#do they discover empathy... [sickos]

[cringefailvox]

i enjoy huskerdust aus where husk is still an overlord as much as the next guy, but i tend to be a little annoyed by a lot of these aus' implications that husk would be a "better owner" (yikes) than valentino, or just the erasure of the power imbalance / consent issues that would be rampant in these scenarios (though again i still like them and find them fun!!), and i won't totally rehash my opinions about husk's character here but i will say something i WOULD be more interested in, alternatively, is an au where overlord husk swindles val and wins angel's soul, and it doesn't change anything. husk is still a gambler with no regard for the souls on his chain beyond how they can be useful fodder in the next game. angel is still owned by a capricious master who couldn't care less about him and doesn't see him as an autonomous person with needs & desires that matter. husk makes all the same mistakes until he's sitting across from alastor with a chain around his neck, having sold out angel and every other soul in his pocket to the radio demon to feed his own addiction, finally getting a taste of his own medicine.

a situation, then, where angel and husk's souls are both owned by alastor, and in a sick way they're finally on even footing—both on a psychopath's leash, both powerless, both unmitigated losers. angel gets to finally be meaningfully angry at husk, and husk finally has to reckon with the consequences of his actions, how he's destroyed both of their lives with his own reckless greed. husk having to come to terms with a status quo that angel has been intimately familiar with for decades. alastor's sheer glee at the tension between them, finding husk abominably distasteful and feeling only vague, distant pity for angel—though not enough pity to ever think of letting angel go.

the delicious cycles of violence happening here... alastor on his own leash, turning around and tormenting husk to displace his helpless fury; husk, who'd once owned angel, grappling with newfound guilt over his treatment of angel + a conflicting, nauseating wish to go back to how things used to be, when he didn't care about how any of his souls felt; and angel, who has been an object for so long he's almost forgotten what it means to be free. this is a nightmare situation. and niffty is hanging around too

#me when people do bad things and hurt other people only to have those same bad circumstances inflicted on them and only THEN #do they discover empathy... [sickos] #the violence is cycling #husk #angel dust #alastor #huskerdust #husker #hazbin hotel #op

[amaryllisblackthorn]

to make up for the looong time its been taking me to get done with my curse au fic i’m uploading snippets  of an unfinished abandoned fic in the same verse. it’s not canon, so i guess its like an au of an au heh. it’s the same universe as the body remembers what the memory forgot, but like i said, it’s not canon so the second installment will completely disregard these parts.

Moonlight shone dimly through veils of dust that covered the faces of virgin windows. The once paragonal coat of youth chipped away from the abrasive wear of time. The emptiness was suffocating if one did not tread carefully, and the silence would have been deafening if not for the rhythm of footsteps accompanying a duo. 

“Christ -- Georgie!” Duncan said as soon as he realized the identity of one of the girl’s facing him. He darted from his place on the stairs leaving the woman, Jolie, where she stood unmoving.

           “Yes, it’s nice to see you too, Duncan,” Sara said, using sarcasm to aid in her recovery of the alarming incident. Her hand was holding Georgie’s, but whether it was for her comfort or her own was hard to tell. Maybe it was both. “Your concern is touching.”

           In the midst of his anger and worry, the boy found the time to flash her a grin. “Always a pleasure, Sara.” His appearance quickly turned serious again as he looked to Georgie and then turned to face Jolie, his brows furrowing. “Can you explain exactly what you were doing here?”

           His voice had a terribly controlled sound to it, a dangerous calm. It was the kind of tone that brought kings to their knees and made the bones in Georgie’s body shake. Somehow, however, it didn’t seem to have much of an effect on Jolie. She stood, stoic. “They’re intruders.”

           “Well, this was fun,” Georgie started to say, already taking some steps back. Her hands opened and unopened several times. Everything seemed so fake for some reason, so unreal. “But I think I’m going to go.”

           “No -- wait!” Duncan said, extending his hand as though to stop her. He had moved slightly closer to her in an attempt to gain her attention. His green eyes implored with hers, looked at her with a sense of understanding and empathy. It was to ensure the advantage that he remained eye level with her, saying, “Stay. Just for a bit -- if you’re still uncomfortable then you can go. Just -- don’t go. Not yet.”

           There was still nothing in Georgie that wanted her to stay. Warnings of go, go! still beat in her heart, her thumb rubbing the hem of her skirt again and again. Even though the danger had passed, her body didn’t seem to be aware. It was a sensation that was too familiar, and she didn’t like it. “I -- I don’t know, Duncan. I don’t really like to keep company with people who try to kill me.”

The hesitance did not completely depart from Georgie, but his words did have an effect on her. It calmed the rattling of her bones, even if just a little bit. He was also so insistent, wanting terribly for her to stay. She decided she could give him a few minutes of her time without it hurting anyone. “Okay,” she breathed, and then, a bit clearer, “Okay, fine. I’ll stay for a bit. As long as there are no more attempts on my life.”

           A smile appeared on the boy’s face, breaking through his attempt to suppress it. “There won’t be. I promise.”

Jolie had a scowl ingrained on her face, and although it may have always been at that intensity, Georgie couldn’t help but feel it was directed at them (her specifically). The again, maybe Georgie was just worrying too much, thinking too much of herself. Nevertheless, it was a less than welcoming expression, and it made the hairs on Georgie’s skin stand up just a little. It’s not that Georgie genuinely believed that the older woman would actually hurt her, but she had a suspicion that’s exactly what she wanted to do.

           “Hey,” a voice said, breaking through her thoughts. Duncan had approached her, having left Jolie’s side. His lips formed a half smile, and she had to admit he looked kind of cute when his smile wasn’t a smirk. Objectively speaking. “Everything okay? You look kind of disquieted.”

           Her lips tightened as she gave him a close smile. “No, yeah, I’m fine,” Georgie said, putting a loose strand of hair behind her ear. For someone who regularly wore ponytails, she would have thought she’d be able to do them better. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if she really liked ponytail. They made her feel kind of … mature? Not that that was a problem, exactly, but when was the last time she wore her hair down, besides from sleeping and showering? Strange were the things she’d been beginning to notice after years of them never crossing her mind. That was life, she guessed.

           “See -- there!” Duncan said, once again interrupting her musings. There was something almost playful about his features as he gained her attention again. “You did it again. You sure everything’s okay?”

           “Positive,” Georgie assured him, then added, “but, I mean, I guess this just isn’t my cup of tea? It’s nothing personal, it’s just I was kind of expecting to, you know, explore an abandoned building or something. I didn’t expect like a haunted house kind of a deal or like Paris catacombs under the building or anything, but I guess I was looking forward to the thrill of walking through an isolated building? It’s silly, I know. It’s just that this is kind of … boring.”

           She didn’t want to be too blunt and end up offending him, but he seemed to take it very well. His lips spread wider, and he seemed somewhat amused. “You haven’t even been here for ten minutes,” Duncan said (he wasn’t exactly sure of how much time had actually passed but it certainly seemed like not much), “and you’ve already decided that you know everything there is to know about this building! I’ll let you know, bird, there’s a lot to still explore in this old building.”

           Georgie scrunched her nose and exaggerated an angry pout at the use of that nickname. It was a stupid one (unlike Georgie which was a pleasant sounding derivative of Georgia, her name), but she didn’t really have that much of an objection to it. It was just really fun when she pretended that she did. In fact, she kind of liked that he did it, because in an odd way it made her feel better about that whole kidnapped-by-a-sicko incident. Like it had less power over her because they were able to refer to it without avoidance or caution. She didn’t know how to explain it, but it was kind of nice.

          The eyes of the boy in front of her were no longer on her but gazed somewhere past her. “I don’t know, she seems to be all right,” he said, casually.

          Georgie spun her head around to see what he was talking about. Sara was talking to three boys who had names that evaded Georgie but whom seemed to be engaged in the conversation. Her friend’s hands moved animatedly as she spoke, her eyes housing a spark as she did so.

          “After a lot of trial and error, experience, and extensive research,” she was saying, “I’ve found out that the best materials are balsa wood, thick clear pine, steel wool, unbleached muslin, dowels, carpet thread, and sheet brass. I’ve heard some things about trunk fiber, and honestly I’m dying to use it.”

          “What is she talking about?” Georgie said half-absently to herself, staring at Sara in bewilderment. Man, did her friend have some peculiar hobbies.

            “So?” Duncan asked, his voice full of anticipation. He tried to suppress it, but it was there. In an odd way, he resembled a puppy, with a tilted head and wide expecting eyes. She wouldn’t be surprised if his ears had perked up. It was actually a pretty amusing imagery.

           “I -- I don’t know, Duncan,” Georgie told him, putting her hands together, restless. “I just don’t … feel comfortable, you know? I should probably just -- ”

           “ -- go home?” Duncan finished for her, his eyebrow raised. His features had become harsher, judgmental even. Maybe even hurt.

           “Duncan -- ”

           “And what waits for you there, Georgie, hm? A practical life of routine and predictability, where you grow up silently without any protest? You would rather go back fading into the abyss? You would rather stay where you know is safe and protected, not just from dangers and threats but from living and excitement? Are you really that afraid of the dark that you would rather keep your window shut than go out and venture through and discover what lies there? So afraid that you’d rather close your eyes and miss all of the marvels and wonders that pass you by, that you’d see if you only looked? Is that really what you want to go back to, Georgie? Is it?”

           “How dare you,” said Georgie, clenching her fists. Her brow was furrowed as her cheeks raised. She tried to keep her voice from raising while still expressing all of the fury that she felt. “How dare you. How dare you criticize me for wanting safety -- after everything that I’ve been through? Where do you get off judging me for being afraid after I’ve been abducted by some murderous psycho who had a room covered in the blood of his victims? I’ve earned the right to be afraid, and you can go screw yourself for saying otherwise.”

           “Why can’t you just believe that I won’t let anyone hurt you?” he asked furiously, as though he was the one being wronged.

           “Because I can’t trust you not to do it yourself!” she retorted right back, refusing to shrink down. “I can’t trust you, not when you may have burned down a house and killed someone! I thought I could have ignored it, I thought that I could be okay with it, but I realize now that I’m not. I’m not, because if you could have done that, then who knows what else you could be capable of? I can’t trust you to be able to control yourself, and that’s terrifying. The boys never do anything to upset you, but is that out of loyalty or fear? At the end of the day, Duncan Faber, I still don’t know you. I can say what instruments you play and what language you take, but I can’t say that I trust you, because I can’t. Not really.”

           His glare was thrown like daggers, but Georgie stood unfazed, her nerves impenetrable armor. Heat seemed to be seething from him, his breaths rough and ragged. Oh, if looks could kill. Well, he wasn’t the only one who knew how to throw daggers. She had an advantage over him, too; he constantly overestimated himself and underestimated others. Georgia McCarthy was not one to be underestimated lightly.

           Before he was able to find his voice, to form words out of his turbulent emotion, Georgie spun around and started to make her way across the corridor. “Don’t follow me,” she warned, not even looking back. She wasn’t going to stay in the company of someone who didn’t respect her, who invalidated how she felt. No, Georgie held too much self-respect for herself, too much dignity. There was no way she was going to let a smug pompous jerk spit all over here as she just took it. No, sir. Not Georgie.

There was something nagging in the back of her mind — like, Yeah, good luck with this one. Did you honestly think you would be able to find something like this? How much longer are you going to keep romanticizing things that aren’t meant to be romanticized?  Don’t you remember how things worked out last time?

(For a moment, a quick fleeting moment, she scratched sentience and was so very close to the cracks of remembrance.)

The tracks guiding the train of thought disassembled as quickly as they were put down, and Georgie occupied herself with this latest development. She honestly didn’t expect for it to work, especially not this soon. One of the negatives of making it up as she went was not knowing what to do next; how was she supposed to enter?

A once passive nature had transformed into a creation much different, much more comfortable. Stubbornness was an old jacket she found without trying that had been custom made for her. It suited her perfectly, and she accepted it so intrinsically that it was hard to remember that she hadn’t always worn it. The knitted brow, the intense frown, the stonewall resolve — they all appeared bringing with them a sense of reversion.

#darling pan #ab writes #cw: blood #cw: kidnapping #cw: abduction #mentions of those past three things #cw: pstd #sort of #ouat #once upon a time #boy this has been sitting in my drafts for months man im the worst; #;ill finish the next installment....eventually...