Caught in His Spider's Web - Wise_Dingo (2024)

Chapter 1: A Day In The Life of Husk

Chapter Text

The alarm on Husk’s phone blares music. It’s an old jazzy tune that he once quite enjoyed but has come to resent. He doesn’t have the energy to turn it off. He just lays there, arm draped over his face, a groan rumbling in his throat. His head pounds with a hangover as it does every morning. He squeezes his pillow around his ears as though blocking out the alarm will magically give him several more hours to sleep.

After several minutes he drags himself out of bed, switches off the alarm, and sits on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. He can’t wait long. His boss is punctual; never a minute late. If Husk isn’t dressed, fed, and ready in thirty minutes he’ll be in deep trouble.

He didn't have the gumption to shower last night nor does he have it this morning. He sniffs himself. “Meh,” he mutters, he’s smelled worse. He sprays on extra cologne, hoping nobody will notice. He slips on his clothes, a white collared shirt, a pair of black dress pants held up with suspenders, a red suit jacket, a red bow tie, and a top hat. He stares at himself in the grubby mirror and the cat that looks back is so old and tired. He died at forty five, fairly young all things considered, but he feels twice his age. Is it all that he lost, the decades of torture, or the copious amounts of cheap booze he uses to cover it up? Probably all three.

Nothing aside from murder or a freak accident can kill a sinner. It’s the only reason he isn’t dead. As poisoned as it is, his liver continues to function and as broken as it is, his undead heart continues to thump in his chest.

He picks up his silver flask etched with intricate baroque patterns and card symbols. It’s one of the few things he was allowed to keep from “the good old days,” presumably because Alastor found Husk’s drunkenness amusing. He takes a deep swig of cheap booze that burns like acid and tastes like radiator fluid. It’s the only stuff he has. It’s in his contract, he isn’t allowed any money, instead he’s “graciously” given everything he needs by his owner.

Husk brews himself a pot of coffee, the most nasty and bitter brand on the market. He has no sugar and creamer so he drinks it black. He used to like black coffee when he still owned his soul, but now would kill for some French vanilla or some hazelnut, something, anything .

The food he’s given are low quality microwave meals. Today’s entree is roast beef and gravy that looks like excrement and vegetables that are undercooked and limp. He doesn’t even taste them anymore, he just shovels them into his mouth as quickly as possible to get it over with. Eating and drinking are not enjoyable tasks and haven’t been in decades, they are merely necessary inconveniences to keep himself from wasting away.

His room has olive green wallpaper with a lurid pattern that the red light from outside always tints mud puddle brown. It’s a large open concept room that’s utterly bare with exactly one television, one couch, a bed, two end tables, and basic necessities for the kitchen and laundry area. The few decorative paintings on the wall are tacky and impersonal. Who unironically hangs up a beginner’s painting of a bowl of fruit?

Husk forces down his breakfast and trudges downstairs. He lives with Alastor in his estate, a massive sprawling mansion that appears to have been frozen in the early 1900s. Everything is red and gold, intricately patterned stairwells and fixtures, crystal chandeliers, heavy curtains, and velvet carpets. Alastor’s radio broadcast tower is haphazardly stapled to the top of the building and at the front entrance on the ground floor is the bar in which Husk works.

Husk enters the bar and greets his underlings, a swath of imps, as they arrive. They’re treated like vermin by Alastor and paid peanuts for their hard work. Husk is indifferent to imps and their social status. He isn't particularly friendly with them, but he has never been cruel or unkind either. They're technically lower on the totem pole than he is, but he still admires that they have more freedom regardless. At least they have lives outside this dismal building which is Husk’s gilded cage.

Husk watches in dismay as one of Alastor’s other favorite toys, a petite young woman named Nifty, rushes around haphazardly cleaning the bar. It’s been thoroughly tidied after closing hours the night prior but she’s never satisfied with the work of others, which is ironic since she’s piss poor at her job. Her mind is too fractured; she always misses spots while dusting or mopping or vacuuming and always pushes things around out of place, leaving chairs cattywampus and paintings tilted at dire angles. Whenever she “cleans” the bar Husk or one of his associates have to run around behind her and fix her mistakes.

As far as he’s been able to glean, she’s only kept around because Alastor finds her amusing, an enigma who sold her soul but is perfectly content; completely indifferent to her own enslavement. Then again, maybe Alastor feels a kindred spirit with her. She has a habit of mutilating small animals - the catalyst that started Alastor’s bloodlust that led to his dozens of sick murders. They both deserve to be here in hell; they deserve each other.

Nifty sweeps the nonexistent dirt behind the bar before she abruptly decides the shot glasses aren’t to her liking and she frantically starts shuffling them around. Husk curses and takes a swig from his flask. He had everything arranged exactly how he wanted and Nifty f*cked it up for absolutely no reason. He goes behind the bar and shoos her away.

“I’m not done yet!” she whines.

“You are now,” Husk growls. “Piss off.”

Nifty leaves in a huff.

“Now, Husker, is that any way to treat a beloved employee like Nifty?” Alastor, in the few seconds Husk’s back was turned, has manifested and leans against a wall, sipping a cup of coffee. He stirs it with a human ring finger - ring still attached.

“She’s messing things up,” Husk says.

“Because you’ve never done such a thing yourself, have you?” Alastor chides.

Husk grits his teeth. Of course he’s going to hold yesterday’s f*ckup over his head. A minor overlord had walked in the day prior and made Husk’s life a living hell. The man was a decked out pimp, wearing an oversized fur coat, every available surface covered in tacky jewelry that probably wasn’t even real. He had two succubi on either arm. He’s the kind of overlord Husk hates, co*cky and pompous, the type who gets a couple hundred souls under their belt and thinks they’re hot sh*t. People like him get a little taste of power and wealth and suddenly feel they can boss everyone else around like they own the place. Sure enough, he’d slithered up to the bar and ordered a drink with ridiculous specifications for how it should be made and with what ingredients. He spoke quickly and flippantly and when Husk would make sure he understood the directions correctly he would be berated. He finished the drink to which the overlord took one sip, spit it in Husk’s face, and proceeded to shriek like a petulant child saying what he was given was “undrinkable” and that Alastor would hear about it. To the overlord’s delight and Husk’s dismay, Alastor was indeed summoned. He swooned the man, apologized profusely, and had Husk make the drink properly. The overlord gave Husk a smug look when the second drink was mixed, making it very clear he was causing a scene just for the attention. Alastor hadn’t punished Husk, but the wrathful look in his eyes and the barely audible crackle of radio static made it clear he was extremely unhappy.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Husk says. “I f*cked up that guy’s drink. I apologized, refunded him, and made a new drink for free.”

“I was there, Husker, no need to remind me how the situation went down. What exactly are you fishing for? I’m not going to give you credit for fixing the catastrophe that you created.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Husk mutters.

Alastor rolls his eyes. “Oh for the love of - you always give me that bullsh*t! ‘Sorry Boss,’ pfft, it implies that you understand and won’t do it again. But you always do. I am constantly having to step in and clean up your messes, constantly placating customers you’ve wronged. I shouldn’t have to watch you like a hawk to ensure your incompetence doesn’t sully my name.”

Husk wishes Alastor would just cut the act. His wrath against Husk isn’t about the business, it never has been.

Yes, the business runs entirely off of prestige. People come here not because they can’t be adequately serviced for far cheaper elsewhere, but because it’s Alastor’s place; The Radio Demon’s bar. People are willing to blow ungodly amounts of money to be in a place with such an heir of exclusivity and bougieness. In actuality, it’s not exclusive or fancy in the least; any slob willing to pay through the nose for a measly drink is allowed in. However, the bar would do fine with or without the micromanaging.

No, this is all about Husk being Alastor’s plaything. Alastor’s perpetual smile can make him difficult to read for most, but after 40 years of servitude, Husk can read those foul orbs like a book. Those eyes gleam with giddiness when he finds an excuse to torture Husk; a passionate fire with every beating; a solace from every choke; a hunger at the sight of blood. Inflicting pain is his penetration and Husk is his unwilling lover.

“That was yesterday, today will be better,” Husk insists.

“It had better be, for your sake.” Alastor finishes his coffee and sucks the last few drops from the ring finger, his tongue sensually caressing it like a phallus in a way that turns Husk’s stomach. He looks Husk’s way, his eyes narrow and smug. Alastor is doing it to f*ck with him and it’s working. Finally he tosses the finger in his mouth and swallows it. Husk hopes the ring Alastor didn’t bother removing makes his next sh*t labored and painful.

“Today is quite busy for me,” Alastor says. “I have a high profile interview later in the day and I am swamped with important meetings. Unless something of utmost urgency comes up, handle things yourself and do not disturb me.”

“Sure thing, Boss.”

“Good.” Alastor motions around the immaculately clean bar. “Get this place picked up. It looks like a pig sty.” With that he vanishes, dissolving into shadow.

It’s another day in paradise. Hundreds of orders for drinks, many different picky mixing instructions, and so many patrons bitching about their problems to Husk like he knows them or cares.

In a way, Husk doesn’t mind the bitching. It gives him something to focus on. With no free time, this is the closest thing to entertainment he has. So many sob stories, so many petty grievances, so many divorces and cheating scandals and sh*tty jobs and complicated home lives. And if the conversation is dull, he can just tune out and let the words wash over him like ocean waves, a simple “uh huh; yeah; sure,” inserted when necessary. After all, half the people aren’t looking for an honest to god conversation, they just want a breathing body to trauma-dump onto. He lets them, he has no choice otherwise.

A clause in his contract with Alastor states that he isn’t allowed to be rude or discourteous to customers, no matter how beastly they treat him in return. When a sinner sells their soul, the recipient can stipulate the sinner do whatever the contract states. The contract says, “always be pleasant and kind and helpful,” so Husk is compelled to do so no matter what. A contractual command creates a compulsion in a sinner that cannot be ignored and cannot be circumvented. Husk must smile in the presence of guests, engage in conversation, grovel to them, even if he internally screams and wants nothing more than to rip their heads off.

It’s late afternoon when an unexpected guest walks into the bar. He’s tall and slender, his legs incredibly long. He wears a black suit jacket with pink stripes tailored for four arms, the neckline in a deep V allowing his chest fluff to prominently show, over a hot pink button-up. A white boa is draped across his shoulders. His skin tight pants are the same hot pink and are tucked into his knee high black leather boots. He wears a black hamburg hat that sports several large bubblegum colored feathers. He wears dangly ruby earrings and a matching heart shaped necklace on a gold chain. He wears heart shaped sunglasses, trophies won from his old master. Angel Dust, singer, p*rn star, and the one who slayed the mighty Valentino, thereby gaining his power.

Angel approaches the bar, his hips swaying in a highly performative saunter. “Hey, Sugar,” Angel says as he slips onto a stool. “Wrathian whiskey, please.”

Husk wouldn’t have expected someone so feminine to order such a harsh drink. Then again, Angel may just be doing it as a show of his power. Wrathion whiskey is an extremely expensive import. A single shot is worth an entire month’s salary. Overlords are amongst the only people who can afford to piss that much money away on a shot that doesn’t even taste that good.

Husk fetches the bottle and pours the drink, a black cloud appearing over the bubbling liquid in the shape of a skull and crossbones. Angel stares at him as he does so.

“Do I have something on my face?” Husk says. His snarky comment, filtered through his compulsion to be polite, comes out as a genuine question.

“Naw, just looking at your pretty face, is all,” Angel says. He lowers his sunglasses, revealing his mismatched eyes. The black and pink one winks.

Husk’s nose wrinkles; feeling deeply off put.

Angel sips his shot and savors the flavor. “Ah, good sh*t.”

Husk normally doesn’t initiate conversation with patrons but in this case he decides to ignore Angel’s little comment and asks him, “what brings you here?”

“Well a good drink for one, duh. But I’m also here to see Alastor. He’s been dying to book an interview with me. Apparently I’m some kind of legend here in hell, who knew?”

“You killed one of the Vs, of course you’re a legend”

“Meh, it wasn’t anything too crazy. Little stabby stabby and boom, I have all the power. But, ah, you know all about that.”

Husk’s breath freezes in his throat. “Excuse me?” he says.

Angel grins. “Oh, please, I’ve been down here for 80 years, honey, you think I wouldn’t recognize The Gambling Demon?”

“Wow,” Husk murmurs. “It’s been a while since someone’s recognized me. My day in the sun was a long time ago.” He sighs, a deep depression settling over him, not that his face or tone betray that. “Well, that was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, but you’re still around; still a living legend.”

“How so? As an inspiration that any soul can become powerful if they put in the work, or a cautionary tale of the horrors of gambling addiction?”

“Yes.” Angel shoots back the rest of his drink. “You know, it’s really unfortunate, what happened to you.”

On the very rare occasions he’s recognized he’s mocked, his afterlife ruining f*ckup rubbed in his face. He’s never heard anyone speak with sympathy - though it doesn’t seem to be very deep.

“But, hey, you get to serve The Radio Demon. That’s pretty sweet, right? There are worse people you could be working with.”

Fury flairs up inside Husk. How DARE he believe the charming facade Alastor puts on? How DARE he speak as though he knows anything about him? He wants to scream, to manifest a fan of cards and separate Angel’s pretty little head from his shoulders, to maim, to make Angel understand just how horrible what he said truly is. Instead, he says, “yeah, I suppose I am,” with a chipperness that feels so wrong on his tongue.

“You like bartending?” Angel asks.

Husk could say no, but Angel will be talking to Alastor later. If he brings that fact up, even in passing, Husk will suffer. “Yeah, it’s my passion. When you have an affinity for alcohol, what better job is there?” He isn’t exactly lying.

Angel’s smile falters a little. He studies Husk intently in a way that makes him uncomfortable. “Why are you staring at me?” Husk asks, that stupid f*cking smile stuck on his face.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I?"

Angel's co*cky demeanur falters. "Well, I'd hoped so. I attended one of your private card games, was the arm candy to the f*cker who arranged it. We spent the night together...? Ringing any bells?"

"Not a one."

Angel starts to continue but is cut off when the front doors are kicked open by someone that makes Husk’s heart sink. “MIMSY IS IN THE HOUSE!” Mimsy bellows, striking a dramatic pose, one hand on her hip, the other bouncing her curly blonde hair. The guests look at each other, feeling second hand cringe. Mimsy is a small-time actress and quite well known, but not for the reasons she’d like.

The one thing that allows Husk’s facade of politeness to fall away is if a guest makes a scene. If they become too drunk, too unruly, too unbearable, Husk can be as blunt, rude, and nasty as he wants. Anything to make them shut up or leave so as not to sully the bar’s squeaky clean reputation. Then, and only then, can Husk be his true grumpy and frustrated self.

Whenever Mimsy shows up, she causes problems, without failure. Her mere presence allows Husk’s face to be free of the phony smile, his lips going into their natural deep frown as he glares at her.

“Hey, fur ball!” She says as she struts up to the bar, plopping her bountiful rear onto the stool next to Angel. “How’s it hanging?”

“What the f*ck do you want, Mimsy?”

She puts a hand to her mouth in scandal. “Is that any way to speak to an old friend?”

“I’m not your f*cking friend. What do you want?”

“Well, a drink, for one, you know what I like.”

Husk prepares her a martini, still scowling, while she sits in her seat and toys with her hair and her low cut dress as though creating a feast for wayward eyes. Not a soul pays her any mind. “Since you’re not answering my question, I suppose I have to speculate. Wild guess, you’re here to see Alastor?”

“Perceptive as ever!” Mimsy says. “I was in the area and wanted to catch up, talk about the old times, afterlife’s been difficult as of late -”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be difficult if you didn’t constantly get yourself into deep sh*t,” Husk snaps. “That’s what got you killed in the first place. And down here, you come running to Alastor every time you get yourself in a jam so he can bail you out. He specifically told me he’s busy today and only to disturb him if there’s something extremely important.”

“I am extremely important!” Mimsy pouts.

How wrong she is. The last time she approached Alastor for help, she’d taken out a massive chunk of change from a loan shark. She had no intention of actually paying him back, instead using her friendship with Alastor to strong-arm him into massacring the guy and his goons to get her out of it. Even Alastor, who is usually willing to put up with her messiness, was particularly incensed by her actions and specifically told Husk that if she showed up again, to turn her away as “she needs to fight her own damn battles for once.”

“Get lost, Mim, he’s not interested in seeing you.”

“UGH!” Mimsy yells. She spins her seat away from Husk and suddenly realizes who she’s sitting next to. “Oh my everloving stars, Angel Dust?”

Angel smiles, though Husk can tell it’s forced. “Mimsy, sweetheart, it’s been too long!” He sticks one of his four hands out and she ferociously shakes it. She leans in towards Husk. “Husky, you could have told me I was sitting right next to an old pal of mine, you know! I’m out here being a mess in front of THE Angel Dust!”

“We’re not ‘pals,’” Angel whispers. “I’ve talked to her, like, three times at various parties. She’s clingy as hell.”

Angel’s comment makes Husk chuckle a little. “Look, I’m not your f*cking PR person, Mim. It’s not my problem if you embarrass yourself in front of people objectively more important than yourself.”

Angel snort-laughs.

Mimsy looks as though she wants to retaliate, but the front doors explode open a second time. A man with slicked back hair wearing slacks and an untucked button up enters the bar, three goons behind him, all with blunt weapons. The man smokes a cigar, the smoke curling in wispy tendrils around his demon horns.

“Mimsy!” The man says, his voice a sing-song taunt. “Come out come out!”

“Oh, sh*t! I thought I had more time!” Mimsy says, sinking to the floor, hiding herself behind Angel’s long legs.

“I know you have the necklace!” The man continues. He slowly paces the bar, scanning the area for his target. “My wife is very unhappy with you for taking her prized possession. You know what they say, happy wife, happy life. Unless I get that necklace back my life will be more of a hell than usual. So do yourself a favor, hand it over, and I let you go. You refuse, me and my men turn this bar upside down until we find you and break every bone in your plump little body. Your choice!”

“Yeah, how about no,” Husk says. “You are not starting sh*t in this bar. Either buy a drink and hash this sh*t out calmly and rationally, or go kill each other outside, take your pick. Any fighting in this bar is out of the question.”

The man laughs. “And you’ll do what exactly?”

“Kill you.” Husk is blunt and cold.

“I’m not going anywhere!” Mimsy hisses at Husk. She peeks around Angel’s legs. “Hey, Tony, you’re a limp wristed co*ck sucker who wasn’t worth my f*cking time! I f*cked you after last night’s show out of pity! And now Alastor’s going to kick your sorry ass if you try to touch me!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, he isn’t f*cking coming!” Husk snarls.

“That’s what she said,” Angel quips, sipping his drink as he watches the situation unfold with amusem*nt clear in his demeanor.

“You heard the puss* cat, you’re screwed!” the man, Tony, says. His pointed teeth gleam as he grins, triumphantly. He snaps his fingers. “Nate, you know where she is, get her!”

One of the goons, Nate, rushes towards Mimsy, a blood stained wooden bat raised and ready to bludgeon. Angel calmly raises a hand and, from his fingertips, neon pink strands of spider webbing shoot and stick Nate's legs together. He trips and falls flat on his face, the old floorboards shuddering.

“You saved me!” Mimsy marvels.

Angel snorts “I’m saving myself! I’m not letting a crazed lunatic break my legs because some bitch is hiding behind them. Get away from me!” He roughly kicks Mimsy out from under him and she falls backwards onto her rear.

Tony growls and snaps his fingers again. “Ok, you two, f*ck her up!”

As the two men rush towards Mimsy Husk hops the bar. He lands in front of Mimsy in a low defensive position. He holds up his hand and a fan of cards magically manifests. He sweeps his hand and throws the cards. In the blink of an eye they’ve impaled themselves into the chest of the first goon, sinking deep into his flesh, cutting arteries and bone. He collapses in a pool of his own blood. He went from standing to dead in a matter of seconds. The second goon, realizing what just happened, panics and turns to run. Husk makes a mighty leap, spreading his wings for a long glide, and lands on the man’s back. He manifests another fan of cards and swings down, slicing the man’s neck. He severs the jugular and blood sprays. Husk lands on his feet as the body collapses and glares at Tony. “puss* cat’s got claws,” he says, grinning.

Tony’s stands, utterly stunned.

Husk whirls around and stomps up to Mimsy. He passes the remaining goon who lays shivering on the floor. Husk manifests a card and chucks it down into the man’s skull and he stops moving. He holds out a hand. “The necklace. Gimme.”

“No,” Mimsy squeaks, recoiling from the fury apparent on Husk’s face.

Husk extends his claws. He pounds a fist on the bar making the glasses and silverware clatter. “GIVE IT TO ME!”

Mimsy reaches into her dress pocket and produces an enchanting pearl necklace. Husk snatches it, turns, and tosses it to Tony. “Now get the f*ck out of my bar,” Husk snaps. Tony turns and runs.

Husk stands for a moment, fuming, his vision red with anger. That anger quickly turns to panic. He whistles for his underlings. “Ok guys, I need this place spotless, immediately! Dump these bodies somewhere and for the love of God make sure you get all the blood!” He raises his hands and addresses the rest of the bar. “Everyone else, continue your drinking, this is all under control -”

An emerald chain manifests around his throat and Husk is dragged across the bar floor. Alastor stands at the entrance, calmly reeling him in. When Husk is several feet away, Alastor gives a sharp yank causing Husk to stumble towards him. Alastor catches Husk by the collar. Hooking two fingers under it, he raises Husk’s head so their eyes can meet. “What happened?” Alastor says with an eerie calmness. His eyes betray his true feelings, they burn with pure wrath.

Husk begins to stammer. “M-Mimsy showed up! Some guy and his goons were going to kill her! They’re dead - I can have this cleaned up -”

“He said you were busy,” Mimsy says, hauling herself up off the floor. “I didn’t buy that for a second, I think he just wanted to show how steely his balls are, take care of it all himself -”

“Mimsy, shut the f*ck up.” All three heads dart in Angel’s direction. He toys with the glass in his hands, looking quite irritated. “I was sitting here the entire time, jackass. You came in here, demanded to see Alastor, got all pissy when you were told you couldn’t, then actively antagonized the person hunting you. Don’t put this on the bartender. He did a fine job considering the situation you put him in.” Alastor co*cks his head as he stares at Angel. Even Husk has to wonder why he’s piping up at all. Seeing the incredulous looks, Angel shrugs. “But, hey, I’m just a bystander in all of this.”

There is a brief pause before Alastor laughs. “Oh dearie me, it looks like this is all just a big misunderstanding!” It’s clear he’s not actually talking to the people at hand, but rather, the onlooking bar patrons. “Things happen, life gets messy! It’s Hell after all, what would an afternoon in The Pentagram be like without a triple homicide?” Some patrons chuckle. Alastor releases Husk and claps his hands. “Staff! Have these bodies disposed of post haste! Nifty will be in to mop! Everyone, please, enjoy your drinks!” The patrons seem satisfied and go back to their alcohol and conversations. Alastor looks down at Husk, his eyes dancing.

Situations like that always give Husk a gambling high. His contract specifically states he is no longer able to gamble, even for match sticks. But the addiction never truly left, it just changed forms. Now, it’s the gamble of whether a situation will lead to him being physically or emotionally hurt by Alastor. It’s stated in his contract that Alastor can enact any punishment he so chooses or even order Husk to inflict harm upon himself. Husk has honestly lost count of the amount of times he’s been ordered to bash his face into a wall until his nose bleeds, or flay his own wrists with a blade, or place his hand against a hot stove until his fur singes away and his flesh blisters. Alastor gives a command for punishment and Husk is compelled to do it, no matter how heinous. Alastor’s favorite threat is to have Husk chew his own tongue out. He’s gotten close a couple of times, biting down with his sharp teeth just enough to make it bleed before Alastor delays the order. Each and every day is a constant flip of the coin. Heads, Alastor finds nothing to complain about and gives him a condescending pat to the head for a job well done, Tails, the aforementioned unpleasantness. A small part of him loves the rush the anticipation gives him and the rest of him wallows in shame for it.

“May I speak to you in private?” Alastor asks, quietly. Husk nods and is immediately guided behind the bar and through the employees only door. As soon as they’re through and the door is shut behind them, Alastor grips Husk by the throat and slams him to the wall. “YOU STUPID BASTARD!” He yells. “How the f*ck could you allow a scene like that to play out in my establishment” Three murders? What will the press say? That my employees can’t do their f*cking jobs and midigate mere squabbles, that’s what!”

Husk struggles to speak. “I did everything I could -”

“WHICH WASN’T ENOUGH!” Alastor roars. “Not nearly enough! Why the f*ck didn’t you come and get me? Mimsy takes priority!”

“Wait - what?” Husk murmurs. “Last time you said not to bother you about her! You didn’t want to help her -”

Alastor squeezes Husk’s throat tighter, crushing the breath from his windpipe. Husk’s wings flap, his tail twists, his claws extend and his fingers and toes writhe. “I think I would remember saying such a thing, Husker. I do not. Do you think lying to me will actually save your worthless skin?”

Husk’s lips turn blue and his struggling wanes. He’s on the verge of passing out.

Alastor releases him and, as soon as Husk gets a deep breath in, backhands him across the face. “You embarrass me, then lie to me? You’re a drunken sack of sh*t but I never thought you’d be so self-destructive as to beg for my discipline.” He bends over, his face an inch from Husk’s. “Does kitty need to lose his tongue?” Husk vigorously shakes his head. Seeming satisfied with the abject terror he’s filled Husk with, Alastor stands. “Now,” he says, his voice chipper, as though nothing happened, “get back out there and serve my guests.”

“Yes boss,” Husk says, shakily getting to his feet and backing towards the door.

“And remember, my patience has run dry. You step another toe out of line and I’ll break your entire leg! Understand?”

Husk nods. He bursts through the door, which collides with something. “OWW!” A voice yells. Husk closes the door to see Angel on the other side, massaging his face. “What the - were you listening in?” he demands.

Angel grins. “Hey, this whole thing’s been wild. Just wanted to see how it ends.”

Husk wants to scream bloody murder as he rips out Angel’s internal organs through his asshole. But, he’s a customer, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant Husk retaliating in any way. That horrible f*cking smile is forced upon his lips. “Yes, well, I have to get back to the customers! Enjoy your visit with Alastor!”

Angel’s sunglasses are low on his face. To Husk’s surprise, Angel looks genuinely concerned. Alastor steps out from the employees only room and seems confused to see Angel behind the counter but decides to brush it off. “Ah! Angel Dust!” Alastor says, vigorously shaking his hand. “Ready for our interview?”

“Born ready,” Angel says, whatever concern he may have had for Husk vanishing.

Alastor takes Angel by the shoulders and leads him out of the lobby, leaving Husk to massage his bruised skin in between serving drinks.

Chapter 2: A Bartered Soul

Chapter Text

Husk sits in a deep slouch, his subpar meal resting on his stomach.

He’s wearing only his underwear, white boxers with red hearts. He can’t soil the outfit he’s issued to wear while tending the bar and he gets no satisfaction from wearing any of his own clothes, old and ratty. Besides, this is the one part of his day he’s allowed to be comfortable.

He watches the latest episode of the sh*tty soap opera he’s become obsessed with over the last few months. The plot is paper thin; an uptight businesswoman moves to a new apartment complex, shenanigans ensue. The dialogue is corny and it’s extremely melodramatic but he’s not exactly watching for the show itself. Husk is bisexual, so both the lead actress and her suitors are quite attractive to him.

Of course, it runs deeper than “the C list actors are hot.” It feeds into a fantasy Husk has. While watching the show, he often imagines he was in the place of the main character. A free person with a successful career living in a luxury apartment being swooned over by a group of handsome men. The main character is written blandly on purpose for this very reason, though Husk doubts the showrunners had forty five year old men in mind when creating her. While the main character is uninteresting, each suiter is fully fleshed out with hopes and dreams and complicated pasts. Husk can close his eyes and imagine them as real breathing people. Sometimes, when he’s unable to sleep at night; when his room feels like a constricting air tight box, he’ll stroke himself off imagining it was from one of those men rather than his own hand. He fully recognizes how utterly pathetic that is.

Every day he’s surrounded by people, every day he talks, and laughs, and cracks jokes, and forms a connection with people. And they are always fleeting. Out of the sea of quick and disposable interactions, there’s that one who’s chatty, who’s polite and jovial. That one person who, in any other circ*mstance, he might have a kinship with. And every single time the interactions are cut short as they leave or are distracted or something else pulls them apart. They say that Hell is other people but the same can be said from a lack of them.

All of this is his own fault. All of this is the result of his own stupid actions. This is all his afterlife will be, probably forever. And with a heavy heart, he’s decided he probably deserves it. Between his behavior in life on earth and his actions in hell, he’s earned every bit of misfortune that’s come his way. He was a f*ckup up there, he’s a f*ckup down here. He was given a second chance and he pissed it away the same as the first. He doesn’t deserve any more chances. He dug his own grave and Alastor is, rightfully, making him lie in it.

He thinks back to the bar fight. He remembers Alastor’s frustration as he told Husk not to bother him with Mimsy again, that she needs to fight her own battles, that she isn’t a priority. But Alastor was so forceful, so sure with his insistence that Mimsy does take priority; that she is something of importance. Husk second guesses himself. He wonders if that even happened. Is he misremembering something? Were these several unrelated instances that he coalesced into a singular event? Maybe… maybe deep down he was lying. He hates Mimsy and her dismissive treatment of him, her entitlement, and general abrasiveness. Maybe he was just looking for a reason not to help her.

Husk picks up a bottle of booze from the side table and takes a long chug. He’s not drunk enough yet. He can still think clearly and he very much doesn’t want to. He wants to be so drunk these negative thoughts don’t buzz in his head, so drunk he doesn’t notice the bad taste of this food as much, so drunk he can better fantasize about being someone else living a better life, so drunk he can black out and be blissfully unconscious - the closest thing to death by his own hands that he’ll ever reach.

Death.

Oh, how he wishes he could just die. He’s afraid of Alastor, not because he fears dying, but because he fears the immense drawn out agony that would precede it. Death and the possible peace that it offers is so alluring. He has macabre fantasies of drawing a nice bath and soaking, comfortable and warm, before slitting his wrists with one of his cards and bleeding out. He imagines that every sinner, at some point, has attempted taking their own afterlives. But, by Lucifer’s design, no matter how suicidal a sinner may be, they will ultimately be compelled to keep living. They won’t be able to put the sharp implement to their skin with the intention to sever their own veins, or take that final plunge off a bridge with the intention to fall to their deaths. The history books of hell say that this is a gift from the King of Pride. Gifts are only such if you want them.

Husk is ripped from his dark thoughts by the sound of the door to his room creaking open. His ears twitch with irritation. “Hi, Boss, thanks for knocking, really appreciate it!” He realizes too late that mouthing off like that is an extremely bad idea, especially after what happened earlier. He braces himself for some impending retaliation, his heart pounding from the anxiety, that paradoxical rush of exhilaration coursing through him.

To Husk’s relief, Alastor only chuckles. “Oh, Husker, don’t be so sour! I have a guest with me! We have something very important to discuss with you.”

Husk rubs his temples. “Well, you’d better turn your backs then, because unless you want to see me in my skivvies, I need to put some clothes on.”

He hears the sound of high heeled boots treading the wood floor before a tall figure leans over the back of the couch. Husk looks up to see Angel Dust, grinning, his lower arms propped against the couch, one of his upper hands waving. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t want to see you undressed!”

Husk leaps up, his food spilling to the floor. He whirls around and glares at Angel who cackles. Husk’s cheeks burn red.

Angel glances behind Husk at the television. “Ah, ‘The Lovesick and Her Suitors,’ I love that show! Hate to turn it off, but we have important business to discuss.” He powers the TV off with the remote.

“Boss,” Husk says to Alastor, “what’s going on, what do I have to do with it, and why is he here?”

Angel answers instead. “After my interview, Alastor and I got to talking. We decided to shuffle some assets around.”

“I wasn’t asking you!” Husk snaps.

Angel has a look of smugness on his face. “Oh, really?” He raises his hand and Husk feels a collar form around his neck. A chain, each link engraved with spiderweb patterns, appears in Angel’s hand. He slowly reels Husk in and softly puts a hand to his face. “You said ‘boss,’ I assumed you were referring to me!”

Husk’s eyes are wild, his breaths erratic. He turns to Alastor. “You sold me?” He says, incredulous.

Alastor’s eyes glitter. “A deal was made, yes. With a heavy heart, I might add.”

“When?”

“A few hours ago, we’ve been working through the details.”

“And you neglected to tell me why?”

“I’m telling you now,” Alastor says, icily.

Husk looks back to Angel who looks so giddy, so triumphant. What plans does he have, exactly? An overlord doesn’t just purchase a soul from another overlord for sh*ts and giggles, there’s always a good reason. What is Angel’s? What are his intentions? Alastor is horrible, but at least Husk understands him. He knows what will set him off, he’s able to grit his teeth and deal with the punishments, he knows exactly what he’s getting from him. But Angel? Who the f*ck knows what a degenerate like him has planned. Husk puts on a face of brave defiance, but inside, he’s terrified. “I cannot believe you sold me to some foppish twink!” He snarls.

Angel laughs hard. “Holy sh*t! That was f*cking great! Though, ‘foppish twink’ is more of a compliment for me.”

“Husk,” Alastor says, his voice going from frigid to warm in a matter of seconds. This was not a decision that I made lightly. You and I… we’ve been in it for the long haul. We’ve been partners. We’ve shared so much together, drinks, conversation, merriment, memories. I will always cherish that. I will always cherish you, not just as a mere link on my chain, but as a friend.

Husk’s rage explodes outwards, all care for the consequences falling aside. Let Alastor kill him, it'll save him the pain this transaction is sure to cause him. “We are not friends, Alastor, and we haven’t been for a long time! You are the master and I am your f*cking slave, that’s it, end of story! Don’t spin this into something beautiful; it never was! All it’s been is forty years of you treating me like absolute sh*t because, despite your power, your riches, your souls, your status as a beloved figure amongst the overlords, it’s never been enough for you. The only way you can feel anything is by torturing me! You’ve regressed back to your days of mutilating animals like a sick child.” He sneers as he delivers the death blow. “You’re utterly pathetic, you know that? Beating down people on your chain to distract from the fact you’re on a leash yourself.”

The sound of an enraged stag roars amidst deafening radio static as Alastor’s eyes turn to neon red radio dials. He grows in size, his horns spread out long and gnarled, his neck and limbs elongating, his jaw unhinging and stretching wide as though eager to devour Husk like every soul he’s ever defeated.

He draws a massive spindly arm back, ready to strike Husk, to rake his claws across his face and rip the flesh from his skull. Husk squeezes his eyes shut and recoils, waiting for the blow that never comes. He tentatively opens his eyes to see Alastor’s hand a few inches from his face. Alastor seems to be pushing against an invisible wall. His arm shakes as he strains, his fingers writhing.

“You can’t hurt me,” Husk murmurs.

“There’s a reason I negotiated the ‘no fatal or nonfatal harm’ stipulation to be included in our contract, Alastor,” Angel says, all the casual sarcasm replaced by rigidity and coldness. “I think visitation with my soul is over. You’ve said your goodbyes and I'm sure you have more important matters to attend to. I can see myself out once Husk has collected his things.”

Alastor’s eyebrows raise, surprise evident even in his monstrous form. Husk has never seen anyone so unphased by Alastor’s rage, nor anyone be so curt with him. Nobody gives orders to The Radio Demon of all people.

Alastor shrinks down to his regular form. “Well,” he says, awkwardly - something quite rare for him. “I suppose I did lose my head a little there. I meant no disrespect to you, Angel. It’s been a stressful day for me, I hope you understand.”

“I’ve been there myself,” Angel says, his voice remaining steely. “Have a good night.”

Alastor turns on a heel and exits the room, nose in the air.

“f*cking asshole,” he mutters. He looks down at Husk. “You ok?” Husk pulls himself away from Angel, glaring at him. “I’ll take that as a no,” he mutters, distaste clear on his face. “Whatever. Get dressed, pack your sh*t, we’re leaving.” The chains vanish.

Husk wastes no time putting distance between himself and his new master. He rushes over to his closet and grabs a random pair of pants and a shirt. He watches Angel out of the corner of his eye and sees he hasn’t bothered averting his eyes. He just watches as Husk prepares to dress himself.

Angel sighs and sweeps a hand through his bangs. His co*cky demeanor returns. “You know, you have a nice ass.”

Husk takes pause and gives Angel an intense glare. “Excuse me?” He growls.

“What?” Angel says, shrugging. “You do! Wouldn't expect a guy named Husk to have such sweet cheeks. Your name makes me think of, like, an old dead body or something. Dead bodies usually don't have cake for days.” He kicks the spilled microwave dinner. “Guess this slop Alaster feeds you is good for something.”

Husk is absolutely flabbergasted. “Am I supposed to be flattered by that?”

Angel scoffs. “Usually guys like getting compliments like that.”

“I'm not your ‘usual’ guy,” Husk mutters. He puts his clothes on as quickly as possible.

“So,” Angel says, “what kind of a name is ‘Husk’ anyway? That your legal name?”

“Is ‘Angel Dust’ yours?” Husk says as he pulls his two suitcases from his closet.

“Why, yes, actually! You see, my parents hadn't decided on a name before I was born. So, when I popped out my mama's cooter, she took one look at me and her love for me made her feel high, like she did a line of Angel Dust, you know? She figured it was a fitting name.”

Husk huffs. “Something tells me you’re f*cking with me,” he says as he places his open suitcases on the bed.

“Oh, please, would I lie to you?”

“How should I know, we’re complete f*cking strangers!”

“I told you already, we're really not strangers. I know you, Husk. We spent a very... very nice night together."

"AndI toldyou I have no memory of this taking place. I was probably drunk."

That statement seems to incense Angel. "Yeah, well, Husk; legal name, nickname, pet name, what?”

Husk is reluctant to tell him, but it's written on his contract, Angel would know soon enough anyway. “It's short for Husker, my last name. First name's William. William Husker.”

“Ah, I see,” Angel says as Husk turns away to pull the rest of his clothes from his closet. “William, meaning ‘resolute protector’ or ‘strong-willed warrior.’ I think it suits you well, your parents chose wisely.”

“You just looked that up while my back was turned to sound smart, didn’t you?” Husk says as he haphazardly shoves clothes into his suitcases.

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” Angel says as he slips his phone into his pocket. As Husk gathers his toiletries from the bathroom, Angel spots Husk's booze on the table and takes a swig. He immediately wretches. “Satan's taint, what is this? You drink this sh*t?”

“That's what servitude to Alastor gets you,” Husk says.

Angel shudders and sets the bottle down. “Jesus Christ, I’ve eaten unwashed assholes that taste better than this!”

Husk gathers his few remaining personal items from various drawers and hiding places in the room, shuts his suitcases and says, “alright, let’s go.”

“My guys can come get the furniture later, if you want,” Angel says.

Husk raises an eyebrow. Why exactly would Angel offer to do that? It doesn’t matter though. “None of this stuff is mine,” he says, motioning around the room. He pats his suitcase. “Everything that belongs to me is right here.”

“Some ratty clothes and a toothbrush, that's it?”

“I'm minimalistic,” Husk says, shortly. “Let's just go.”

They ride to Angel’s estate in the limousine that was parked outside. The interior is a deep red and black that makes Husk feel like he’s in a giant pomegranate. The ride is fairly quiet. Husk sits as far away from Angel as possible and rests his head against the window, watching the scenery roll by. It’s been forever since he’s seen Pentagram City at night. All the flashing neon lights, the hustle and bustle of people, the hellish trees planted on the sidewalks with eyeballs and writhing tendrils, it’s so nostalgic. He had the ability to leave Alastor’s estate and travel the city if he wanted but, working such long hours, he would more often than not just want to relax for an hour or so before going to bed. Angel plays on his phone the whole car ride though, from the corner of his eye, Husk sees he gives him fleeting glances, an unreadable expression on his face.

Angel’s estate is in a gated community where all of the buildings are massive mansions, ranging from old victorian style architecture to one that is flat and modern. Angel's estate is the latter. The whole house is about six stories. It vaguely resembles a concrete and glass sandwich the way each section is layered and overall has the vibes of being slick and smooth and orderly. There is a massive fountain in the courtyard of two nude winged hellborn, one in a sensual crouch having water spit into their mouth by the other who towers over them, their hand on their ass.

Angel sees Husk staring at the vulgar fixture. “Admit it, you like my sense of style,” he says.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” Husk mutters.

The front entrance of the house is large and open. A geometric light fixture hangs and casts harsh fluorescent lights that make the white and steel of the walls, floor, and decor feel even starker.

Angel pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a call. "Hey, fellas, I'm home. I could use your help getting a new long term resident settled in." Within mere seconds of him saying this, there is a flas of pink and blue light the hue of cotton candy. There, three small brightly colored creatures hover in the air on dainty wings. "Husk, meet Cletus, Keenie, and Collin. They're some of the most important people on my team."

"Oh shucks!" Cleetus, who vaguely resembles a calf, says waving a hand. "We're just your little helpers, we're notthat important!"

Each creature quickly flies up to Husk and chakes his hand that he never extended. their babyish hands are so small they only grip his two forefingers. Husk offers no polite greeting in return, instead saying, "The f*ck are you people? I've never seen anything like you before, and I've been in hell a long-ass time."

"Oh, that's because we're not from around here," Keenie says. "We're cherubs, beings from heaven. However due to a little... incident... involving some very unsavory imps and a certain someone accidentally killing a human -" Keenie gives Cletus a sideways glare, to which he recoils in shame. "-We were barred from re-entering Heaven. We came here to hell out of shame, where Angel found us. He gave us a new purpose bringing joy and hapiness to his souls!"

"He's the best boss anyone could ever ask for!" Collin says.

"Don't grovel, Collin, it's unbecoming," Keenie snips.

Collin's upset at being put down quickly recovers. "What can we do to help, Angel?"

“Can you take Husk’s bags to his room please? Then just be on call until I need you again. The cherubs all nod. Cleetus and Keenie take Husk's suitcases and Collin snatches Husk's hat. He would have rather kept it on but they vanish in another puff of colorful smoke before he can say anything.

Angel nods towards one of the branching hallways. “Follow me to my office,” He says.

The first floor of the house is made up of many large fully furnished spaces with televisions, minibars, game tables, anything anyone could want to either lounge or entertain themselves.

“I take it this place has a lot of parties?” Husk says.

“Oh, yeah, tons. Usually every room is filled on any given weekend. Authorities are constantly called for the noise, but nothing ever happens. I’m the Angel Dust, what are they going to do, arrest me?” He chuckles. “The rules don’t apply to me.”

Exactly something Alastor would say, Husk thinks, bitterly.

One of the rooms catches Husk’s attention. His eyes widen. He thinks he’s died a second time and gone to heaven. A bar. Enormous, floor to ceiling shelves stocked with every kind of alcohol one could imagine. It’s even bigger than the one Alastor has. Angel sees Husk’s expression and grins. “You like what you see, bar cat?” Husk can only nod.

A stairwell at the far end of the house allows them to walk straight from the first floor to the sixth. The entire sixth floor is an open concept area the size of some house’s entire floor plans. There are many different sections split off; living space, kitchen, bedroom, and office, the only closed off section being an opaque glass box Husk assumes is the bathroom. The walls are strewn with florescent pink lights. The bed’s headboard is heart shaped, the bedding poofy and fluffy. The whole place looks like a p*rn set and, knowing Angel’s line of work, it might be.

Angel leads Husk over to his desk. He turns on a lamp that, thankfully, counteracts the sensual pink. He plops down in his chair and puts his feet on the desk. He motions for Husk to sit as well and he does so.

“Alright,” Angel says. “Let’s review your contract. I gave it a brief look during the transaction, but not too heavily.”

“That seems rather reckless.”

“I was just blinded by you! Your cute-ass face in my mind, couldn’t think straight!” Husk glowers in response which, oddly, makes Angel chuckle. “Anyway, I want to make sure that your contract aligns with my values.”

“And those values are what, exactly?” Husk asks.

“Not being an asshole,” Angel says. “If Alastor’s treatment of you today was anything to go by, I don’t trust that the contract he made you sign was very fair or balanced.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Angel waves his hand and the contract appears. He leafs through the stack of papers. “Good god, this thing’s a damn phone book! I have never seen a contract this long. What the actual f*ck is in this thing?” He goes quiet as he starts to read. Husk feels incredibly awkward, sitting in silence and twiddling his thumbs. “Oh, f*ck,” Angel murmurs, finally. “It lists here how many souls you owned at the time Alastor requested they all be transferred over to him. You only had a little less than I do, and I’m up there with the two Vs.” He looks at Husk with a mix of befuddlement and pity. “If you lost a bunch of your souls before the deal, you were even more powerful! And… and you still gambled your own soul?”

Husk balls his hands into fists. “I thought we were here to set terms, not pass judgment on my sh*tty life choices,” Husk says through gritted teeth. “I am well aware of what I’ve lost and I don’t need anyone looking at me like I’m a lost puppy over it. I f*cked up, it’s over and done with, move on.”

“Sorry,” Angel says, solemnly. Despite what Husk said, Angel still looks at him with pity. Husk hates it. He doesn’t need it, he doesn’t deserve it. He wishes Angel would just agree to Alastor’s terms and move on, just let him continue living his sh*tty life.

Angel goes back to reading through the contract, occasionally letting out a slow breath of air, his eyebrows raised at the documents’ contents. “Well,” he says, finally, “this is an absolute doozy. I can’t even… How the f*ck did you live like this? With all of these nitpicky stipulations?”

“You saw what happened today,” Husk says. “That’s how it’s always been for a very long time now.”

“Alastor was such a sweetheart during our interview,” Angel murmurs. “This is… this is barbaric!” He shakes his head. “f*ck this contract, we’re scrapping the whole thing and working from scratch, sound good?”

Husk is absolutely flabbergasted. “You… you want to… to throw it all out?”

“Yes?” Angel says, clearly confused. “I just said that.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Angel laughs, his hands raised; he genuinely can’t fathom what Husk is on about. “No, I’m not! Give me permission to revise the contract from scratch! Go ahead!”

Husk takes a moment, letting Angel’s words and expectant look sink in. “I give full permission to revise our contract,” He says.

Angel waves his hand and the contract shrinks down to a singular blank piece of paper, the only ink remaining being Husk’s signature. Husk is utterly stunned. He did it. Just like that. It’s all gone. Decades of bullsh*t poofed out of existence.

Angel pulls a feathery purple glitter pen from his desk drawer. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.” Instead of Alastor’s flowery calligraphy and lawyer speak, Angel creates a bullet point dot. “First things first, you are not allowed to kill me. Pretty straightforward. You will also not be able to physically harm me in any way, fatally or nonfatally. Val was dumb enough to leave that out of his contract with me and look where that got him. We can agree on that, right?”

Husk nods.

Angel makes a second bullet point. “From this day forth, you will be acting as my body guard. You will accompany me when I leave the house, you will protect me from anyone who tries to harm me or that you suspect might harm me. You will kill if necessary.”

“Bodyguard?” Husk says, leaning forward in his seat. “Did I hear that correctly, am I going f*cking deaf? What made you look at me and think, ‘yeah I want that guy protecting me?’”

Angel laughs. “You’re crazy, right? You killed three guys in, like, five seconds with those magic cards of yours. Plus, like I say, I remember you from back in the day. You have exploding dice too. You’ve always been a slick ass motherf*cker, you can kill as easy as you breathe! Of course I want a guy like you protecting me!”

“I’m rusty, I could have stopped those guys quicker.”

“You’re gonna go to your second grave beating yourself up over that, aren’t you?” When Husk doesn’t reply, he continues. “I meant what I said back at Alastor’s bar. You did everything you could. You handled that situation flawlessly. I think Alastor was looking for a reason to be hard on you.”

“No sh*t Sherlock!” Husk snaps.

Angel looks like he wants to retaliate but, instead, he takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair. “The bodyguard position, do you accept it?” When Husk doesn’t immediately answer, Angel sweetens the pot. “You’ll have access to a lot of parties, a lot of high profile events, and a lot of booze and drugs at said parties and events. As long as you’re sober enough to protect me, you can take whatever.”

“Fine,” Husk mutters.

“You’ll be present while I do business, where sensitive information is brought up. You will not divulge this information to anyone by any method.”

Husk nods.

“Now, for perks. All food, clothing, or anything else you could need or want will be provided. Just ask, I can probably get it for you. I’ll even throw in a little cash for you. You can have free range of the house, including the bar. You can go wherever you want whenever you want and do whatever you want, though you will be on call and must return to me and resume your duties when requested. You have any medical issues of any kind, they will be immediately attended to and fully paid for. Alastor’s contract had a ‘no marriage’ stipulation, no f*cking clue why. As far as I’m concerned, sleep with whoever you want, go on dates, get married, join a polycule, I genuinely don’t care. Does that all sound fair?”

Husk may not trust Angel, he may have bad intentions, he may be hiding ulterior motives, but his amenities are too good to refuse. “Yes,” Husk says.

“Good.” Angel taps his pen to his lips. “I think that about does it. We can negotiate addendums if necessary, but this pretty much covers it.” He turns the contract towards Husk. “If you’re good, just agree to the terms and we can get to bed. It’s rather late and I imagine twelve hour shifts doing retail work of all things is pretty exhausting.”

Husk pauses. Everything is so clear and concise, no hidden traps and no sneaky working. Angel hasn’t tried to obscure anything, not that Husk can tell. “I agree,” Husk says, finally.

Angel nods. He waves his hand and the contract vanishes. “Very good.” He presses a button on his desk. “Cletus will be up shortly to escort you to your room. I want you well rested for tomorrow. I’m planning on going out with a couple of friends. Since my last bodyguard got his brains blown out, I’ve had to cancel for an annoyingly long time now. I’m sure you’re clever enough not to meet the same fate as him. Meet me in the dining room at eight AM tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Husk says, simply.

“Husk, really, you don’t need to be so uptight, ok?”

Husk doesn’t reply. He doesn’t even give Angel the satisfaction of eye contact. The contract is nice and all, but he’ll circumvent it, he’s sure of it. Contracts like these work on the philosophy that, if it isn’t spelled out in ink, it’s fair game. There’s no stipulation saying Angel can’t hurt him, so he very well could. The other shoe will drop, it always does.

Cletus appears after what feels like an eternity to collect Husk. On the way out the door Angel says, “sleep well, Husk.”

“Sure, boss,” Husk replies, still not returning eye contact.

Husk’s room is on the mansion’s fourth floor. The level seems to consist entirely of guest rooms, all accessible via one long hallway. Husk’s is all the way at the very end. Cletus gives him his key with his everpresent polite smile before vanishing. Husk’s room is massive. The color scene is white, teal, and light brown. It’s fully furnished with a living area with several couches and tables around a massive television complete with DVD player, BluRay player, and several gaming systems. There is a small dining area with food already laid out. The bed is a king size with expensive sheets. He brushes his hands over them and is fairly certain they’re genuine silk. There is no exterior wall, instead one massive window. The neighborhood is at a higher plane and allows for a grand overlook of Pentagram City. As much of a twerp as Angel undoubtedly is, he has great taste.

Husk walks over to the food. A generous hunk of the juiciest ham he’s ever seen with a baked potato on the side complete with sour cream and bacon bits, and some kind of salad - each vegetable fresh and crisp with a sweet smelling dressing, and a glass of red wine. An old fashioned meat and potatoes meal. Everything must have been imported straight from Gluttony’s farming districts. His mouth waters at the sight of it.

Husk’s already eaten half of his dinner already, but doesn’t care. He pulls the plate towards him and starts wolfing it down. He eats as though the food will vanish any second. He half expects the cherubs to burst into the room, say this was a mistake, and try to take the meal back. If it’s in his stomach, that won’t be happening - unless they have rather unsavory tastes. He guzzles the wine and lets out a hearty belch.

Husk sits for a moment, staring at the empty plate. He tries to wrap his head around everything that’s happened over the course of a mere several hours. In so little time he’s been given a comfortable fully furnished room, good food, a comfy bed, and a revised contract. Alone in this room, given the time to let it all sink in, he feels utterly conflicted. On one hand, he’s grateful. He wants to sink to his knees and lick Angel’s hands and boots like a f*cking dog, unable to contain his joy that the pain has finally been alleviated. He can’t imagine that earlier this very night he was contemplating his own second demise. But on the other hand he is deeply suspicious. There is no such thing as simple kindness in Hell. With treatment like this, there is always something to be expected from the recipient. There is always something the giver wishes to obtain in return. It pains him to think but, if Angel is doing this in order to butter Husk up and make him his subservient little pet, he’s played right into his four hands. And, of course, there is that dark cloud of guilt that hangs over him at all times; that inner voice that whispers the nastiest sentiments, that Husk doesn’t deserve any of this, he shouldn’t be allowed happiness, that the pain and the torture was his attonement and anything less is unearned.

He flops down on the bed and worries the cap of his flask. He should be drunk right now. He lays there for a long time, his anxiety nowhere ready to let him sleep.

He finally gets up and walks out onto the balcony for some fresh air. There, in the corner, he sees a hot tub. He has a motherf*cking hot tub in his room. “f*ck it, he mutters.” He activates the tub and soon it’s bubbling away. His servitude to Alastor didn’t allow for much recreational swimming so, instead of swim trunks, his underwear will have to do. He dips his toes in, wincing at the heat. Little by little he slowly works himself into the tub, allowing his body to adjust, until he finally sinks down up to his shoulders. His muscles loosen and, despite everything, he can feel the tension leave him. The sound of the bubbling water and the smell of a slight summer breeze are enough to relax him. He can feel his eyes start to drift closed.

Then, he sees something out of the corner of his eye. Down below in the courtyard is a massive pool. And approaching that pool is Angel, wearing the tiniest black speedo Husk has ever seen. That showy saunter he had at the bar and in front of Husk is gone. He walks like a normal person - as normal as a man-spider can be that is. He takes a long stretch before diving into the deep end. He swims, slowly, seemingly just enjoying being in the water.

Husk can feel his cheeks redden. Watching Angel like this feels wrong. Angel is the kind of guy Husk has a weakness for before and after his death; soft, supple, and lean. He feels an erection stirring in his underwear and he chastises himself. He will not be turned on by this asshole overlord who purchased him. But Husk recalls the ads he’s seen on TV for Angel’s adult movies over the years. He’s seen Angel’s naked body in great detail, his toned body, his breast-like chest fluff, his large co*ck - Husk forcibly looks away. He feels like a dirty old man. Angel was a p*rn star and still dabbles in erotic film making every now and then, he creates products for the express purpose for people to get off to him. If his flirting was anything to go by he’d probably be flattered at the idea of Husk being aroused by him. Regardless, it feels wrong. It feels wrong to be physically attracted to the person who literally owns him as his property.

Husk’s anxiety has returned in full force. His attempt at relaxation, almost achieved, has been dashed. With a sigh, he gets out of the tub, turns it off, and goes to take a long hot shower in an attempt to feel clean again.

He crawls into bed, nude, the smooth sheets caressing his body, and drains the rest of the rancid alcohol in his flask to get him just intoxicated enough he can fall asleep.

Chapter 3: First day On The Job

Chapter Text

Husk wakes with a start to a knock at the door that goes through his skull like an ice pick. “Oh God, stop! I have a splitting headache!” he moans.

The door opens and Collin the cherub peaks in. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Husker,” he says, his stuttered voice nervous.

“Call me ‘Mr. Husker’ again and I’ll skin you. It’s ‘Husk,’ just Husk, alright?”

“Oh. Ok,” Collin says, his head hanging. He looks so utterly pathetic. Husk can’t help but feel a little bad for snapping.

“Hey… sorry. I’m just… I’m really hung over.”

Collin looks over at Husk’s sizable flask. “Do you get drunk often?”

Husk’s sympathy vanishes, his irritation flaring right back up. “Every night. What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just not a very healthy choice -”

“No kidding? Guess I’ve been living in ignorance for the last forty f*cking years,” Husk snarls. “What exactly is it you want?”

“I’m here to fetch you, you’re accompanying Angel on his travels today.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Husk mutters. “Well, thanks for the wakeup call. Now, screw off, I need to get dressed.”

“Actually, I need to get your measurements really quick so we can outfit you with the proper attire.”

“I was unaware there was a dress code. Just give me a minute -”

“It’ll only take a second,” Collin says. In a split second he’s at Husk’s bedside. He flips off the covers, unphased by Husk’s nakedness, and summons a tape measure in his hands. He quickly measures Husk’s legs, torso, and arms. “Yes, yes, I’ll be right back,” He says before vanishing. He appears a second later holding a hanger, its contents obscured by a black dust jacket. All of this took place in only a few seconds.

Husk can only stare at the little monster who just invaded his personal space with little to no prompting. “GET THE f*ck OUT OF MY ROOM!” He yells.

Collin shudders. “Yes, sorry Mr. Husker - Husk - sorry - I’m leaving!” He lays the jacket on the bed and vanishes, the smoke leaving behind the scent of wildflowers.

Husk gets out of bed and stretches, his head spinning and throbbing. He unzips the dust cover for his new outfit and his jaw drops. “NO! That bastard - this can’t - absolutely not!” The attire he’s expected to wear is a light pink button up collared shirt, white slacks with matching suspenders, and a hot pink bow tie with a Valentines heart at its center with “sweetheart” written in tiny red lettering. He curses under his breath as he dresses himself. He stares in the mirror, the cutesy clothes in no way matching the black, white and red playing card patterns on his wings, tail and ears, nor the deep scowl on his face. He looks so f*cking fruity. He rubs his face with both hands. It’s only seven thirty in the morning and already he needs a drink; he is far too sober for this sh*t.

Husk makes a beeline for the bar. The halls of Angel’s estate are illuminated by the slowly rising sun. The red atmosphere the light filters through combined with his hangover makes Husk feel as though he’s swimming through a glass of redpop.

With a flap of his wings, Husk hops the bar. He pursues the shelves until he finds a brand of whiskey he had an affinity for back in the day. He uncorks it and takes a deep swig, immediately calmed by the perfect burn at the back of his throat and its sweet and woody flavor.

“Um, unsanitary much?” Husk whirls around to see Angel leaned against the doorway, fully dressed in his overlord attire. “Other people drink out of that, asshole.”

Without a word, Husk takes a rag and polishes the lip of the bottle.

“That’s it, get your germies off of it!”

“Can you talk to me like an adult, please, boss? I’m not a f*cking child.” Husk’s too pissed off to care about potential retaliation. If anything, he’s curious to see just how vicious Angel truly is. His heart rate speeds up, the anticipation for Angel's reaction rising.

Husk expected many outcomes, but Angel pursing his lips and saying, “Sorry, baby, you’re just such a cutie, I can’t help myself! You’re too adorable for your own good!” was not one of them.

Husk makes no reply, unsure how to take that.

Angel approaches the bar. “Pour me a shot.” Husk pours Angel a shot of whiskey and he knocks it back. “Ah, nothing like a good drink to start the day off right!” He nods his head behind him. “Come on, breakfast should be laid out by now.”

As he follows Angel, Husk still rides that high, elated that he got away with it. He was able to mouth off and only received condescension and an attempt at flirting for it. But it also makes him wonder, if being snide with Angel doesn’t set him off, what will? Is he merely in a good mood this morning?

The dining room is massive, with a long table that can easily seat thirty people. Two plates are set out at the very end across from each other.

Husk’s mouth waters. Eggs, bacon, and a homemade cinnamon muffin.

Angel sits at his place and picks up his fork, about to eat. He looks up, puzzled, at Husk standing and staring, not truly believing he’s allowed such a beautiful meal. “Um… sit down? Dig in?” Angel says, motioning to the second plate. Husk plops down and starts shoveling food into his mouth. Angel blinks. “Um… ok.”

While fast, Husk still savors the taste, the buttery eggs over easy, the tang of the runny yolk, the crispness of the bacon and its juicy fat, the sweetness of the muffin, everything is perfect!

“Jesus,” Angel mutters as he picks at his own food. “You’d think you’d never eaten before.”

“I haven’t had a breakfast like this in years!” Husk says, not caring that his mouth is full.

“How many years?”

“Like… forty.”

Husk watches as the cogs turn in Angel’s head. “That sh*t you were eating last night, was that the only thing Alastor gave you?”

Husk nods as he shoves an entire piece of bacon in his mouth.

Angel grimaces. “Well, I can assure you, we don’t do TV dinners around here. They taste like sh*t and are equally sh*t on your body. We do home cooked food, everything brought straight from Gluttony.” He grins. “I assume you’re enjoying yourself.”

Husk nods. He’s cleared his plate in record time, it takes all he has not to pick it up and lick it clean.

“You want more? I can get you more.” Husk just stares at Angel. Why is he pretending to give a sh*t about him and what he feels or wants? “I’m fine,” Husk says.

“Alright.” Angel continues eating his food, slowly and refined, as though this is a fancy restaurant and not his own home.

After a few moments pause Husk figures if his first interaction with Angel went so suspiciously well, he might as well risk it and asks, “any reason my outfit is pink?”

“Pink is a part of my brand, obviously. You’re under my umbrella; your outfit when on the job reflects that. Why?”

“Pink’s not exactly my color, is all.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Angel admits. “But, it’s only for appearances sake while on the clock. I don’t expect you to wear it at all times.”

As much as Husk doesn’t like his outfit, he knows that Angel is right. All overlords have a certain aesthetic they portray to the public and the people who work under them are required to share in it. Vox’s bodyguards are geared head to toe in state of the art robotic suits, Velvette’s girls are all stick thin fashion models whose sense of style kills as well as they do, and Alastor’s crew all wear clothes in the same shades of red as he does. The unique look an overlord chooses is an important show of power. Hell, even Husk did it back in the day with his men dressed in pinstripe suits and bowler hats, armed with tommy guns. Though, a pink button up and slacks doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of those attempting to harm his new boss.

“So, what exactly does my first day on the job entail?” Husk asks.

“Nothing too crazy. I’m going to the Pentagram City Mega Mall with my good friend Cherri Bomb and her boyfriend.”

Husk’s chest tightens at the mention of that location. “Oh,” he says, simply.

“I’m excited to see you in action.”

“See if you got your money’s worth? See if you accidentally paid for a dud?”

“I doubt very highly you’re a dud, Husk.”

“Since we’re on the subject, What exactly am I worth, anyway? How much did you pay? How many souls; how big a chunk of territory did you have to lay down to get your hands on me?”

“Well, I haven’t truly gotten my hands on you yet, though, if you’re game, that could easily be arranged!” Angel grins, tongue between his teeth.

A feline growl rumbles in Husk’s throat, the corner of his mouth pulled back slightly in irritation.

“To answer your question neither money nor territory were used as compensation.”

“What then?”

“Information. Information on a very influential overlord.”

“What kind of information are we talking, here? Had to be something big for Alastor to let his favorite toy go for it.”

Angel chuckles. “That’s the thing, Alastor accepting my offer was a massive gamble. I dangled the carrot in front of his face, that my information could be worth his prize soul, or, it could be something he finds underwhelming. He had to take a chance.” Angel sips his orange juice. “It was poetic, Alastor, once again, taking a bet for your soul.”

“Yes, but was it worth it?”

“I would say so, yes.”

Husk starts getting annoyed. “ What was it? Can you tell me? I’m under contract, it’s not as though I'll be blabbing to anyone.”

Angel waves him off. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. For now, focus on the here and now.” Angel finishes his last bite of breakfast, downs his last drop of juice and stands. “And now, we’re off to the Mall!”

The Pentagram City Mega Mall was another grand idea of Lucifer’s. He wanted to create a fixture for the people, a place where any denizen of hell could take up residence and start a business. The building, constructed with powerful magic, has thousands of storefronts whose interiors, once occupied, can expand into massive areas with any and all fixtures necessary. A restaurant owner could buy a space and command the room to transform into a space filled with tables and booths, a fully outfitted kitchen in back with every appliance needed to create the desired foods. A clothing retailer could create a massive open interior with shelves and coat racks and check out lanes. The fees to use the spaces go into maintaining the building and keeping it well guarded and protected; an enclosed system where no money is pocketed by Lucifer and all goes into his project. Pedestals around the mall host tomes that recall all of this in great flowery detail.

And, like many of Lucifer’s dreams, it didn’t turn out as he’d planned. Almost immediately overlords would forcefully take sections of the mall for themselves and populate them with businesses owned by souls on their chain. The soul gets enough to live off, and the rest is scraped off the top by their respective owner. Almost all of the mall operates like this, the few independently owned businesses only remaining as such because the rules state that any Hell resident can set up their business there, including imps, hellhounds, and hellborn. If those rules did not state that a certain percentage of them must be allowed to operate freely in the mall, their presence would be nonexistent and the overlords would control everything.

This fact is not publicized in the self-congratulatory tomes and the average Hell resident wouldn’t know this is the case, but Husk is well aware because he himself participated in this system. Yes, his casino was his cash cow but it wasn’t the only source for his unfathomable wealth. He remembers all too well what chunk of the Mall was under his control, the various shops, the various souls who operated them. As soon as he signed his name on that godforsaken contract Alastor took immediate ownership of them.

Of course, Angel doesn’t know any of this. The chipper attitude he has as they take his limo to the Mall feels like salt is being rubbed in an open wound. Husk can only pray they stay away from his old section of the mall. He doesn’t know if the businesses he established in his old chunk of territory remains after all these years or if they were shut down at some point, but he isn’t thrilled to find out. He would rather not be forced to spend time in a place that used to be his, a forever reminder of the greatest mistake of his afterlife.

To distract from the misery of his past, Husk instead focuses on how much of a pain in the ass this will most likely be. If Angel’s friend is as rich and powerful as he is, then they have unlimited funds to blow and unlimited amounts of time to blow it.

The limo drops them off at the front entrance to the mall. It appears to be a giant V from ground level but, from the air, one can see the building is in the shape of a pentagram. Just inside, in the garganchuan lobby is an enormous fountain. It depicts Lucifer striking a strong yet generous pose, his hand outstretched, four streams of water emitting from his palm that falls into bowls held by a sinner, an imp, a hellhound, and a hellborn, expressions of elated awe on their faces. Husk huffs at the sight of it. Lucifer thought he was so good for constructing this place, so noble, so virtuous. All he did was create something that fits perfectly into Hell’s incredibly broken political and hierarchical structures. The fountain presumably needs patience because one of the streams exits its hole improperly, spraying too far, and drenching the imp’s face rather than going in its bowl. Husk finds it fitting.

Presumably, this was the designated meeting place because Angel circles the fountain, looking for this Cherri person. Suddenly, Angel is accosted by a one eyed woman with a high ponytail, flowing bangs, and punk style clothing. “ANGIE!” She yells, throwing her arms around Angel in a tight hug. “How you doin’, bitch?”

“Hi Cherri!” Angel says, squeezing her tight. “I’m so sorry I had to keep canceling on you! sh*t kept popping up!”

“Like someone making a brain slushie with the last guy you hired as your bodyguard?”

“Yeah, like that.”

Cherri rolls her eye. “I didn’t like him anyway. He was a douche.”

“Yeah, he was, but he was good at his job. You know, before he got himself killed that is.”

Husk, uninterested in listening to the two talk sh*t about the man who held his position previously, sits at the edge of the fountain and watches the water ripple. The bottom is filled with gold, silver and copper coins. Husk thinks it’s absolutely absurd that people still toss hard earned money in there to make a wish. There are people in Hell who can give out wishes, but certainly not for a measly copper coin.

When he thinks nobody is looking, he slowly plunges a hand in to get a handful of the coins. He holds them, a feeling of immense happiness welling up inside. His old contract with Alastor stated that, not only would he work without pay, but he would be unable to possess any amount of money for any reason. If he was tipped by a customer at the bar, it went to Alastor. If someone gave him money out of the kindness of their heart or as a gift, it went to Alastor. If he so much as picked up a penny off the street, it went to Alastor. The ability to clutch these coins, to take money and not feel an immediate compulsion to give it away, the reminder that he has some level of autonomy now, makes him choke up a little.

“Well, that’s in poor taste.” Husk looks up to see a black serpent, his lower torso riddled with eyes looking at him with judgment clear in his stance. “Those are someone’s wishes! How could they come true if you remove them from the fountain?”

“Hey, I’m just making my wish come true,” Husk says, rattling the coins in his hand. “This sh*t’ll buy me lunch!”

“If you wanted lunch, you could have just asked,” Angel says.

“Babe,” Cherri says, “you blow up people for a living, and you’re bitching about fountain coins? What’s the matter with you?” She has a grin on her face.

“And you think I was?” the serpent says. “He can rob the whole damn Mall at gunpoint for all I care. Actually, that would be preferable. I'm bored; wanton destruction would spice things up!” He says that, but that look of condemnation he had about him; he’s childish enough to believe what he said, isn’t he?

Husk rolls his eyes and slips the coins into his pocket.

“So,” Cherri says, motioning to Husk, “who’s the dilf?”

Angel walks up next to Husk and places a hand on his shoulder like he’s a teacher showing off a new student to the class. “This is my new bodyguard, Husk. Husk, this is Cherri and her boyfriend, Sir Pentious.”

“Hey,” Cherri says, flippantly, as she checks a notification on her phone.

“Good afternoon my good sir!” Pentious says, extending a hand for a shake. Husk, who already finds Pentious irritating, holds out the one that’s still wet from the fountain. Pentious looks displeased and Husk only smiles. “Good to meet you, pal!” He says, taking Pentious’ hand and firmly shaking it. “Yes, of course,” Pentious mutters as he wipes his hand on his jacket.

“So, Angie, where we going first?” Cherri asks.

“Velvette’s boutique, obviously. Her summer collection just dropped and I gotta support my girl!”

Cherri and Pentious hold hands as they walk, a slight swing to their arms like little kids. It’s sickeningly sweet in a way that makes Husk feel a little envious.

“So, you were vague in your texts last night,” Cherri says, “you paid top dollar for this schmuck why exactly?” She hikes a thumb back at Husk.

“Angel, you're friends with this judgemental twit why exactly?” Husk says. Surely this will piss Angel off.

“Ok, cool it you two,” Angel says. “For your information, Cherri, this ‘schmuck’ is The Gambling Demon.”

“Who?” Cherri says.

Pentious gasps. “You’re kidding me?” He looks back and eyes Husk up and down. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere! It's difficult to place you without your fine suit. The pink it, ah, throws it off a little. I never had the pleasure of meeting you in your heyday, gambling is... not my thing.” He pauses. “For someone so feared, so dangerous, so awe-inspiring… I imagined you'd be taller.”

“I’ve heard of you too, Pentious,” Husk says. “Didn’t recognize you either, you’re so irrelevant I forgot you existed. You know, for a sinner who's been here far longer than I with machines of such power, I imagined you'd have more to your name than a couple measly blocks of territory. I may be short, but I've lost more than you'll ever have.”

The insult cuts deep, Pentious looks genuinely uncomfortable. His frill flairs, the eyes watery. Cherri glares him down.

“Hey, that was uncalled for!” Angel snaps. “Ceasefire on all sides! Husk, you’re my bodyguard, guard my succulent body from the masses. Keep my friends out of it. Cherri, Pentious, don’t be rude.”

“I wasn’t being rude!” Pentious whines.

“You did call him short,” Angel says.

“It was just a statement I wasn’t trying to be malicious -”

Husk tunes out the snake’s whinging. He uses his skills honed after decades and intentionally loses focus on the chatter, allowing it to be little more than white noise. He places himself in a fantasy setting. He imagines he’s back in nineteen forties California, on the beach, still human, old swimsuit, floating in water, ears submerged, all the noise distant, feeling only calm and peace as he floats.

As the morning passes, Husk keeps his mouth shut, and watches for any suspicious behavior from the people around them all while carrying another of Angel’s bags each time he visits a new store. Angel and Cherri are utterly giddy as they try on outfits, chat, and generally act loud and obnoxious. Husk feels a little embarrassed traveling with the two. He feels like a dad chaperoning two unruly middle schoolers. He should know, he once had a daughter who did the same thing. Pentious looks bored and disinterested and uses his phone while his girlfriend shops.

As they travel, Husk notices people start to follow. A few at first, but the group slowly grows. They have phones in hand and seem to jostle one another for position. They haven't done anything to cause concern, yet, but they certainly make Husk suspicious.”

“Um… is this normal?” He whispers to Angel, motioning to them.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Angel says. “I’m an overlord, an adult film star, an actor, and a singer. I have something for everyone. I don’t have one demographic obsessed with me, I have them all. It’s maddening.”

At first the group keeps farther back but one particular individual finally breaks away and approaches Angel. He would have gotten right up close and personal if Husk didn't extend an arm to block him. It's an imp with shaggy white hair, glasses, a green t-shirt and tan pants. He looks disheveled and unwashed, his clothes quite grungy. “ANGEL!” He says, breathlessly. “I'm Arick Burnz, but you can call me Burnie!”

“Charmed, Angel says with the fakest smile Husk has ever seen. Burnie appears to be too starstruck to notice.

“I run one of the most popular blogs documenting you on the entire Voxnet!”

“Oh, yes, AngelWatchersDaily. You run that… lovely website. Fun.”

“Please, I’ve wanted to meet you in person for so many years! Can… can you sign my forehead?”

“Sure,” Angel says politely. Burnie hands him a permanent marker that Angel takes tentatively as though the imp is a dog that could bite at any given time. Burnie’s skin is so greasy that the pen barely writes. “Well, it was lovely meeting you,” Angel says, “be sure to put in a good word about this experience on your blog, but I really must be going -”

Another fan appears by Angel’s side and holds out a poster begging for an autograph. “Oh, god,” Husk murmurs. Burnie opened the floodgates, now the whole group of ravenous fans migrates over looking for their share of Angel’s attention.

Cherri and Pentious are pushed out of the way as the fans close in, desperate to get an autograph or a handshake or a selfie. Angel seems incredibly used to this as he doesn't immediately panic. Husk on the other hand, is smothered as he tries to put a barrier between himself and the fans.

Thanks to the new contract, he is compelled to do everything he can to keep Angel safe. He extends his wings in an attempt to shield him. The way the fans push on them, he fears they may snap like twigs. He looks wildly to make sure nobody has any weapons. Some fans try to get over or under his wings and he whips these people back with his tail. God, the compulsion, the need to protect Angel at all costs, which he can’t adequately do if these people keep pressing, it’s eating him alive.

Angel tries to deal with the crowd but there are too many people coming from too many directions. One of the fans reaches out and grabs Angel's arm. The unwanted contact breaks his calm spell and he starts yelling, cussing at her, trying to tug his arm free to no effect.

This needs to stop, it needs to stop now! Husk summons a card and hurls it towards the girl. It nics her wrist and cuts deep. Blood gushes from the wound and she shrieks, immediately releasing Angel and clutching the wound to try and stop the torrent of blood. “GET THE f*ck BACK!” Husk bellows over the crowd. “If any of you try the sh*t that bitch did, you'll be leaving in body bags!”

That gets their attention. Husk pushes his wings and body forwards, shoving the now quieted crowd back. From there, Angel takes the reins of the situation. “One at a time please! I’m more than happy to see each of you! However, try that sh*t again and I will have my associate decapitate each and every one of you!” He has a smile on his face and tries to put politeness in his voice, but it’s clear he is furious.

The crowd forms into a line after several minutes of fighting for position and Angel spends a brief couple seconds with each person. Some don't get the hint they are a hindrance and Husk has to tap them on the shoulder and tell them to move along. The only one who didn't get her dues was the girl who grabbed Angel. She was chased off by several fans from the cannibal district as they yelled furiously about how she’d hurt their idol. Most likely, that girl will be dead and consumed within the hour. After all the fans have been sated, the two abscond.

“You ok?” Husk asks.

“Yeah. That was nothing; try having a random guy sneak up and dry hump you out of the blue.”

“Oh f*ck, that actually happened?”

“Yeah. I had the guy executed, his body delivered in sixteen different packages to his home address, each with a detailed letter explaining what he did. I’m sure the Mrs. was either very devastated or very happy someone finally took the son of a bitch out.” He smiles down at Husk. “Thank you for maiming that c*nt. You did amazing!”

Genuine praise? It’s something so small but feels so huge. Husk gets a strange bubbly feeling in his chest. That feeling quickly sours. He hates that he feels like this, he hates that Angel looked at him like that.

Husk dons a poker face, mastered from years of gambling and even more years of giving Alastor little reason to hurt him.

“Bro, that was insane!” Cherri says. “Your little stooge has balls! But, seriously, you could have taken them! All you had to do was whip out your tommy guns and mow them down!”

“It’s not good for public relations,” Angel says. “You can’t just massacre your fans because they annoy you.”

“Why?”

“That’s what guys like Zestial do and he’s a f*cking asshole; an old pompous prick who thinks it’s disrespectful not to run in fear of him. f*ck that sh*t, I’m the people’s overlord. I only enact vengeance when appropriate.”

Cherri cackles. “Angie, you’ve been saying that for years now, and I’m still not convinced it isn’t a joke! You’re an overlord, you’re allowed to be a dick, especially if people deserve it! I blow people up if they look at me wrong, but you let that girl full on grab you? Really?”

“Cherri, it’s not a big deal, Husk handled it, everything’s fine. I don’t know why we’re arguing about this.”

“I’m not arguing! I just don’t get why you let your fans walk all over you, is all.”

Angel abruptly changes the subject. Cherri seems to know exactly what he’s doing but rolls with it anyway.

“You’re a dick… but that was pretty sweet!” Pentious says. He holds out a hand for a fist bump and Husk reciprocates, just to get the snake to be quiet and leave him alone.

As they continue to travel the mall, small clusters of people form and follow at a distance. Husk constantly keeps them in his peripheral. Some of them are brave enough to walk forward, but Husk always stops them, keeping them at a distance until Angel is prepared to deal with them. Thankfully, nothing like the first crowd happens again.

They pass by a shop that makes Cherri lose her mind. “Holy sh*t! Mind Candy Palace! I haven’t had the cash to go into one of these bad boys in ages! They sell that good sh*t!” Pentious looks utterly disinterested at the prospect of drugs but allows himself to be dragged along by Cherri. She turns to see that Angel hasn’t followed. “Oh, Christ, you’re not skipping out on me again, are you?”

Angel stands, all four arms crossed, chewing his thumbnail.

“It won’t kill you to live a little!” Cherri chides.

“I’m not going in there,” Angel says, evenly and firmly. “I’ll meet you guys later, ok?”

Cherri rolls her eye. “Alright, whatever. Later losers!” She and Pentious disappear inside.

Angel stares at the building for an uncomfortably long time before he finally walks away, taking long strides seemingly to put as much distance between him and the shop as possible. Husk has to rush to keep up. “Woah, what was that?” Husk says as he joins Angel’s side.

“Mmm? Oh, it’s nothing. That scene it just, ah, cramps my style is all.”

“I thought you were the king of drugs. Last I knew, you were on every substance Hell has to offer.”

Angel chuckles. “Well, that was quite a while ago! A really embarrassing period of my former life on Earth and my afterlife here in Hell. I don’t miss the violent crashes, the vomiting, always living in fear of the latest batch being laced with something, nor the thousands upon thousands of debt. No, I’m perfectly content being drug free.” He speaks as though he’s above it all. “You know, I snapped at you earlier when you and Cherri got into it. You weren’t entirely wrong. Cherri is… she’s an acquired taste. She’s my friend, I’ll always love her, but she can be very aggravating. I don’t blame you for not getting along with her. Most people don’t. I’m sorry if it seemed like I was jumping down your throat, I just wasn’t in the mood for a big fight so early in the day is all. And considering I then had a fight with her… well… that makes me a hell of a hypocrite. I’m sorry.”

The sudden openness, the little apology, the words “I’m sorry” being said to Husk, not said by him to placate. It makes his heart flutter in his chest. Despite this, he gives Angel no reply.

After a few moments of silence Angel says, “you know, Cherri and I have done quite a bit of shopping. You’ve been tagging along, doing your job quite well, and I do appreciate you carrying the bags. I said that I would last night; how about we shop around and get you some nice new clothes, hmm?”

“I figured you’d get them from, like, the dollar store or something, not from an outlet in the most expensive shopping center in all of Hell.”

“Sugar, I wipe my ass with hundred dollar bills, I don’t mind spending a few on you.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed by you saying you’ll buy me things with sh*t covered money?”

Angel laughs.

Every store they visit sells high end clothing. Husk is bought a few collared shirts in a variety of colors, several packs of t-shirts, a variety of slacks, suspenders - as he enjoys them over a belt, a new top hat, a rainbow of bow ties, casual wear, sleep wear, several sets of sporty sweat clothes, and a black leather jacket because Husk is “tough guy sexy.” Angel does all the work while Husk gives limited input, merely shrugging, nodding, or shaking his head when necessary. Angel has an eye for fashion and everything he has Husk try on looks great on him. And every single time Husk tries on something new, he feels wrong, he feels utterly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be wearing these clothes, he belongs in the rags hanging in his closet.

The last stop is to a tailor to have a custom suit sewn; a charcoal gray pinstripe with a yellow lining and cuffs. “You look so distinguished!” Angel muses as it’s fitted. The outfit is an exact replica of the suit he used to wear in his overlord days. Angel actually remembered what his signature look was. Husk feels an intense sense of comforting nostalgia from wearing such a familiar piece of clothing that’s interrupted by waves of self loathing and anger. He wants to rip the suit off. He shouldn’t be wearing it, something this nice, this regal, something that commands this much respect from the viewer shouldn’t be worn. Not anymore. He grits his teeth and allows for the outfit to be fully completed, though he knows full well this will most likely be the first and last day he’ll ever wear it.

They shop for several hours, the whole time Angel sending texts to Cherri that are not responded to. “She’s probably really f*cked up right now,” Angel muses as they leave the tailors. He claps his hands together. “Let’s just go get lunch! Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know about you, but I'm buying a hamburger with my own money,” Husk says.

“You don't have to -”

“I want to,” Husk snaps.

“Fine. I think I'll join you, my arteries have been soft for too long.”

They get their meal from one of the many food courts. The seating area is next to a glass railing that overlooks the bustling floors below them.

For the first time, Husk doesn’t feel the need to scarf. He takes his time, really savoring every bite of his burger, the saltiness of the french fries, the sweetness of the soda. All of it was barely paid for by the money Husk stole from the fountain.

Angel sits across from him. He almost looks like an average joe; there’s no way to look refined and proper while gorging a hamburger that’s taller than your jaw. “Is it good?” He asks.

It’s such a nothing question, so innocuous, so normal, a mere “yes” or “no” needed to answer. But this question is the straw that broke the camel’s back for Husk whose stress has hit a breaking point.

“Why do you care if the hamburger tastes good or not? Why do you care what I have to say at all?” Husk’s demands, his voice raised.

“Woah!” Angel says, holding up the two hands not clutching his burger. “Did I say something wrong -?”

“No, you didn’t. You haven’t done anything all day. I want to know why. What’s with the act?”

“What act?”

“You’re acting like I’m your buddy, your confidant, your friend. You give me good food, buy me nice sh*t, compliment me, why?”

“Because I want to?” Angel says, clearly unsure why Husk is upset.

“Bullsh*t, what's the catch?”

“There is no catch.”

“There's always a catch with overlords. I should know, I was one.”

“You want a catch, fine. The catch is you get nice sh*t. Happy?”

“Stop acting like this is all being done out of good will, I'm not stupid! What. Is. In. It. For. You?”

“There's nothing in it for me -”

“Why are you wasting time and money on a slave? You don’t do that for something so meaningless -”

Angel beats the table with his fist. “Husk, stop! Don't you ever call yourself that again. You are not and never will be my slave. I own you on paper, but that is not how I see you. You're an employee. Employees get paid; they get proper compensation. I'm trying to -”

“Butter me up? Make me complacent so you get to throw me under the bus later -”

“I'M TRYING TO BE BETTER TO YOU THAN VAL WAS TO ME!” Angel yells, his face red. That was not the response Husk was expecting. Angel is shaking with emotion. “I lived for decades under that bastard's thumb. I know full well what it's like to be a slave, I was one. When I killed that son of a bitch I swore that I would NEVER be like him, I would NEVER hurt my souls. I have done everything in my power to be fair, to be kind. I want to give you what Alastor wouldn’t. This isn’t a ploy to get something out of you or to trap you, it’s about being a good person. It's about repaying you for what you did for me.”

“There are no good people in Hell, certainly not good overlords. And I don't remember doing sh*t for you.”

“I’m not your run of the mill overlord,” Angel insists. He rubs his temples. “Look, I understand you're in a bad place. You just got out of a really sh*tty relationship. And maybe… maybe I moved too fast. And if I did, I'm sorry." Angel sighs deeply. "You... You're positive you don't remember me?At all?"

Husk shakes his head. "Oustide of billboards and commercials, I've never seen you before once in my afterlife."

Angel looks away, worrying his fingers. He looks genuinely upset. "Well, just know,I have no intentions of hurting you or using you.” Husk studies Angel’s eyes, the way he would Alastor’s for signs of deception. He sees none. Angel is being genuine.

Husk remains quiet, not knowing how to respond. He drums his fingers against the table, nervously.

As if to rescue Husk from this horrible situation, Angel’s phone dings. He checks it and huffs. “Well, Cherri finally decided to get back with me. She was indisposed before; she and Pentious got high as f*ck and ditched us to go on a joyride through the city.” He shows Husk a selfie Cherri sent of her and Pentious, their eyes red and wild, hands in the air, driving at high speeds in a steampunk convertible leaving destruction in their wake. “I hope she’s able to finally have some fun. After all, being around me is boring.” He sounds so bitter. He slips his phone away and takes a long drag off his soda.

“I thought you were friends with her,” Husk says. “It’s weird that she just left like that.”

“It really isn’t,” Angel says. “We were closer in the past, very close. But… we’ve drifted. I’ve changed and she hasn’t. Not that you care, though.” His face is unreadable.

The burger sits in Husk’s stomach like a rock. Right here, at this moment, Angel is different. Despite the flashy overlord outfit, the expression of maligned melancholy makes him seem so real, so human. He really meant what he said to Husk, didn’t he?

Angel stands. “You know what, I’ve shopped and I’m ready to drop. Let’s just go home, f*ck this.”

The sun has started to set by the time they return to Angel’s estate.

Angel bounced back over the course of the ride and is once again his chatty and flirty self.

As soon as they enter the home, Husk feels as though he’s trapped. He feels as though he’s being smothered. He glances at one of the bags containing his new clothes. That leather jacket did look nice on him… “I’m going to change and go out for the night,” Husk announces. “I mean, if I’m allowed.”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Angel asks. “I’ll call if I need you, but I’m planning on staying in all night. I have a nice glass of wine and a comfy spot on my couch with my name on them. The Restless and Her Suitor is on. I missed the latest episode last night for obvious reasons, I must know how Violet and Alejandro’s fight over the kiss with Edward went down.”

Husk chuckles. “Violet’s got poor taste. Edwards is, like, the worst of the lot. He’s got a pretty face, that’s about all you can say for him.” They find themselves discussing the show. Husk actually enjoys being able to talk about an interest of his with someone equally passionate. He’s opening up. As soon as he realizes that, he shuts down. “Sorry for blathering. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You weren’t blathering!” Angel says, waving off his concerns. “But yes, I’ll see you in the morning.” Husk goes to leave but Angel snaps his fingers. “Wait - if you’re going out you should have this.” He pulls out a wad of cash from his wallet. “Don't spend it all in one place.”

Husk gingerly takes the bills from Angel’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, softly. Angel gives him such a kind smile that makes his heart flutter again. If sinners could suffer heart attacks he’d be concerned.

Husk changes into his evening outfit, the black leather jacket, black jeans, and a red t-shirt. The suspenders are hidden by the jacket. In this new outfit, without his old-timey top hat, only his combed back hair, he looks younger, he feels younger. The new look, the new freedom, it’s like a thousand years have been knocked off his past.

Pentagram City is a good distance away. He could call for a ride but it’s been so long since he’s flown anywhere. He unfurls his wings and takes flight. He’s immediately exhilarated. The wind in his hair and fur, the way the air currents catch his feathered tail, the sight of the ground quickly rolling by, he feels alive again.

He lands in an older section of Pentagram City, one constructed in the twenties. There is a certain bar that he used to frequent even before he became an overlord that he wants to visit. He needs a level of comfort after the confusing day he’s had.

Angel's money weighs heavy in his pocket. What kind of favor will Angel ask in the future? Surely, this will be held over his head. “I gave you money out of my generosity, now you owe me.” Angel insisted that isn't the case, that he’s different. He was genuine, Husk could see that. He believes him, or at least wants to believe him. He wants to believe that there’s someone who has his best interests at heart, someone who cares. He just… can’t.

He approaches that familiar red brick building expecting to step inside and feel a rush of comfort. Instead he receives a cold dose of reality. The whole interior is different. It’s modern, the floors a stark tile, the walls a light sky blue, faux rustic wood surfaces, and neon lights. Husk's heart sinks. He really has been gone a long time, hasn't he? A part of him wants to be angry but, honestly, he should have expected something like this.

Husk feels a familiar hand rest on his shoulder that sends shivers up his spine. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Alastor says. “I’ve been thinking it too. This place holds so many dear memories of mine, of us. All the times we came to spend quality time together, to discuss business, to chat, to enjoy one another’s company. I miss that.” Husk glances up at Alastor wondering which version of him he'll see. He is calm, the look on his face that of genuine nostalgia. “Why don't we get a drink, for old times sake?”

“I'm not yours anymore, Al, I don't have to do sh*t.”

Alastor hates it when people call him “Al.” He doesn't have a negative reaction though. Husk breathes an internal sigh of relief. Alastor’s calmed down, he’s in a reasonable mood.

“Are you really going to cast aside the only person who will ever truly know you, Husker?” Alastor says. “I thought you could use a nice reprieve from the promiscuous spider's advances.”

“How do you know about that, have you been spying on me?”

“‘Spying’ is such an ugly word. I can't help but wonder about the new life my old friend has been given. Now, about that drink, will you join me?” Alastor's eyes are intense, yet nonthreatening.

On some level Husk knows that Alastor is a horrible person 24/7, no matter how nice he comes off. But, he wavers, his abuse giving way to friendly affection. Husk tore into Alastor about how they're not friends but, even then, he knew he was talking out his ass. Alastor has been the only consistent thing in his life, the one who was always there. The times where he was cruel never lasted, they always gave way to friendliness. Every time Husk was so happy it was over he was able to convince himself that he and Alastor truly were friends. Alastor is toxic. Husk should tell him to piss off. He doesn't; he can't bring himself to.

“Sure,” Husk says.

Alastor strides over to a booth near the back. They sit and Alastor flags down a waitress and orders them both a drink. He still remembers Husk’s favorite go-to drink even after all this time.

“So, how much of me on the job have you seen?” Husk asks.

“Oh, enough. Angel must've been impressed with your handling of that mob that formed.”

“He was. I imagine you have critique, though.”

“I merely have higher standards, is all. Your reaction could have been quicker. You had enough time to intercept that woman before she even had a chance to grab Angel.”

“Yeah,” Husk mutters.

“How has he been treating you? I assume well, considering the fine new outfit you’re sporting.”

Husk suddenly feels very self conscious. “It’s been fine, Husk says, downplaying the lavishment. “Good food, new clothes.”

“Yes, I saw the shops he took you into, very fancy.” Alastor interlaces his fingers and leans forward a little. “Tell me, do you feel you deserve it?”

Husk pauses for a second before he answers honestly. “No.”

“Mmm, I imagine not.” Alastor doesn't say anything explicitly, but Husk can tell by his tone he agrees.

They continue to talk, Alastor being the chatty one while Husk is very sparing. He gives Alastor enough to keep the conversation going but is very guarded and very careful with his words. The tension, actively working to keep Alastor from going off, limiting his true feelings so as not to give ammunition that could be used against him later, it's an old pattern and Husk almost prefers it. It feels normal, it feels honest. They throw back a few drinks and, as Husk starts to get tipsy, his anxiety wanes a little. The tension is more bearable, Alastor's familiar presence almost comforting - a return to form from the whirlwind of change. Alastor actually gets Husk to laugh a couple times. Finally, Alastor leaves him. He has business in the morning and wants to be well rested for it. He leaves the bar and Husk sits, teetering his glass, the liquid swirling, the glass clinking against the tabletop. That bit of normalcy is gone again. He's back in turbulent waters.

Husk glances up at the bar to see a pretty hellborn woman. She sits alone, wearing a pantsuit and has a briefcase sitting next to her on the floor, clearly having just gotten off work.

Husk downs the rest of his shot and builds up enough confidence to make a move. He slips onto the stool next to her and orders another drink. He smiles at her. Husk recalls his overlord days and summons up his old charm. He used it while bartending, but it always came out strange and saccharin. Now, he can lay on smooth and suave. They converse and she seems quite pleasant. She opens up about the troubles she has at work. She doesn't normally come to bars but was feeling particularly bad tonight. She seems to enjoy the attention from Husk. She absentmindedly twirls her hair. They drink throughout the night, progressively getting louder and more unruly. Husk puts the move on her and she readily accepts.

One thing leads to another and before he realizes it, they're in her apartment, in her bedroom. She swoons and is needy and Husk is willing to provide, the prospect of being the one in charge exciting. He gets to serenade, to be the strong powerful man as he kisses her neck and unbuttons her top. He’s mastered the art of undoing a bra with one hand. Soon, he's pinned her to the bed and they carnally kiss as Husk thrusts into her. Things become fuzzy after that. The alcohol and the tiredness from his long day make it difficult for him to fully focus.

The next thing he knows he's waking up to an alarm that is very much not his. He stirs and sits up, his head throbbing. The woman - who Husk realizes he doesn't even remember the name of - rushes around getting dressed.

“Morning?” Husk says.

“Oh, hi,” she says, distractedly. “I'm sorry, I have to get to work.” She throws on clothes and runs a brush through her hair. She looks at Husk awkwardly. “Hey, you have to leave so I can lock up.” There's no grace or care in her words. She seems to not want to look at him at all.

Husk quickly pieces it together. This was not how she planned her night; this was not what she wanted. Husk gets dressed and they leave at the same time. The woman doesn't offer her number and Husk doesn't ask.

He takes a cab to Angel's estate, too hung over to fly.

Husk somehow feels more empty now than he did last night. It was little more than a brief night with a nameless woman he'll never see again to whom he was nothing but a drunken mistake, a lapse in judgment. How f*cking pathetic. How fitting.

Chapter 4: Partners, Parties, And Problems

Chapter Text

In the following two weeks, Husk’s life has developed new patterns.

There have been no more shopping trips, that singular day Angel’s only bit of free time sandwiched in between work. He either spends his time at home in his office or conducting business at the p*rn studio.

Angel is still quite nice to Husk and still very flirty. He has shown no anger or hostility, say for mild yet obvious irritation when Husk does not enthusiastically show happiness and gratitude for his seemingly kind gestures. Husk may not know everything about his new boss, but he is well aware of his performativity. He is too confident, too co*cky, too sexual. He's clearly overcompensating, though Husk is unsure for what. Angel let the mask drop the day they met and certainly during the less than pleasant confrontation at the Mega Mall. Husk knows full well he's holding back; there's something deeper going on with him, and that makes him warry to trust anything the overlord has to say.

Husk is deeply conflicted about Angel flirting with him. It’s annoying, like he’s being pestered and prodded. It’s strange, because if Angel really wanted access to his body, really wanted to sleep with him, it would have been put in the contract. And it’s not as though Husk could say no. Angel already owns his soul, revising the contract was a formality. Husk could say yes and no, but, realistically, what could he veto? A “no” could very easily be made into a “yes” with threats that Angel would be fully within his rights, in the eyes of Hell’s few and very broken laws, to fulfill. But, he didn’t. He allows Husk a certain level of freedom and chooses instead to chase him, to attempt to entice him. And Husk would be lying if he said it didn’t work a little.

Husk accompanies Angel on his trips to the p*rn studio to conduct business, be it directing the various films that are produced, or starring in them himself.

Husk wasn’t super knowledgeable of Valentino, but he was aware he was a massive tool to work with. He was reportedly verbally and physically abusive. Angel is the complete opposite of that. He makes sure that Keenie the cherub always hangs around. As the more nurturing of the three, she attends to the cast and crew, making sure that everyone is comfortable. When a scene doesn’t go the way Angel wants he is firm yet kind with his direction, never raising his voice, never acting petulant or entitled. Of course, after the first few times, Husk has started to ignore the process. He’s less than enthused to stand by and watch people have sex live in front of him, so he puts in earbuds, turns his back, and listens to top forties hits to cover up the cheesy dialogue and moaning.

The only times Husk’s eyes are caught is when Angel stars in his own films. He isn’t as prolific as he was five years ago, but he still willingly stars in pictures. Notably, most of the roles show him as versatile, willing to bottom but almost always ending with him on top. It’s so weird seeing his boss, his literal owner, stripping and having sex in front of him. But, he can never look away. Angel is so damn beautiful. Every movement during intimacy is like poetry for the eyes. His swoopy bouncy hair, his four arms able to touch every sensitive place at once, the chest fluff everyone inevitably buries their face in… Husk always feels his co*ck twitch in his pants. The stirring becomes a full erection on the rare instances when Angel makes eye contact with him. Their eyes will meet and for that split second, Angel isn’t sucking off or riding someone else, he’d doing it with Husk. They cause such fantasies to form in his mind and every time he has to forcibly break away, leave to the bathroom and splash cold water on his face. He feels wrong, like a dirty old man.

Labito laughs in the face of danger. But, if Husk reciprocated Angel’s flirting, edged him on, allowed himself to be put in a sexual scenario with his boss, he would be opening himself up to be violated and harmed. Contracts can only do so much, if Angel decides to push things, take it too far, what could Husk do? Tell the authorities? He's sold his soul, his very autonomy. As far as they're concerned, he had it coming. Run away? Souls can't just run away from their owners. Unless given explicit permission, if a soul gets a certain distance away from their owner, they'll be compelled to return. Angel hasn't taken it further than flirting and wanting glances but Husk doesn't want to do anything that would encourage him to take things further. No, Husk wants to have sex on his own accord, and he has.

After so many years living under Alastor’s oppressive contract that stipulated he was unable to have romantic or sexual relationships of any kind; so many years with only his hand to relieve himself, he can’t help but throw himself at anyone he comes across in his late night rendezvous at the bar. Pandora’s box has opened. He wants to experience everything sex has to offer. He goes home with women and men alike. He tops and he bottoms. He takes the reins, acting powerful and confident, or he allows himself to be a whimpering submissive. He’s the one to pin people to the wall with carnal desire, or allow himself to be pinned. He penetrates; he rides; he takes; he receives. All of it is in service of nothing.

The physical aspect is amazing, but the intimacy is nonexistent. Beautiful bodies, heaving breasts, long legs, taut muscles, big dicks, all without a genuine person attached. Husk is nothing more than an accessory. He's the one night stand, he's the older man for a young woman clearly dealing with daddy issues, he's the other man in a messy affair. People don't drunkenly go home with someone they met at a bar for a deep connection, they just want to “get lucky.” Husk is tired of “getting lucky.” It was fun at first, being able to literally charm the pants off of any given sexual target, but it’s quickly gotten old. He’s tired of swooning and flirting and leading on all in service of a quick thrill in the sheets followed by the awkwardness of the next morning as he’s rushed out of someone’s apartment because they have work or their significant other is due to return.

He lays awake at night, laying next to another interchangeable lover, and questions what he really wants. The conclusion he’s come to is that he doesn’t want a lover, he wants love. He wants someone to look at him and feel joy, to want to spend time with him, crave him, need him. Deep down he desires it more than anything. However, the idea of letting someone in like that terrifies him. Who’s to say their response to reciprocal affection wouldn’t be a lie? How’s Husk to know he hasn’t invited in another Alastor? One is enough, and at least he doesn’t have to f*ck him.

In a way, the torment of being a disposable body to make someone else's night is less painful than the idea of letting someone that close, opening up to someone who could oh so easily hold his own heart against him. Then again, nobody would actually get that close. If anyone scratched the surface of Husk's charm they'd surely be repulsed by the man underneath. What self respecting person would allow themselves to be serenaded by a wretch like him, a miserable failure, a soulless sack of sh*t with nothing to offer? He'd be nothing but a burden, a leech, a disgusting old man cloying for affection he in no way f*cking deserves.

The cherubs all sense that Husk is deeply unhappy and all try to cheer him up and play therapist but Husk raises every wall in response. They always sing and swoon and are so patient and kind to him in a way that feels patronizing. He wishes they'd just f*ck off and leave him alone. The only one he can tolerate is Collin, but maybe that's just because he feels bad for him since he's treated so poorly by the others - despite the gross invasion of Husk’s privacy the second time they ever met. The absolute worst thing the cherubs do is use Husk’s drunkenness to their advantage. It hasn’t been an issue in years as he’s only gotten sh*t faced in private, but he’s a chatty drunk. When he’s intoxicated he is prone to divulging too much information. After a night of pouring drink after drink, Husk found himself spilling his guts to Cletus who was bartending. Luckily, his words were too slurred and his recollection of events so scattered that Cletus wasn’t able to follow most of it. He tried to follow up the next morning, to which Husk refused any elaboration. Despite how tight lipped he is, they don't give up. How these little mites can be banished from their own home yet choose to live down here in the company of sinners and still be smiley and cheerful is beyond him.

Alastor has continued to be a presence in Husk’s life. He’s no longer following husk around, to his knowledge, but has had many video calls with him. Alastor, in many ways, despises modern phones but is willing to put up with them for the conveniences they offer. He’s in one of his prolonged good moods, always open, always charming. He puts Husk down, but subtly. Husk can still tell and it still hurts, but it’s a hurt he can deal with. It’s a hurt that he needs.

It’s a late Saturday afternoon of Husk’s second week when Angel sends him a text asking to speak to him in his room. Husk enters Angel’s room to find him longing on the couch with his feet up. He doesn’t look like a powerful overlord, merely an average twenty something queer man wearing a low cut sweater tailored for four arms, gray sleep pants and fuzzy socks. He looks up and grins. “Husk!” He bats his eyelashes. “Happy to be called into my bedroom?” Husk glowers in response. “I can tell you’re excited!”

“What’s up, boss?” Husk asks.

“I was invited to a party this evening by a pair of very influential performers. It’s nothing special, just a small event with a few overlords; a few celebrities.”

“Any heavy hitters I should be concerned about?”

“No one like Zestiel or the Vs if that’s what you’re asking. It’s not that high profile. I’m going simply to make an appearance. It would be rude for me to be invited and not show, I have a reputation to uphold! I want you presentable in an hour.”

Apparently they both have a different idea of what “an hour” means. Husk is showered, changed, and ready to go in thirty minutes while Angel takes nearly two hours to get ready. Husk is baffled and irritated that he was told to rush only to have to wait double the time.

The “small event” is actually a massive party with several hundred people. It is mostly in the side yard of a glass and concrete mansion. A DJ blasts loud pop music, people drink and loudly gossip, and the massive pool is filled with people, some of whom didn’t bother taking off their expensive party outfits. Husk wasn’t expecting a Goetia gathering or anything, but he figured it would be a little more formal than this.

Angel floats around the party with effortless charm. He has an heir of grandness about him, strutting as though he owns the place. He takes drinks from servers, sneaks them from unattended tables, or even takes them from the people he talks to, guests too intoxicated and distracted to notice their hands are now empty. He chats with dozens of different people, able to carry a conversation with anyone and everyone who approaches him. Angel is very clearly a gay man; he’s very flamboyant and effeminate with his mannerisms and the topics discussed.

Husk finds most of the people attending to be annoying. Many of them are younger than he is, either sinners who died early in life or hellborn who are literally in their twenties still. Husk feels like an old codger who sticks out like a sore thumb. It’s incredibly obvious he’s only here as Angel’s bodyguard.

The alcohol served is light and fruity. Not exactly his taste, but he won’t pass up a free drink. After several glasses he feels more at ease.

He’d love to do his old standby of tuning everything out, but the atmosphere is so loud he can’t concentrate enough to do so. So, he’s stuck listening to Angel have tedious conversations with people, gossiping about other overlords and famous people in their circles, the latest hell news, and fashion.

Two women approach Angel. He grins. “Glitz! Glam! How are my girls?”

“Having fun, getting trashed,” Glam says. “You?”

“Same,” Angel says.

The two women, nearly identical, cling to one another in a way Husk finds rather odd. “Are you two, like, an item? Husk asks.

They both give him disgusted looks. “We’re sisters, sicko!” Glam says. “Angel, Honey, who the f*ck is this clown?”

“My bodyguard, who really needs to pipe down.” Husk is taken aback by Angel’s sudden rudeness.

Glitz screams at the top of her lungs for one of the servers, an imp, who rushes over with a tray of drinks. Glitz and Glam take a drink and they hand one to Angel. Husk goes to take a drink for himself but Glam shoes the imp away. “Drinks are for invited guests only,” she says. coldly.

“Since when?”

“Since five seconds ago.”

They drift over to a seating area and sit across from each other on several couches. Husk is, again, weirded out by how physically affectionate these two sisters are with each other.

“Quite a turnout,” Angel says.

“I’d certainly hope so!” Glam says. “After our win at Mammon's clown pageant, we deserve the attention! We worked extremely hard for that. And to finally dethrone that hack Fizzarolli, it’s f*cking org*smic!”

“Didn’t you win on a technicality?” Husk says. “I watched the broadcast like everyone else, Fizzarolli totally would have won if he didn’t resign at the end of his routine.”

Glitz and Glam’s eyes flair. “You know,” Glitz says, “this party is well guarded. Angel doesn’t really need you. Keep mouthing off and you’ll have to wait in the car like the dog you are.”

“I’m a cat, actually.”

“Whatever, fleabag.”

“Hey, hey, excuse my associate here,” Angel says. “He just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.” Angel gives Husk a serious glare that pisses him the f*ck off. Angel turns sideways and rests his legs on Husk’s lap. Husk would love to shove them off, but he doesn’t want to risk ticking off Angel more than he already is. “Anyway, I’m sure the win has done wonders for your careers.”

“Oh, hell yes, we’re booked into next year, it’s amazing!” Glam says.

“Have you gotten attention from the boys?”

“We’ve gotten a lot more pay-pigs willing to give us unfathomable amounts of money for a quickie if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I was wondering more about romantic endeavors -”

“Romance is dead,” Glitz cuts in. “Unless there’s cold hard cash involved, we’re not interested.”

“How about you?” Glam says. “Who’ve you been f*cking recently?”

“Surprisingly, outside of filming p*rn, I’m having a dry spell. I’ve been saving myself for a certain someone.” He raises a leg and hooks his foot around the side of Husk’s head and turns his face in his direction. Angel makes sensual eye contact and licks his lips. “I’ve got a daddy playing hard to get.”

Glitz and Glam howl with laughter. “Holy sh*t, Angel, you’re trying to f*ck him?” Glitz says. “That’s hilarious! Send us the sex tape, I’m sure it’ll be worth a laugh seeing him try to pleasure you!”

Husk’s face turns red. He shoves Angel’s legs away and stands. “Ok, this sh*t needs to stop!” he snarls.

“Oh, come on baby!” Angel coos. “Let me make those wings of yours flap!”

“I am not your baby!” Husk says through gritted teeth. “I do not have to put up with this harassment!”

That last part gets Angel’s attention. “Excuse me?”

“You f*cking heard me. I’m getting a drink.” He wheels around and storms off.

“Disrespectful little f*cktards don’t get drinks in this house!” Glitz yells over her shoulder as Husk leaves Angel to continue talking about how simultaneously sexy and sh*tty he is to his nasty-ass little friends.

Husk makes his way to the bar hoping to get something stronger than the kool aid they’ve been serving. He is irritated to find that not only is the bartender’s some kid who clearly knows nothing about alcohol, but the selection is piss poor. “Jesus christ,” Husk mutters. He jabs a finger to a bottle of whiskey, a brand that he’d under no other circ*mstances order. “That one.” The bartender pours him a shot and goes to put the whiskey away. “Leave the bottle, jackass!” The bartender huffs and leaves Husk alone.

“Rough night?” Husk looks over to see a massive broad shouldered hellhound leaning against the bar next to him.

“Something like that,” Husk mutters.

“You don’t seem like the type to be at a party like this.”

“Believe me, I’d rather be at home watching TV right now.”

“You a chaperone or something?”

“He does feel like a child I’m taking care of sometimes.”

The hellhound laughs. “I’ve been there, man!” He nods at the party going on around them. “These aren’t my type of people, at all. Glitz and Glam are pretty racist and so are most of their so-called friends. They’re not a fan of hellhounds. Wouldn’t have gotten past the front gates if I wasn’t here strictly to bodyguard my boss.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Husk says.

“Really? I wouldn’t have expected that. You know, with the pink.”

“Don’t get it twisted, it’s not my choice. Do I look like a guy who enjoys wearing pink?”

The hellhound laughs. “Certainly not!” He holds out a hand. “I’m Vortex.”

“Husk,” he says as he shakes it.

A female imp approaches Vortex. “God, tex, this party sucks!”

“Tell me about it,” Tex says, taking a sip of his drink. It’s awfully girly for a big tough looking guy like him. “Everyone here is so f*cking vapid.”

“At least you don’t have to deal with them like I do,” the imp says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how Verosika puts up with Glitz and Glam, biggest c*nts this side of hell!” She glances at Tex's drink. “Can I have a taste?” Tex hands her his drink and she samples it. “Oooh, that’s good!” She waves down the bartender and gets one for herself. “So, what have you been up to?” She asks Tex.

“Hanging out, waiting for Verosika to get sick of these assholes and book it. Been chatting with Husk, here,” he says nodding towards Husk.

“Oh, Hi, I’m Barbie,” the imp says. She extends a hand and Husk shakes it.

“You look vaguely familiar,” Husk says.

Barbie chuckles. “Yeah, I had a big hit a few years ago. Still gets radio play but I’ve had my day in the sun. You’ve heard of ‘Heels to the Face?’”

“Oh God yes!” Husk says, rolling his eyes. “I worked in retail, had to listen to that f*cking song play on a goddamned loop. That was you?” He rubs the back of his neck realizing how nasty he spoke about her work. “Sorry if that came out rude.”

Barbie laughs. “Don’t worry about it, I hate that song too! Naturally the worst one on the album is what popped off.”

“How come you showed up if you hate Glitz and Glam so much?”

“Oh, I wasn’t invited. I’m too washed up for their taste. I’m here with my girlfriend.” Husk puts the pieces together. “You’re dating Verosika Mayday?”

“I mean, we’ve been together five years and live together, kinda an understatement to say we’re ‘dating.’”

Husk already knows the answer but he might as well see how legendary he truly is, according to Angel. “I’m a bit of a wash up myself. Recognize me?”

Barbie and Tex tilt their heads. “No,” Barbie says, “what were you in?”

Figures. “Nothing important,” Husk says. “It was a long time ago.”

“So, how does one go from being important and famous to being a bodyguard wearing a cotton candy-ass getup?” Tex asks.

“Through some very poor life choices, that’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, f*ck, been there done that,” Barbie mutters. “H-8 is a bitch.”

“Woah, isn’t that, like, the harshest drug on the market?”

“Yep. Imps have a high drug tolerance. Weed has literally no effect and harder sh*t like cocaine and heroin barely touch a headache. You gotta get some SERIOUS sh*t to get us high. If a sinner were to take H-8 their body would spontaneously combust.”

Husk recalls hearing of the phenomenon of new arrivals in Hell who don’t know any better accidentally killing themselves mere hours after landing by taking the stuff. Lucky bastards.

“I imagine that sh*t’s hard to get off of,” Husk says. “I mean, I assume you’re off it.”

“Trust me, you’d know if I was still on it. And, yeah, it’s a bitch to get out of your system. I’ve lost count of all the times I ended up relapsing. Thank god that’s all over.” She gets a somewhat distant look on her face, unpleasant memories coming to mind. She shakes it off. “Anyway, who is it you work for?”

“Angel Dust.”

Barbie’s eyes widen. “Holy sh*t, really? Verosika, me and him all go way back! We’re, like, besties!”

“I had no idea,” Husk says.

Barbie pulls out her phone and texts whom Husk assumes is Verosika. “Get Angel over here! It’s been ages since we’ve seen him!”

Husk, reluctantly, calls Angel. After a few seconds he struts languidly up to the bar. “Hey,” he says, a strange expression on his face. He looks to Husk. “I should really -”

“Angel, baby, come over here and give mommy a hug!” A hellborn, a succubus, approaches, her white hair a rippling waterfall, her dress with Xs over the bust so short it could easily be mistaken for a long shirt, and a pink flask with hearts painted on it. The scent on her breath is definitely beelzejuice. Angel gives Verosika a tight hug. “How are you?” She asks. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen you!”

“I know, I know, I’ve been swamped with work, my old body guard got his head blown off, it’s been a rough couple months!”

Verosika nods. “Yeah. same.” The co*cky look on her face breaks a little. “We… we really need to talk at some point. Soon. Please.”

Angel looks concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Several people come up to them and whatever issues they were about to discuss go by the wayside, their snide expressions return as they hop into conversation.

Eventually, Verosika tells Angel it’s about time she left. She takes Barbie’s hand and the two of them, flanked by Tex, exit the party.

Angel’s hand is grabbed by one of the women they were talking to and is pulled along through the sea of partygoers. Husk has to run after. Angel is dragged over to a table where guests are doing massive lines of cocaine. “Come on, Angel, show us how it’s really done!” The woman says.

Angel’s body goes rigid. He stares at the table, his eyes wide. His fingers writhe before balling to fists. “I have to take a very important call,” he says, no hint of charm in his voice.

“Can’t it wait -?”

“No, it can’t,” Angel snaps. He pulls his hand free, brushes past Husk, and forces his way back through the crowd.

Husk catches up to Angel back at the bar. Angel orders a shot that he quickly knocks back. His hand trembles.

“What the f*ck was that?” Husk asks.

Angel chuckles. “Nothing. I’m having too much fun to be bogged down by that sh*t.”

Angel may be able to fool others, but Husk can spot the insincerity from a mile away. He feels a deathly calm fall over him. It’s not a good calm. It’s the calm that contains an explosion so it can be released at a more appropriate time. “Come with me,” Husk says. “Privately.”

They make their way into an unoccupied part of the house, the bass of the music outside making the walls shudder.

“So, what exactly do you plan to do to me now that we’re in private?” Angel asks, sensually rubbing his chest fluff.

“DROP THE f*ckING ACT!” Husk yells. Angel jumps. “Stop the charming assides, stop the flirting, stop acting like it’s nothing more than your style being cramped. You want me to trust you? You want me to believe you? Then why are you playing pretend all the time to everyone you talk to? I know you’re hiding sh*t, I’ve known it since the day we met. I’m tired of being lied to. I’m tired of how f*cking fake you are.”

Angel looks like he’s been shot, he looks like a scared child. “I…”

Husk crosses his arms and glares at Angel. “I’m waiting.” He holds strong, though he is absolutely terrified. This is disobedience at its finest. Angel could kill him for this. Husk’s blood has been replaced with pure adrenaline.

“Husk, you don’t get it!” Angel says, throwing his hands up. “You don’t get what it’s like, what I have to go through! I’ve had to fight to get where I am now! You think I was well liked? After I killed one of the Vs? One of the most powerful overlords in all of Pride? I was a menace, a monster, a petulant brat who bit the hand that fed him. I’ve spent the last five years doing everything I can to be taken seriously, I have to be taken seriously! It’s shallow, it’s stupid, but the acting is something I have to do! It’s survival! I can’t show any weakness!” His voice starts to crack a little. “You think I want to be fake? You think I want to be dishonest? I don’t! I’m just as sick of playing the part as you are of seeing it!”

“Ok. So why pull that sh*t with me? I’m your soul, oh, I’m sorry, your employee . Why be fake to me? What benefit does that serve?”

Angel balls his hands to fists and bites his lip. Is he… is he fighting tears? “The act is just easier. I don’t have to think about it. I can just throw it on and know I’m safe. Nobody has ever complained. You… you’re the first person it hasn’t worked on. You’re the first person not to buy it. I wasn’t expecting that. Most people like the mask, they like the whole ‘smarmy douchebag who’s also a kitten’ angle. I knew you were suspicious, but I didn't think you rejected it entirely.” He hasn’t made eye contact with Husk but meets his gaze now. “I… I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you. I wasn’t trying to harass you. Every man who’s ever been in my f*cking life since I came to Hell has wanted that version of me. They want the forward flirty twink who rains down compliments and affection. And, like, you hated it when we met the first time, but you came around." He sours. "Oh, but you don't remember that. You don't rememberanything that we had. was if brief, sure, but it wassomething godamn it!" He pauses. "I figured that, maybe, things had changed in all that time. Thought maybe you ticked just like every other guy.I was trying to be funny, to be cute, to… to get your attention. "

“What kind of attention?” Husk asks.

"The f*ck do you think, Husk?" Angel snaps. He shakes his head. “I f*cked things up bad, Husk. I’m sorry.” He’s actually crying. “f*ck, f*ck this!” He says, wiping tears. “And the drugs… the drugs just made everything worse! I went to rehab and I was in that facility for months! That’s where I met Verosika and Barbie, the only people I can truly call friends! They’ve seen me at my lowest, and I was f*cking low . I died of a drug overdose. I was so high I didn’t cut the cocaine properly. I ended up comatose for a few hours before finally kicking the bucket. And down here was no better. The drugs… they ruled me. I had no say, no power over my own mind or body, I was a slave to that sh*t. My afterlife wasn’t mine.” His head hangs low. “I’m not going back there again. I can’t. Just looking at drugs makes me panic. Because I know full well that one hit is all it would take for me to relapse and fall right back into that awful hole I’ve spent five f*cking years digging myself out of. But I can't tell anyone that because that makes me look like a puss*, it makes me look weak. It makes me vulnerable.”

Angel collapses into an armchair and covers his face with his hands. Husk’s stomach tightens. He knows that pose all too well. That’s the exact position he’s gone into so many times, limbs pulled tight to the body, face hidden. It’s a psychological desire to be small, to not be perceived, a position of deep shame and guilt. Husk’s heart breaks a little. Angel doesn’t speak anymore. He doesn’t move, say for his body shuddering with sobs.

Husk sighs. Some part of him wants to open up, to be exposed. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. But f*ck it. Life’s been too good thus far anyway, if it bites him in the ass it bites him in the ass. Husk walks over and rests a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “Take it from a former overlord, I know what it’s like to throw on a mask. I know what it’s like to be forced to wear a mask. Had to do that sh*t while working at Alastor's bar for decades. It sucks, it’s taxing, and I’m sorry you have to deal with that sh*t. All I ask, don’t do it with me. I don’t buy it, I never will. And... I'm sorry I don't remember our first meeting, this 'amazing night' we had together. It clearly meant a lot to you and I'm sorry that I don't share that.”

Husk waits for some kind of harsh response. He waits for his words to be thrown back in his face, twisted into something he never meant. He waits for a verbal blade to be stabbed through him. It never comes. Instead, Angel looks up at him, his eyes bleary. A smile slowly forms. “Thank you, Husk. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I… Thank you.” He reaches out a hand. Husk takes it and gives it a squeeze.

For the first time, Husk isn’t scared of Angel.

Chapter 5: The Compound

Chapter Text

Angel was quiet the whole ride home from the party. It was the only time Husk can think of where he wasn’t compelled to fill the silence. It isn’t an awkward or tense silence, merely one of contemplation. Angel looked out the window, his eyes unfocused, lost in thought. The quiet was a nice reprieve. Husk found that he was at ease, leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed over the other as he watched the city roll by rather than sitting straight upright, unable to look away from Angel out of fear he may miss… something. There was no feigning interest in some meaningless chatter and no gritting of teeth through heavy handed flirtation.

Husk sat in the hot tub that night, soaking up that delicious heat, a fabulous meal digesting, a bottle of fine red wine on the edge of the tub, a glass in his hand. It was perfect. Too perfect.

There was nothing to be scared of, overlords don’t sob in front of their underlings. Alastor, as manipulative as he is, would never shed a tear in front of another person. Or at all. Angel, as flawed as he is, seemed to be genuine.

Slowly, like a storm front moving in and obscuring the sky and enveloping the sun, Husk realized he doesn’t know how to be comfortable. He doesn’t know how to be relaxed. Showing Angel the tiniest bit of comfort, solace, compassion, was a massive emotional undertaking. He doesn’t do emotional. He can’t do emotional.

He abandoned the wine glass and went to drinking straight from the bottle.

Husk wakes to his phone ringing. He sits up, feeling incredibly cold and wet. He’s laying on one of the couches, apparently having gotten too drunk to make it to bed. The hot tub has been bubbling away for hours. The wine bottle lays on the floor, nothing spilled as it was completely emptied. Husk can’t tell if it’s a miracle or a tragedy he didn’t pass out in the hot tub and drown.

Husk stumbles across the room to his bedside table to fetch his phone, fighting the urge to throw up. The time says it's noon already.

“Hi,” Husk mutters in greeting.

“‘Afternoon, Husk,” Angel’s voice says, chipperly.

Husk panics. “What’s wrong? Where are we going? I need to freshen up I’ll be there in -”

“I was just calling to ask you to come down for lunch. I tried texting you for breakfast but you didn't answer. I just wanted to talk to you, is all. Are you ok?”

Husk rubs his aching head, praying the contents of his stomach will stay where they are. “Yeah, fine,” he says, his voice gruffer than usual.

There is a pause on the other line; Husk imagines Angel doesn’t buy it. “Well, just come down when you’re ready, ok?”

“Sure thing,” Husk says. He hangs up just in time for the sunlight to catch him right in the eyes, sending him to the bathroom to violently heave.

Husk showers quickly, not wanting to keep Angel waiting, though he does spend a little longer than usual drying off. His room was equipped with a blow dryer and he loves the sensation of the hot air rippling through his hair and fur. It beats roughly drying himself with a threadbare towel like he has for the last forty years. He throws on a white button up shirt, a red bow tie, and black slacks.

He enters the dining room to find Angel still in his pajamas, fuzzy and pink, bunny slippers on his feet. Angel looks up from his phone and smiles. “Wow, you look nice! Better than me right now.” He chuckles. “I enjoy seeing you in casual wear.”

He’s so different this morning. He’s not trying to sound powerful or refined. His words are simple, yet kind, just for the sake of it. He gave Husk a genuine compliment. No reason, simply because he could. It makes Husk’s stomach twist almost as much as when he threw up earlier.

Husk sits across from Angel and starts eating the food that’s been laid out. In the two weeks since he’s started working for Angel, he’s learned not to eat like a complete animal. He can actually savor the food and trust it wont run away on him.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Husk asks.

“It’s about last night. The party and… what we both said.”

“Forget about it,” Husk says, waving Angel off.

“No, I don’t want to just brush past it. I want to apologize.” He looks somewhat uncomfortable.

“For what?” Husk asks. His brow is raised. Why is Angel acting like this? Last night was last night, now it’s today. Who cares what went down at the party, it’s all over and done with.

“For what?” Angel gives a humorless chuckle. “Husk, I treated you like sh*t. I was trying to impress Glitz and Glam, show that I’m just as much of a baddie as they are. I was nasty and condescending, I needed them to think I was the one in control, I was the one calling the shots. I… I harassed you. You were right when you called it out.”

Husk didn’t like what Angel did in the moment, he never has, but it feels so inconsequential now. “It wasn’t that bad,” Husk says.

“I was talking about how I wanted to have sex with you, unprompted. That ‘wasn’t that bad?’”

Husk sighs. “Ok, it was bad. I forgive you.”

“You do?” Angel says. Now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow. “I haven’t apologized.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I do, though. I’ve flirted with you but I was never, like, that forward. And I put you on the spot, in front of other people. I humiliated you.”

“Angel, just stop,” Husk says, raising a hand. He gives Angel a hard look, one that makes it very clear he’s over this conversation.

“Ok. just know that I’m sorry,” Angel says. “For everything.”

“Apology accepted. Feel better now?”

“Yeah,” Angel says, though Husk can tell from his demeanor this was not how he wanted this conversation to play out.

Husk eats more of his meal before saying, “I get the sense you want things between us to be better, right?”

“Yeah,” Angel says.

“You see, I find that strange. Our relationship is purely business, isn’t it? I protect you, you give me food and housing in return. That’s how things should work. But they haven’t. Since day one you’ve clearly had more investment in me. Why does an overlord care so much about the thoughts and feelings of a mere soul on their chain?” When Angel doesn’t answer right away, Husk continues to push. “Why did you buy me off Alastor? I think we both know it wasn’t because you wanted a bodyguard, that was a convenient excuse.” He pushes his empty plate away and interlaces his fingers, resting his elbows on the table, looking daggers into Angel’s eyes. “So, tell me, why?”

Angel worries his fork between his two forefingers, either end tapping against the table. “It was a spur of the moment thing,” he says, finally. He struggles to get his thoughts out. “I saw you in the bar… you were acting weird… Saw how Alastor treated you… Something needed to be done. I had to do something. I… I felt bad for you.”

“You purchased me out of pity?” Husk laughs, bitterly. “Now that’s condescension, right there.” He’s filled with a gambling high. How far can he keep pushing this? Just many digs can he get in; just how disrespectful can he get before Angel loses it? He’ll snap, he has to snap. He may be kind, but kindness has a limit, Husk needs to know what that limit is. Angel looks deeply uncomfortable. Small. Husk is big; he’s the one pushing back; he’s the one in control. Husk can’t f*cking believe it!

As small as Angel has gotten, he hasn’t broken eye contact with Husk. Husk’s insides squirm when Angel starts to regain his strength, his face souring. “I purchased you because I wanted to return the favor, Husk.”

“What favor?”

“What you did for me on that night we spent together." He drums the table. "I justwishI knew why you don't remember! Maybe...My hair was longer then, I was very femme, maybe that’s why you're drawing a blank.”

“I hosted a lot of private parties. I don’t remember every single person who’s ever graced my presence like you can, apparently.”

“You were kind to me,” Angel continues. “You were sweet, you were a gentleman. You didn’t have to. I wasn’t even playing, I was just my then partner’s tease, a statement of how rich and powerful he was that he could have the body of a melted candle and a face lookin’ like hairy ground beef and still have a hottie like me. I was nothing. But you still treated me with respect. We talked at the bar, in between hands.” Angel chuckles. “That guy was so f*cking pissed, thought you were making a move on me. But, you were too powerful and too charming for him to try anything; it would look worse for him than you. And from there, you whisked me off my f*ckin' feet and gave me the night of my life. I wanted to finally find out, after all of these years, why you, of all overlords, treated me like that. I really want to get to know you, Husk.”

“You want to be my friend?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You shamelessly flirt with all of your friends, or just ex overlords you’re weirdly obsessed with?”

That one gets under Angel’s skin. “Flirting like that is just what I do, it’s what I’ve always done,” he says, his tone defensive. “When nobody gives a sh*t about you outside of your ability to f*ck and get f*cked, why be anything more? It’s easy, no prelude, no waiting for the inevitable, just get it out of the way as quickly as possible and be done with it.” This time he breaks eye contact and looks away, the tapping of his fork growing more violent. “I was hopeful you’d be different, but not that hopeful. You have no idea how rare rejection is for me. When you’re worth as much as I am, to lay yourself out to someone as a grand feast and have them turn their nose up? That just doesn’t happen.” He sets his jaw. “Most men wouldn’t have just taken the opportunity to get laid, but you were a f*ckin' genteman who didn't want to rush into anything. And, you know what, I’m starting to wish you had. It would be way easier than… Than whatever this sh*t is.” He motions between the two of them and lets his hand fall to the table causing everything resting on it to rattle.

Husk doesn’t know how to react. He was winning, he’d backed Angel into a corner. And now the tables are turned. Now Husk is the asshole. That’s how Husk feels. But Angel hasn’t said that. Why can’t he confirm it? Why can’t he throw a hand, or choke Husk with his chains, something, anything. Simply being left to stew with no closure is torture in and of itself.

Cletus poofs into existence, a worried expression on his face. “Sorry to interrupt, Angel, but we have a situation.”

“Great, now what,” Angel mutters. He doesn’t sound angry, more so defeated.

“We’ve received reports from your men that a previously unused warehouse in the North end of your district has become a base of operation for another overlord without your permission.”

“How do you know it’s without my permission?”

“I was under the impression Marcus Shepherd was on your black list.”

The name doesn't ring a bell for Husk, but it certainly does for Angel. His defeated tone turns to that of boiling rage. “Max Shepherd has the audacity to try operating on my terf? Is he sick in the head? Did he really think that would end well for him?”

“Those are questions you’ll have to ask him yourself, sir, I’m just the messenger.”

Angel grinds his teeth. “Well… today just got interesting. Husk, go get dressed, I want to see you in the main hall in five.” He doesn’t elaborate further, immediately getting up and hurrying off without bothering to push in his chair.

Angel truly must mean business because Husk, fully dressed in his bodyguard attire, enters the main hall just as Angel does.

Angel’s overlord outfit, when he wears a grin and a casual demeanor, looks suave and inviting. But now, with his tense shoulders and stony look on his face, the outfit feels more menacing and deadly, the thorns of a pink rose. The glasses, captured from Valentino, partially obscure Angel’s eyes, filled with hate. That hate isn’t even directed at Husk, yet it makes him recoil. It’s something Husk has never seen Angel exhibit; he had no idea he could be so intimidating. Again, he is faced with the obvious truth, Angel truly has been going easy on him, has not shown any of the negative traits one would expect from a cruel master.

“Let’s go,” Angel says, shortly, brushing past Husk.

Instead of the purple limo, the car they take is an indistinct black car. It’s expensive, but not luxury, small, but still large enough to house plenty of weapons that he informs Husk are both stored in the trunk, easily accessible via the folding back seats, and stashed under each front seat.

The compulsion to keep Angel safe has been pretty mild up until this point. A niggling feeling to scan crowds and keep an eye on individuals behaving strangely; a desire to intensely analyze every movement someone makes and every word they say as they interact with Angel. Currently, as they drive into a potentially dangerous situation, just the two of them, Husk’s compulsion claws at his insides like a rabid animal. “Angel, this is insane! Why is it just you and me going? Why not a whole crew? How is this guy going to know we mean business if you show up underprepared?”

“I’m counting on him thinking I’m underprepared,” Angel says, his voice steely. “But, I assure you, I’m not. With our weapons combined, the literal sheep he surrounds himself with are ripe to be slaughtered.”

“My cards and dice only go so far, I’m not sure what weapons you have on hand but I’m afraid they won’t be enough -”

Without a word, Angel rolls his window down. As the car moves at fifty miles an hour, he manifests a tommy gun in one of his lower hands. He aims and fires, annihilating a passing street sign to the screaming horror of the surrounding pedestrians, all of whom remain unharmed thanks to Angel’s impeccable aim. “I may be a pretty face, but I am not someone to be f*cked with.” Husk can’t help but feel a little inadequate. Angel is more than able to take care of himself, Husk is only here as a formality, to justify his pity purchase.

Once at the warehouse, they park the car, partially obscured by a dumpster, and sneak to a back entrance. It’s locked, but Husk makes quick work of it by manifesting a card that slices through the metal latch like a hot knife through butter.

The outside of the building, dingy and seemingly abandoned, is a front. The inside is pristine, well kept and orderly.

There are massive mazes of crates all around. Husk recognizes some of the brands stamped on them. Weapons, drugs, and other goods - imports presumably smuggled or stolen - all of them extremely expensive. Husk has a rough idea of what this scheme is. Steal expensive goods and then sell them to the desperate masses at a low ball price. Since the goods were acquired at literally no cost, even a severe discount can give the thieves massive profits. Perhaps some of the richer buyers would pay extra to get their hands on certain shipments or larger quantities. However, Husk doubts that Angel’s anger comes from smuggling - something that every overlord, himself included, has partaken in.

They explore the building, eventually coming upon the main operations room. They take a peak around the doorway. One corner of the room is an office, with a desk containing several computers and a massive wall of stacked papers, the main portion of the room containing a pool table surrounded by folding chairs, all occupied by strange men.

The men are all identical, a rarity in hell as most sinners - even those who share characteristics of the same animal that defines them - will look very different. They each have a broad and boxy frame, their bare chests showing off fluffy white wool. They each wear black dress pants and have firearms strapped to them. The horns on their heads curl with menace, their eyes double-pupiled and off putting. They all have an heir of simpleness; of stupidity about them.

Despite them all looking identical, Angel’s gaze is only on the man at the head of the table. He takes a deep breath. “Ok, put on your poker face - look as intimidating as possible. Let me do all the talking, this has the potential to get ugly. Marcus is not a guy to f*ck around with.”

“I was expecting something more threatening than a sheep. He looks kinda… kinda dumb.”

“Exactly how he wants you to see him.” Angel says. “Let’s do this sh*t.” He rounds the corner, Husk walking tight at his side. “Evening gentlemen!” He says, a broad smile on his face.

Immediately, the men are on their feet, weapons raised at the two of them. The man at the head of the table speaks. His voice is shaky. “Woah - how did you get in here? Please, leave, we don’t want any trouble!” His eyes are watery. Husk snorts. The guy sounds so meek and pathetic.

“You can drop the act, Marcus, I know who you are. That’s why I’m here.”

The head man, Marcus, pauses a second before chuckling. “Jig is up,” he says, his voice a whole octave lower, the intimidation gone. He begins to change. Fine lines form at his wrists, neck, and vertically down his chest. The wool separates and pulls back, shrinking in size. The wool on his torso transforms into an open jacket, a suave black silk shirt underneath, his hands adorned with fuzzy gloves that he removes and sticks in a pocket, his true hands hairy and clawed, pads on the palms and fingertips. His whole face changes; the muzzle shrinks down and pulls away from his face, morphing into a wooly cowboy hat with two small horns coming off it. The face underneath is handsome, with dark gray skin with fine lines indicating he is an older man, a brown-black beard with a dusting of white, piercing yellow eyes that are distinctly lupine, long slicked back hair, and two wolf’s ears that poke through holes in the hat. A fluffy tail swings from his backside, swishing elegantly, showing he’s excited to be faced with a challenge. “Put ‘em away,” He says, motioning to his men. “Where’s my hospitality!” Marcus says, opening his arms wide. “The infamous Angel Dust, welcome to my humble operation!”

“Wish I could say I was charmed,” Angel says, flatly.

“Yeah, I imagine this is a little annoying, me being on your territory ‘an all.”

“Ah, some self awareness,” Angel says. “When I found out you were squatting here I figured you were either foolish or stupid. I’m not sure if knowing it’s the former makes things better or worse.”

“I think we can discuss this over some scotch, hmm?” Marcus motions to one of his men. The casual charm he exhibits is instantly replaced with hostility, his eyes dilating slightly. “You know I don’t conduct business with a dry mouth! Get the f*cking scotch before I skin you alive!” The man rushes off.

“I see you run a tight ship around here,” Angel comments.

Marcus straightens his sheep skin jacket. “Of course. They’re sheep, they’re easily controlled by a big bad wolf like me.”

“You know, the whole ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ thing you have going on is quite on-the-nose and cliche.”

“Hey, I didn’t ask to be a wolf demon with the ability to disguise myself any more than you wanted to be a pink spider, but here we are.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t want to be a spider.”

“Why would anyone want to be a f*cking bug?”

“They’re arachnids, actually. I suppose you actually are quite stupid after all.” Angel smirks at Marcus. Husk recognizes what he’s doing. Show he’s unafraid to be a little abrasive and display his authority. He’s more than willing to demean someone who’s disrespected him and Marcus knows it.

“Hey, I’m a businessman, not a bug-ologist or whatever people who know about bugs - sorry - arachnids - are.”

The man returns with the scotch. Marcus pours both himself and Angel a shot. Angel accepts it but doesn’t drink, instead only swirling it around with mild interest, like he’s too good to accept the offering.

In the lull, Marcus finally looks Husk’s way. He wishes he didn’t. Marcus has a hungry look in his eyes, the same as Alastor. He stares at Husk, clearly not caring if it’s found off putting or not. It makes Husk feel self conscious. He looks away and each time his eyes return to Marcus, he finds he’s still being stared at.

“Let’s cut the sh*t, Marcus,” Angel says. His voice is still charming, but sharp. “You’ve set up shop on my territory. Why? You think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Hey, I was operating here when Val was in power. And I vacated like you wanted but, you know, needs must.”

“I killed that son of a bitch, of course I know ‘needs must.’ What kind of ‘needs’ are we talking, here?”

“It’s just a little side project, nothing important!”

“Ah, yes, all of the stuff in the warehouse. Just a little smuggling operation. I have a few of those going on myself, what overlord doesn’t?”

“Yeah, just some goods nabbed from gluttony and wrath -”

“But if this is such a small operation, why are you here overseeing it personally? You’re not the biggest overlord in the Pentagram, but I certainly figured you’d have more important things going on than daddying a few underlings moving stolen goods.”

“Hey, I like being daddy,” Marcus says, playfully licking his lips. “Besides, you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, because I’m not a puss*. Because I can protect my own damn territory; I don’t need to hide behind others to do it for me. I know how to throw down. Do you?”

“Really reading me to filth, huh?”

“Doesn't seem to be working. Degradation your kink or something?”

“You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?” Marcus takes a sip of his drink, a smug look on his face, tempting Angel to do something.

Angel smiles. “Touche. But, we're getting off track here. What else are you running out of this building? And don't try to downplay it like before, I don't appreciate being deceived.”

Marcus chuckles. “Ok, you caught me red handed. Truth is, I've gotten into the hound business.”

Angel makes deathly eye contact with Marcus. “You're trafficking hellhounds?”

“Something like that.”

Angel sets his jaw. “‘Something like that.’ I'll take a stab; this is a breeding operation.”

“Yes,” Marcus says, somewhat reluctantly. “Got the baby makers in the back.

“Hellhound breeding is extremely illegal,” Angel notes. “Lucifer puts up with a lot of sh*t, that is not one of them. He's very protective of his personal hellborn creations.”

“Trust me, I've done this sh*t for a LONG time. This warehouse is in a prime location, close enough to the docks that shipments can be taken in and out very easily. A lot of overlords don't want to get their hands dirty with stuff like this.”

“And what makes you think I want to?”

“Because you’re a smart man who must know how lucrative the business is. People will pay astronomically for a newborn pup; the orphanages can’t keep the damn things in stock. Plus, there are certain… Choice individuals… who pay through the nose to breed with the younger ones.

Husk's stomach tightens. Lucifer is extremely lax with his laws, but the main thing that he strictly enforces is any kind of sex crimes against minors and animals. The stereotypical lava pits and hellfire are reserved for those people in particular. If you acted on them in life, you go there immediately. If it’s discovered you acted on them in Hell, be you a sinner or hellborn, you will be sent there as well.

“I make Enough for me to pay you quite handsomely to keep using this area,” Marcus continues.

“What kind of payment are we thinking?” Angel asks.

“I'm thinking… 20%?” Cute, Angel says. “Fifty, or no deal.”

Marcus's eyes widen. “Fifty?”

“Yes. The pups generally go for fifty K, right?.”

“For someone not in the business you sure are accurate with your pricing.”

“I'm well researched. So, fifty K, the average hellhound gives birth to about four to five pups. Even lowballing it, that's twenty grand. Even if you only had 10 hellhounds that's two hundred thousand grand. I take half, you pocket one hundred grand. And, as I said, that’s a lowball. You undoubtedly have a much larger supply of ‘babymakers’ as you put it. Not to mention, if I give you permission to use this area, you can transport your other products, whatever they may be, through my territory at no extra charge. It's a pretty good deal, wouldn't you say? After all, it’s not as though you’re merely scraping by with some of those luxury items out in the warehouse.” Angel finally sips his drink and awaits a response.

Husk’s blood utterly boils. He’s an idiot. He was actually considering that Angel was a decent guy, that he is as virtuous as he claims. But, no, when faced with money, he is willing to partake in one of the most vile crimes Husk can imagine. He claims he’s better than Alastor, yet this is the exact cruel and callus move he’d make.

Marcus still looks extremely apprehensive.

Angel sighs. “Look, I’ve been a little… tense. Maybe we can… blow off some steam. You're standing before the Angel Dust after all. I can sweeten the pot. I still know how to make a wild night and give men exactly what they want and how they want it.” He toys with his chest fluff. “I’ve heard the rumors, about how you’re a real animal in the bedroom. Show me.”

Marcus snorts. “Apparently you missed the part where I don’t like twinks,” he says, coldly. “You can’t give me what I want, because I don’t f*ck girly little boys. I f*ck real men.” He glances back to Husk, that hungry look making him recoil. “Now, your little friend there, he's my type.” He licks his lips. Husk's nose wrinkles and that show of disinterest makes Marcus grin. “How's it hangin’, Husker?”

“How do you know my name?”

“I've been around the block before. I went to your casino back in the day. Even that stupid getup you're wearing can't hide that you're the Gambling Demon. Guess Angel paid handsomely for your fine ass, huh?” Husk doesn't know how to respond. “Those clothes,” Marcus murmurs, “you'd look so much better without them.” He pauses. “Angel, here's the deal. You let me operate in your territory, we split fifty fifty. AND I want unlimited access to him,” he says, motioning to Husk. “I want a piece of ass, he’s to be promptly sent to service me.”

Angel smiles. “Very well then.”

Husk glares up at Angel. Blood rushes to his head and he sees red. He can’t f*cking believe what Angel just did. Angel ignores him.

Marcus reaches out a hand to strike a deal to which Angel cackles. “Please, this isn't some piddly agreement, I want everything detailed out fully by my lawyer.”

“Fair enough,” Marcus says. “I suppose I should call mine as well. Make sure we're both on an even playing field. Plus, it'll give me time to collect a down-payment.” He licks his lips again.

“Sure thing,” Angel says. “Let me just have a word with him first, give him explicit directions of how he is to engage with you. Wouldn’t want you feeling dissatisfied.” He steps away and Husk doesn't follow. Angel nods indicating Husk should join him, to which he stands, defiantly, and glowers. Angel forms the golden chain and drags Husk over.

“You son of a f*cking bitch!” Husk snarls.

“Husk listen to me -”

“You’re turning me into some sex slave? So much for ‘bettering your souls,’ you vile piece of -”

Angel waves his hand and a second chain wraps around Husk’s jaw, binding it tightly shut. “Husk, I’m trying to tell you, this is a f*cking act!” Husk, unable to speak, raises a suspicious eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let Marcus get a whiff of what I have planned. I would do it myself but… well… you heard him. I am disgusted by what this f*cker is trying to do, what he’s trying to involve me with. I’m taking him down. But I can’t do that unless you help me!” His eyes are intense, not a hint of deception in his face or voice. He waves his hand and the chains vanish.

Husk massages his jaw. He really has no choice but to go along with what Angel has planned, does he? “So, what do you need me to do?”

“I need you to keep him busy, just incapacitate him. Get him in a compromising position. Overlords like him don’t get to waltz into my territory with flagrantly deplorable motives and walk away retaining power. I’m going to call ‘my lawyer,’ AKA backup. We’ll take out the goons and I’ll come to blow the guy’s head off and collect his sh*t.”

“Angel, is Husker all loosened up for me?” Marcus calls.

“Of course he is!” Angel says. He spins Husk around, slaps his rear, and pushes him in Marcus’ direction. “Have fun!” Husk looks back to see Angel’s face. That mask is so convincing, so cold and cruel.

Marcus looks like he wants to devour Husk. He nods his head and motions for him to follow which he does, reluctantly. They make their way through the warehouse until they come to a small office. Marcus holds the door and sensually pats Husk’s back as he ushers him through, locking the door.

In seconds Marcus is upon Husk. He grips his shoulders and leans down, planting a kiss on Husk’s face. Jesus christ this f*cker needs mouthwash. Husk is frozen. He genuinely doesn’t know what to do. He’s been put in horrible situations before with Alastor and the best course of action was to make himself small and just let it happen. Let whatever sad*stic punishment play out, lick the wounds, and pretend it didn’t happen the next day. But this? He’s never experienced being sexually exploited before. He has no idea what to do. Maybe he should just let Marcus have his way with him. There’s no better distraction than sex.

Husk hates that these thoughts are even in his head. He can’t tell what is genuine and what are just desperate ideas coming to mind fueled by his compulsion to keep Angel safe. If his plan is discovered he’ll be in huge danger. Husk cannot allow him to get hurt.

Marcus takes Husk’s hand and puts it to his crotch, the erection very prominent through his pants.

Husk’s heart beats. He can’t do this, he won’t. He breaks away from Marcus.

Marcus looks put off. “Excuse me?” He says, his voice low and gravely.

Husk puts himself in a new mindset. Marcus is not a rapey sex trafficking freak, he’s some handsome older man at the bar he’s trying to have a night with. He’s no different than so many one night stands that’ve come before. He’s someone he wants to tease, to lead on.

Husk summons his charm. He smiles. “Come on, Marcus, you want to blow your load that early? You really want to just rip the clothes off me and ji*zz in five seconds? Let’s have some fun with this!” He approaches Marcus and takes his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. “Let’s make this last!” He gives Marcus as sensual a look as possible.

Marcus seems to buy it. “God, I’ve been so busy,” he murmurs. He tilts Husk’s head back by his chin. “This is me time. I have you all to myself. I should enjoy this.”

“Exactly!” Husk says. He untucks Marcus’s shirt and undoes the last button. As horrible as he is, he is muscular. Husk runs his hands over Marcus’ hairy chest. Marcus licks his lips again. Husk tweaks his nipple and Marcus coos. He starts talking nasty, demeaning Husk, calling him a slu*t and a whor*. It’s not something he’s experienced that much in his sexual encounters and could go a long time without it. He’s had enough degradation in his normal life, he doesn’t need it mixed with sex.

“I want you out of these goofy clothes, now.”

“Oh, come on, I haven’t even seen you yet -” Husk notices Marcus’s hand twitch. He’s itching to hit, to show his dominance, to make Husk his subservient bitch. Adept at seeing this buildup, Husk quickly unbuttons his shirt and slips off his pants. He’s only wearing tightie-whities but the way Marcus looks at him he may as well be wearing the sexiest lingerie.

A canine growl rumbles in Marcus’s throat. He reaches out and runs a hand over Husk’s chest and down to his crotch. Husk is entirely flaccid and he doesn't think he could get it up if he tried. Then again, it’s clear that his pleasure is not something Marcus is concerned with.

To avoid having to expose himself, Husk undoes Marcus’s belt buckle and lets his pants drop. Marcus slips off his dress shoes and kicks away his pants. His co*ck, straining through the stretchy fabric of his briefs, is dangerously large.

Husk can’t believe that Angel put him in this f*cking position. He’s actually going to have to f*ck this guy, isn’t he? He’s going to have to have that co*ck that’s been Satin knows where in his mouth and hole, isn’t he? No, no, NO, he refuses to be Marcus’s sex toy.

Husk nods to the couch. “Make yourself comfortable, daddy.”

Marcus growls with pleasure. “Oh, my little slu*t wants to make daddy proud huh?” He nibbles Husk’s ear.

Just sit down, just sit down, just sit down! Husk screams internally.

He takes Marcus’ waist and guides him to the sofa. He gives a push and Marcus allows himself to fall. He slips his underwear off, his co*ck standing at attention. He gives his shaft a stroke. “Come on, slu*t, show me what you can do!”

Husk remains calm. He climbs on top of Marcus. He takes his co*ck in his hand, the sensation making Marcus moan. Husk kisses him. Marcus grips Husk’s head and pulls him close. Husk takes Marcus’s hands and raises them above his head and softly pins them against the wall behind the couch. Husk’s hand is large enough and his fingers long enough he can encircle both wrists. With his tail, he slowly entwines Marcus’ legs. He smiles at Marcus, giving him one last sensual look before he firmly presses his hands to the wall and tightens his tail around his legs, totally incapacitating him. His hand goes from gripping Marcus’s co*ck to gripping a fan of cards he holds to the sick bastard’s neck.

“What the -?” Marcus gasps.

“You really thought I was going to f*ck you?” Husk says. “I’d rather have barbed wire shoved up my hole than that disgusting co*ck.” Marcus roars with fury. He struggles but Husk holds firm. “Ah, ah, you’re not going anywhere. You move too suddenly and I’ll have to slit your throat with these cards.” He grins. He’s so f*cking high, he won! “Honestly, if you were thinking with the big head and not the little one, you might’ve remembered how dangerous I am.”

The sound of gunfire can be heard from outside the room. “You bastards!” Marcus yells.

“Hey, it’s nothing personal… well… yes it is, but it’s also business. You’d have done the same thing if you were able to get the upper hand.”

Marcus sneers. “That can still be arranged.” Something generates in his hand, a gun of some kind. With difficulty he manages to roughly point it in Husk’s direction and fires. With a loud pop of pressurized air, a long bolt shoots out from the gun, its pointed tip piercing Husk’s shoulder. Husk bellows in pain as blood flies. The distraction causes him to lose his grip on Marcus’s hands just enough for him to break loose and shove Husk off of him. The tip of the gun retracts, the barrel dripping blood. He aims it and fires a second time. The bolt, seemingly able to extend to any desired length, pierces Husk through the chest and into the floor. By some absolute miracle, nothing major was it. Husk sobs and writhes in pain, clutching the pole.

Marcus sneers. “Really? All that build up and you go down like this?” He squeezes the trigger and the pole retracts once more. He aims the gun at Husk’s head. “You know what, at least I get to brag that I was the one to finally kill off the Gambling Demon.”

A puff of smoke appears. Collin, holding a glowing golden crossbow, floats in front of Marcus, a determined look on his face.

Marcus just stares at him in confusion. “The f*ck are you?” He says. Then he grins. “You’re Angel’s backup aren’t you? A cute little sheep?”

Collin fires an arrow into Marcus’ sternum. He shrieks. “I’m a cherub!” He says. “And we shouldn’t be underestimated.”

His body glows and suddenly his form seems to unravel, transforming into a spiral of many wings and rings of eyes that rotate. Collin’s attention isn’t even aimed at Husk but he can feel abject terror well up inside of him. Those cute forms the cherubs take, the friendliness, is to mask whatever the f*ck this thing is - this hypnotizing thing that threatens to shatter his brain to pieces.

Marcus’ eyes widen and his muscles seem to weaken. His jaw goes slack and he stares at the cherub. His gun hand twitches. “No,” he mumbles. “No, no, NO!” He swings his hand up and fires. The bolt pierces one of the rings and in an instant Collin transforms back into a purple sheep, the blade pierced through his leg, golden blood running down and dripping to the floor, giving off a strong scent of sugar and wildflowers. Marcus, broken from the spell, retracts the blade and swings the gun, hitting Collin in the forehead with the butt of it. Collin falls and Marcus bursts through the door. Gunfire can be heard down the hall.

Husk lays, hyperventilating, his head growing light from the blood that gushes from his front and back.

Collin sees Husk and panics. He ignores his own injury and makes his way over to Husk. He takes a discarded piece of clothing and presses it to Husk’s chest. “I - can’t - can’t believe this is the second time you’ve seen me naked, f*cker,” Husk says with a forced chuckle, anything to keep him from passing out.

“You’ve still got your underwear on. And I wasn’t looking the first time, I swear. That was rude of me. I have social anxiety and don’t always pick up on cues -”

“Apology accepted, now shut up, please. Take care of your leg.” Husk pushes Collin’s hand away and presses the rag to his wound.

“Angels heal quickly,” Collin says. Husk looks closely and, indeed, sees the wound has stopped bleeding. It’s still wet, but has clotted. Collin carefully pulls Husk to his side and attends to the wound on his back.

The sound of boots on concrete can be heard and Angel rushes into the room. “Oh my god, Husk!” He says, one pair of hands clutching his mouth. He sinks to his knees next to him. “Holy sh*t, are you ok, what happened?”

“What do you think and who do you think?” Husk snaps.

Angel turns to the doorway. “KEENIE, GET YOUR ASS IN HERE WE NEED YOUR MEDICAL EXPERTISE, NOW!”

Keenie appears in the room. She sees Husk and gasps. “Collin! You were supposed to protect him! What did you do - how could you?”

Collin lets out a stressed bleat. “It wasn’t my fault -”

“God doesn’t tolerate excuses, Collin,” Keenie says as she lands next to Husk. Her hands glow and she removes the rag and presses a palm to his chest. He feels the pain dull slightly as the bleeding stops. She repeats the process on his back and to his shoulder. ”I’m sorry I can’t do more,” she says. “The wound is extensive. I can only fully heal small things, flesh wounds, maybe a broken bone. You’ll be ok, but it will take some time to heal, though I’ve helped speed up that process a little.”

Husk nods, just glad that the piercing pain is over and that his remaining blood is staying in his body.

Angel continues to blubber, apologizing to Husk and agonizing over the situation. Looking into his face, seeing those tears, Husk has a difficult time believing this could be an act. He’s spent so much time around liars, this would have to be one hell of a performance. It’s genuine.

He doesn’t know how to feel. The betrayal, being thrust into this situation still stings, but Angel’s anguish over it lessens the blow a little. He did throw himself at Marcus first. He was willing to sleep with him, he was willing to incapacitate Marcus himself. Honestly, it would have made infinitely more sense for Angel to be the one to seduce him, get him isolated and immediately blow his head off. Husk was an awkward middle man. A last resort.

Angel carefully helps Husk to his feet. Husk is still in a lot of pain and every time he groans or winces, Angel looks incredibly guilty.

Husk is led from the room and through the warehouse to meet the authorities. Bodies are strewn about the warehouse. The sheep-men’s eyes remain wide in death, horrified expressions frozen on their faces, their torsos riddled with bullet wounds or golden arrows.

“By the looks of these guys, the cherubs used their true forms on them, huh?” Husk says.

Angel nods. “They’re freaky, right? They are so useful in combat. They pull that sh*t out, get and keep the enemies’ attention, I blow them away.”

“I don’t see Marcus anywhere. Did you get him?”

Angel shakes his head. “No. I fired, but he managed to avoid it. I nicked him a couple of times, but they were just flesh wounds. He’s a slippery son of a bitch.”

“You let him go? Why didn’t you kill him?”

“I had to make sure you were ok.”

Husk is incredibly frustrated. He was put in a compromising position, one that - if it had played out a little differently - would have resulted in him having sex with a vile human trafficker. The least Angel could do is riddle the bastard with bullets. “God damn it, Angel, I would have been fine! Taking that f*cker out is more important!”

Angel doesn’t respond, refusing to meet Husk’s eyes.

They enter a large section of the warehouse and immediately Husk’s stomach turns. Beds line the entire section. There has to be at least fifty in total, most of them occupied. Authorities dressed in gold ivory and red, Lucifer's colors, use bolt cutters on the chains that bind the female hellhounds to their beds. The ones who have been freed have been sat up, blankets draped over their shoulders. The authorities try gently getting information out of them, but they either remain silent or babble with slurred and incoherent words. They seem to be heavily medicated with something. Many of the hellhounds are in varying stages of pregnancy. At the corner of the room, men are detained. Some are Marcus’ sheep-men, some are male hellhounds, imps, or hellborn, presumably the people used to “breed” with the captives.

The next couple hours are a blur of questioning, people rushing around taking care of victims and carting off the abusers. The entire time Husk feels small. He feels guilty. He had the audacity to pity himself, to think of himself as a victim while these poor women were back here being forcefully impregnated for profit. He had the luxury of fighting back, of keeping himself from being defiled. These women didn’t. He still feels an immense amount of pain in his sternum and shoulder and, in a way, he’s glad they still hurt. At least he can share in a fraction of the pain these people have gone through. He feels it would be wrong for him to have come out of the situation unscathed.

Night has fallen by the time they are released and begin the drive home. Angel is still quiet. He focuses solely on the road. He’s removed his hat and one of his upper hands combs back through his hair. Husk recognizes it as a soothing method, one that he’s done himself.

“Husk,” Angel says, finally, “I’m sorry. I’m really f*cking sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in a situation like that. It was absolutely f*cked. I understand you’re mad at me and it’s justified -”

“I’m not mad,” Husk cuts him off. “Not anymore.” There is a pause. “I’ve never seen a trafficking operation up close. I’ve only heard about it. That… that was abominable. Me getting stabbed a couple of times is nothing compared to what they went through. It was worth it to free them. I’m just mad at myself, that I couldn’t stop Marcus. I should have just killed him -”

“I told you not to. I told you to spare him. And, in retrospect, that was a mistake. If the contract expired from not being immediately collected, so be it. I… I was selfish. I wanted his empire.”

“You were being greedy?”

“I wanted to see what else he was running. I wanted to help EVERYONE under his control. And… I f*cked it up. I vaguely knew of his MO, I should have just called the authorities first and let them handle it. But no, I had to be the hero, I had to go in, I had to be the one to stop it.” He punches the steering wheel. “I f*cking hate myself, I hate that I’m like this!”

Husk bites his lip. “You feel like you need to make up for the past. That you need to prove that you’re the better person, that you’re the good guy.”

“I guess,” Angel mutters.

The rest of the ride is silent. Angel stews in his self loathing and Husk, all too aware of the feeling and how useless it is to try and talk someone out of it. God knows, he’s tried it himself. He’s sat down with himself on many nights and rationally talked himself through all of his mistakes, all of his misdeeds, trying to sort through his failings to be brutally honest where he did something unforgivable, but also relieve the guilt from some of his actions that were less cut and dry. And each and every time he’d resort to getting drunk, because it was just easier.

That’s one thing he’ll give Angel. He seems to be way smarter than that.

Chapter 6: Coffee And Creepers

Chapter Text

Husk sits across from Angel in the limo, wearing sunglasses to hide his aching eyes from the sun. He got blackout drunk last night in an attempt to get Marcus, his horrible breath, vile intentions, and the sight of those captured hellhounds out of his head.

The Cherubs, who sit next to him, don’t help things with their high pitched chatter, Cletus and Keenie doing most of the talking while Collin says very little and twiddles his thumbs. Their voices are like nails on a chalkboard.

Husk takes a swig from his flask, finally filled with decent alcohol from the bar.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Angel asks.

“Don’t judge me,” Husk mutters.

“Hey, no judgment here. I just need you coherent, is all. I mean, we’re heading into the Vs territory.”

“Why did Vox even reach out to you this morning for an interview? I figured the Vs hate you for killing one of their own.”

“We keep each other at arm's length. We’re not enemies by any stretch, but we’re not friends either. Our relationship is purely business. They like me enough since I was able to improve on Valentino's exploits. Amazingly enough, if you pay people well and don't treat them like sh*t they're more interested in working for you and producing quality products. Revolutionary concept, I know.” He huffs. “Truth be told, I don't particularly care for either of them. Hard to when they both saw the sh*t I was going through and did nothing.” He sighs. Maybe they felt like they were powerless to do anything… maybe they just didn’t care. I still wonder about that.”

Husk, not sure how to take that, takes another drag from his flask. Angel gently pushes it down away from his face. “We have time, why don't we stop for coffee? I have the perfect little shop in mind.”

“Oh! Coffee sounds absolutely lovely!” Keenie exclaims.

“Yeah, give me your orders, we’ll bring it back for you!” Angel says. “Please, stay in the car while we go in.” His voice is polite but firm. He looks to Husk and winks.

The shop has a pleasant atmosphere, calming pastel colors, smooth furniture, and massive floor to ceiling screens on each wall that display calming scenes of a city on earth, people walking, cars rolling by, speakers playing ambient sounds of hustle and bustle. There are no actual windows, allowing the inhabitants to imagine they’re still alive on Earth and not this eternal hellscape.

Angel struts like a peaco*ck up to the counter and proceeds to order his drink, some abominable concoction that has an eyedropper’s worth of coffee amidst a sea of sugar, while simultaneously flirting with the barista who blushes tomato red.

Angel turns to Husk. “Ok, what do you want?”

Husk glances at the menu. It must be Fall on Earth (there are, generally, no seasons in hell - just a vaguely hot and dry atmosphere) as pumpkin spice is one of the specials. It’s been so long since Husk has tasted either pumpkin or spice. “I’ll take a medium pumpkin spice late,” he says, to which Angel snorts.

After Angel orders the cherubs’ desired beverages, he gets a booth and they sit to wait for the drinks.

“The hell even is that monstrosity you ordered?” Husk asks.

“Hey, coffee needs a sh*t ton of sugar to be drinkable.”

“Doesn’t masking the flavor kind of defeat the point?”

“It’s not masking it, it’s just changing it. Do you like drinking it black -?”

“Hell no, absolutely not!” Husk says, a little too harshly. “Uh… sorry. Bad… bad memories. No, coffee needs something in it to make it palatable, I agree.”

Angel’s face clearly indicates he’s aware he accidentally struck a nerve but decides not to press the matter. He quickly recovers, smiling and saying, “but pumpkin spice? Really? What are you, a middle aged mom?”

Husk chuckles. “That reminds me, right after the interview, I need to go pick up the kids from soccer practice.”

That makes Angel laugh. Husk is able to distinguish it from the laugh he puts on at the studio when talking to coworkers. It’s different. It’s genuine.

Husk fetches the drinks when their names are called and Angel continues the conversation when he returns.

“So, when you were still in power, did you know any of the Vs?”

“Not personally, no. Velvette only got here, what, a couple decades ago? I know dick about her. Valentino was pretty small, just starting his rise to power when I was still in business, wasn’t even an official V yet. I clocked him as a horrible person immediately, his charm was so superficial. The only one of the three I was really familiar with was Vox. He’s been in power since, what, the fifties? So, maybe thirty years or so before I came to power. We interacted a couple of times at social gatherings, nothing extensive. Never had the desire to work with him or anything. It’s hard to get a word in edgewise with people like him; they’re too busy talking about themselves.”

“Preach,” Angel says, taking a sip of his drink. “The guy’s a tool. I have to work extra hard to be charismatic around him; keep from strangling his scrawny neck.”

Husk laughs. “Didn’t know you outright hated him.”

“I don’t hate him, per say, I just think he’s an ass.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Angel pokes a rainbow colored marshmallow in his drink with the straw. “How are you doing? After last night.”

Oh, Christ, here we go.

“Fine,” Husk says, simply.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, you’ve been drinking hard liquor at nine in the morning.”

“Just taking the edge off my hangover.”

“Seems counterproductive.”

It's a mild and obvious statement but it gets under Husk's skin regardless. “Look, it's not in my job description to be demeaned for what I do outside of work -”

“Husk, relax,” Angel cuts in. “I’m not ‘demeaning’ you. I used to do lines of co*ke for breakfast, you think I don't know what it's like?”

Husk's anger dies down a little.

Angel sighs. “Look, I'm sorry. I presume you were drinking because of what happened last night.”

Husk nods. “Yeah.”

“I’m really, really sorry about what happened, what I had you do -”

“It's fine,” Husk says, quickly.

“I mean… it really isn't,” Angel says.

“Just forget about it, please.”

Angel raises an eyebrow. “Why are you so upset by apologies?”

Husk wants to snap, but he genuinely doesn't have a response. All he knows is he gets a sticky foul feeling deep down. “It feels wrong,” he says, unable to put it any other way. “If you f*ck up, it's whatever. I drink, I forget about it by the next day, life moves on.”

Husk’s words don't seem that weird to him, but apparently they are to Angel. His face is dark. “So… yesterday means nothing to you?”

“It's whatever,” Husk says, though he knows it's a lie. The thoughts of Marcus's foul breath, his twitching hand, his co*ck in Husk's hand will pop back in his head at random times filling him with disgust and shame. He touched that disgusting man, he was tempted to just let that man forcibly have sex with him. It’s not just “whatever.”

Husk can tell by Angel's expression that he doesn't buy it, but he doesn't push.

“So…” Husk says, drumming the side of his cup. “Did you catch the latest episode of The Restless and Her Suitors? I think I tried watching it but passed out halfway through. I don't really remember anything.”

“Oh, boy, did I,” Angel says. “Needed something to take the edge off after… all that. It was a hell of a doozy. Chloe and Ace had a moment.”

“Oh, sh*t,” Husk says. “I love that pairing.”

“It was just a moment though. They pushed the ship between Chloe and Victor.”

Husk makes a disgusted face. “Dear God, why? Victor is the worst!”

“I know, right? He's got a significant Sinstagram following and I don't know why. He's SO boring.”

“Being a stay at home dad and having a sh*tty wife isn't a personality trait,” Husk agrees. “He's better than Chad though.”

“Chad's a f*cking cuck,” Angel says with a snort. “He and Derek have more chemistry than he and Chloe. They deserve each other.”

“Ok, this may be a hot take, Derek isn't that bad.”

“He's a sniveling coward!”

“He's meek, but sensitive. I can respect a man who doesn't want to constantly fight.”

“So you're ok with him not protecting Chloe during that knife fight in season 3?”

“I didn't say that!”

They go on like that, playfully bantering over the show, its ships, and the recent episode. He pleads for Angel to spoil it but he refuses, seemingly just because he thinks Husk's playful pleads are funny.

Without even realizing it, he's actually bonding with Angel. They're just talking like normal people. Like friends. It's… nice.

The conversation is interrupted when a greasy red hand is slapped to the table. It's Burnie, the fan from the mall.

Angel's genuine smile falters, the edges of his mouth forcefully kept up. “Barney!” He says.

“Um, Bernie, actually," the imp corrects. “You're so close though! I can't believe you almost remembered my name!” he squees.

“Yeah, well, you've interrupted a conversation I was having. It better be good.”

“Yes, sorry, Angel, it’s just that anyone who's anyone knows about your liberation of the hellhound breeding compound last night, but I was hoping to get an interview with you about the whole thing for my website!” He holds out his phone, a recorder playing.

“Look, kid, I have an exclusive interview with Vox, you can hear it from the horse's mouth then.”

“Yeah, well, ok, but can't you just tell us now?”

“What part of ‘exclusive’ don't you understand? My time is precious, I am being paid to appear on the show.”

“I can pay!” Burnie says. He rifles through his pockets and produces a wadded up five, two nickels, and a slim fit condom.

Angel gently pushes Burnie's hand away with one finger. “Ah, no. Sorry.”

Burnie looks a little crestfallen but quickly recovers. “Ok, well, at least you can give the scoop on your relationship with him!” He motions to Husk.

“What do you mean?” Angel asks.

“Come on, Angel, the shopping trip, the flirting, the emotional connection at Glitz and Glam's party, the geeking out over that show, you two are clearly in love!”

Angel and Husk both look at each other, their cheeks red.

Angel’s eyes light up and he looks to Burnie, a look of shock on his face. “Glitz and Glam’s party was an exclusive invite-only event. How did you even know Husk and I were there or what we did? Were you stalking me?”

“No, I was just following you very closely without you noticing!”

“Ok, well, two things; one, you absolutely need to stop doing that and two, Husk and I are fr - associates. Colleagues. Nothing more than that -”

Burnie laughs. “Come on Angel, you owe us the real truth!”

Angel’s face changes. The dots under each eye widen and bulge outwards, becoming glowing insect eyes. “Excuse me?” Angel hisses.

Burnie, as dumb as he is, seems to have realized he f*cked up.

“You listen to me, twot stain, I don't 'owe' you or anyone else sh*t! You can hyperfixate on my songs and movies, you can jerk off in your rooms, you can call yourselves ‘dusties’ and send me creepy fan mail and hound me for autographs and selfies - I can deal with that. Where I draw the f*cking line is with my personal life. Unless I make it public, you have no right to demand ‘answers’ for anything. And I ESPECIALLY don't put up with unwashed basem*nt dwelling sh*t sacks stalking me; prying into things that are none of their godamned business!” He leans forward. “Now, go away before I fill your greasy ass full full of holes!”

Burnie looks crushed. “Angel… how… how could you -” he reaches out a hand, the way a friend might.

Angel slaps it away. “GET THE f*ck AWAY FROM ME!”

Burnie's pain turns to anger. “You can't do this, Angel! We f*cking made you! You wouldn't be where you are without your fans! You DO owe us, we gave you everything!” He squeezes a hand into a fist.

Before he has the chance to potentially strike, Husk leaps from his seat and tackles him. Burnie is weak as a kitten and goes down easy, shrieking like a banshee.

“Ok, f*ckwad, time to go,” Husk says, pinning Burnie’s hands behind his back.

“No, let me go, I’m not done yet -”

“Yes, you are. Now, you lay a finger on my boss and I’ll be forced to slit your throat. Capiche?”

“But I’m innocent! I would never hurt Angel! I know you’re protective of your man -”

“Angel is not ‘my’ anything!” Husk snarls in his ear. “And I don’t believe for a second that you’re as innocent as you claim.” Husk shoves him through the coffee shop doors and onto the street. “Now, piss off, and never come near Angel again. I assure you, we’re both being nice; letting you go. We won’t give you the same courtesy next time.”

Tears stream down Burnie’s face. “You’re gonna regret this Angel Dust!” He yells before storming off.

“You ok, boss?” Husk asks as he renters the shop.

The redness in Angel’s face has waned to a pink. “Yeah,” he mutters. He picks up the caddy containing the cherubs’ coffees and takes one final sip of his own drink before throwing the half empty cup in the trash. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Everyone knows what the interior of the Vs’ tower looks like from its many television appearances. But mere images don’t do the space justice. Enormous halls, all gilded with real gold imported from Greed, marble floors so shiny and clean you could eat off them, and the Vs’ employees, the most talented beautiful people Hell has to offer. Movie stars and fashion models make their way through these hallowed capitalistic halls, giving Angel looks of respect and Husk looks of indifference or scrutiny. The cherubs irritate everyone they meet with their aggressive cheerfulness. Angel walks the halls with confidence, unsurprising, since he’s spent so much of his time in Hell within this building.

They take an elevator to the second floor, Vox’s area of operations. His floor is a massive open concept film studio, hundreds of sound stages, thousands of people rushing around filming various scenes, equally as many cameras pointed in all directions capturing every waking moment of the space.

Husk, born in the mid nineteen twenties, has watched the world grow and change around him. He can wrap his head around television and smart phones but this level of futuristic technology intimidates him. He listened to records on an old gramaphone in his youth, now he’s in a building reminiscent of a spaceship.

As they weave their way through the maze of people, a wormy looking man, a hellborn shark, approaches. “Excuse me, Angel Dust, I was sent to look for you and escort you to the -”

“I know where I’m going, thanks,” Angel says, pushing the man out of the way. “Hate that little weasel,” he mutters to Husk.

He makes his way to the very heart of the studio and to a large set that’s totally barren, a green painted floor and green background. Standing on the set is Vox who chats with Velvette. He looks up as Angel approaches and smiles, smarmily. “Angel, baby! Thank you for being on schedule - you’d be surprised how many sh*t sacks will actively waste my time.”

“I’d never dream of it baby, I respect you too much!” Angel says with a feminine hand wave. “I just want to get this sh*t over and done with.”

“Rough morning?”

“Found out I have a relatively successful stalker so, yes.”

“Well, at least they're not directly connected to your cerebral cortex like mine are." Vox shudders. "The things that have been sent directly to my brain… Was it dealt with swiftly?”

“Yes, my new bodyguard, Husk, handled it. Unless that guy's suicidal, we won't be seeing him again.”

Vox’s eyes gleam when he sees Husk. “Ah, bodyguard, of course.” He glances to the three cherubs hanging in the air. Keenie and Cletus both have their hands clasped, politely waiting their turn to be acknowledged, while Collin is preoccupied with the coffee he still sips from. Keenie gives him a sideways glare. “And, ah, who are these little… fellows?”

The cherubs each introduce themselves and extend their tiny hands for a shake, which Vox returns with his thumb and forefinger. Velvette makes a gagging motion when the cherubs aren’t looking which makes Vox chuckle.

Velvette has a loose stance, one hip stuck out, her phone in hand. She only half pays attention to what’s going on around her so Husk is surprised when she looks up at him and says to him, “The f*ck are you wearing?”

“My bodyguard uniform,” Husk says, tugging at his suspenders.

“Why is it so fruity?”

“I've been wondering the same thing.”

Angel sighs. “You know… feedback taken. This… this isn't working. Vel, can you get him fitted with something more appropriate?”

“I do love a challenge!” she says. “I’ll even do it pro bono, anything for a friend!”

She grabs Husk by the front of his shirt and drags him along behind her to one of the many elevators, taking it up to her level. Velvette whistles loudly and summons a group of clothing designers, all looking simultaneously elated and terrified of her presence. “Ok, listen up f*ckers, I’m doing a favor for a friend and giving his cat a new set of duds. Look at what he’s wearing now.” There is a collective negative muttering and hisses from the crowd. “Now, each of you have five minutes. Whip me up something that will make this sad sack somewhat presentable on Vox’s show. Disappoint me and I will file your name away and have you chained to a lamp post on extermination day!” She claps her hands. “Chop chop!”

The designers all run to their stations and start scribbling designs on paper and working the fabric.

Hell’s clothing is created from the wool of creatures called changelings. They have magical properties that allow them to change their wool dramatically; it’s length, color, texture, thickness, and density. The wool, once shorn and harvested, is spun into thread and woven into fabric. At this point different tags with magical runes are stitched to the back of the garment that dictate it’s size, shape, color, etc. Each piece of clothing is designed to transform to accommodate the wearer however necessary once touched by them; changing size, making special holes for tails or extra limbs, and - for those with horns who couldn’t dream of getting shirts over their head - shirts with a slit that slip on like a jacket and fuse into one piece once worn. The runes are of Velvette’s own design and once she patented and manufactured them on a large scale, she almost immediately dominated the fashion industry, cementing herself as the third V. At this point she is the fashion industry, all competing brands owned by her parent company.

Husk watches as her underlings all toy with this magical fabric, twisting and contorting them into different new shapes and styles. In a matter of minutes they have something finished. They make a line, holding out their creations. Husk thinks they’re all amazing, but Velvette is clearly hard to impress.

“Overconfident in our own abilities much?” Velvette says, wrinkling her nose. She walks down the line and shoots down every single garment. “Hate it; burn; it eat my ass.” One particular garment draws particular ire. “You thought this was a good idea? Poofy sleeves? The f*ck?”

“I died in the seventies,” the garment’s creator says, “it was the height of fashion then, I thought -”

“Don't care, you thought wrong! Have fun on extermination day, Phil, I never liked you anyway!”

Phil stands, eyes wide for a moment before he lets the garment fall to the floor and heads towards the exit in a daze.

Velvette continues to disregard every single piece until she comes to nearly the last one. It’s a white suit and pants with alternating patterns of playing cards symbols, a gold line at their center connecting them all, at the bottom of the coat and down the legs of the pants, the lining bright red satin. She gasps. “YOU! You’re… not getting a raise but this is pretty good!” She manifests a coupon to the company store for 5% off any purchase over one hundred dollars. “Here, buy yourself something pretty.” She takes the outfit from her and holds it up to Husk. “This is perfect for you! Put it on!”

“You didn’t ask if I liked it.”

“I don’t give a damn if you do or don’t, I think it looks fabulous and my opinion is the only one that matters. I am where I am for a reason. Now, put it on. You’ll be in… oh… five?”

Husk looks frantically for a dressing room making Velvette rolls her eyes. “I assume you have boxers like a civilized sinner.” She considers it. “Well, this is Hell… Whatever, I’ve seen the weirdest dicks the afterlife has to offer. This is a fashion studio, where modesty comes to die. Put it on or… I don’t know… I’ll do… something.” She loses interest towards the end and checks a notification on her phone.

Husk glares at her as he undresses. He throws on the new outfit as quickly as possible, questioning how he’s managed to have his body intimately exposed so much in the past couple weeks. He glances at his reflection in a nearby mirror. As much as he hates to admit it, Velvette does have impeccable taste. This outfit makes him look cool, sexy even. Velvette grabs his hand and yanks him back towards the elevator. She’s half Husk’s height but very strong, a result of being as powerful an overlord as she is.

When they enter Vox's studio Angel eyes light up when he sees Husk. “Husk, holy sh*t you look -”

“Amazing?” Velvette cuts in. “Yeah, I know, of course he does. You doubted my abilities? f*ck you!” She says it with a grin on her face and Angel grins back so Husk can only assume this is how the two talk normally.

“Uh huh, he looks great,” Vox says, to which Velvette punches him in the ribs. “We’re on… now.” He nods his head and Angel and Husk follow him onto the set.

Chapter 7: The Interviews

Chapter Text

Vox snaps his fingers. Jolts of electricity flash, zipping in all directions, transforming into various objects. Several chairs appear next to a wooden podium that Vox seats himself behind. The background changes to a deep blue with an abstract shape pattern, the floor becoming polished wood. Angel takes a seat next to Vox, Husk sits next to Angel, and the three cherubs each share a seat at the very end.

Vox talks to the men behind the camera, making sure everything is set for the live broadcast, before a countdown begins. A musical sting plays and Vox looks right into the camera. “Welcome back!” he says in his showboaty affect. “On today’s show we are having a conversation with an infamous overlord, you know him, you love him, you’ve probably f*cked him, it’s Angel Dust! Angel, thank you for joining me on today’s episode!”

“Happy to be here, any excuse to talk about myself!” canned laughter plays.

“And these must be your minions?” Vox says, motioning to Husk and the cherubs. Husk being referred to as a mere “minion” is deeply irritating.

There is some general chatter, introductions as though anyone in Hell really needs to be informed who Angel is, as well as introducing Husk and the cherubs.

“What is your job under Angel?” Vox asks Husk.

“Bodyguard,” he says, flatly. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t show interest. He doesn’t like Vox, he doesn’t like the Vs as a brand, he doesn’t like any of this. He wants to be in his room, some painkillers for his head in his system, and a pillow draped over his head while smooth jazz plays so he can have some semblance of peace.

“Yes, purchased from Alastor, correct?”

Husk nods.

Vox looks at Angel. “Making deals with The Radio Demon, how co*cky! And after you accepted an interview on his radio show! Playing both sides, eh?”

“Hey, your beef isn’t my beef. Besides, I’ll fully admit I’m a player!”

“And who are you?” Vox asks the cherubs.

“We are disenfranchised angelic beings given new purpose by our wonderful employer, tasked with bringing happiness to him and all of his subjects with the joy we inherently inspire in others through our good deeds and impeccable people skills!” Cletus says.

“Uh huh, could have just said ‘we serve Angel and the souls on his chain,’ full stop, but whatever,” Vox mutters, quickly.

“So, Angel, for those unaware, last night you and your team raided a compound located on your territory that a rival overlord was squatting in. There were some nasty things coming out of that complex, can you elaborate?”

Angel explains what the breeding complex was.

“Yes, Marcus Shepherd is a nasty, nasty man. Were you aware of who he was before you confronted him?”

“I’ve heard of his misdeeds here in Hell, that’s about it.”

“Well,” Vox says, “we reached out to the team responsible for liberating those poor creatures and they gave us access to Marcus Shepherd’s hellish file.”

When a sinner enters hell, a detailed itinerary is magically generated and filed away in a massive labyrinth of cabinets in a designated room of Lucifer’s palace.

“According to his file, Marcus Shepherd used to operate a sheep farm back in the eighties when he was alive. He always took a liking to disenfranchised men, the homeless, the jobless, those suffering with addiction, and would hire them on to work on his farm. He would then proceed to use money, drugs, or threats of reporting to the police to keep these men on the hook, allowing for him to do deplorable things to them. His farm was rife with physical and sexual abuse; his victims often rented out for sex to friends and clients. Were any of his victims to speak out, he would kill them using the penetrating captive bolt pistol he used on his livestock to kill them. It’s his signature weapon down here, though magically altered. This was all his foray into human trafficking, establishing his taste for it, and he’s dabbled in all forms of it since falling to Hell. He keeps avoiding capture and destroying evidence before Lucifer’s team can capture him. You're the closest to having gotten him in years.”

“By destroying evidence, you don’t mean killing his ‘stock’ do you?” Angel says. Vox nods. “Well, this is all news to me. All I knew was he trafficks people. I don’t f*ck with that sh*t.”

“Yes, yes, highly illegal, awful for business, am I right?” Vox says.

“Terrible,” Angel agrees. “The stain it would put on my reputation for partaking in something like that is unfathomable. I have too much at stake, too much on my plate to have it all thrown in the trash over some measly hellhounds. Not my forte.”

Vox chuckles. “It is difficult to imagine, putting so much on the line for the lowest Hell has to offer, isn’t it?”

“Agreed,” Angel says. “I have pity for the poor creatures. I wouldn’t want to see them abused any more than I would any other animal. It’s basic compassion, Vox.”

“Well, my heart has shriveled right away in my time down here, so I wouldn’t know!” Vox says, chuckling. “So, how exactly did this plan to take Marcus down manifest, hmm?”

Angel explains how he received notice of the operation, how he and Husk went in alone, and the general idea he concocted.

Vox laughs hard when Angel gets to the part about Marcus rejecting Angel’s sexual offers. “My God, that must’ve been f*cking embaressing for you! You, the p*rn overlord, rejected? Insane, truly insane.”

Angel doesn’t skip a beat. “Hey, when you have a humiliation kink, rejection just turns me on!” He licks his lips.

Vox turns to Husk. “So, you seduced Marcus, then? Did you f*ck? What was sex with a man like him like?”

Husk feels his face go red. Memories of that event flood back, making him extremely uncomfortable, though he forces a relaxed posture and cadence to his voice.

“Naw, just felt him up and gave him a couple strokes before wrapping him up and threatening to take his head off.”

“And considering he’s now on the run, you failed spectacularly!” Vox says.

“I suppose so,” Husk says through gritted teeth.

“Well, I was hoping for something a little more juicy, but -”

“I’m sorry the truth isn’t ‘juicy.’ I’m sorry I wasn’t able to live life in a way that would be entertaining for you,” Husk snaps.

“My my, aren’t we touchy!” Vox says with a laugh. He turns to an Angel, his head at an angle where his face isn’t seen by the cameras. His face vanishes, replaced by flashing text that reads “Keep your soul in line, Angel! He’s pissing me off!”

Angel snaps his fingers and the chain manifests around Husk’s throat. He gives it a yank, momentarily cutting off Husk’s air. “Now, now, don’t be rude! The embarrassment's giving me a boner, but I can only be aroused for so long, honey.” He gives Husk a harsh look. Husk can tell he doesn’t really mean that; he just wants Husk to be quiet for his own good. Husk silently nods and the chains vanish.

“And you three, you helped take out the goons?” He says to the cherubs.

“We sure did!” Cletus says, chipperly. We entranced them like this -” He transforms into a multi-winged hundred eyeballed monstrosity that makes Vox’s eyes widen, his mouth slack, before transforming back. “- and we either shot them ourselves or let Angel take care of them. We only step in when he’s taking out really bad people!”

Vox shakes his head and struggles to recover from seeing true divinity. “Yes, well, sounds like you did a bang up job.”

“Oh, Cletus and I did,” Keenie says. “Collin… less so. Let’s just say Husk is lucky I was there to fix Collin’s mistake. I swear, if we three weren’t magically bound together - all cherubs come in threes, did I mention that? - we’d have replaced him a long time ago.” Angel’s jaw drops. Even Husk is taken aback by Keenie’s words. How can she say something so horrible with such effervescence?

Vox laughs. “Ooh, feisty, I like this one, Angel,” he says, hiking a thumb in Keenie’s direction. She smiles sweetly - apparently too naive to see that being liked by Vox isn’t a good thing.

The interview goes on with Vox asking intrusive questions in his smarmy tone and Angel answering with matching sass. After what feels like far too long the interview comes to an end and the cameras stop rolling.

As soon as the producer yells cut, Vox’s smile drops. “Thank God,” he mutters, stretching and yawning. “Thought that was never going to end.”

“Same,” Angel says; his smile has dropped as well. “Thanks for putting me on the spot with the whole ‘hellhounds are lower creatures’ thing, really appreciated that one.”

“Hey, our demographic is mostly sinners and hellborn. It’s nothing personal, they just don’t tend to think of hellhounds as anything that great. As far as they’re concerned, putting a stop to a breeding operation is little more than philanthropy. I know you have feelings for Verosika’s hellhound. Still not sure why though.”

“He’s a friend, jackass,” Angel says. Despite Angel snipping at him, Vox doesn’t look that off put. “And I’m sorry I dared to talk to Alastor. I work closely with you guys, but I’m not a V. You and Alastor have your petty bullsh*t, but that is not my problem. I had a chat with him, and purchased Husk, that is the extent of my dealings with him.”

“Yes, yes, your purchase,” Vox looks at Husk. “And quite a purchase it was. You own the Gambling Demon now, huh?”

“He was a hefty investment, but well worth it.”

Vox strokes his chin, or rather, the underside of his screen head. “You know, Angel, our latest guest on ‘Who’s That Has-Been’ canceled at the last minute. I’ll pay you extra if you allow us to interview him,” he says, nodding towards Husk. “We can get a head start on our broadcast schedule tomorrow.”

“Oh, please,” Angel says, rolling his eyes. “I doubt he’d be worth your time -”

“It’s a show about losers, he’s a perfect candidate!” Vox insists. “It’s a show catered to our older demographic and absolutely pulls numbers!”

Angel gives Husk a sideways glance. The message is clear; he doesn’t want to do this.

Husk feels his compulsion to protect tugging on his chest. If Angel argues with Vox, it will make him vulnerable. It will show that, is idiotic as it is, Husk is a weak spot that can be exploited. He sighs. “I’ll do it.”

“Husk,” Angel says, “I don’t -”

“I said, I’ll do it,” Husk insists. He looks into Angel’s eyes, a steely expression on his face.

Angel relents. “Fine,” He mutters.

Vox generates a contract. “Sign on the dotted line, my good fellow!” Husk takes the contract and starts to read it, thoroughly. Vox drums his fingers against the desktop impatiently. “Ok, ok, can we move this along please?” He says after about thirty seconds.

Husk glares at him. “I’m particular about what I sign.”

“Could have fooled me, with you signing away your soul and all.”

A feline growl emerges from Husk’s throat, his claws extending, poking tiny holes in the magical paper.

Angel snatches the contract. “I’m a fast reader,” he says, clearly irritated with the whole situation. His eyes fly over the paper for a few moments before he hands it back to Husk. “It’s fine. If you really want to do this, then sign it.”

Husk scribbles his name and Vox snatches the contract back where it vanishes into a puff of golden smoke. “‘Bout time,” Vox mutters. He snaps his fingers and the whole set changes to a gaudy yellow and orange theme. The chairs Angel and the cherubs sit in rise and tip them onto their feet before vanishing. Velvette, who previously sat on the sidelines and half watched, half played on her phone, joins Vox on the stage, sitting in a chair next to him. Husk sits across from them like this is an interrogation. Vox shoos Angel and the cherubs off the stage just before the cameras start rolling. “Welcome back to another episode of ‘Who’s That Has-Been,’ where we remember the sad sacks so you don’t have to!” Vox says. “Joining us today we have William Husker, AKA the Gambling Demon! Say hello!”

“Hi,” Husk mutters. He may have had his arm twisted by his own compulsions to do this but he doesn’t have to be happy about it.

Vox waves a hand and pictures generate midair next to him. Husk’s stomach twists. They’re images of him in his prime, fancy suit, cigar in his mouth, confident smile and intense eyes, various women at his side. And her. His then-second wife. Seeing her face again makes a rush of feelings, negative and positive, flood his mind. “The Gambling Demon was once an overlord and owner of the Jackpot Casino at the right point of the Pentagram!” Vox says. “Of course, it’s now owned by Alastor the Radio Demon, alongside all of Husker’s other possessions. Tell us, how did you rise to power to begin with?”

Husk sighs, “Jesus that was a long time ago.” He’s struggled with alcoholism his whole life, making recalling exact details difficult. They’re all fuzzy and jumbled. “I… Uh… I fell into Hell sometime in the seventies. I…” he realizes how stupid he is, having to really work to remember things this important. Both Vox and especially Velvet seem to enjoy seeing him struggle. “It’s unclear what I did when I first got here, but I started putting my skills at gambling to good use. Got some idiots who didn’t know any better to bet their souls against me as collateral. I won, I became their overlord. Slowly, I gained money and power through the souls I captured. There was a prominent producer of alcohol… Jesus… what was his f*cking name…”

“Come on, old man, you can’t remember basic sh*t? You got Alzheimer's or some sh*t?” Velvette says.

Husk grits his teeth. “Remmington,” he says, finally, “Duke Remmington. Played a game against him and won. He refused to pay me the money I was owed, he thought he was too good for it. So, I confronted him. Again, got lucky, killed the bastard and took his empire. Used his fortune to build my casino and my power exploded from there.”

“A true rags to riches story,” Vox says. “How touching. Now, tell us how you f*cked it up!” His eyes are intense, filled with malicious glee.

Velvette has a nasty little smirk. One leg crossed over the other, her phone tapping impatiently against her thigh.

Husk’s heart beats. All eyes are on him, all thoughts on his mistakes. He doesn’t speak.

Vox coughs. “Husker, we’ve all heard rumors, but, honestly, you sort of disappeared from public life. One moment you're there, the next moment you’ve vanished, everything you own turned over to Alastor. So, how exactly did that come to pass?”

Husk picks at the leather armrest of the chair. No sh*t they’d want to know the details of what happened. He should have expected that when he threw himself into this situation. But his compulsion wouldn’t let him -

“We’re waiting!” Vox says, his digital teeth gritted, his eyes intense. He drums the desktop, appearing to be seconds away from losing his temper completely.

“I started losing souls,” Husk says, finally, feeling like someone is squeezing his internal organs. “I started betting the souls I owned when I gambled. It started with ones that weren’t worth that much but, after a while, I got desensitized and started putting pretty expensive souls on the line. A bad hand here or there turned into a losing streak and next thing I knew I’d thrown away hundreds of souls at a time like… like a bottomless pit. My friends were worried, my then-wife was worried… I was worried.” He feels like he’s trying to swallow a golf ball. “Alastor and I had been friends for a while. We were very… very close. One night he approaches me with a proposition. A one on one game of poker. I win, Alastor replaces all of the souls I lost and then some from his own chain. He wins, he gets my soul. I… I was desperate to make it right to just… stop. So, I agreed.” God this part is difficult to get out, waves of guilt and shame wash over him as he tries to put it all into words, to the insatiable delight of Vox and Velvette. “I was drunk… very drunk… when this all happened. I didn’t read the contract clearly. There were no lawyers involved. Alastor was a friend. I trusted him. I never would have expected him to insert a clause stipulating he could add onto the contract at will. It was all in legal speak and I was too… too drunk to read it carefully. My signature meant that Alastor could add whatever he wanted onto that contract and I would be forced to do it. No negotiation, no yay or neigh, he wanted it, I had to do it.” Without even thinking, he pulls out his flask and takes a swig. Getting it all out is incredibly hard. He’s never admitted what happened to anyone. The fact that he’s doing it to two people who don’t give two sh*ts about him and on television to a hungry audience of gawkers who find his shame and downfall makes it all the worse.

The interview goes on, but Husk barely registers it. Questions about his personal life, questions about his time with Alastor, questions about what he’s proud of (nothing at this point) and his regrets (everything). He feels exhausted and defeated by the time the interview ends, drained from the bombardment of prying questions he really didn’t want to answer, each one bringing with it wave after wave of deeply unpleasant and traumatic memories.

The recording ends, at which point Vox and Velvette step away so they can gossip about what they just heard, not bothering to hide their judgemental looks in his direction.

Husk remains seated in his chair, taking frequent swigs from his flask. He’s dissociating, feeling like his consciousness is hovering above his demonic body.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to see Angel. The mask is gone. He looks genuinely upset. “Husk…”

Husk slaps his hand away, saying nothing and looking away. Those mismatched eyes of his, full of sympathy and empathy, don't bring comfort or solace like Angel probably hoped they would. They make Husk feel like he’s being smothered to death.

Husk completely shuts down; not taking in anything else that happens. He’s only vaguely aware of Angel wrapping things up with the Vs. He sits in Angel’s limo staring out the window, not entirely sure how he got there. The car ride is quiet, not because of Angel’s lack of trying. He attempts to talk to Husk, who stares out the window and ignores him.

When they arrive at Angel’s estate there’s already a car there waiting for them.

“Oh, great, now what,” Angel mutters. “I’m going to need you, buddy; don’t know what these guys want.” Angel calling him “buddy” gets under Husk’s skin.

They park and exit the limo.

Husk’s fingers twitch, ready to manifest cards at a moment's notice.

The car is intimidating, an expensive luxury model with all sorts of advanced metallic enhancements fused to it making it look like some kind of war machine. Its design clicks in Husk’s head just as the driver steps out.

“Oh, Odette Carmine,” Angel says. “What a surprise! What, ah, what are you doing here?”

Odette’s eyes pass over Angel and she looks directly at Husk. She has an elated smile on her face. “Hello, William,” she says.

Angel looks at Husk suspiciously. “How does she know your first name? I thought that was a need-to-know thing for you.”

Husk’s stomach is tight, he can’t breathe. He can’t believe she’s here, he desperately wishes she weren’t. “Of course she knows my name. She’s my second ex-wife.”

Chapter 8: Husk's Ex Wife

Chapter Text

Husk met Odette in The Jackpot casino. He was on the floor, a cigar hanging from his mouth, chatting up the guests. He was grand, he was magnificent, and he wanted everyone to know it. It felt so good to be amongst the people milling about the floor, a confident stride to his movements, able to charm the pants off of anyone as equally as he could intimidate them.

She was there with her sister, Clara. Husk would find out later that Carmilla Carmine didn’t want either of her daughters in the territory of an “inferior” overlord like him. Husk had called her an “old windbag” when he found out, to which Odette laughed and agreed.

Husk paid no attention to Clara, only Odette catching his eye. She was in a backless black dress, a white sash around her waist, her celestial steel slippers ticking with delicate menace as she walked, her hair freshly shampooed and conditioned with bounciness and luster. Even the large round glasses couldn’t hide her beautiful face or her captivating eyes.

She’d caught him looking her way. She swept her bangs as she always does when anxious and came over. She brought up him staring at her and he apologized. She waved it off saying it was flattering. They spent a long time chatting which led to her ditching her sister to be taken on a special one on one tour of the casino, the night ending with Odette giving Husk her phone number, saying she awaited his call.

Four short months later and they were married. In retrospect, Husk recognizes how foolish that was. Four months was just long enough for the cracks to begin showing in the facade that was their “perfect romance,” but not enough for him to truly realize what he was getting himself involved in with the final “I do.”

Angel looks a tad shell shocked. “You were married to one of Carmilla Carmine’s daughters?”

Odette laughs. “My family was just as surprised. We’d been seeing each other for a while under the radar. When he finally popped the question… It was the happiest day of my afterlife! It was an unspoken rule to keep it on the downlow, not something to be flaunted or advertised. It was better for business anyway, him coming off as a confident bachelor.” She gets a terse look on her face. “It was… a challenge to ‘share,’ but we managed.”

Husk’s mind reels. She’s really here. Dear god how he wishes she wasn’t. He was perfectly content to never see her again.

“Angel, I was hoping I could borrow William, please. We have a lot to discuss. I don’t know the intimate details of his contract -”

“He’s free as air,” Angel says. “I’m totally hands off when it comes to relationship stuff. Please, go, do what you need to. I’ll call if I need him but I probably won’t; I have business to attend to in my office.”

“Wonderful,” Odette says.

Angel excuses himself and he and the cherubs go inside.

Odette smiles sweetly at Husk. “I’m… I’m so happy to see you again! I normally don’t watch TV that much so it was a miracle I caught the broadcast. I had no idea you weren’t under Alastor’s control anymore. Why didn’t you contact me?”

“We’re divorced,” Husk says, simply.

Odette scoffs. “On paper, maybe. I never saw us as truly separated.”

“That makes one of us,” Husk says.

Odette looks hurt. “What do you mean?”

Husk sighs. “Odette… we’ve had our shot, our day in the sun was forty years ago -”

“It doesn’t feel that long,” Odette interrupts. “I’ve been so swamped with the family business, it feels like yesterday we were both spending time at The Jackpot.”

Her flippant disregard of the time Husk spent under Alastor makes him want to claw her face off. He keeps himself calm, knowing all too well how a blowup at her would result. “I’m happy you’ve done well in the time we’ve been separated -”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Odette says. “When you handed me the papers you told me not to hang on, to move on and find someone else, I tried. I’ve dated so many men since you. All of them fell through.” She chuckles, bitterly. “I guess I have a type, sh*tty men who don’t treat me right. You were the only man who ever treated me with respect and decency.”

Anger bubbles in Husk’s chest. He can take a gander at what these men did to “treat her poorly.”

“Odette, I’m sorry but I -”

“This doesn’t seem like the appropriate place to have this conversation,” Odette says. “Can we talk over dinner?”

“Fine,” Husk says.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I know a good burger place.”

Odette’s nose wrinkles. “Really?”

Husk sighs, with exasperation. “Det, I don’t have any money! I have handouts given to me by the boss. That’s what I’m trying to get at - the relationship we had before? That’s not going to happen. I can’t be the same man for you that I was when we were married.”

Odette lets out a short exhale through her bose. You think so little of me that I was looking for a sugar daddy? You really think that’s all you were to me? It never crossed your mind I missed you?”

Husk back pedals. “No, no, Det, that’s not what I meant at all, I’m sorry.”

Odette still looks incensed but decides to drop it. “Come, get in the car. I suppose I’ll have to buy.”

Odette chooses an extremely fancy black suit and tie establishment. Both of them stand out like sore thumbs, Odette in her long white coat and deathly sharp white slippers and Husk dressed in a white suit that makes him look like a playboy.

The man at the counter raises an eyebrow when they walk in. “Reservation?” He asks.

“I’m sure you can squeeze us in, somewhere,” Odette says.

The man snorts. “No reservation, no service. Besides, we have a strict dress code -”

Odette leans in. “I don’t think you understand who you’re talking to,” she says. “I am Odette Carmine. Carmilla’s daughter. Do you really want to f*ck around with the Carmine empire over a table? This place is dead anyway. Get us a seat, or I can assure you, you won’t have a family to go back to after your shift ends.”

The man gulps. “Right this way,” he says.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” Husk whispers as they’re led to their table.

“What? I don’t like people bossing me around.”

Husk feels like an alien in his own body. He remembers when he first met Odette. Her forcefulness, her fearlessness, her ability to get what she wanted through viciousness was what drew him to her. She was powerful, yet feminine. Maybe it’s because he used to have a lot more confidence, maybe it’s because he liked a challenge - going the extra mile to swoon the difficult - but he remembers her far more fondly than he sees her now. Now she comes off as extremely unpleasant.

They take a seat and look over the menus. Husk orders immediately, going with the first meal his eyes land on. With how twisted tight his stomach is he doubts he’ll be able to eat much anyway. Odette hems and haws over the options. The waiter tries to leave but Odette threatens him to stay as “she’s almost ready to order.” She proceeds to continue looking at the menu without ordering anything. Husk motions to the waiter with a finger when Odette isn’t looking. The waiter lowers his head and Husk whispers, “I’m so sorry about her! I’ll leave a good tip,” into his ear. The waiter nods and smiles. Odette finally orders and the waiter scurries off leaving the two alone to have their conversation that Husk would really rather avoid.

“So, how have you been doing?” Odette asks. “I assume better, now that you’re away from Alastor.”

Husk nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Yes, I imagine working under him was quite… unpleasant.”

Husk laughs, bitterly. “Uh, yeah, understatement of the century.”

Odette scoffs. “Well, excuse me, I don’t know the details of your contract. As far as I knew the no-relationship stipulation was the worst it got -”

“How could you possibly think that it wouldn’t get any worse?” Husk says, genuinely baffled by her logic. “It’s Alastor. You think a man who demands I have no romantic or sexual relationships is going to be lesa fer about everything else? Come on.”

“Well, I guess I’m the asshole here,” Odette snaps. “I’m SO sorry!” she says with sarcasm.

“It doesn’t matter,” Husk says, trying to steer away from a meltdown. “Life under Alastor was… bad. It was awful. But things are better now, you’re right. Good food, good clothes, quality alcohol, can go where I want when I want -”

“That’s good to hear,” Odette says. She runs her fingers through her bangs, her calming ritual, before smiling. “I’m genuinely happy to hear you’re doing better. You haven’t tried to get into contact with me, but have you… have you been with other women?” She has a calm and composed look, but Husk knows all too well how she’ll react if he says yes. If being flirty and smarmy without being sexual when he was still an overlord was enough to upset her, admitting to having slept around will make things even worse - even though they’re divorced meaning it doesn’t really matter if he has or not.

“No,” Husk lies, “I’ve just kept to myself.”

Odette chuckles. “I imagine dealing with the whor*-bug’s kind of turned you off from sex, huh?”

“I don’t know what you mean -”

“Angel, he’s obnoxious! Flirting with anything that has a dick. It’s disgusting! At least alastor wasn’t a fa*g.”

Husk grinds his teeth. God, he was so deep in the closet when he was with her. In the forty years of solitude his anxiety about being attracted to men as equally as he was attracted to women has waned. It seemed so trivial compared to everything else he was dealing with. He’d just accepted it; it is what it is. Odette had deluded herself into thinking his relationship with Alastor was purely a friendship. If she knew the truth about them, of the countless men he’d slept with since being freed from Alastor, he’d be abducted in his sleep by Carmilla’s hired goons, decapitated with a celestial blade, and shipped off to have his corpse pecked away by ravens in Wrath.

“I see your stance on the queers hasn’t changed,” Husk says.

“Why would it have? Once a degenerate always a degenerate. I pity you having to work for someone like Angel, I really do. Maybe… maybe I can buy you off of him, put this whole charade to rest.”

With a sinking feeling Husk realizes he’d rather be on Angel’s chain stripped of his soul than mixed up with Odette again.

“Honestly, not that much has changed about me since the divorce,” Odette says. “I’m still swamped with work, still lonely. I swear, there is not a single decent man in Hell - yes, I realize that’s a stupid thing to say. I’ve dated so many men, so many different kinds of guys from so many backgrounds, always trying to find the perfect one. And they always hurt me. They always refuse to help me, they go cold, they say I’m the crazy one, the needy one, when all I’m looking for is support. All I’m looking for is someone to be by my side and be there for me.” She sighs. “That’s why I wanted to see you, William. I want you back. I need you back! You were the one good man in my life, the one who truly loved me! You were my everything!”

Husk hates this. Everything she says these other men were to her are the exact things she’d say he was, verbatim. If he called out a stupid financial endeavor, he was patronizing her and calling her stupid. If he pointed out she wasn’t being affectionate, actually he’s the one not being affectionate and emotionally available. If he didn't shower her in expensive gifts every couple of weeks he was neglecting her. God forbid he forget something she told him because she would fly off the handle and say he never ever listens to her, ignoring all the times when he was attentive to her. He still remembers the good times, the times she was sweet, a wonderful hang, the perfect companion, but not fondly enough to want her back in his life.

The food arrives. Odette starts to eat, delicately like a proper lady. Husk was able to be refined and poised back in the day but he genuinely doesn’t care. He is not in the mood to impress anyone. He pokes at his food, taking small bites. He does have to admit, the food is delicious, though he’s more interested in the wine.

“Odette, you do realize that our relationship was on the rocks before we got divorced, right? We were not in a good place.” Husk realizes the only way this will go well is if he feeds into her victim complex. “I wasn’t a good husband to you, I wasn’t being good for you. It wasn’t working.”

Odette waves off his concerns. “Sweetheart, we’d been married ten years, there’s always going to be rough patches when you’re together that long.”

“It wasn’t just a ‘rough patch.’ Not for me.”

Odette’s eyes go steely, but she chooses to gloss over this. “I’m sure it felt that way at the time. But you have to understand, we’re made for each other!”

“I’m genuinely surprised to hear you say that, considering what I put you through.”

“William, why do you think I’d hold a grudge against you?”

Husk wants to roll his eyes but instead says, “I don’t know. I just figured that the way I hurt you, the way I ruined everything, you’d despise me. I’m confused why you’d want to see me at all let alone try to get me back.”

Odette laughs. “William, really, I don’t hold any animosity towards you! I understand you were in a bad head space, you were just trying to do what you thought was best for me!”

Me. Always ‘me’ with Odette.

“Yes,” Husk says, “but I still f*cked up. I may have tried fixing things for us but I still ended up throwing away everything. That seriously means nothing to you?”

“It is what it is,” Odette says. “Really, I don’t want to go into it anymore, it’s all over, I’ve moved past it -”

“Well I haven’t!” Husk snaps, his emotions getting the best of him. He should be placating her, feeding into what she wants to hear, but he’s starting to get tired of doing so. “Odette, I threw away everything I worked to achieve. All of my money, our townhouse, the Jackpot, my standing at the Pentagram Mega Mall, every single soul I’d ever gotten on my chain - everything . All of that was what allowed me to give you what you wanted, to give you everything you could ever desire. I don’t have that anymore. That seriously didn’t hurt you, that seriously doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Are you insinuating I don’t care about you, is that it?”

“No, I just don’t think you’re being honest about how you feel -”

Odette slaps her fork down to the table. “William, Of course it hurt me!” She snaps. “I was destroyed! It… it still bothers me.”

“So why did you lie? Why did you pretend that it doesn’t?”

“Because… because it doesn’t matter, ok? Yes, it hurts, yes, I’m still… It still upsets me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you still! I just want to heal!

Husk huffs. “You see, that? That right there is why I don’t want to get back together.” He’s tired of this conversation and just wants it to end. “We don’t communicate well. We’re not honest with each other about what we really think. We’re afraid to hurt one another so we hold back. That shouldn’t be the case. We should be comfortable enough to be open -”

“What are you saying?” Odette says, her voice raised.

“I’m saying we’re not good together,” Husk says. “Being away from you has made me realize that. Forty years is a long time to think. I’m sorry, but we’re over.”

Odette starts crying.

Husk rubs his temples. “Oh for god sake, Det -”

“William, I expected better from you! I expected you to be a fighter, to fight for what you want -!”

“I DON’T WANT THIS,” Husk yells, making all of the patrons look in their direction. “Det, I don’t hate you, I wish you nothing but the best, But I can’t be the man you want, I’m just being honest. I’m not good enough for you.” The way Husk says it gives the tone he doesn’t feel he’s good enough for her; that she’s too good for him. But, inside, he recognizes she has ridiculously high standards that he’ll never be able to meet. He gritted his teeth and played her game in the past, he won’t anymore.

“Does this mean I never meant anything to you?” Odette sobs.

“I never said that.”

“Why did you come to dinner if you hate me so much?”

“ I don’t hate you!” Husk bellows, “I just f*cking said that, stop twisting my words!”

Odette pulls out her phone.

“Oh, great, running to mommy?” Husk says. “You want to piss off your family, be independent, until it’s beneficial to come back to them crying for sympathy. That’s another thing I will absolutely not miss.”

Odette glares at him. She calls a number on her contacts and puts the call on the speaker. “Hello?” The voice of Carmilla Carmine says.

“Hello, mother!” Odette sobs.

“What’s wrong?” Carmilla asks, worried.

Odette continues to sob. “I did something incredibly stupid! You’re right, you’re always right! I went to see William -”

“You did WHAT?” Carmilla bellows.

“He’s released from Alastor - I… I wanted to get back together!”

Carmilla curses in Spanish. “Sweetheart, what were you thinking!”

“I wasn’t!” Odette sobs. “I wanted to make things right, but you were right! He’s a pig! A selfish horrible person! Over dinner he did nothing but insinuate I’m angry with him, that I’m hiding things from him, all while not even trying himself, he thinks he can waltz in, have me pay for everything because he’s too broke to afford anything, and demean me, saying how I never meant anything to him -”

Husk tugs at his hair. “For the love of Christ, would you stop lying for once in your godamned afterlife!” Husk yells. “Carmilla, everything she’s saying is a lie, that’s not how that happened -”

Both Odette and Carmella start screaming at him in response, English and Spanish intertwining.

The manager rushes up to the table. “Madame, sir, I don’t know what’s going on, but, please, you need to leave -”

Odette rummages around in her purse and pulls out her debit card. “Run the card, ok? Your food tasted like sh*t anyway!” Odette glares at Husk. Her mouth opens like she wants to continue screaming at him but can’t find the words. She gets up and rushes out of the restaurant.”

Husk sighs. “Who was waiting at this table?”

“Victor, why?” The manager asks.

Husk produces a twenty. “Make sure he gets this, he earned it after dealing with her. I’m sorry for all of this, I really am.”

By the time Husk exits the building himself, Odette peels out of the parking lot at high speeds, cutting off other cars and jetting down the road a good fifteen miles over the speed limit.

As the hellish sun starts to dip below the horizon, Husk makes a beeline for the closest bar.

Things become increasingly unclear. Husk drinks until his vision blurs and objects and people in the bar seem to come unglued, floating around without reason. He drinks until he can barely keep his head up, the side of his face resting against the cool marble countertop. The last thing he remembers is a red shape with a ghastly yellow grin towering over him before lowering to meet him. Blazing red dots piercing his soul before his eyes close and stay closed.

Husk wakes to the sight of a blood red covered bed and the smell of an all too familiar cologne. He sits bolt upright, realizing his mistake as the room spins, and lets himself fall back down. The pillows, these sheets, they’re Alastor’s. He remembers the sight of them and the long nights tangled up in them. They have his sweet smell on them.

Husk realizes he is in his underwear. His new suit is carefully folded and hanging on the back of a nearby chair, his wallet, flask, and other belongings sitting on the seat.

“Don’t worry, Husker, I took the chair.”

Husk’s head darts to see Alastor sitting in his big velvet armchair in the corner, a coy smile on his face. He wears only a robe, open just enough for Husk to see his toned chest with raised scars running along his skin and his boxers - bright red with a black hoof print pattern.

Husk’s face grows hot. “What happened? How did I get here?”

“I happened to be in the neighborhood,” Alastor says. “You seemed to be having a rough go of it. The bar owner was planning on throwing you out into the street after you passed out. Well, I couldn’t allow that to happen, could I?”

“Thank you,” Husk says, warrily.

“How are you feeling?”

The alcohol is still in Husk’s system making him feel slightly buzzed and a little woozy, while light enough he can still think semi-clearly; aware enough that saying the wrong thing could result in Alastor going off. Husk realizes, at this point, he doesn’t care.

“I’m fine,” Husk says. He pulls the blankets up to cover his bare chest.

Alastor laughs. “Husker, please, you’d think I’ve never seen you naked before.” Husk blushes which makes Alastor smirk. “So, what drove you to drink this time?”

“My ex wife, whom I haven't seen in decades, just pop up and re-enter my life out of nowhere. You do the math.”

“Odette?” Husk nods. Alastor scoffs. “It’s funny, I remember the day she was called in so you could deliver those divorce papers. I remember that look on your face, the tears in your eyes. You had such a ferocious hatred for me at the time. It was unjustified, but I understand. She had her claws in deep with you. Nagging, needy, willing to use her mother as a cudgel to bludgeon you when you disobeyed, needing you to be her knight in shining armor or be labeled an abuser. Oh, the tales you told of her. Truly, a vile woman.”

“Yeah,” Huk says, simply. Turbulence boils inside of him, the rational and emotional fighting. His need to hate Alastor is just as great as the one that desires his love.

Alastor, like a psychic, says, “you know that everything I’ve done has been for your own good, right?” When Husk can only bite his lip in reply, Alastor continues. “You’re truly the most wonderful amazing person I’ve ever met in either my life or afterlife, Husker. But you scare me sometimes. You make choices, horrible choices, choices that bring harsh consequences. You… you hurt yourself. I hate that… but I love you just the same.”

It's probably a lie. At a different time Husk would be sure of it. But now? He can't. He knows this room, he knows this man. He knows this sweetness that Alastor is oozing. Alastor is pure poison, but one that Husk has grown a taste for.

Alastor crosses the room and lays down on the bed next to Husk. “You know I've missed you, right?” Husk nods. “Our calls, our conversations, they're not enough. I've missed you being here with me.”

“Do you regret selling me?” Husk asks.

Alastor lets out a soft exhale. “I… yes, I think I do. The information I received from Angel was tantalizing. So many possibilities, so many exploits, so many ways to stick it to the person it involves. But… I lost you in the process. At the time I was so sure, I was confident it was worth it. I was a fool. I was angry that day. You hurt me but… but I hurt you worse. I threw you away. I don’t know how you could ever forgive me for that.”

Husk should be thankful. He should be ecstatic that Alastor is no longer in my life, that he is an easily avoidable obstacle. The same day that he was sold, Alastor choked him and threatened to make Husk chew his tongue out. But it feels so distant, so fuzzy. And Husk did deserve it. He failed Alastor; he lied about Mimsy, he was only getting what was coming to him - what he needed .

Against his better judgment Husk says, “I do forgive you. I understand. And… it’s not as though we’re that separated. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Alastor looks somewhat teary eyed. “But I can’t save you from yourself. I can’t keep you safe.” Alastor reaches out and touches Husk's face. He strokes his cheek and before he realizes it, Husk is purring. “I’m scared.”

Husk touches Alastor’s hand. “Don’t be. Angel won’t let his new toy self-destruct. I’m safe. There are worse people you could have pawned me off on.”

“I’d never give you to just anyone,” Alastor assures him. He curses. “I really f*cked everything up.”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t f*ck anything up, it’s fine!” Husk insists.

Alastor smiles. “Thank you,” he whispers, his face slowly growing closer to Husk’s.

Husk is aware that were anyone else to see this interaction, they’d say he was crazy, that he was stupid, they’d judge him. Husk should hate Alastor, he should run from him, he should escape this bed, this house, this man and never look back. Alastor ruined Husk’s life, took everything from him, broke him down, and toys with him. But he also saved him, built him up, and loves him. Looking into Alastor’s eyes that make his ever-present grin seem sweet and warm, Husk can’t hate him. He could never. He loves Alastor. Maybe now that Alastor can’t go too far and physically hurt Husk, now that there is a literal barrier between them, things will be different. It can be like when they first met; absolutely perfect.

Alastor kisses him, making his heart pound fast. The first peck is soft and delicate but quickly grows in intensity, Alastor’s lips crushing Husk’s. Husk runs his hands over the raised texture on Alastor’s chest and he grips Husk’s back, tugging on his neck scruff. Husk can’t help but whimper a little making Alastor growl hungrily. Husk finds that he’s getting hard and when his hand drops to Alastor’s crotch he realizes he is too. Husk pulls away from Alastor’s mouth just long enough to whisper, “I… I want you to f*ck me. Please.”

Husk is starved for affection. Those one night stands, this afternoon’s run-in with Odette, it makes Husk realize how desperately he needs someone to love him, to be there, to be intimate in a way that actually means something. Alastor always gives Husk that intimacy.

Alastor effortlessly slips from his remaining clothes, flips the covers off Husk and stands on his knees over him, his sizable erection throbbing, his eyes dangerously needy. Husk pushes his underwear down and off as Alastor retrieves a condom from the drawer of the bedside table. He tears it open with his teeth, his eyes never leaving Husk’s.

He pushes Husk’s legs back and pushes his co*ck inside. Husk gasps at the sudden intrusion. “Oh f*ck!” Husk whimpers. The sensation isn’t entirely pleasant. Alastor thrusts slowly at first before quickly picking up speed. The pain in Husk’s hole subsides, overtaken by the pleasure of Alastor’s co*ck hitting his prostate. Husk moans and grips the sheets, his claws extended.

“Tear those sheets and I’ll skin you alive!” Alastor snarls. Husk thinks he’s teasing.

Alastor grips Husk’s hair, pulling hard, the other hand pinning Husk’s arm to the mattress.

Husk roughly strokes himself, unable to stop moaning like the bitch he is.

Soon, it’s all over. Husk lets out one final guttural moan as he org*sms. This sends Alastor over the edge who pulls out and rips off the condom, finishing over Husk’s chest.

Alastor collapses on the bed next to Husk breathing heavily. He dabs a finger in the collective seed and tastes it. He dabs a finger a second time and offers it to husk who laps his finger, unable to tear his eyes away from Alastor.

Alastor speaks sweet nothings to Husk in the afterglow, affections, affirmations, everything Husk will never admit aloud he craves, until he falls asleep.

Chapter 9: Bitter Rage

Chapter Text

Husk wakes the next morning to no ceremony. There is no joy, no life, no effervescence. Just filthy cum encrusted fur and an empty space next to him.

On the bedside table on Husk’s side of the bed is a note written in Alastor’s impeccable calligraphy. Early meeting, there's no food you'd like in the fridge. Please shower. Husk stares at the note. So blunt, so impersonal, so careless, so loveless. He feels like his heart has been ripped from his chest leaving a bloody cavity behind.

He falls back into bed, the note still clutched in his hand, the other draping over his aching head.

Why does Alastor do this? Why does he do everything right, be the perfect man, tell Husk everything he needs to hear, finally give him everything he craves only to abscond leaving only this pitiful letter in his wake. Why does he have to make Husk feel so good only to immediately hurt him. He feels disgusting and it’s not just last night’s sweat and cum. He feels guilty, stupid, and used. He knows that this always happens, yet he believes Alastor’s sweet lies every time. Every single time he thinks that this is the turning point, this is where it ceases, this is where the fairytale begins, the start of a new chapter, whatever cheesy metaphor for new beginnings apply.

Husk starts his day in tears.

As he towels off from a long hot shower, Husk sees the row of expensive perfumes on Alastor’s dresser. He brushes his fingertip over the bottle’s tops, one by one, until he lands on Alastor’s signature one. He presses the pump, spritzing the back of his hand, and breathes deeply.

This was the scent Alastor wore when they met. It was at an overlord party where all of the big wigs of the time attended. Many of them Alastor would go on to kill off, their screams forever replayed over his broadcasts. Alastor slunk about the party, making grand gestures with his cane as he told wild tales, capturing rapt attention from everyone he spoke to.

When he spoke to Husk it was like everything clicked into place. Alastor’s eyes had lit up. He was so delighted to finally meet someone of Husk’s stature, so excited. Their conversation went longer than the others. Alastor didn’t bother searching for new people to chat up, remaining by Husk’s side.

They both agreed that the party was lame and decided to split. Alastor offered to buy dinner and Husk accepted. Over dinner both continued to talk. Alastor was lively and utterly engrossed by everything Husk had to say. He was attentive, he was invested, he was so sweet he gave Husk cavities. He was everything Odette wasn’t; available and affectionate.

They went to a bar afterwards, the same one Husk still frequents. They both pounded fine whiskey, getting more and more drunk.

During the night, Alastor had said some things that skirted flirtation. But drunk, he was full out. He was heavy handed, he was interested, he wanted Husk. He was making declarations of love, saying how different Husk was, how special, how amazing. And Husk, who’s been hiding his attraction to men for so long having someone as enticing as Alastor say those things, he couldn’t take it.

They went back to Husk’s abode where they spent the night making passionate love. The first time Husk slept with another man; the first time he was penetrated; the first time he felt truly ravished.

Odette would never find out how that night and many nights after her spot of the bed was occupied by someone else, another man no less. Husk’s guilt for cheating on her was outweighed by how tired he was of her; her neediness, her hom*ophobia, her presence that left him utterly exhausted.

That night started Husk and Alastor’s fling that quickly blossomed into romance. A romance that left Husk utterly blindsided by the consequences of that ill-fated poker game. He was heartbroken, he was furious, he screamed and cried and broke things all under Alastor’s pitying gaze. Alastor assured him that this was for the best, that it was the only way he could ensure Husk would remain safe. Alastor knew what was best for him and he was going to make sure Husk obeyed him. And, over time, Husk accepted that. He’s accepted that he’s an inmate who fell in love with the prison warden.

Husk sprays the perfume over himself, wanting to keep some semblance of Alastor close to him.

Husk hoped that Angel would still be asleep by the time he returned. It’s around seven, a tad early, yet Angel is up and awake. Husk meets him when he slips into the kitchen hoping to snag a snack from the fridge. Angel sits at the table reading the news on his phone, cup of coffee in hand. “So, how’d it go? You have a good time?” He glances up from his phone, a pleasant smile on his face.

Husk wants to slap that look off Angel’s face. It’s an intrusive thought that takes him off guard. It makes him question, why would I want to do that? Angel has done nothing. It should be abundantly clear that, despite his f*ckups, he is a genuine guy. So why is his kindness so difficult to accept whereas he’ll run after Alastor like an abandoned dog for mere scraps?

“Last night was complicated,” Husk says as he takes a block of cheddar from the cheese drawer. He manifests a card and uses it to shave off chunks that he pops in his mouth.

“How so?”

“None of your business.”

“Fair enough.”

There is a brief pause and Husk hopes he can finish eating without more unwanted conversation but, to his annoyance, Angel speaks. “New cologne?”

“Um… yes.”

“Well, it’s not really new, it’s quite old actually. It’s a fragrance called Beautiful Curse. It’s an old brand imported from Envy; quite difficult to find nowadays. Alastor is the only one I’ve met who uses it regularly. Were you with him last night?”

“Yes.”

“Might I ask why?”

“Why do you care?”

“I just figured you’d be happy to be away from him is all, I’m confused why you -”

“Have you ever considered that our relationship is more complicated? More nuanced? Is that so unfathomable to you? It’s rocky, it’s messy, it is what it is. Alastor saved me last night after everything went to sh*t with Odette.”

“What happened with Odette -”

“I don’t want to talk about the bitch, alright? I don’t want to talk about any of this with you. Ever.”

“I’m sorry -”

“You should be!” Husk is surprised by the vitriol in his own voice and Angel is equally shocked at receiving it.

“Husk -”

“No, no, no, I don’t know what you were about to say but just don’t, alright? You try making everything better and you only make it so much worse. You want to make me feel better? Then shut the f*ck up.”

Husk feels a high building in his chest, the anticipation rising. This is the worst sh*t he’s ever said to Angel. He wants to hurt him, he wants to piss him off. He wants Angel to react, to lash out, to do something that’ll make Alastor look like the better option, for once.

Angel’s face sours with frustration. “Jesus Christ, Husk, why are you so afraid of my help -”

“I don’t need your f*cking help, I don’t want your f*cking help! I want you to leave me alone and let me -”

“Run off to Alastor so he can continue to abuse you?” Angel’s face has lost all its warmth. He crosses both pairs of arms. “You want Alastor to treat you like a slave; like sh*t under his heel? Why? What could you possibly get out of that kind of dynamic?”

“Alastor is the man I need.”

“Is Alastor the man you want , or the man you’ll settle with because you feel you don’t deserve better?”

Angel’s words cut deep. Husk feels like he’s been sucker punched. He opens his mouth as he struggles to form some kind of response but can find nothing. He’s pent up with energy that has nowhere to go. He whirls around and punches the refrigerator. The metal crumples inwards. His knuckles come away broken and bloody.

Angel looks grim. “Go to your room. I’ll send Keenie up to heal your wounds -”

“You’re seriously going to order me around like a child -”

“YOU ANTAGONIZE ME BECAUSE I’M TOO NICE, I’M TOO SAFE, I’M NOT LIKE ALASTOR, THEN DO THE SAME WHEN I’M FIRMER? PLEASE PICK ONE!” Angel glares at Husk, his eyes furious. His chest raises and lowers with his rage filled breaths. After a few seconds they slow down. “Go to your room,” he says, in a forcibly calm voice. “Now. Please.”

Husk stands, nursing his bloody hand, feeling catharsis.

“I’m not your enemy, Husk,” Angel says. “But you are pissing me off; job well done. You happy now?” His anger has given way to something else. He seems tired; solemn.

Of course Husk doesn't feel better, he’s just as miserable as before. So… why did he do it? He got what he wanted. But what does that really mean? Angel screamed at him. So what? Husk’s thoughts become increasingly deeper and darker and with a shaky voice he says, “I’ll be in my room, boss. I’m getting a drink on the way, though.”

Angel waves him off.

Husk returns to his room with a bottle of hard liquor and lays on the bed where Keenie soon joins him to tend to his wounds. She does an excellent job, his broken and bloody knuckles nothing more than bruised by the time she’s done.

After she leaves and Husk is left alone with his thoughts, he finds himself raising the back of his hand to his nose. With every breath of Alastor’s cologne he is unsure if he wants to caress it against his face and pretend it’s Alastor giving him a sympathetic pet or hack it off to be rid of that scent like f*cking cancer.

He watches TV, though he is unable to pay attention to any of it, the stimulus little more than white noise and a blur of color. He can’t get his argument with Angel out of his head. He absolutely hates how it played out because Angel was absolutely right. His words, “Is Alastor the man you want , or the man you’ll settle with because you feel you don’t deserve better?” replays in his mind over and over and over again.

The more that sentence replays and the more Husk is forced to accept that Angel was spot on with his assessment, Alastor’s cologne stops being any sort of comfort. He takes a long hot shower, thoroughly soaping his fur, working to get every last trace of that smell off of him. He takes over an hour, soaking in the heat and allowing his muscles to relax under the massage of the water. By the time he blow dries his hair and fur and applies his own body spray he’s actually feeling a little better.

When Husk steps out of the bathroom he sees Collin sitting on the bed waiting for him. “If you’re expecting me to drop the towel so you can see me naked a third time, keep dreaming.” Collin splutters explaining that wasn’t his intent, to which Husk rolls his eyes and says, “I was f*cking with you. What do you want?”

“When you’re dressed and ready, you’re to report to Angel’s limo. He has business to attend to.” Trapped in an enclosed space with Angel. Lovely.

Husk dresses in his new outfit and stares at himself in the mirror. The suit makes him look so much younger and cooler which contrasts with how he feels which is like an emotionally tumultuous old man. He won’t give Velvette any credit for its creation as her only input was the threat of death to anyone who did the worst job. He remembers the woman who made it and hopes that she is doing well.

Angel is in the limo already when Husk gets down to the garage, which he finds surprising since he always takes forever to get ready. Ange doesn’t say a word to Husk as he gets in and continues not to say anything as the ride commences. It’s an uncomfortable silence filled with tension.

Finally, Husk can’t take it anymore. “Not blabbing my ears off is quite unlike you.”

“I figured you didn’t want to talk to me,” Angel says. “I’m more than happy to give you space. Make sure we don’t say anything else stupid to make things worse than they already are.” He doesn’t make eye contact, his face to his phone.

Husk sighs. “Why are you trying to be friends with me?”

“Because I think you need one.” Angel finally looks up. “It’s a cliche thing to say, I know, but it’s the truth. I know what you’re going through.”

“Bullsh*t,” Husk mutters. He looks back out the window and Angel, sensing that Husk has shut down again, remains quiet for the rest of the ride.

The building they arrive at is in a run down seedy part of the Pentagram. Against the old dilapidated buildings, this one stands tall and proud. It is a rounded building roughly in the shape of an old jukebox. Platforms and gears and pipes belching steam and smoke protrude from it all over, the mechanics churning away. The building is made of steel and bronze but has a variety of neon colors around its base; graffiti spray paint.

They are greeted at the front door by Cherri Bomb and Sir Pentious. “Come on in!” Cherri says, ushering them inside.

The whole interior of the house is a giant machine, all of the gears and mechanics that could entrap someone and tear them to shreds locked away behind walls of plexiglass. The whole place has a dull rumble to it. Cold air blasts from many vents around to counteract the heat put off by the machinery.

They sit down in a seating area with furniture straight from the early nineteenth century. The four sit and Pentious’ “Egg Boys,” as he calls them, bring them drinks. It’s vodka mixed with Kool Aid which is apparently Cherri’s go-to beverage but Husk has to choke down. He’s not a vodka fan to begin with but the tart and the sweet fight each other in such an unpleasant way. He sets the glass down, refuses a refill, and instead drinks from his flask.

Angel drums his fingers against the armrest of the couch he and Husk sit on. “Ok, not that I don’t appreciate the seating arrangements or the drinks, but what exactly is so urgent that you needed my help with?”

“How do you know I didn’t just want to hang out with my buddy?” Cherri asks.

“Because you said, and I quote, ‘Angie, I’m in big trouble, I need your help.’”

“Ok, well, I was a little dramatic, but I had to! You never come over so I told a little white lie to get your attention, no big!”

“Uh, major big, actually. I’m swamped with work, I can’t just drop everything on a whim because you want to hang out and drink!”

“Ok, fine, It wasn’t just to drink, I do actually need your help!”

“Spill.”

“There’s a minor overlord a few blocks down causing problems. He keeps coming onto my territory and causing problems, defacing my property, harassing my souls, and generally disrespecting me. I won't put up with that sh*t.”

You do mean our property, right sweetie? Pentious says.

“That’s what I said, keep up,” Cherri says. “The guy’s a massive tool, bringing big dick energy when he’s got a prick smaller than my big toe. He needs to be put out of commission.”

“Sounds great, more power to you, but why does this involve me?” Angel says.

“I figured you’d want to blow off some steam,” Cherri says, shrugging. “Like the good ‘ol days.”

“Cherri, it’s not ‘the good ‘ol days’ anymore and hasn’t been for a long time, I hate to break it to you. I can’t just throw myself into sh*t willy-nilly, it gives the impression I'm impulsive and have no sense of priority.”

“You think about this sh*t too much,” Cherri says.

And there’s a reason you and your dipsh*t boyfriend only have a few blocks of territory, Husk thinks.

“Cherri,” Angel says, “sweetheart, love you, but either give me a reason to join in or I respectfully have to decline.”

Cherri sighs. “You’re an absolute buzzkill, you know that, right?”

Angel drums his fingers against the armrest of the couch again.

Cherri rolls her eye. “ I hear the guy is a pimp. He’s got a ton of girls under him that he owns that he rents out to people. Very nonconsensual, very scummy. It’s pretty well known he treats them like sh*t and they’re all super unhappy with this arrangement.”

“And I’m sure they’d welcome a renegotiation to their contracts,” Angel says. He sighs. “Alright, I’m in. Who’s the guy?”

“Name’s Desmond King. His base of operations is out of this sh*tty-ass club.”

“And your plan for taking him out is what exactly?”

“Going in, guns blazing! The guy’s a moron. I’ve had the area scoped out, it’s a miracle the guy hasn’t been axed already. His place is super disorganized and his goons are all untrained gangb*ngers, not a single professional killer in sight. Guy’s a total amateur. We go in, we kill off his second rate losers. We kill him, we split his sh*t fifty fifty. I’ll even give you first pickin’s on the souls so you can take the sob stories you want to baby.”

Angel looks irritated at that last comment but admits, “I have missed all-out fights like this… We should strike now. During the day there should be less pedestrians, less people that could get hurt.”

“Or, you know, block a shot while trying to kill Desmond’s goons,” Cherri says, clearly annoyed by Angel's altruism.

They take one of Pentious’ war machines to the club. The thing is the size of a tank and the interior looks as if a World War II era submarine were fused with a mechanical clock. They go rumbling down the street. Pentious, clearly bored, uses the cannons to blow out manhole covers to keep himself entertained until they arrive at the club where the real “fun” can start.

They roll right up to the club, a sh*tty old building with a fresh coat of paint and a sleazy neon sign with a nude woman that, as the lights alternate, opens and closes her legs. Pentious kicks the tank into high gear and they plow right through the front of the building. When the dust settles enough, Pentious pops the hatch and the four of them hop out.

Casual club goers scream in horror and scramble away from the scary people carrying weapons. The center of the club hosts a piano. The man sitting at it watching with perplexed horror, his eyebrows raised above his sunglasses.

“Hey Desmond, you f*cking bitch!” Cherri yells. “You really thought you could f*ck around without finding out?”

Husk grinds his teeth. His claws extend and a growl forms in his throat.

Angel glances at him. “Wait - you know this guy?”

“Yeah,” Husk says. “f*cking asshole got me in trouble with Alastor a couple days before you bought me over not getting his sh*tty drink right!”

Desmomd chuckles and stands, his massive belly bouncing. He wrings his gorilla-like hands, his insectoid antennae twitching. “Can we talk about this?” He says. He raises his hands in a show of peace. One of his hands moves in a “this way” motion.

Without even looking, Angel points a tommy gun in the direction Desmond motioned and fires. A goon goes down, his chest riddled with bullets.

“You are so f*cking bad at this!” Cherri cackles.

Desmond makes a sound in the back of his throat like a mouse being stepped on. “GET THEM!” He screams before rushing off. Angel goes to fire, but several goons throw themselves in the line of fire, sacrificing themselves so their boss has enough time to escape. Without even thinking, Husk rushes after him.

Cherri and Pentious are clearly more interested in entertaining themselves by killing people than the stated mission. Pentious starts firing a massive handheld railgun and Cherri hurls bombs that blow men to piles of blood and gore.

“Um, he’s getting away!” Angel yells.

“Yeah, and we’re getting swarmed!” Pentious yells.

Cherri seems unphased by the dozens and dozens of people that flood into the room carrying weapons. She laughs like a maniac, producing bombs and chucking them, blowing large sections of the group to chunks.

It seems that every single soul on Desmond’s chain works here and are willing to sacrifice themselves for his sake, presumably a stipulation of their contracts.

Angel is utterly surrounded but holds his own, spinning in a wide arc and spraying bullets. Husk feels his compulsion to keep Angel safe kick into high gear and he rushes towards him. “Husk stop!” Angel yells over the anarchy. “I’m fine - get Desmond! Once we kill him they’ll stop! I’ll be fine, go!” As soon as he says that, Husk feels the compulsion lessen considerably. He’s still incentivised to keep Angel safe, but being given other orders allows him a little more autonomy.

Husk turns and runs at the river of men flowing towards him. He takes a mighty leap, spreads his wings, and glides over their heads - chucking cards down into the skulls of many as he passes them. He touches down in the doorway the men just came from and takes off running.

The nightclub is a front to a massive building that seems to crudely house all of the various people under his control. People mill about doing their business but take a step back when Husk rushes past. His mind is fully focused on Desmond. If he so much as suspects a person will try to stop him, he’ll hurl his cards and put a swift end to them. Desmond’s goons all wear punk style clothing and are easy to distinguish from the innocent people just going about their days.

Husk is ruthless with his kills. He slits throats and severs limbs and spills guts with his cards. He throws dice into the open maws of attacking demons, the charges weak enough to leave their bodies intact, but powerful enough to liquify their internal organs, blood and viscera erupting from their mouths as they fall dead. Husk passes an entire room of goons on their break. He unceremoniously tosses a handful of dice into the room that reduce everything in it to bits.

He periodically stops and quickly interrogates passersby, demanding they tell him where Desmond is. He has no intention of harming them, but does threaten them. He’s too high with anticipation for getting Desmond’s neck between his hands to care. Each person gives him directions of various halls that Desmond escaped through until Husk comes to a final door to the building’s armory. He slices the lock with a card and kicks the door in.

Desmond comes up with a machine gun but Husk hurls the card. It curves midair and slices the gun in half. Desmond holds both halves in his hands and looks shocked.

As Husk approaches he reaches for weapons but each time Husk throws cards that nick his fingertips. Desmond whimpers before going into a full out cry.

“So, Desmond, good to put a name to the sh*tty face!” Husk says, the glee unable to be hidden on his face, spurred on by Desmond’s terror. “You remember me?”

“No, should I?”

“Figures. sh*theads like you don’t remember guys like me. But, hey, I imagine I wasn’t the first service worker you were being a dick to.” Husk begins to circle Desmond like a shark in the water.

“It’s nothing personal man it’s business -”

“Look, buddy, I was an overlord, not that someone as young and dumb as you would remember. I know what it’s like to play pretend and act like you’re a big tough guy. But there’s a limit. You can be intimidating without being an out and out asshole, you know? But that takes charm, something you don’t have, and effort, something I imagine you’re not willing to put in. So, here you are, a whiny little piss-stain at the mercy of a bartender turned bodyguard. How f*cking sad is that, for you.”

“Please, I’ll do anything, I’ll make a deal -”

“Not what my employer is looking for; thanks for the offer.”

“What does your employer want?” Desmond slowly moves backwards away from Husk as he walks past, headed for the exit. Husk plucks several Carmine blades from the wall of weaponry and pretends to examine them. He sees a flurry of movement as Desmond makes a break for it at which point Husk lunges and plunges both blades into Desmomnd’s thighs. He wails and goes down to his knees.

“LISTEN TO ME WHILE I’M TALKING TO YOU!” Husk bellows. Tears stream down Desmond's pudgy face.

“Yes!” Desmond says.

Husk slaps him. “That’s sir to you, piss stain!”

“SIR!” Desmond squeals.

“Better,” Husk says. “As I was saying, my boss and his companions are going to kill you and they’re going to take your assets.”

“I’ll do anything!” Desmond pleads. Husk glares at him. “Sir!” He adds.

“No can do buddy boo, I’m under contract. I do what my boss says. He says ‘track you down so you can be killed,’ that’s what I do.” He turns, keeping Desmond in the corner of his eye. To his delight, Desmond rips the blades from his thighs and crawls for the exit on his hands and knees. “Matter of fact, I don’t think you’re incapacitated enough. How about we rectify that?”

Husk turns, leaps in the air, and brings down a foot on one of Desmond’s outstretched arms. There is a sickening crunch. Desmond shrieks. Husk kicks Desmond in the head, he flails, giving Husk the opportunity to crush the other arm under his second foot.

Husk has a cruel sense of joy billowing up inside of him with every one of Desmond’s pathetic sobs. Just being able to hurt someone, to see this worthless sh*t sack squirm in agony at his hands, brings him so much pleasure.

Husk cuts the chatter and just tortures him. He takes a card and slices up Desmond’s face until it’s a criss-cross of bloody gashes. He repeatedly beats his face until his nose breaks and batters his ears until the cartilage is mush. He is on top of Desmond, one busted arm raised, slowly and tactfully using a card to sever the fingers from his hand one by one when Angel enters. His eyes are wide. “Husk what the - WHAT THE f*ck ARE YOU DOING?”

“He’s torturing the f*cker, what does it look like?” Cherri says as she pushes past. “Doing a bang up job. Keep it up puss*cat!”

Pentious slips by as well and grimaces. “My, my, my, is this… really necessary?”

“No, it’s not,” Angel says. “Husk, get off of him, now!”

“Come on, just a little more!” Cherri urges.

“Yeah, Angel, this f*cker still has another hand with fingers to sever,” Husk snarls, a massive grin on his face, making maniacle eye contact with his victim. Desmond shrieks incoherently as Husk severs the second to last finger on his hand.

Angel throws out a hand and the golden chain forms around Husk’s neck. He gives a sharp yank and the chain retracts pulling Husk, gasping for air, off of Desmond and to Angel’s side. Angel raises a gun and fires at Desmond’s head, putting him out of his misery.

Angel marches over as the deed to Desmon’s possessions appears above his body and snatches it. He swipes a thumb over the signature and his name appears. He shoves it into Cherri’s hands. “Put your name on this thing so we can call it, alright?” Angel glares at Husk. “That was f*cking uncalled for.”

Cherri swipes her thumb across the document, her name appearing under Angel’s, and vanishes it. She groans. “Angie, the f*ck is your problem? You’re no fun anymore -”

“I don’t do torture!” Angel snarls.

“Why not? Torture is fun!”

“Not for the one being tortured. Desmond was a douche but not the worst I’ve dealt with -”

“Angie, can you get off your high horse for one f*cking second?” Cherri says, exacerbated. “I invited you here to hang out, to have fun, to blow off some steam like the old days and you’ve been nothing but a buzzkill the whole time! Can you just stop acting like you’re too good for this?”

“I’m not -”

“Yes you are!” Cherri snaps. “I’m starting to think you weren’t ghosting me before because you were unavailable - but because you didn’t want to spend time with me. I offer to hang out, you’re busy. I say I have “a matter of great importance and need your help” and you’re there in a flash. So spill, Angie, why?”

“Cherri,” Angel says, “I really don’t want to -”

“Yeah, Angel,” Husk says. He sneers up at him. “I thought you were the good one, the one who always wants to talk, who always wants to have open communication. Fess up, why you treating your friend like sh*t, huh?” The look of anger Angel gives him makes Husk think he’s going to strike him, but he doesn’t.

“Cherri, the fact is, things have changed,” Angel says. “I’m different than when you met me. I’m not a party animal drug whor* anymore. I’m just not. I have responsibilities, a job, a role. I have a whole life and afterlife’s amount of sh*t I am trying to deal with. You… you just add onto that.”

Cherri huffs. “What are you saying? We’re not friends anymore?”

Angel sighs. “Honestly… yeah. I’m sorry.”

Cherri sours. She apparates the document and swipes her thumb over her signature, removing it. She throws the paper at Angel. “Here, take it, this trip wasn’t about the stuff, it was about spending time with the person I thought was my friend, who apparently didn’t give two sh*ts about me. Take your prize and go, f*cker, never talk to me again!”

“I’m not trying to make you my enemy, Cherri -”

“Well, ya did! Consider us not on good terms whatsoever! Stay the f*ck out of my territory!”

“Angel, please, maybe we all just need a chance to cool off!” Pentious suggests.

Cherri punches him in the shoulder a little too hard. “Babe, shut up, ok? It’s over. End of. Let’s get out of here.”

Pentious looks hurt. He turns to Angel. “Are we still friends… Or is that off the table?”

“You’re not friends,” Cherri says, taking Penitous' hand. “Now let’s go.”

Angel stands and watches them leave with a blank expression on his face. He waves his hand and the chains around Husk vanishes. “Wait in the car. I’m going to get things settled here before we go home.”

Husk leaves without a word.

Husk sits alone in the back of the limo, waiting for Angel.

The adrenaline and violent passion from the fight has long since waned and now he is left absolutely dumbfounded by his own actions. In the moment he didn’t realize it but now, with time to cool off, he realizes exactly what he did. His torture of Desmond was the same need to exert negative energy as when he punched the fridge. He just needed to get that sh*t out and Desmond, someone who already pissed him off, was the easiest person to unload it all onto.

He stares at the blood that’s matted the white fur on his hands and turned them a deep brackish burgundy. It’s all over the front of his suit. He looks like a madman, a monster.

What Husk just did is something Alastor would do. And that absolutely terrifies him.

As he waits, his phone periodically buzzes. He has neglected to check his notifications until this point. He unlocks his phone to find that two people have been blowing up his phone.

Somehow, Odette managed to get ahold of his number. She has sent dozens of texts begging for him to speak to her, to see her. She apologizes for the night prior, for losing her cool, for bringing her mother into it. She begs forgiveness and for Husk’s attention. It’s the same sh*t she’d do when they were married. But they’re not married anymore. He has no obligation to give her the time of day.

Alastor has also tried contacting him. He is repulsed by the prospect of texting and prefers to only call. He leaves voicemail after voicemail, apologizing for skipping out, reassuring Husk the night prior was wonderful for him, asking if he’s ok, if he’s safe, if he needs anything. They slowly become more incensed as Alastor wonders aloud why Husk doesn't answer. The last couple messages are Alastor screaming and making threats, demanding Husk answer him or else.

Husk lets the phone fall onto the seat next to him. He stares off into space. It’s been a while but he’s finally returned to this horrible, horrible place. He wants to die. He just wants to die, to be rid of these thoughts, these people, this pain, this torture. The morbid fantasies of bleeding out in that tub come to mind. He is a horrible disgusting excuse for a sinner who doesn’t deserve his afterlife, today’s actions are a shining example of why. He’s just as bad as Alastor - no - worse. Alastor is cruel, but at least he is calculated and in control of his rage. Husk can apparently fly off and do insane sh*t without even realizing.

Husk was told to wait in the car, but he doesn’t really have to. Now that the building and everyone in it is under Angel’s control, he’s no longer in danger. The compulsion to keep him safe has died down, there’s nothing to protect him from. There’s nothing to keep him here. He exits the car and takes flight, heading “home,” not even the rush of wind across his face is able to bring him comfort.

Chapter 10: Confessions

Chapter Text

Husk sits alone at the bar. He has a bottle of hard liquor clutched in his hand, two thirds of its contents gone. He drinks straight from the bottle. He doesn't care if he's getting his “germies” all over it as Angel put it.

The alcohol hasn’t taken the pain away, it’s just numbed it. It’s still there, it’s still eating away at him. He can’t get rid of it. He stares off into space as wave after wave of negative emotions wash over him. Angel, Alastor, Odette, Carmilla, Desmond, The Vs, all of these people who, in a matter of a couple days, have completely destroyed him.

He doesn’t look up when he hears familiar heels on the marble floor. Slowly, Angel approaches and slides onto a barstool next to Husk. He reaches over and under the counter and gets a shot glass. He sets it on the table with a “clink” that is deafening in the silent room and pushes it over. “Pour me a drink, like when we first met?” He has a little smile on his face that Husk doesn’t return. Angel’s face returns to its neutral stance. “I wanted to talk about what happened today.”

Husk doesn’t reply.

Angel continues. “Let me take a stab at what’s going on. The last couple of days have been crazy, sh*t coming from all sides. Most of it has been traumatic; seducing a sex offender; seeing an ex you hate; two dickhe*ds prying into your personal life for views. That would be a lot on its own but, on top of it all, you have baggage. You’ve made a lot of horrible mistakes that haunt you and you’re in an abusive relationship that is overtly harming you. You try using substances to make the bad memories and the guilt go away and you try leaving your abusive relationship, but no matter how hard you try, the memories and guilt remain and you return to your relationship on your hands and knees. All of this fills you with anger. You’re a giant bomb, just waiting for something to light the fuse. That thing can be a conversation that doesn’t go your way, someone you don’t trust fully trying to be a part of your life, or someone who hurt you in the past making an unexpected return. Or maybe all three. So, you blow up. You unload all of that anger, pain, sorrow, guilt, all of that bullsh*t onto them. And it feels good. Because You’ve been powerless for so long, you’ve been the bottom bitch, and for once you’re the one in control. It’s not a good kind of control, but it’s something. But the outbursts don’t help. When you calm down you’re just as miserable as you were in the first place, if not more so. So, you’re stuck in a spiral of negative emotions building until you explode, over and over again, getting nowhere. You feel like nobody could possibly understand you or care about you, even if they say they do. Even if someone extends a hand and tells you they want to help, you question why you should believe them. You’re a horrible terrible person who deserves everything that happens to you, surely they can see that. So you pick and prod and provoke to wear them down and finally get them to react in the way you expected. And they leave. And you’re alone again. You don’t want to be alone, but you don’t think there’s any alternative. Everyone around you is fake, no connections, because you refuse to open yourself up because whenever you do people hurt you for it. So all you have is the endless spiral and the substances you use to, futility, try and cover it up.” He pauses. “How’d I do?”

Husk stares at him. “How… How could you…?”

Angel smiles. “Husk, I may be an overlord, but I am, first and foremost, a complete hot-mess of a person. I only started picking up the pieces five years ago when I checked into rehab and got some f*cking therapy that I desperately needed. But, five years isn’t a long time down here. I’ve been alive for almost a century. You think that amount of bullsh*t goes away in five years?” He shakes his head. “No. It’s a constant battle. But, it’s one that I’m willing to fight. Because I know the alternative is remaining in that god awful place I used to be. We may be living in Hell, but there is nothing more hellish than that.”

Husk huffs. “Yeah, well, you’re also a halfway decent person. You have morals. You apologize. Hell of a lot more than most of the people down here.”

“Don’t put me on a pedestal, please.”

“I don’t have to. Comparing you to me is like comparing gold to horsesh*t. I’m a bad person, Angel. I’m not worth the pity.”

Angel crosses his arms. “And what makes you ‘bad,’ exactly? What makes you so horrible that I can’t -”

Husk explodes. “You really want to know? Fine. I’m… I’m f*cking tired. I’m f*cking drunk and when I get drunk I get chatty so I may as well tell you my life story! Please, pretend you’re a bartender and I’m some washed up slob, huh, you can do that, right?”

Angel reaches behind the counter and picks up a rag that he uses to absentmindedly polish his still empty shot glass. “Go ahead.”

Husk feels like he’s at the beginning of an extremely long road, one that he really doesn’t want to travel. “I always had people telling me I was a good person. I was clean cut, stayed out of trouble, went to church - fat lot of good that did me. I was the talk of our block, the most desirable man in our little area. I was the apple of many a woman’s eye.

But my heart was set on one woman and one woman only. Her name was Mira. She came to America from Columbia. She’d recently moved to the area and asked me for directions; was trying to find a restaurant. I accompanied her. We talked and, though her English was rough, she was an incredibly witty and intelligent woman. We became friends after that, but that quickly became more. We were married by year’s end.

She made me the happiest man in the world and I did everything to make her the happiest woman. And together, we made the sweetest little girl. Her name was Violet, Violet Agatha Husker. She was the most beautiful child to grace our world.”

Husk has to pause. He always has to forcibly put Violet out of his mind, not because he wants to, but because he has to or risk falling to pieces. He remembers her birthdays; they were tight on money but tried to spoil her regardless, using savings to get the nicest cakes and the prettiest dresses and the nicest toys they could afford. He remembers the winter months, walking around, listening to the carolers, looking down to see her cross her eyes and watch her breath billow in the cold air. He remembers picnics in the park, the tea parties she hosted in her room, how they would snuggle on the couch, how she always said “I love you daddy,” and how he always called her Vaggie, a combination of her first and middle name, something she always found endearing. Husk’s chest rises and falls, tears sting in the corners of his eyes. These memories flooding back over him makes the next part of the story all the worse.

“And I f*cked it all up!” Husk says, his voice choked. Tears stream down his face and he wipes them, the embarrassment of them making him pound the bar with his fist in frustration. “I got into gambling in my thirties. It was through friends, at parties. I had a knack for poker; was pretty good. The wagers started small, a few dollars, but grew. I won a lot, but I lost just as much. Started frequenting the casinos myself, outside of spending time with friends. I was hooked. And I slowly… slowly pissed everything away. Every penny. I got myself in deep with some very dangerous people. I knew with every roll of the dice, every bad hand, every slot machine that I was making it worse but I couldn’t stop. Because, what if I won? If I won, I could make it all go away, make it all stop. But those wins never came. That’s when I first started drinking, to take the edge off.

It all came crashing down when I lost the car. Another bad game of poker and I turn over the keys. I walk home, totally drunk. Met Mira in the kitchen. Someone I owed gambling debts to called the house and threatened her. Her fear turned to anger when I told her about the car. She’d had enough. She started screaming at me. Everything she said was true. That screaming escalated. She shoved me and I shoved her harder. The entrance to the cellar was in the kitchen. The door had been left open. She stumbled, fell backwards, broke her neck on the way down.”

Husk stares off into space, the image of her lifeless body being cradled in his arms, her beautiful face in a look of abject horror, her neck at an unnatural angle, making him want to throw up.

“I couldn’t take it. I… I got the pistol and blew my brains out. Violet was in the house, in her room. In a matter of a few minutes I’d taken away both of her parents. Our deaths were quick at least. I imagine she died every day after finding our bodies. She was twelve maybe? I don’t know what happened to her. I… I just know something bad happened because I wasn’t there for her, wasn’t able to protect her. I love her more than anything and I ruined her f*cking life.

Whether it was killing Mira or the gambling or something else, I manifested down here as a new soul with nothing but the clothes on my back. I did the only thing I could to get by; I gambled. It was a hollow victory. Big whoop, I won the souls of the young, the inexperienced, the addicted, and the desperate.” He laughs, bitterly. “I’ve never told anyone this, not even Odette or Alastor. But I never really wanted to be an overlord. The whole thing sickened me. I understand why most overlords are sick f*cks, because sick f*cks are the only ones who can gain power like that, off the backs of unfortunate souls, and still sleep at night.

I put myself before everyone else, I tricked other people into throwing their souls away to make myself stronger because I was too scared to be powerless. I’d been powerless in life, I couldn’t in the afterlife. I’m a black man, Angel. I was born in nineteen twenty four. My grandparents were slaves. I saw their scars, physical and emotional. And I… I became the very thing they suffered under. I owned… people. I always knew that, I always hated that. That guilt haunted me. But I continued, because I was selfish.

I built my casino, the Jackpot, where I continued to ruin the lives of others to make my fortune and keep myself up. I tore down countless other people who were just like me, hopeless gambling addicts. I facilitated the destruction of so many people. How many people died over debts taken on inside the walls of my establishment? How many families were ruined? How many souls were left utterly destitute? That’s all on me!

And then I met Odette. With her I swore I was going to be better, better than I was to Mira, I was going to be a good person. I loved her, I cared for her, I gave her everything. And nothing was enough. When she called me stupid, inconsiderate, a bad husband, because I couldn’t please her, I believed her. So, I tried even harder, I fed everything to that black hole of a woman. Who else deserved that love? Who else could I have helped? Why did I waste my time? Because I was too scared of Carmilla and too scared of the public fallout. I was a coward.

And then Alastor happened.” Husk’s tears had receded, but come back full force now. “I f*cking love him, Angel. And I hate that. He gave me everything I wanted and he tricked me. And he didn’t have to try that hard because I’m a moron who dug the same hole gambling down here that I did on Earth. Alastor ruined my life and said it was for my own good and I f*cking believed him. I f*cking thanked him. One minute we’re kissing and f*cking and I’m the love of his life, then he’s hitting me and calling me worthless. Then, we’re singing together over the radio, we’re having nice dinners, we go to the cinema, like it never happened. And then he punishes me, threatens to make me chew my own tongue out. And It happens over and over and over and every single time I believe he’s changed, I believe he’ll be better, he’ll love me. But he never does. And I can say that now because I’m here, away from him. The next time I see him I’m under his spell all over again. That’s stupid! I should be smarter than this! I know who he is, I know what he does, but I can’t stop!”

Husk’s voice is a wail. “You really think that after AAALLL of that I’m a good person? Be f*cking honest!”

Angel is quiet for a while, taking it all in. He pulls the bottle from Husk’s hand and takes a long swig. “At least you were a good person, once. I never was. I was born into the mob. You do the f*cking math. To them, I was a slab of meat who could use a gun, nothing more.

I wasn’t manly and macho like my brothers. I was a soft spoken effeminate boy who, very quickly, learned that suppressing that sh*t was the only way I was going to survive. I was born in the twenties too. People like me didn’t find or receive love back then. Not from traditional minded people like my family, certainly not from other men who viewed my attraction to them as abominable.

Well, most of my family was loveless towards me. The only person in my life I truly cared about was my sister, Molly. She was my only friend and confidant. She thought me being girly was funny and charming. She never saw me as a failure, as a sick f*ck. She was the only person I came out to while I was alive and she kept my secret and never thought less of me. So, naturally, I burned that bridge.

I was put in charge of overseeing the whor*houses, the lowest of the jobs that nobody else wanted. That’s where I was introduced to drugs. And they were the best thing that ever happened to me - at least that’s what I was sure of back then. Suddenly all of the expectations, the hardships, the loneliness, the feelings that something was wrong with me… well, they didn’t vanish but they were covered up for a while.

Molly was terrified for me. She saw how deep I’d gotten, how much I’d changed, how dependent I was, how drugs were the only thing I cared about. She insisted I’d abandoned her. She was completely correct but, in a callus move, I struck her and told her I didn’t need her anymore. I was perfectly fine on my own, I didn’t need someone like her dragging me down. I drove her away. And a month later I died of an overdose. So, you know, not fine.

I was sent to Hell where I spent three decades on the streets, doing… unsavory things to get by. I allowed myself to be violated for drugs or money I immediately spent on drugs. Then I met Valentino. He’d seen me performing on the streets for pocket change and saw potential. I honestly can’t remember if I truly believed Val’s promises or if I was just too desperate to say no. Either way, I sold my soul for the opportunity to live comfortably. And, again, I was a mere slab of meat, stripped down, violated, utterly ruined for insatiable mass consumption.

In an extremely f*cked up way, I almost preferred that. I gained my facade of not giving a sh*t. It didn’t matter if you didn’t like me, I didn’t care about you either. I’m here to f*ck, pure and simple, no pesky attachments to be had. I’d pretend I was above it and if anyone tried to worm their way in, I’d push them away and break their hearts. Better they be heartbroken by my hand then dead by Valentino’s.

And besides, let’s be honest, how much could someone conceivably love me? A defloured and thoroughly jaded p*rn star with a nasty drug problem and a personality so toxic I practically wilted passing vegetation like a cheesy cartoon. Aside from my body I had nothing substantial to offer. It was an afterlife of self loathing locked behind a smile.

I lived with Valentino. He was my boyfriend - or at least that’s the closest thing I can describe him as. I genuinely thought I loved him. He always knew exactly what to say, what to give me, how to treat me right. So he equally knew the exact things that would break me. I was his pet to dote on when he was happy and I was his punching bag when he wasn’t.

He was so difficult to please. There was always something wrong with me. I wasn’t skinny enough or I was too skinny, I ate like a hog or I starved myself, I put too much effort into my performances or I didn’t put in enough, I was trying too hard or I wasn’t trying hard enough. Even when we were on good terms there were always those little snips, those little reminders that I would never be good enough. The only person who was good enough was himself. And nobody could compare to himself in his mind.

And he… he was my universe. I would do anything and everything for him. Because I knew how good it could be, how sweet, how perfect. I remember the charming suave and caring man I fell in love with and I was willing to do anything to get that back. The years ticked by and that perfect time fell farther and farther away in reality but, in my mind, it was yesterday. It was right there within finger’s reach, I just needed to fix myself because I was the problem, I was the reason things weren’t working out.

Angel chuckles, darkly. “The night I killed Val? It was by accident. I’ve never told anyone this because it would seriously damage my reputation. Val and I were having a rough patch. We were at dinner. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about but he started screaming in my face. I wanted him to stop but he wouldn’t. I was scared. I needed a distraction. Grabbed a fork and stabbed his hand. It distracted him and I got away. And it was then I understood I could hurt him. I couldn’t kill him, but I could hurt him. It was a loophole in the contract, something that wasn’t covered when he drafted it up as he was gaining his footing as an overlord. I was one of his first boys, all of his mistakes were made on me and my contract.

So, that night, I took a large knife from the kitchen. Val was sleeping. He was on his stomach. I stabbed him. I didn’t want to kill him, I just wanted to hurt him, badly. I wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain he’d put me through. I stabbed over and over and over. I just wanted to make him bleed but I hit vital organs. Next thing I know, I can feel my soul return to me and a document pops up allowing me to take ownership of everything he had. I panicked and took it because I didn’t want his empire falling into the wrong hands.

I checked myself into rehab that night because, surely, what I did was wrong. I’d killed the man I loved and it was my fault. It was the drugs, I needed them out of my system so I could atone. Ironically, it was once I was off drugs that I realized I’d made the only good choice I ever had in my afterlife. You want pathetic? That’s pathetic. I got away from my abuser without actually wanting to."

Angel tilts the bottle back and takes another deep swig. "Husk, I’m not this big powerful imposing guy you think I am. I’m some schmuck who stumbled into power by complete accident. The only difference between us is I found a loophole in my contract while yours was ironclad. If I hadn’t lost my temper that night, if things hadn’t aligned perfectly, I’d still be the same filthy crackwhor* under Val I was before.”

He leans back in his seat. “When I said that I know where you’re coming from, I wasn’t lying. Your story? It’s like looking in a f*cking mirror; hurting your family, abusive lover, addiction, the literal loss of your own soul. You’re just me but, like, older. And a cat.”

That makes Husk laugh a little, though he’s not sure if it’s because he finds it truly humorous or is just letting some of his nervousness out. “Yeah, well, older. Means I should be wiser.”

“Age is a number down here, honey. I may have died at 25 but I feel way f*cking older.

You really need to stop beating yourself up. You f*cked up. We’re in hell, everyone down here has. You’re not a uniquely terrible person who deserves punishment and pain and abuse.

You’re special. You’re the guy who enjoys a hearty meal, pumpkin spice lattes, and likes the same stupid show I do. You’re the guy who showed me kindness when you had no reason to, when you were in power and I was the soulless rented arm candy to some guy, and when you were literally owned by me. You had no incentive to be kind, but you were. Because you could. That’s a good thing, Husk. I don’t mind being open with you because, as much as you insist otherwise, you’re a good guy. A good guy who lashes out because that’s all you’ve known for so long.

Being abused by Alastor and Odette doesn’t make you a bad person. You’re not at fault because you stayed or placated, anyone who says otherwise is full of sh*t and had never been in an abusive relationship before. You’re not stupid, you’re someone whose emotions and feelings of being flawed are being used against you.

You didn’t maliciously hurt your wife or daughter, they were just caught in the crossfire of addiction. It’s a f*cking disease, a plague, a flaw in your brain. You didn’t intentionally hurt them. Mira’s probably in heaven and, if she is, she should understand that. When you’re an addict, people around you get hurt. That’s just how it is.

I’m a blonde haired blue eyed white boy, so I can’t comment on your feelings of being a slave master but, from my understanding, you were kind to the people on your chain. You owned them, but you never had a slave-master dynamic with them. Hell, if the way you treated me when we spent the night together all those years ago was anything to go by, it would have been a pleasure to be on your chain.”

“Never thought of things that way,” Husk murmurs.

Angel smiles. “You know, Husk, you’re a real loser. Just like me. Wanna be losers together?”

Husk has been silently keeping it all together but it suddenly breaks. Angel understands him. Husk figured nobody ever could; they’d see the gruesome ways in which he’s damaged and turn their nose up. Angel won’t.

His tears turn to loud ugly sobs as he throws himself at Angel, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing tightly. Husk feels like a child as he sobs into Angel’s shoulder but can’t bring himself to care. Angel hugs Husk back, squeezing him with all four arms. Angel rests his cheek on Husk’s head as he continues to sob, gently whispering that everything is going to be ok, something that Husk hasn’t experienced in a very, very long time.

“Husk, I’m here for you,” Angel says, softly. “I want to be your friend. Do… Do you want to be mine?”

“Yes,” Husk whispers.

Chapter 11: Meeting Husker, The Overlord

Chapter Text

Husk wakes in his bed with no memory of how he got there. He rubs his splitting head and struggles to recall what happened. Slowly, it comes back to him. He remembers their long, intimate, and difficult conversation. Finally letting everything out and discovering that Angel had gone through similar experiences was extremely cathartic and heartbreaking. Regardless, it was incredibly difficult and Husk couldn’t help but polish off the remaining liquor in the bottle, at which point he finally passed out.

Husk gets dressed and comes down to breakfast to find Angel, punctual as ever, sitting at the kitchen table. Angel smiles as he approaches, though Husk can tell he’s a little wary, unsure how Husk will react. “Morning.”

“Hi.” Husk sits down at which point Cletus poofs into existence and places a plate of waffles and sausage in front of him. “Did… did you take me to my room last night?”

Angel grins. “Yep. It was kind of adorable; before you passed out you rested your head against my chest - I think you thought my fluff was a pillow or something.” He laughs at Husk’s mortified expression. “Don’t worry, I thought it was hilarious, don’t be embarrassed.”

“I didn’t know you were that strong, you know, to carry me like that.”

“I work out. Besides, don’t let the beer belly fool ‘ya, you’re not that heavy.”

Husk picks at his waffles. “Angel?”

“Mmm?”

“What was our first meeting like? When I was an overlord? You’ve brought it up a couple of times but… I don’t remember it at all. I have extremely vague memories of seeing your face - I’m pretty sure it was you - but there’s nothing after that. It’s like I have a snapshot and everything after that is a page torn from the book; it’s just not there.”

“That’s odd, but I’m not surprised. When I first brought it up you said you were drunk during it which was very not the case. I thought it was odd an entire night and… everything we did… over the course of that night just vanished but I didn’t want to push it.”

“Whatever happened between us, it seriously affected you, enough to want to buy me. I want to know everything, I want to know what we were before. I want to know how I treated you. I need to know why you thought I was worthy of respect, even at my lowest. I… I have to know.” Being this open is a tad frightening.

“Yeah, I think it’s necessary. Maybe we can figure out how you, I guess, forgot about it…? It’s a long story.”

“These are some big-ass waffles, it’ll take me some time to work my way through them.” Husk nods his head indicating for Angel to start.

Angel was with a minor overlord named Raymond something that night; a man with a massive rotund body squeezed into an ill fitting suit and the face of a walrus - literally. He was as physically unappealing as he was vile in personality. He’d paid Valentino good money to rent Angel out for the weekend. Angel had been whoring himself out for so long at that point it felt like nothing. All he had to do was be at the man’s side, look pretty, say little, and try not to throw up in his mouth when having sex with him.

Raymond had a kink for “sissy boys” and, as such, had Angel dress in unconvincing drag; effeminate yet still clearly male. Angel had done it all at this point so this wasn’t that much of an ask. He’d been forced to do far worse than wear pantyhoes, ugly pink heels, and an unflattering dress. Angel is well aware he looked like a cheap hooker while Raymond seemed oblivious.

Raymond had booked a private session with Husker, the Gambling Demon, at The Jackpot Casino for himself and his buddies. Angel was only vaguely aware of who Husk was at the time, only knowing his face from billboards and TV advertisem*nts and his smooth and deep voice from the radio.

When taking the mirrored elevator down to Husk’s private room, Angel was pretty sure what he was in for. Husk was probably smarmy and douchey, or else cold and intimidating. So, when the elevator doors finally opened, and Husk greeted them he was taken by surprise. Husk, dressed in a fine suit, expensive cigar in his mouth,introduced himself to everyone as they exited the elevator, shaking their hands. When he got to Angel he took his hand and briefly kissed it. An old fashioned statement like that took Angel off guard but found himself a tad flattered. Raymond watched with his lip in a curl.

Drinks were ordered from the room’s bar and the men all sat down for their game, idly chatting. Angel was not offered a seat and instead was told, rather patronizingly, to “leave the men to it.” Angel rolled his eyes and took a seat at the bar, one leg crossed over the other. He watched the game commence.

The atmosphere was of forced relaxation. It was clear from the darting eyes and nervous chuckles that the overlords who booked this session were not that confident in their own abilities. Husk was perfectly calm, ever the gentleman, sweet as pie, as he held strong again and again, winning game after game. Angel couldn’t help but smile behind his glass of fine whiskey as these men made fools of themselves. Every now and then Husk would glance in Angel’s direction and he’d give a little fingerly wave.

After a few rounds of perpetual loss, Raymond finally started losing his composure a little. He called for a break, which Husk agreed to, allowing the others to take the elevator up to the casino floor to blow off some steam. Raymond left in such a huff that he forgot to bring Angel with him, which he couldn’t have been more happy about. That only left Angel and Husk in the room, alone.

“f*ckin’ jackass,” Angel muttered after the elevator closed. It was a mere mumble but, in the silence of the room, Husk’s sensitive feline ears must’ve picked it up because he chuckled a little and nodded to himself, seemingly agreeing with Angel’s assessment of his “date.”

Husk’s pocket vibrated and he produced from it a flip phone. This was sometime in the nineteen eighties but, thanks to Voxtech’s advanced breakthroughs, Hell’s technology was decades ahead of Earth’s. Hell’s eighties were earth’s early 2000s.

“Hello?” Husk said. “Hello, sweetheart! Yes, I made the reservations.” His face fell. “What do you mean you can’t make it? You’ve been begging for a month! It takes forever to book a reservation there - no, I’m not mad at you. No, I’m not insinuating anything!” He held the phone away from his face and rolled his eyes. “Can you at least tell me what was so important you needed to skip?” He rubbed his forehead. “No, sweetheart, I’m not trying to pry into your personal life.” He suddenly looked incensed. “I’m your f*cking husband, that’s why I’m asking!” He grimaced. “No, for the love of God, don’t cry! I’m sorry! It’s fine, do whatever you need to. I’m sorry!” He insisted again. He held the phone away from his face, the person on the other end having hung up abruptly.

“Trouble in paradise?” Angel asked. He didn’t really care, he was just bored and hoped that Husk could keep his attention for a minute or two until the others returned.

“Just a mixup with my wife, is all. We were planning on going to Mystique.”

“Holy sh*t, the masquerade club? It’s impossible to get reservations there. My boss is always trying to book a table and they’re always full.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky. And now she’s busy with… something and won’t tell me what and can’t make it.”

“She off suckin’ some other guy’s dick?” Angel said, fully aware he was being rude and abrasive.

To his surprise Husk doesn’t get angry. Instead the corner of his mouth curls up in a grin. “Honestly? With how much sh*t we’re both going through, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“Figured you’d be more upset about it.”

“Our relationship’s been dead in the water for a while now, I’m sure you couldn’t tell from that phone call.”

“You see, that’s why I’ll never get monogamy. You tie yourself down to someone only for things to inevitably fall apart, meaning you’re trapped in a god awful relationship where nobody’s happy. Take my advice, just f*ck whoever you want; she probably is.”

Husk got up from his seat and made his way to the bar, sitting next to Angel. His cigar was held between his sharp feline teeth, a smirk on his lips, his eyes dancing. “You’re a real intrigue, you know that?”

“Woah, woah, look, pal, I’m taken for the time being.” Angel playfully licked his lips. “Not that I wouldn’t.”

“I’m not making a pass. I’m just here to talk, no reason to yell across the room to each other.”

“Your ears are the size of radar rigs, I’m sure you could hear me from f*ckin’ space.”

Husk laughed. “Ok, you got me there!”

“Besides, shouldn’t you be saving your energy for the suckers once they get back from jerkin’ off or whatever they’re doin?’” Angel said, hiking a finger towards the empty table piled high with cash.

“What, the walrus isn’t your friend?” Husk teased.

Angel chuckled. “God, no. ‘Go sit down like the dumb little sissy and let the manly men play their many men game,’ f*ckin’ christ. You think I want to put up with that sh*t? I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t being paid.”

“So, you're an escort?”

“Of sorts,” Angel said. “I'm a rising star, at least that's what my producer insists. I just pal around with men willing to pay on the side.”

“Sounds glamorous - the rising star part I mean.”

“It’s really not. I’m an adult film star. Nothing fancy about that sh*t. That said, not to toot my own horn, I can polish any turd into pure gold. I make c*mshots Oscarworthy.”

Husk belly laughed. “Have I seen any of your pictures?”

“I don’t know, how much p*rn do you watch behind your wife’s back?”

Husk teetered his hand. “Meh, a little.”

“My most successful picture to date is Raw-Doggin’ the Raw Dog’s Dog. It’s about an important member of the mafia being interrogated by the leader of a hellhound competitor for information. And, you know, that leads to raw dogging, hence the name.”

“Sounds hot.”

“I do love me a hellhound knot, sh*t’s a biological butt plug.”

“Wouldn’t know, never been with a male hellhound.”

“Why? You straight?”

That seemed to genuinely make Husk a tad uncomfortable. “No comment,” he said, finally.

Angel nodded. “Hey, relax,” he said politely. “Grew up in the f*ckin’ forties, no need to explain nothin’ to me. I get it.” He paused, something suddenly occurring to him. “Why are you talking to me?” He asked.

Husk shrugged. “You’re a guest; I talk to everyone.”

“Even lowly souls like me?”

“Of course.”

The elevator dinged as it arrived followed the shuffling of chairs as the other players returned to their seats. A shadow passed over both of them. “You’re not making a move on my boy are you?” Raymond demanded, his massive arms crossed over his girthy chest.

“Naw, man, we’re just having a conversation,” Husk said.

“I don’t want you talking to him!” Raymond insisted.

“Husker, it’s fine,” Angel said, wanting to avoid a blowup. “Thanks for chatting, I appreciate it, but -”

“Shut up!” Raymond snapped at Angel. “I talk, you don’t.”

Angel bit his lip and crossed all four arms, spinning in his seat, refusing to make eye contact with Raymond. Admittedly, he was enjoying shooting the sh*t with Husk, and for Raymond to barrel in like a jealous partner - despite the fact that Angel was merely his paid companion - was infuriating.

That little act of petulance set Raymond off. He took Angel by the shoulder, spun him in his seat, and slapped him across the face. Angel had experienced harder slaps, but it was enough to make him jump and yelp. “Don’t you dare disrespect me, you’re mine!”

In a split second, Husk was on his feet. He clutched the front of Raymond’s suit, picked him up off the floor, despite how tiny he was compared to his adversary, and threw him across the room into the far wall. Raymond hit with a sickening thud, the air knocked from his lungs, and slid down into a sitting position on the floor. His eyes bulged, staring at Husk in awe and horror. The rest of the guests sat in their seats at the table, their eyes wide as saucers. Husk never broke a sweat, his breathing barely elevated. “I don’t tolerate that sort of behavior here,” Husk said, his voice steely. He turned to Angel. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Angel murmured, his fingers brushing his cheek where he was struck.

Husk drummed his fingers against the bar. “You know, this whole game has been a thorough disappointment.”

“Excuse me?” Raymond demands as he hauled himself up the wall off the ground.

Husk chuckled, his eyes glinting with an antagonistic light. He started speaking to the whole group. “It’s too easy. There’s no satisfaction playing against any of you. You’re all pathetic. There’s no challenge - hellborn babies give up their candy with less ease than you do. I sit and watch you all squirm in your seats, your pokerfaces nonexistent, and pray that the game will end quickly. Simply put, I’m f*cking bored.” He turned to Raymond. “You booked the session, I’ll make a deal with you. You and your companions take back all your money. I’ll even throw in a little extra for cutting the game early. In exchange, you turn over Angel to me for the rest of your allotted time.”

Raymond looked flabbergasted. “Are you insane? What could you possibly gain from that?” Even Angel had to give Husk a questioning look.

Husk merely shrugged and took a long puff off his cigar. “That’s my offer, take it or leave it.”

Raymond mulled it over a few seconds before huffing. “Fine. I have no idea why you’re doing this for a disrespectful hoe like Angel Dust, but, whatever." Raymond snapped his fingers. “Alright, boys, pack it up, let’s blow.” Several of them tried to protest to which Raymond began berating them, ushering them to move faster. The men all collected their things and left, Raymond giving Angel one last nasty glare as the elevator doors closed.

Angel took a long sip off his drink. “So, why exactly did you do all of that for a disrespectful hoe like me?” he asked.

Husk shrugged. “That guy’s a complete ass. Hate seeing people get treated like that. Thought you’d appreciate being with someone better.”

“Bit of an ego on you, there; very presumptuous. Sure, you can throw your weight and money around, so what? I’m supposed to be impressed by that? So could that f*cker.”

“The difference is I want to treat you right.”

Angel had done this song and dance before. He knew why Husk had done this, he may as well get it over and done with. At least Husk was good looking. “Yeah, well, I can treat you right too, sugar!” He reached for Husk’s crotch and barely gave his package a squeeze before the overlord took a step back.

“No, no, I told you, that’s not what I want from you.”

“Ok, what do you want?” Angel demanded, getting frustrated. This is not how these sorts of situations go down.

“I just want you to spend the evening with me, as a companion. I have that reservation that will go to waste otherwise. I’d rather dine with someone else than alone. That’s all I desire.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “What, like your friend? Just a ‘buddy,’ a ‘pal?’”

“Something like that.” Husk shrugs. “Or, if it would make you happier, you can leave. You can take that elevator up and go wherever you want. It’s your choice.”

Angel was stunned. He wasn’t used to people giving him a choice.

Husk puffed his cigar as he poured himself a drink, patiently waiting for a response.

f*ck, Angel was just too curious. “You know what, I’m in the mood to be pampered. Take me out, daddy.”

That last part made Husk chuckle.

Chapter 12: Mystique

Chapter Text

Mystique was started by a sinner, a crime boss, who perished during a masquerade ball. In death, his costume was fused to his body, flesh and fabric becoming one and the same. He started the club as a place where he could exist without being seen as a freak - even by Hell’s standards. It also gives Hell’s inhabitants the ability to disguise themselves and engage with people they normally wouldn’t. It is a popular spot for overlords, weighed down by responsibilities and social expectations who want a singular evening to be themselves. The establishment employs people from all backgrounds to mingle with the guests to give a variety of different experiences. Angel supposes that if Husk were to take him anywhere, this would be the ideal place.

The main lobby of the building splits off into two different directions, one to the club itself for people who arrive already in costume, the other to the fitting rooms to borrow costumes provided by the establishment. Husk and Angel fell into the latter camp.

The fitting room was large and decadent, built with white marble and faux gold fixtures. Several imp employees were stationed in the room to help guests be fitted properly. This was long before Velvette had revolutionized the clothing industry, meaning each sinner needed their individual measurements taken to match them to a proper fitting outfit. Angel recognized that he in particular, with his extra set of limbs, would be a nuisance to be fitted.

Husk puffed the cigar he held tightly between his teeth as he stood, arms out, while the imps scampered around with tape measures. The cheap drag Angel was in was apparently feminine enough for the staff to treat him like a fine lady, which he admitted was a bit of an ego boost. Husk was given his suit long before Angel and left to change. Angel was asked if he would prefer a dress to which he insisted on a suit. At long last, he was handed a multi-limbed suit in his size and a blank mask and ushered off to a dressing room to change.

The suit was stark white with no identifying markers, not so much as a pocket or buttons, it looked half finished. But, Angel knew that would change as soon as he slipped it on. He was all too happy to take off the tacky clothes and wipe the heavy makeup from his face. He could take some time to apply new makeup that was lighter and more his style, but the upper portion of his face would be obscured by the mask anyway, so he only bothered with a light shade of pink lipstick. As soon as the suit and mask were in place they grew warm as they magically began to change. Yellow sequins began to appear, layered like fish scales, that made the suit blinding. Ruby buttons shaped like skulls grew in the appropriate places, the suit closing and buttoning itself. The jacket grew massive pauldrons, the undersides sporting long multicolored feathers. The mask became a matching sequined gold, the top edges of the mask sprouting similar multicolored feathers, dangling chains with crystals hanging from either side of the mask. It’s not a color or design choice that Angel would normally make, but that’s the point. The outfits give total anonymity. However, they do tap into a deep desire of the wearer’s subconscious. As Angel stared at himself, he couldn’t help but feel he looked like a pirate’s treasure, the feathers of a bird the captain would have perched on their shoulder.

Angel stepped out to greet Husk. Husk’s suit was deep navy blue, a shimmering silky sheen, with intricate images of ocean waves, sea life imagery, and sailor’s weapons embroidered over it. His mask was alive with a sea of tentacles that actually moved in a slow organic way. The dark nautical colors complimented the bright pop of the red of his wings and splash of yellow on his palms.

Husk grinned when he saw Angel. “You look absolutely radiant.”

“You look pretty good too. Didn’t take you for an ocean type of guy.”

“Oh, I love the ocean. Grew up reading Robert Louis Stevenson and Herman Melville, wishing it could be me. If only Pride had an ocean.” He huffs. “Fittingly, Envy is the ring with the largest one.”

The two exit the dressing room and enter the main hall of the club. The club has an extremely high ceiling held up with marble columns, the windows wide allowing Hellish light to spill in, giving sections of the room a pink tint. The room is split into six tiers like a cake, three of the rings dedicated to dining, the other three mingling areas.

The two were seated wherein Husk preemptively gave the waiter a massive tip with the understanding the two would be well cared for, leaving the man flabbergasted and extremely thankful.

Angel scanned the menu, his eyes quickly widening. The food there was expensive not only in price, but in quality.

Most of the food products Pride receives are imported from Wrath. The organisms raised in Wrath, like its namesake, are violent hellish creatures. Rhinoceros sized cows with dozens of horns sprouting from their massive heads like porcupines that gore anything that gets too close; living corn and wheat that ensnare passing wildlife and feast on their blood to grow; chickens with razor sharp talons to disembowel those who try to harvest their eggs. It’s incredibly dangerous work to farm these creatures that, ultimately, taste like cardboard. But, it’s cheap, so that’s what Lucifer has delivered to his subjects.

The food on Mystique’s menu is all from Gluttony. Gluttony is a very self-enclosed ring where products manufactured there only leave if stolen or if massive amounts of money exchanges hands. Beelzebub may be a laid back party girl, but she has never been one to share. Raised under Beezebub’s aura of decadence, everything produced in her ring is the highest quality in regards to both nutrition and taste. A malnourished, starved Hell resident could be at full health after only a few meals.

Angel glanced up at Husk, not believing what he was seeing. “So, is there, like, a price limit on what I’m allowed to order or…?”

Husk looked confused. “No. You’re ‘allowed’ to get whatever you want.”

Angel’s eyes landed on a fine seafood dish. His mouth immediately began to water. Smoked fish in a buttery sauce with a side of crab salad and shrimp for dipping. A classic Gluttony meal, tons of delicious seafoods all served on the same plate.

Husk summoned the waiter and ordered a bloody steak the size of a dinner plate and Angel ordered the seafood.

After the waiter left Husk chuckled saying, “Damn, I should have let you order first. That meal you ordered sounds absolutely delicious!”

“Are you saying that just because you’re a cat?”

“Meow.”

Angel laughed. “So, you like fish, you love the ocean, you’re clearly a fan of pirates. Did you ever own a boat; live near the sea when you were alive?”

Husk sighed. “Sadly, no. I was raised in Harlem, New york. The harbor was the closest thing to an ocean we had and that was a f*cking cesspool. I don’t know sh*t about boats, but would love to learn.”

“Couldn’t you have just moved somewhere else closer to the sea?”

“You’re under the impression I had money when I was alive.”

“Ah, only made your fortune once you got down here?”

“Yep. Not sure if that’s impressive or sad.”

“Impressively sad? Angel offered, to which Husk grinned.

“You know, I’m glad you were willing to join me tonight. Not sure I could have stood dining alone again.”

“Yeah, about that, is your wife such a flake all of the time or…?”

Husk’s mood fluctuated to that of slight discomfort. “Yeah. She, uh, she’s bad at keeping arrangements.” He sighed. “She’d been pestering me for weeks to get a table here. I brought her here when we were first going out and she wanted to ‘recapture the magic.’ Must not have wanted to that badly.”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Angel noted.

“No, Husk agreed. “I’ve had a hard time keeping up with her lately. I’m just… tired. I’m tired of doing things with no thanks, tired of my best never being enough.”

Never would have thought the Gambling Demon would ever feel that way.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let that sh*t get around, ok?”

“My lips are sealed,” Angel said, making a zipping motion over his mouth. Of course, Angel realized he was in a very interesting position. Husk was willing to divulge sensitive details about himself. Nothing major, but things that could damage his reputation. A small part of him wondered if he should probe. Getting blackmail on someone like Husk could be of great benefit to Valentino’s career… The thought soured Angel’s stomach as equally as it made his mind buzz with the possibilities.

“Anyway,” Husk said, abruptly changing course, “you’re a p*rn star. You said it’s not glamorous, but do you at least enjoy doing it?”

“Hell yeah, of course I do. I get paid to f*ck, who wouldn’t love an opportunity like that?” Angel bit his tongue, giving Husk a sensual look before saying, “have you ever thought about booking a role?”

Husk laughed. “No, that’s never crossed my mind. Not that I haven’t had offers. Why? You think I’m photogenic?”

“You’re a f*cking stud, are you blind?”

“Oh, so when I acknowledge my good traits I’m a presumptuous egotist and when I don't I’m an idiot. Is there any way I can win?”

“Hey, the game is rigged. You gotta give the referee a reason to favor you.”

“And who is the ref in this metaphor?”

Angel reached a hand across the table and stroked the back of Husk’s. “Whoever you want it to be.”

Husk pulled his hand back, the action frustrating Angel. Did Husk think he was too good for Angel? Maybe he truly was straight and Angel just misread him.

“So, what studio do you work for?” Husk asked.

“A small one, just starting out. Val’s Boys. Ring a bell?”

Husk’s face soured. “I’ve come across it in my browsing. Run by that guy, Valentino, right? The up and coming producer?” Husk can’t hide the distaste on his face.

“You don’t like him,” Angel verbalizes.

“No,” Husk says, shortly. “His personality on camera is rancid enough, not sure what he’d be like off camera.”

Angel’s stomach tightened. Husk was talking about his man, the one he was… dating? Their relationship was murky. Angel met Valentino a few months ago and, while he was aware there were some… rough spots in the relationship and the boundaries weren’t very defined he was still happy with it. He thought, anyway. Sure, Val could get angry, sure he (very forcefully) asked Angel to work as an escort, but he did have Angel’s best interests at heart. He thought. Angel found his fingers drumming nervously against the table, his nails loudly rapping. He abruptly stopped.

Husk saw Angel’s expression and his features softened. “I hit a sore spot?”

“A little,” Angel admitted. He grinned. “Not the spot I would have hoped -”

“Please, stop”, Husk said, raising a hand.

Angel’s flamboyant heir evaporates. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I know what you’re doing, ok? Conversations are hard, I’m a stranger, you want to put up a barrier, be funny, not take anything serious. I’ve seen it a million times; it doesn’t work on me. I didn’t come here to be flirted with and steered to the nearest closet for a good time. I came here… to talk.”

Angel crossed all four arms and leaned back in his seat, the cheeriness gone from his demeanor. He gave Husk a fixated look of suspicion. “And why exactly would you want that? Talkin’ your kink or something?”

“I don’t get the chance to speak to many people outside of other overlords. My friends are all overlords; my wife’s friends are all overlords; my acquaintances are overlords. There’s only so much shop talk I can take. The same old conversations; how much money did you make” How much territory did you expand? How many souls have you gained? All while treating everyone else like trash. I get sick of it.”

Angel raised an eyebrow. “So you’re talking to me because I’m lower class?”

Husk realized that this could go very badly. “I am merely interested in hearing about different perspectives. I’m on top, that’s all I see. I don’t know what the average Hellian experiences.”

“Ok, but why would you care?”

“Why not care? I’m a people person, Angel. I like hearing everyone’s unique experiences, everyone’s stories, their pasts, their desires. I find it all fascinating. Every single person in his room” - he motions around - “has a different story. That doesn’t intrigue you?”

“A little too high concept for me. I don’t think about it that hard. People are people, it is what it is. I can assure you, I’m not a very interesting person.”

“Try me.”

Angel scoffs. “Ok, what are you looking for?”

“Anything.”

“Ok, my favorite color is yellow,” Angel said, his first answer intentionally underwhelming. He genuinely didn’t know how Husk planned to get anything out of that.

“Lighter yellows, or more golden?”

“Uh… brighter?” Angel said.

“Like flowers?”

Angel nodded. “I guess.”

“Did you have a lot of flowers around you?”

“No; lived in the city. Most we had were dandelions growing in vacant lots.”

Husk nodded. “You know, dandelions get a bad rap. ‘Weeds.’ Maybe in the technical sense. I always thought of them as wildflowers.” He chuckled. “My… someone I used to know, when she was little, used to bring me a handful of them as a present. We used to humor her, place them in a vase and put them on the table. They’ll always be more gorgeous to me than any bouquet.” His eyes became distant for a moment before he continued. “But, I imagine you’re more of a lily or daffodil person. Honeysuckle perhaps?”

Angel ponders. “Sunflowers. Make me think of the country, rolling hills, dirt roads. Fresh air.”

“You like nature? The great outdoors?”

“I like the city, I like being able to shop closely but… yeah, a little house on a quiet spot of land sounds nice. Little garden, green lawn.” He smiled. “But, I’m the same way, I’d let the dandelions grow. They are, indeed, pretty.”

“Well, I never managed to get a boat or see the ocean, did you at least get your quiet little house?”

“No, Angel shook his head. “I was, ah, ‘recruited’ into the family business.”

“What kind of business?”

“Mob.”

“Oh, sh*t,” Husk chuckled. “I thought you meant, like, carpentry or something.”

“God, what a nightmare for me,” Angel said, rolling his eyes. “I’m only handy in regards to hand jobs.”

“What, you afraid to get your hands dirty?” Husk said, playfully.

“Of course! Look at the beautiful babies,” Angel said holding up all four hands, “they’re gorgeous! I have white fur, you want me all grimy and gross? Hell naw!”

Husk chuckled. He holds up one of his white tipped hands and twiddles his fingers. “I know the pain.”

The meals arrived. Angel was unsure how to carry himself. How refined should he be; how poised? Then, he sees that Husk eats… like a normal person. He’s no slob, but there’s little care for looking prim and proper. He even tucks a napkin into the collar of his shirt like a bib.

Angel’s nerves relaxed a little and he started eating. His eyes rolled back in his head at the first bite. “Holy sh*t, this is amazing!”

Husk nodded. “There’s a reason the waiting list is so long.”

Their conversations continued and Angel actually found himself enjoying Husk's company. Generally when Angel was hired it was simply for the desirability of his body and nothing more. Conversations began and ended with “I like you because you’re so hot.” Being able to talk to someone like a normal person was… nice. Husk was so casual and friendly; open to any topic but the moment he said something that made Angel a little uncomfortable like questions about his past - something he’d rather not have thought about - he would steer away. His social awareness was greatly appreciated.

The dinner was absolutely delicious and Angel savored every bite. Eventually the two cleared their plates.

“So, what is there to do around here?” Angel asked.

Husk shrugged. “Mingle. That’s the whole point, have anonymous conversations.”

The two left their table and ascended the steps to the upper levels. What Angel quickly realized is that, despite the masks hiding everyone’s identity, it was still easy to tell who are of the upper crust. From the tails and feathery arms that were unobscured by their costumes Angel realized with a sinking heart many of those people were Goetia, aka, the stuffiest and most insulated group in Hell. They’re only Hell’s middle management but think of themselves as hot sh*t regardless. They only spoke to fellow Goetia, giving the sinners a wide berth.

Angel hiked a thumb in their direction. “Kind of defeats the purpose of the masks, right?”

Husk shrugged. “I suppose. Though, do you really want to be trapped in a conversation with one of them? Really?”

“Touche.”

They drifted their way over and started conversations with various guests. Husk was able to hop into conversations immediately without coming across as annoying, his charm able to win over anyone.

Angel realized that Husk had been playing on easy mode with him. If Husk were unconcerned with being nice to Angel, he could have talked circles around him, made him feel like a dumb insignificant little soul-seller whose thoughts and feelings meant nothing. But he didn’t. That knowledge made Angel feel both somewhat special and somewhat intimidated.

Husk had a dominant personality and would try to take the reins of conversation and steer them where he wanted. However, many of the others were equally as skilled, or bluntly not charmed by him and forced their topics regardless. The very conversations that Husk wanted to avoid were brought up. “Oh, you’re an overlord? How did you do this quarter, how many souls are on your chain, how much property do you own, how are your investments?”

Husk was able to keep up but Angel was quickly lost. As a lay person, he had nothing to contribute. A few words exchanged would make it apparent Angel was not of the upper echelon meaning the conversations went “your costume is gorgeous! What do you do?” followed by prompt disinterest and sidelining once they didn’t care for Angel’s answers. With a sinking heart Angel realized he was just as much a piece of arm candy here with Husk as he was earlier that night with Raymond. Husk, to his credit, would try to bring Angel into conversations but these attempts would quickly be shot down.

Feelings of anger and worthlessness washed over Angel. He began to view everyone in this club not as potential friends or even people worth speaking to, but as blue blooded f*ck faces not worth the time of day. Eventually, he cut his losses, broke away from Husk and went to the bathroom to do a line of co*ke and hopefully bring his mood back up.

Upon exiting the bathroom, wiping remaining powder from his nose, Husk approached Angel, a worried frown clashing against his garish costume. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That this has been such a horrible experience for you.”

“What? No, I’m fine,” Angel said, waving off Husk’s concerns.

“No, you’re not. I’m not blind, Angel, I can see that you’re unhappy.”

Angel’s smile wavered. He slouched both sets of shoulders, giving up the charade. “These people are assholes. Boring, pretentious, capitalistic assholes. I’m sorry I’m not good enough for you!” He rubbed his brow. “This was a mistake.”

“Yes, it was. It was a mistake on my behalf thinking this would be an appropriate social venue for either of us.” He sighed. “Believe me, I haven’t enjoyed myself one bit since we finished dinner. I still stand by what I said, everyone has a story. Doesn’t mean it’s a good one, though. You wanna blow?”

Angel opened his mouth to make a sex joke but Husk quickly corrected saying, “you wanna leave?”

“Yes.”

“I assume you’re not ready to return home and, admittedly, I’m not ready to let you go. Where would you like me to take you?”

“You’re asking me?”

“This was my choice, it’s your turn.”

Angel’s choice. That was a new one.

Angel quickly decided where he’d prefer being. It was a nightclub called Illustrious.

It’s expensive enough that Angel never had the funds to get past the door, but is accessible enough that plenty of common Hell residents attend. Angel voiced this and Husk nodded. “Sounds great.”

“You sure it won’t be too boring for you?” Angel said, “too, ‘not your speed?’” He questioned why he even asked Husk this, why he cared about what he had to think.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, better than this cemetery.”

The two walked with their arms intertwined, partially as a show of status, partially to keep from being separated by the crowd. Angel admitted to himself he kind of liked it.

They descended the last mingling floor when Husk’s ear twitched. His face went into a deep frown. “Wait here,” he said before vanishing into the crowd. Angel, who has always been terrible at being told what to do, promptly ignored this and followed him.

Angel found Husk waiting within earshot of two people, a woman and a man. The twitch in the corner of his mouth indicated his irritation at Angel following him but was too engrossed in their conversation to care.

“Honestly, he thinks he can buy my affection. You know, he was planning on bringing me here tonight himself?” The woman said.

“Oh?” The man said, sipping his drink.

“Yes! He thinks he can make his flaws go away by treating me!” She scoffed. “If you’re a suck up who’s unwilling to take charge, a fancy dinner won’t make that go away. If you’re an old fool who can’t remember the most basic of directions, a nice purse won’t make that go away. He tries to make things better by buying things for me, but it will never work.” She puts a finger to the chest of the man she’s talking to. “But, at least I know there are still good men, even here in Hell.”

“For you, baby, I’ll be a f*cking Angel, the man says before he leaned down and kissed her.

Husk grabbed Angel’s hand and pulled him away. “Woah, what was that?” Angel asked as they stormed down the steps towards the dressing room, though he figured he already knew the answer.

They burst through the dressing room door, finally alone.

Husk lit up a cigar and puffed on it hard, hands on his hips, his tail swishing violently, his wings twitching.

“I guess I was right,” Angel said. “Your wife’s a cheater and you definitely have radar rigs for ears. You know, that you could hear them from so far away.”

“Uh huh,” Husk said, simply.

Angel bit his lip. “Guess finding out your wife’s macking on some other dude is a turn off -”

“I don’t give a f*ck is she’s having an affair,” Husk says, sharply. “I really don’t. As long as she uses protection, doesn’t bring anything nasty back home to me, I don't care. What I do care about is her f*cking lying about me. The dinner, the gifts? They were all things she asked for. She wanted me to do that for her. She has straight up said that if I loved her I needed to prove it. The gifts were always what she wanted. So for her to flip it and act like I’m the problem… I just…” he ripped the cigar from his mouth and bludgeoned it into the nearest ashtray.

“If you want to call it a night, I’m ok with that,” Angel offered.

Husk shook his head, a smile slowly returning. “No, I don’t want that. f*ck her, she’s not going to ruin our night.”

Chapter 13: Culmination

Chapter Text

Angel took off his rented suit, its extra bits folding in on themselves and the sequins and colors vanishing as it returned to its plain white form. He picked up the slu*tty pink dress Raymond chose for him and grimaced. Angel started out the night feeling shameless but now felt deeply embarrassed of this unflattering hunk of fabric.

Angel exited his dressing room to find Husk waiting for him. He hadn’t bothered to reattach his tie, the first couple of shirt buttons left undone.

“God, even disheveled you look great,” Angel said with a chuckle.

“Please, you look absolutely gorgeous.”

Angel smirked. “Please, honey, I look like sh*t and we both know it.”

Husk tried to insist Angel didn’t look that bad, to which Angel leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, looking incredulous. Husk finally stopped and sighed. “I suppose your outfit isn’t very… becoming. But, we can fix that, if you like.”

“Oh?”

“I know for a fact that you can look f*cking stunning. You deserve to look stunning. How about a new outfit? My treat.”

Angel scoffed. “Ok, this is pushing it. You barely know me. Dinner, sure, it was already paid for. But a new outfit? Really? You a pay-pig or something?”

“I’m just trying to be nice.”

“You buy fancy new outfits for everyone you’re nice to?”

“Hey,” Hust said, shrugging, “it’s my money. I can afford it. I enjoy doing nice things for people. If you don’t want to take up my offer, that’s fine, it’s your choice.”

“You’ve been giving me a lot of choices tonight.”

“I take it that’s not something you’re accustomed to?”

Angel pauses. This is overkill, absolutely. However, whenever he wanted something from Valentino he had to come to him - literally - on all fours like a dog, oftentimes with the promise of rough kinky sex thrown in to sweeten the pot. If this was a trap to ensnare Angel… at least he’d get something nice out of it. “Fine,” he says. “ But, I want you to show me just how much you think I’m worth.”

Angel’s jaw dropped when the limo pulled up to one of the fanciest suit and dress shops this point of the Pentagram. Angel looked over at Husk in disbelief. “You’re sh*tting me?”

Husk grinned. “Nope. This is where I bring my wife. I only buy the best.”

“Mentioning your wife is a real turnoff. Nobody likes a wife-guy.”

“Wasn’t trying to turn you on in the first place. I’m not trying to get into your pants.”

The shop’s interior was white, the edges of the walls and floors starting to darken from hell’s natural rapid decay. A new building can become a total wreck in six months if not regularly maintained.

They walked past the men’s sections where mannequins showed off a variety of top-of-the-line suits.

“Oh, hey, I have that one,” Angel said, motioning to a mannequin displaying a suit jacket with alternating light and dark pink horizontal stripes. “I mean, not that one, it’s a knockoff, I don’t have money falling out my ass like some people. I always pair it with my black miniskirt, to get that masculine-femme combo.” He cut his hand against his thigh to indicate the tiny length of the skirt.

Husk chuckled. “If I wore something that tiny my dick would swing out the bottom like a f*cking pendulum.”

Angel cracked up, though the thought of Husk having a member of that size makes his own co*ck stir a little.

Angel browsed the suits but found he wasn't feeling any of them. He’d already done a suit this evening. He liked dresses, just not this trashy one. He wanted something nice, something refined, something… When they enter the women’s section he sees it. A tall yellow dress. It’s such a vibrant yellow with gold tinsel as a part of the weave making it absolutely glitter. Angel rushes over to the mannequin displaying it. He touches the fabric. Soft as silk. “This one, get someone over here to fit me NOW!” Angel says, excitedly.

A few minutes later, Angel stepped out of the dressing room with the dress suited for him. It hugged his hips and chest fluff perfectly, the deep neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. It was elegant, it was sexy, it was an absolute statement.

Angel gave a little twirl and Husk whistled, making a show of tugging on his collar. “You know how to pick ‘em.”

“You like it?”

“You deaf? Of course I do!”

Angel stared at himself in the mirror. He felt like a totally different person, like he had worth. Deep down he knew that was stupid, that a mere change of costume shouldn’t affect the way he saw himself on a fundamental level. But he couldn’t help himself. “I’ll take it,” Angel said. He wadded his old dress up and stuffed it in the nearest trash can, only saving the earrings as they’re the sole part of the outfit he somewhat liked. “And I’m wearing the dress out.”

All eyes were on Angel and Husk as they waited in line at Illustrious.

Husk was on the shorter side compared to many of the other patrons, but he had an imposing, masculine energy to him that made it clear he could f*ck up anyone who tried to start sh*t. Angel could feel other men’s faces flicker with inadequacy.

Everyone started at Angel either in awe or with lust.

He’d never had anything this nice or expensive on his body before. It was always off-the-shelf sh*t from the Mega Mall and costume jewelry. Never anything swanky, never a statement piece. He waved and flirted and stuck out his tongue at the men who ogled him.

Whenever anyone tried to get handsy, Husk would glare them down, manifesting a fan of razor sharp cards, silently threatening to decapitate anyone who touched Angel. Husk put his arm around Angel’s waist and guided him. Angel can tell from Husk’s demeanor that, unlike Val or Raymond, this wasn’t a show of power or ownership, rather of respect. Angel was something to be cherished and coveted. He was something important. It made his face flush a little.

They were allowed into the club immediately, the bouncer’s eyes having widened at the sight of the Gambling Demon himself standing in line. He promptly apologized for making him wait which Husk insisted wasn’t a problem.

The inside of the club was considerably more casual than Mystique. There are more popped collars and short party dresses mixed in with upper class street clothes. If anything, Angel was actually a little overdressed.

Angel’s phone buzzed in his purse. He excused himself to take the call, telling Husk to wait for him at the bar. He flipped his phone open, realizing with a sinking feeling it was Valentino. “Hey babe,” Angel coos.

“f*ck off with the sweetness, where the hell are you?”

“I’m working, what do you mean -?”

“I received a call from a very disgruntled Raymond Black about how rude and disrespectful you were to the point he hoisted you off on someone else to be rid of you.”

Angel rubbed his forehead and ground his teeth. “Ok, he’s a dirty liar, that’s not what happened -”

“Who are you with?”

“The Gambling Demon, if you must know.”

There was a pause on the other end. “ The Gambling Demon? Husker?”

“Yes.”

Val’s devious chuckle filled Angel’s ear. “Perhaps this could be of some benefit. Feel him up, get some important information we can use against him for me.”

Angel, needing to placate, grinned even though Val couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I was already planning on it, babe, you know me.”

“Did he let anything slip yet? Anything at all?”

“No,” Angel said, a little too quickly. Val seemed to find his sharpness a little suspicious but chose to ignore it. “I want something juicy. I might overlook you embarrassing me in front of a client.”

“Sure thing.”

Val abruptly hung up, leaving Angel’s stomach in knots.

Angel made his way to the bar to find Husk deep in conversation with several regulars Angel was friendly with. They seem flustered, tripping over themselves, a little star struck. “Ah, he’s back,” Husk said as Angel approached.

The eyes of his two companions widened as they realized who exactly the illustrious Gambling Demon was here with. “Get it bitch!” one of them whispers to Angel excitedly as he slides into a vacant seat.

Pretty soon the four of them were laughing in between rounds of drinks. Angel felt extremely relaxed. Husk didn’t breathe down his shoulder like Val would. He felt like Husk was merely sitting next to him rather than over him.

The song changed to a more lively tune. The two people they were talking to headed for the dance floor. The song being played was Belinda Carlsile’s Heaven Is A Place on Earth. Angel hadn’t considered what night they’d come to the club on; it was Karaoke. The woman singing wasn’t doing a horrible job but she wasn't doing great either.

“You wanna cut a rug?” Angel asked.

“How old do you think I am?” Husk said with a smirk.

“Not what I asked.”

Husk took Angel’s hand. “I’d love to.”

The two had very different styles. Husk was refined and proper, dancing the way Angel remembered his family would back when he was alive. Angel had decades of exposure to new dances, some of his own volition, some out of necessity, allowing him to be more lithe and sensual. Husk’s eyes wandered as Angel worked his hips and torso. He caught Husk’s wandering eyes and grinned, sticking his tongue out, which Husk returned.

The two started dancing together. Many of the synchronized dances the two were familiar with would have the man spinning the woman. Angel, always the femme, would have been more than happy to be spun but the height difference between them made it neigh on impossible. However, Husk allowed Angel to spin him instead and lower him back in the dips which Angel finds endlessly amusing.

When the song ended the two returned to the bar for another round of drinks.

“So, that gal that was just singing, was she a little off key to you too or is it just my ‘radar rig ears?” Husk asked.

“No, I heard it too. It left something to be desired.” Angel chuckles. “Bet I could do better.”

“You like to sing?”

“It’s my passion, right behind f*cking. Learned to love it when I was a choir boy back when I was alive - fat lot of good that sh*t did me. I’d love to make it a part of my career someday but, you know, that’ll probably never happen.” He said it flippantly, not thinking too much about it, but that last part seemed to sadden Husk a little.

“I’d love to hear your voice.”

“What? You want me to go up there and sing?”

“Not unless you want to.”

“God, you’re always such a gentleman,” Angel said, shaking his head. He downed the last of his drink. “You know what, f*ck it, sounds fun. But, if I sing, you sing too.”

Husk grinned. “Oh, I see, you’re trying to embarrass me.”

“Damn right.”

“Unlucky for you, I can sing as well.”

“Being able to sing and being good at it are two totally different things.”

Husk huffed. “Same could be said for you, bet you sound like sh*t.”

Angel gave Husk a playful shove to the shoulder. “Ok, f*cker, we’re doing this, you and me. We’re doing a duet; we’re gonna see who blows who out of the water.”

“What song were you thinking?”

“It’s a little cliche maybe, but I’m thinking Time of My Life from Dirty Dancing, that movie that just released.”

Husk grinned. “I love that movie.”

“Me too.”

Angel was unsure how to feel about Husk, how he and this rich and powerful man had so much in common. Husk had the ability to dominate Angel in every way but played at his level. Val’s orders replayed in Angel’s mind, making him uneasy.

The two headed up to the stage. Husk cued up the music and handed Angel a microphone. The music started and the two began singing.

Angel was immediately taken by Husk’s voice, deep and rich. His voice, amplified by the speakers, reverberated in Angel’s chest, and made every saccharin line of the song sound so genuine, so meaningful. Angel was planning on being flamboyant with it but hearing the way Husk delivered his lines made him change his mind, instead deciding to be very genuine. The two don’t just sing, they dance a little, constantly making eye contact. Angel’s stomach started to twist and his head started to lighten. The song was pure melodrama but, being here, with Husk, on stage, singing this song, looking into his eyes, he felt everything fall into place. He’d enjoyed himself tonight, more than he had in a very long time. Husk touched Angel’s waist and pulled him close. His eyes were intense. Angel felt his face growing very hot. Angel couldn’t tell if the song lasted an eternity of a brief few seconds but, regardless, it came to an end and the two exited the stage to rounds of applause. “Finally, some good f*cking talent!” Someone yelled.

The two leaned against the rail to a balcony overlooking the lower sections of the club.

“Whoo, that was… that was awesome,” Husk said.

“Yeah,” Angel agreed, lamely. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Husk’s. “That was… that was a great song choice.”

Angel had seen Husk’s wandering eyes, the way he looked at him on stage, the euphoric look he had now. Angel prayed that he wasn't making a mistake. He touched Husk’s hand resting on the rail. Husk’s eyes glanced in that direction but he didn't pull away. Angel hadn’t had shame in years yet, right here, right now, he felt like a f*cking virgin. He leaned in to kiss Husk. Husk made no attempt to pull away or stop him. Their lips touch. At first it was a brief brush, but Husk slowly leaned in closer, their lips solidly connected. Slowly, Husk reached up and put a hand behind Angel’s head and pulled him in close. Angel’s upper two hands rested against Husk’s chest, the lower two around his waist. The kissing was tender at first, but Angel could hear Husk’s breathing start to intensify little by little. Angel Knew what was on Husk’s mind and, honestly, the knowledge that Husk wanted him turned him on as well. He realized that a boner while wearing this dress would look absurd, but he couldn’t help it.

“I thought you didn’t want me?” Angel whispers, playfully.

“I guess I’m a liar,” Husk murmurs.

“I prefer this truth better.”

Husk’s eyes widened. He pulled away very suddenly, ripping away from Angel’s embrace.

“Woah, what the -?”

“I’m sorry,” Husk said as he took several steps back from Angel. He almost looked… scared.

“Husk, what’s wrong? If you really didn’t want to, you know, take this further, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to -”

“I didn’t, earlier, but… I like you, Angel, I really do. And… I want to. But I just… I just can’t.”

“Why?”

Husk ran his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never been with a man before. I’ve never… kissed… a man before. I didn’t think I could. I can’t… I shouldn’t…”

“You feel shame.”

Husk blustered before saying, “I… I don’t know.”

Angel felt like there was a bowling ball deep in his gut. So, this is how it ends, isn’t it? “So… You… don’t want me?”

Husk bit his lip. “No, I do, I really do. But…” His face was red. With shaking hands he lit up a cigar and puffed on it, letting out large dark clouds of smoke.

“There’s no shame in it,” Angel said. “There really isn’t, not down here. I know where you’re coming from, you think a fruit like me was viewed fondly by my family in the motherf*cking forties? Hell no.” He fiddles with the strap of his purse. “I’m not going to bite,” he grinned, “You know, unless you want me to.”

That got a chuckle out of Husk.

“Husk, If you want me, show me, f*ck everybody else. Anyone who said it’s wrong is full of sh*t. And, you know what, even if it is, we’re already in Hell. Might as well make damnation fun.”

There was a brief pause where Husk stood like a deer in the headlights before he suddenly closed the distance between the two. He stood up on his tip toes, gently placed a hand behind Angel’s head, and kissed him. This time it was Angel’s turn to breathe heavily. He gripped the front of Husk’s shirt, keeping him close. Husk’s hand briefly brushed Angel’s chest fluff but he pulled away. Angel firmly took the hand and pressed it to that very spot.

Oh, God, Angel was getting very aroused very quickly and judging by the erection straining in Husk’s pants pressing up against his thigh, he was as well.

“We need to go somewhere,” Angel whispers.

“If that’s what you want,” Husk says.

“Would I be kissing you if I didn’t?”

Before they left the venue, Husk called his wife to “check in on her.” To both of their delights, she said she was out with friends and wouldn’t be home until the next day.

Husk had his driver step on it to get them back to his townhouse as quickly as possible at which point they made no time making their way to the bedroom.

Angel glanced around the room and saw Husk’s wife’s belongings; a feminine vanity piled high with cosmetics; a jewelry case; a shelf of vintage cutesy nick nacks. Angel couldn’t help but feel a sense of elated victory. He was going to give this woman the ultimate diss; he was going to f*ck her man in her own bed. Normally he felt indifference or pity towards the spouses of cheating clients. But, in the very little time he knew of her existence, he hated her. He was going to give her husband what she refused to.

Husk barely managed to close the door before Angel took him by the shoulders and pulled him close, lowering his face to his lover. Both of them breathed heavily, their hands desperate and cloying against one another’s bodies.

Angel waited for Husk to make the first move and guide him over to the bed, a move which never came. Angel decided to take the reins and pulled Husk over to the bed. The two collapsed together, their arms and legs intertwined.

Angel’s hand reached for Husk’s crotch, massaging his member that strained against the fabric. Husk touched Angel's, making him gasp. The fabric of the dress was somewhat stretchy allowing for more sensation.

Angel straddled Husk, firmly situating his bottom against Husk’s crotch. He forcefully pushed him by the chest down to the mattress, which made him whimper. Angel began to tease Husk, gyrating, grinding his rear against Husk’s co*ck. He wanted to drive Husk crazy and the low moan that escaped Husk’s lips made it clear he was doing just that.

Angel clutched Husk’s hand and pinned it to the mattress as he leaned down to smother Husk in more kisses. That forcefulness earned Angel another whimper. “Oh, you like being pinned down?” Angel cooed. His lower hands continued to press down on Husk’s chest while his upper limbs restrained Husk’s hands over his head. This caused his breathing to become even more erratic. “f*ck, f*ck, f*ck,” he murmurred inbetween rounds of kisses.

“Tell me what you want,” Angel said, sensually. “You’ve been catering to me all night; been giving me what I want. What do you want? Whatever it is I can give it to you.”

“I… I want you to f*ck me,” Husk breathed.

That took Angel off guard. Husk was so masculine, so manly, surely he was a top. “Are… Are you sure?”

“Yes, God yes!” Husk whispers, rapidly nodding his head.

Angel has been asked to do it all, topping included. It’s very rare however. With how effeminate he is, the kinds of roles he’s asked to do for p*rn require him to be bottomed by more masculine men and the clients he escorts want the same thing. Honestly, he’s not sure how to take this; he was hoping for Husk to be the dominant party.

“Ok,” Angel whispered. He got up off of husk and unzipped his dress, allowing it to fall to the floor, his panties following suit. Husk’s eyes widened at the sight of Angel’s co*ck. “You haven’t been with a guy before… Have you ever used a dild*?” Husk shook his head. “Have you at least played with yourself?” Husk nodded. Angel couldn’t believe it. Not only would he be topping, but he’d be topping for a hom*osexual virgin. This would be interesting. “Yeah, it’s… it’s big. Are you sure you want to -”

“Yes,” Husk insisted.

Angel decided to be presumptuous and opened the side table drawers until he found lube and condoms. He set them on the bed and went to unbuckle Husk’s pants, slipping them off as he unbuttoned and stripped his shirt.

Angel leaned over Husk and gave him a final round of kisses to his face then traveled down his neck to his chest to his co*ck. Angel took Husk’s co*ck into his mouth, making him moan. Angel got it nice and wet, alternating between sucks and strokes. Husk’s face burned red. “You… you’re f*cking good at this,” he murmured.

“It’s my job, of course I am!” With one set of hands he worked Husk’s co*ck while the second set applied lube to the fingers of one hand. He pushed one of Husk’s legs back. He quickly got the idea and pulled both back, holding the back of his thighs. Angel toyed with Husk’s entrance, making him whimper in a way that he couldn’t help but be utterly turned on by. “You ready for this baby?”

“Please!” Husk whispered.

Angel slowly plunged his thumb into Husk’s hole. Immediately he got a long moan that became louder when Angel hit the G spot. He slowly worked Husk’s entrance. Once it was loosened up for his thumb he switched to his two forefingers. Then three fingers. Husk could not stop moaning. He compulsively ran his fingers through his hair, unable to tear his eyes away from the man penetrating him. Angel sucked and stroked his co*ck and played with his balls.

Husk was very verbal when having sex, he couldn’t stop moaning or whispering things to Angel, thanking him, complimenting him, begging for more. Angel would be lying if he said it didn’t stroke his ego.

Finally, Husk was sufficiently loosened up.

“You ready for my co*ck?” Angel said.

Husk hurriedly nodded. “Please!” he begged again.

“So impatient!” Angel teased.

Angel rolled on a condom and slathered copious amounts of lube to Husk’s entrance. He wanted to make Husk’s first time as smooth and painless as possible. He crawled into bed on his knees and slapped his member to Husk’s hole. Husk bit his lip, his cheeks burning, his fingers nervously - or anxiously - worrying the sheets.

Angel pressed his co*ck to Husk’s entrance until it slipped inside. Husk gasped at the sensation of suddenly being filled and continued to moan loudly as Angel pushed in and pulled out. “Ooohhh, fuuuckkk…” Husk moaned.

After a minute or so, Husk started gyrating his hips, trying to gain more friction against Angel’s co*ck. Taking the hint, he started to slowly pump. With every slap of Angel’s balls against Husk’s cheeks Husk would let out another grunt. Angel felt Husk’s tail curl around him, pulling him and keeping him close. Angel’s upper limbs held Husk’s legs back while his lower ones worked his co*ck and balls. “f*ck me harder!” Husk moaned after a while to which Angel picked up the pace. Husk was bellowing, his words corrupted by his lust, made utterly unintelligible.

“Oh f*ck, baby, if I keep pounding you like this, I’m gonna cum,” Angel warns Husk.

“I’m gonna cum do. Finish on me, please!”

A mere minute after this was said, Angel could feel his org*sm building. He pulled out and ripped off the condom a few seconds before he let out a high pitched moan as he erupted over Husk’s chest. As the last jet of seed was jettisoned, Husk came as well. He must’ve been really pent up because his load was large and thick.

Angel collapsed next to Husk who immediately pulled him close and kissed him, softer and slower this time, as though filled with gratitude.

When Husk’s stamina finally returned, he got up and fetched several fine handkerchiefs from a dresser drawer. He tossed one to Angel and used one on himself, wiping the seed from his chest. Angel couldn’t help but find it funny these opulent pieces of fabric were being used to mop up cum off Husk’s chest and Angel’s taint.

They discarded their cloths and Husk crawled into bed next to Angel, flipping the covers over them. Husk stretched and put an arm around Angel to which he snuggled in close. He put his face to the crook of Husk’s neck and took in his scent. They were both quiet from some time, Husk cradling Angel, their bodies warming one another, listening to one another’s breathing.

“Thank you,” Husk said, finally.

“My pleasure. Like I say, sex is my specialty.”

“I've wanted to do this… for a very long time now. But I've been afraid.”

“I get that, the first time is always a little scary.” Angel felt a little silly saying that. He’d been so sexual for so long the idea of being intimidated by sex was utterly foreign to him. But, the more he dwelled on it, he could conjure up memories of the first time he was with a man himself. It was with a male prostitute under his family’s control. Angel was so afraid of getting caught he had a difficult time enjoying it. He hopes that Husk’s experience was considerably nicer and less stressful.

“Feels dumb,” Husk muttered.

“You’re not dumb, relax.”

“I’m supposed to be brave, confident.”

Angel could detect such anxiety in Husk’s voice which he was in no way expecting, what with his previous behavior that night. “You sound like you have a lot on your mind.”

Husk nodded. “Yeah. But, now’s not the time.”

“Says who?”

“We just had sex, amazing sex I might add. Now’s supposed to be about good times. Don’t need to weigh things down, you know?”

Angel shifted and propped himself up on one side. “Now, don’t give me that. Tonight’s about being open; about being honest, ok? My dream, of living in a little house in the country, you think I tell that sh*t to everyone? No. because it makes me sound like a puss*, some conservative housewife. But you were open, you were willing to share things, personal things, stuff about your daughter -”

“How did you -?”

“I’m not an idiot, Husk. I think it’s sweet that you remember something so trivial like that; that something so simple could remain with you and bring you joy, even down here. Trust me, honey, I’ve heard it all after sex. You’re not going to bother me by talking, really.”

Husk raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Angel sighed. “You’ve been a lot more open and honest with me tonight. About your wife, your daughter, your passions. What have I been open about? ‘My dream is to live in a quaint little farmhouse; my favorite color is yellow.’ Big whoop. I think it’s time I laid my bullsh*t out on the table.”

“Ok,” Husk said, simply.

Angel paused as it began to sink in just what he was about to do. He was about to verbalize feelings that had been brewing for weeks, months, years, at this point. He swallowed his fear and pride and continued. “I’m currently in a… ah… relationship with Valentino, the guy you hate.”

“Really?” Husk said, suddenly sounding worried, which Angel knew deep down was justified.

“Yeah. It’s weird though, we’re not dating per say. I’m… I’m not sure what we are. Friends with benefits maybe? No, it’s more intimate than that.” He rubbed his face. “It’s complicated. We’re… whatever we are… but I wish we weren’t. Sometimes I think sh*t’s going great, he treats me great, we get along, we’re hunky dorey. Then, he’ll fly off the handle, he’ll blow up over nothing. He’ll hurt me, he’ll…” Angel struggled for a moment before saying, “he hits me. He f*cking scares me. I kind of hate him. He gives me everything I should want but it’s always got strings attached.”

Husk was silent, his inverted yellow eyes like glow sticks in the dark, filled with worry and pity.

“He owns my soul, Husk. I sold it to him.” Husk’s eyes widened with shock and horror and Angel recoiled a little from the shame that washed over him. “At the time it made sense. I was desperate and really f*cking high. But now?” He shook his head. “I f*cked up. I really f*cked up. I didn’t think long term, I made a short sighted decision and now I’m stuck in a job that ruined sex for me.”

“I thought you liked being a p*rn star?”

“Yeah, well, I lied. Sex is meaningless now. I’m just a soundboard of erotic noises and dirty words. It’s so difficult to pretend to be into a guy you met five minutes ago. There’s no passion in that, there’s no fun in that. It’s all mechanical, it’s all fake. So, tonight, having sex with you, it actually felt like something. You were into it, you had fun, you didn’t ask me to do anything weird or disgusting.”

“Does… does that happen often?”

Angel looked away from Husk. “When I’m on set, there’s some level of protection. Even if Val doesn’t care about me personally, he can’t risk his top star getting roughed up. But when I’m escorting, there’s nothing to stop them from doing… bad… stuff. You saw what happened with Raymond. You really think that’s the first time i've been assaulted on the job?”

Husk’s eyes closed as he grimaced. Angel felt Husk’s fingers tighten against his back and he was pulled in closer. Husk offering comfort shattered Angel’s heart into little pieces. “So… yeah my life kinda sucks right now,” Angel said, hating that his voice was beginning to choke up.

Husk nuzzled Angel’s neck. “I’m sorry.” They were two simple words but Angel could feel them oozing with sympathetic pain. “I wish I could say something more but… I can’t. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“You’ve said enough. You caring at all is more than I could ask for. I was afraid… afraid that you would judge me. Treat me like sh*t because I’m an idiot.”

“I’m an overlord, I know full well that people don’t sell their souls on a whim, there’s always a reason behind it, often very complicated reasons.”

“Jesus, my life has been f*cking complicated. But that’s a whole lot more than I’m willing to into now, I’m not going to be an ass and trauma dump on you.” He paused. “You don’t have to share what’s on your mind if you don’t want to, I just wanted to show you’re not alone.”

Husk was quiet for a little while before saying, “I’m trapped in a role I really don’t want to be in. And I can’t tell anyone that because there’s nobody in my life who wouldn’t use it against me. I guess that’s partially why I was drawn to you. You were someone outside of my circle, someone who wouldn’t hurt me. I hope.” He stared off into space for a moment.

Angel felt Husk’s tension, his utter terror. Angel remembered what Val asked of him, to worm out sensitive information for blackmail. It’s an order he was going to ignore. Angel squeezed Husk’s hand. “My lips are sealed, ok? This goes nowhere. This is just between us. I f*cking promise.” He intended to keep that promise, whatever Husk had to say, he’d take it to his grave.

“I hate being the big man in charge,” Husk said. “Well, the sole man in charge. All my life I was told, ‘you’re the one with the power. Be a man, be the head of the house, be the trailblazer, be in charge of everything.’ And I was, up on Earth. And I failed at it. My family suffered because of it. Down here I run the Jackpot, have my standing at the Pentagram City Mega Mall, oversee thousands of souls, and support my wife. I have all of this responsibility, all of these expectations, all of these duties. I’m supposed to carry all of that weight like motherf*cking Atlas and do it with a smile on my face because that’s what ‘real men’ do.” Husk took a sharp intake of breath to which Angel realized he was holding back tears. He underestimated just how emotionally tolling this is for Husk. “I guess I’m not a real man then, because I can’t. I need help and I’m not getting it. All of the people in my life would call me a puss*, turn on me and try to take everything I have because a spineless weak man like me doesn’t deserve what I have. My friends, my wife, everyone. I need help. I need support. I need someone to be there to keep me in one piece and just remind me why I’m even doing it all. At least when I was alive I had incentive. I loved my family, I still do. Down here? My accomplishments are hollow.”

“I never would have known you felt like this,” Angel whispered. “You seemed so composed, so in control. I’m sorry.”

Husk sniffled and forced a grin. “Don’t be. I hide it well. I guess we both have that in common. Guess we were wearing masks even before we got to Mystique.”

“That’s so f*cking corny.”

“Am I wrong though?”

“No.” Angel brushed his cheek against Husk’s, the fluff tickling his nostrils. “Well, I’m here for you, Husk.”

Husk looked at him with a co*cked brow. “What, like your ‘friend,’ a ‘buddy,’ a ‘pal?’”

Angel laughed at his own words being used against him. “Yes. Yes, to all three. You know, if you want me to be. I like you a hell of a lot better than Val, right now.” His stomach clenched. “Please… please don’t prove me wrong. Don’t f*ck it up. Don’t make me regret… everything that’s been said tonight.”

Husk kissed his forehead. “I promise.” He wraps his arms and wings tightly around Angel. “So, does all of that mean you want to see me again?”

“If you want to see me again, yes. Tonight’s been amazing. I wish every night could be like this, I need that sh*t in my life. But that’s all up to you -”

“Absolutely,” Husk interjected. “I… I really like you, Angel, I wouldn’t be here holding you if I didn’t. I know I don’t know you well, how could I in a singler night? But I want to, I really want to. You’re special.”

The next morning, with his time up, Husk dropped Angel off at Val’s estate, where he was staying at the time.

Before Angel could exit the car, Husk wrote his number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Please, call me soon.”

“I will, I promise!”

Angel glanced and saw Val standing on the front porch, his moth’s wings pulled tightly around him like a robe. A cigarette was held between his two forefingers. Distaste was clear on his face. Regardless, he pulled Husk in close for a final kiss. “I’ll talk to you soon, baby.”

“Baby?”

“Sorry, too soon?”

“Absolutely not,” Husk said with a grin.

As Angel made his way up to Val he suddenly felt very exposed, very cold. Val’s eyes were so cold, so intense, so filled with malice. Angel was horrified, he’d walked right into a confrontation. He masked his fear and merely smiled. “Morning, Val.”

“Please tell me you got something good,” He said as he watched Husk’s limo pull away, a scowl etched deep on his face.”

“No. Sorry. He was stone cold.”

Val’s eyes flash. Really? Nothing at all?”

“He wined and dined me, I got his rocks off, nothing special. He was just another jon.”

“Yes, because ‘just another jon’ would buy you a brand new outfit,” He said, motioning to Angel’s dress.

“It wasn’t my idea -”

“You look like a tart.”

“I didn’t buy it for you,” Angel said, realizing immediately by the tension that builds in Val’s demeanour he f*cked up.

“I can tell. You have terrible taste.”

“Just let me have this one, ok? I don’t ask for much.”

“Liar,” Val muttered, Taking a long drag off his cigarette. He suddenly lashed out and grabbed Angel’s hand, ripping Husk’s number from it. He held it up, squinting to see it as his eyesight was terrible. “Just like you lied to me about his affection. Nothing special my ass, why did he give you his number?” Angel tried to muster an explanation, to which Val only rolled his eyes in response. “Save it. He held the paper up to the end of his cigarette and lit it aflame, dropping it to the stone step. Angel stared as his one connection to decency smoldered to ash.

Val could see the pain on Angel’s face and for the first time, he smiled. “Oh, please, it’s not as though he had anything to offer you. He told you nothing. He was another jon. He meant nothing to you.” His face turned sour. He placed a hand under Angel’s chin and tilted his face up so their eyes could meet. “Right?” Angel nodded. “Good. Come along, we have a long day of shooting, Val said, cooly.

Angel reluctantly followed him inside.

Husk has long since cleared his plate. He sits, elbows propped against the table, head in his hands.

Angel looks past Husk, his gaze distant. “I feel awful that I was never able to contact you. I tried, I really did. I went to The Jackpot multiple times and asked to see you, but the staff refused. I insisted I knew you but they told me everyone says that and to piss off. I figured that you just thought I flaked, that I hated you, that I blew you off. But that wasn’t true. But I couldn’t tell you that because of f*cking Val!” Angel tears up and he angrily wipes them away. After a while, I was too busy with projects as I rose to stardom, too high, too wrapped up in my relationship with Val to care. But I never forgot you. So, when I saw you at Alastor’s bar it all just came flooding back. It’s why I flirted with you. We were sexual, we’d crossed that boundary. I figured you were into it, I figured you were just playing hard to get, that you were jaded after so long under Alastor and needed some convincing to get out of your shell.” He shakes his head. “How could you not remember any of this?”

“I think I know,” Husk says, his heart sinking. “Alastor wanted to be the only person in my life, the only one I had feelings for. He added a stipulation to my contract that stated all memories of past romances would be physically taken away, drawn out and locked away in memory crystals from Envy - used by envious people to seal away memories of people or things they’re jealous of. He only allowed me to keep memories of Mira and Odette, all others were purged. For me to not remember any of this, that means I felt genuine romantic feelings for you. That means I really cared.”

Angel sniffles. “I mean, that’s kind of flattering in a f*cked up way.”

Husk shakes his head. “Angel, I’m sorry I don’t remember any of this, I really am. It’s so important to you, so fundamental. I’m really f*cking sorry I can’t share that.” He reaches across the table and takes Angel’s hand. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to make new memories.”

Chapter 14: Meeting The First Woman

Chapter Text

Just as Angel fully admits he’s still growing and healing five years into his journey, Husk would be lying if he said he felt like a substantially better person in the mere few weeks that have passed since both men laid their cards out on the table.

Husk still wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat feeling pure agony; the memory of Mira’s head at that horrible unnatural angle, the thought of Vaggie awakening to the sound of gunfire only to descend the stairs and find her parents dead, memories of the cool sneering face of Odette as his latest show of affection wasn’t enough to sate her, the hungry eyes of Alastor as he gripped the neon green chains taught against Husk’s throat. He still feels waves of guilt and sadness wash over him at random times, his mind unable to let go of the past.

While it wasn’t immediate, Husk has opened up to Angel more.

The overlord has more than proven his trustworthiness. Angel was privy to information that could have ruined him, the admission he felt lost and overwhelmed at his height of power. That could have been spun into a multitude of campaigns to have his empire ripped away. However, he made the decision not to spread that information, even to his own detriment, nor did he use it against him when they were reunited all these years later. Even the most stubborn voice in Husk’s head, insisting that Angel is out to hurt him, has finally been silenced.

It feels incredible to wake up in the morning without constant worry regarding the man he’s living with. No more tiptoeing, no more satiation, no more fear.

Husk hasn’t ever been as explicit and lengthy as he was on that night, but he has been more open about his past, his life, afterlife, desires and loves. As someone who loves to talk, Husk realizes just how stunted he’s been, how much he’s been holding back, and how f*cking amazing it feels to be able to let it loose, to be able to genuinely connect with someone. No more fleeting conversations at the bar, no more empty dialogue before or after a worthless one night stand.

Husk has a friend. It took him a few days to finally decide that’s what he and Angel are. When you’re friendly, open, and joke around a lot, that presumably goes under the umbrella of “friends.”

In that time, he’s also come to realize how amazing Angel is. He’s raunchy, but there is a genuine sweetness to him. Honestly, if this is how Angel behaved on their first date, he can see why he fell for him… No, that’s too far. They’ve barely gotten on good terms, barely become friends, Husk is unwilling to see Angel as anything more than that. Of course, that’s very difficult when he sees him naked every other day on the p*rn set.

Husk sits in a chair, his legs crossed to hide his embarrassing erection as he watches his owner perform. Angel grips the rail of a balcony with all four arms as he’s pounded from behind by a burly hellhound. Angel is a good actor but Husk can tell that much of his moans of eroticism are less than genuine. Of course, the one part that sounds very real is when the hellhound finally knots as he org*sms, the sudden size change making Angel yelp. Husk drums his fingers against his flask, perched on the armrest of the chair, as he waits for the scene to end. This is excruciating. He doesn’t want to see Angel like this, putting on a cheesy show with another demon’s co*ck knotted in his ass, but he can’t look away. Angel is too damn beautiful, even in a compromising situation like this. Husk’s mouth goes dry as Angel finally org*sms, his seed shooting and running down his fingers as his strokes slow to a halt.

The hellhound takes Angel by the throat and pulls him back. They kiss, the hellhound’s long tongue forcing its way into his mouth. After several minutes of this, Angel abruptly pulls away. “Alright, that’s a wrap!” He says. “Alright, tiny, get your knot out of me.”

The hellhound grips Angel by the shoulders and shifts, tugging his hips backwards until his co*ck comes free with a slick pop.

Angel pats the hellhound on his burly chest. “Good game, tiny.”

“I have a name.”

“Yeah, well, I don't care to learn it. For the love of god, use mouthwash next time, your breath smells like unwashed foreskin.” He makes his way off set, towels himself off and throws on a robe. He sees Husk watching, his eyes wide and dilated, desperately trying to conceal his boner. “Enjoy the show?” Angel asks as he takes a bottle of water from the catering table and takes a long swig.

“It was… interesting.”

“Come on, I know you loved it, you wouldn’t be crossing your legs otherwise!”

“I shouldn’t be viewing a friend like that…”

“We could always be more, you know.” Husk doesn’t respond to that and Angel shifts awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m sorry you have to wait on set like this. You’re right, it’s weird. But I can’t take the risk, somebody coming in to shoot a scene may have ulterior motives.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, I know why I’m here. And it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve been a bartender for forty years, I've seen some sh*t in my day.”

There is a puff of smoke and Keenie appears holding Angel’s cell phone. She looks uncharacteristically grim. “Call for you; urgent.”

Angel takes the phone and answers, a smile on his face as he feigns charm. His face immediately falls. “What? Yes, of course.” He paces back and forth, lower hands fiddling with the straps of his robes as he gives one word replies to the other person on the phone. Finally, he hangs up and stares off into space for a moment.

“What’s the matter?” Husk asks, able to uncross his legs as his member has finally decided to calm down.

“I’ve just been summoned by Eve.”

Immediately Husk understands his horror. He sits forwards in his chair. “What does she want?”

“I… I don’t know, her assistant wouldn’t say. But she’s inviting all of the heavy hitting overlords over for lunch. She doesn’t just do that! In my time as an overlord she’s never summoned us like this!”

Husk nods, gravely. “I was summoned by her once, when I was in power. It was, ah, not pretty - not to make you more upset.”

“Oh god, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”

Seeing Angel this unmoored is unsettling. Husk wishes it were unwarranted.

Angel tugs at his hair. “The meeting’s in an hour!” He says, continuing to hyperventilate.

“Angel, relax, having a panic attack isn’t going to make the situation better! Let’s just get you dressed and presentable, I doubt the mother of all of humanity is interested in seeing one of her descendent’s co*ck and balls.” That manages to make Angel laugh.

Husk escorts Angel to his room and stands by as he gets ready. Normally, Husk would stand outside the door, however, he’s seen Angel naked so many times on set - and apparently had amazing sex he is furious he doesn’t remember - so modesty isn’t exactly a priority. The only thing Husk focuses on is not staring at Angel’s body too long as he slowly covers it up layer by layer with his overlord outfit.

“So, what was the meeting you had with Eve about?” Angel asks as he strips his makeup to reapply it fresh.

“There was a massive conflict taking place between the overlords of the time. You remember the five point war?”

“Yeah; heavy hitters from all five sections of the pentagram duking it out.”

“It was throwing hell’s economy into a tailspin as all funding was going into these various overlords’ wars, meaning products, services, and the souls under their control suffered as a result.”

“I vaguely remember that.”

“Yeah, she got us all in a room to call us naughty little boys and girls and to knock it off.”

“And how did that work out?”

“They didn’t wrap things up as neatly as she wanted, so she had all five of them wiped out.”

Angel glances at Husk with wide eyes. “Just like that? Snap of her fingers, five overlords gone?”

Husk nods. Not trying to make you feel worse - but she’s not one to f*ck around with.”

“Ok, so, what should I do to keep on her good side?”

“Just keep your head down, be polite, don’t do anything that could piss her off. But don’t be too reserved, because she finds that fake and annoying and will equally become enraged.”

Angel groans and rubs his temples. “That is incredibly unhelpful.”

Husk shrugs. “I wish I could do more.” Husk unclips his flask from his belt, pops the cap with his thumb and hands it to Angel. “Take a swig and relax, ok?”

Angel smiles and takes it from him and tilts it back. “Mmm, this tastes better than that sh*t you had when you met.”

“It had better be, it’s from your stash.”

“What was it you used to drink anyway, what brand?”

“Mammon’s Select.”

Angel gags. “A Mammon knockoff product? sh*t, Alastor must’ve hated you, toilet water tastes better.”

Husk nods. “Yeah. According to him it was to discourage me from drinking; supplying me with only the most vile tasting sh*t possible. I think you of all people know that’s not how… addiction… works.” Husk has to force the last part. He knows damn well he’s an alcoholic, the stress that’s been lifted off his shoulders hasn’t stopped him from getting sh*t faced every night. But with the amount of times being called an addict was thrown in his face by Alastor, it’s hard not to see it as a dirty word.

Angel puts his arm around Husk’s shoulder and pulls him into a side hug. Angel is a more physical person than himself, but he enjoys that. His heart feels like it’s clogged with pure sugar that he cares so much he wants to offer solace, like a protector. God, Husk needs that.

“So,” Husk says after a few moments, pulling away, “Any ideas why Eve wants to call a meeting? Any major developments in the overlord hierarchy lately?”

Angel shakes his head. “To my knowledge, me killing Valentino was the biggest shakeup we’ve had and she didn’t do anything when that happened. There have been minor squabbles here and there, but nothing that should concern her this much.” Angel suddenly goes rigid.

“What’s wrong?” Husk asks.

Angel shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing. I hope.”

Eve’s domain is in the upper right corner of pentagram city. Considering she was Lucifer’s second affair and first woman, she has been given certain perks. It’s apparent upon entering her gated community called New Eden - the gate being massive vines and spindly young trees interwoven into a tight interlocking pattern - that she is absolutely living the afterlife. Plantlife is incredibly difficult to come by in Pride as most of it is urban; a few trees and weeds in vacant lots and cracks in the asphalt, nothing substantial. New Eden, however, is one enormous garden. Massive trees bursting with green leaves, weeping willows that sway in the breeze, flowers that perfume the air, fields of lush green grass, streams with crystal clear water, and a variety of real animals, untainted hy Hell’s energy that would otherwise mutate them into monsters. Interestingly, the only unearthly plants that grow are small trees with blue apples that hang off of them interspersed with the other plantlife every half mile or so. Husk and Angel both stare with wide eyed awe at the lush forestry bordered by gardens sporting flowers of every type and size. The sloppy driving of the chauffeur indicates that even he struggles to keep his eyes on the road.

The inhabitants of New Eden all walk around in pure white loose fitting clothing, barefoot, their hair long and wild. They admire the flowers and stroll around without a care in the world. The traffic that they meet on the road is all open wagons drawn by horses - real horses. They all smile and wave as the car passes by.

Angel seems to have calmed down a little. “Huh, ok, this place doesn’t look that bad.”

“Course it doesn’t, sinners aren’t going to be their regular selves when their humanity is stripped from them.”

Angel’s head darts in Husk’s direction. “Wait - what?”

“You’ve been an overlord for five years and you don’t know how Eve’s territory functions?”

“She’s a recluse who doesn’t do dealings with the rest of us - I never got around to looking into her since there wasn’t any need. Now what do you mean ‘stripped of their free will?’”

“You see those blue apples?” He nods to a tree that several of the inhabitants pluck fruit from and begin eating. “They contain a property that undoes the gift of the fruit of knowledge. It’s not permanent and constantly needs to be administered - hence why the trees are everywhere. They’re a horrible invention of Eve’s. She grants her subjects blissful ignorance if they sell her their souls.” He huffs. “I imagine they’re only wearing clothes because she doesn’t like seeing all of the genitals hanging out.”

Angel stares out at the passing inhabitants, his look of admiration or possibly envy replaced with horror. “So they’re just… simple? Like little kids?”

Husk nods. “Yep. They’re fully innocent. Eve is to them as God was to Eve before Lucifer gave her the apple.”

“A reprieve from Hell’s constant sh*t, a place where you can be blissfully ignorant and happy? f*ck, no wonder she’s so powerful, people must flock to her in droves.”

“And the funny part? Not everyone gets to live here, she’s very picky.”

“What do you mean?”

“Selling your soul to her is a gamble. Once you sign on the dotted line, you might get into New Eden and live your afterlife of ignorant bliss. Or, she could just laugh in your face and tell you to piss off. Either way, she owns your soul.”

“That’s f*cking awful.”

Husk snorts. “She doesn’t advertise that and isn’t too happy when people spread the word. I’d be careful who you tell any of this to. If some rando tried saying this publicly, she’d have him capped almost immediately. There’s a reason you don’t know much about Eve unless you do extensive research. Which I’d hoped you’d done.”

“I’ll put it on my reading list,” Angel says, distractedly watching the souls outside roll by, their fates sad and unfortunate or deeply rich depending on how one views it.

They finally pull up to Eve’s home, a massive solid marble villa with wide open windows to allow in the perfectly temperate sweet smelling air. Potted plants hang from every balcony, moss and vines creep up the sides of the home, and a river seems to run through it, small openings cut on either side allowing the water to flow straight through the middle.

The cars parked in the white stone courtyard look so out of place in this timeless rich garden. They’ve arrived just behind everyone else. Nobody has dared to be a minute late.

Overlords have exited their vehicles and mingle with one another, clearly reluctant to approach the home without being in a complete group. They all act cordial and chat with one another, though the mood in the air is a bit off.

Rosie stands by her ride, a jet black and blood red stagecoach, and checks her makeup with a pocket mirror extensively. Seeing her this unsure of her own beauty is quite unlike her.

Zeezi talks the most, loud and showboaty as though this whole situation doesn’t bother her. And maybe it doesn’t. She’s the youngest overlord, aside from Angel, only coming to power a few years before Valentino was dethroned.

Carmilla stands next to Zestiel, conversing in low tones. They both give the others shifty looks. Carmilla’s eyes meet Husk’s. The nostrils of her upturned nose flair and she grits her teeth after Husk gives her a little smile and passive aggressive wave.

The front door to the house opens revealing a woman unlike any other in Hell. She wears a dress, the base around her hips being interwoven fig leaves that transition into thousands upon thousands of interlocking apple blossoms like fish scales that just reach her sandaled feet. The dress’s upper hand is a corset of bloodstained ribs, the sleeves yet more interlocking apple blossoms. Vines sprout from her back and curl around her neck like jewelry and dance about her shoulders and upper arms. Her hair is adorned with a crown of interwoven apple tree branches with bright green leaves, all in full blossom. Intricate outfits for overlords are nothing of note. What immediately catches the eye is the fact that Eve has no fixed form. Her form is in constant flux; her skin changes from one skin tone to another like rolling waves; her hair lengthens and retracts as the curl pattern changes from afrocentric to caucasian with every sway; her eyes swirl like a hurricane with every hue the human eye could possibly have; her face shape going from round and smooth to angular and sharp; her whole body changes size and height, her clothes morphing to accommodate the constant change. Every subtle movement changes her appearance drastically. She is every single combination of traits that could define a human woman. She is difficult to behold.

“Welcome everyone!” Eve calls. Each oth them shudders. Her voice is as pleasant as grinding metal; thousands of pitches and dialects coming through all at once with every word. Eve senses the discomfort. Her form changes one last time, landing on a tall slender build with milky white skin, ginger hair that spills past her shoulders, fine lips and gray eyes. “Better?” She asks, her voice now pleasant and jovial. Everyone nods. “Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve had guests, I should have chosen a form before I came out, my apologies everyone!” her voice oozes with pure sugar.

Eve waves them inside and the overlords follow. Angel and Husk are the last two to enter. The door closes harshly behind them, vines growing over and engulfing the door, sealing them inside. Zeezi glances behind and her eyes widen a little as it sinks in; they are fully at Eve’s mercy.

“It’s so good to see everyone here and on time!” Eve exclaims. “Just because I love my privacy doesn’t mean I don’t adore having guests over! Did everyone arrive safely?”

Rosie and Zeezi both respond saying yes while Velvette looks up from her phone long enough to say what they’re all thinking. “Why you talking like you’re our mother or some sh*t?”

Eve laughs. “Oh, because I am! I am the first woman, every single one of you is descended from me. I am the ultimate parent! Now, put your phone away, I’m trying to have a conversation.”

Husk shudders. Her words aren’t even aimed at him yet the command weighs on him. He feels as though the decades have been rewound like a VHS tape, returning him to a child deeply beholden to their guardian. Velvette immediately tucks her phone away, looking quite unhappy about it.

Eve leads them over a small bridge in the center of the home that expands over the fresh babbling stream that bisects her home, and towards the dining room. Like the rest of the home, it’s white marble and smothered in plantlife that basks in the sun that filters in through the greenhouse-like glass ceiling. Birds chirp and flutter about the rafters above. Eve looks up and whistles. One flutters down and lands on her finger, allowing her to caress it. Husk can’t help but wonder who cleans up the bird sh*t. The dining table is a massive slab of rock propped up on four other roughly cylindrical rocks like Stonehenge. Chair shaped rocks emerge from the ground as they approach, allowing for everyone to be comfortably seated. Vox, Velvette, Angel, and Husk each sit on one side while Zestiel, Carmilla, Rosie, and Zeezi sit on the other. Eve takes her place at the head of the table, her seat a throne adorned with thornless white roses.

There is the sound of a strong wind through trees behind Husk. He looks up to see Alastor towering over him.

He slides into the seat next to him. “Charmed to see you were invited to tag along,” he whispers, running a hand up Husk’s thigh. He feels a shiver run up his spine and he swallows despite his mouth being dry. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate,” Husk mutters.

“Of which I’m the main course, darling.”

“You don’t own me anymore, you are no longer my priority.”

Alastor’s eyes flash but he quickly glances at Eve. She still smiles, but she gives a firm look that makes it clear this is not the time or place for Alastor to be having this discussion.

“Well, Eve says,” clapping her hands. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished! Imps! The feast!”

The room is swarmed by dozens of imps all carrying expensive looking sandwiches, soups, and salads with every desirable condiment and topping. They quickly lay out the spread with immaculate taste and bow before taking their leave, the whole affair lasting barely a minute.

“So sorry for the wait,” Eve says with a sigh, “I must have them rehearse for this, no reason to make you all wait such an eternity for the table to be set.” She shakes her head. “Well, dig in!” She ladles herself some soup and takes several sandwiches and begins to eat. The others follow suit, doing so with quick grace.

Husk can feel Alastor’s eyes boring into him as he fixes his plate, the thought of which makes his heart race and his leg jiggle with anxiety. Angel takes note of this and rests a hand on Husk’s knee in reassurance. Alastor sets his jaw at the sight of this, one of his eyes twitching.

Eve begins chatting with Zestiel, Carmilla, and Rosie - the only three overlords who’ve kept their status since the last meeting was called - catching up. Eve speaks of the changing times, of the new ways in which souls are acquired, of how each overlord’s power has grown since they last met. She speaks with authority, often speaking over the others or treating their endeavors as cute with no respect to their businesses. None of their accomplishments are good enough for her.

Rosie is the most comfortable with her, matching the enthusiasm while Zestiel is very formal and proper with his words, as though he’s a lawyer speaking for a client rather than having a conversation. Carmilla, however, seems to be struggling. She is not someone who’s often challenged, so having someone treat her business as though it were merely a lemonade stand run by a child seems to be getting under her skin. In fact, Eve seems to have more investment in her as she mostly speaks to her and is the most critical of her affairs. Husk has seen Carmella’s pressure build many a time before during family gatherings when he and Odette were first married. In a sick way he almost hopes she explodes, if only to have her put in her place for once.

Eve is the oldest and most powerful entity in this room. She could crush every single one of them in the blink of an eye. Even overlords like Zestiel or Alastor would be no match for her - not that Alastor would dare fight the woman who holds his chains.

He glances over at Vox and Velvette to find they are taking this situation far less seriously. Vox softly answers calls and conducts business while Velvette scrolls through her social media and pays no attention to the others.

Eve abruptly stops her current conversation and turns to Vox. “it’s rude to conduct business at a social event.” Her voice is sweet, but her irritation is evident.

“Pardon, what?” Vox says which causes Carmilla, Rosie, and Zestiel to grimace.

Eve throws out her hand and a vine sprouts from her dress, curls up her arm, and lashes out. Vox flinches but the vine only taps the receiver button at the side of his head, ending his current phone call before patting the top of his hat.

The vine then goes towards Velvette, snatching the phone from her grasp. “What the f*ck -”

The vine retracts and Eve clutches the phone in her hand. She casually scrolls through Velvette’s messages. For the first time, Velvette looks genuinely uncomfortable. Eve looks up at her with distaste. She reads one of the messages. “‘This lunch in is incredibly f*cking boring. Eve is a preppy f*cker.’” She smiles before squeezing the phone in her hand. The metal crumples like a can and the screen shatters.

Velvette goes to get up but Angel grips her with both left arms and forces her back into her seat. Eve smiles sweetly at him. “Angel Dust, we haven’t met. I’m impressed, keeping your friend in line. We wouldn’t want her getting hurt, now, would we?” Angel’s face is completely neutral. Husk can see the fear in Angel’s eyes and if Husk can see it, Eve certainly does.

An imp scampers from the corner of the room with a dustpan and handbroom and quickly sweeps up the debris before slinking away.

Eve chuckles to herself. “I was certainly hoping this would be a more hospitable meeting. I had hoped that we could all get along, have a nice conversation, and go home happy. We’re all family, after all. I’d hoped that you would have the courtesy to be kind to your elders.” She makes deathly eye contact with Vox and Velvette, her smile sweet but her eyes filled with fury. “I ask only for politeness, obedience, and cooperation within my walls. I was planning on being a little more careful with my words, a little more compassionate. Vox, Velvette, Zeezi, Angel, you are all new faces to me! I’d hoped to get to know you a little bit before I gave you all a good scolding.” Every overlord’s eyes dart to one another with questioning worry.

“Angel, you seem to be a peach! And you brought Husker with you, how nice.” She makes eye contact with him. “I wish it were as a fellow overlord rather than the soul on someone else’s chain. To think, when we last met, I had such high hopes for you.” Her words are so flippant but hit deep. Husk effectively had the mother of all humanity call him a loser.

She claps her hands and the imps rush to the table to clear the plates and the remaining food in seconds, leaving the table as bare as when they arrived.

“Now, for the main course!” She calls. An imp slinks up to her holding a silver covered platter. It’s laid before her. She removes the cover and grips the object by its horn and slings it across the table, fluorescent golden fluid that smells of fresh flowers splattering the tablecloth with every bounce until it comes to a stop roughly at the center of the table. Everyone stares in shock. It’s the severed head of an exorcist.

“Mmmm, yummy!” Alastor says, licking his lips. He looks around at the others, reveling in their horror.

Every head darts back to Eve whose sunny disposition has melted. The look on her face is that of pure malice. She holds every bit of contempt and fiery rage as the being who crafted her from her husband’s rib. “Tell me, what is this?” She asks with the authoritative voice of a teacher. Everyone is silent. “What. Is. This?” She asks again, her teeth gritted.

“This is an exorcist,” Zeezi says. She towers above Eve, being a foot taller than her even sitting down, yet she looks terrified.

“Very good!” Eve says in a patronizing manner. “Now, tell me, what is the law about killing exorcists any time other than extermination day?”

“It’s Ill-” Eve raises a hand to silence Zeezi as she speaks a second time.

“No, no, someone else.” She looks to the others. “What is the law about killing exorcists any time other than extermination day?”

“It’s illegal,” Angel says.

“Very good!” Eve says again. “So, in that case, tell me, WHY THE f*ck IS THERE THE HEAD OF A DEAD EXORCIST LAYING ATOP THIS TABLE?” Everyone leans back in their seats at Eve's sudden outburst. Her teeth are bared, her nails digging into the tablecloth.

There is a moment of silence before Velvette speaks. “And what exactly makes you think we had anything to do with this?”

“Oh! Well, I’ll let Alastor explain. Sweetheart, won’t you?”

“I’d be delighted, my lady!” Alastor says. He stands. “You see, I came into some highly interesting information this morning. Information that an overlord had taken it upon themselves to kill an angel. This overlord was very sneaky, concealing the body and having it disposed of. But that was just the body . The head flew off in the battle; oh where ever could it have gone? Well, I was told exactly where I could find it at which point I delivered it straight to my mistress.”

“Thank you, Alastor!” Eve says, like a mother swooning her child.

Alastor sits, crossing a leg and leaning back in his chair, gleefully seeing how the situation unfolds.

“Now, the real question is, who exactly killed this angel?” She begins to slowly stroll around the table counterclockwise. “Was it Vox? He could easily decapitate someone with one of his funny little inventions.” She runs her finger over the top of his screen and tweaks the antenna on his hat. She continues to walk. “Was it Angel? Perhaps he reduced the body to paste with his guns leaving only the head?” She dances her fingers across Angel’s shoulder. “Was it Rosie?” She says as she round the other side of the table. “Maybe she got so hungry she ate the whole body right up to the head!” She flicks Rosie’s hat, knocking it askew. She stops in front of Carmilla. “Or, maybe, its head was sliced off with the accuracy and precision of a one-of-a-kind angelic steel slipper.”

Carmilla’s face grows pale, her lower lip quivering.

Eve slams her palms down to the table and puts her face directly to Carmilla’s. “DID YOU THINK YOU WOULD GET AWAY WITH THIS? IF I KNOW ABOUT THIS ANGEL’S DEATH, THEN HEAVEN SURELY DOES! You thought you, as one of hell’s hierarchy, could so flagrantly and selfishly destroy an exorcist and thought nothing would come of it? How STUPID are you?”

Carmilla remains silent.

“TELL ME!” Eve bellows.

Carmilla still remains silent.

“TELL ME!”

“IT WAS ATTACKING MY DAUGHTERS!” Carmilla wails. Tears roll down her cheeks. Husk has never seen her show any emotion other than either steely indifference or volcanic rage. “I was with my daughters, we were taking a shortcut down an alley. The exorcist was patrolling. It began to harass us; started jabbing its spear at my daughters. It said it could kill us right then and there and nobody would care. It said it hated how ‘pompous’ us overlords are and wanted to humble us. Before it could do anything, I struck first. I don’t regret it!” She says. She glares directly into Eve’s eyes, defiance radiating off her.

Eve stands and begins to laugh. “You are a fool, Carmilla, you truly are. My job, as elder overlord, is to make sure you idiots don’t do anything objectionable that would get the rest of us killed. Adam has free reign to do whatever he wants. He calls all of the shots, his verbal contract with Lucifer is a mere formality. He could have each and every one of us killed TOMORROW if he so wished it. So, what must I do to placate him? I’ll have to join a meeting with my no good husband and grovel and beg him not to destroy us. If it wasn’t for me being able to act feeble and weak and knowing exactly how to stroke his ego, we’d be f*cked!

Eve swipes her arm and dozens of vines shoot out and wrap around Carmilla in an instant. Several reach and undo the straps of her slippers and retract, placing them in Eve’s hand. Eve holds the slippers up and clutches them harshly. They immediately begin to melt, metal dripping to the floor through her fingers like mercury.

“I have chosen to be nice, today. I could have Carmella give her own head as a replacement for the exorcist’s - God knows my husband would enjoy that for his mantle. But, no, I’m feeling charitable . However , let this be a lesson to each and every one of you. I am watching, as is my sweet Alastor. Try something like this again and I will be FAR less forgiving.”

All of the stone chairs except for Alastor’s abruptly sink into the ground, everyone yelping as their rears suddenly collide with the floor.

“This meeting is over. Leave my house. Now.”

Eve watches with crossed arms as every overlord scrambles to their vehicles and wastes no time in departing New Eden.

Angel slouches down in his seat and groans, rubbing his face as they exit Eve’s territory, the gate closing behind them. “Oh my f*cking god, she’s scary!”

“She’s the first woman, of course she’s scary; she’s a step down from God himself,” Husk says. “But, hey, at least she liked you.”

Angel forces a smile. “My charm is irresistible.”

Angel receives a call. He answers to which Vox screams into the phone. “Angel you son of a bitch, get your ass to V tower NOW!”

Chapter 15: Betrayals

Chapter Text

Angel sits with his head against the window of the car. He’s taken his hat off, his fluffy hair allowed to spill over the side of his face. He rolls the feather of his hat between his fingers absentmindedly. “Husk,” he says after a while, “given the chance, would you live in New Eden? Would you be willing to give up your… everything to live like that?”

Husk ponders a moment before saying, “Honestly, I think so.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have to think about anything. No job, no responsibilities, no pain, no… nothing. The afterlife may be sh*t but at least you’re too innocent to notice.”

“I had a feeling that would be your answer.”

“You sound a tad judgy.”

“I’m not judging, I just figured you’d want to be more proactive now that you’re free.”

“I’m not free, you own me, remember?”

Angel grimaces. “Free from Alastor, I mean.”

Husk doesn’t really know how to respond other than to shrug.

Angel continues. “I can’t fathom living like that. I’ve had a loss of control over my own self for so long… my brain is f*cked but it’s mine, i don’t want anybody taking it away from me.”

“You said it yourself, you have so much sh*t, you’d honestly refuse the option to make it all go away?”

“I know this is incredibly cliche, but I am who I am right now because of all that. Am I a good person? Debatable; I’d say no, honestly. But I don’t hate who I am, and that’s the important thing. I am totally uninterested in giving up my whole self and trust someone else to take care of me.”

“What if that person was trustworthy?”

Angel shakes his head. “Nobody should dictate how you live your afterlife.”

“That’s what you do to me every day.”

“You just said that! I am well aware!” He rubs his face. “I’m sorry I just… It sucks, I know it sucks.”

“It’s like I told you, being an overlord isn't for good people. It's for power hungry f*ckheads who only care about their own self interests. You care, you recognize the problem. Creates cognitive dissonance.”

“I’m just trying to stay afloat. I don’t want to go back to where I was when I first got here. I like people being afraid of me, being able to get what I want, but I hate the business. I don’t know sh*t about it and haven’t cared to learn.”

“Considering you didn’t know anything about Eve, I find that unsurprising.”

“Being an overlord was Val’s thing. When I first signed on with him that is all he would ever talk about, he obsessed over it. He wanted that power. I just want people to leave me alone. Be able f*ckers like that Bernard… Burnie? Whatever his name was exactly where to stick it, to destroy someone like Marcus Shepherd. There’s a reason I have associates under me who do all the heavy lifting. I’m just the pretty face on the package.”

“Can’t relate. I had to build everything from the ground up. I didn’t have help, I didn’t have associates. I had to learn everything on the fly and get pro bono tips from schmoozing at parties. I had my assistants since everything was so huge, but for the most part I was the one who handled everything. In a way, I almost miss it. Had a job; something I was good at.”

“You’re a businessman?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t allowed to be on Earth when I was alive but down here where it doesn’t matter if you’re black or white - because we’re all horrible abominations only vaguely human looking anymore - I could flex my muscles.”

“Thought you didn’t like the whole owning people business.”

“I didn’t. That’s what I handed off to my assistants, that was their problem. I didn’t… I didn't want to think about it. The Jackpot and my other financial endeavors were my focus. Souls were always an afterthought - nothing I ever sought out specifically but took on because, well, you have to if you want to stay in the game.”

“Maybe I bought you for the wrong job, maybe you should be my financial advisor.”

“Hey, let me sit in on the next meeting, I’ll show your chumps what for.”

Angel and Husk step inside Vox’s office at which point Angel is immediately gripped at the center of his chest and pinned to the wall.

Husk’s need to protect flares up like a fire fed oxygen and he tackles Angel’s assailant. Vox throws Husk off of him and, as Husk comes in for a second attack, sweeps his arm that collides against Husk’s face like a sack of bricks making him stumble back.

“Call off the attack dog,” Vox snaps.

Angel shoves Vox off him and straightens his jacket. “Relax, husk, this isn’t anything serious.”

The compulsion in Husk’s chest lessens.

“I clearly pissed you off,” Angel says, tersely.

“Yeah, no sh*t!” Velvette says. She sits at the conference table with her feet on the table, phone in hand. “Angel, what the f*ck were you thinking, giving sensative information to Alastor of all people?”

“What makes you think I was the one who told him about Carmilla killing the angel?”

Vox slaps his screen, the blue image flickering with a variety of glitches. “God, I was such an idiot, I never should have told you and Velvette about what I saw with my spy drones!”

“I say again, how do you know it was me?” Angel asks. “Maybe someone else saw it from a window or something and it got around. Gossip is a thing, I figured you of all people would know about that - with the whole internet wired into your head.”

“Angel, I won’t pretend I’m the most tactful person in Hell, but I’m not an idiot!” Velvette says. “You go on Alastor’s radio broadcast, come home with an expensive soul, and Alastor just so happens to find out about the angel. Two plus two equals four you dumbass!”

Angel’s eye contact drops from Velvette’s. “Ok, ok, I admit it, I wasn’t thinking -”

“Clearly!” Vox spits. Do you have any idea how much danger you put us in?”

“UGH! For the love of - How stupid do you think I am, motherf*cker? You wanna see the contract we drafted up? Here’s the contract!” Angel generates the contract in question and hands it to Vox.

Velvette approaches and punches Vox in the side, demanding to see.

Angel continues. “A part of the contract detailing our exchange is that Alastor is not allowed to say nor imply who he got this information from. He is physically unable to point the finger at us.”

They both give it a look over and hand it back, their faces sour.

“So, you see? Air tight! I will admit, I didn’t think that would cause Eve to freak out. It’s one measly exorcist, who cares?”

Velvette huffs. “Please, you’re just acting co*cky because Eve let you off easy.”

“Yeah, because I kept my mouth shut and didn’t do anything to piss her off. You two act like complete assholes in front of the most powerful human soul in Hell and didn’t think that would blow up in your face?”

“She’s a crusty old bint,” Velvette mutters.

“Do crusty old bints cause you to piss yourself often, or was Eve just special?”

“Oh, shut it, whor* bug!” Velvette snaps.

“What’s the matter?” Angel says, a co*cky grin on his face, bending down to Velvette’s level. “Am I spittin’ too many facts for ‘ya to handle?”

Velvette goes to strike Angel but Husk intercepts her arm. She yanks it back, hard. “You know, Angel, for someone who hates Valentino so much, you sure act like him sometimes!”

Angel’s co*ckiness evaporates. “Don’t even f*cking go there!”

“f*ck you, I will go there! We’re trying to have a goddamned conversation and you’re here mocking us -”

“Oh, yeah, because slamming me into the f*cking wall was just talking, I see.”

Things devolve into a screaming match between Angel and Velvette while Vox stands by, hand to his head, his face glitching with irritation.

“Do they do this often?” Husk asks him.

“She got along better with Val,” Vox mutters. Finally he claps his hands together. Speakers in the room erupt with the sound of deafening thunder and the lights flicker. “ENOUGH!” He bellows. “Angel, let’s make something very clear, if this sh*t comes back to us, if Eve figures out our involvement, we will be holding you responsible. We are NOT afraid to go to war with you. We work closely together, but you’re not a V, we have no incentive to protect you.”

“Ooh, goodie, empty threats, my favorite,” Angel mutters.

“No, no, that’s an actual threat. If this sh*t hits the fan, don’t expect to survive extermination day. Got it?”

“Yeah. We done here?”

“Yes. Now get the f*ck out! Velvette yells, jabbing a finger towards the exit.

Angel obliges, turning on a heel, his extravagant jacket flapping, and he marches out the door.

Husk goes to follow when Vox grips his shoulder. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Husker. You were the object of trade, don’t think Angel is the only one with his neck on the line. I will GLADLY have you fed to my babies,” he says, hiking a thumb to the lovecraftian deep sea fish that swim on the opposite side of the aquarium glass.

As soon as the two are back inside the safety of the car, Husk lets Angel have it. “You f*cked over Carmella to get my soul?” he demands.

Angel sighs. “God not you too.”

“What the f*ck were you thinking?”

“Look, me and the Vs get into tiffs like that all the time, this isn’t anything serious -”

“f*ck the Vs, you handed over the equivalent of a nucular bomb to Alastor, who got all of his power and influence from Eve! You didn’t think he would run to her with that information?”

“I swear, I didn't think it was serious enough that she would get involved -”

“Her entire job is to keep the rest of the overlords under her in line! Why do you think she has Alastor as her attack dog, or any of the hundreds who came before him? The imps, hellhounds, and hellborn are Lucifer and Lilith’s business - they created them. But humanity? We’re just thrown down here because the angels don’t want us! Lucifer doesn’t care about us, he slaps a bandaid on our problems and calls himself a philanthropist! We’re Eve’s problem. She has to make sure the sinners, you know, the people who the exterminations target don’t do anything to give Heaven a reason to wipe us out in mass! One of us, let alone an OVERLORD, one of hell’s HIERARCHY killing an angel outside of extermination day? We don’t have the self-defense excuse, it’s just murder!” Husk slumps in his seat. “Angel, you put yourself in SO much danger! You heard Eve today, she was being ‘nice.’ she could have killed Carmella for her actions, she could have killed Vox and Velvette for being insubordinate. She’s callus enough to do it! Without Vox or Velvette, where would you be?”

“I didn’t think -”

“Exactly, you didn’t think! You made a spur of the moment decision that could have utterly destroyed you! That’s not something a ‘changed’ person does! That’s self destructive -”

“I have changed!” Angel yells. “I swear, I don’t do that sh*t anymore I keep my mouth shut -”

“Like you did when you went after Marcus?”

Angel crosses his arms and sets his jaw.

“Angel, you are making risky decisions -”

“I like having a LITTLE agency in my life, Husk, I like being able to make SOME choices.”

“But you don't think things through!”

Angel makes a time out sign with both sets of hands. “Ok, stop, f*cking stop! I get it, I f*cked up, what more do you want from me?”

“I want you to be safe!”

Angel stares out the window, his arms pulled tightly around himself, tension radiating off of him.

Husk’s righteous fury turns to a pit of bubbling tar in his stomach. “Angel, please don’t be upset! I overreacted, I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I was cruel and stupid and I’m really f*cking sorry!” His last few words come out as a nervous frenzy.

“Don’t be sorry,” Angel says, softly. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I knew what I was doing was stupid, but I did it anyway. I didn’t think carefully because if i did, I’d have backed out, I would have left empty handed. And I didn’t want to, I wanted - I had to have you at any cost, consequences be damned. I fell off the wagon. My whole goal has been to make good choices, smart choices, there’s a reason I fell out with someone as spontaneous and unhinged as Cherri Bomb. But I slip, I f*ck up, I go into bad habits.” Angel rubs his temples. “I always do, no matter what.”

Husk feels absolutely horrendous for making Angel feel like this, he f*cked everything up, he always f*cks everything up. Husk’s mind reels as he tries to find some way of making it better; make this horrible situation just go away.

Angel smiles. “Maybe I just need people to hold me accountable. Most of my assistants, as nice as I am to them, are intimidated by me. I guess I need more people like you in my life.”

Husk’s discomfort becomes intertwined with positivity at being complimented. He proceeds to try and drown the conflict by draining his flask over the rest of the car.

As soon as they arrive at the estate, Husk breaks away from Angel, wanting to give him some space. He still feels awful for making him upset, though he isn’t internally screaming obscenities at himself anymore.

He makes his way to the bar wherein he finds something highly unexpected. Collin sits at the bar and cries, bleats interspersed with his sobs. He holds a can of light beer that he takes tiny sips from.

“Hey,” Husk says as he approaches.

Collin turns to look at him, his eyes red. “What do you want?”

“Just came in to get a drink. Are you ok?”

“Do I look ok?”

“Just asking.” Husk rounds the bar and plucks a bottle from the selection and pours himself a drink. “You like light beer?” He asks, nodding to the can.

“It’s what Cletus drinks. He has to do it in secret because Keenie doesn’t think angels should drink. I know where his stash is.”

“You like the taste?”

Collin shakes his head.

“You’re in a bar filled with hundreds of bottles of alcohol, why are you drinking that sh*t then?”

Collin shrugs.

Husk scours the shelves until he finds a particular selection and pours a shot. “Here.” He slides the shot glass over and pushes the can aside. Collin picks it up and sniffs it. “Try it, it’s good. I picked out a mellow one for you.”

Collin takes a little taste, audibly smacking his tongue before he tilts his head back and downs it. “Ow, ow, it burns!” Collin moans.

“Good burn or bad burn?” Collin ponders. “Good burn, I think.” He worries the glass a moment before he slides it back over to Husk who refills it.

“Had a rough day?” Husk says.

“Very,” Collin says with bitterness that sounds strange coming from someone like him.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“You don’t want to hear about my problems.”

“Says who?”

“Says… everybody.”

“By ‘everybody’ do you mean Cletus and Keenie?”

Collin runs his finger around the edge of the shot glass before he nods.

“Two people aren’t everybody.”

“They kinda are, though. We’re tied together. We were birthed from the same cloud formation in heaven. Cherubs come in threes. I’m stuck with them. And they resent that.” He shakes his head. “No, that’s an awful thing to say.”

“I’ve heard them say far worse to you. There’s nothing wrong with being honest about that.”

Collin shudders. “I don’t want them to find out.”

“I’ll back you up.”

Collin raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not used to people offering that, huh?”

He shakes his head.

“Even in heaven?”

“Especially in heaven.”

“So, what did they do to make you so upset?”

“It wasn’t anything.”

It’s Husk’s turn to raise an eyebrow.

Collin lets out a sigh through his nose. “Keenie is the worst. She snips and says mean things. She makes me feel like a balloon. The things she says just build up and I pop. I messed up on some of Angel’s paperwork today and she got mad and called me stupid and stuff and I just freaked out. I’m fine, though!” he quickly adds.

“In my experience people who turn to alcohol and cry are far from fine.”

Collin knocks back another shot and slides the glass over to be refilled.

“Trust me, I’ve told myself the same thing a lot over the years. I’ve looked for comfort at the bottom of a bottle and… it… ah… yeah.”

Collin senses his discomfort. “Alastor?” He says.

Husk nods.

“He seems really, really mean. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“Cletus and Keenie aren’t anywhere as bad as him, I know you had it way worse.”

“It’s not healthy to compare your trauma to someone else’s. The sh*t they put you through is unfair. Sure, a gunshot is technically worse than a cut, but both still hurt.”

Collin knocks back his third shot and slides the glass back over. “Why do you care?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I’m a pervert.”

Husk scoffs. “Excuse me?”

“I violated you -”

“No, no, stop,” Husk cuts him off. “You flipping the covers off of me was… awkward but I’m not mad about it. I was in a REALLY bad place when that happened, bad first meeting.” He grins. “You didn’t jerk off to the thought of me nude later, did you?”

Collin blushes an extremely deep shade of red. “Absolutely not!”

“Then you’re not a pervert. Trust me, I think the whole thing is funny more than anything. No bad blood.”

“Ok,” Collin says, still a little unsure.

“We’re both Angel’s employees, we see each other every day, might as well be friendly, right?”

I guess.” Collin smiles for the first time. “Thanks.”

Husk nods. “Tell me, do you get out much?”

Collin shakes his head. “No, not really.”

“You see, I’ve had a stressful day myself and was hoping to blow off some steam. You wanna come along?”

Collin’s eyes light up. “You’re inviting me out?”

“If you’d like -”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Collin exclaims.

It would be disingenuous to say that Husk's choice to go to Illustrious was made purely because he wanted to show Collin a good time. He wants Collin to experience something other than humiliation and stress for once, sure, but he’s also hoping to catch even a glimpse of the night he and Angel shared.

Husk feels like his relationship with Angel is in a weird limbo, where they’re dancing around going further. Angel clearly wants to and Husk would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested either. But there’s still the strangeness of how they met, the power imbalance, the miscommunications, he has a hard time moving past that. He needs to know what happened that night, not Angel’s retelling, but what he experienced. He wants to know exactly how he felt about Angel, how he looked, how they interacted, it’s not enough to be told, he needs the experience .

Collin flutters at Husk’s eye level, looking around nervously, wringing his hands as they wait in line.

Husk is aware that Collin, with his pastel color palette, heavenly glow, and halo is a bizarre sight in hell and not a very welcome one. Angel’s souls are used to the cherubs, but he imagines that it’s quite a shock for strangers.

“So… what exactly do you do at clubs?” Collin asks.

Husk shrugs. “You drink and dance.”

“Can’t we just do that at home?”

“You can’t talk to other people at home.”

“Other people scare me.”

“Social anxiety?”

“I don’t know, I guess?” Collin mumbles, tugging at his fleecy hair.

“Relax, stick with me, I’ll make it comfy for you, ok?”

Collin doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“I thought you wanted to tag along?”

“I do, I just… you know… I don’t like parties and stuff. I guess I thought we were just going to hang out. You know, buddies!” He puts his fist to Husk’s shoulder in a miming punch that barely touches him.

Husk drums his claws against the flask hooked to his belt. They’re almost at the entrance, a few more people and they’ll be let in… “We… um… we can go if you want.” He says it casually, though the words crush him.

Collin shakes his head. “No, we’re here. And you want to be here, that’s what’s important.”

That manages to make Husk feel worse.

Husk pays for the two of them and they’re allowed into the club, the hellhound bouncer giving Collin a little snarl that makes him recoil.

Inside music booms, people go to town on the dance floor, and the bar is packed with people.

Husk can see Collin’s panicked face every time a neon light passes over him. “Relax buddy, I’m here for you.”

“Ok,” Collin murmurs.

They both get drinks from the bar and Husk scans the tables. He approaches and tries talking to a few people, getting a mixture of responses from polite a “we’re not interested” to a blatant “f*ck off.” Each rejection makes Collin more and more uncomfortable to the point his arms are wrapped around himself like a scared child but Husk holds strong.

Finally, Husk spies a couple of hellborn succubi in their late twenties early thirties chatting and drinking. He drifts over to the table and says, “evening ladies.”

They smile at him. “Hey,” one of them says, her voice indicating she’s a little tipsy.

“This seat taken?” Husk asks, patting the empty spot opposite the two women.

“No.”

He slides in.

Collin continues to stand and Husk motions for him to sit, which he does so, gingerly.

“Having a fun evening?” Husk asks. He gets the two of them talking and both seem to find him charming, he can sense the wandering eyes and how they play with their hair. “So, yeah, I'm here with a friend of mine, Collin.”

One of the succubi’s lips curls slightly. “Oh. hi.”

“Hello,” Collin says, gingerly extending a hand for a shake which she doesn’t return.

The other demon elbows her friend before reaching out and shakes Collin’s hand. “Hi, I’m Mindy!”

Collin’s eyes dart until he notices a necklace with some symbol on it around her neck that Husk doesn’t know the meaning of. “Is that a Mandalorian Crest?”

Mindy grins. “Oh, sh*t, you’re, like, the first person to notice! Yeah, I love Star Wars!”

“Golly, me too!” Collin says, suddenly looking elated.

The two immediately start nerding out. It’s been years since Husk has seen the original trilogy let alone the prequels, sequels, or supplementary stuff. Most of what they say sounds like utter gibberish.

“Oh god, there she goes,” the second succubus mutters, rubbing her forehead.

“Not a Star Wars fan…?”

“Florence. And, no, I don’t f*ck with that nerd sh*t.”

The two begin talking and Florence does seem genuinely interested in Husk, though she gives her partner annoyed sideways glances when she starts making lightsaber noises as she reenacts some battle. Husk isn’t the biggest fan of Florence as she seems to be a bit of a bitch. But, he plays along to give Collin more of a chance to talk to Mindy.

The two’s conversation has drifted from Star Wars to the fandom oriented coffee shop they both mutually enjoy going to, which makes Husk’s heart swell with happiness.

However, that happiness is muddled. He’d hoped that being here, taking in the atmosphere, having a similarly vaguely flirty conversation would bring back something, anything about that night with Angel. But, there’s nothing.

Florence suddenly looks up, her eyes wide, and she shrinks back in her seat.

Mindy and Collin have noticed a presence behind Husk and both of them have stopped.

The scent hits Husk’s nose just as a sensual hand rests upon his shoulder. “Husker!” Alastor says. “Imagine running into you here, twice in the same day, how lucky am I?”

“I’m talking to someone -”

“I need to piss,” Florence says quickly before slipping from her side of the booth and taking off.

“Well, you’re not anymore.” Alastor slips into Florence's spot. “Rosie?” He says, holding out his hand.

Rose takes it and scootches in next to him. Alastor’s side touches Mindy and she moves to the very edge of the bench. “Hey Husker,” Rosie says, reaching out and giving Husk’s hand a squeeze. “I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything earlier today. But, you know, Eve and all - didn’t have a chance. How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says.

Alastor props his chin upon his hands and gazes at Husk in a way he finds both deeply uncomfortable and oddly flattering simultaneously.

“What… ah… what are you doing here?”

Oh, just getting a drink,” Rosie says, “recovering from that awful experience this morning. Eve is such a -”

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t badmouth my mistress,” Alastor says wagging a finger, “she was just a little testy today.”

“Sure,” Rosie says. “Seems like she’s a real peach, you know, when there’s not the imminent threat of Heaven’s retaliation hanging over her head. Poor thing, hope she and Adam can work something out. Girl’s got more moxie than I do, I’d just rip out the f*cker’s liver for a nice dinner and call it a day.”

Someone slides in next to Collin, pushing him out of the way so his small body presses against Husk’s shoulder. “Oh, Husker, so good to see you under better circ*mstances!” Mimsy says. She reaches across the table and takes Mindy’s drink and downs it.

Mindy makes a face. “Excuse me -”

“I’m sorry, you were done with that, right?”

“I am now,” she mutters.

“Hey, Husk, I think we’ll just move over to the next table,” Collin says, motioning to an empty table next to them.

Husk nods. “Nice meeting you, Mindy.”

She smiles and gives him a little wave before swiftly leaving and hopping to the other bench.

Alastor stretches widely. “Thank christ I thought she’d never leave. Tell me, Husker, what are you doing with that little Cherub?”

“Hanging out, he had a bad day -”

“Sure, sure, wanted to take the little thing under your wing? Utterly precious! Tell me, how would you like to spend the night with us?”

Husk looks around at the three smiling faces waiting eagerly for a ‘yes.’ “I… um… I don’t… I’m with Collin.”

“So bring him along!” Rosie says. “He’s absolutely adorable! Just wanna pinch his little cheeks!”

“Where were you planning on going?”

“Seance Inceptor’s.”

“Sounds fun, but I think I’ll have to pass. I don’t know if Collin’s comfortable with a scene like that.”

“So ditch him, he seems like a wimp,” Mimsy says.

“Not happening, sweetheart. I promised him a fun night, that’s what he’s gonna get.”

Mimsy grins. “Oooh, you making a move?”

“What? No! We’re just friends -”

“Ok, ok, I just figured, you know, you’re bi and all.”

“I can still have friendships , Mim.”

“Mimsy, would you lay off?” Rosie says. “You’re being a little much.”

Mimsy huffs. “My god, everyone is so sensitive tonight, the f*ck is wrong with you?” She leans over and takes Florence’s glass and drains its contents.

Husk notices Florence has returned. She nervously peeks around the corner to see if the crew are gone and shudders when she discovers they haven’t.

Husk gives her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he says, simply.

She nods. She sees Mindy and slips in next to her, side eyeing the overlords.

“Come on, Husker, it’s been forever since I’ve seen you!” Rosie says. “I’ve missed you, darlin’!”

“I’ve missed you too,” Husk admits. He remembers all of the overlord parties they used to go to. She was always an amazing hang. It stings however how flippantly she says “haven’t seen you in forever” as though she didn’t know exactly where to find him. He tries not to be bitter about it.

Husk’s eyes keep finding Alastor, ever present grin, his eyes electric, practically demanding him to say “yes.” Husk desperately wants to say no.

Then, it hits him like a sack of bricks. Alastor has the Envy crystals. He physically has Husk’s memories in his possession.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” Husk says. “Sounds fun. I’m not ditching Collin, though.”

“Splendid!” Alastor says. He reaches over with his cane and taps Collin on the head.

“Hey!” Collin whines, immediately recoiling when he sees who the culprit was.

“Little creature, we’ll be heading to Seance Inceptor’s. Kindly wrap up your conversation so we can leave.”

“Alastor, stop it!” Husk snaps, glaring at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I hate it when you treat people like that, can you not be an asshole, for once?”

“Husk, it’s ok!” Collin chirps. He turns to Mindy. “I’m sorry, I gotta go. Can… Can I get your number?” The last part comes out as a squeak. Husk grins when she nods and personally plugs it into Collin’s phone.

Mission accomplished, at the very least.

As the five make their way across the Pentagram towards Seance Inceptor’s, Husk is slowly reminded why he fell in love with Alastor in the first place. He is cruel and abrasive at first but, when he sees how nonresponsive Husk is, he changes his tune. He’s like candy, the sour exterior slowly melting away to reveal the sweetness underneath. He was the same way when they first met. Husk was sure that Alastor was an asshole with his pompous demeanor but that quickly subsided and he became more genuine.

Any hostility he may have held earlier from Husk calling him out in Illustrious has subsided and he acts as though nothing happened, picking up right where they left off with their last encounter. He speaks with Rosie and Mimsy, sure, but his eye is clearly on Husk.

Husk starts to fall into old patterns, finding himself taken by Alastor’s flattery, laughing at his jokes. His guard starts to lower as he wonders why he was so afraid of being around him. Tonight’s different. Alastor reaches for Husk’s hand and he allows him to hold it, squeezing it tightly in return. Husk is playing into Alastor’s desire with the hopes Alastor will invite him over to his place but he would be lying if he said he didn’t also enjoy it just a little.

Rosie’s side of the conversation becomes sparse after they clasp hands while Mimsy starts to aggressively play-mock the two for being romantic.

Collin flutters very closely to Husk and his eyes constantly dart to their held hands with a look of concern unable to be hidden. Husk really wishes he would stop looking at him like that. He’s fine, this is fine.

Alastor gives Collin sideways glances of distaste which irritate Husk, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by chastising him for it.

Seance Inceptor’s is a large open space with cubicles all curtained off from one another with soundproof indigo curtains. In each of these cubicles, demons can tap into calls sent out by unsuspecting people from the living world. If the callers are searching for a specific entity, their frequencies cannot be reached by anyone else other than the spirit being contacted. However, many people either reach out to nebulous “spirits” with no direct target in mind, or do their ritual improperly where their contact can be breached by unrelated entities. Once tapped in, the demons can be projected to the living world where they can interact with the people contacting them and their environment.

One of the imp employees boredly takes their money and leads them to an unoccupied cubicle, empty say for a wooden table. He presses his hand to a sign on the wall marked for employees and a magical keypad appears. He presses the number “5” wherein five telephones poof into existence on the table. The telephones are all connected to one another by wires. Each phone is equipped with only two buttons, a green “accept” button and a red “end” button.

Alastor tries to make jabs at the imp as he sets up the phones, offhandedly pondering what he’s paid and what his life is like. The imp gives no response. Alastor may be treated better by hell’s denizens but he has no authority over hellborn. Alastor seems disappointed at the lack of response and cattily tells the imp to “shoo” once he’s done and he gladly does, telling them to “enjoy their haunt” in monotone.

The five wait patiently and, after several minutes, the phones all ring. Each of them picks up the receivers for their prospective phones and hits the “accept” button.

In an instant Husk’s mind splits. He is in two places at once. He is in hell, standing holding his phone to his ear in the cubicle, but he also stands in the living room of a suburban home on Earth. Alastor, Rosie, Mimsy, and Collin all stand with him, their forms fuzzy and incorporeal.

They stand opposite a group of three girls who appear to be anywhere from thirteen to fifteen clad in colorful pajamas, sitting around a Parker Brothers Ouiji board. They may be marketed as mere toys, but they are still able to contact spirits if used correctly. A man in his thirties, presumably one of the girls’ fathers, sits in an armchair reading a novel.

Mimsy wanders around the room taking in the scenery. “Jesus, what a dump,” she mutters. “Is this what people these days think interior design is”

“I think it’s cozy,” Rosie says.

“Who cares about the room, let’s give these young ones a spiritual contact to remember!” Alastor says, rubbing his hands together.

Alastor crouches down before the girls and places his hand over theirs on the planchette. His hand sinks right through theirs, only touching the planchette. It takes a great deal of effort to physically touch anything in this state and only one or two objects can be interacted with at any given time. Alastor guides the planchette over the board, spelling out “hello.”

“Oh my gosh, it moved!” One of the girls says, excitedly.

One of the others rolls her eyes. “Samantha, you’re so f*cking Gullable, I know you moved it, Tiff.”

“No I didn’t, Alex, it really moved!” Tiff exclaims.

“Right,” Alax mutters. “Ok, spirits who are totally there, what is the afterlife like?”

Alastor moves the planchette again to spell out “very hot.”

“Very hot?” Samantha muses. “What does that mean, like, is it a beach or something?”

“You’re a total ditz,” Tiff chides. “I think… I think they mean Hell.”

“Sweetheart, language,” her father says without looking up from his book.

“That wasn’t a swear word, Dad, you’re not getting a dollar from me!” She says, sticking her tongue out at him. She turns back to the board. “Are you in Hell?”

Alastor spells out “yes.”

Samantha begins to panic. “Oh my gosh, we’re talking to a demon! You didn’t say anything about demons!”

“There are no demons!” Alex insists.

Alastor spells out “liar.”

The girls begin to argue amongst themselves.

Rosie sits in a nearby chair and files her nails. “Well, I’m bored.” She pushes Alastor out of the way and begins to move the planchette herself.

In the squabbling, all three girls’ hands left the board. Samantha sees the planchette move on its own and lets out a squeak akin to a trodden on mouse. The three stare in disbelief as Rosie spells out, “ask me a question about boys.”

The three girls look at one another.

“It… it moved…” Alex murmurs.

Rosie spells out “I repeat.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Tiff says, “I think a guy at school might like me?”

Rosie spells out “details.”

Tiff begins to stammer, detailing a long complicated series of reasons why she thinks some guy named Roy is into her. Rosie eats up every detail, nodding to herself and making commentary and gives a series of responses.

Alastor moved the planchette slowly and spookily while Rosie’s hand flies over the board.

Tiff runs to fetch a notebook and begins to scribble down each word Rosie spells out. The horror has waned and now the three girls are enraptured.

Alastor stands by and raps his fingers against his cane. Now I’m bored, he mutters.

The whole time, Mimsy has been hovering around the dad, poking and prodding his book and blowing down his neck. The otherworldly cold makes him shiver and pull a blanket over himself.

Mimsy pushes Rosie out of the way and spells out “Your dad is a tall drink of water.”

Tiff blinks. “Um… dad… the demon thinks you're cute.”

“I’m flattered,” he says flatly. “You girls cold, or is it just me?”

“I’m going to kiss him,” Mimsy spells out.

Husk rubs his temples. “Mim, don’t -”

Too late, Mimsy leans down and kisses the father on the lips.

He jumps, throwing the book and scrambling backwards. “The f*ck -”

“Ha! A dollar for the swear jar for you, not me!” Tiff says, grinning.

“What was that?” He says, horrified.

“The demon said it was going to kiss you.”

He looks at them with wide eyes.

Mimsy returns to the board and spells out “he’s a good kisser.”

Tiff recoils as she writes that down. “Eew!”

They’re a demon, of course they’re gross! Samantha says.

Tiff’s father gets down on the floor next to the girls, staring at the board. “It… it works?”

Mimsy spells out “Duh.”

The father’s mouth drops open to which Mimsy makes a multitude of lude jokes.

“You’re nasty!” Collin chides.

“f*ck off, prude,” Mimsy replies, giving him the finger.

Alastor pushes Mimsy out of the way and proceeds to make predictions about how each of the four people are going to die horribly. To emphasize the gravity of this, Mimsy starts to knock things off shelves and toss items around the room. The girls all begin to scream.

Husk sighs. “You enjoying any of this?” He asks Collin.

“Not really.”

Husk hits the “end” button and the vision of the living room falls away. He and Collin both hang up their phones.

“Is that what you guys think is ‘fun?’” Collin demands.

“Not that type of sh*t,” Husk says. “I think it’s interesting to chat with the living, but I don’t like f*cking with them like that. I hope Alastor doesn’t scare them too badly.”

“Why not go back in and stop him?”

“It’ll just make him mad.”

“Why are you with someone like him, I thought he was… you know… bad to you.”

Husk merely shrugs.

Rosie ends her connection and stretches. “Well, Alastor and Mimsy are certainly enjoying themselves.”

“I’m sure they are.”

Rosie sighs. “I’m sorry for dragging you along, I know you’re not having a good time.”

“What, no, I’m -”

“You don’t have to lie to me.” Rosie’s expression is difficult to read, seemingly a mixture of happiness and sorrow.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” Husk asks.

“Husker, would you accompany me to dinner, just the two of us?”

“I thought we were all hanging out as a group.”

“I came along with Alastor to humor him. I dislike modern clubs and tapping spiritual calls is far from my thing. Scaring the pants off a bunch of middle schoolers and an overworked father, what’s the fun in that? And anything I want out of conversation can be had down here. It’s not as though we have that much in common with the living anyway.”

“Be honest, you just want to get away from Mimsy.”

Rosie laughs. “That is certainly a perk. But, no, I need to have a very… very serious conversation with you.”

Collin cuts in “Hey, Husk, thanks for the night out, I appreciate it, but I think I’m going to call it a night. I really don’t want to be stuck with Alastor and Mimsy. Alastor freaks me out and Mimsy’s a creep.”

Husk nods. “I’m sorry things turned out the way they did. I didn’t mean to dip on you and drag you into this bullsh*t, that wasn’t fair.”

Collin waves him off. “No, no, it’s fine!” He says quickly. “Maybe we can, you know, play video games or something back at Angel’s later?”

Husk grins. “I’m terrible at it, but I’d love to.”

Collin gives a polite bow and poofs into a cotton candy poof of smoke.

Alastor and Mimsy end their call. Mimsy laughs and slaps Alastor’s shoulder. “Oh my lord, that girl was pissing herself by the time you got done with her!” She turns to the others. “Why did you three leave?”

“I assume the little cherub was off put by us ‘filthy demons’ having fun, but why you two?” Alastor asks.

“We had our fun, we just wanted a breather,” Rosie says.

“Alastor, we have to go again!” Mimsy insists, bouncing on her toes.

“You two go ahead,” Rosie says. “Husker and I are feeling a tad peckish. We’ll meet you at The Tenderloin in Cannibal Town.

Alastor tries to protest, wanting Husk to remain close by. He keeps glancing at Husk, urging him to help him out. Seeing his insistence, his need for Husk to be at his side he feels tension in his gut for simply leaving. He gives a wishy-washy “yeah, I'm hungry but I could stay, I guess.”

Between Mimsy’s whining to go again and Rosie’s insistence, Alastor relents. He shoots Husk a brief look of irritation but bids them off, cheerfully.

Chapter 16: Rosie's Tale

Chapter Text

The moment they exit the building, Rosie’s whole demeanor changes. Her body loosens, getting rid of tension he didn’t realize she had. Her face, always with a polite smile, turns to a frown. Her face has a certain darkness to it.

Rosie reaches into her bag and procures a small notebook which she proceeds to scribble something down on. She tears it off, the paper immediately expanding to an eight and a half by eleven sheet of golden paper. She hands it to Husk. It has one sentence written on it; “nothing discussed over dinner at the venue known as The Tenderloin between Rosanne Parish and William Husker shall be relayed in any way to Alastor ‘The Radio Demon’ Malone.” At the bottom of the paper is Rosie’s signature.

Husk stares at the paper before looking up to face Rosie. “What is this?”

“Sign it, please?” Rosie says. While her jet black eyes can make her expression difficult to read, Husk can tell she is pleading. Her voice isn’t demanding or cloying, it’s melancholy, resigned and sad.

Rosie has never steered Husk wrong in the years he’s known her so, while suspicious, he signs the contract.

As soon as he writes his name, Rosie pulls Husk into a tight hug. He can feel her body tremble as tears start to roll down her cheeks and a sob builds in her chest. “Lordy Husk, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!”

Husk squeezes her tightly back and tries to calm her down, though he isn’t quite sure what to say as he can’t fathom why she’s upset in the first place. Rosie doesn’t cry - ever.

Rosie pulls away and smoothes out her dress and blots moisture from her face with a handkerchief. “Oh my, I’ve been holding that in all night,” she says with a laugh and a sniffle.

They take a cab to The Tenderloin, at which point Rosie seemingly goes back to normal. The two exchange small talk. Husk can tell Rosie has something on her mind. She doesn’t care for small talk, instead wanting to dive straight into the juicy bits, the same way she would a fully cooked human body. Yet, her words are shallow and impersonal, never about herself or Husk.

The tenderloin is a quaint little restaurant in Cannibal Town that’s ripped straight from the early nineteen hundreds. Large windows that view the bustling streets. This part of The Pentagram is quite peaceful compared to the others, little crime - aside from the consumption of human flesh - and happy-go-lucky residents who bow or tip their hats in greeting, always a smile on their faces. Of course, anyone who’s anyone knows that anything less would mean the sinners themselves would become the main course rather than the humans they harvest.

Despite the menu being composed of human flesh, the waiter reveals that they are shy on human products and have to substitute with beef. She says it politely, but the look on her face is that of knowing disappointment; perhaps she expects them to be upset.

“Yes,” I’m well aware of the shortages, my dear, and am working to rectify it, I assure you.”

“Of course, my lady,” the waitress says. “So, what’ll it be?”

The two order their meals and a coffee each.

Rosie sighs. “This isn’t much of a deal for you because you aren’t a cannibal, but for us? This is an extreme inconvenience. There was a major revolt of the human flesh farms in Wrath, they rose against their captors, damaged the facility and escaped. They’ve had a dilly of a time getting them corralled. So, Cannibal Town is working off of its stock and we’re quickly running out. Trust me, the difference between animal flesh and human flesh is striking, it’s not something that can easily be substituted. My people are not happy.”

Husk’s stomach churns as Rosie explains all of this. He is aware of how the cannibals source their meat but he’d done his best to push that thought down.

The waitress returns to pour their coffee and hands them each a few packets of blood. Husk slides his over to Rosie who gladly accepts them and adds extra to her drink, taking a long sip.

“Husker, I want to apologize,” Rosie says. “I know that you didn’t want to come along tonight, your demeanor at Illustrious was very evident. I pushed for you to join us, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s fine -”

“I’ve been pushing off seeing you,” she interjects. “There’s been so much I’ve wanted to say to you but have been… afraid. I was afraid of how you'd see me. The human meat shortage was how I excused it for myself, insisting that I was just busy but… no… I was stalling. Today, being berated by Eve it… hurt. I was with Alastor - which was a whole other can of beans - and then we saw you. And after everything I took the opportunity to try and get you alone. I needed to speak to you, I needed… I needed a friend. But after everything I’m not sure if that’s what we are anymore.”

Husk scoffs. “Rosie, why are you acting as though I hate you?”

She rests her cheek on her hand incredulously.

Husk sighs. “Alright, I’m a bit bitter you never came to see me. I’d hoped that you of all people would have.

Rosie nods. “I saw that episode of Who’s That Hasbeen.” She pauses, swallowing hard. “It… it broke my heart.” Her voice is choked. “You’re a good man, Husker, you didn’t - you don’t deserve that.”

“I wasn’t that good of a man, I was cheating on Odette -”

“Oh don’t give me that sh*t,” Rosie snips. “I’m well acquainted with Odette and I know for a fact that a woman is worth no pity. The amount of times you came to me in tears because of her latest show of entitlement and cruelty? You think I care if she was hurt in turn? Serves her right.”

Husk bites his lips. “I did find out recently she’d cheated on me first. I forgot all about it because it was tied to… nevermind, long story.”

“I hope they were just as kind to her as she was to you.”

“I didn’t know you harbred so much resentment for her.”

“I’ve had a long time to stew over her treatment of you and forty years of seeing her public actions after. If it wasn’t for Carmilla running around coddling her and fighting her battles for her, that little tart would’ve had a bullet in her head a long time ago.” Rosie takes a deep breath. “But, that’s besides the point. The point is, however flawed you may have been in that relationship, it in no way justified what Alastor put you through. And I know you’re infatuated with him, I know you love him, But I have to be honest for once -”

“I don’t love him,” Husk interjects. He’s somewhat lying and he can tell by Rosie’s expression she doesn’t buy it. “I just… I make dumb decisions when I’m around him.”

Their meals are delivered wherein Rosie makes no attempt to begin eating, rather, picking at the food with her fork. Admittedly, Husk’s appetite is nonexistent as well.

“Husker, I know what happened publicly,” Rosie says. “The basics of you becoming infatuated with Alastor, losing your soul and your empire. But… What was happening behind the scenes? After you lost that game we saw less and less of you until you fully disappeared.” She starts to tear up again. “I’ve had horrible maccanations of what was taking place behind the scenes. How did Alastor treat you?”

Husk takes a deep swig from his flask. He gives Rosie a brief rundown of his relationship to Alastor, similar to his explanation to Angel. However, he’s in his right mind enough to be more careful with his words and is less explicit.

As diplomatic as he is with his words, Rosie still takes it incredibly poorly. Her colorless face is as bleak as a tundra. She lowers her head, her body shaking with sobs once more. “I’m so sorry!” She murmurs over and over.

“It’s ok, It’s fine, it’s not your fault -” Husk’s attempts at placating Rosie’s sorrow instead cause her to explode.

“Don’t! Don’t tell me it’s not my fault, that I’m blameless, that I was some dumb broad standing on the sidelines who had no idea what was going on! Don’t give me that f*cking credit!” Her tear streaked face is twisted in agonized fury. She slumps back in her seat and sets her jaw as she tries to figure out how to word herself.

“I was friends with Alastor long before I met you. He was still rising to power when we met. I was a tad smitten with him. He was hand picked by Eve to be her enforcer and he had the charisma to show for it. He was so suave, so kind, so charming, it was impossible for me not to be taken by him. We became friends almost immediately.” She takes a deep breath, trying to suppress rage that clearly boils inside of her.

“Alastor is like Lucifer, a charming little snake. He befriends you, he portrays himself as everything you could possibly want from a companion, makes you comfortable enough to be intimate with him, then flips the scripts as soon as it's convenient for him. I could deal with him using gossip against me, remembering little spiteful things I’d said, but there is one thing… one thing that he has on me that, if I piss him off, he throws in my face and it crushes me every single time.

I’m parched,” she murmurs while taking another sip of coffee. She looks past Husk to a painting on the wall behind him. Even though she has no pupils, he can assume she’s not actually looking at it, it’s merely in her line of sight.

“When I was alive, my brother was terminally ill. He was a couple years younger than me. Sweet as pie, wouldn’t hurt a soul. He was always so much better than I was. Don’t think he’d ever considered tasting human flesh which is NOT something that could be said of me. He was my best friend, my confidant.

He was always sickly. Always in bed, always with a new ailment, he never seemed to be fully well. Finally, it caught up to him, he caught… something, it’s been so long I don’t even remember. All I know is that it was terminal. He was bedridden and couldn’t take care of himself, he needed constant attention. He was so lonely, so desperate for our attention and affection, he needed it.

I hated seeing him like that, sunken eyes, gaunt, his voice like sandpaper, but his eyes still filled with so much love. I couldn’t stand to see him like that, I couldn't handle it. So, I kept my distance. I spent as little time with him as possible because it was too painful.” The tension in her body has completely diminished. She looks like Hell’s saddest marionette.

“I was away when he died. The whole family was there, at his bedside. I was nowhere to be found.” A whole new round of sobs builds.

“All he wanted was for me to be with him, all he needed was for me to be with him. But I was selfish, I was a f*cking coward, I couldn’t bear to watch his slow death so I avoided it, like he was the god damned plague and not my own brother who just needed love for the last few months of his life!”

Her voice is soft, but her tears are obvious. Husk imagines that the other patrons, her souls, are not used to their mistress looking so utterly defeated.

“ It… it takes a lot for me to say all of this. I keep it very close to the chest. The less I say about it, the better I can pretend everything is fine, everything’s ok. I can focus on the fact that he’s not down here, meaning he’s in heaven, and I can ignore… everything else. The only other person who knows is Alastor. And every, every single time we have the smallest disagreement he throws that in my face. It’s a knife that he twists at every opportunity he gets. I do everything in my power not to upset him, otherwise I’ll have some smart comment about me ‘leaving my brother to die,’ making it all flood back to me.”

Husk takes another deep swig from his flask. “ I didn’t know he was hurting you too.”

He hurts everyone, Husker, every single person he comes into contact with. He is a remorseless, vile excuse for a soul. And I knew that when you got involved with him!

I was so excited when you came to me saying you’d met the most wonderful person and I was so terrified when you revealed it was Alastor. I was too afraid to tell you the truth, to tell you what you needed to hear. You needed someone close to you, someone you could trust, to tell you to stay away from Alastor, that his sweetness and his kindness and his suave charm had a horrible horrible catch to it. But, I didn’t want to rock the boat. When you two were together you were the ultimate couple; you were absolutely adorable! And I thought, hey, maybe this one’s different, maybe you were the one person Alastor wouldn’t hurt, maybe you’d changed him, made him realize the error of his ways. At least, that’s what I told myself to justify not saying anything, as though constantly telling myself that was the case would suddenly make it so.

The night you made that deal still haunts me. You called me up and invited me out with you and Alastor and I declined because I didn’t want to see Alastor. I didn’t want to think about your relationship, I wanted to avoid worrying about it. And the next day you call me up bawling that you’d lost your soul and everything fell apart as Alastor became the monster to you I knew deep down he always was.

If I were there, if you weren’t alone, Alastor wouldn’t have presented that deal and even if he did, I would have fought for you and made sure that under no circ*mstances would you sign that document. But I wasn’t and I didn’t. You suffered because I couldn’t be bothered to do one singular good thing down here and help out a friend, someone I cared about.

I still care. You were the only overlord I’d ever known who was genuinely laid back, who was relaxed and poised yet fun loving and sweet. You never made me feel like I had to be on edge, when you promised not to speak of something, you wouldn’t, no document required.

You were my best friend and I let you be devoured by wolves. I never even came to see you because I was afraid Alastor would try to use our friendship against me and I was afraid he’d hurt you even worse!

I am not worthy of your friendship, I am nothing more than a selfish piece of sh*t. I know that you must hate me and it is completely justified. I’m not looking for sympathy, I’m not looking for forgiveness, I just want everything out in the open, I want you to know that I know I f*cked up. I know I hurt you and I’m sorry that I did and I understand that you’ll never want to see me again.”

Rosie turns her head away from Husk, unable to meet his stunned gaze. She works her hand, her anxiety needing to go somewhere. Tears continue to stream down her face, her makeup long ruined. The silent pause is long and agonizing.

Husk takes a swig from his flask. He reaches across the table and touches Rosie’s hand. “Ro, look at me.” Her head turns in his direction. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt. I was. I am. But… recently someone laid it out to me. We’re here in Hell for a reason. We’re all f*ckups. We’re not perfect, we’re all flawed. And everything you’ve described? Trust me, I’ve done worse. You may have been too much of a coward to give me a heads up, but I’m too much of a coward to leave now. I know full well how horrible Alastor is. But, after everything he’s done to me, I still speak to him. I still allow myself to be charmed by him. I still want him. It’s all because I’m scared of the alternative; I’m scared of afterlife without him. And that’s not on you, that’s on me. The only thing I want to do now is heal, and move on. I’m really trying. Being with Angel… It's been so freeing. We’re on good terms now, I have the space to change, to find myself again. There’s one last thing I need from Alastor, something of mine that he has that I need to take back, and then… I’m cutting him off. Totally. No more dates, no more calls, nothing. I’m trying to make new friends, but I’d be honored if you’d remain my friend now. This whole situation sucks but… it is what it is. I forgive you.”

Rosie slowly smiles, her eyes welling with tears. She squeezes his hand back. She tries to speak but the sobs overtake her, only allowing for a slightly hysterical laugh.

The relative calmness of the restaurant is disrupted by Alastor and Mimsy entering, both howling with laughter over their adventures scaring the pants off of people in the living world.

Alastor pulls up a chair next to Husk and Minsy sits next to Rosie.

“Sweetheart, why are you cryin’?” Mimsy asks. “We’re out here having fun, remember?”

“We were reminiscing about the season ending for The Lover And Her Suitors. It’s highly emotional,” Husk says, casually.

“Of course you still watch that,” Alastor mutters. He motions to Rosie’s untouched plate. “My dear, you’d better tie into that meal, it’ll get cold! I thought the whole point in coming here was that you were peckish.”

“Yes, well, that’s before I found out they were forced to serve beef rather than human meat. I’ll save my appetite for later.”

Mimsy slides the plate over and starts eating.

“Why yes, you can have it, thank you for asking,” Rosie mutters.

“You want Mine?” Husk asks Alastor. “I’m not that hungry either.”

“I have other things on my mind,” Alastor says. He runs a hand up the length of Husk’s thigh, his fingers dangerously close to his crotch. “If you’ll indulge me…”

Oh god, Husk was hoping he could convince Alastor to listen to the radio at his home or get a nightcap or something. His disgust mixes with the pleasure at Alastor touching him.

Husk forces a grin. “Don’t mind if I do!”

Alastor grabs Husk’s hand and pulls him to his feet and makes his way towards the exit with his lover in tow.

Husk winks at Rosie as he’s pulled away, Mimsy too oblivious to notice. “Have a good f*ck fellas!” She calls after them.

Once at his estate, Alastor wastes no time getting the two to his bedroom.

As soon as they are through the door and it’s closed and locked behind them, Alastor has both hands firmly around Husk’s upper arms and pulls him close, leaning down for a kiss. As soon as their lips touch, Alastor forces his tongue in, his breathing erratic. Husk tries to pull away but Alastor’s hands are like voices on his upper arms.

“MMMM!” Husk tries to get Alastor’s attention to get him to pull away. Alastor chooses to ignore this at which point Husk nips his tongue. Not enough to hurt, but hard enough to get his attention.

“What?” Alastor snaps.

“Aren’t we going a little fast here? No foreplay, no nothing?”

“Oh, come on Husker, I know how you like me, hard and fast.” He goes to continue kissing but Husk stops him.

“I’m not feeling hard and fast tonight. I’d like to take it slower -”

“I don’t go slow,” Alastor says, bluntly.

Husk sighs and turns away. If he must do this, if he has to be here, if this is truly his last night with Alastor he’d like it to be a nice night, long and passionate. If he’ll be going cold turkey he wants the instant gratification of one last major indulgence.

Alastor walks up behind him. He wraps his arm around Husk’s chest, squeezing his pecs, and nibbles his ear. He slowly kisses Husk’s neck sending a shiver up his spine. He can’t help but let out a little whimper.

“Better?” Alastor whispers.

Husk nods.

Alastor pins Husk against the wall. Husk stands both hands up pressed to the wall, his cheek resting against it.

Alastor’s hands travel down his back to his ass where he gives a tight squeeze that makes Husk moan. That moan gets Alastor excited, Husk can feel the erection in his pants pressing against his ass and Alasor slowly grinds against him.

He grips Husk’s wrists tightly and continues to kiss his neck until Husk lets out a yelp when he bites down hard.

“Alastor -” Husk murmurs, yelping again when Alastor bites his shoulder. He can feel his teeth draw blood. “Alastor -” Alastor’s nails dig into his wrists as he starts to struggle. “Alastor, stop, you’re hurting me!”

As soon as the words exit his lips Alastor takes a wide step back as though a magnet repelled by its same polarity. His look of surprise turns to anger. “God damned contract,” He curses. He sneers at Husk. “‘you’re hurting me,’ please. Since when do you turn down a hickey?”

“That really hurt!” husk insists. He brushes his fingers to his shoulder and his white hands come away smeared with red.

“We both know you like it rough, I would have assumed that would circumvent that damn contract if you want it!”

“But I don’t, that’s the point!”

Alastor lets his hands fall to his sides, palms slapping his thighs. “Are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not, I don’t want rough, not tonight -”

“Yes tonight!” Alastor snarls. “I invited you to my house, we play by my rules.

Husk bares his teeth. “Alastor why do you always do this -”

“Take some f*cking accountability for once!” Alastor snaps. “You start sh*t and call me the bad guy -”

“All I said was I didn’t want it rough -”

“I don’t care what you want! Tonight is about me! You are here with me!”

“Oh, that’s all I am, a f*cktoy for your entertainment?”

It devolves from there, the two screaming at one another. Alastor paces the room like a caged animal, throwing his hands up wildly to emphasize his fury while Husk does everything in his power not to break down sobbing from the pain and from Alastor’s berating.

There is a knock on the door. Alastor strides to the door and throws it open. “WHAT?”

The imp servant shudders. “Important business call for you sir -”

Alastor grips the imp by the horns and half throws him out of the way. He whirls around to Husk and jabs a finger at him. “Don’t f*cking move, we’re not done!” The door slams behind him.

Husk stands a moment, only able to let tears stream down his face, the fear and agony from the confrontation rooting him in place. Once he is comfortable to move, he goes to Alastor’s closet. He roots through various boxes and shelves looking for the place he could’ve stashed the Envy crystals. The thought of Alastor returning to find him rooting through his things builds panic bordering on frenzy.

He can hear Alastor downstairs, bellowing into the phone, berating whoever is on the other line for calling him so late, despite it only being five o'clock.

He exits the closet and races to the row of dressers. He throws them open and riffles around, disrupting the tidiness of the carefully folded undergarments inside. “No, no, no,” he mutters as he searches, each drawer utterly fruitless.

Then, Husk spies it. A jewelry cabinet. He throws the cabinet door open to find it filled mostly with a variety of necklaces and monocles. But there, at the very bottom, are a row of five Envy crystals hanging from silver chains giving off a faint purple glow.

Husk brushes his hand across the crystals, every touch giving him a taste of their contents. One by one he samples the memories; a girl he dated in high school; a woman he courted before meeting Mira; a demon woman in Hell. His hand brushes the fifth crystal and he can picture himself sitting at a table across from Angel, dressed in an elaborate masquerade costume, a defense of dandelions upon his lips.

Husk rips the crystal from the case, shoves it in his pocket, and turns and comes face to face with Alastor.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

“Nothing I -”

Alastor reaches into Husk’s pocket and procures the crystal. “You are many things, Husker, but a thief?”

Husk attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. “I… I’m not stealing,” he says softly.

“Oh really?”

They’re my memories. You don’t own me anymore, they’re not yours to keep.”

“What about the other ones?” Alastor says, nodding to the cabinet.

“I don’t want those, just this one.”

Alastor drops the crystal into Husk’s palm and pushes his fingers into a fist. He puts his mouth to Husk’s ear. “Take your crystal and get the f*ck out of my house.”

“Gladly,” Husk chokes.

He strides from Alastor’s room, his old lover leering at him as he leaves.

He races through the house, down through the bar, and onto the street.

Clutching the crystal’s chain tightly, Husk takes flight, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the man he used to love as quickly as possible.

Marcus Shepherd enters the bar, his sheep skin engulfing his true form. He walks with false meekness up to the bar and orders a drink with a stutter.

The eyes of the bartender glaze over as he looks at Marcus. His suit makes others passive, they barely acknowledge his presence.

Marcus drums his fingers against the bar, his claws extending and retracting rhythmically under his second skin, as he waits.

He is utterly livid. His entire livelihood is up in smoke. His buildings were all raided, his stock set free, his souls taken into custody, his assets frozen. He has nothing to his name, he can’t even pay for this drink - he’ll have to pretend to piss and slip out the bathroom window when nobody’s looking.

Everyone in the bar seems so jovial - he’d love to rip their throats out with his teeth. He can imagine the blood gushing into his mouth and rolling down his chin. He could really blow off some steam right about now, but he can’t risk being caught.

Lucifer’s crew have never been known for their stamina - in two or three months they’ll forget about Marcus and move on to some other target. Still, he has to survive those months and somehow pick up the pieces that were shattered by Angel Dust.

The thought of tearing that sh*tty twink to pieces oh so enticing…

Marcus’ wolfish nose picks up a rancid scent. His nose wrinkles as he looks around, trying to find its source. He leans closer to the man sitting next to him and nearly gags. It’s an imp, half Marcus’ height, with shaggy white hair, a green t-shirt and tan pants.

“Have you ever bathed?” Marcus says in his sheepish affect, high and nasally.

The imp glares at Marcus. “Who has time?”

“It takes, like, ten minutes, tops, buddy.” Marcus hates this faux sweetness he has to put into his voice. If he were able to reveal his true self, he could gut this imp right here, right now. Nobody would notice, nobody would care.

“Well, I’m busy.”

“What could possibly be so important in the life of an imp?”

“Getting revenge on Angel Dust, that’s what!”

Marcus snorts. An Angel Dust fanbrat, just what he needs. He sips his freshly delivered drink. Might as well get more information - he’s got nothing better to do than entertain himself via the delusions of this idiot. “Revenge for what?”

“He was absolutely disgusting towards me! He called me names, said he doesn’t care what his fans think of him, that he owes us nothing. We made that f*cker into what he is! To meet his most loyal and adoring fan, the one who made Voxnet’s highest rated blog, who’s spent thousands on merch and concerts and movies and sex dolls, and treat me so horribly… it’s outrageous!” He tears at his hair. “All I want is to be his favorite, his one and only, the only one who matters! I want him SO badly!”

“Surely, the thousands of dollars is hyperbole, right?” Marcus asks.

“What? No, I’m loaded.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow. “Really? Whatcha got in your pocket, show me the money.” If Marcus is lucky this idiot will do so and he can grab the money and ditch.

“Well, I don't keep cash on me, duh!” I have heavy investments in I.M.P.

Marcus’s eyes widen. “The only profitable imp run business, like, ever?”

Burnie nods.

The wheels start turning in Marcus’ head. Possibilities start to emerge. “Follow me to the bathroom.”

Burnie’s cheeks burn red. “Wait - what? You want to hook up?”

“With the amount of smegm* on your co*ck? f*ck no. I just need to speak to you in private. About Angel Dust.”

“You hate him too?”

“More than you can possibly imagine!”

“How so?”

Marcus lets out an aggravated bleat. “Just follow me!” He insists, grabbing Burnie’s arm. He drags him to the restroom and forces him into a stall.

Burnie’s legs quiver. “Please… please don’t hurt me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Marcus says, dropping his sheepish voice. His disguise retracts into the sheepskin jacket, gloves and hat, leaving Burnie’s eyes wide.

“Marcus Shepherd!” He murmurs.

“Yes, and if you tell a soul about this little chat I will personally find you and rearrange your organs.”

Burnie blinks. “Like by f*cking me or -”

“BY YANKING THEM OUT OF YOUR f*ckING CHEST YOU IDIOT!” Marcus snarls, gripping Burnie by the front of his greasy shirt. He forces himself to be calm. “Look, us bumping into each other here was a happy coincidence. I know how we can help each other out. You have the money, I have the connections. If we work together we can both get what we want. You get Angel delivered at your feet, and I get my power back.”

Burnie looks up at him skeptically. “And why would I want to work with you, You’re a monster -”

“My business doesn’t concern you whatsoever. You imps breed like rats - no money in dealing with your kind. So I’m supplying hellhound pups and moving around sinners, who cares? Hellhounds are below you, and sinners treat you just as bad as the hellborn and the sinners do. I won’t pretend to like you because, frankly, I don’t. But…” He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “You unfortunately seem to be my hail mary at getting my sh*t back. You want Angel Dust to be your personal pet, I can make it happen. All I need is some quick cash. Take it or leave it.”

Burnie ponders. “I want it in writing.”

Marcus grins. “Let’s get someplace a little more comfortable so we can draft something up, hmmm?”

Chapter 17: Moving Forward

Chapter Text

Angel lounges on the couch watching TV. Well, rather, he’s looking at the TV while taking in none of it, his mind buzzing.

Betraying the Vs and giving Alastor that information about Carmella to Alastor was a ticking time bomb. He didn’t think about the consequences because he didn’t want to. Thinking about the potential fallout would mean he might back down and not get what he wanted. And what he wanted was too great.

But… was it that great? Was it really necessary? He had one singular date with the man he put himself on the line for. A wonderful date, an intimate one, a date that he would have loved to see blossom out into something beautiful… but one singular date nonetheless. Maybe he just romanticized it, maybe he embellished it. Maybe he misread everything. Husk couldn’t be worth it. He can’t be. He isn’t. Angel shouldn’t have betrayed the Vs. This was all a big mistake!

No. Husk was miserable, he was abused. He didn’t deserve that cruelty, Angel did the right thing by saving him. Husk is a good person, even after everything he’s gone through, he is still kind and smart. Rough around the edges, but so is Angel.

f*ck, Angel is nothing but rough edges, a prancing bird of paradise that shows off sensuality and humor like bright plumage so nobody sees him. There is no him, there’s only Angel Dust.

If Angel can put on a show, why not Husk? What if the date was a lie? What if he was every bit as manipulative as Valentino was when they met. What if that date was a carefully curated experience to pull Angel into the same trap he was in before? What if Husk is just screwing with him? He used to be on top of the underworld, now a soul on a chain, a recipe for resentment.

Maybe he’s angry.

Maybe he’s hateful.

Maybe he despises Angel.

Why do these thoughts have to hurt so much?

Angel jumps when he hears a rap on the door. “Come in!” He calls, little passion in his voice. He half expects one of the cherubs to swoop in and tell him the Vs have issued a declaration of war.

“Angel?” Husk says, cautiously entering. For someone who’s always self-assured and strong, he seems so meek, so afraid. His fur appears a little damp as though he’s freshly showered and he’s in a t-shirt and sleep pants.

“Husk… Hi,” Angel says. He immediately sits up. “What’s up?” He pats the empty spot next to him.

Husk sits down, his face expressionless. “I had a… A rough night.”

“How rough?” Angel asks. Then, he notices them. Several deep marks on his neck and shoulder - crusted over lacerations. As someone who has stared at his defiled self in the mirror after long nights with unsavory men, he immediately recognizes the bite marks. “Oh my god, Husk, what happened?”

“It’s nothing -”

“What happened?”

Husk is quiet for a moment before saying, slowly and reluctantly, “I went home with Alastor.”

Angel pauses, letting that information sink in. “Why?” He asks, softly, as though he didn’t return home to Valentino over and over again like Hell’s most pathetic dog.

Their eyes meet and Husk turns away. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m broken, like I’m stupid -”

“You’re not broken and you’re not stupid, ok? Please, I would never say that!” He wants to just put his arms around Husk and pull him into a tight hug, but he knows full well that’s a step too far. Instead, he touches his hand to Husk’s thigh and gives a reassuring squeeze.

“I needed to get something from Alastor. And I wasn’t thinking - you probably would have been able to get it from him. But I wanted to because it’s mine. And… I guess I was stupid enough that he’d just let me have it. I couldn’t ask him because it would set him off and I figured, hey, I’m here, this is the last time I’m ever speaking to him, one last night of passion from the road. But that didn’t happen.” He stifles a sob. “I don’t know why I did it -”

“You don’t have to explain a thing to me, ok?” Angel wants to f*cking sob. He’d had many, many “last nights of passion” with Val before.

f*ck it. Angel softly puts his arms around Husk and pulls him into a hug. It’s very loose, in case Husk isn’t feeling it and wants to pull away. Instead, Husk squeezes him back tightly.

“I’m sorry,” Angel murmurs.

“I’m not.”

“Wait - what?”

Husk pulls away. Despite the moisture in his eyes, he smiles. “Because I have this.” He pulls a glowing purple crystal from his pocket attached to a silver chain.

Angel eyes widen. “Wait… That’s the crystal? The one with the memories of us -”

“Yeah.” Husk grins. “They’re all here!”

Angel reaches out and holds the crystal. As soon as his skin makes contact, images flash in his mind and emotions bubble in his chest. He’s sitting across from himself, dressed in an intricate masquerade outfit. Passion wells up inside at what he’d just heard; the escort wants a sweet little house in the country. He wonders what a life like that would be like. He imagines himself in a simple outfit, maybe a nice dress or a collared shirt and slacks. Nothing flashy, something domestic. Would he dress like that? Husk thinks he’d look very handsome. Wonder what kind of couple they’d be like together -

Angel yanks his hands away. “Holy sh*t - I… I was you!”

Husk laughs. “That’s what these crystals do. Allows the person who stole the memories to see and feel every detail and stew over what they can’t have.”

“You seemed… um… deep in thought about me.” He grins. “I’d absolutely slay a housewife dress.”

Husk chuckles awkwardly. “I’m sorry, inner thoughts are inner for a reason -”

“I think it’s cute.” He bites his lip. “You were thinking about us as a couple?”

Husk nods. “Yeah. By the end of the night, in my bedroom, I was really smitten. I didn’t want you to leave, I wanted you to stay, to get to know every facet of you. I needed you so bad.”

Angel swallows. “And then I never came back.”

Husk deflate a little. “Yeah. All of that is in here too,” he says, making the pendant dance. “I was crushed.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You gave me your side. I’m not mad. I’m sorry too, if I’d have only known you were trying to see me I’d have been there in a heartbeat.”

“I thought fairytales were supposed to have happy endings.”

Husk smirks. “I know you’re younger than me but how old are you exactly?”

“You know what I mean!” Angel says giving Husk a little shove. “How could something so perfect just go to sh*t like that? It’s not f*cking fair!”

“No sh*t, we’re in Hell.” Husk pauses, he nervously plays with his tail. “I’ve been holding back because I didn’t have my memories. I believed what you said, I trusted you, but without those memories it didn’t feel… right. But now?” He lays a hand on Angel’s leg. “I’m tired of just being ‘Alastor’s bitch.’ That part of my afterlife is done - I want to move on. And I think… I think I’d like to move on with you. I felt a spark with you forty years ago and I feel it now. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Angel is absolutely stunned. He’s forgotten how to formulate words. “Yes!” he finally blurts out. “I want that too! I thought I was coming on too strong, that I was pushing it! I don’t want to do that, don’t think you need to -”

“I want to!” Husk insists. His inverted eyes are dilated and despite his smile, his ears are pulled back slightly.

“You’re nervous.”

“A little. I know this is… sudden… with everything going on but I’m tired of waiting for the dust to settle because it never will. I just need to take a chance.”

“Sudden is ok, I can work with sudden.”

“Ok.” Husk shifts awkwardly. “So… now what?”

They both laugh, trying to diffuse the tension.

“I think a date is in order,” Angel says. “A proper date, one that we can both remember.”

“That sounds amazing!”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes, absolutely!”

Husk gives Angel a hug, the both of them laughing, utterly elated.

Husk leaves Angel’s room, taking any doubts that Angel was wrong to trade for Husk’s soul with him.

For the first time in years, Husk wakes in the morning refreshed and ready for the day. He’s going on an honest to god date with someone he likes. No threats of violence, no shame, no guilt, just fun. He feels like a lovesick teenager and doesn’t even care.

He makes his way downstairs with a spring in his step. “Morning!” He says chipperly as he enters the dining room.

“Hey,” Angel says.

Husk’s face falls at the sight of Angel’s clear disappointment. “Oh no, what’s wrong?”

“There’s been a change of plans. I got a text from Verosika last night after you went to bed. She needs to see me today, ASAP.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect -”

“It’s fine,” Husk says a little too quickly.

Angel merely nods.

Husk sits down as the cherubs appear and place the two’s meals in front of them. Keenie smiles sweetly at him and after what Collin told him last night he’d love nothing more than to clock her in the face.

The meeting is at Verosika’s home. It’s an old mansion built of solid brick that has been painted bright pink with white and black trim, the chimney spewing pink smoke that smells of candy.

Verosika opens the door as the two approach. “Hi!” She says, sweetly. She pulls Angel into a tight embrace. “I know it was on short notice, I’m sorry!”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Verosika invites them inside and leads them to a massive living room, just as pink and frilly as the outside. “Hey!” Barbie Wire says from one of the couches.

Verosika pushes Barbie’s feet out of the way and sits down while Angel and Husk sit down across from them.

“This is so overdue!” Verosika says. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk much at the party.”

“It’s fine.”

Verosika rolls her eyes. “That f*cking party blew - did anyone have a good time?”

“Nope,” Barbie says. “Glitz and Glam are such c*nts, they're lucky you were feeling generous to show up.”

“I had an emotional breakdown a little after you left.” Angel says.

“Oh, babe, what happened?”

“I was triggered is all. Drugs.”

Verosika nods. “Been there.”

“So what exactly is it you wanted to talk about?”

Verosika chuckles. “No burying the lead?”

“I’m worried, is all.”

Verosika sighs. “My record label dropped me.”

Angel goes ridgid. “What?”

“Yeah. My producer got tired of the kissing and the quickies; he wanted more. I’m a whor*, but I sleep with who I want and I did not want to sleep with him. I put my foot down, next thing I know he’s running to the higher ups bitching about how horrible I am to work with, blah, blah, blah. Between him and being in and out of rehab so many times they decided to cut their losses.”

“They dropped you for being in rehab?”

“I ‘wasn’t working hard enough’ on my music. Because I was totally able to think clearly while strung out on H8.” She cuddles Barbie. “I'm so proud of you that you were able to kick that sh*t and stay off it. You've done so much better than me.”

“It's not a competition,” Barbie says. “So I've remained clean for an extra 3 months, big whoop.”

“Point is, I’m f*cked. I have no money, everything went either into drugs or rehab. I’m late on my house payments, late on my car payments, and I can’t keep Barbie in college - and she needs that degree!”

“My tuition isn’t that big a deal -”

“I am not going to let you continue peddling heroin to and from the human realm for the rest of your life - you are worth so much more than that!”

“If you need money, I have cash to spare,” Angel assures her.

“I don’t want to just take it. You have to earn that sh*t.”

“We’re friends, I want to give it to you. I refuse to let you end up in the gutter, ok?”

He and Verosika continue to go back and forth before Verosika finally caves. “Ok, ok, if it comes to it, I’ll borrow some cash. But until then, I just need your help getting my career back on track. I was hoping I could sign under your label -”

“Yes, absolutely yes!”

“And there’s an upcoming concert that I’m headlining. Tex was able to pull some strings with his girlfriend and get us a pro bono concert in Gluttony.”

“Bitch, what!?” Angel says, his grin so wide the light glints off his gold tooth. “You’re performing at Beezebub’s place?”

Husk is utterly shocked. He’s seen pictures of Beelzebub and he’s heard the rumors of what she’s like. For one of the Sins to be dating a Hellhound, the lowest of the low, is kind of inconceivable.

“Hell yeah!” Verosika says. “We’re pulling in artists from all over hell to do performances, get more eyes on me. I was hoping that you’d be one of them.”

“How is that possible? I’m a sinner, I can’t leave Pride. The Sins don’t want Lucifer’s problem children in their domain.”

“Bee can set you up with a temporary day pass.”

“I’m totally in!” Angel says. “I’ll need two passes though, one for me and one for him.” He nods his head towards Husk.

“Bee can have you outfitted with a hellborn guard -”

“I’d really like him to come with me.”

Verosika gives Husk a suspicious look. “Why?”

“Angel it’s fine,” Husk mutters.

“No, I want you to go!” Angel insists.

“You two f*cking or something?” Barbie asks.

“Not yet,” Husk says.

“We’re going on a date later today,” Angel says.

Verosika is taken aback. “Since when do you date?”

“Since I met him.”

Verosika looks at Husk closely then grins. “OH, sh*t! You’re The Gambling Demon! Angel told me about you two hooking up. My dad practically lived in your casino. He blew my college fund there.”

Husk's stomach clenches. “sh*t… I'm sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault. My dad was a sad sack sucker, a real piece of sh*t. You were just running your business.”

Husk's tail twitches with anxiety. “Yeah, sure.”

“So you two finally reconnected… sorta… and now you’re dating?”

“Today’s the first date,” Angel corrects.

“Well sh*t,” better let them get to it, eh hun?” Barbie says.

“I’ll drop by your studio later, we can take care of the paperwork then,” Verosika says. “You two go have fun.” She jabs a finger in Husk’s face. “And you, you’d better be a f*cking genteman and make Angel the happiest boy in Hell, got it?”

“So, where did you want to go today?” Angel asks once they’ve returned to the car.

Husk draws a blank. “I… I’m not sure honestly.”

Angel smirks. “You didn’t give it any thought at all last night?”

“I… sort of… I was very drunk before I went to bed,” Husk says, sheepishly. “Maybe we can alternate picking a place?”

“Sounds perfect. We could, you know, go back to Masquerade? It’s a weekday so it shouldn’t be as much of a hassle.”

Husk sighs. “Honestly, the thought of going anywhere high class sounds exhausting. And it always seems to end with disappointment.”

Angel nods. A smile slowly spreads across his face. I think I know the perfect place!

Chapter 18: The Aquarium

Chapter Text

Husk’s mouth drops as they pull up to the enormous glass building whose architecture resembles a massive abstract sailboat with waves lapping at its side. “An aquarium?” He says. “I didn’t know we had those down here!”

“It was established a few years ago, I’m not surprised that you didn’t know about it.” Angel rubs his neck. “You said you liked the ocean, I hope this was an ok pick -”

“Yes, of course it is!” Husk exclaims. “I’ve never been to an aquarium before! We never had the money when I was alive.” The words sting as he says them. They did have the money for it, he just shoveled it into the maw of his local casino.

Nobody pays either of them any mind as they make their way to the entrance and pay the admission fee.

“I’m so glad to be dressed casually for once,” Angel says. Angel specifically chose not to wear his overlord outfit, instead choosing a low cropped pink t-shirt that slips down his shoulders, a pair of jeggings and pink converse. He looks so basic, but still drop-dead gorgeous. He grins down at Husk. You look cute today too.”

Husk can’t imagine why Angel would think that, he’s just wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, nothing notable. “You’re cuter,” Husk says.

“Are we competing now?”

“If we are, you’re winning.”

The building is bustling with activity. It’s rare to find places that are friendly towards families. Hellborn demons carry small children or pull them along by the hand as they explore the facility.

The center of the main entrance has a statue of the aquarium’s founder, a sinner who is an amalgamation of human, shark, and colorful fish with barnacles encrusted all over his body. Husk skims the plaque that explains the man was a passionate worker at an aquarium who fell into one of the tanks, hitting and cutting his head on the way down. A feeding frenzy from the sharks ensued and the next morning the staff found his body being picked at by the other fish in the tank.

The main entrance of the building splits off into four different sections, saltwater, freshwater, arctic, and Hell native. They start with the saltwater wing, the entrance to it splitting off into even more pathways.

They find themselves in a hallway with massive sharks stalking their tanks on both sides. Husk has read about sharks and seen documentaries, but seeing them up close and personal is a whole different experience. Great whites, tiger sharks, hammerheads, makos, and the one Angel says is his favorite, the whale shark, floating along gracefully in its enclosure.

“Wonder how much that thing eats,” Angel muses. “Must have to throw an entire cow in there to keep it fed.”

Husk reads the informational plaque near the tank. “Whale sharks can eat more than 46 pounds of food per day. They are filter feeders that eat small organisms, such as plankton, krill, crab larvae, jellyfish, sardines, anchovies, mackerels, small tunas, and squids.”

“Really?” Angel says. “That thing is the size of a car and eats the equivalent of sea vermin?”

“Whales eat krill and they’re as big as a bus.”

“Lame.”

“Hey, better than that one,” Husk says and motions to the tiger shark. “Those things will eat literal garbage - whatever they can fit in their mouths. You ever seen Jaws? They’ll eat f*ckin’ licence plates.”

“Guess we know how to solve the trash-in-the-ocean crisis, just sick tons and tons of tiger sharks on it.”

“That is absolutely the dumbest thing I have ever heard!”

They continue to explore the saltwater wing where Angel will periodically wonder aloud various questions about the animals. Husk answers most of his questions simply by reading the informational plaques provided.

Each exhibit reminds Husk why he fell in love with the ocean to begin with. A massive expanse filled with seemingly contradictory creatures. Beautiful reef fish flitting around brightly colored coral, avoiding the monstrous yet sleek moray eels, exist in the same expanse of water as the deep sea creatures that look like pure nightmare fuel. This amazing push and pull, it creates excitement.

Many of the creatures Husk is surprised are even able to keep captive. Some of the tanks have magical runes of life and healing etched in the upper corner that glow bright yellow, the plaques clarifying this is because the creatures are difficult to keep alive in captivity without them. Next to those runes are an orange one that keeps the animals from mutating into monsters by Hell’s demonic energy.

Every now and then, Husk will look over and watch Angel’s expressions, his mouth in an amazed grin, golden tooth glinting, the blue of the water tinting the pink in his fur purple.

Then, an intrusive thought enters his mind, making him grimace. Angel glances over and sees the sour look on his face. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“What? Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Husk,” Angel says, sternly.

Husk sighs. “I was just thinking… My daughter… She’d have loved coming to a place like this.”

Angel is quiet for a moment. He reaches for Husk’s hand and Husk allows him to take it. Angel gives him a tight squeeze. “Heaven has to have an aquarium up there and I’m sure she is or will be up there. Heaven is probably above money too, no reason for her not to go.” He smiles and Husk returns it.

Over the next couple of hours they finish exploring the saltwater wing and head for the arctic section where they marvel at the orcas, the cuteness of the penguins, and laugh at the polar bear who swims up and boops his nose against the glass.

Around noon they break for lunch. Angel says, “f*ck it” to his figure and orders both of them massive slices of the greasiest looking pizza Husk has ever seen.

“So, you having fun?” Angel asks as they eat.

“Of course! You are too, right?”

Angel nods. “Yeah. It’s nice to be reminded of what nature actually looks like. After so long in Pentagram City, it gets difficult to imagine anything other than steel and concrete.”

“You still long for that house surrounded by sunflowers?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I love my place, but it needs a garden bad. ” he chuckles. “I don’t know, maybe New Eden wouldn’t be that bad. Sure you give up your humanity, but at least you get to live in nature where you can walk around barefoot without stepping on broken glass and can smell something other than sulfur and pollution.”

“I brought you over to my side, huh?”

“I said maybe. ” He pauses. “You know, I can’t help but wonder why you’d be ok with someone else, like Eve, controlling you.”

Husk takes a sudden interest in his pizza, taking several uninterrupted bites before asking, “So, what sea creature would you be if you had your choice?”

Angel scoffs. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I don’t know - just give me an answer.”

“Octopus.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, they’re cool.”

“They have pretty miserable lives. Very short and mating is a death sentence. You like sex so I can’t imagine you’d be very happy with that.”

“Ok, a dolphin then. They’re cute and I hear they’re really f*cky, so, perfect for me!”

“Yeah, but they’re also really violent. And rapey.”

“Dolphins are rapey? How the hell do you know that?”

“Unlike some people, I read the information in front of the tanks.”

“Figures they'd have dolphin rape as a fun fact down here. And don't mock me, ok? I'm faced with beautiful fish and you want me to read the dinky plaque in the corner? f*ck that!” He grins. "So what monstrosity would you choose to come back as? Something dignified, I'd think. Something powerful like a shark, a leopard seal maybe?"

"Naw, too violent for my taste." He ponders a moment. "I think I'd choose to be a manta ray."

"Really?" Angel says, his tone indicating he's unimpressed.

"Hey, you were the one who said you'd like to be an octopus! I'd want to be a manta ray because they're big, beautiful, intelegent, and carefree. they're friendly enough scuba divers can ride them."

"You want people riding you?"

"Nobody other than you, baby."

Angel smirks. "Name the time, name the place, I'm game."

The two chuckle.

There is a brief pause before angel says, “but, seriously though. Why would you want to be controlled? I figured you’d jump at the chance to make your own choices for once. I mean, I was a mess when I killed Valentino, but I was ecstatic to have my freedom back.”

“How under his thumb were you?”

“Completely. He controlled everything, my money, who I saw, where I went, what I wore. I had no say in anything. It’s kind of f*cked that, as bad as that was, you had it worse under Alastor. At least I wasn’t contractually obligated to my oppression. Why would you be ok going from one controlling person to another?”

“I’m so f*cking sorry for what you went through with Valentino.”

Angel pauses again. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Husk is taken off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been dancing around my question.”

“I haven’t -”

“Yes, you have. I thought it was kind of straightforward. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m just genuinely wondering, why would you want to be controlled.” Angel’s tone and his expression are demure.

Husk takes a swig from his flask.

“If we want to be a thing, if we want to be together, we need to be open and honest with each other,” Angel presses. “I’ve been open with you, I’d hoped you’d do the same.” His disappointment is crushing.

Husk takes another long swig from his flask. Suddenly the friendly environment of the food court feels oppressive. “It’s because I’m stupid,” he finally says, evenly. “I’m an idiot and I always have been. I’m not smart enough to make good choices.”

“Why do you feel that way?”

“Are you my therapist all of a sudden?”

“No, I’m just asking, I’m trying to understand.”

Husk finds himself blustering. “Everything fell apart twice. I tanked both of my marriages, I lost everything twice! I had a chance to do everything over again and I failed! I failed because I made god awful choices that hurt everyone around me!” He takes yet another swig from his flask, the alcohol burning his throat. “Alastor was right - I need a f*cking keeper.”

Angel’s expression is deeply pained. “Husk, that’s an awful way to talk about yourself -”

“It’s true!” Husk’s insists, his mind reeling.

“No, that’s what Alastor said as a justification to utterly dominate you! That’s not you talking, that’s him!” Angel looks furious, but Husk can tell the anger is not targeted at him. “You’re not stupid, ok? Having an addiction doesn’t make you stupid! It means you needed help - something you never got!

Your love for Odette was misplaced. So what? We all fall in love with the wrong person. As far as I’m concerned, anyone who says their first relationship was a perfect love at first sight affair is a god damned liar. Oh no, you hurt the woman who was cheating on you and acting like a complete leech - the f*cking horror.

Neither of those things are crimes, neither of those things make you irredeemable.

You did great things, you had a beautiful family and a daughter you loved. Do you know how rare that is for a dad down here? You built an empire, you were on top of the world, yet you still treated people with respect - even the souls on your chain, which is virtually unheard of for overlords!

Alastor used your guilt and your weaknesses against you, made you believe that they made you an inherently disgusting person who deserved to be dominated. And that’s absolute bullsh*t! Val did the same thing to me, I was just a stupid little boy who needed a strong hand to keep me in line and deliver my next fix, that’s all I was good for. He kept me in that position to justify treating me like he did! That’s what abusers do! And believe me, what an abuser says about you 99% of the time is either a lie or highly exaggerated.”

Husk Hasn’t realized he’s been breaking the hardened crust of his pizza into little chunks. He forces a smile. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I’ve been through a lot of therapy. I think you should go too.” He pauses. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go so heavy -”

Husk raises a hand and cuts him off saying, “you’re fine. You’re right." His eyes have been wandering but he forces them to meet Angel's, filled with worry and compassion that not even their mismatched demonic nature can sully. "I’m sorry for being evasive. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

Angel nods.

There is a moment where the only sound is the two slurping their sodas in between bites of their salty lunch.

Husk has been wondering it for a while now, he finds this a fitting time to ask. “Why are you attracted to me?” Husk asks. “I’m an older guy with graying hair and am all skin and bone except for my gut. What could you possibly see in that?”

“The most important thing, physically, for me, is the face. If you have a cute face I’ll overlook a hell of a lot. And you are extremely handsome. I don’t mind a little belly, it’s a built-in pillow for cuddling." He squeezes the air. "And I wasn’t lying when I said you have a great ass. I don’t care that you’re going gray - hell - it’s a turn on. I like older men who are more mature. I feel like a lot of the guys who died my age are childish - and ‘childish’ is not my thing.”

“I just wish I had more to offer.”

“You’re more than enough, ok! Look, if you’re really concerned about it, work out with me. I have every piece of exercise equipment you could want. You don’t need my permission to bulk up if you want - which is not something I’m demanding.”

“It’s just, you’re a bombshell compared to me.”

“You’re comparing apples to oranges, babe. Besides, what’s so great about me, anyway?”

“You’re kidding, right? You know why you’re attractive.”

“No, tell me, what do you like about me?”

“I like that you’re tall. I like that you’re a man but you’re also feminine. I like girls, I like boys, you tick both boxes.”

“You like someone with big tit* and a big dick?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m more than happy to provide!” Angel says, licking his lips, playfully.

Thankfully, their conversation is a lot lighter from there and soon the pizza is eaten, their cups are drained, and they’re back to exploring the aquarium.

The freshwater exhibit is explored with little to note but as soon as they enter the Hell native wing, Husk’s stomach churns.

The fish in these tanks are far larger than any from the other wings. There are fish that are purely skeletons with a thin membrane of transparent skin pulled taut over their bones, crustaceans forged from jagged metal, jellyfish with thousands of legs that writhe and curl like eager fingers.

However, the one that catches Husk’s eye is the creature that resembles a shark. It is the inky blue color of a ballpoint pen with teal symbols that glow brightly from its sides. It has a multitude of red piercing eyes. Its mouth remains neutral until it spies the two standing in front of its cage at which point it bares its three rows of teeth and propels itself forward, smashing into the glass. A containment seal at the top of the tank glows brightly with each strike the creature makes to the glass, reinforcing it.

“Well, isn’t he just precious,” Angel mutters.

“Vox has that same creature in his office.”

“Yeah. And?”

Husk bites his lip. He can imagine it, something going horribly wrong, Vox holding Husk in his vice-like grip until he’s dropped into the tank. He can imagine the blood billowing in the water and realizes he is unable to fathom the pain that would come from his flesh being shredded by all those teeth. “It’s intimidating is all. No idea why someone would want a creature like that as a pet.”

Odette and Clara arrive at the dropoff location for the massive order of angelic weapons that this particular client purchased.

Odette wrinkles her nose as she hops from the truck’s passenger side, her heels making a delicate “clink” against the pavement. This is an imp neighborhood. It’s one of the better areas, the houses having well cared for yards and fresh paint on the outside versus the utter despair of those they passed to get here.

“This place smells like sh*t,” Odette mutters as they open the back of the truck and extend the ramp.

“It’s filled with imps, what do you expect?” Clara asks, rolling her eyes. “Damn things smell like sulfur and burning tires.”

“I, not sure why an imp would be interested in Carmine products when ordinary weapons are perfectly effective at killing hellborn,” Odette says.

“Maybe they’re planning on killing a sinner,” Claire offers.

“Bold of you to assume these simpletons can ‘plan.’ Last I was aware they know how to f*ck and be a public nuisance. At least hellhounds have some heft to them and can lift more than fifty pounds.”

Several imp children play on the lawn in front of their home. They look at the two sisters suspiciously.

“Hey, sh*tlings, mind your own business, we’re trying to work here!” Odette yells.

One of the kids flips her off.

She rolls her eyes. “Let’s get this job done so we can get back to civilization.

This particular client ordered multiple thousands of dollars worth of weapons, more than Odette imagines any imp could possibly afford.

Odette collects the massive boxes with a dolly and wheels them up to the house. The door swings open as Odette approaches. Step by step, she hauls the dolly up and into the house. “Ok, here’s the stuff, You’ll need to sign for it,” Odette says listlessly.

“Oh, good, I was hoping you'd be the one to bring the packages in. We have something to discuss.” That voice sounds vaguely familiar.

There, leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, is Marcus Shepherd. She recalls seeing him all over the news. While surprised, she is in no way frightened. A single kick from her angelic steel slipper and he’d be permanently dead. She’s faced far more dangerous people than him. He isn’t intimidating, he’s a loser dealing with the lowest hell has to offer. So he breeds hellhounds - they’re barely sentient monsters. So he shuffles around sinners - if they’re stupid enough to allow themselves to be taken advantage of like that they deserve whatever they get. Her family has sold weapons to worse people.

She approaches the man and extends her clipboard. “Sign here, please.”

Marcus holds up a hand to stop her and motions to an imp standing across from him. “It’s his purchase, not mine.”

Odette sighs and holds it out to the imp, teetering the clipboard impatiently. She glares down at the signature he scribbled. She’s seen toddlers with better handwriting.

“Aren’t you curious why I want to speak to you?” Marcus asks.

“Not in the least. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Funny, because I have quite a bit to say. I have a proposition for you.”

“I have no interest in you,” Odette says, flatly. She is emotionally drained from the hordes of men offering to give her big tips to perform unsavory favors - things she would in no way degrade herself to do.

“I’m queer,” Marcus says, bluntly. “But I know who you want.” He grins, his yellow teeth bared. “I can get you back together with The Gambling Demon.”

That catches her attention. “How do you know about that?”

“Sweetheart, anyone who’s anyone knows what happened between you two a couple months ago. You were trying to get back together with your ex husband.” He grins wider. “And I also know how unhappy you are with your life.” He begins to speak in a mocking tone. “Poor Odette, overshadowed by her mother, trapped in the family business, never able to do anything on her own. Someone unable to escape no matter how hard she tries, and she tries with every man she meets. But none compared to Husker.”

Odette wants to slap that sh*t eating grin off his face.

“I fail to see how my problems concern you.”

“I know how to fix them.”

“I’m leaving,” Odette mutters, turning around.

“I’m mutuals with a powerful demon.” Marcus says, loudly. “She’s under the radar, most people think she’s a myth. But I know her quite well. She’s a reality bender. Whatever you want, whatever you desire, she can make it happen. She can make the dreams of any sinner come true. You want to be a CEO? She can make it happen. You want the perfect home in the perfect neighborhood? She can make it happen. You want the perfect husband who will never leave you and never hurt you? She can make it happen. But it’s for couples only. All you have to do is say you want to be with Husker and, poof, everything you could ever want is yours.”

Odette scoffs. “And why exactly would you offer this amazing opportunity to me?”

“Because, Husker is in my way. I have a special surprise in store for Angel Dust, but Husker is under contract to protect and serve him no matter what. He’s a liability. But, if you two accept all new lives, one away from Angel Dust where he is unaware of his duties, he won’t be an issue. I need your help, Odette - though, really, I’m helping you out.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve wasted your breath,” Odette says.

“Take my number at least, in case you change your mind.” He hands her a piece of paper.

Odette shoves it in her pocket and leaves without another word.

Chapter 19: Loo Loo Land

Chapter Text

Husk and Angel exit the aquarium holding hands. He’s not entirely sure when they clasped them, only that they’re now firmly tethered to one another, their arms gently swinging as they walk.

Hooked on one of Husk’s belt loops is a souvenir Angel bought him from the gift shop, an engraved metal manta ray keychain, that goes “tink, tink,” against his flask with every step. Angel added a coconut crab keychain to the zipper of his purse, the animal he finally decided he’d like to be reincarnated as.

As they make their way back to the car, Husk notices what’s on the other side of the street. Massive roller coasters with deadly looking drops, flaming carousels, and many barely-legal looking rides rise above the fence decorated with an anthropomorphic apple character with a gap toothed grin.

“Loo Loo Land?” Husk muses, reading the sign at the front gate.

“Oh sh*t, didn’t even see that as we pulled in,” Angel says. “I’ve heard of this place, a shameless ripoff of Lucifer’s Lulu world.”

“Oh, another one of Lucifer’s bandaids? Make Hell ‘fun’ for all of us, not realizing that half of us can’t afford the entry fees - especially the hellborn?”

“Didn’t realize you held so much vitriol for the man.”

“He’s utterly useless as a ruler. Doesn’t do jack sh*t, spends all of his time in his palace tinkering with his passion projects, and leaves us all here to suffer. He created us, he fell because of us, yet he just lets us fester.” Husk realizes how bitter he’s coming across. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what? Saying the quiet part out loud? You’re right, Lucifer sucks, can’t even run a theme park made to ‘bring joy to the fine citizens of Hell’ correctly. We needed Mammon to come in and make a knock off that was actually affordable - f*cking Mammon! It’s absurd.”

Husk’s ear twitches as he takes in the sound of the roaring rides and the enthralled shrieks of the riders. “When was the last time you went to an amusem*nt park?”

Angel lets out a slow exhale as he ponders. “God… I’m not sure. State fair when I was a kid, maybe? You?”

“Went to one while visiting a relative out of state. A handful of rides, nothing too spectacular - my daughter had a good time.” After Angel’s reassurance earlier mentioning her doesn’t hurt as much - though the thought of her isn’t painless.

“You wanna go?” Angel asks.

“I think I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.” Husk smirks. “Unless a powerful overlord such as yourself wants to stay away from the riff raff.”

“Sweetheart, I am just as riff as any of the raff that park has to offer! It sounds like a blast, let’s go!”

Standing in line under the heat of Hell’s boiling sun should be excruciating, but Angel is like an oasis.

He manages to look amazing despite the sweat that collects on his brow and the prissy pink sunglasses he wears, he looks like an eleven out of ten bombshell.

The conversations the two have while waiting have Husk enthralled. Angel isn’t the most articulate, but Husk is taken with how intelligent he is. After years and years of being locked away watching TV by himself for solace, it feels amazing to finally connect with someone over those movies. He is filled with absolute joy that Angel gushes over films the same way Husk does. Every time Husk mentions a movie that Angel has mentioned or vice versa, it’s suggested the other watch it. The indication is that they’ll be watching them together.

Once having gained admission to the park it becomes clear that this isn’t a highly polished experience. The whole place has the feel of being broken in, like old leather. The booths all look old, vintage fonts, faded colors and peeling paint. Weeds poke up around buildings where there is little foot traffic. Many of the Hell native plantlife is animated and carnivorous and fight amongst themselves for scraps of fallen foods from the dozens of concession stands.

Husk feels his wings pull tight against his back, his tail low. “At least the tickets were cheap,” he mutters.

Angel sees Husk’s worried demeanor and sighs. “For the record, I think it’s charming. It’s not a looker, nor are my f*cking feet. But, I’m still fun and sexy.”

“What are you talking about?” Husk says, chuckling. “What’s wrong with your feet?”

“Trust me, honey, there’s a reason I wear boots in all of my films, they’re not pretty.”

“I find it hard to believe there’s any part of you that isn’t pretty.”

“You’re dead wrong, but certainly a flatterer! And what are you worrying about prices for? I’m loaded!”

“Did I hear you say you’re rich?”

The two turn to see the park’s mascot lumber over to them, it’s eyes directionless and dazed.

Husk recoils, a feline growl rising in his throat. “Don’t you dare come over here -”

“Hello! I’m Loo Loo! Welcome to Loo Loo Land!” the gap toothed apple says in a scratchy southern accent. “I hear you got money? Cute, cute. If you get hurt, just try to sue us, you won’t have money anymore! No, stay safe, spend all that money on our games and prizes and delicious apple themed confections!”

Angel tries to stifle laughter as Husk continues a low snarl, his hands balled into fists, his wings and tail twitching. “Hey, Loo Loo, can we get a selfie?”

“You son of a bitch,” Husk murmurs.

Loo Loo hugs both of them around their shoulders and Angel snaps some pictures. Husk doesn’t bother smiling, he’s unable to take his eyes off the thing standing behind him. The sensation of the costume’s fabric against his skin is like writhing ants.

“Thanks Loo Loo!” Angel calls, waving, as the rotund fruit waddles away.

Husk glares at Angel. “I hate you!”

Angel bursts out laughing. “Holy sh*t - that was f*cking amazing! We live in Hell, you’re a fearless warrior who kills people, and mascots freak you out?”

“They’re repulsive! You don’t know who’s in there! That guy could be a pervert who fondles kids!”

“Or he’s a down-on-his-luck schmuck trying to make ends meat.”

“Or he’s a pervert!”

Angel looks at the pictures on his phone and breaks into laughter all over again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, but next time you try getting a photo with one of those freaks and they grab your ass, don’t come crying to me!”

“You’ll just have to keep your hand on my ass yourself, mark your territory,” Angel says, saucily.

Husk reaches out and playfully claps a hand to Angel's rear. “Done and done.” He feels heat slowly build across his face as he realizes how taught and firm Angel’s cheeks are.

“Well, now that my ass is safe, I promise, no more mascots! We see any more, you have full permission to hide behind my back until they pass, ok?”

Husk playfully puts his arms around me. “Protect me, please?” He says, looking up and curling his lower lip.

Angel pats him on the head. “Sure thing, pumpkin!”

The next couple of hours are non-stop fun. They go on nearly every ride in the park, each of them thrilling from their simulated danger - and the actual danger they put the riders in.

One of their favorites is The Core Roll is a structure with an apple core adorning it. It has six metal arms tipped with apples that riders enter and strap themselves into. The ride then spins at a high velocity, stopping abruptly at which point a massive robotic set of teeth gnash at the opening of each apple. The machine operator stresses that everyone must remain firmly buckled in place, or the rider could be flung from their apple straight into the maws of the robotic teeth and be chomped to death. As sinners, both Angel and Husk would exist in the primordial space between spaces until re-manifesting at some point later in time - but considering it could be years before that happens, it’s best to remain as safe as possible. They rode the ride twice in a row.

As they stagger off the last and most adrenaline pumping coaster the park has to offer, The Lawsuit - a coaster with dips so harsh and fast the sides of the cars burst into flame, Angel clutches his stomach and groans. “Ok, I think I’m over the rides!”

“You don’t look so good,” Husk agrees.

“f*ck you, I look fantastic - as long as I don’t hurl.”

“Why don’t we try some games, let our stomachs settle?”

It’s difficult to settle their stomachs when the air is filled with the scents of so much food, all of it fried, all of it delicious.

On the way to the section of the park with dozens of game stands, they come across an extremely odd looking animatronic tyrannosaurus. It was probably bright blue at one point but has since faded to a nasty gray with flasks of black and brown from the dirt sticking to the rubber of its neck, worn and wrinkled from its movement and exposure to the sun. It wears a t-shirt with a generic ringed planet on it - the fabric threadbare and worn, and a baseball cap. Its head is twisted upside down. It has four eyes, one where an eye would be expected, both rolled back staring at the ground, and two at its jaws that are co*ckeyed. A sign says “Feed Loobly your spare change and he’ll sing a song or give you quite a shock!”

Angel digs around in his purse and pulls out a penny. He tosses it towards the animatronic who springs to life and snaps it up with his jaws. A recording of a gulping sound plays, the audio tinny. The animatronic’s eyes roll. “Cheap skate,” it says before going back to it’s resting position.

“Alright you big bastard,” Angel mutters. He produces a silver coin and tosses it.

This time, after snapping up the offering, the robot’s rubbery lips pull back in an uncanny smile. “Better!” It says before proceeding to make the most awful screeching sound that makes Angel and Husk jump back. The creature’s head lolls, its jaw falling open as it makes the most uncanny noises. After about thirty seconds it mercifully stops.

“Guess that was the ‘shock,’” Husk mutters.

“f*ckin’ ripoff,” Angel agrees.

The various games and stands have a hellish flair to them. Superficially they resemble games one would encounter in the human world, however, the targets of these games are real creatures.

There’s a game where small creatures the color of bruises called mites pop up from little holes. Their heads must be split down the center by axes to gain points. Several imp children crackle as they massacre the little creatures. They’re awarded their prizes at which point the attendant, a portly hellhound, collects the hamster sized creatures and eats them before replacing them with fresh mites from a nearby cage. The creatures hug the far end of the cage and shiver with fear.

There’s a booth called “Stop That Soul!” where acid - most likely farmed from captive leviathans - is sprayed from a garish gun at mites dressed in stereotypical angel attire. When doused, the creatures wail in agony as their flesh melts from their bones and they fall in a sticky pile to the ground behind the stage. The attendant, an imp in a hazmat suit, sweeps the gloopy remains up and dumps them in a trash can in between rounds.

The games featuring live mites all have the stench of death rolling off of them from the blood and viscera baking in the sun.

Despite the screams of agony from the creatures, Husk, nor any other park goer, feels the slightest bit of sympathy. Any human soul who sexually assaulted a child or animal, regardless of context, manifests in hell as a mite. Hell denizens are encouraged to squash the fragile creatures as often as possible. They were reborn to be destroyed. They remanifest faster than any other kind of sinner, often mere hours after destruction, only to be squashed all over again. They are so low on the hierarchical totem pole they’re little more than pests that keep themselves fed from Hell’s refuse, like rats.

Not all of the stands feature mites as the subject of destruction - presumably because many attendees are uninterested in cleaning up the mess. Many of the stands, despite having macabre elements, are standard theme park games.

Angel suddenly gasps when he sees a particular stand, a shooting game where the targets are Loo Loo figures holding bullseyes over their rear ends. “Husk, look!” he squeals.

Sitting atop a shelf are the cutest plushies Husk has ever seen, doughy purple creatures somewhere between a platypus and a kangaroo with glittery eyes, white and black striped horns and a little black tuft of fur atop its head. It wears pink overalls with white stitching, laces, and buttons.

“I’m more partial to the bear,” Husk says motioning to the red plastic fanged teddy bears that line the other side of the shelf.

The man at the booth sees Angel’s excitement and grins. “Step right up and win a thing!” He calls.

“I have to have that thing!” Angel says.

“You want it? I’ll get it!” Husk says.

They step up to the booth and Husk slaps down a five dollar bill. He raises the little toy gun and fires. The ball perfectly hits the bullseye on the little Loo Loo figure which proceeds to do nothing.

“No go, bro,” The carney says.

“I hit the target,” Husk counters.

“Yeah, but it didn’t go down.” The carney has a sh*t eating grin on his face.

Husk takes a calming breath and slaps down another five and fires at a different target. That one doesn’t go down either. “What the hell!?” he snarls.

“Sucks to suck, don’t it, pal? Try again!” Husk glowers in response to the carney’s very punchable face.

A smile spreads across his face. “Alright, I will.” He proceeds to manifest a fan of cards that he, one after the other, throws at the targets. Each card hits the bullseye perfectly. The last card he throws severs a figure and it topples behind the attraction with a metallic clank.

The carney stares with wide eyes.

“The thing, please?” Husk says with an impatient motion of his hand.

The carney recovers and glares at him. “Absolutely not, if you’re so sh*t at this game you have to cheat -”

Angel pushes Husk out of the way. “Hey, sugar!” he says, sweetly. He sensually toys with the plastic gun. “Excuse my friend, he’s a little testy. I’ll tell you what, I’ll do something better than hit those stupid targets.”

The carney swallows, eying Angel with lust in his eyes and concern on his face. “Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Give you the best kiss of your afterlife.” Angel smirks. “When’s the last time you been kissed, big boy?”

“A long time,” the carney admits.

“Well, then, bring it in, don’t keep me waiting!”

The carney leans in and Husk recoils and looks away as the two start to sloppily make out.

“Thanks, sugar!” Angel says after a moment. Husk feels Angel’s hand on his and he allows himself to be pulled away. “Jackass,” Angel mutters, wiping his lips. “f*cked up my makeup too.” He snuggles his plush before looking at Husk and grinning. He hands Husk one of the red teddy bears. “Here’s a teddy bear for my little teddy bear!”

Husk can only look at Angel with shock. “Why…?” He murmurs. “Why would you do that?”

Angel deflates a little. “It was nothing, ok?”

“You kissed some random f*cker, that was nothing?”

“Not really. It was a means to an end. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to get you that bear,” he says, nodding to the plush in Husk’s hand. “When I was kissing him I saw that there were pedals on the floor. He controls if the targets fall down or not. You earned it, five dollars for mine plush, five for yours.” He smiles reassuringly.

Husk remains unassured. “But why would you do that, why would you just throw yourself at someone?”

Frustration flickers across Angel’s face. “I know you probably want me to be exclusive, but I can’t. Being sexually open - it’s my asset. It's my only asset. I’m not good at business or planning - there’s a reason I have people under me who handle all of that sh*t. If playing by the rules and being cordial and being savvy doesn’t get the job done, then I have to throw in a little something extra. Nine times out of ten the deal goes through. It’s not pleasure, it’s business.”

Husk’s stomach clenches. “Doesn’t that feel degrading?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything anymore,” Angel says with a shrug. “Lips are lips, dicks are dicks, it is what it is. Trust me, sex hasn’t felt like anything other than a transaction in a very long time.”

“I sort of know the feeling but…”

“Not to my extent?”

Husk nods.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Angel plays with his hands as he tries to conjure up something else to say but is unable to find anything. His arms drop and he sighs.

Husk takes Angel’s hand and squeezes it. “For the record, it’s not a deal breaker.”

“You sure?”

“Hell’s a bitch. Things could be much worse. Just… just don’t go catching feelings. That’s what worries me.”

Angel squeezes Husk's hand harder. “Honey, you’re the first person I’ve been attracted to romantically in decades, that is not a problem!”

Chapter 20: The Robot's Taunts

Chapter Text

The pair play more games, win more prizes, and stop by the gift shop to buy a couple tote bags to carry their goodies in.

For the first time in his life, Husk doesn’t feel like an old f*ck. He feels young again, he feels vibrant, like the afterlife is worth living.

Once their bags are filled to burst with prizes and merch, they get food from vendors; massive fried delicacies, cotton candy, and soda.

They come across a circus tent with signs all around advertising a show put on by a robotic Fizzarolli and “the Loo Loo Band,” consisting of Loobly the dinosaur on guitar, a frog on drums, a kangaroo on triangle, and a two headed bear on banjo. They decide to dip in not because they’re that interested, but because it gives them a chance to sit down in the AC and eat their food. What the two quickly realize is that this is a show meant primarily for kids. Perhaps the garish cartoony signs should have clued them in. As such, everyone aside from Angel and Husk are hellborn.

After a short wait the titular robotic Fizzarolli explodes from behind the curtains. “Well hello, implings! Welcome to the Loo Loo show!” The robot’s voice is glitchy and artificial. Husk has seen the real Fizzarolli perform - he’s a master at his craft. This facsimile isn’t half as impressive. “Why does it sound like it was hit by a truck?” Husk whispers.

“These robots are made by the same company that creates robots in my likeness. This is clearly an older model in desperate need of a tune up.”

Husk shudders. “Those robots freak me out. They act like they’re alive… I mean… are they?”

Angel huffs. “No. They’re representations of life, not living beings themselves.”

“Isn’t that what we are to the angels?”

Angel loudly sips his soda. “Babe, it's a tin can, it’s not that deep.”

The two continue to bicker about the philosophy of what it means to be alive while Robot Fizzarolli rattles off insipid attempts at humor.

“God, this thing is chatty,” Husk mutters as the robot continues to blather.

“The robot’s dialogue comes from manual input from whoever’s controlling it wirelessly. Whoever it is, they need to be fired, this is a slog.” Angel cups his hands around his mouth and bellows “GET ON WITH IT!”

The robot twitches as Angel’s comment gets quite a bit of laughter. “Tough crowd,” the robot mutters. “Hit it!” The robot snaps its fingers and the curtains roll back to reveal “the Loo Loo band.” Each of them resembles a reanimated corpse. They’re stiff and awkward, their movements uncanny and off putting. The rubber around their lips that move when they speak are old and have fine lines and cracks forming. Their teeth are far too large, their jaws a little too unhinged. Their eyes don’t fit in their sockets right. They look absolutely ghastly.

Angel snorts through his nose. “Really? We paid for this sh*t?”

“Somebody needs to take these f*ckers out back, pop ‘em, put ‘em out of their misery,” Husk says.

Robot Fizzarolli starts singing a song about the joys of Loo Loo Land.

Husk scoffs. “Who wrote this sh*t? I’ve composed music before, I know when a song is underwritten. I’ve heard commercial jingles with better lyricism than this slop.”

Angel covers his mouth to stifle his laughter.

The song comes to a merciful end and a harsh light cuts to Robot Fizzarolli. “Now, for my next act -” the robot’s body twitches, it’s head twisting harshly to the side. The movement stops and the robot pulls itself back into a standard pose. It looks up at the audience and grins. “For my next act, I’ll be dunking on those two hecklers in the back!” The Robot Fizzarolli jabs a finger in Angel and Husk’s direction seconds before a spotlight blasts them in the face.

“The f*ck?” Angel yells, trying to block out the light with his hands.

Robot Fizzarolli gasps, though it doesn’t sound genuinely surprised. “My, my, my, is that Angel Dust my sensors spot?” it wrings its fingers in delight. “Why, I think this calls for a cameo!”

The robot rushes the stand and jumps, its extendable arms allowing for several long cartwheels up the stands. It lands right in front of Angel. It grabs his hand, his food tumbling to the floor, and pulls him into a standing position before scooping him up like a brave knight would a damsel. It takes a mighty leap, landing in the center of the ring.

Angel struggles and curses at the robot who only grins in response. “Oops!” it says, naughtily, before dropping Angel.

Angel hits the ground hard and yelps. He scrambles to his feet and takes a swing at the robot who casually grabs his fist and pushes him away.

Robot Fizzarolli chuckles and begins to slowly walk around Angel. “The audacity to come into my establishment and insult my work.”

“Your work? You’re a f*cking machine!” Angel bellows.

“He thinks he’s so smart, so articulate, so poised.” The robot’s affect is no longer exaggerated and goofy, but calculated and poised. It walks with its hands behind its back. “He deserves to be here. A petulant child who sneers at those he sees as beneath him to make himself feel better.”

The hellborn in the stands start to snicker.

“He thinks himself a hero to the people,” Robot Fizzarolli continues. “He believes that he’s doing great things for Hell, making a difference. He genuinely believes that whor*s and slu*ts who f*cked up their lives, ended up down here, and threw their own souls away are worth any kind of pity. He thinks they’re worthy of respect.” it cackles. “You believe that, hellborn? Sinners being worthy of respect? What a crock of sh*t! They’re down here for a reason!”

The crowd begins to loudly agree.

“Tell me, Angel, do you really think that you’re the better person because Valentino was mean to you? You think you’re Jesus on the cross, laying yourself out for the happiness of those worthless souls on your chain? For romancing that has-been in the stands?”

Angel’s furious expression changes to one of mirth. “You know, Vox, you’re really bad at playing characters. Your douchiness is too powerful! Try taking an acting lesson sometime, maybe you’ll be able to pretend to be any better than I am.”

“At least people love me, Angel,” Robot Fizzarolli sneers. “I rule Hell in every way that matters. Does anyone love you, Angel? Masturbating doesn’t count!”

The crowd howls.

“Shut up, Vox,” Angel snarls.

“What is it you do, Angel? Sing ego stroking songs about yourself? Strip down and throw yourself at whoever’s convenient? Try giving something substantial, something we need. Hell needs the Vs. Do they need you?”

“I took over Val’s empire - last I checked he was doing the same sh*t and you guys were peachy!”

“Congratulations, you took the spot of the V who’d be powerless without the others gracing him with their partnership.”

“Ok, f*ck this,” Angel mutters. He turns and goes to leave.

Robot Fizzarolli grips his arm. “We’re not done with you, whor* bug!” The robot says, its voice inexplicably twinged with a co*ckney accent.

“Oh, hey Velvette!” Angel says, sweetly, before slapping the robot. He immediately recoils. “f*ck that hurt, why did I do that?!” He squeaks.

Husk spreads his wings and glides down to the ring where he proceeds to slice off the robot’s arm. Angel stumbles away, flinging the arm away.

Robot Fizzarolli grins at Husk. “Oh, Angel!” it calls. “Ask your soul what Vox told him, eh?”

Husk decapitates the robot with a fan of cards.

Angel grabs Husk’s hand and pulls him towards the exit as the crowd boos and throws food and empty containers at the pair on their way out.

Angel keeps it together until they return to the car. The only thing he said as they left was “we need to go,” and Husk didn’t disagree. As soon as they are seated in the car there are roughly five seconds of dead silence before Angel bursts into tears.

“Angel…?” Husk says softly.

“f*ck, Husk, this wasn’t supposed to happen!” Angel says, running his fingers through his hair crazily. “This was our day to just be us, together, to… you know… take the next step. And I f*ck it all up!”

“How did you f*ck it up?”

“You know damn well how I f*cked it up! I pissed off the Vs and now they’re ruining everything out of spite! It’s my fault - I should have offered Alastor more money, different information, something, anything else!”

“What’s done is done,” Husk says, softly. “You didn’t ruin anything, ok? The Vs are spiteful pricks, I know that just as well as you. And everything they said about you -”

“Is true!”

“Bullsh*t! Being a decent person in Hell is a virtue, not a weakness, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise!”

“I am a slu*t, I don’t have standards, I do throw myself at people -”

“You said it yourself, you do it out of necessity. Someone’s who’s put in a position where they’re forced to exploit themselves to others is not ‘being a slu*t.’ I don’t hold that against you!

“But -”

“And before you say it, you are loved, ok? I love you!” Those strong words just slip out. And the frightening thing? Husk doesn’t regret it a bit.

Angel’s face contorts the way it does when, in the midst of crying, one smiles. He pulls Husk into a tight hug. “You mean that?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

“I love you too. I have for a long time.”

Realization washes over Husk; the gravity of what was just said. Oh, God, what has he done? He breathes deep before saying, “I believe you. Promise me something.”

“Of course!”

“Don’t hurt me. Please.”

“I could never do that.”

“That’s what Alastor told me.”

Angel tenses. “I am not Alastor, Husk. I promise, I will never, ever hurt you!”

As the two embrace, a cold realization washes over Husk. In a way, Angel already has. Husk’s neck is on the line. If Angel’s actions lead to the Vs being found out, they’re going to kill him.

This thought haunts him as they drive home. Angel never follows up on what the robot said, “ask your soul what Vox told him.” Maybe Angel forgot, maybe he’s scared to hear the answer. Husk is afraid to open that discussion himself - it will only make things worse.

Like most of his concerns, he buries it under a tidal wave of alcohol once sequestered in his room, alone.