[He's thought about this for fifty fucking years. At first as a worst-case scenario, curled up in the protective circle of Valentino's fuzzy wing in some shitty motel, snuggled tight to his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his breath: what would I do without him?
And then, as things changed, as they got worse and worse and so much fucking worse, Angel would sit up at night, hollow-eyed as the last lingering effects of the love potion faded, bruised and sore and so numb he couldn't feel either, chainsmoking away the memory of what he'd done, what had been done to him, and he'd think it: what would I do if he fucking let me go?
He'd driven himself to the knife's edge of breaking into bits, of ruining everything there was left of Anthony, to try and make Val lose interest. But he'd never conceived of a world without him.]
Yeah. [It comes out in a shuddery, thick voice, as Angel looks up at Velvet, both sets of arms crossing tight over his chest, over where his breath rattles in and out of his lungs. One hitching inhale, another, and Angel's vision blurs and his eyes squeeze shut because he's fucking crying.] Yeah. I'm fine.
Pity isn't quite right, she's felt that, condescending and bitter. This, the feeling she gets when she looks at Angel right now, it's an ache she doesn't recognize.
It frightens her. She's always known what to do with Veneer's feelings— either to protect him from others or to manipulate him into feeling differently. With this, with Angel before her, Velvet doesn't know... what to do, just that she has to do something.
So she reaches out, unsure, hesitant, hand changing its original path so she can— kind of pat his shoulder.]
[Deflect, this is where he deflects, where he takes a breath and makes a joke and laughs it off. That's what Angel does. He's fucking Angel Dust, he doesn't sit in hotels in his robe and cry.
But that's what he's doing. And when Velvet's clawed hand gently pats his shoulder, he slumps forward without thinking, rests his head against her stomach, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His throat is tight, his eyes burning, his face soon streaked with tears, and he just can't stop thinking how it's over, it's over, it's finally fucking over...}
[Velvet stares for a moment, fingers flexing in silent distress. This is usually the part where protective big sister Velvet tries to threaten the offender or spends time talking about how dogshit they were to deflect and cheer her brother up.
But this isn't her brother, and Valentino is gone.
Velvet is paralyzed for a moment, unsure what to do, withdrawing her hand— and then she grimaces up at the ceiling.]
Shut up.
[She mumbles, shoving his shoulders back just enough to pull him away from her stomach.
And then she does something she hasn't done in a very long time.
Velvet doesn't finish pushing Angel away from her; she simply starts to crouch a little, so she'll be between his legs, and wraps both of her noodly arms around his shoulders until she can bring him close to her chest, to let Angel's chin rest at her shoulder. Velvet gives Angel, one of her newest friends, one of her only friends, a hug.
[The push back has Angel shuddering back, instinctively, already stammering out some kind of apology, some sort of excuse, deflect as much as he fucking can under the circumstances -- which yes, yes, he knows won't be enough. This is the rawest, deepest, most hurt part of him, parts only a couple of people (Cherri, Husk) have seen.
But when Velvet embraces him -- awkward, unsure, crouched down and tugging his chin to her shoulder -- he doesn't think about crumpling to the sidewalk in front of Husk, or about curling up in Cherri's shitty motel bed and sobbing. He doesn't think about Sinners or Hell at all.
Instead he thinks -- his birthday, the last one he'd had alive, sitting on the edge of a hotel bed with his hands pressed to his eyes, still half-high and twitchy and crying and trying not to, hissing out through gritted teeth: I'm never fuckin' gonna be good enough for him, Moll, we both fuckin' know it, why do I keep fuckin' waitin' for him to show up, why am I so fuckin' stupid...
Velvet hugs him and Angel thinks of his sister, his twin, crouching to hug him, cheek against his hair as she murmurs, Tony, Tony, it ain't your fault, it's not, Tony...]
Everyone had said so, and everyone had been right. You don't know him. You don't know how serious it is. Angel does. Even Greed had told her— told her she didn't understand. Had wanted her to show him she was ready to kill even him, were he to try and hurt her, to put his hands on her.
She remembers that dark and terrifying look in Greed's eye, like he'd become someone lese, like he'd suddenly turned off all care he'd had for her. And she wonders, and she wonders, how many times has Angel seen that face on Valentino? How many times had what followed left deeper wounds on Angel's heart than had ever been on his face?
You were wrong, Velvet.
Even Verosika had said it. Was that why Verosika was always around? Like a buffer between herself and Valentino? Was she looking out for Velvet, even with all the awful things Vel had said?
Something so strong that Veneer had kicked her out. Something so bad that Angel, Angel, eight feet tall, is crumpled in Velvet's arms like tissue paper.
You were wrong, Velvet!
It's a contemplation that's full of despair. Velvet's boneless arms wrap tighter around Angel. She isn't sure what to do or say, isn't sure about anything when the protective rage that bubbles up in her, that would have been reserved for her brother before, has nowhere to go. When being mad at Valentino will do nothing to fix the things Velvet has done, because Valentino didn't do those things. Valentino didn't say yes to himself. Valentino wasn't the one screaming about their contract to Angel.
[It's soft, quick, but Angel hears it, and a version of him who'd stood in this same hotel and tried to warn Velvet -- fuck, weeks ago, now -- sighs in satisfaction. Because he'd known from the beginning. Because he'd been exactly where she had been, and he'd ignored all the signs and he'd excused all the red flags, and then it had been too damn late and he'd been sorry, just like Velvet had and just like she was.
Angel had always known she'd understand, eventually. He'd forgiven her from the beginning. And now, as he sniffs and cries and slowly curls a set of his arms around her noodley, fuzzy body, he's just so damn grateful she figured it out the easy way, by watching him, and not by Val hurting her.]
[Something in Velvet remembers what this is like. That's right, she used to hug her brother, back before too many people told her to hug grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins, back before touching was too much, too much, too much. She used to do this, and it was okay, and it didn't feel like she wanted to escape her own skin to touch and touch and touch.
And it feels good now, too, holding Angel like this and remembering that time when things were simpler. It keeps her from teetering over her own precipice of tears, from thinking too hard about how Angel could have ruined her, could have told her secrets, could have called her out for the fraud she is and didn't. Perfect plastic teeth dig into her silicone lip, because she is not going to cry, no matter how guilty she feels.
So she holds him a little tighter in response to him curling closer, and reaches up to pet his hair. The motion is awkward, stilted, unpracticed, but she's noodly enough that perhaps it still feels smooth.]
[It is awkward, but that's how Angel knows it isn't an act. Acts are smooth and practiced and effortless, they come as easily as breathing, they stand like a sentinel between you and whoever you're acting for. Walls upon walls upon walls.
There aren't any walls left, not here. There's just Angel crumpled and crying, and Velvet holding him and awkwardly petting his hair. It's like that night on the roof, with Greed, peeling away the scar tissue and letting out something soft and vulnerable and real.
After a handful of moments, he squeezes once, then pulls away enough to wipe his eyes with one shaky hand, exhaling slowly.] M'okay. I'm fine. That.
[Velvet pulls away a bit, too, refusing eye contact. She sniffles a bit herself, though she isn't crying, really, as much as her eyes are just glossy.]
[Velvet gets herself up and plants herself beside Angel on the bed like she weighs so much more than she actually does— and when words don't come immediately, she sighs and flops onto her back, arms akimbo.]
I guess... I won't have my talent anymore.
[But she sounds like she's unsure of what that's worth. And after all—]
I don't know why I'm not more mad. Like—
[A bitter laugh escapes her.]
Of course my plans go south right as it's getting good. What else is new, right?
Hey. [Angel reaches out, gently poking her back with a fingertip, right between the shoulderblades.] I understand that I was a regular schmuck, I died, went to Hell and became a sexy-ass spider, then spent fifty damn years makin' weird porn for a moth guy.
Magic's all over, Vel. Weird, fucked up, crazy magic. You got it once, maybe you'll get it again.
[A pause, then his hand rests on her back, light, almost comforting.] Maybe it'll be yours, this time. If ya want it to be.
[A pause, a hesitation, and Velvet rolls back to look at Angel.
Even if she had the words for how addicting it was to have that talent, how it was more than just a talent but a feeling— she's talking to the prince of addicts.
If Angel doesn't see the tendency in her already, he will. He could read her like a book, if she tried to talk about it.]
[That's the part Angel hasn't said out loud, how the violence and the drugs and the sex and the fame were all the same, in the end. He was (is, will be) addicted to each one in it's own awful, thorny, impossible-to-escape way.
Maybe he already knows Velvet's the same. Maybe that's why one hand stays, moving her hair out of her face.]
Yeah, sure. I mean, my old man was a mafia enforcer who worked his way up the crime ladder, but I tried to go straight, for a lil bit. When I was...I dunno, seventeen, eighteen, somethin'. I tried livin' regular.
Hey, ain't a damn thing wrong with bein' a dentist!
[But he snorts a little as he says it, flashing those all-white teeth, missing that glint of gold that catches the light, that marks him as different.]
Besides, it was mostly my pops who did it. Him and my big brother. Molly n' me, we tried to do other stuff. Real disappointment to dear ol' dad. [No mention of his mother, where she was, the role she played -- or didn't, as it were, those memories buried deeper than the ones of his siblings.]
[Angel huffs out a little laugh as Velvet scoots over, as she tucks into his shoulder and lets out her litany of complaints. Then he's reaching out, both sets of arms draping over her, tugging her into a proper cuddle situation.]
Yeah, go on, Vel. [There's a touch of amusement, of sadness, of each.] It fuckin' sucks. You ain't wrong.
[Even if the delivery is pouty, childish, the fear at it's core is one Angel knows way too fucking well: what if I'm not good enough? The feeling of it, of being famous and talented and desired, of being wanted is just as addictive as the damn drugs.]
Let it out, cause I ain't gonna make fun'a you for whinin' for a whole five minutes. So get it outta your system, before I make ya put on your big girl pants and keep doin' the shitty stuff.
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cw: dubcon/vague mentions of noncon, drugs, abuse/DV, general val shittiness lmao
Date: 2024-06-12 02:40 am (UTC)And then, as things changed, as they got worse and worse and so much fucking worse, Angel would sit up at night, hollow-eyed as the last lingering effects of the love potion faded, bruised and sore and so numb he couldn't feel either, chainsmoking away the memory of what he'd done, what had been done to him, and he'd think it: what would I do if he fucking let me go?
He'd driven himself to the knife's edge of breaking into bits, of ruining everything there was left of Anthony, to try and make Val lose interest. But he'd never conceived of a world without him.]
Yeah. [It comes out in a shuddery, thick voice, as Angel looks up at Velvet, both sets of arms crossing tight over his chest, over where his breath rattles in and out of his lungs. One hitching inhale, another, and Angel's vision blurs and his eyes squeeze shut because he's fucking crying.] Yeah. I'm fine.
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Date: 2024-06-12 02:47 am (UTC)Pity isn't quite right, she's felt that, condescending and bitter. This, the feeling she gets when she looks at Angel right now, it's an ache she doesn't recognize.
It frightens her. She's always known what to do with Veneer's feelings— either to protect him from others or to manipulate him into feeling differently. With this, with Angel before her, Velvet doesn't know... what to do, just that she has to do something.
So she reaches out, unsure, hesitant, hand changing its original path so she can— kind of pat his shoulder.]
Hey... hey...
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Date: 2024-06-13 12:49 am (UTC)But that's what he's doing. And when Velvet's clawed hand gently pats his shoulder, he slumps forward without thinking, rests his head against her stomach, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. His throat is tight, his eyes burning, his face soon streaked with tears, and he just can't stop thinking how it's over, it's over, it's finally fucking over...}
Just. [Hoarse, choked-off.] Gimme a sec?
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Date: 2024-06-13 01:03 am (UTC)But this isn't her brother, and Valentino is gone.
Velvet is paralyzed for a moment, unsure what to do, withdrawing her hand— and then she grimaces up at the ceiling.]
Shut up.
[She mumbles, shoving his shoulders back just enough to pull him away from her stomach.
And then she does something she hasn't done in a very long time.
Velvet doesn't finish pushing Angel away from her; she simply starts to crouch a little, so she'll be between his legs, and wraps both of her noodly arms around his shoulders until she can bring him close to her chest, to let Angel's chin rest at her shoulder. Velvet gives Angel, one of her newest friends, one of her only friends, a hug.
It's an awkward hug, but it is one.]
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Date: 2024-06-14 01:58 am (UTC)But when Velvet embraces him -- awkward, unsure, crouched down and tugging his chin to her shoulder -- he doesn't think about crumpling to the sidewalk in front of Husk, or about curling up in Cherri's shitty motel bed and sobbing. He doesn't think about Sinners or Hell at all.
Instead he thinks -- his birthday, the last one he'd had alive, sitting on the edge of a hotel bed with his hands pressed to his eyes, still half-high and twitchy and crying and trying not to, hissing out through gritted teeth: I'm never fuckin' gonna be good enough for him, Moll, we both fuckin' know it, why do I keep fuckin' waitin' for him to show up, why am I so fuckin' stupid...
Velvet hugs him and Angel thinks of his sister, his twin, crouching to hug him, cheek against his hair as she murmurs, Tony, Tony, it ain't your fault, it's not, Tony...]
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Date: 2024-06-14 02:27 am (UTC)Her own voice fills her head.
Everyone had said so, and everyone had been right. You don't know him. You don't know how serious it is. Angel does. Even Greed had told her— told her she didn't understand. Had wanted her to show him she was ready to kill even him, were he to try and hurt her, to put his hands on her.
She remembers that dark and terrifying look in Greed's eye, like he'd become someone lese, like he'd suddenly turned off all care he'd had for her. And she wonders, and she wonders, how many times has Angel seen that face on Valentino? How many times had what followed left deeper wounds on Angel's heart than had ever been on his face?
You were wrong, Velvet.
Even Verosika had said it. Was that why Verosika was always around? Like a buffer between herself and Valentino? Was she looking out for Velvet, even with all the awful things Vel had said?
Something so strong that Veneer had kicked her out. Something so bad that Angel, Angel, eight feet tall, is crumpled in Velvet's arms like tissue paper.
You were wrong, Velvet!
It's a contemplation that's full of despair. Velvet's boneless arms wrap tighter around Angel. She isn't sure what to do or say, isn't sure about anything when the protective rage that bubbles up in her, that would have been reserved for her brother before, has nowhere to go. When being mad at Valentino will do nothing to fix the things Velvet has done, because Valentino didn't do those things. Valentino didn't say yes to himself. Valentino wasn't the one screaming about their contract to Angel.
Or maybe, worse, he was.
What do you do when you're so wrong?]
I'm sorry.
[It's quiet, it's low, it's humble, it's the phrase Angel keeps repeating. It's—]
Ugh, no, stop it. No one's apologizing!
Just— Shut up and cry while you still don't have any makeup on.
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Date: 2024-06-15 02:03 am (UTC)Angel had always known she'd understand, eventually. He'd forgiven her from the beginning. And now, as he sniffs and cries and slowly curls a set of his arms around her noodley, fuzzy body, he's just so damn grateful she figured it out the easy way, by watching him, and not by Val hurting her.]
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Date: 2024-06-15 02:10 am (UTC)And it feels good now, too, holding Angel like this and remembering that time when things were simpler. It keeps her from teetering over her own precipice of tears, from thinking too hard about how Angel could have ruined her, could have told her secrets, could have called her out for the fraud she is and didn't. Perfect plastic teeth dig into her silicone lip, because she is not going to cry, no matter how guilty she feels.
So she holds him a little tighter in response to him curling closer, and reaches up to pet his hair. The motion is awkward, stilted, unpracticed, but she's noodly enough that perhaps it still feels smooth.]
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Date: 2024-06-16 12:01 am (UTC)There aren't any walls left, not here. There's just Angel crumpled and crying, and Velvet holding him and awkwardly petting his hair. It's like that night on the roof, with Greed, peeling away the scar tissue and letting out something soft and vulnerable and real.
After a handful of moments, he squeezes once, then pulls away enough to wipe his eyes with one shaky hand, exhaling slowly.] M'okay. I'm fine. That.
[Was a lot. Was good. Both.]
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Date: 2024-06-16 03:16 am (UTC)[Velvet pulls away a bit, too, refusing eye contact. She sniffles a bit herself, though she isn't crying, really, as much as her eyes are just glossy.]
That. So.
[She clears her throat, and;]
Girl, you look such a mess right now.
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Date: 2024-06-16 07:18 pm (UTC)Fuck youuuuu, I look fuckin' hot all the time. Bitch.
[A slow exhale and Angel rolls his shoulders back, sits up straighter.] Okay, okay, I'm -- I'm okay. I'm fine.
Are you fine? [Because if he'd lost Val less than a year in, when things were still good, when he was still cherished and beloved and praised...]
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Date: 2024-06-16 07:29 pm (UTC)[Velvet seems fine enough to throw shade, but when Angel asks if she's okay, she grows quiet.]
I don't... know.
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Date: 2024-06-17 03:22 am (UTC)[A pause, then Angel scoots over on the edge of the bed, pats it with one hand.] C'mon, siddown. Elaborate yerself for a minute.
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Date: 2024-06-17 04:06 am (UTC)I guess... I won't have my talent anymore.
[But she sounds like she's unsure of what that's worth. And after all—]
I don't know why I'm not more mad. Like—
[A bitter laugh escapes her.]
Of course my plans go south right as it's getting good. What else is new, right?
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Date: 2024-06-19 01:20 am (UTC)Well, you won't have sneaky cheater talent no more, that's for sure. But talent's work. You just skipped that part.
[One elbow nudges into Velvet's ribs.] I know, you looooooove hard work and dedication sooooo much.
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Date: 2024-06-19 05:06 am (UTC)What's the point if it's not going to be— anywhere near that good?
You don't understand.
That stuff— a troll's talent, that was magic.
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Date: 2024-06-20 01:26 am (UTC)Magic's all over, Vel. Weird, fucked up, crazy magic. You got it once, maybe you'll get it again.
[A pause, then his hand rests on her back, light, almost comforting.] Maybe it'll be yours, this time. If ya want it to be.
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Date: 2024-06-20 01:32 am (UTC)Even if she had the words for how addicting it was to have that talent, how it was more than just a talent but a feeling— she's talking to the prince of addicts.
If Angel doesn't see the tendency in her already, he will. He could read her like a book, if she tried to talk about it.]
Were you really just normal?
I... can't even imagine you being... different.
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Date: 2024-06-21 01:16 am (UTC)Maybe he already knows Velvet's the same. Maybe that's why one hand stays, moving her hair out of her face.]
Yeah, sure. I mean, my old man was a mafia enforcer who worked his way up the crime ladder, but I tried to go straight, for a lil bit. When I was...I dunno, seventeen, eighteen, somethin'. I tried livin' regular.
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Date: 2024-06-21 01:18 am (UTC)Velvet just bats those big ol eyes a couple times.]
I feel like you've skipped that detail up until now?
The mafia bit.
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Date: 2024-06-22 02:21 am (UTC)Then:] Ohhhhhhhh, right. Yeah, big crime family. They got the mafia in noodleland?
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Date: 2024-06-22 03:55 am (UTC)There was always something cool about you. Your parents did crime.
My parents were dentists.
We are not the same.
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Date: 2024-06-23 01:14 am (UTC)[But he snorts a little as he says it, flashing those all-white teeth, missing that glint of gold that catches the light, that marks him as different.]
Besides, it was mostly my pops who did it. Him and my big brother. Molly n' me, we tried to do other stuff. Real disappointment to dear ol' dad. [No mention of his mother, where she was, the role she played -- or didn't, as it were, those memories buried deeper than the ones of his siblings.]
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Date: 2024-06-23 08:42 am (UTC)It's not like it matters for either of us. No one back home cares if your parents aren't famous.
[Velvet pouts even harder somehow, scrunching closer to Angel and resting her forehead against his shoulder, cheek pressed still against the bed.]
I don't wanna work,
[she complains, childish again.]
I don't want stupid responsibilities, and I don't want to fail.
I just got started figuring out what I want for myself and now I keep having to do— other stupid stuff!
And I'm bad at it! I don't want to be bad at stuff, Angel, I want to be perfect!
[She gives a pathetic whine, and then;]
I deserve to be perfect.
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Date: 2024-06-24 01:39 am (UTC)Yeah, go on, Vel. [There's a touch of amusement, of sadness, of each.] It fuckin' sucks. You ain't wrong.
[Even if the delivery is pouty, childish, the fear at it's core is one Angel knows way too fucking well: what if I'm not good enough? The feeling of it, of being famous and talented and desired, of being wanted is just as addictive as the damn drugs.]
Let it out, cause I ain't gonna make fun'a you for whinin' for a whole five minutes. So get it outta your system, before I make ya put on your big girl pants and keep doin' the shitty stuff.
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