Yes," you say. "I don't care if anyone sees. I want them to know I'm yours."

Alastor's blood is fire in his veins; he is ignited. Your words may drive him to madness. He wishes he had his shadow so he could simply whisk you away that moment; but he does as you ask. He leans forward and kisses you, softly. Quickly. It is too soon a parting when he pulls away; your sweet expression is some consolation, at least.

"I love you more every moment, my dear," he says, and it is true.

The illusion of your sole universe is ruptured when Charlie bounds over; she is sweaty with the effort of dancing and giddy in her heels.

"Come dance with us!" She is saying, slightly drunk.

Alastor tenses; he loves to dance, but not tonight. It's a frivolity he cannot muster the energy for. But you're looking at him, pleading. He sighs.

"Well! I believe I shall stay here and enjoy the view, hmm?" He says then, contrived. "By all means, my dear; you go right on ahead. I would never stand in the way of a good show."

And then you're gone from his side; you blow him a quick kiss, and you're up with the others. In eyeshot, at least. Not too far at all. Alastor's eyes will stay locked on you, anyway. It's fine. He grips his staff tightly and tries not to imagine murdering everyone in the room except you.

Alastor does find some comfort in the view, after all; watching you dance is a pleasure. You are so alive, so happy; bright energy on your haunches. Alastor finds himself reminiscing then; the wilderness he'd hunted in. The rabbits and hares that had skipped and bolted through the grasses. How fast; how agile. Lithe limbs and alert senses.

Alastor finds himself hoping that you possess the same sensitivity to danger; he knows that you don't. He is the evidence of that, after all.

Charlie is speaking to you with animation about something, her hand is on your wrist; Alastor tenses immediately. But faithfully, dutifully, you are skipping over to him. Good girl. His pleasure at this is short-lived, though; you request the unthinkable.

"Charlie wants to take me to meet some other demons," you're saying, exhilarated and tipsy. "She wants to show me off as the new resident!"

"I don't think that's a good idea," Alastor says immediately, and he's infuriated with Charlie.

"Alastor, relax," you are saying. "I'll be with Charlie the whole time! And I have the thing anyway, right?"

You're winking at him; you're trying to keep this casual. It is anything but. Alastor contemplates joining you as chaperone; but he is loath to converse with the upper echelons of Hell on a parade. Many of them want his head.

"Please," you say. "This is important to Charlie, I owe her his much. She's done so much for me. And I'll be right back, I promise."

Alastor curses the part of him that refuses to deny you; it is weakness and a thorn in his side. He wants to shred flesh in his hands to process the feeling. Not yours, though; never yours.

He keeps his malice in check and smiles tensely.

"Every parting from you is a cruelty," he says. "But I shall let you go."

You're beaming, thanking him, reassuring him; it falls on deaf, deer ears.

"I love you," you say. "I'll see you later."

And then, Alastor watches you go; he feels like his soul is being stretched out and torn before him.

Some time passes; Alastor is waiting. Waiting for you to come back to him; every single minute is agony. His mind is working, running through scenarios; what could be happening to you. It is no good; he cannot stomach it. He resolves to go and find you.

But; just as he's about to move, another demon Alastor doesn't recognise takes seat with him at the table. The demon is just some guy; brown hair, white horns, black suit. Riff-raff.

"Nice night we're having, huh?" The demon says.

"Mmm! Quite," Alastor says with well-practiced effort. "Terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I was just about to leave."

"Is that cute lil' bunny your date?" The demon says then, and Alastor is rigid.

And then he sees it; the VoxTek pin on the demon's lapel. Alastor swallows.

"What's it to you, chum?" He says. His nerves are crackling with static electricity. Crossed wires.

"Heh. Boss has got your bitch out the back," the demon says. "You wanna come with me all quiet and calm like so we can talk? He just wants to talk."

Alastor's worst fears are playing out before him in real time. He knew it; he should have kept you prisoner all night. He hates himself.

"I will fucking destroy you," Alastor says, and his features are darkening.

"I wouldn't make a scene, if I were you pal," the demon sneers. "Not if you want her safe. Now how's about you follow me, eh?"

Alastor is desperate; he meets the terms of the demand. He follows the goon out, down corridors, out to the rear side exit of the hotel. Stepping out into the back alley, Alastor finds Vox awaiting him.

"Alastorrrr," Vox purrs mockingly. "How's it going?"

"Tell me where she is, now," Alastor says, and his voice is thick with murderous intent. "Or I will rip that unsightly screen from your neck."

Alastor is trying to grow; he finds he can't. What?

"Relaaaax, relax," Vox is saying. "You'll see her in a minute. Let's just talk! Chat it out. Man to man."

Alastor is snarling.

"It is unwise to test my patience, as you know," he says. "If you'd be so kind as to return my date to me, we can avoid bloodshed."

Vox scoffs.

"Your date, huh?" He says, feigning amusement. "Do the rest of them know that you're fucking her?"

Alastor tenses then.

"Yeah. I heard you. Velv, she fuckin'… She bugged your slut's drink, or something," Vox says, rolling a hand in performative flourish. "And what I heard? It made me sick."

Vox is pacing; Alastor is frozen in place. Rage is crashing against him like a captive animal thrashes in its cage.

"And even worse, you love her?" Vox is saying, manic now. "Is this some kind of sick joke?"

The Television Demon lets out a cruel laugh.

"She has NOTHING to give you," Vox says. "She is NO-ONE. I could have given you EVERYTHING."

Vox roars this in Alastor's face; years of hurt and fury and resentment present in every glitch his screen makes. The Radio Demon tries desperately to summon his powers; they are failing him. His lip curls.

"We could have been unstoppable," Vox says, and his anguished tone betrays his feelings. "We could have been so great. What the fuck does she have, hmm? Or is she just a tight hole to you?"

Alastor grabs Vox's collar then; yanks him forward. He growls into the screen.

"Don't you dare speak a word about her," Alastor says. "You are a worthless disgrace. Where is she?"

Vox laughs brutishly; he pushes Alastor away.

"Oh, you thought she was here?" Vox says then, enjoying his sport. "Oh no. This was just a distraction, buddy. Cause your girl? Yeah. I'm thinking I might just take her away, keep her locked up somewhere."

Alastor realises with cold dread that he's been duped. He pulls at his essence for his powers to come to him; it is futile. What is happening?!

"Yeah," Vox continues his taunt. "Maybe I'll rip her up a bit more, day by day. Whatever I feel like. No, yeah; this was just to keep you busy."

Other demons are emerging from the shadows; eyes glinting in the dark. Alastor's mind is spinning; he's careering his head. The demons are closing in. He tries again; desperate, pleading with his soul for his powers to come. He needs to grow. It fails him.

The knowledge of what's happened hits Alastor in a sickening creep. In his panic before, in his arrogance; he'd given you more of his power than he'd meant to. In his manic anxiety to keep you safe; it's all with you. Alastor realises this; the undeniable horror is evident in his eyes.

"Aww, what's wrong?" Vox leers. "Has your widdle girlfwend made you WEAK?"

Vox spits at Alastor's feet.

"Have fun being alone forever, asshole," he says.

Vox is electricity then; he zips away, into the wiring on the back of the hotel. He's gone.

The demons are on Alastor like a swarm.

---

You've been shown around and presented before so many demons; you are exhausted. You made an excuse to Charlie to get away - you did need to head to the restroom, after all - and she'd understood. Charlie had waved you off, reminding you that the fireworks show is not long away; the relief of being alone had hit you like a calm shore.

In the bathroom now, you look at yourself in the mirror. You check your hair, re-apply your lipstick. Yes. Good. You want to look your best for Alastor.

Leaving the bathroom, you're thinking idly how you should use the power to head back - but then, there's a voice.

"Well aren't you just the loveliest thing?" A demon is saying.

You turn; the demon is huge. He grins sharply at you, leant back against the corridor wall. He takes a drag of smoke; an elegant cigarette holder in his slim hand.

You don't recognise him; and then, in a slow realisation, it comes to you. This is one of the demons that had arrived with Vox.

"Oh, hello," you say, carefully.

"Valentino," the demon says, by way of introduction. He holds out a hand; you shake it reluctantly.

"Nice to meet you," you say, voice tense. Get away, get away, run.

"It's Verity, right?" Val says then. "Cute name."

"Thanks," you say, and you feel cornered.

"So, Verity," Val says, leering. "I have something to show you."

Valentino is grabbing your wrist then; you're pulling away. You're forgetting the power you have.

"What are you doing?" You say. "Stop!"

Your voice comes out as a yelp. Valentino is laughing; it's a bubbling ripple of malice. He's dragging you.

"No, I don't want to!" You shout now.

The moth demon's grip - two hands at your wrist - it's too strong. He's pulling you along - and then: salvation.

"Val?"

It's Angel; it's Angel.Divine intervention.

He's there, in the corridor; Husk is with him.

"Val, what the fuck are ya doin'?" Angel says.

The grip loosens, your arm drops; Valentino's single weakness is before him.

"Angeeeel!" Valentino coos.

And then they are talking; you don't hear the words through your pulse raging in your ears. You are ablaze with adrenaline. It's heated, they're speaking with malice; Angel is hit. Angel is against a wall, he slumps. You're hyperventilating. Your legs are rigid with fear. Run. Run. RUN!

Husk is at your side. His paw on your arm breaks you from the freeze; you look at him.

"Go," Husk says. "We'll handle it. Go."

And you do; and you remember.

You leave the corridor in a shroud of shadow; Valentino turns, growls. His attempted snatch is too slow.

You're gone.

---

You expected the ballroom; this is no dance floor.

The night air hits you. It carries with it the scent of something else. The scent of blood.

You're confused, you look around; where is Alastor? Has the shadow failed you? Has it not brought you to him?

But there he is, you think; is that him?

Your heart races. Your wide eyes take in the scene.

There's gore everywhere. The smell of death is rancid in your nose. Alastor is there; he's snarling, he's ripping. His jaws are sharp and wide; hunched over, he tears the head of a demon from its shoulders.

The head lands in a thud near your feet; you flinch. You gasp. Alastor turns. He sees you.

"Alastor?" You say.

Your voice is trembling with fear and confusion. Alastor is looking at you like a feral animal; his eyes are manic, his antlers are wide. Blood drips from his chin. There are corpses everywhere; slain demons.

Alastor is with you then; he's gripping your arms with bloodied hands. He's deranged. Demonic.

"Alastor, did you… What happened?" You say, and you're shaking.

Alastor's grip is staining your skin with blood; the blood of the slaughtered. His eyes are darting wildly; he's hyperventilating.

"My love, oh my love," he says, frantic. "I thought they'd taken you, I thought they had you. Oh my love, my love…"

Your body is chilled with shock.

"What happened?" you repeat, numb. "Did you… Were you attacked? Did you kill these demons?"

"Yes, yes," he says, and he's so far gone. "There's no time to explain, we must leave, I need to get you away, need you to be safe, come. Come my love."

"No, Alastor, what? Why?" You're saying, and you're so confused. "Why did you kill these demons?"

"My love, this is a trap, we need to leave," Alastor says, and he's gripping you so hard it hurts. "Please, please. Take us away, take us now."

"How… How could you kill them?" You're asking. Your voice works for you, somehow. You don't know how.

"Because that's who I AM," Alastor says then, and he's desperate. "That's what I do, my love, I am a killer, it's why I'm here. But we need to go, please, I beg you."

"Wait you… you were a murderer? In life?" You say, and your senses are trying to understand. Trying to see the light.

"Yes," Alastor says, impatient. "Please, please take us somewhere safe, I will explain my love, I promise, I will explain…"

"I can't, I can't," you say, and you're trying to shrug yourself free. "I need- I need a moment to process this, I can't…"

You're frightened; Alastor sees it. Your heart breaks.

"Please," he says then, truly begging. "You will understand, I promise. I will tell you it all, anything, all of it, it's not as simple as it sounds. Just take us, love, take us far, I cannot do it without my power."

You're hesitating; Alastor's wild eyes dart all over you. You see the truth there.

"Okay," you breathe out, and you trust him, you do. "Oka—"

Alastor is knocked away from you by a demon suddenly materialising; Vox is on him. They fall back together, to the ground. Alastor is clawing, growling; the two demons grapple for control. And then - a flash of white - Alastor is stabbed in the arm with a blade. He cries out in pain.

You scream out for him. For your love.

Vox is yelling.

"VAL! NOW!"

---

Alastor tries desperately to get Vox off of him; the angelic blade sinks into his arm and he is howling. Vox calls out; Alastor barely registers it through the pain. But then, he realises, knows what is happening; it's too late. Too late.

Without his power all he can do is watch, helpless, pinned down. Valentino appears behind you; there is a shroud of red dust. Hypnotic powder around you; you go limp, unconscious. Alastor is agonised; he's crying out for you.

Alastor bites down on Vox's arm at his throat; Vox recoils, swearing, but then he slashes at Alastor's other arm with the blade. The Radio Demon roars in pain, his blood spilling. Vox tackles him then; he's on him, pinning him with his whole body.

Alastor feels out of body; he feels like he's dying all over again. What fresh Hell is he falling to now.

If only he'd kept his power.

A vehicle is pulling up; a limo. A backdoor opens. A female voice is shouting. Your body is being carried over; Alastor thrashes under Vox. It's no use.

Vox is holding the angelic blade, hovering it over Alastor's chest. Over his heart.

Vox we've got the bitch, come on!

Vox is grimacing, he means to do it, he wants to do it. He hesitates; he cries out in frustration and pain and conflict. The blade sinks down; but in Alastor's shoulder. A deliberate change of sheath.

Alastor is screaming out. It's guttural.Carnal.

Vox is gone then; he moves in a flash of electric current to the car. It's leaving; it's driving away. It's taking you away.

Alastor claws at the ground, he rolls to his side; he paws at the floor, trying to lift himself up. He slumps down. He's bleeding all over, he's weak. He's broken.

You're gone; you're gone.

Alastor is left in the night air. He is kneeling; he is bleeding.

The distant sound of fireworks peppers the wind. Too late. Too late.

Midnight comes too damn late. Alastor feels his powers return to him.

But it's too late.

You'regone.

Chapter End Notes

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry

This chapter is a BEHEMOTH of a chapter. I'm sorry if it was too long, or too much; I hope it wasn't overwhelming. I just really wanted all of this in one chunk together. It's kind of the "season finale" of this arc, if you like - a big turning point in the story. Don't worry - Chapter 21 isn't too far behind, we're still rolling forwards, full steam ahead.

Can you tell I am really enjoying practicing my new-found smut writing skills PHEWF who even AM I

Writing Velvette's dialogue is also really fun for me, as I'm actually British, so it's quite silly being able to get some BRI'ISH slang in there. Normally I'm googling things like "Do Americans say "fucking hell"?" so I can keep this sounding legit LOL
Sometimes I worry I'm writing 'in private Alastor' a bit too English-gentleman LOL but I guess he was of a time & transatlantic etc etc so oh well

I await the support group forming in the comments. Hang in there guys, it'll get better, I promise. Eventually.

Also!
The lyrics at the start of the chapter are taken from this song: https/youtu.be/EX1LnLb6mbw?si=56SZfKUspFnv-K7t

Stag Fight

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Alastor is alone; and then he's not. There's an arm at him - there's a voice.

"Shit, fuckin'…"

It's Husk. Alastor is still bleeding. He's woozy, he can barely breathe. He feels arms trying to move him; he groans with pain.

"Alright, alright," Husk is saying, "I got you, c'mon…"

Husk is helping him up, he's calling out:

"Angel! Out here!"

Alastor can barely hear anything clearly. Everything is incoherent; cloudy. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels real. Not without you.Husk almost loses his grip on Alastor; he throws the Radio Demon's arm around his shoulders and lifts him up.

"C'mon man, straighten up," Husk is saying. "Can you walk?"

Alastor mutters something. He coughs out blood. There's another pair of arms on him; then another. Angel.

"What the fuck happened to him?" Angel is saying.

"No fuckin' idea," Husk says. "Let's get him inside."

"Where's Verity?" Angel says, and Alastor feels like he's being stabbed all over again.

Alastor tries to speak. His lungs feel like they're collapsing in his chest.

"What he say?" Angel is asking Husk.

"They took her," Alastor says, and his voice is broken.

"Who did?" Husk says, his tone disbelieving and urgent.

Alastor wishes it wasn't true more than anything else in the world. But truth is all that is left now.

"Vox," he says with another splutter of blood. "They have her. They took her from me."

"Goddamnit," Husk hisses, and Alastor passes out.

---

Alastor is waking, back into nightmare of his reality; slowly, groggily. There's voices. His eyesight is bleary; his whole body is wracked with agony.

And then he remembers; he remembers what happened, and he is in a whole new world of pain.

Alastor looks down; Niffty is there. She's stitching the gash on his arm with a tiny needle; his tux jacket has been removed. The sleeve of his white shirt looks to have been ripped clean off. Alastor looks down; the shirt is soaked with blood; there's barely any white left at all.

"Oh! You're awake!" Niffty says, and she smiles up at him.

There's eyes on him then, and Alastor realises where he is. He's in the lobby, in the lounge; he'd been carried to a sofa. Charlie, Lucifer… all the residents are there; still dressed in their formal attire. It's still the same night.

Alastor senses that some time has passed. There's no sound in the hotel at all. The ball is over; everyone gone.

"Easy does it," Husk says then, as Alastor tries to sit up.

The effort has his muscles trembling; but he manages it. He inhales sharply as Niffty pulls the stitches taut and ties the knot. It takes every ounce of strength Alastor can muster, but he passes his own hand over his other wounds, summoning magic to aid their healing. It doesn't do much, but; it's enough. For now.

"What happened?" Charlie says, and her voice is a tremble.

Alastor looks up then, meets her gaze; there are tears in her eyes. He feels like crying, too.

"It was an ambush," Alastor says, slowly. "I was attacked. They took her. The Vees. They have Verity."

The whole room is in shock; not only at the revelation, but at the rawness in the Radio Demon's voice.

There's noise then; discussion, exclamations. Alastor can barely stand it; it hurts. It all hurts. And then a voice is addressing him directly; a voice filled with anger.

"Why didn't you go after her?" Angel says, and the room stills.

Alastor can only look at him in anguish. He says nothing. It's a redundant question; the answer is obvious. Alastor's blood is staining everything it touches. Rational thought is not something that comes easily in the face of loss, but, still; Angel doesn't persist with his line of questioning.

There's more discussion, questions. Someone says aloud the fear in everyone's minds; what if they hurt her?

"I'll tell you one thing," Husk is saying, and everyone is rapt. "If anything happens to Verity, he will destroy everything. Likely including us."

It takes Alastor a moment to realise Husk means him; the observational skills of the bartender at work.

"It's true," Alastor says then.

The whole room is his captive audience; stunned into silence by the show of vulnerability on display. The infamous Radio Demon; now just a broken man. Alastor knows he needs to speak his truth; he knows he needs to do what his love wanted most from him. He needs to show them the other side.

"I would never consider myself someone worthy of redemption," he says. "You all know who I am. What I can do. What I've done. I do not think I can change; not in any real way."

"Why the fuck are we talking about this?" Vaggie says.

"Let him speak," Husk growls.

"I truly don't know if I can change, or even if I want to," Alastor continues. "There are things I… I cannot tell any of you, but what I can tell you is that if I ever had a chance for salvation, whatever that may look like… Then that chance lies with her. And, if I lose her… Then any hope I may have for any kind of… balance, will be gone."

The room is silent. Alastor has his audience transfixed; but this is no performance. This is no show. Just raw honesty; and his soul bared before them. It's torture for him; but it's the only way. He knows he cannot do this alone.

"What do we do?" Charlie says, her voice small and hopeless.

"Let me get this straight," Lucifer says then, incredulous. "Are you saying you care about her? Really, truly, care about her?"

Alastor looks up at the King of Hell.

"YOU?! Care about someone?" Lucifer is scoffing.

"And not in some bullshit manipulative way either," Vaggie interjects, furious. "Are you seriously telling us you genuinely care about someone other than yourself?"

Alastor sighs. Well, my love. Here's your public announcement.

"I do," he says. "Desperately so. I love her."

There's a delicate quiet; and then, Angel breaks it.

"Well, fuck me," he says, but his voice is hoarse. "I didn't see that one coming."

"So what's stopping you?" Vaggie is saying, and she's livid. "She's out there right now - why aren't you going to Vox right now and getting her back? Instead of… sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself? Fight, damn it!"

"Can't you fuckin' see it?" Husk is angry now, he's shouting. "He ain't as fuckin' strong as you think he is."

"Husk, I—" Charlie tries.

"No," Alastor says, and he is defeated. "He's right. For one, I'm not a mindreader; I don't know where they've taken her. Secondly, I can hardly take on the entirety of Vox's enterprise by myself, as much as it pains me to admit."

Alastor has his head in his hands for a moment. He sighs.

"That's exactly what Vox wants," he says then. "He's trying to lure me out."

"Well this is war," Charlie says, and her horns are emerging. "We're not going to let them take one of us."

"Yeah, we have to get her back," Angel says; Husk's arm is at his back.

"All this over one demon?" Cherri is saying then, speaking for the first time. "Like, no offence - she's nice an' all, but is she really worth risking all our lives over?"

Husk's looking at Alastor then, knowing what will come. He's not wrong.

"If you ever dare to say anything like that again," Alastor says, and he's standing - darkening. "I will rip you limb from limb. She is worth destroying all of Heaven and Hell a thousand times over for. I won't stop burning everything down until I have her back."

Cherri looks sheepish; she mutters an apology. Alastor calms a little.

"Wow. You really do love her," Lucifer says quietly.

"Hmm. I knew it," Husk mumbles.

There's more discussion then; ideas are thrown around of what can be done. How they can save you. Alastor is pushing his mind to work quickly; he's desperate to find the answer. It's like wading through marshland; each route in his mind leading him to a dead end.

"We need all the help we can get," Charlie is saying.

"Well this is all of us, we're all here," Angel says.

Oh. There it is. There is the ace up their sleeve; Alastor realises it now.

"It's not quite all of us, actually," Alastor says, his usual filtered tone returning.

His shadow is sent out to fetch; within minutes, it's dragging Adam into the room.

"What the fuck, get off me you fuckin' weir—" Adam is saying. He realises with a startle where he is.

Everyone in the room is appalled.

"Fuckin' get off of me, christ," Adam says, and the shadow releases him. "What the fuck do you all want?"

No-one speaks at first. Charlie can't help herself.

"Adam!" She says, teeth gritted. "Great…"

"Nice to see you too, bitch," Adam says. "Not exactly my choice to be here… So what's crackin'?"

Adam assesses the room; raises a masked-eyebrow at the state of Alastor, and then - he realises you're not there.

"Where's uh… Where's the cotton-tail?"

Alastor sighs. He assumes I killed her, he thinks to himself.

"She was taken," Alastor says, simply.

"What?" Adam says, shakily. "Who? Someone took Verity?"

"You KNOW her?" Angel says then, and he's astonished.

"Yeah, we hang sometimes, so what?" Adam scoffs, but he's worried.

Husk lets out a huff of amusement; it's tinged with sadness, too.

"Of course. Of course she's the one that gives this asshole any time of day," Husk says. "She even sees the best in him."

"Hey, watch it, Top Cat," Adam says. He looks to the room. To Alastor. "You gonna get her back or what?"

"Yes," Lucifer says, with resolve.

"And you're going to help us, old pal," Alastor says, grinning.

---

You wake up in a room you don't recognise; dark, cold. You're sitting then, upright, heart racing - Alastor! You remember, you saw… You're scrambling, you're moving; something at your wrist restricts you and you stumble. Looking down you see it; a glowing white shackle and chain, bolted to the wall. And to you.

Panicked, you try to manifest your phone; but you can't. It's futile. There's a movement then - Vox.

"You're awake!" He says, and he's sat on the chair at the other end of the room, hunched over, elbows on his knees.

Resting on his laurels.

"Come, come, join me over here, why don't you?"

The Television Demon leers at you smugly.

"Where am I?" You ask. "Where's Alastor? Why am I here?"

Vox laughs.

"Relaaaax," he says. "We're just here to have a nice conversation! Oh - and don't try any funny business now, it'll be a waste of time. See that chain? Yeah. That's a blessed chain."

You look down at the glowing shackle on your arm.

"Stops you from using your powers. Handy right?"

Sluggish realisation hits you; you don't have any powers. Not now.

"Please let me go," you say, and your voice betrays your fear.

"All in good time, uhhh… What's your name?"

"Verity."

"Riiiiight, Verity!" Vox says, faux-charisma dripping from his words. He leans back in his chair. "So here's the thing: I want, to let you go, but I can't. Aww! It's too bad. Buuuut, if you do a deal with me, then I will! Hey! Doesn't that sound good? Whaddya say?"

"Never," you say. Vox grimaces.

"Look," he says then, standing. "I don't think you understand the situation. You are going to be trapped here,"

Vox steps closer.

"Forever," he's in your face now. "Unless you do this deal. Okay? You're never going to see Alastor or that SHITTY hotel ever again."

Vox is snarling in your face; his finger pointed at your chest.

"He'll come for me," you say, but your confidence is waning.

Vox laughs cruelly; he backs up and paces a little.

"Do you even know what his deal is?" He says then.

You say nothing. Vox is searching your eyes for understanding; all he finds is your blissful ignorance.

"Ohhh…" he breathes out. "You don't know."

"What?" You say, angry and frightened.

"Shit. Well, I hate to be the one to break it to you, sis," Vox says, but he sounds like he's having a blast. "But your little boyfriend? He's a fuckin' psychopath. Yeah. He's killed hundreds of people. And not just demons, either! Ohhhh-no-ho. No-sir-eeee, I'm talking bonafide SERIAL killer on Earth!"

His words sound like lies; you know deep down they're not.

"I don't believe you," you say, because you don't want to.

Vox laughs spitefully.

"Awwww, guess you don't know him as well as I do," he says, cutting. "He didn't tell you that while he was busy shoving his FIST in you? I'd have thought that'd make good pillow talk, but what do I know?"

You're trying not to cry. Vox looks at his phone.

"Ooop! There I go, chatting away," he says. "I'm gonna go, okay? Give you some time to think about all this, come to your senses, relax a little… And then you can hear out my deal, hmm?"

You say nothing.

"Or you can rot away in here, whatever works. I'll let you decide."

And with that, Vox is gone; out of a door which he locks behind him.

You're alone again, in the darkness of the room around you. You glance around helplessly - there's nothing to aid you; only a small bed, the chair Vox had sat on, and a bottle of water. There's another door; you run to it, the length of the chain allowing you to do so - opening it just reveals a tiny, grotty bathroom.

You slide down to the floor, bunching your legs against your chest. You're still in your dress; the fabric is thin, and you're cold. You know you need to be strong but you can't help it; you're sobbing now.

You know Vox is just taunting you. Alastor had… he'd admitted, before the attack, moments before - that he was a killer. But he had wanted so earnestly to explain; you'd seen the fear in his eyes, you'd trusted him. You have to believe. You have to keep the faith. This is what you tell yourself now.

You know Alastor would have had good reason; it's what you need to believe. You know he will come for you. And now, with nothing to do except think; you regret your lack of action. He'd begged you to take him away, take you both away - why hadn't you? You'd been frozen in fear, stuck in place; just like you had on Earth. Witnessing carnage, seeing the threat - but unmoving. Unthinking. Like an animal caught in headlights.

You're crying so hard you can barely breathe. You're so angry with yourself. You indulge the tears for a little while, and then; you calm. What would Alastor do?

You need to be smart - you need to be brave. Alastor would think this through; he'd be cunning, he'd hide his emotions. He'd perform. And that is what you must do now. You will survive.

Come for me, my love. I am yours to take.

---

It's the early hours still; Alastor is in his room. The plan is set.

After some discussion, the group had decided that two things must initially be done; first, Alastor needs to be seen publicly continuing with life as normal. Appearing to not care. This way, Vox will become angered; which Alastor knows, makes him sloppy. Impulsive. If he thinks Alastor isn't taking the bait, he's more likely to dangle the carrot. It will give them an advantage.

Secondly; Angel is sure he can get something out of Valentino. Angel knows that he is the moth demon's weakness; he also knows that Val is stupid, reckless, prone to letting things slip. If he can provoke Valentino, they may be able to find out information about where you are; where they're keeping you. They need that knowledge before any action can happen; every second counts. They need to have their target in mind when they make their assault on the Vees; otherwise, the the jig could be up too soon - and they could miss their chance.

They don't have time to search the whole of Hell for you; it's too risky. They need to know exactly where to go. And once they do, well. Then they have their plan.

Alastor sits now, alone in his bed. His room is full of signs of your presence from the day before; the discarded robe on the floor, an abandoned cup of coffee. Each breadcrumb you've left behind feels like a fresh blade in his chest.

The worst; the bed sheets. They smell so strongly of you. Alastor curls into the bed, covering himself in it, in your scent; it's agony. It's punishment. How in all of Hell can he go on with his life? How can he pretend, as he needs to, that he isn't falling apart?

His whole world is destroyed; he finally has a reason to live, to care - and now it hangs precariously in the vice grip of Vox. His future happiness with you; it's out of reach. He cannot grasp it.

Alastor knows something else, too; he is smarter than Vox, after all. Nearly always several steps ahead, and now, in the predatory battle between them, his synapses are sharpening. He knows that whatever Vox sees, whatever footage he takes tomorrow, he will use it. He will show it to you, show you Alastor seemingly not caring; twisting the narrative, gaining your loyalty, tricking you. No. It simply won't do.

Alastor is reeling; he's working, his mind travelling down alleys and channels of thought, looking for the answer. If only there is some kind of sign, some kind of secret he could utilise; something only you would understand.

Alastor sits upright then; his senses alert. You are perceptive. You know him; you can read Alastor's signals and body language better than even he can himself. How can Alastor communicate to you that it's a ruse? How can he let you know? How can he make sure you know that he's fighting for you?

And then, like the sun peaks over a hilltop at dawn; it comes to him. Bright. Obvious.

He's a deer. You know about deer; you know their body language. You were trained to understand their signals, watch them; keenly attuned to their habits, behaviours. Alastor is running his hand through his hair; think. THINK.

His hand grazes an antler - oh.

OH.

It's coming to him; he has it. What was it you'd said? That time - the time he remembers so fondly, sweet creature, so passionate - about the bucks? How they use their antlers?

Alastor is remembering, it's coming to him, the idea is so genius it's filling him with something he hasn't dared to feel yet - hope. He recalls then, a conversation you'd had together, in his bed. You explaining about the rutting season of male deer - you'd been joking at the time, teasing him, but oh. You clever, wondrous thing. You'd given him the answer without even knowing.

You'd told him that male deer use their antlers against each other; when the young bucks come of age, their antlers grow, and they use them to protect their territory - and mating partners.

If Alastor can use his antlers as a signal to you, he knows you'll pick it up. He knows that you'll interpret it correctly; that he is preparing to battle. For you.

Alastor retrieves a hand mirror with his magic and practices; he works on growing his antlers just so. Nothing obscene; just larger than usual, enough to be obvious without being unsightly. He practices keeping them there like that, maintaining the size. Yes. Yes. This could work.

And for the first time in his life, Alastor makes a plea. He tells himself that if he manages to get you back, he will be a better man. He will do anything; anything at all. He will move Heaven and Earth for you if he has to. He will atone.

Alastor doesn't just hope you understand the message.

He prays.

Chapter End Notes

This is a shorter chapter, but Chap 22 is almost finished, so hold tight - more to come ASAP ️ (Maybe even later today)

Thank you all so much for all your comments on the last chapter, I'm trying to reply to as many as I can but I'm also trying to get the next few chapters written as quickly as I can so apologies if I don't get back to you right away! I see you all though - thank you for the support ILY

Hold on to your hats y'all

BONUS! A funny tidbit of behind the scenes for you:
When I'm planning out chapters, I write these stream-of-consciousness type lists of notes for what happens in each scene, and cause I'm writing it shorthand, I often write it in just casual language, things like "alastor is like wtf and she's like lol" and stuff like that And the scene where Husk was like "Let him speak" my notes said "Husk is all LET HIM COOK" and it made me laugh so much when I re-visited them

If anyone's interested in seeing some of the funnier chapter plan notes I can shove some on the tumblr sometime

Rabbit-Hearted Girl

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Vox sits in his control room; his fist clenched.

Look at this motherfucker, he thinks. He watches on several screens; drone footage of Alastor - glitching, of course - but clearly visible. Just… existing? Like normal? Vox is furious. Isn't Alastor supposed to be on his hands and knees, begging? Knocking down Vox's door at least; coming for him?Something? Anything?

And instead, the old-timey prick is just cavorting about in Cannibal Town; spinning his stupid stick, looking like he couldn't give a shit. Vox is confused, now; he'd heard you, hadn't he? Heard the disgusting sweet-nothings of lovers shared between you. The Television Demon considers this. Of course Alastor was just pretending; it's obvious to him now. He was pretending to love you. He must have been; if Alastor couldn't love him - couldn't love Vox - then how could he love anyone?

Vox feels pleased; his crutch returns. Alastor may not love Vox; but Alastor doesn't love you either. The Television Demon is up then, on his feet. Valentino catches him in a hallway; Vox gestures for him to follow.

"Well?" Val says, already bored of the conversation before it's even begun.

"He's just… out there," Vox says, and they're walking together. "He clearly doesn't give a shit about her."

"Damn," Val says, but he's amused. "That's cold."

"Mmm," Vox says, but his bitter, unrequited heart is soothed. "I really thought I had something to needle him with there."

Valentino takes a drag of his cigarette.

"Well, it's not all bad," he says. "You could show that to the girl, shatter her heart. Then when she's nice and broken, you can get her to make a deal anyway."

Vox halts, standing still; he's about to argue, but then he pauses. He turns to Valentino.

"You know, that's an unusually smart idea for you, Val," he says, but then he's grinning.

"Are you calling me stupid?" Val says, becoming annoyed.

"Noooo, no, no," Vox coos, all charisma and soothing charm. "No, you're just the smartest pick of the bunch."

Vox grabs Valentino's cheek and pinches it; the moth demon scoffs and brushes him off.

"I have to go," Val says, lackadaisical. "Angel wants to see me; about fucking time that little cocksucker came to his senses."

"Mmm," Vox says, not even listening; he's arranging clips of Alastor on his phone. "Sure, sure. Have fun."

In the basement, Vox comes to you then; he enters the room to the sight of you hunched over on the bed. It's a pathetic sight; but Vox is amused none-the-less. Your value is quickly decreasing in his mind - after all, if you truly mean nothing to Alastor, then what use does he have for you? It's no matter - may as well have some fun while he can. He can't wait to see your pathetic heart shatter at the sight of Alastor; just fine without you.

"Good afternoon!" Vox says brightly, and you're startled by the intrusion.

Vox spies his prize; a jumpy little rabbit. Pathetic prey. He's going to watch your heart be crushed in real time; and he's salivating.

---

You jolt awake at the sound of the door opening; the Television Demon is in the room, greeting you with feigned jollity. You sit up; here we go. Time to put on your best brave face.

"How did you sleep?" Vox says. "Shitty? Yeah. That bed is really gross. I keep telling Val we need to get better prisoner rooms, but hey! Wouldn't you know it? It's been low on our priorities."

You say nothing; you watch him drag the chair over to the side of the bed. You shift away from its edge.

"Ohhh come on now, Verity! I'm just here on business. I've got something I think you're going to be very interested to see."

Your damn curiosity; will it ever not get the better of you?

"What?" You say, softly.

Vox grins. Wide.

"Seems your man has forgotten all about you," he says, voice dripping with malice.

What?

Vox is holding a tablet screen to you.

"Go ahead," he says. "Take it. Be my guest. I've put some of my favourite clips together for you. It's good shit!"

Vox sits back, arms crossed, waiting. Nervously, you press play.You watch; Alastor is shown on screen. He's… the footage doesn't show him too clearly; it glitches bizarrely, his image flickering and jutting in view. But he's there all the same. You remember something he once joked to you in bed; this face was made for radio.

At first, you can't believe what you're seeing; Alastor, grinning, walking; just existing in Hell. How can he… wait. Something is different.

And then you see it; his antlers.

You know from… experience, that Alastor's antlers only grow during specific moments. And yet, here, he's seemingly enlarged them slightly; its subtle but it's there. That's not random; you know it's no coincidence. Oh my love. My buck.

He's sending you a sign. It's a coded message, and you hear its words loud in your mind; I'm coming for you. I'm going to fight for you. You are mine and I am ready to claim you.

He's using his animal body language. Your heart squeezes in your chest; he is so smart.And now; so must you be. You can't let on to Vox that you've seen this message, no; you must play along. Keep the game in play. You must do what Alastor would; put on a mask, put on a show.

You've lit the stage for me, love. Watch me perform.

"I don't… I don't understand," you say, sounding broken. "How… How can he do this to me?"

Vox is delighted. He snatches the tablet out of your hands.

"Because that's what he does," Vox says, and there's hurt there, despite the leering. "Don't you get it yet? He's not capable of love. You weren't anything to him; just a passing game. Entertainment."

The words sting even though you know they're not true; you harness the hurt to aid your performance. You let tears come to your eyes. Seeing Alastor on screen has made you miss him so much; it's not hard to let the tears fall.

"No…" you say. Acting the part. "That's not true, it can't be…"

Vox is laughing. He stands.

"What a shame," he says. "I had really hoped I'd have use for you. Mm. Oh well! Guess I'll just dispose of you."

Shit. You hear Alastor's voice in your head: be smarter, love.

"Wait," you say, and you're wiping tears from your face. "What was the… deal you wanted?"

Vox pauses; he grins.

"Well. If you think we can still come to some kind of agreement," he says. "Then maybe we can talk."

You know you need to stall for time; you don't know what kind of deal Vox will suggest, but you know it won't be good, and he'll push you for a decision immediately. But you also know… something else. That despite the evil, despite the manipulation; Vox can understand one thing.

He can understand a heart broken by Alastor.

You've figured it out, of course; your excellent perception working for you overtime with your senses heightened. After all, Alastor had told you himself, that time you tended to his wounds; Vox still holds a candle.If you can appeal to this; convince Vox you are coming to his side, then you can bide some time for Alastor. Chained in this room, helpless as you are, time is all you can give him.

"Okay," you say, softly. "We can talk. But, I need a little time.."

You let the sobs wrack your body, fat drips falling from your face.

"Alastor… how could he break me like this?" You say, and your eyes are wide and open, looking at Vox.

Encore.

Vox looks uncomfortable; but he lets out a sigh.

"If you're serious," he says then, tone tense. "I'll give you until this time tomorrow. Time to… compose yourself, okay? I can't deal with crybabies."

"Okay," you say, and you're drawing your knees up to your chest. "Okay."

"I'll get someone to bring you some food. You've got twenty-four hours, and then we'll talk," Vox says.

And then, he's gone. The door is closed.

An echo of Alastor's words comes to you then:

Chess is a game of the mind. Not the fist.

---

Angel braces himself; if there was ever a moment to work for Valentino, it's now.

He approaches the studio with a lump in his throat. The Radio Demon isn't the only one who wears a mask, after all; Angel does, too. Anthony does. And now Angel needs to repress all the Anthony down, down, down.

Angel Dust needs to take to the stage.

Valentino greets him; and Angel is all smiles. Slick charm and salacious attitude; Val is delighted. How good his pet is being. They talk, flirt. It makes Angel sick; but he's doing it for you. And then, when Valentino is lured into a false sense of security - Angel bites back. Antagonises him. Angers him.

Val is livid; he is screaming, throwing things. Angel still doesn't have what he needs; he pushes more. Tells Valentino that he never cared about him. That he hates him.

Angel is hit, then; he falls, shimmies himself up against a wall. But it works; he gets what he needs. In his rage, Valentino fucks up.

"Do you want me to throw you down to the basement with that other useless bunny bitch, huh? Chain you up just like she is?" Valentino is screaming.

And Angel has it. Now he just needs to survive.

No, Val.

Yes, Val.

Okay, Val.

Valentino is storming out of the room; it's done. Angel wipes the blood from his teeth and gets up. There's more work to do yet.

---

Alastor is pacing the lobby like a lion in its pen. Waiting for Angel to get back. All the residents sit waiting in the lounge, hoping that Angel's idea will be a fruit-bearing one; the fruit being the information they need to find you.

Angel's in the door then, bursting in. Black eye and bloodied mouth; Husk is at his side, swearing. Hating seeing him like this. Alastor makes a mental note to himself to pay them back when this is all done; he'll do right by Angel. And Husker. After all, they are helping him bring you home; no price will be too high as a reward.

But for now, he's at Angel's side, walking with him as they head to see the others in the lounge.

"What was said?" Alastor is asking, slightly manic. "What did he say?"

Angel waits until they're all in the lounge, and the result of his work is tippling out of his mouth and into the room like cherubic song.

"They have her still," he says, breathless. "She's alive. They've chained her up in the basement."

Everyone is relieved; Alastor sinks into an armchair, his head in his hands.

My love. My love - you are alive. There is hope.

Alastor startles a little as he feels a hand on his back; it's Charlie. He looks up at her; she smiles.

"Okay, how are we doing this?" Vaggie asks the room.

They all turn to Adam.

"We discussed the plan," Lucifer says. "Adam?"

Adam is looking perturbed; he scoffs, but it's unconvincing.

"You're the fuckin' King of Hell, why don't you just waltz over there and get her back?" Adam says.

"That's political suicide," Alastor says, and Lucifer is surprised.

"Right," he agrees, slightly reluctant to share a sentiment with Alastor. "If I'm seen interfering in Overlord matters, it could cause an uprising. Where is the line drawn?"

"Well, you beat me up," Adam says, rolling his eyes.

"You were threatening the whole of Hell!" Charlie exclaims, eyes flaming.

"Yeah. I guess I was," Adam says, and there's enough of a hint of regret there for Charlie to drop it. "What about Chuckles?"

Adam is pointing at Alastor.

"We've already been over this," Alastor says then, through a strained grin, static in the air. "They'll be expecting me. Vox knows me. Well. He knows my powers. If I go in there, he'll have the upper-hand."

"We need someone unattached from us. Someone who's not been seen affiliated with us," Vaggie says then. "And unfortunately, that's you."

She's looking at Adam; pure hatred on her face. It's understandable. Alastor hates him too.

Everyone is looking at Adam; the weight of the plan heavy on the air. It's something only Adam can do.

"Awwww, shit," Adam says, and he sighs. "I don't fuckin' know about this…"

"I'll make you a deal," a voice says. Everyone turns. It's Lucifer.

"Dad?" Charlie says, shocked.

Alastor is rocked to his core. Adam too looks amazed; expression almost comedic in its surprise.

"A real deal. We'll shake on it," Lucifer is saying, and he puts his hands on his hips. "You do this for us - and swear your allegiance to us - and I'll let you free. Out of this hotel, I mean. You'll be free to roam Hell as you like."

Adam considers this.

"And," Lucifer says, ready to sweeten the deal. "I'll give you your angelic powers back. Your wings."

"My axe?" Adam whispers.

"…Yes," Lucifer says, reluctant. "But if you use it against any of us, or you get any… ideas, about betraying us, then I will fuck you up."

"Oh now you get it right," Charlie mutters, rolling her eyes.

Adam is looking around the room; it's silent. He considers. Alastor prays.

"Okay," Adam says. "I'll do it."

The room erupts into cheers; someone is jostling Adam with gusto, an arm around his shoulder. Alastor is relieved.

Hold on love. Hold on.

Adam and Lucifer shake hands; the room is filled with golden magic. Adam unfurls his wings.

"Fuck yes!" He says, elated to feel his power back. "Let's fucking DO this!"

And the game is afoot.

---

The First Man is in the reception of VoxTek Enterprises. Mask on, wings folded; he's ready. Adam looks around a little unsure for a moment, then a clerk spots him; greets him. Asks how she can help.

"Uhhh, yeah," Adam says. "Kinda hopin' to meet with that, uh. TV-head guy?"

"Mr. Vox is currently otherwise engaged," the receptionist says. "You'll need to book to meet another day."

Adam smirks.

"Trust me, babe," he says. "He's gonna wanna see me. You go ask him."

The clerk rolls her eyes.

"Who should I say is asking?"

"Uhhh, try Adam: The First Fuckin' Man, see if that rings any bells," Adam says, goading.

The clerk's eyes widen; she is gone in a moment. That's right, bitch.

Adam leans against the main desk, looking bored. He sees a poster for a TV show he recognises - something he watched daily during the many, many days he spent shut in that basement room. Huh.After a few moments, the clerk is returning.

"Mr. Vox will see you now," she says. Too fuckin' right.

"That's what I thought," Adam says cockily, and he's led down a corridor.

The clerk leads him into an empty meeting room; assures him that Vox will be with him shortly. Adam grunts in response - and the door is closed.Adam waits a few beats, eyes on the door; and then he's lifting his robe.

"Get out, you little creep," he whispers, and out pops Niffty; unlatching from his leg and hopping to the floor.

The tiny demon cackles gleefully, eye darting around the room.

"Okay, now get the fuck out of here," Adam whispers, spotting a vent. "Up there. Go."

Adam watches as the demon that murdered him scurries over to the vent; she pops it open with worryingly little effort, slips in, and closes it behind her.

First part done.

Right; it's time for Adam to do his main part. Turn the bullshit on, keep these freaks occupied. Because if there's one thing Adam can do:

It's talk.

---

Vox is electric with excitement; on a group call with both Valentino and Velvette.

"You're never gonna fucking guess who just walked in the door!"

He's yelling into the screen before him.

Vox is pacing; he's exhilarated. Adam! The leader of the exorcist angels, Adam: in his building. Waiting to meet with him. The guy that almost killed Alastor; oh, OH. Vox is hard. He's ready. He hadn't even known the guy was in Hell; can they believe it?! He's blinded by the potential of the meeting; he's frothing.The other two Vees are keen, too; they tell Vox not to fuck it up.

Vox bounds into the meeting room, ready to turn on the charm.

"Adaaaam," he says, voice slick with charismatic allure. "To what do I owe this most Holy pleasure?"

Vox is shaking Adam's hand; he's shaking the First Man's hand.

"So nice to meet you," Vox is saying. "Such an honour!"

"Likewise, dude," Adam says. "Heard a lot about what you're doin' down here. That show you got? Incubus City? Fuckin' LOVE that show, man. Never miss an episode. Good shit."

"That's great, great!" Vox is saying, and he's elated. "So please, tell me. What can I do for you?"

Adam smirks; Vox is erect.

"Well, since I'm new here and all," Adam is saying. "I'm, y'know. Looking to make some connections. I figure we have a lot of… goals in common?"

"Oh?" Vox says.

He hasn't forgotten Adam's pop at Alastor. Hasn't forgotten at all. How can he, when it plays on a loop in his head at all times?

"How long have you got?" Adam says. "Cause I've got a LOT of ideas."

Vox laughs; the thin, clear laugh of an Overlord who's closing in on a win.

"For an angel?As long as you need, my friend! As long as you need," the Television Demon says.

"Fuckin' great," Adam says, and he grins with wicked intent, acting his part. "And hey! What's an 'A', if not an upside-down 'V', huh?!"

---

You're pacing in your room, trying to think of how to handle Vox when he inevitably comes to you; you hear a noise.No, I need more time!

But it's not Vox; it's the sound of some sort of creature scrabbling at the wall. What?

You look around, and then your eyes are wide; Niffty is clawing her way out of a vent in the wall like a crazed rodent. She falls to the floor with a plop, then stands with a shudder.

"Oh my god," you say. "Niffty!"

You run over to her, crouching.

"I found you!" She says.

"What are you doing here?" You say, overjoyed. "Where's Alastor? Has he come?"

You're crying; you can't help it.

"Adam is upstairs keeping the bad boy busy," Niffty says, and she spots the shackle on your wrist.

"Adam?!" You say, incredulous. WHAT?

Where is Alastor?

Niffty is gnawing at the chain; it's no use.

"Niffty, there's a key," you say, wasting no more time. "Vox has it, he keeps it on him at all times, on his belt. I'm pretty sure it can unlock this."

You're not sure; but what else is there to try?

"Okay!" She says, nodding violently. "I'll go look."

"Niffty, hurry," you say.

And she's gone; back up the vent just as quickly as she appeared.

---

Adam is being given a tour of the building; and god, this Vox guy sucks.

But Adam's doing his bit; he's chatting, joking; saying the kind of low-brow heinous things he knows Vox wants to hear. Teases of ideas, harsh comments about Alastor. It's working.The First Man is using his gift-of-the-gab for good, for the first time in his life.

Verity fuckin' owes me, he thinks. But he cares, too.

"How about the main control room, eh? Show me where the magic happens," Adam says, and Vox can't resist a chance to show-off.

At the top of the tower, Vox is showing Adam the peak of the headquarters; Adam spots her. Niffty. She's in the room. He frowns over Vox's shoulder; Vox is about to notice, Adam corrects his gaze. Laughs nervously. Provides platitudes.

Vox is distracted then, swiping at a device; preparing some spiel. Niffty is signing to Adam - a twisting key motion. And then Adam sees it; the key on Vox's belt. Adam groans internally. He needs to give Niffty a chance to sneak in and take it.

Adam throws an arm around Vox's shoulder and pulls him into a frat-boy like headlock.

"This is fuckin' AWESOME!" Adam says, boisterous. "I can tell we're gonna do great things, TV boy! Great things. With my powers and your… all this shit, I think we can be totally badass!"

Vox is a little caught off-guard, he's laughing nervously. Agrees, unsure. Lifts himself from Adam's grasp. It wasn't a long embrace; but it was enough.

Niffty is back in the vent, key in hand.

---

You're just about contemplating breaking your own wrist to try and shake the shackle free, when Niffty pops back into the room.

"Oh thank god," you say.

"No, thank Adam," Niffty says.

The shackle is free; you stretch your hand with the relief. There's a new challenge; the main door. It's locked; the key doesn't work.

Fuck.

"Shit," you say. "Shit. Shit. What do we do?"

"Alastor can't come in the building," Niffty says, and you know why; you don't bother to waste time asking useless questions. Not this time.

Vox probably has the building set on some sort of high-alert that would trigger as soon as Alastor set his foot in the door, knowing him. What do we do?!

But then you realise; you can use powers now. But you don't have any powers.

And then you know. You know.

"Niffty," you say, serious, crouching down. "You need to go, you need to go get the others. Tell Alastor to send his shadow for me. Go."

And she does. You pray this works.

You're pacing the room for a while; it's torture. It's purgatory. It's a Hell of its own. You try desperately to conjure some power; nothing comes to you. You groan in frustration. You shake at the door handle.Minutes pass. You're worried now; worried Niffty got stuck somewhere. Your senses are all throbbing with adrenaline. And then; salvation.

A familiar black shroud creeps under the door; Alastor's shadow is here. It grins at you like a happy dog returning to one of its owners.

"Good boy," you find yourself saying. "Come."

You hope this works; having used Alastor's shadow before, you're praying that you can harness its power once again. You need to let it consume you, fill you; and then you need to use it. Not just follow, now; you need to become one with it. Without Alastor here; without any deal.

The shadow wraps around you and you concentrate with effort.

Come on. COME ON.

You close your eyes. You breathe in deeply. GO.

Run. RUN.

You feel the power of the shadow embrace you just as Alastor would; his love for you makes your souls one, after all. The shadow is as much yours as it is his. He'd said it himself: Take it. Take anything you want from me. Take it all.

You're gasping, holding on, feeling the power course through you; and then you are moving. In the shadow, leaving the room, succumbing to blackness and mist.

You're outside; you're breathing clean air, you can see the red skies.

It worked.

There's a gasp; you turn, and he's there.

---

Alastor is pacing; outside the back of the VoxTek building in an alley. Come on.

He feels it before he sees you; his shadow returning to him. He turns. You are there. Alastor feels like all of the air is knocked out of his lungs; he's gasping for it. You're running to him, you're in his arms; you're sobbing.Alastor holds you and he can hardly believe it. It worked. It all worked.You're saying his name; he's in so much shock he can hardly move. Alastor kisses your face, over and over again.

"It's alright, my love," he's saying. "You're with me now. Oh, my love."

"I'm sorry," you're saying, through sobs. "I'm so sorry, it's all my fault and I—"

"It's alright," Alastor says. "It's alright, there's time for all of this later, but for now we need to get you out of here."

You're looking up at him with frantic eyes; he can feel your pulse against his chest.

"What about Adam?" You say then, and Alastor wants to throw Adam into a fire.

"He can handle himself," is what he actually says.

But then there's noise; you both turn. The sound of glass smashing. Commotion; fighting. Alastor strains his ears; and he hears the others.

"Shit," he says, and you're looking at him with fear in your eyes.

Alastor is pained. He knows he needs to take you away, far away. But these demons helped him. They helped him save you. Didn't he say he would atone? Didn't he promise he would be a better man?

Fuck.

"Stay by my side," Alastor says to you. "Don't leave my side."

"I wouldn't dare," you breathe out.

And then you're both moving; running towards the sound of the calamity.

---

You turn the corner, Alastor with you; it's a gory scene. Adam is on the ground, shattered glass everywhere; you look up. A window on the top floor is broken. He fell all that distance?

"Adam!" You cry out, and you're by his side. "What happened, are- are you okay?"

Adam is bruised, bloody; his wings are back. Oh. He flew.

"Oh hi, Verity," he says, weakly. "Yeah I'm peachy, just trying really hard not to die right now. No big deal."

You let out a nervous laugh; Alastor is by your side.

"What happened?" Alastor says, filter thick and heavy on the air.

"That uh, Vox guy?" Adam says, coughing a little. "Total douche, by the way. He figured it out. You better get out of here."

You look up; Vox is fighting other demons. You strain to see, then… you realise with horror that he's fighting Charlie and Vaggie.

Alastor is huge then; he's growing, his true power coming out. He smacks Vox away from the others with a snarl, tentacles coming out of him, antlers massive. He's monstrous; it's divine. Vox is growing too, then; unleashing his true demon form. He's a dark mass of messy cables and lights; gruesome technology.

Charlie is at your side; Lucifer is helping Adam move. Angel and Husk are there; Vaggie is tugging at your arm. She's urging you to come with them.

"No!" You say, pulling away. "I'm not leaving him!"

Vox has Alastor pinned; he sinks gigantic open shards of screen into Alastor's arm in a gaping bite. The Radio Demon howls.

You are consumed with rage.

---

Alastor is snarling, grappling for control; the bite opens up his existing wounds, fresh and bleeding. He's reeling, trying to react, when something breathtaking happens.

Vox is knocked away; Alastor doesn't see how at first. And then he realises; it's you. In true demon form.

You are spectacular. Alastor can't believe his eyes at the sight before him; you, transformed. Long, dark limbs with sharp claws. Your hair flowing longer than it ever has, horns emerging; eyes ablaze with fury. You are rampaging at Vox, and then you have him down. You are clawing at him with a viciousness Alastor couldn't have even dreamed to see from you.

It's glorious.

And you're killing him; or you're going to kill Vox, if Alastor doesn't stop you. He's conflicted in his own rage; on one hand, he wants nothing more than to watch you spill the blood of his enemy. He wants to drink it down with you, bathe in it. Alastor would destroy the world with you as his demonic bride.

But; he pauses. He knows, deep down; he cannot let you taint yourself this way. Alastor cannot stand by and watch you do something he knows you will never be able to take back. Your soul will be tarred; and Alastor knows that the pain of being a killer will destroy you.

So Alastor stops you; he's grabbing you, and you are thrashing against him. You are yearning for the kill.

Oh, love. I know. I KNOW.

Alastor is pulling you back; Vox lays on the ground, unmoving. His screen is still on, though; he's not dead. Shame. But at least your purity is spared.You are flailing against Alastor, but he's still stronger; he grips you, and then you are moving together in shadow.

Gone.

---

You're outside of the hotel; Alastor is holding you from behind, restricting you. He's shushing you.

You're blind with rage. You have Vox's blood in your maw and you wanted the kill. You're snarling, fighting against the hold. But it's no use; you're away. Away. Back at the hotel. Vox isn't here. Alastor's voice is at your ear.

"Verity, I need you to calm down," he says. "Beautiful girl. Be still. Be still."

His words are a life ring in the ocean of your madness; you let them bring you to shore. You're calming; returning to your usual form. You're exhausted.

"I know," Alastor is saying. "I know it hurts."

"I want him dead," you hiss. "I want his head."

"I know, my love. I know better than most."

You're turning then; the sight of Alastor's face is the final comfort you need to be soothed. Your body is limp; Alastor supports your weight with his arms and holds you up.

"I'm so tired," you say.

"I know."

Alastor helps you into the lobby; places you into a chair. He's stroking your hair, checking you for injuries. He's kissing your hands; he's kneeling before you.

"I'm sorry," he says now. "I couldn't let you do it. I couldn't let you have death on your hands."

The reality of what has happened hits you like a crashing tide; you are safe. You are home.

"Oh, Alastor," you say, tears falling. "I thought I was going to be away from you forever."

He's kissing you; leaning forward from his kneel to bring his face to yours. The taste you share is the same; the blood of Vox, still lingering in both your jaws. It's overwhelming. It's suddenly too much. You're realising with sick dread what you've done.

Alastor seems to follow your trail of thought; he cups your face with a hand and makes you look him in the eye.

"You were angry," he's saying. "You were hurt. It's okay. It's not you."

"The others," you say, realising. "What about the others? Vox isn't going to just let this go, he'll come after us."

Alastor considers this for a moment; then it's gone.

"Let's worry about that later," he says. "The others will be fine. Lucifer is with them, and Adam. They'll be back soon. We'll wait for them, hmm? Together."

He's kissing you again, and it's sublime. Safety. Unity. It's all you ever want.

"I can't be away from you like that ever again," you say. Alastor is shushing you.

"You won't be," he says, moving strands of hair from your blood-streaked face. "You won't be. I'm sorry my love, I'm so sorry I didn't tell you everything."

"It's okay," you say. "We'll have time for that later."

Alastor nods.

You realise with sudden, bizarre clarity that he's not smiling; his features are full of solemn concern. How long has that been so? The sight of his true emotion fills you; it's brimming up in you.

"You're not smiling," you say, fresh tears forming. You cup his face, grazing your thumb over his cheek.

"I will be, when I've calmed," he says. "I promise you; I will be."

After some time, the others arrive back at the hotel; everyone gathers in the lounge, looking tired and war-beaten. Lucifer explains; he did intervene, against his better judgement. Vox had recovered some, re-attacked the group; Lucifer had warned him to retreat, or face death at angelic hands.

"Why didn't you just kill him, for fuck's sake?" You ask, and everyone is surprised; but Alastor's arm around you tightens.

"And invite a war to our hotel doors?" Lucifer says. "Uh, yeah, no. Do you know how many allegiances that guy has? Killing him, sure! Great idea. NOT."

You look at Adam then.

"Thank you," you say, and Adam - maskless - nods an acknowledgement. "Thank you, all of you."

Your body is aching with fatigue; Alastor senses it.

"A very good job well done," he says, sounding a little more like his usual self. "And now I do believe we need to adjourn."

He's about to move you both, and then; he stops. Alastor turns back to the group.

"I shan't forget this," he says to everyone. "I owe every one of you compensation. I will be sure to repay the debt; make no mistake. Just give me some time. You have my endless gratitude."

Alastor looks at you; his face is filled with love.

"For now, I need to take care of my heart," he says.

And you are away in shadow; to the only place either of you wants to be. The sanctuary of Alastor's room.

The next few hours pass in a blur; Alastor bathes you. He's kissing you. Tending to every injury with care; he tuts at the sight of the marks the shackle left on your wrist. He curses under his breath at every tiny cut or graze on your skin.Your dress, ruined now; it lies in tatters on the bathroom floor.

Once Alastor is satisfied, he gently lifts you from the tub. You watch the bloodied water drain away. He is wrapping you in a robe; so carefully. So sweetly. Alastor is treating you like you are the most sacred, precious cargo he's ever held; like you are a Holy artefact. He carries you in his arms to his bed, lowering you. Your body sings in pleasure at the comfort of the mattress.

Alastor is laying beside you then, stroking your face; looking at you like you are the answer to all his quandaries.

"Will we… Will we talk about it?" You ask weakly, and he knows what you mean.

"Yes, love," he says, and he's kissing your open palm. "In good time. Just rest now."

"Tomorrow?" You say, yawning.

"Whenever you want, sweetest heart," Alastor says. "Just sleep now. I'm here. Just sleep."

And so you do. Peacefully; now you are back at his side.

Chapter End Notes

Y'all I spent my entire day off work today writing cause I was so stressed out about them being apart LMAO
I absolutely LOVE a heist movie, I really wanted the rescue to feel like one. Hopefully the changing POV's wasn't too jarring!

Verity was Out for LOOO-OOOO-OOOOVE

Now that you can all stop cursing my name, here are some little reminders:

I have a tumblr! I answer Q when I can, reblog things, share doodles etc:
https//bapple117

There is also an official companion playlist for this fanfic! I update it all the time, and it contains a lot of songs I've used for inspo when writing / have made references to. There's also some clues in there for future plot points /yebpbb3f

Past Lives

Chapter Summary

Warning: chapter contains material not suitable for minors.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

You wake up in Alastor's bed. Slowly, hazily; the efforts of yesterday still weighing heavily on your body. You stretch; you yawn. Opening your eyes, you roll over and… you are alone. The bed is empty.

You're up then, panicking, looking around; desperate. Your heart is racing, you feel sick, you're calling Alastor's name - and then - he's there. In the doorway of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel, a robe wrapped around him. Alastor is looking at you with confusion; but his smile has returned.

You relax; breathe.

"Oh thank god," you say.

Alastor lets out a small laugh.

"Don't," you say, and you're getting up to go to him. "Don't laugh at me."

But you're happy to see his smile is back, all the same.

"I'm not laughing at you, dearest," he says, and he closes the gap between you. "I'm just delighted to see you."

Alastor's hair is still damp; you don't care. Your hand is running through it, you grab an antler; yanking his face downwards to your own. He groans into your mouth as you kiss. Your hands are on his waist; his are at the small of your back. The kiss is deep; his tongue is in your mouth, flicking against your palette in a way that makes you feel like you're drowning in him.

You pull back; Alastor grunts his disappointment.

"Are you naked under there?" You say coyly, meaning his robe.

Alastor rolls his eyes; you are overjoyed. Being reunited with his tolerating impatience feels like a drink of water after a drought.

"Of course I am," he says; but he's laughing then. You both are.

You peek under your own robe. He got another one just for me, you realise.

"Oh! Look at that. I am too," you say, and Alastor is grinning. "And we're in your room."

"Our room," Alastor corrects. "And if we're stating obvious facts just for fun, then I suppose I'll join in."

He lifts you then; your legs around his waist.

"I love you," he says, kissing your neck. "I'm ecstatic that you're back in my arms. I'm never letting you go ever again."

Alastor is freckling you with kisses; you crane your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. It feels like raindrops of pure, delicious energy on your skin.

"It's morning," Alastor continues. "I want to spend the entire day worshipping you."

He's kissing the underside of your jaw, and then; breathing in your scent at your temple.

"In fact, I refuse to leave this room all day, today," Alastor says then, and he pulls back.

"Mmm," you say, dreamily.

You're waiting for more of his attentions; when there are none, you open your eyes. Alastor looks thoughtful. He gently lets you slip down; your feet hit the floor.

"What is it, my buck?" You say. His ears relax at the sound of the endearment.

"We have a lot to discuss," Alastor says, and he sounds resigned to it.

You grumble into his chest.

"Later," you say, pawing at him. "After."

"No," Alastor says. "Before."

You're determined to get your own way; and you really try, you do. You embrace him, luring him with kisses; whimpering into his mouth. Your hand reaches up to his ear - you stroke it - and he melts into you then. You become bolder; your hand reaches for the robe tie, for his groin. Alastor backs away and you let out a whine of displeasure.

"No," he says then, and he holds you by the shoulders. "I mean it. We're talking first."

You huff, and then, you surprise yourself; one of your feet thumps several times on the floor. Both you and Alastor look down, then back to each other.

"Was that really necessary?" He says, but he's amused.

"I didn't know that was a thing I do," you say, laughing. "That's never happened before."

"Mmm," Alastor says then. "Silly rabbit. That's because you nearly always get your own way, hmm?"

You're giggling then; putty in his hands. He sighs; clearly feeling conflicted about putting his own foot down.

"I hate to deny you anything, my sweet love," he says. "But this is important. Please."

You can tell that it's paining Alastor to have the burden of unsaid things weighing over the day; it will be a kindness to him to address them now. And he's right; there are serious matters to be discussed; but you're so weary of serious things. Your heart feels light and giddy to be back with him, back in his room - and hopefully, soon, back in his bed.

Your soul can't bare too much more heaviness; you just want to make the bedsheets your playground for the day. Or the floor, or an armchair… Anywhere.

"Alright," you concede, and Alastor is immediately relieved. "But I've got a demand I want met in return."

"Anything," Alastor nods, with wide, earnest eyes.

My sweet dealmaker. You smirk; excited to scandalise him a little. You lean up on tip-toe, trying to reach as close to his ear as you can.

"Afterwards, I want you to spend the rest of the day doing what I want to do," you say.

You pull back to show him the sultry look on your face; just to make sure he really gets the message. You know this will go one of two ways; Alastor will either return your energy in kind, or he'll choose the play dumb option. This time, he goes for the latter.

"And what would you most like me to do, dearest?" He says, batting his eyes; filter on.

"Fuck me," you say, plainly. "Any which way you want. Many times."

Alastor's eyes close with a sigh; he steps forward, his head falling to your shoulder. He moans into your neck. You're oh-so-pleased at his reaction. He steadies himself with a hand at your waist.

"Do you want another obvious fact?" He mumbles into you.

"Yes," you say, enraptured.

"That was already my plan," Alastor says, and his words are a fire in your loins.

---

Alastor sits in his armchair and waits for you to finish dressing; clothes he had procured from your room earlier while you slept. He had insisted on both of you doing so; less distraction. Alastor wants to take this seriously. He owes you that much; he owes himself that much.

Of course, he's just as impatient to rut against you as you are to him; naturally. All he wants to do is open you up and crawl inside you, staying there forever. But, Alastor knows; he won't be able to enjoy it at all if there is unfinished business.

Alastor is scared, too; you may still run. He doubts it, strongly, at this point; but it's always a fear. He can't give you all of him until he knows - without any doubt - that you will accept it. Accept him. For exactly who he is; past actions and all.

You're taking your seat opposite him then, and Alastor is broken from his thoughts by the sight of you. You've chosen a skimpy dark red dress; thin, clinging fabric, with very flimsy looking straps. Alastor laughs to himself; you are so obvious.

"Message well received," he says, tone low.

You smile up at him cheekily. Wayward vixen.

"You're the one over-doing it," you say. "Does this really warrant a smart shirt and fancy slacks?"

Alastor glances down at his clothes, confused; they're nothing extraordinary. Just his typical garb. You're laughing at him; you're teasing.

"Behave," he says, and his tone is heavy with dark static.

Alastor means it; he needs you to take this seriously. He's trying to contend with the feelings needed to broach such a vulnerable topic; you want to frolic in a field like a hare in heat.

You seem startled; abashed. Alastor feels guilty. Your expression softens within moments.

"Sorry, love," you say, and it's sweet. Sincere. There you are.

"Coffee?" Alastor says, and you nod.

It is conjured for you both. A little decorum. Much better. Alastor knows that conversation flows much smoother with a hot drink in hand. Or a cold one, for that matter. He muses how he'd very much like an evening spent drinking wine in-front of the fireplace soon; and now he is distracted. He tries to shake it off - you do it for him.

"Vox told me some things," you say then, and Alastor's stomach drops.

"Getting right into it, I see, my dear!" He says, and he's fully filtered; there's even lingering feedback.

Old habits die hard; it was a knee-jerk reaction. You don't seem to mind. You smile at him kindly; Alastor feels unworthy of it. He groans; a hand at his temple.

"What did he say?" Alastor says now, clearly.

"I think you know," you say, but your tone is soft. Encouraging.

Alastor can only begin to imagine the poison that Vox might have poured into your ear; the thought sickens him. This is his chance; he needs to bare it all for you.

"Just tell me, love," you say. "Start from the beginning. I'm not going anywhere; whatever it is."

Alastor once again finds himself thanking the stars for you, questioning how he could ever have earned you; especially when what he has to tell you should be evidence enough that he doesn't deserve you.

The Radio Demon is, for once, struggling to find the the words; he half-starts a few sentences, leaves them trailing off. He doesn't know how to put into words the horror of his truth. And then - you surprise him again.

"Is it true you were a serial killer?" You ask, but there's no malice in your tone.

And there it is.

Alastor is aghast; it does not show. His grin is fixed; this is the final remaining part of the mask. He's struggling to let it slip. He's in agony. Where is his bravado now? He's spent decades proud of this fact; proud of his conquests. He revelled in the gore. Adored the violence; it licked at him, at his soul. Kept him going.

But… now he has you. Alastor has been changed by you; he cannot deny it anymore. You've reawakened parts of him he'd lost to time; his kindness, his boyish joy. His inclination towards honour, gentle duty; his love of taking care of someone. Of protecting someone.

For years, his sense of humour has been solely cruel. Delighting in the failure and suffering of others. But you... You play with him. You hold his hand and pull him into the shared meadows of your minds; he can leap freely with you.

Alastor knows that all you have given him are gifts. Repeated, enduring gifts; understanding. Compassion. Patience. Support. Love. The least he can do now is give you the truth.

"Yes," he says simply, and the confession is finally out on the table.

Alastor is both relieved and appalled. He is scanning you for your reaction. You let out a small exhale; but then you're smiling. Alastor cannot understand how.

"I trust you," you say. "You can explain."

And so he does.

Alastor begins early in his life story. He details to you how he'd been an only child; his father abusive, then absent. Gone. A drunk, who had drifted away one night and never returned. Alastor speaks then of his mother; it is torture, but he does this for you. He tells you how wonderful she was, how much he loved her. Lived for her; she was his entire universe. The two of them were a team alone in a world that constantly spat down on them.

And then; her death. How he'd come home from his shift at the radio station, only to discover her dead; murdered. You ask then if he knew who did it - no. He never did. He had held her as she died, had watched her soul sliding away. Alastor tells you how the smell of her blood had followed him for weeks afterwards.

Alastor pauses in the conversation, then, and he sees your face. You are stricken, about to move towards him, and he realises he is crying. A tear falls into his coffee cup; he places his fingers to his cheek, and finds more. He hadn't realised.

Can he remember the last time he'd cried? He can't; Alastor had come close the night after you were taken, alone in his bed. But his resolve hadn't let him break down for fear he'd dissolve into madness. You're at his feet, now, kneeling before him. Holding his hand.

"Come on," you're saying. "Let's go sit down somewhere more comfortable, Alastor."

You lead him into his lounge; and then you're cradling him on the sofa. You lay together, Alastor's head on your chest. He knows you deliberately avoided the bed, even though that would have had more space; you're respecting the boundary he set. And he loves you for it.

You're stroking his hair; hushing him. Humming into his ear. Alastor lets himself sob into your chest for a short while; it's sweet relief. Years - decades - of sadness and grief that have never once been allowed expression through this typical catharsis. Only through violence has he ever tried to shed it; but tears are sweeter. Truer. You are here as his witness, his guide. You hold him through it.

After a while, he sits up. Continues his story. You don't let go of his hand the entire time.

In the years after his mother's death, Alastor had spent his days tracking down and killing every prolific serial killer in the area. Any man that he witnessed showing violence towards women, too. All of them. Killed. Butchered. Buried.

Where? In the bayou of New Orleans; wilderness he'd used for hunting game. Deer. Oh the irony! Alastor had wanted to ensure he'd killed the man responsible for his mother's death. At least, he assumes it was a man, especially at the time; old-fashioned attitudes leaking into the bias. With no way of knowing who it was, he'd simply thrown daggers at the wall and hoped something would stick. Cast enough stones, you'll hit the target eventually.

Had he enjoyed it? Yes, of course he had. He'd been driven to madness at this point; something sociopathic and deep within him had been drawn out. Urges he'd repressed since childhood; urges he'd fought against. But grief strips us of our power; a fact you well know. Does he regret it? He didn't before. The only regret Alastor had is that he has no way of knowing if he'd actually managed to avenge his mother; something that plagues him still today. But he regrets it now; regrets that it's what he became. Regrets that it's the truth he has to give you. He wishes he was better for you.

And then he'd died; shot in the head by a hunter who mistook him for a deer. Torn to shreds by hunting dogs, body scattered. He hadn't felt the latter part, or even been aware of it; the bullet had killed him instantly. But the nightmares - the dreams he has, the memories his soul contains; they play it out to him in real time when he sleeps. The fangs, ripping at him. The noise.

You squeeze his hand; even after all of this, you are still here. You're speaking to him then, low and quiet.

"If we'd been together on Earth, and someone had murdered you, I'd have done the same thing," you say. "I wouldn't have stopped. I'd do it now. I very nearly did."

You are so sweet to offer this to him; another gift. Alastor knows it's not true.

"How many did you kill?" You're asking now.

"Dozens," Alastor says. "I lost count."

"But they were bad people," you say. "They were killers, they hurt others."

Alastor knows what you're doing; you're trying to justify it for him.

"It makes no difference," he says. "It is a sin, anyhow. It's why I'm here."

You're asking then about what happened when he came to Hell; Alastor curses the fact he cannot tell you everything he wants to. He literally can't; the terms of his deal - his leash - prevent him from being able to utter a word about it.

"I was so used to violence by that point," Alastor says. "It just felt so natural to carry it on when I came here. What did I have to lose? I was already in Hell. My mother isn't here, and I had no one. Nothing to care about. May as well have fun."

And there had been the power. And the control. Alastor had his life taken away from him before he'd been able to guarantee his goal; his mother's killer could very well have still been out there. Hell was his punching bag for a rage in him that would never quell.

He says all this aloud to you; and then he thinks more to himself. The things he cannot say out-loud. Once a name had been made for himself - evidence of his power, broadcast out - he'd been approached by Holy powers. Tasked with purpose. Keep the Overlord population in Hell down; keep them from uprising. Now Alastor's skills are tasked with bigger purpose; with Lilith pulling the strings.

Alastor tries to allude to it as best he can without triggering his stitches; he fails anyway.

"Let's just say, deals were made," he says. "I was asked to use my power for—"

And there they are. The glowing viridescent stitch lines on his mouth; the magic that prevents him from discussing his deal. You are startled; he explains as best he can that he has limits. Alastor tries to use language in a coded way; you seem to understand. He doesn't think on it any further. For now.

"But you're safe?" You say then, heart beating for him.

"Yes, darling. I'm safe," Alastor says, and he holds you then.

You sit together for a while, reclining on the sofa. Alastor begins to crave the comfort of the bed; he's about to suggest moving there, but your voice breaks the quiet.

"Alastor," you say.

"Mmm."

"I forgive you," you say.

Alastor sits up then; regards you.

"What?"

"I forgive you of your sins." You say. "You were doing what you thought was right, you were in pain. You were lost. It's okay. I accept you as you are."

Alastor looks into your eyes; and he believes you. He's gone through cycles of self-loathing, then narcissism, then more self-loathing. He's been to the darkest pits a mind can go to; he's done it all. He's never once wanted to be a better person. But now, with you, he does.

"You've freed me," he says. "I will atone for what I've done. I will be better. For you."

"No," you say. "Do it for yourself. We'll do it together."

Alastor is all over you then; nuzzling you, rubbing his face against yours. Muttering things into your ear; repeated statements of love, undying love. Worship. Praise.

The Radio Demon doesn't know how to do things in half-measures; he didn't know how to moderate his violence; now, he doesn't know how to moderate his love. It's dizzying; obsessive. Possessive. Alastor wants to know everything he can about you, too; he speaks aloud this request. Tell me. Tell me all you can.

"I will," you say. "Another time. This moment was for you."

Alastor is beyond ready to bed you, now; he wants it, aggressively so. He's clinging to you, nibbling at your neck; you're giggling, and brushing him away. It is vexing him.

"You were ready to present to me earlier," he says, baffled. "Why are you spurning me now?"

You laugh.

"I just wanted to say one more thing before we adjourn," you say, imitating him; it fills him with heat.

"What?" Alastor says.

"The antler thing, you did," you say. "It was very smart by the way."

"Oh!" Alastor is pleased. "You did pick up on it, then?"

"Mmhm," you say. Your hand is at his nape. "Good job. I played my part too."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I convinced Vox I believed that you didn't love me anymore; it bought us some time."

Alastor is shocked.

"How did you do that?" He asks, but he's not insulted. He's impressed.

"I just thought about what you would do," you say. "I put on the mask. I performed."

Your words are gasoline poured onto Alastor's already burning heart; he wants to devour you.

"Bed. Now," he says, and you don't need telling twice.

---

Alastor is so eager to be in bed, he uses his shadow to teleport you there.

"It would have taken us five seconds to walk over here," you say, laughing; he's on top of you.

"Then I have given us five seconds more of this," he says.

Alastor is bucking his hips into you; you're delighted. Your chests pressed together; his mouth panting in your hair. Still fully dressed, though. Too dressed.

"I don't think you're going to achieve your goal with these clothes in the way," you say.

"Yours barely count as clothes," Alastor says. "Is it really acceptable to wear something like that casually these days?"

Alastor's knee is between your legs; he pushes it up. Oh.

"Are you messing with me again?" You say between gasps.

"No, I'm genuinely curious," he says. "It's basically lingerie."

"Are you complaining?" You say, giggling.

Alastor is frustrated; he is up then, kneeling. He lifts your dress up with ease, revealing your crotch and abdomen.

"See?" He says then, amused. "You may as well be wearing paper."

You suddenly feel strange; you don't know why. Something isn't right. Alastor is chatting away, some teasing comment about not understanding why you bothered to dress at all - you can't focus. Your mind feels thick. You become dimly aware of Alastor tugging at your underwear, trying to prise them off you; you flinch, scoot back on the bed. You feel awful; Alastor looks concerned.

You're hyperventilating. Ears flicking; tail twitching. Your body has gone into fight or flight. Or fawn. Alastor is asking if you're okay; you can't concentrate on his voice. Your eyes are darting around the room for a threat that isn't there.

Alastor tries to console you, then; he reaches out to hold your hand. You find yourself snatching your arm away on instinct; you're looking up at him with terrified eyes. You can see then how much it's hurting him; you feel like a monster.

You sit up, pulling your dress down to cover yourself again. The room feels like it's closing in on you; and you don't know why. Alastor is kneeling in-front of you on the bed; he doesn't dare to touch you again. He just waits for you. Eventually your breathing calms enough for you to focus on reality; you are still trembling. You meet Alastor's gaze then; he looks guilty. It's all too much; everything that's happened. It's pressing down on you like harsh air pressure before a thunderstorm.

"I'm sorry," you say, shakily. "I don't… I don't know what happened."

Alastor moves, sitting next to you in the bed. You can tell that he is feigning calmness; you're sure that you've frightened him. He thinks it's his fault.

"I'm sorry," you say again. "Everything that's happened, it's just been… a lot to process. This morning I just wanted to forget everything and distract myself."

"I can understand that," Alastor says, and he sounds so dejected.

You look at him then. You reach out and hold his hand; he seems relieved at your touch.

"It's not anything you said," you say. His eyes are wide and worried. "I promise. It's just… it's all catching up to me, I think. You can only run for so long."

You explain then; finding the words tumbling out of you like sudden rainfall. How intense everything has been in the last few weeks, how you've barely had any time to catch your breath; the two of you had fallen so quickly, so headily. Everything that happened on the night of the ball, how scared you'd been. How you've been living in this little world with him for the last week or so - and loving it - but how it's a lot to comprehend.

"Have I spoiled it?" Alastor asks you then. "Have I ruined it by telling you who I used to be?"

Your heart breaks at his question.

"No," you say, sternly. "No, it's not that at all. That's in the past."

Alastor looks conflicted; he sighs.

"Those sides still live within me," he says. "As much as you've revived the better parts of me, I can't just erase all those other qualities. They will always be there."

You nod; you know. You understand. You accept. You have the trust and faith that he will work on it; work on himself, just as you want to, too. Everyone is multi-faceted; no one person is singularly good or bad. We all make mistakes; these are things you tell him now.

Alastor holds you then, guiding you into a comfortable position; cradled in his arms. He mutters apologies, his own reassurances for you. Words of comfort. These are no hollow platitudes; he is earnest in his care. He strokes your back and eventually, you feel better. You breathe out a long sigh; finally your body is at ease. Tension gone. Your arm is around his torso; you tighten the grip and breathe in the scent of him.

"It's funny," he says then, and you feel the vibration of his voice in his chest. "You're so perceptive. How did you not see it?"

"See what?" You mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

"The… the other sides to me," he says. "You only saw - see - the good."

"I guess I just turned a blind eye," you muse.

And then you're talking again; telling him about your life on Earth. How you'd always been so conflict avoidant, so frightened; never speaking up for others, let alone yourself. A coward. Always witnessing horrors and being too scared to do anything about them. Always wanting to please people.

You know this quality is a double-edged sword; it means you give people more of a chance. You assume positive intent; you give people the opportunity to prove themselves to you, against all odds. Very rarely does it benefit you; in fact, most of the time, it's been your downfall.

Alastor listens intently, stroking circles on to your arm wrapped around his waist. You tell him then, about how knowing him - loving him - has brought out the strength in you. It's tempted out a willingness to be brave, to fight for what you care about. You're learning how to be smarter, be more discerning. Learning how to utilise power; you'd understood all too well the lure of violence. You'd truly wanted Vox dead; at your hand.

"I've ruined you," Alastor says then, but it's half in-jest.

"No," you say. "We're balancing each other."

Nobody in Hell is perfect; if everyone truly deserves a chance at redemption, then surely this is it. Surely, you and Alastor are each other's own personal redemption. You tell him this; he happens to agree. You shift yourself slightly, look up at him; Alastor smiles at you warmly. All is well, love.

You move to lay opposite each other on the bed; face to face. You had hoped for… physical union, but… This meeting of emotions, this outpouring of feelings; you realise now it had needed to happen. You feel unburdened; you hope Alastor feels the same relief.

You stroke your hand across his face, moving his hair away from his cheek. You allow yourself a small self-indulgent thought, then; you imagine washing it for him, rinsing suds from his hair. It's a passing thought; a pleasant desire for the joy that domestic mundanity brings.

"Do you remember the very first day we met?" You say then.

Alastor tenses as he tries to recall; his eyes dart to the side as he scans his memory.

"I must confess, my dear, I don't," he says, remorseful. You laugh softly.

"It's not even been that long since then," you say, teasing. "I've only been here like a month."

Alastor rolls his eyes; you will never tire of the sight of it.

"Yes, well. Excuse me for not remembering," he says. "It's only that my entire world shifted on its axis within this month. I too have had a lot to process. Forgive me this slight on your honour."

Alastor huffs at you; you're giggling.

"You made your staff play a song as you walked away," you say. "It was very theatrical."

He's laughing with you.

"That does sound like something I would do," he says.

You hum the tune then; we'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when…

"Was it some kind of coded message?" You say, joking.

"What? No," Alastor says, amused. "I just happen to be fond of that tune. Not everything I do is part of some wicked plan to bewitch you, dear. I'd only just met you."

"Oh, but some things were a plan to bewitch me, were they?" You say, but you're teasing. Light-hearted.

You realise you've discovered some hidden truth; Alastor looks at you ruefully. You are thoroughly amused. Caught you, love.

"At one point, yes," Alastor says slowly. "But I'd like to explain that it was more… self-preservation, than anything else."

Your eyes are full of fondness. After everything you've been through together, everything you know; this is nothing. This feels like the revealing of some childish jape; you're not offended. You're not worried. You are entertained.

"Alright, spill," you say, grinning.

Alastor seems reassured enough by your tone that he's not in the doghouse; so he does. He tells you. About how he'd been intrigued by you at first; this much you already know. How he'd then wanted a reason to spend time with you; a justification. How he'd come up with his plan to pretend to court you. Alastor explains, he knows now; the only person he was pretending to was himself.

He tells you how he even went to Rosie for advice a few times, and how she'd seen through him every time. Alastor had told himself it was just a game, a strategy; but every occasion he'd spent time with you, he'd found himself delighted afterwards. Addicted.

You find this all endlessly charming. You might have been offended or distraught at this once-upon-a-time; but that time has passed. You sit now together with the luxury of shared lived experience, knowledge and love; this is the trifle confession of a silly boy who didn't know how to handle his own feelings. You find it delicious. You're honoured that you had him in such a flap. You can't help it; you're smug about it.

"Nothing I said to you or did was ever a lie, not really," Alastor is saying then, and he's serious. "It was a lie I was telling myself. I wanted to spend time with you, I really truly did. Eventually I had to admit it to myself, and, well. The rest is history."

You hum in response, pleased.

"I kind of got a sense of this, anyway," you say, and Alastor seems appalled.

"What?"

You explain; how you'd not been entirely convinced by your initial interactions that his interest was real. Alastor asks you when that changed; you think on it some. It was the night on the balcony; at his radio tower. He agrees with you that had been a nice night. Alastor moves then to kiss your face; the happy memory clearly inspiring him.

"I was still holding back, even then," he says, his lips on your collarbone.

"Mm. But I could sense you were being genuine, though," you say. "When did you let yourself enjoy it without pretending?"

"Well. I wasn't pretending the whole time, but… Before I knew it was love, I was just sort of… enjoying you as my property," he confesses.

You can't help the reaction you have. You know it's wrong, it's sinful; but you are aroused by this.

"Mmm," you say, and it comes out in a moan. "You called me pet."

"I was grappling with new feelings," Alastor says, his hand on your hip. "Wanting to spend all my time with you. All my thoughts consumed by you… Still true now."

Alastor lets his teeth graze your neck in a downwards trail; you are gasping at it.

"That's what happens when people fall in love," you say, breathless. "It's very intense at first. At least, from what I've heard. It's easy to get obsessive."

"And you feel the same?" Alastor is looking at you now; hopeful.

"Yes," you say, enamoured. "I've never felt more strongly about anything in my life. You're all I want, all the time. Every moment of every day. I hope it stays this intense forever."

This has the exact effect you'd hoped for; Alastor's eyes are ablaze. He hesitates, though; holds back. He's being careful.

"Take me, love," you permit him.

It's all he needs to hear.

---

Alastor is ready now; he's bared his soul for you. He is unburdened; you have accepted him, accepted his truth. He now has only one final thing to give you, one last hidden gift that he can bestow on you. It is unspoken, but Alastor knows there is a shared understanding between you now; you are both urgent with it.

You are frantic underneath him; unbuckling his belt, lifting your dress, pulling away your own underwear. Alastor moves to undo his shirt, but your hand is on his then.

"No," you say. "Too much time. I need this now."

Alastor is conflicted; he wants to luxuriate in you, wants to savour every single drop of what you have to offer. He wants to kiss every crevice, every freckle; take his time and hear you call his name out for hours. You seem to read his hesitation correctly - of course you do, you don't miss a thing.

"Alastor," you say. "We have forever. We can do it all. But I need this to happen now."

"Are you quite sure?" He says.

"Yes," you say, and your voice is desperate.

Alastor wants this too, of course; he's already hard. Straining against the gusset of his slacks. He knows what to do; he'd told you before. He understands the mechanics of how this works; he's not an idiot. But now, confronted with the precipice of this, the edge of the loss of his - and your - virginity; he's hesitant. It's a treat; something special. Can he really just take this, now? So suddenly?

"Alastor," you say, bringing him back from his thoughts.

"Mmm?"

"Defile me," you say, your eyes full of wanton lust. "Please. I am begging."

Oh, fuck it.

Alastor sees the apple; he takes the bite.

He's pulling his slacks and briefs away then, just enough; just enough to be out. You are moving underneath him, lining yourself up to him; he presses his tip against your folds and oh god. You are already soaked.

Alastor leans forward then; this is the sweetest moment he's ever lived. He unites your mouths in a kiss; you bite down on his bottom lip. It makes him quiver.

"Will this hurt you?" Alastor asks, muttering into your neck.

"No," you say. "You could never hurt me."

Your hands are on his hips now, pushing, guiding. You are so ready; slick with honey. Alastor is moments away from relenting, from entering you. He is practically panting into your chest with need; he knows that he wants this. Alastor can't understand what's stopping him from stepping into this heaven; the temptation is so strong. He feels undeserving of such sweet bliss.

"Come home, love," you say.

Alastor groans as he presses himself into you then. It's easier than he thinks it will be; aided by your intense arousal, no doubt. There is a slight resistance, and then; divine sensation. Alastor is inside you, he can hardly breathe. You are around him, encompassing him; this is the purest embrace he could ever ask for.

You're looking at him then, perspiring; your face joyful with it. Alastor is still within you, savouring his moment - this moment; he fears that he will unravel as soon as he makes any kind of movement. But you have other ideas; you are bucking underneath him with intent.

"Careful," Alastor hisses. "I won't last long."

"Good," you say, grinning. "We have a lot to get through on the agenda, after all, dear."

Alastor is livid with his lust; you are a menace.

"Wicked girl," he says, but he's grinning.

And so he moves then; thrusting in and out of you with such a need that you both are left gasping for air. Alastor cannot believe the ecstasy he feels. It's unholy. He is one with you and you are moving together, holding each other; this is a storm.

You are making the sweetest sounds for him; both from your mouth and from your sex; it is driving Alastor wild. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in deeper in the vice grip; he leans into you, his mouth panting against your neck. Alastor knows he is close; he regrets it deeply. He wants this to last forever, wants to ensure you achieve your own release; how can he let this end?

"Come for me, love," you whisper. "Please."

Oh. That's how.

Alastor relinquishes control; he cannot deny you anything you ask. You have begged him, and now he must respond. He concentrates his efforts; your request is met. He is releasing into you then, cursing under his breath; it is delectable, sacred torture.

After, he waits a moment before he pulls out; when he does, you inhale sharply at the loss of it. Alastor feels greedy; he has met his own end without you having yours.

"Lay with me," you say, and he is aghast; you giggle at the sight of it. "It's okay. We have time for more. Just let me hold you."

And so he does, out of breath against your chest; in your arms. You kiss his head; he is reborn.

When both your breathing has stilled, Alastor speaks more truth.

"I want to do that all day," he says. "I want to make you feel as good as I just did."

You are kissing his ears. It is deliverance.

"More obvious facts, love?" You say quietly. "It was heaven for me too."

Alastor gets his wish; you do not leave the room once for the rest the day, and the favour is more than returned. You have all of each other; there are no more secrets between you now.

There is only the tenderness of complete union.

Alastor is finally home.

Chapter End Notes

After so much action, we sorely needed some deep convo time y'all. Get all those feelings OUT! We also have an official ship name: RadioCotton! ️ (thank you dragonlover48)

I feel like I maybe skipped to the payoff of them being reunited a bit too fast, but I really couldn't help myself

I'd also like to get your guys opinion; I have a concept already in the works for a part 2 sequel for this AU, carrying on the story into a series, BUT - should I keep it as reader insert, or should I change it to third person? So describing Verity as "she/her" and by her name etc?

Let me know what you prefer in the comments! I'll do whatever the consensus is.
Thank you as always for your lovely (and hilariously unhinged) comments ️ ILY
Song vibes for this chap:
https/youtu.be/7wvLqpWtTUU?si=Wf5DBZK9jUH7HcxN

To Be Continued... (Note & Sneak Peek of Book 2)

(Art by me)

My Tumblr!

Companion Playlist - Spotify

BONUS - Behind The Scenes Trivia for this story!

---

A Message From The Author

Hello! Bapple here.

First of all, thank you so so much for reading my story; this is the first fanfic I have ever really published and finished properly (although the story isn't done, but we're getting to that) and I am truly over the moon that so many of you love it.

As I've discussed in the comments from the last chapter, Verity truly feels like her own character now, and writing this story as reader-insert feels a bit jarring for me. So, I'm going to be continuing the story in a second part which will be third person. All of the ideas I have left for this story will be carried over into the second instalment. I feel like Past Lives is a nice stopping point chapter for this book.

Not to worry! The second part will carry on right where this one leaves off and I will be updating it just as frequently as I do this one. I really hope this is okay, and isn't too disruptive for people!

I know there will be a bit of a drop off in readership without it being self-insert, but I really hope some of you will stick around at least as I have a lot more story to tell. Like a whole other book's worth.

Also, I just want it said on record - I willnot be doing pregnancy trope. Sinners can't reproduce and it's not something I want to write, so there's that. I know a lot of readers were commenting about that so I'm just getting that out there. Maybe one day I'll write an AU Human Al / Verity one-shot for some fan service or something, but it won't be happening in this main series.

This has been one of the best creative achievements of my life, and I know that sounds silly but there it is. I appreciate every single one of you - the community that's camped out in my comments section has brought me so much joy and motivation. Thank you all so, so much.

Right that's enough of me!

And now for a sneak-peek synopsis of book 2...

---

This series continues in:

All That Grace

The Radio Demon is in love, this much is true; but his sweetheart Verity is at risk of being lost to Heaven if she achieves redemption, which is quickly looking like a very real possibility.

Verity must now fight against time to stay in Hell, or risk being separated from Alastor forever.

Meanwhile, discoveries about Heaven are made: conspiracies, accidents, deals - the consequences of which could be dire.

Amongst all of this, one simpler, sweeter truth exists: Alastor has found true love in Verity. The Radio Demon is now, for the first time in his life, considering matrimony.

---

*

We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when

But I know we'll meet again some sunny day

*

We'll Meet Again - Vera Lynn

Afterword

Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!