HuskerDust Oneshots

Numb Little Bug

TW: Descriptions of Depression Spiral, Disassociation, Death, & Grief

Angel Dust was violently jarred awake by the sound of Valentino's ringtone screaming from his phone. He groaned loudly. Valentino had been calling Angel in to work almost constantly since the hotel was rebuilt. He felt his entire body fill with anger as he snatched the phone from the bedside table.
"Yes Valentino?", he grumbled, sitting up in bed.
"Hey Amorcito! Can you come down to the studio? We need you to refilm some shots from the other day", Valentino practically sang. Someone's in a good fucking mood, Angel wanted to say, but held his tongue.
"What's wrong with them?", he asked, masking venom with honey.
"Oh, some parts came out blurred. That shitty camera guy had some shaky fucking hands and couldn't work the focus to save his life", the moth boasted.
"Lemme guess, you shot 'im?" Angel inquired, knowing full well what the answer would be.
"You know me so well, Angelcakes. Can you be here in an hour?". Angel rolled his eyes and made the gesture of blowing his brains out.
"Yeah, sure", he begrudgingly sighed.
"Good boy. I'll see you soon, baby. And if you behave today, I'll give you a treat", Valentino purred into the phone before hanging up. Angel groaned and dropped the phone next to him on the bed. Today was going to be another long day.

Angel was right. He didn't come back to the hotel until five a.m. His entire backside was a flame with pain. Halfway through the reshoot, Val had gotten some 'brilliant idea' for a new film that he insisted on being shot that same day. Then of course, he proceeded to give Angel his 'reward' for behaving today which put him in even more pain. Angel grit his teeth, and endured it all. If he wasn't angry yesterday morning, he sure as hell was now. At Val, at himself, at everyone, even those who he had no real reason to be angry with. managed to keep a lid on it at work because he had no choice, but now that he's off the clock, if anyone was brave or stupid enough to cross his path or push his buttons, they'd be the unlucky soul to face his wrath.

Husk's head jolted up from the bar when he heard the front door slam. He watched Angel walk through the parlor through blurry eyes.
"Hey Legs. You alright?", he mumbled.
"I'm fine", Angel growled. Husk caught the anger in the spider's tone.
"You sure? 'Cause you're limping", he groaned as he stretched out his wings.
"I said I'm fine!" Angel snapped. He hadn't meant for it to come off so harsh, but he was angry and tired. "Just leave me alone. I'm tired", the spider sighed. Husk gave the spider a quizzical look as Angel stomped up the stairs to his room.
"The hell was that about?" Husk wondered aloud as he yawned, making his way off the couch.

Angel collapsed face first on his bed the second he got into his room. He craved sleep, but it wouldn't come. He let a long, irritated whine into his pillow, which turned into a muffled scream. Fat Nuggets waddled over to the bed, and lovingly nuzzled his snout into his owner's hand. He lazily ran his hand over the piglet's back.
"I'm sorry, Nuggs. I'm so tired", he muttered. Fat Nuggets merely grunted in response, continuing to try and climb into his owner's arms. Realizing that chasing sleep was futile, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed and went into the bathroom to wash his face of last night's remaining makeup. His sore back burned in pain at the sudden movement.
He flipped on the bathroom light, and peeled off his gloves, carelessly letting them fall to the floor. He stood at the sink for a moment just staring at his reflection. His seamlessly blended foundation layered onto his skin, thin, even dark eyebrows, the soft rosy pink blush, sharp eyeliner, long lashes, luscious glossy lips. He hated every bit of it. It felt like he was wearing someone else's face. Then again, that's all it was. Somebody else's face. A mask of his own creation. Angel Dust was someone else. Angel Dust was glamor and glitter; flashing lights and neon signs. The one who had everything. The one men wanted and women hated. The one Anthony hated. Anthony lay beneath the fashion and fame of Angel Dust. He was constantly aware of all the bruises, cuts, and scars hiding on his skin underneath the extravagant makeup, glittery gowns and provocative bodysuits. Angel Dust was the Marilyn Monroe of Hell if Marilyn Monroe were a pornstar rather than a celebrated actress. Though, who cared about that distinction down here, or in the 1930's for that matter?
He turned on the faucet and splashed several handfuls of water onto his face and looked back up. His eyeliner smudged all around his eyes and his mascara ran down his face in jagged black streaks. He faked the same wide smile he always wore in front of the cameras. His body rattled with anger at the mocking sight of his alter ego. A storm of insults began to swirl through his brain. Every slur, every catcall, every demeaning and derogatory term anyone in life and death had ever used to describe him. His ears began to ring in harmony with the voices of his cruel father and older brother, past flings, and worst of all, Valentino. In truth, he couldn't tell where the others' voices stopped and his own joined in on the internal torment. He snatched a nearby lipstick from the counter, tore it open and began scribbling on the mirror.