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Not Just A Polka Pop Pretty Face

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Alastor knew.

Of course he did. It was inevitable.

What else could come from being under the same roof as the most prominent underling of another overlord?

But, there was something off about the whole thing. Angel may have disguised his intent under his abundance of lust but outside of the targeted advances toward the radio demon, the adult star had practically withdrawn from everything else. There were moments that the spider seemed happier that Alastor wanted the adult star dead, a vicious melancholy that gripped the eyes of Angel Dust that the spider must have thought no one would notice.

Perhaps he didn’t even notice it himself.

Angel Dust was a different being when focused, more calculated and perhaps deserving of his reincarnation as an infernal arachnid. It sparked a theory the radio demon wanted to put to the test. So the static overlord did all but kill the harlot, watched from the corners, cracks, and crevices as Angel Dust put on his performance, seeing the hope of getting anything out of Alastor slowly wither.

At first, he genuinely enjoyed it. The undertone of pain, the misery of failure after failure. Took to listening in on the few moments when the facade broke, when Angel would scream and cry into the void sure no one would hear. It was like music at first. But it quickly lost its pleasurable tune, became an annoying screech that crawled in Alastor’s ears, mutated into jumbles of stagnant nonsense that reminded the radio demon of all that he detested. At best it bored him, at worst were the moments he would consider putting Angel Dust out of his misery.

But he let Angel’s antics go on, only to have his slight amusement end abruptly with the spider’s sudden isolation. The change was jarring, he almost found himself missing it. Almost. Alastor hadn't expected what he said to have changed so much. Even when the air of agony he grew to resent was gone, he couldn’t tell if he hated the silence more.

To be fair, Charlie was actually worried about the harlot. It wasn’t long before she visibly expressed concern when days passed without hearing about or from the crossdresser. And who better to alleviate the issue than her “trusting” business partner?

The radio demon glanced around the spider’s abode, unimpressed. The air felt stale, the room looked stagnant and unkempt. The only thing that remained lively amongst the clutter was the squealing meat Angel kept as a pet that scurried out of sight at the stag sinner’s appearance. Angel Dust himself looked awful, and Alastor had said as much.

As weak and ragged as he had appeared, that didn’t stop Angel from getting to the heart of the matter, shoving the overlord up against the wall. Alastor didn’t try to stop him at all, it was the first time someone he had thought so beneath him had the gall to push his boundaries with full awareness of the consequence.

This wasn’t an Angel Dust Alastor had seen before, was this what lurked beneath the surface all that time?

That gave the radio demon an idea.

An awful idea.

The radio demon got a wonderful, awful idea.

He would have slapped himself silly, how foolish it hadn’t occurred to him before. But perhaps it was the opportunity they both had been seeking after all. At first, Alastor hadn’t been giving his attention, but now….now Angel had it. Alastor wouldn’t make that mistake again, at that moment he decided it was Angel’s time to shine.

It didn’t take long, but Alastor had always been impatient. He didn’t expect Angel to approach their situation as leisurely as he did, slipping in the more purposeful questions into his typical Angel Dust antics one or two at a time each day. Questions and inferences that were so specific yet open-ended, it made Alastor’s smile a little bit more true each time. The spider paid attention too, never asked the same question twice and careful to not look for too much all at once.

The problem was, Angel wasn't supposed to matter. Alastor wasn’t supposed to care.

Their private game brought to the dark a new hunger that left him craving for more of….whatever he could call this. It was not lusting, nor was it wrathful. It was a desire of a gluttonous nature, that he knew for sure but….beyond that? He didn’t know, he didn’t like that he didn’t know. It was a tune he didn’t understand, but also couldn't get out of his head. A chaotic, seductive song so jarring that shouldn't have worked, and yet he would find himself swaying to without a thought.

The moments he found the most frustrating to understand were the ones that found them alone, still themselves but in tune, harmonic. When those questions turned into stories, when a genuine laugh from Angel made his guts feel a nice sort of strange. The passing of time went from a tedious crawl to an impatient ambush that seemed to always arrive too soon in the form of one interruption or another.

Alastor had known what it was to feel affection, in his former life. He was willing to admit that his love for his mother had to have been genuine, even if it only became an echo of what it once was after his death and descent. Whatever this was, it was similar but….not.

The radio demon didn’t know how to deal with feelings. So he didn’t.


"Hey Al, why haven't you asked me about what I get outta all this?"

Angel let the joint dangle between his fingers leisurely, the smoke drifted off into the night of Hell’s red hues. It was a condition of their “quality time”, hard liquor and weed were about all the stag sinner could tolerate so, of course, Angel indulged. Standing beside the spider, Alastor raised an eyebrow.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"What Val offered me to honeypot ya. I figured you would be at least a little curious. Or did you figure out that too?”

Sure, he had thought about it, but it hadn’t held his interest for a while, why Angel would agree to what should have been a suicide mission.

“Perhaps…” Alastor grinned, “But there’s no fun in ruining the mystery of it all! So why would I bother with asking?”

At that Angel Dust shrugged, but a smile slowly crept up on the spider’s face “Who knows, I could just be usin’ ya. Get you to kill Val and his other fuck faced pals or double-cross ya for Val’s spot as an Overlord.”


The thought was laughable, absurd, bizarre, truly the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard since Charlie’s embarrassing spiel to the denizens of hell. The radio demon cackled at the idea for quite a while, joined in with chuckles that sent them both on the floor in hysterics.
“That’s been your best joke yet Angel! You’re getting quite the hang of this funny business”

“Aw shucks Al, you’ll make a gal blush with that kinda sweet talk.” It took his dying laughter for the stag sinner to realize just how close the spider was. It seemed only a second later that Angel seemed to see it too.

Before either thought to pull away, Alastor surprised himself by grabbing the spider by the throat, not quite squeezing but refusing to let the other look away or move.

All else was forgotten. Feeling the harlot’s heart pound against his fingers and the magenta flush of pale cheeks deepen, Alastor found himself conflicted. The feeling was similar to what a child might experience in the presence of something cute; the guttural want to squeeze and crush until the pleading stopped and life was snuffed dueled with something that desired to be gentle, shower with the closest thing to affection and care someone like the red overlord could feel. But he did neither.

Angel Dust was oddly quiet. Maybe it was the look in the arachnid’s eyes, of acceptance and unflinching fearlessness at either outcome. Or maybe it was how the longer the thought lingered, the more the stag found himself intrigued with what Angel had said that made everything make less sense. But he pulled the spider closer until the fluffy white head was nestled by his own neck, the radio demon’s unending smile whispered gently into the other’s ear.

“You're not planning anything of the sort, Angel. B̴̧̀ŭ̵̻̄t̷̻̝̃̑ ̷̰̓͝I̸̠̔͠’̸͎̅͗d̸̹̓ ̶̠̄̂q̵̲̌̕ŭ̶̗̣͠i̵̳̻̓t̶̨ͅẹ̴̮͊̕ ̵̟͎̈́l̶̯̔i̵͓̚ǩ̴͍̼̈́e̸̺͆ ̵̳̒̚t̸͕͌̇o̷̘̽͋ ̶̘͊̏š̵̮̝ẹ̷̀̍e̷͍̓ ̸̪̹̓y̶̢̮̐̋o̸̞͂ͅṷ̵͍̂ ̵̭̿t̷̙̑̀r̷̝̹̔ỳ̵͇.̴̢̡̒”̴͔̬̌̌


Red is not a pretty color on Angel Dust.

The pornstar was an amalgamation of pinks, creams, and white of all kinds. An occasional flair for purples and black, but red was quite an ugly color for the arachnid.

There was so much red that the arachnid’s striped suit was practically ruined, fur and fluff matted down to the hot concrete where softness was exposed to the elements. The radio demon did not feel worry, did not feel fear. He refused to call whatever strange sensation he was feeling such a thing. it only got worse the longer he stared down at the younger sinner, who spoke silly thoughts through blood-soaked lips and absurdly tried to comfort Alastor. He should have been able to laugh at that, but not even a smile could find him. Alastor did not think himself capable of tears, and yet Angel managed to find that in him.

When Angel's body went limp, So did something in Al. But the Radio Demon remained to get things done.

“Huh? The fuc-” Husk paused at the sight. Had he been any other lowly demon or sinner he might have been stupid enough to comment on the overlord’s devastated state, but the cat minion needed only one look at the situation before Angel was in his arms.

“̷͇̜̱͉͑͜͠ͅD̴̡̢̰̘̰̱̰̘̤̰̘̉͛͌̿̊̌̽̚̕͠on̴̛͉̟̠͍̗̘̞͆͒̈̌̈́̑̚’̵̩͙̞̲̲̯̰͍͑͂̽̊̍͐̽̾t̴̜͈̺͉̪͌̎͂̐̓̑̂̇͑̎̉͝.̸̩̓̀͊̑ ̷̜̮̼̻̫͕̜͓̏̏̓̓̀̃͑̍͋̀́̽͜Ğ̴̛̥̙̭̳͚͂̇̆̑̽̊͗et̵̤͕̺͠ ̷̨͚̭̂͂̐̌̃̾̉̓͘͝h̸͚̞̼͘im̶̛̥̮̦̪͗̾̍ ̴̨̘͓̰̏̓̏̀̇͝͝ͅt̷̜̪͈̫̗̝̜͎͚͐̾̏̂́͐̈́̂͒͘͘͜o ̴̢̡̛̦̗͈̭̩̻̣̩̔̉̀͑͛̎̾̊͂̕͝ͅC̶͙͚̩̝̲̤̝̲̫̺̪͇̈́̈́͂h̶̡̬̠̱̙̲̖̞̮͑͗̎̂̉̽̏͊̿͋͋͝ar̵͚̐̏̏̌̈́l̵̢̢̬̟̬̭̖͙̘͋ie.̴̪̫͙͉̻̲̥̤̺̩͓”̶̨̨̨̙̙̗̝̯͖̏͝

Just as he appeared Husk was gone again with Angel in tow. At the moment Husk was the only one that would get the job done in time. The only one who feared the consequence enough to avoid failure at all costs.

Well, that was a thought he did not like very much. ̴̱̼̦͚͒̂͗̑̆͛̚̕Ņ̶̛̼̖͖̬̳̝̣̹̍́̈́̄̐̌̾̈́ͅͅö̷̦́̇̄͒̂̈̆̔̂̃͊̍t̷̛̠̗̦̪̦̟̼͆̈́.̶̭̓̌̆͆ ̵̧̧̭̦̘̭̼̦̥̖͈̌̅̈́̆̈́Ą̴̭̞̹̙̿͐̓̍̓̐̏̚t̸̫̭́̇͛͆̃͆͂͒̑̈́̑̉̑ ̸̫̋͛̐̓̾̾̒͂̊͠͠Ą̷̠͙͚̻̣̼̗̆͌̂̽̃͋͐̚͝l̷̝͚̳͆̎̒͋͑̀̽̓̏̇͗̕͝l̶͚̜̱̠͕̱̪̒̾͒̔̒̂͗̌͠.̷̳̙̗̘̘̾̄̽̒͐̾͂̅́͒͛̈͘͠.̵͇̗̂.̶̡̛͉̗̥͔̘̠͖̩͍̋̈́̆̋̏̃̊͒͑͆̔̐͘

Turns out, Valentino wasn’t much of an issue after all.

But then again, Alastor always did go quite overboard when it came to what was his.

That was the thing.
Since when had Alastor considered Angel his?

Did it matter?

N̶̻̘͊̽o̸̝͕̲͇̼̾́͠,̵̦͇̣̂͊ ̴̱̥͑̔͒̇h̸̢̭̰͌̓̽ḛ̷̯̭̏̓̔͌̒ͅ ̷̘̕i̷̝̪͛s̷̝̗̒ ̵̛͕͎̅̉ḑ̸̮̣̙̍̀͊͒̅͊͝y̶͈̺̗̭͎̾̈́̈́̾͋̽i̴̧̛̹̱̝͍̻͜ņ̵̰͉̱̰̄̌̄̽̈́̈́ġ̸̛͔͔̖̫͓̻̭̈̕.

That was what mattered.

W̴͚̊h̸̩̃e̷̻̚n̴̪͆ ̵͖̓h̶̭͊a̵͍͊d̷̦͐ ̸̫̾i̵ͅt̷̻̄ ̵̯̄ṃ̵̆a̵̱͂t̷͔̂t̵̨̛e̴͎̓r̸͕̔e̴̦͂d̷̤͛ ̶̥̐ș̷̓o̶͕̽ ̴͇̏m̸̹̄u̶̠c̸̦̑ḫ̶̍?̷̛͚ ̷̲̔A̴͓̐l̸͓̍ą̷͂s̷̲̈́ṭ̸͗o̵̮͒r̶̬̀ ̵̅͜d̷̞͐o̸̱͆e̸̘̾s̶͍n̶̪͆'̶̙̊t̴̟ ̷̫̈́u̸̧̒n̸̪̐ḓ̵͑e̷̲͂r̵̠̉s̷̖̕ẗ̸̲́ã̷̹ń̴͓d̸̟̕?̸̟̽

Maybe Alastor was never meant to understand.
Was that it?
Was Alastor not meant to think about it?
Why someone Alastor found so irritating made him content? Entertained him? Made him so manically happy, even?

Huh. Alastor hadn’t thought about it that way.
B̴̫̏u̵̞̔t̷͇͗ ̴̥͒ì̴̹t̶̬̓ ̸̬m̷͇̓ī̵̟g̷͚̓h̵̡̆t̸̞̑ ̷͉̈́b̶̼̉e̶͚̿ ̷̳̉õ̷̞v̸̝̌e̵̼ṙ̸̡ ̷̪͗n̴̤̐ŏ̷̳w̸̡̄?̴̯̌

Angel would be fine.
Or else Hell would not be.