Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first few days after Charlie welcomed Angel Dust into the Happy Hotel were... loud, to say the least. Angel, now their very first Patreon guest, quickly made himself at home—and by “home,” that meant doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted.

He didn’t follow rules. He didn’t even ask what the rules were. He strutted around like he owned the place, kicking his feet up on tables, flirting with furniture, and cracking jokes at every opportunity. But more than anything, he found one particular thing absolutely hilarious: messing with Vaggie.

It started small. A sarcastic comment here, a dramatic eye roll there. But then Angel came up with a nickname that had Vaggie grinding her teeth every time he opened his mouth.

“Hey, Vagina! Got any of that weird coffee left?” Angel would yell from across the lobby.

“It’s VAGGIE!” she’d snap back, fists clenched.

Angel just grinned, satisfied. It was way too easy.

He’d make sure to say it loud enough for everyone to hear, always with that smug smirk and a wink. He’d toss the nickname into every sentence, like it was part of her actual name. “Vagina, could you grab me a towel?” “Vagina, you’re no fun.” “Vagina, don’t you ever smile?”

Every time, Vaggie’s eye would twitch a little more.

Charlie tried to keep the peace. “Angel, can you please stop calling her that?” she asked once, hands clasped politely.

“What? I’m just showing affection!” Angel said, clearly not sorry at all.

It became a running game for him. He counted how many times he could say it in one day before Vaggie started yelling. And it wasn’t long before yelling turned into screaming.

Angel lived for the reactions. Vaggie hated his guts.



Angel Dust had a very loose definition of the word “emergency.”

To him, an emergency could be anything from running out of eyeliner to losing sight of his favorite stash spot for five whole minutes. He’d throw himself dramatically across furniture, flailing like he was dying, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“CODE RED! I REPEAT, CODE RED! I CAN’T FIND MY POWDER—WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

Charlie would usually rush in, half-panicked, thinking something serious had happened. Vaggie, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch anymore. She’d just sigh, mutter something in Spanish, and walk out of the room before she strangled him.

But Angel wasn’t just about fake emergencies. No, no—he was a man of variety.

Over the days, his pranks evolved. He got crafty. Creative. Dangerous, even—if glitter bombs could be considered a weapon of chaos.

He couldn’t help himself. Every day at the Happy Hotel was an opportunity for drama, a chance to dial life’s volume up to eleven.

He’d flop onto the lobby’s velvet couch, hands thrown wide, eyes wild. “EMERGENCY!” he declared to the room, voice clipped and theatrical. “This is not a drill. I—I've misplaced my stuff. My precious meds!”

He waited for the reaction—the snap of Vaggie’s head, the dramatic sigh from Charlie. He smirked, knowing they'd come running, only to find him rummaging through an empty purse, or fishing out nothing but candy wrappers.

Of course, that was just round one.

It started with tape traps stretched across doorways, invisible until someone walked straight into them. Vaggie was the first victim. She hit the floor like a sack of bricks and let out a furious screech that echoed through the halls. Angel laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

Then came the water bucket phase. Classic. Predictable. But still funny every time. He’d balance one over the doorway and wait like a gremlin around the corner.. Vaggie would push open the door, drenched, steam curling around her in an instant. Angel would stand under the splatter, theatrically shielding himself, declaring something like, “I call this immersive hydration therapy!”

Husk and Niffty got soaked once. Charlie... well, she was too light-footed. That girl had trap-dodging instincts.

But nothing beat his crowning glory: the wheat-and-boogie trap.

He’d scatter wheat flour across the floor right before someone walked in, sending them sliding like it was a cartoon. Sometimes it was just to mess with them. Other times it was part of a chain reaction—wheat, trip wire, feathers, the works. A full-on prank symphony.

Every prank was small, trivial—harmless, even. But his timing was impeccable, his delivery perfection. He thrived on that swell of reaction—Vaggie’s flame-red face, her controlled breaths, her clenched fists barely visible at her sides.

He kept a tally in his head of how many times he could get Vaggie to scream his name like a curse word. It was practically music to his ears.

“ANGEL DUST!”

“That’s me, Vagina!” he’d call back sweetly, batting his lashes while hiding the string to the next trap behind his back.




Angel’s masterpiece, however, was the shower stunt.

He’d been giggling to himself for a full hour while setting it up. A simple mix of heat-sensitive dye in the soap—nothing harmful, just enough to dye skin a bright, glowing red for a few minutes. Totally temporary. Totally hilarious.

The trap was set. The moment Vaggie stepped into the shower, it went off like magic.

Not five minutes later, she stormed down the hallway, wrapped in a towel, dripping wet, and red. And not just in the face—from head to toe, she looked like a furious tomato. Angel peeked out from behind a corner, biting his lip to keep from laughing too early.

“Aw, Vaggie,” he cooed, grinning ear to ear. “That color really brings out your personality. Mood: steaming hot rage.”

Vaggie stopped mid-step, fists clenched, eyes twitching. Steam rose off her skin and not just from the water. Angel braced himself—he was certain she was going to throw something. Maybe him.

Before she could erupt, Charlie appeared like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day, slipping between them with her usual calm.

“Vaggie, wait—don’t let him get to you,” she said gently, placing a hand on her arm. “You look adorable. Like a sweet strawberry.”

Angel couldn’t believe it. Adorable? Oh, this was gold.

He opened his mouth, ready to throw in another jab—something about hot peppers or emotional damage—but before a single syllable left his lips, slam!

The bathroom door shut hard in his face. Right in the middle of his smug little smirk.

From the other side of the door, he could hear Charlie’s soft voice rising into song, completely unfazed.

Angel blinked, mouth still half-open.

“…Did she just— sing at her?”

He stared at the door for a moment, half amused, half insulted.

“Well, damn,” he muttered. “She gets musical numbers and I get death threats.”

Angel sauntered away, still chuckling to himself. Oh, this wasn’t over. Not even close.

And tomorrow? He had glitter. Lots of it.

The next morning, Angel was up early. Way too early for anyone expecting peace and quiet.

He tiptoed down the hall, arms full of supplies: a dozen tiny jars of glitter—each one a different shade and sparkle intensity. He had silver, gold, hot pink, toxic green, and one he was pretty sure was labeled “cosmic rage.” Perfect.

Today’s mission: Operation Glitterbomb.

He'd been planning it since the second that bathroom door slammed in his face. Oh, sure, Charlie singing was sweet, but Angel wasn’t about to let his ultimate prank status be overshadowed by a musical number.

He started by rigging Vaggie’s dresser. A fine wire hooked to the drawer, just enough pressure to pop the glitter trap the second she pulled it open. Inside? A custom mix of all shades—Angel’s own “Vaggie Vex Blend.” Heavy on the sparkle, light on the mercy.

Next: her combat boots. A light dusting in the toes. Enough to puff out like fairy dust clouds every time she took a step.

And finally, the pièce de résistance—the ceiling fan in her room. A shallow bowl of glitter taped to the top blades, balanced perfectly. All it would take was one flick of the switch and boom . Instant disco inferno.

Angel strutted away like a man who had just painted a masterpiece.

He waited.

It started with a scream. A guttural, soul-rattling scream from down the hall.

Then coughing.

Then more screaming.

He ran to peek, pretending to just be “passing by.”

Vaggie stood in the middle of her room, absolutely covered in glitter. It was in her hair, her eyelashes, her teeth . The air sparkled around her like she'd been trapped in a glitter tornado.

Her face—red again, but this time not from soap dye—was a twitching, furious mess.

Angel leaned on the doorframe, biting his lip to keep from bursting.

“Oh. My. Satan,” he said, barely holding it together. “Vaggie, you’re radiant. Like a homicidal Christmas ornament.”

Vaggie opened her mouth, but all that came out was rage-flavored static. She stomped forward—and with every step, her boots puffed glitter like angry smoke bombs.

Before she could murder him on the spot, Charlie appeared again, floating in with that same peaceful tone like this was just another Tuesday.

“Oh my gosh,” Charlie gasped, covering her mouth. “You look… stunning.”

“CHARLIE—” Vaggie started, but before she could continue, the ceiling fan clicked on behind her.

Whirrrrrr—

Angel watched as the fan spun up... then exploded in a glitterstorm. Sparkles rained from the ceiling like divine punishment, coating everything in sight.

“AND THAT’S MY CUE!” Angel cackled, bolting down the hall as Vaggie let out a scream that could curdle blood.

He could still hear it as he slammed the lounge door behind him, throwing himself onto the couch in wheezing laughter.

“Oh, man,” he wiped a tear from his eye. “That one’s going in the Hall of Fame.”

Chapter Text

It was late afternoon when Vaggie walked into her and Charlie’s shared bathroom to wash off the last of Angel’s frosting revenge. Still fuming and wiping glitter from her hair, she tossed a towel onto the counter—when something caught her eye.

A small white box sat on the tile floor. It wasn’t there this morning. Curious, Vaggie picked it up.

Pregnancy Test.

She blinked.

Then she looked at the result window.

Two pink lines.

Vaggie froze.

Her face went pale, then red, then… blank.

There was a long moment of silence as her mind short-circuited.

She turned the box over. It wasn’t new. It had been placed. On purpose. And taped shut again with the slightest crooked edge.

That bastard.

Fury rising behind her eyes like a volcano, she stormed out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, test in hand.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of their bed, humming softly as she fixed a ribbon on one of Vaggie’s birthday gifts.

Vaggie slammed the box down on the bed in front of her.

“Anything you wanna share , sweetheart?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Charlie blinked and looked down. “What’s—”

She froze. Eyes locked on the result.

Then she blinked again, jaw slightly slack. “Wait… what?”

Vaggie stared at her.

Charlie looked between her and the test, her hands slowly pulling away from the ribbon.

“I—I have no idea where that came from,” Charlie stammered. “I—I swear I didn’t—did you—?”

“Oh, I didn’t,” Vaggie said tightly. “But I have a very strong suspicion who did.”

Charlie still stared at it, clearly flustered. Her cheeks had gone a warm shade of pink.

Then, after a long pause, she looked up at Vaggie with a small, mischievous purr in her voice.

“…Buuuut we could always try it one day.”

Vaggie’s expression twitched. “Don’t joke right now.”

“I’m not!” Charlie said, laughing awkwardly as she held up her hands. “It just… caught me off guard. That’s all! I swear I didn’t put that there.”

From outside the hallway, a snicker echoed faintly.

“...Or maybe someone thought it'd be a real positive way to stir the pot,” came Angel’s voice, barely muffled behind the wall.

Vaggie’s head snapped toward the door.

“Angel Dust!” she yelled, charging out with the fake test in hand like a weapon.

“AHHH! SHE FOUND IT! SHE KNOWS!” Angel screamed from down the hall, already running. "Fuck, Vaggie. It was meant for Charlie!"

"Well too bad for you I found it first!" Vaggie barked.

Charlie flopped back on the bed with a groan-laugh, face burning. “This place is never boring.”

***

The first time it happened, it was truly innocent.

He'd swung open the wrong door looking for the upstairs linen closet—honestly!—only to be greeted by Vaggie practically straddling Charlie on the bed, both mid-make-out and hands exploring and about to go to places that were definitely not PG-13.

The moment the door creaked open, they both flinched like they'd been hit with holy water. Charlie let out a startled squeak and dove under the blanket like it was a crime scene. Vaggie spun around with death in her eye.

There had been shouting. There had been a shoe thrown (Vaggie’s). Angel had dramatically screamed, “Wrong door! Sorry! My eyes! My pure innocent eyes!” as if traumatized.

“Angel, the fuck?!” Vaggie shouted, eye burning with a mixture of shame and rage.

Angel slammed the door shut with a, “SORRY!! Carry on! Or… don’t kill me!!”

He genuinely felt bad.

For like, twenty minutes.

The second time?

Again—pure accident.

Angel was genuinely just looking for a charger.

He opened the door without a second thought. “Hey, either of you seen my—Oh.”

Charlie was sitting on Vaggie’s lap this time, lovingly tracing kisses along her jaw. Vaggie had both arms around her waist, clearly mid-whisper when the interruption happened.

Angel blinked, then slowly smiled like a tourist catching something beautiful on camera.

“Oh, you two are just too cute when you’re flustered.”

Charlie yelped and dove behind Vaggie. Vaggie groaned and facepalmed, her cheeks practically glowing.

“This better not be one of your pranks,” she growled through gritted teeth.

“No! I swear!” Angel said, backing up. “Completely accidental. Cross my heart.”

Then he smirked.

“…But good idea, actually.”

That was when Vaggie launched a hairbrush at him like a missile. He yelped and ducked out the door, laughter echoing down the hall.

The third time?

Angel had been in a rush, pushed open the door to ask about laundry before Niffty would make a mess. “Hey, do we separate reds and—oh for fuck’s sake!”

This time, Charlie and Vaggie were just inches from a kiss, tangled together on the bed in the red sheets, eyes wide with embarrassment as they jolted apart like magnets snapping the wrong way.

Charlie squeaked, hiding behind a pillow. Vaggie’s head slowly turned toward Angel with the quiet fury of someone ready to go feral.

Angel stood frozen in place.

He raised both hands slowly. “Okay, real talk— again , total accident.”

Vaggie didn’t blink.

“But,” he added, smirking despite the danger, “you gotta admit—you two are adorable when you’re caught like this.”

The fourth and last time, as they say.

Angel stood outside Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom, ear tilted toward the door. He squinted, trying to pick up any questionable sounds. There was some muffled giggling, sure—but that could’ve meant anything. Lately, he’d learned the hard way not to barge in unannounced.

So this time, he knocked.

“You decent?” he called, tone skeptical.

There was a brief pause, and then Charlie’s cheerful voice rang out, “Yes!”

Well, that seemed like a green light.

He swung the door open casually, already halfway through his question—“Hey, you guys seen my—OH COME ON!”

Right in front of him, Charlie was curled into Vaggie’s lap, arms wrapped around her neck. Their lips were locked in a way that was definitely not “decent.” They broke apart mid-kiss like startled cats, Charlie blinking rapidly while Vaggie narrowed her eye at the door.

“Seriously? Again?” Vaggie hissed, brushing hair out of her flushed face.

Angel groaned dramatically, shielding his eyes with the back of his hand- even though, thankfully, he hadn’t seen them naked this or any of the other times he had accidentally walked in. “You said yes!”

Vaggie jabbed a finger at him. “She did not say ‘yes’ to you, you dumb fuck!”

“Well maybe lock the fucking door next time!” Angel snapped back, arms flailing. “It’s like playing horny roulette with you two!”

Charlie, still pink in the face, laughed nervously and hugged a pillow to her chest. “Uhh yeah… we should probably lock the door next time…”

Vaggie groaned, rubbing her temples. “Babe, that’s what I’ve been telling you…”

“I knooowww!” Charlie whined, puffing her cheeks. “But what if someone actually wants something important? What if it’s an emergency?”

Angel snorted. “Yeah. Emergency. Like ‘Where’s my sparkly nail glue’ level of important.”

Vaggie looked like she was about to throw something heavy again.

Angel wisely took a step back, already backing out the door with hands up. “Alright, alright! I’m leavin’. Just… maybe put up a sign or somethin’ next time, okay? ‘Do Not Disturb: Cute Chaos in Progress.’”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Inside, Charlie giggled again. “That is kind of a cute sign idea…”

Vaggie sighed deeply. “Babe… let’s just lock the door…”

***

Vaggie was determined that tonight would go smoothly.

She’d been planning this date with Charlie for weeks. A quiet, classy evening in the city—nothing too wild, just time together without interruptions, disasters, or, most importantly, Angel Dust.

The car was cleaned. The reservations were made. Charlie had put on her favorite dress, and Vaggie even wore lipstick—which was rare, considering her usual “ready-to-fight-a-demon” look.

They stepped into the car, hand in hand. Vaggie took a deep breath and smiled. This was it. A peaceful night for once.

“Ready?” Charlie asked sweetly.

“Always.”

Vaggie started the car and tapped the GPS screen.

A soft chime came from the dashboard as the GPS lit up, its calm robotic voice guiding them:

“Turn left in… your other left, dumbass.”

Vaggie blinked. “What the—?”

Charlie giggled. “Is that a new setting?”

Vaggie narrowed her eyes. “No. That’s not... that’s not normal.”

Still, she shrugged it off and made the turn. Maybe the GPS was just glitching.

They drove a few more blocks. The GPS chimed again.

“In 500 feet, do a backflip. Just kidding. Turn right. Or don’t. I’m not your mom.”

Vaggie slammed on the brakes. “Okay. What the fuck is going on?”

Charlie tried to hide a laugh behind her hand.


From behind a curtain in the hotel lobby window, Angel Dust watched with a pair of binoculars and a wicked grin. He had spent hours the night before hacking into the car's GPS system, replacing the standard voice with recordings he made himself.


Back in the car, the GPS kept talking.

“Recalculating… Recalculating… You suck at driving. Maybe let Charlie take the wheel?”

“Oh wait, is this a date? Awww. You two gonna kiss or crash first?”

Vaggie slammed the GPS screen with her palm. “I’M GOING TO KILL HIM.”

Charlie put a gentle hand on her arm. “Vaggie, deep breaths. I think it’s kind of funny.”

“HE IS TRACKING OUR DATE.”

“Next stop: Disaster. I mean, Italian restaurant. If you ever get there. Tick tock, lovers.”

Vaggie spun the wheel into a wild U-turn.

“Where are we going?” Charlie asked, still smiling nervously.

“Back to the hotel. I’m throwing that spider into traffic.”



Angel didn’t even have time to move before the hotel doors burst open.

“ANGEL!!!”

He dropped the binoculars, already sprinting down the hall. “TOTALLY WORTH IT!” he yelled over his shoulder, his laughter echoing as Vaggie came charging after him like a glitter-covered banshee with vengeance in her eyes.

And the GPS, now forgotten in the car, calmly offered one last piece of advice:

“In 100 feet, consider therapy.”


After the GPS prank and a full afternoon of Vaggie threatening to staple his mouth shut, Angel Dust was finally told—loud and clear—that he had crossed a line.

It wasn’t from Vaggie, though. That part was expected.

It was Husk who finally said something, dragging on his cigarette as he passed Angel in the hallway.

“You know,” Husk grunted, “for someone who flirts with death every five minutes, you sure got a death wish. Maybe cool it. You’ve been a dick.”

Angel paused, hand halfway to his mouth with a lollipop. “A dick?” he echoed with mock offense. “Moi?”

Husk didn’t even glance at him. “Don't fucking act like you don't know, kiddo.”

That one actually stuck.

Angel spent the rest of the day thinking about it. Not like, deeply, but enough to feel that annoying twinge of guilt tugging at him. Maybe he had gone too far. Maybe. Probably. Okay, yeah, definitely.

So, as a gesture, he decided to make peace. In his own... fabulous way.

He made Vaggie a drink.

Not just any drink—this was an Angel Dust Signature Apology Cocktail™. It sparkled. It smoked. It had an umbrella in it. It probably shouldn’t be legal in three states. But it was sweet, strong, and just enough to help someone forget they wanted to choke him.

He poured it with care, set it on the counter in the lounge with a note that read:
“I'm sorry 4 being an insufferable glitter goblin – Angel 💋”

Then he waited.

But it wasn’t Vaggie who found it first.

“Aw! Who left this?” Charlie’s cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.

Angel turned just in time to see her pick up the glass with both hands, eyes wide with joy. “Did someone make a drink for me?”

“Wait—no, no, no, no, that’s not—!”

Angel lunged forward, but it was too late. Charlie had already downed half the thing like it was lemonade.

Within minutes, the shift was obvious.

Charlie’s eyes got shinier. Her giggle turned into a full-on musical giggle-train. She floated in circles, arms flailing, and hummed a song that didn’t exist.

“Ohhh my SATAN Angel,” she squeaked, stumbling over to him, “you are so sparkly. Has anyone ever told you that?? You look like a glowing chandelier!”

Angel backed up, hands raised. “Uh. Charlie? You good?”

“I’m amazing!” she declared, then latched onto his arm like a clingy annoying child. “You’re my best friend. BEST. Ever. Forever. We should do karaoke. Or get matching tattoos. Or rob a candy store together!”

“Okay, wow,” Angel blinked, trying to peel her off. “This is, uh, a lot. I was trying to apologize to your girlfriend, not get you trashed!”

From the hallway came a familiar voice. “Charlie? What’s going on—?”

Vaggie stopped in the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised. She looked from the half-empty glass to Charlie clinging to Angel like a koala. Charlie beamed at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Vaggieeeee,” she slurred. “I drank your forgiveness juice. I’m soooo forgiven.”

Angel held up his hands like he was being arrested. “Okay, pause. This? This is not my fault. Technically.”

Vaggie squinted at him. “What did you put in that drink?”

“I dunno! Rum, sugar, glowing cherries from that weird basement bar—”

Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed like she aged three years.

Charlie suddenly gasped. “GUYS. Let’s do a group hug. Angel, c’mere! You feel like you’d smell like marshmallows.”

“Nope!” Angel squeaked, ducking away as Charlie reached for him. “Too much affection! This is my punishment, isn’t it?”

Vaggie watched with her arms crossed as Angel tried to dodge a very clingy, very drunk, very loving Charlie around the lounge.

“You wanted to make me feel better,” she muttered. “Mission accomplished.”

“THIS ISN’T WHAT I MEANT!” Angel yelped as Charlie tackled him into a pile of cushions.

From behind the bar, Husk let out a low chuckle.

“Best apology I’ve seen in years.”



Angel was bored. And not his usual “I guess I’ll dye Husk’s fur while he’s napping” bored. No, this was deep boredom. Existential. Like the kind that makes you lie upside down on the couch with your legs over the backrest and stare at the ceiling like it owes you money.

He groaned loudly, arms dangling off the side like spaghetti.

“No one’s yelling at me, nothing’s exploding, and Husk changed the lock on the liquor cabinet again. This place is a graveyard.”

Charlie wandered into the lounge with her usual sunny smile, humming to herself as she plopped onto the couch beside him. She had a notebook in her lap and a little frown on her face—the thinking kind, not the upset kind.

Angel peeked sideways at her.

“Psssst. Charlie.”

She glanced over. “Yeah?”

“Wanna hear a secret?”

She blinked, interested. “Sure!”

“I think Niffty glues her bangs into place every morning.”

Charlie laughed. “That’s not a secret, Angel. That’s just being well-groomed.”

He huffed. “Fine. You’re no fun. Got any juicy gossip, then? Anyone cheating on anyone? Scandal? Blackmail? Husky caught watching telenovelas again?”

Charlie shook her head. “No gossip… but actually, I was thinking about something.”

Angel rolled over to face her properly, chin in his hands. “Do tell, Princess.”

“Well… Vaggie and I have our anniversary coming up, and I want to do something really special. But I don’t want it to be too cheesy, you know? I want her to feel… swept off her feet.”

Angel's eyebrows shot up. “Ohohoh, you came to the right demon. You want seduction tips? Romantic finesse? Charm that melts steel beams?”

Charlie hesitated. “Um… sure?”

What Charlie didn’t know was that Angel had recently found a delightfully unhinged prank article titled: ‘15 Outrageous Ways to Flirt That Will Get You Noticed (And Possibly Slapped)’—and had been waiting for someone to be dumb enough to take them seriously.

Angel grinned, devilish and untrustworthy. “Okay, tip one: establish dominance. Start with a pickup line so bold she can’t ignore it. Like—‘Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.’”

Charlie blinked. “I... I guess that’s kind of cute?”

“And then,” Angel continued with a flourish, “just when she’s about to respond, you immediately challenge her to an arm-wrestling match. Classic tension breaker.”

Charlie tilted her head. “An arm—what?”

“Trust me,” he said, waving her off. “Step three: eye contact. Constant. Unblinking. Stare deep into her soul. Don’t even blink when she blinks. Assert romantic dominance.”

“That sounds kind of… intense.”

“Oh, it gets better.” Angel leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “Step four: write her a poem, but make it mysterious. Use a fake name. Mail it to her from inside the hotel. Add a drop of your perfume on the paper so she questions everything.”

Charlie was furiously writing all of this down.

“And the final move,” Angel said, arms wide like a magician finishing a trick, “is to appear in a trench coat, hat, and sunglasses—so she doesn’t recognize you—and tell her she’s being watched by someone in love. It’s like… romantic espionage.”

Charlie paused, pen hovering midair. “Angel… are you sure this worked for you?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “...Emotionally? No. But technically? Yes.”

She nodded slowly, scribbling a few more notes. “Okay… I guess I’ll give it a shot.” Charlie then left the room to probably find Vaggie.

Angel kicked back, satisfied. “Oh, I cannot wait to see how this plays out.”

Across the room, Husk looked up from his magazine and muttered, “I give it ten minutes before someone cries.”

Angel smirked. “If it’s not Vaggie, I’m gonna be disappointed.”

***

Charlie stood outside the lounge, clutching her notebook close to her.

You can do this, she told herself. Just follow the steps. Angel knows what he's doing. He flirts all the time! He’s practically made of flirt.

She took a deep breath, straightened her jacket, and marched into the room where Vaggie sat reading on the couch.

Step 1: The Bold Pickup Line.

Charlie walked right up, heart pounding.

“Are you... French?” she blurted, louder than intended.

Vaggie looked up, blinking. “Huh?”

Charlie gave her a dramatic wink. “Because Eiffel for you.”

Silence.

Vaggie squinted. “What?”

Charlie stood frozen, smiling like a terrified pageant queen.

Vaggie slowly lowered her book. “…Did Angel put you up to this?”

Charlie panicked. Abort! Move to step two!

Step 2: Challenge Her to an Arm-Wrestling Match.

She grabbed the coffee table, dragged it over with a loud screech, and slammed her elbow down on it.

“Arm wrestle me,” Charlie said, way too intensely.

Vaggie stared. “What are you doing?”

“It’s romantic!” Charlie insisted.

Vaggie raised an eyebrow but played along, placing her arm down. The moment their hands locked, Charlie squeezed with all her strength—and instantly lost. Her wrist hit the table with a thunk.

“Ow,” Charlie muttered, clutching her hand.

Vaggie was now visibly confused. “Charlie… are you okay?”

Step 3: Unblinking Eye Contact.

Charlie leaned in across the table and stared.

Just stared.

Wide-eyed. Unblinking. Very serious.

“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Vaggie asked slowly.

Charlie didn’t respond.

“Charlie?”

She continued staring.

“Charlie, are you possessed?”

A tear leaked from one of Charlie’s eyes. Still staring.

“OKAY, STOP THAT,” Vaggie said, waving a hand in front of her face. “You’re creeping me out!”

Charlie blinked rapidly, eyes burning. “Sorry—sorry! Just trying to… build tension.”

Step 4: Anonymous Poem with Perfume.

Later that evening, Charlie secretly slipped an envelope under Vaggie’s bedroom door.

It read:
“Roses are red,
Your glare could kill men,
You frighten me slightly,
Let’s cuddle again.”

Inside was a rose petal spritzed with her perfume. Too much perfume. The hallway now smelled like a chemical flower shop explosion.

From inside the room, Charlie heard Vaggie’s voice:
“What the fuck is this?”

Charlie fled.

Step 5: Trench Coat Mystery.

The grand finale.

Charlie waited until the next morning. She snuck into the kitchen wearing a huge beige trench coat, dark sunglasses, and a fedora pulled low over her face.

Vaggie was pouring coffee, still half-asleep. Charlie crept up behind her and whispered:

“You’re being watched... by someone in love.”

Vaggie screamed and swung the coffee pot like a weapon.

Charlie yelped, ducked, and the hat went flying.

“CHARLIE?!”

Charlie stood there, flustered, the coat sliding off her shoulders.

“I was trying to be romantic!”

Vaggie stared at her like she’d just grown a second head.

“Romantic?! You scared the fuck out of me!”

“I followed all the steps!” Charlie protested.

“…What steps?!”

Charlie hesitated, then pulled out the wrinkled notebook.

Vaggie yanked it from her hands and read aloud:

“‘Unblinking eye contact.’ ‘Poem in disguise.’ ‘Challenge to arm-wrestle’—ARE YOU KIDDING ME? These are Angel’s tips, aren’t they?!”

Charlie winced. “…Maybe?”

Vaggie sighed, hard. Then—against all odds—she started laughing. A real, snorting laugh.

“I love you, but damn, you are the worst spy I’ve ever seen.”

Charlie grinned sheepishly. “So… happy anniversary?”

Vaggie walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “Let’s just go to dinner. No costumes, no poems, no stare competitions. Just… you being you.”

Charlie beamed.

From across the hall, Angel peeked around the corner with a bag of popcorn.

“Okay, that was ten times funnier than I imagined,” he whispered, cackling.

Vaggie turned and pointed at him. “You. You’re next.”

Angel zipped away with a shriek, still laughing.

Charlie sighed, but she couldn’t help smiling too.

She thought to herself that she’d have to practice her flirting a bit for next time.

Chapter Text

The kitchen was unusually peaceful.

Sunlight poured through the stained glass windows of the hotel’s crooked dining hall, lighting up bags of flour, mixing bowls, and scattered ingredients across the counter. Charlie hummed a soft tune as she tied her apron, a pastel pink one that said “Hell’s Sweetest Chef” in curly letters.

Angel Dust popped his head in from the hallway, grinning like a child about to commit a misdemeanor.

“Ohhh~ Charliiiieee,” he sing-songed. “Heard someone’s birthday’s comin’ up.”

Charlie turned, beaming. “It is! And I was just about to bake a cake. Wanna help?”

Angel gasped with exaggerated offense. “Do I?! Doll Face, I was born to bake. I got sugar in my soul and sass in my spatula!”

Charlie giggled and handed him a whisk. “Great! I was thinking of doing something classic—like chocolate with raspberry frosting!”

Angel twirled the whisk like a baton. “Fancy. I like it. We’re gonna make a cake so sexy it’ll need its own room key.”

Charlie laughed and clapped her hands. “Okay, I’ll grab the pans. Vaggie!” she called. “Can you get the recipe book from the shelf?”

Vaggie’s voice floated in from the other room. “Sure!”

Everything paused.

Angel’s smile turned devilish.

Because what Charlie didn’t know… was that about an hour ago, Angel had “accidentally on purpose” shoved the hotel’s massive cookbook—The Sinful Chef’s Manual—way up on the very top shelf of the kitchen’s tall cupboard. It now sat comically high, well out of Vaggie’s reach.

He leaned casually on the counter as footsteps approached.

Vaggie entered, looking mildly suspicious already.

“Where’s the book?”

Charlie pointed. “It should be on the top shelf of the pantry cabinet.”

Vaggie walked over, stood on tiptoe… and frowned. “What the—?”

She stretched a little more.

Still nothing.

“Okay, seriously?” she muttered, grabbing a chair and trying again. She reached up—and barely brushed the bottom edge of the book with her fingertips.

Angel watched with the giddy excitement of a kid watching a prank video in real time.

“Having trouble there, short stack?” he said sweetly.

Vaggie turned her head slowly, eye narrowing.

“You put it up there, didn’t you.”

Angel gasped. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing! I would never sabotage a sacred event like birthday cake baking.”

Vaggie muttered something demonic under her breath and grabbed a broom.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Angel whispered to Charlie as they watched Vaggie clamber onto the chair, wielding the broom like it was a lance.

She poked at the book.

Missed.

Poked again.

THUMP. The broom handle slammed into the side of the cupboard. The book wobbled… and then smacked her square and bouncing down onto the floor.

“¡Maldita sea!” Vaggie cursed sharply in Spanish, glaring at him. She picked up the book and tossed it hard against Angel’s arm.

He yelped, rubbing his arm but grinning like he had still just won a prize.

“Okay, listen babe,” Vaggie said, arms crossed. “Let’s just bake this cake without him, please…”

Charlie sighed, biting her lip. “I don’t know, Vaggie… Angel did say he wants to help. Maybe we should let him? It could be fun.”

Vaggie gave a tired look. “Charlie, he’s a walking disaster.”

Charlie smiled softly, eyes full of kindness. “That’s why I want him with us. No one gets left out on my birthday.”

Vaggie hesitated but finally gave in with a small nod.

Angel’s grin grew impossibly wider. “You won’t regret it! Angel Dust is the king of cake!”

They started mixing ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla—Charlie carefully following the recipe, Vaggie managing the chopping and measuring, and Angel… well, Angel mostly hovering, trying not to break anything.

So far, surprisingly smooth.

Then, just when Charlie was about to pour the batter into the pan, Angel slipped a tiny amount of glitter into the bowl.

“Hey, what’s that?” Charlie asked, catching the shimmer.

“Oh, just a little sparkle for extra birthday magic,” Angel winked.

Charlie giggled, watching the batter shimmer in the bowl.

Vaggie rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling a bit.

As the cake baked, the kitchen smelled amazing, and the mood felt light for the first time in days.

***

For Charlie’s next birthday, Angel decided he wanted to do something extra special—something thoughtful but with his usual twist.

Over the past few days, whenever Vaggie wasn’t paying attention, Angel would sneakily pluck a few loose feathers from her wings. Not enough to hurt or even really notice, but just enough to collect a small pile of soft, colorful feathers.

Or, well, most of the times he got unnoticed.

Angel crept behind Vaggie while she was busy reading, wings half-folded and relaxed. Carefully, he reached out with delicate fingers to pluck a single feather from the edge of her wing.

Just as he pulled it free, Vaggie suddenly turned her head.

“Angel, what are you doing?” she asked sharply.

Angel froze, holding the feather behind his back like a kid caught with a cookie.

“Uh… admiring the wing art?” he grinned nervously.

Vaggie’s eye narrowed, before she shrugged. Rolling her eye she muttered, “Ugh. Whatever…” and turned back to her reading.

Next day Angel was lying on the couch, pretending to nap, but really watching Vaggie move around the room.

She adjusted her wings, and a couple of loose feathers fluttered to the floor. Quick as a flash, Angel dove down and grabbed one before Vaggie noticed.

But just as he popped the feather into his sleeve, Vaggie glanced over.

“Hey!” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you have my feather?”

Angel held it up like a trophy. “For a special project. Don’t worry, I’m being gentle.”

Vaggie crossed her arms. “Gentle or not, put it back.”

Angel smiled. “Or what? You’ll peck me?”

A week later, Angel tiptoed into the kitchen where Vaggie was making tea. She was humming softly, wings relaxed.

He reached out slowly to pinch a feather from her wing, but just as he pulled, she shivered — and turned sharply.

“Angel, stop,” she said, voice low but warning.

Angel blinked. “I wasn’t taking much, just a couple.”

Vaggie raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you say every time you get caught.”

Angel grinned sheepishly. “Hey, you’ve got great feathers. How could I resist?”

Vaggie slapped him with her left wing making a few loose feathers fall to the ground. Angel quickly collected all of them as Vaggie watched him.

She grunted, “Ugh, you’re fucking impossible sometimes.” Before she left the room.



Angel carefully stuffed the feathers into a pillowcase he had sewn himself, proud of his handiwork.

On Charlie’s birthday morning, Angel presented the pillow with a dramatic flourish.

“Happy birthday, Charlie! I made you a one-of-a-kind gift,” he said, beaming.

Charlie’s eyes lit up as she hugged the pillow close, delighting in the softness and the gentle flutter of feathers inside.

“Oh, Angel, it’s beautiful! This is the best gift ever!” she exclaimed, burying her face in it. “It feels just like Vaggie’s softness when those wings brush my face so gently.”

“It’s because it is her feathers inside of that pillow,” Angel laughed, only making the Princess gasp in delight and hugging the pillow tighter while nuzzling her face into it.

Meanwhile, Vaggie stood nearby, arms crossed and cheeks flushed a bright pink—not from joy, but from a mix of embarrassment and mild irritation.

Angel noticed and gave a sly grin.

“Aw, come on, Vaggie! It’s just a few feathers. You’re not exactly a feather factory, but it adds a personal touch, right?”

Vaggie huffed, brushing a stray feather off her shoulder.

“I swear, you’re impossible sometimes,” she muttered, half annoyed, half secretly touched.

Angel shrugged, pleased that even if Vaggie didn’t admit it, the gift was a success.

Charlie squeezed the pillow tighter, already imagining how comforting it would be during their late-night talks. 

And Angel just sat back, ready to enjoy Charlie’s next reaction to his second gift.

He handed her another carefully wrapped package with a sly grin.

“Open this one very slowly,” he teased.

Charlie unwrapped it and pulled out a thick book titled “The Art of Bondage: A Beginner’s Guide to Trust and Play.”

She blinked, tilting her head. “Oh! Bondage? Um… Angel, what is this?”

Angel shrugged, eyes twinkling. “It’s… educational. You know, for spicing things up.”

Charlie flipped through the pages, eyebrows rising as she saw diagrams, safety tips, and detailed explanations. She flushed a deep shade of red, quickly shutting the book.

“Oh! I, uh… I didn’t expect this kind of gift,” she stammered, hiding the book behind her back.

Vaggie, nearby, gave Angel a pointed look that clearly said Really?

Angel just smirked and shrugged again.

Later, when no one was watching, Angel noticed Charlie quietly pulling out the book and flipping through the pages with intense focus.

Even more surprising—she was taking notes.

Angel chuckled quietly to himself. Looks like someone’s planning a very interesting night with Vaggie.

***

Halloween was just around the corner, and Angel was in full prank-master mode. This year, he was determined to give Charlie a costume she’d never forget.

On the morning of Halloween, he handed her a large, oddly shaped box wrapped in bright purple paper.

“Open it, birthday girl!” Angel grinned mischievously.

“It’s not even my birthday, Angel,” Charlie flushed.

“Just open it anyways,” he pushed, insisting.

Charlie tore off the wrapping and pulled out a short purple plum-colored dress, cut just high enough to show off her thighs. Along with it was a matching cowboy hat and a bulky gadget that looked like a cross between a vacuum cleaner and a jetpack.

“Uh… Angel? What’s all this?” Charlie asked, holding up the dress and squinting at the weird equipment.

Angel’s eyes sparkled. “I got inspired by this show I was watching. There’s this character called Bethany Ghostfucker . She’s a ghost-hunting cowboy badass. I thought it’d be perfect for you!”

Charlie blinked, then burst out laughing. “Bethany Ghostfucker? Really?”

“Yup! And this,” Angel said, gesturing proudly to the gear, “is exactly like the ghost traps from Ghostbusters. You can catch any spirits lurking around the Hotel.”

Charlie shook her head, grinning as she tried on the dress and tilted the cowboy hat just so.

“Well,” she said, adjusting the gear, “I guess I’m ready to hunt some ghosts… or at least look fabulous trying.”

Angel cheered. “That’s the spirit! Now go out there and spook ‘em all!”

As Charlie posed in her ridiculous but somehow awesome costume, Angel already started thinking about what prank he’d pull next—because with him, Halloween was never just about candy.

***

Vaggie sat cross-legged on their bed, the soft white sheet sprawled awkwardly in her lap. Angel’s letter lay beside her, the bold and scrawled handwriting:

“Vaggie — need a white sheet for a ghost costume. Trust me on this. Fetch, fashion, fright!”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Why did she always get dragged into Angel’s wild schemes? Still, she wanted to make this easy for him — if only to avoid another glitter disaster or an exploding cake.

Grabbing the sheet, she headed to the closet and spread it out on the floor. Tentatively, she pinned the corners with safety pins, trying to shape the fabric into a simple ghost costume — just like Angel had vaguely described in the letter. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, draping the sheet over her shoulders and letting it fall around her.

The result was… okay. Not perfect, but certainly better than nothing. She adjusted the folds, making sure it wasn’t too long to trip over. Maybe Angel would appreciate the effort.

Just as she began to relax, the bedroom door flew open with a loud bang , startling her.

Charlie burst in, arms wide and a grin plastered across her face, wearing a purple plum dress that showed off her thighs and the absurd cowboy hat perched at a jaunty angle. The bulky ghost-hunting gear — a strange contraption that looked like a mash-up of a vacuum and a jetpack — was strapped around her shoulders.

Charlie posed dramatically, one hand on her hip and the other holding a fake ghost-catching gun, her eyes scanning the room.

Vaggie’s heart skipped. She froze, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks.

“C-Charlie,” she stammered, voice barely above a whisper, “w-what are you wearing?”

Charlie didn’t break character for a second. Her voice dropped to a sultry purr as she prowled closer.

“Oh. My. Gosh…” she said, fluttering her eyelashes exaggeratedly. “I’m getting a real sexy energy coming from this room! There’s definitely a fuckable spirit lurking here.”

Her gaze locked on Vaggie, who was still wrapped awkwardly in the white sheet.

Vaggie’s cheeks burned hotter. She swallowed nervously and smoothed the sheet down, trying to look nonchalant but failing spectacularly.

Charlie took a slow, theatrical step forward, the ghost-hunting gear making soft whirring noises as she moved.

“I’m gonna catch this ghost… and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get to exorcise her,” Charlie teased with a wink.

Vaggie’s breath hitched, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and something warmer—an undeniable flutter of excitement.

“I’m not sure this ghost is going down without a fight,” Vaggie finally managed, voice shaking slightly.

Charlie grinned wider. “Oh, I’m ready. But you might want to be ready to fly when I’m done.”

Vaggie’s eye flicked to her wings, already tingling with anticipation.

“Guess I’ll have to use these,” she said softly.

Charlie stepped closer, lowering her voice so only Vaggie could hear.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

Vaggie gulped, “Oh dios mio…”

***

As Vaggie and Charlie descended the staircase, Angel lounged lazily on the couch, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Well? Was this prank a better one than last year’s glitter disaster?” Angel asked, grinning wide.

Vaggie’s cheeks flamed bright red. She crossed her arms, trying—and failing—to look annoyed. “I am not impressed. And I’m definitely not amused.”

But the slight tremble in her voice, the way her wings twitched nervously, betrayed her true feelings.

Charlie, meanwhile, hid her flushed face behind her hands, mumbling softly, “I’m sooo bad at role play…”

Angel laughed, clearly delighted.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. You two made one hell of a ghost-hunting team.”

Chapter Text

Charlie clapped her hands together, excitement shining in her eyes. “Alright everyone, today’s Hotel activity is all about trust—and having fun! We’ll be doing a series of challenges that’ll test how well you work together.”

She pulled out a colorful box filled with slips of paper and started mixing them around. “To keep things interesting, I’m randomizing the groups!”

One by one, she called out names, pairing people up. When she got to Vaggie and Angel, they exchanged wary glances—neither exactly thrilled to be teamed up, but both unwilling to back down.

Charlie grinned. “Perfect! You two are up first.”

The first challenge was called “Catch.” Charlie explained, “At any time, you can yell your partner’s name followed by ‘catch!’ and throw them something. They have to catch it. Simple, and fun.”

To demonstrate, Charlie tossed a small beanbag to Vaggie, shouting, “Vaggie, catch!” Vaggie caught it easily.

Then, Charlie tossed one to Angel, who caught it with a cheeky smirk.

“Alright, test run’s over. Now you two—go!” Charlie announced.

Immediately, Vaggie grabbed a nearby soft ball and flung it at Angel, yelling, “Angel, catch!”

Angel lunged forward, barely catching it before it hit the floor. Without missing a beat, he grabbed another ball and hurled it back at Vaggie.

“Vaggie, catch!” he shouted with a playful challenge in his voice.

The competition was on. Both were laughing but clearly trying hard to outdo the other, each catch becoming more intense than the last.

Charlie watched, amused, shaking her head. “Well, this is going to be interesting.”

The soft balls flew faster and faster between Vaggie and Angel, their competitive streaks flaring up in full force. Vaggie narrowed her eyes, concentrating hard, refusing to let a single ball drop.

Angel grinned mischievously and suddenly switched tactics — instead of tossing gently, he lobbed a ball high into the air, forcing Vaggie to leap up to catch it.

“Vaggie, catch!” he yelled, clearly enjoying the game.

Vaggie barely caught it with a swift swipe, landing back firmly on the ground. She shot Angel a sharp glare.

Not to be outdone, Vaggie grabbed a handful of smaller items — a plush toy, a rolled-up sock, and even a feather duster — and began throwing them one after another.

“Angel, catch! Angel, catch! Angel, catch!”

Angel caught the sock and plush toy without breaking a sweat, but when the feather duster floated toward him, he flinched and missed, sending it fluttering to the floor.

Charlie clapped her hands. “Okay, okay, you two! Let’s not turn this into a full-on duel just yet.”

But Vaggie and Angel were already locking eyes, ready to take the challenge to the next level.

Angel spotted a nearby pillow and grabbed it. “Ready for this?”

“Bring it on,” Vaggie smirked.

Angel threw the pillow gently at first, then, with a mischievous glint, started tossing it with surprising force. Vaggie dodged, ducked, and caught it mid-air on the second try.

Angel’s grin stretched ear to ear. Now that he’d gotten Vaggie to lower her guard just a little , he couldn’t resist pushing his luck.

He sauntered over to the props table, eyes gleaming as he scanned for the most inconvenient, ridiculous things he could find. His fingers closed around a rubber chicken.

He turned, holding it up dramatically. “Vaggie, catch!”

She barely had time to react before the squeaky chicken came flailing through the air at her.

It hit her square in the chest and flopped to the floor with an embarrassing squeak.

Vaggie’s eye narrowed dangerously.

Angel snorted, barely holding back laughter. “Oh come on, that one had personality!”

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Vaggie growled, brushing herself off.

“Moi? Never.” He put a hand over his heart in mock offense—then immediately followed up by hurling a roll of toilet paper at her.

“Vaggie, catch!”

She caught it instinctively, midair, then stared down at it with disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Angel shrugged innocently. “You never know when the call of trust and hygiene will collide.”

Charlie tried to stifle a giggle from across the room, clearly entertained but trying to stay neutral.

Angel wasn’t done.

He waited until Vaggie was distracted tying her shoe, then suddenly yelled, “Vaggie, CATCH!”—this time tossing a bag of marshmallows right at her.

Vaggie yelped and managed to catch it with both hands just before it smacked her in the face.

“That’s it!” she shouted, cheeks red with frustration.

But Angel was already laughing. “You’re getting better at this! I’m training you.”

“You’re gonna need training wheels when I’m done with you,” she snapped, throwing the bag back at his head—without warning.

Angel caught it, still grinning. “See? Now you’re getting into the spirit of it.”

“Just shut up and play!” Vaggie scoffed.

***

Charlie stood in front of the group again, bouncing slightly on her heels with excitement.

“Okay, next trust challenge—‘Are You a Unicorn?’” she announced with a dramatic flourish.

Some of the hotel staff looked confused. Vaggie raised a brow.

Charlie giggled and explained, “It’s simple! You each get an ice cream cone, and the goal is to lightly press it onto your partner’s forehead without them noticing—if you manage to do it, they’re the unicorn! It’s silly but fun!”

Angel’s eyes sparkled immediately. “Ohhh, now this is my kind of challenge.”

Vaggie, arms crossed, frowned. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s about spontaneity and trust!” Charlie beamed. “And sugar!”

Angel was already licking his cone and eyeing Vaggie like a cat stalking a bird. “Come on, Vagina. Don’t you wanna be majestic for once?”

Vaggie rolled her eye hard. “If I end up with melted dairy on my face, I’m stabbing someone.”

“Now, now. No stabbing in trust exercises,” Angel teased.

As the game began, most pairs giggled and gave it their best shot. A few cones successfully landed on foreheads. Nifty and Husk had somehow turned it into a full-on ice cream fencing duel. Meanwhile, Vaggie barely held her cone in her hand.

Charlie walked by and encouraged, “You gotta at least try, Vaggie! Loosen up!”

“I am trying,” Vaggie lied through her teeth, gently tapping Angel’s shoulder with the side of her cone as if that counted.

Angel snickered. “Wow. That was adorable. You tryin’ to bless me or something?”

And then, without warning, he launched.

“Vaggie,” he said sweetly, “Do you trust me?”

She narrowed her eye. “No.”

“Great.”

With one swift motion, Angel faked a stumble and splat—the ice cream cone was suddenly smooshed right into the center of Vaggie’s forehead.

He held it there dramatically. “ Boom. Unicorned.”

There was a beat of stunned silence. Vaggie blinked, cross-eyed, trying to look at the mess now slowly melting down her face.

Charlie gasped. “Oh my gosh!”

Angel took a step back, hands raised like a showman. “Behold! The rare, enraged Latina unicorn!”

Everyone burst into laughter—except Vaggie.

Her eye twitched. She wiped a hand down her face slowly, flicking melted ice cream off her fingers.

“Angel…” she said, calm but deadly, “You have three seconds to run.”

Angel didn’t hesitate. “I REGRET NOTHING!” he shouted as he bolted across the hotel lobby, cone pieces flying.

Charlie chased after them, laughing hysterically. “Wait! No fighting during unicorn time!”

***

The next trust challenge of the day was deceptively simple: “Five Steps Forward.”

Charlie handed out little cards explaining the rules. “Each pair spends the afternoon doing normal things around town. But—” she said, pausing for emphasis, “—anytime your partner says five steps forward or five steps backward , you have to do it. No matter where you are.”

Vaggie groaned. “This sounds like an excuse to actually bully someone.”

Angel clapped. “This sounds like fun !”



Angel and Vaggie were walking down a lively plaza, filled with people, food carts, and music. Vaggie was clearly trying to enjoy the calm moment, sunglasses on, a cup of iced coffee in hand.

Angel, however, had been suspiciously quiet.

Then came the moment.

“Oh hey, Vaggie,” Angel said with fake innocence, “Could you do me a favor? Five steps forward.”

Vaggie was mid-sip. “Huh? Wait—”

But her feet already moved before her brain caught up. One, two, three—

DING!

Four. Five.

She stumbled right off the small platform, just as the doors to the train hissed shut—with Angel still on board, smirking through the window.

She slapped the glass. “ANGEL—”

The train pulled away.



Vaggie was soaked from earlier. Why? Because right after getting off the train, Angel had messaged her:

“You’re not mad, are you? Five steps forward. <3”

Being too stubborn to refuse, she took them… right into a decorative lake outside a city art exhibit.

Her shoes squelched with every step back to the Hotel.

Now, it was her turn.



Angel strutted through the hallway, humming to himself, clearly not expecting retaliation. That’s when Vaggie appeared behind him.

“Angel.”

He froze. “Oop. Hey, bestie.”

“Five steps forward.”

He blinked. “Now? Right now?”

“Yep.”

Grinning, he did as told. One… two… three…

The fourth step pushed open a door she had just barely unlocked with a skeleton key.

By the fifth step, he was fully inside the room.

Vaggie slammed it shut and locked it behind him, arms crossed in satisfaction.

“That’s for the lake, and the train, and everything else,” she muttered.

She turned to walk away, but then—

From behind the door, she heard a delighted laugh.

“Ooooh my Gosh. Is this the spa room?! With the heated oils?!”

She froze.

Then came his voice, already slipping into flirt mode:

“Well hellooo , stranger... What’s your name? You rub people for a living or just angels in towels?”

Vaggie’s eye twitched.

Inside, Angel was already schmoozing with the baffled spa demon staff.

Someone giggled. Someone else purred.

Then another familiar voice spoke.

“Angel what the fuck?” a grumpy voice grunted.

Angel purred, “Oh hello Huskers? Have you missed me–?”

Vaggie facepalmed, muttering, “Oh for fuck’s sake…”

***

Charlie clapped her hands together as everyone was gathered together in the hotel lobby. “Okay everyone, last activity for our trust week—Double Dare Trouble!”

Angel’s ears perked up. “Finally! Something that sounds illegal.”

Charlie laughed nervously. “Not illegal, Angel… just… team-building! You and your partner trade dares. The rule? You have to try, and no dare can cause permanent damage.”

“Define permanent,” Angel muttered under his breath with a smirk.

Vaggie was already rubbing her temples. “This can only go downhill.”



The first few dares were harmless enough.

Angel dared Vaggie to wear socks on her hands and try to open a soda can. She did it—aggressively—and somehow made it look violent.

Vaggie dared Angel to brush Keekee’s tail without getting scratched. He came back with a claw mark and a smug grin.

But Angel kept pushing.

He dared Vaggie to sing a love ballad outside the Hotel holding a mop like a microphone. She nearly bit through her lip from rage—but did it, eye locked on him like a predator.

Then, came her challenge.

“Alright, Angel,” she said with an edge in her voice, “Since you’re so loud about being better than me at everything…”

She crossed her arms. “I dare you to carry as many objects as I did earlier when I cleaned the lobby—without dropping a single one.”

Angel scoffed. “Pfft. Easy. I’ve juggled more complicated things while dodging bullets.”

He immediately began stacking random objects: lamps, a tray of glasses, folded towels, two buckets, and a random rubber plant for flair. By the time he was at capacity, he looked like a moving sculpture.

“See?” he said, voice muffled behind the plant, “Flawless.”

Vaggie raised a brow. “Then now go down the stairs.”

Angel winked—well, it looked like a wink. It might have been a wobble. Either way, he began his descent.

Step by step.

Wobble.

Shake.

Then, on the fourth step down—

“Wha—AAAAAAH—!”

He screamed and flailed dramatically. Objects flew. The towel landed like a funeral shroud over the banister. The tray clattered loudly down the stairs.

Vaggie’s heart skipped. “Angel?! Are you—?”

Then came a very unhelpful noise: a small, muffled snort.

She ran down two steps.

“Angel—”

A second later, his voice floated up lazily from under the staircase.

“...Just kidding.”

He poked his head up from behind the bottom step with a stupidly smug grin and a single marshmallow in his mouth.

“I stuck the landing.”

Vaggie stared at him. Then looked up at the now cracked tray. The overturned plant. The chaos. Her soul vibrated with rage.

“ANGEL DUST!”

“What?”

Vaggie descended the last steps with fury in every step. She didn’t say a word, just glared.

She simply picked up the mop from earlier, walked past Angel, and dropped it next to his head.

“Clean. Everything. Now.”

Angel blinked up at her. “What? No prize for Best Performance?”

Vaggie turned, wings flaring, and muttered under her breath, “The only thing you’ll be performing is manual labor for the next week.”

“Ahhhh, fuck me I guess,” he grinend, sheepishly, taking the mop.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains as Vaggie stirred in bed. For once, things were… peaceful. She blinked sleepily at the ceiling, then glanced at the clock.

9:03 a.m.

She yawned and stretched, rubbing her eyes. Her birthday. Great. That meant Charlie was probably already up, buzzing around like a sugar-fueled puppy trying to make everything perfect. Vaggie smiled faintly at the thought.

Charlie was adorable when she was in “planning mode.”

Still groggy, Vaggie rolled out of bed, adjusted her tank top, and trudged toward the door. She figured she'd sneak into the kitchen to at least pretend to be surprised by whatever Charlie had in store.

She opened the door.

POP!!!

The world exploded in sound and color.

A bright pink balloon burst just inches from her face, followed by a sharp blast from a party horn.

Vaggie shrieked and stumbled backward, nearly slipping on the hallway rug. A trail of glitter rained down from above like malicious birthday snow.

From the side of the door, Angel Dust practically rolled out of his hiding spot, wheezing with laughter. “AHHH!! Oh my—your face, Vaggie! Happy freakin’ birthday!”

Vaggie froze for a full three seconds, hair now flecked with gold sparkles, eye wide.

Then her hand twitched.

“You absolute piece of—”

She lunged, but Angel was already halfway down the hall, laughing so hard he could barely run straight. “This is only the beginning, Vagina!” he called over his shoulder. “Can’t wait for you to find the hallway confetti cannon!”

Vaggie groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “This day is going to kill me.”

From downstairs, she heard Charlie call out sweetly, “Vaggieee~! No peeking in the dining room! I’m still setting up!”



Vaggie descended the stairs with cautious steps, eyeing every corner like she was in a haunted house instead of her own hotel. No more balloons. No glitter buckets. No fake cobwebs with spiders… yet.

She reached the bottom floor and paused.

The lobby had been completely transformed.

Soft streamers of red and gold hung from the ceiling. A big hand-painted banner said “¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Vaggie!” in Charlie’s loopy handwriting, with doodled hearts and little swords next to it. Spanish guitar music played lightly from a speaker in the corner, giving everything a warm, festive hum.

Her eye softened.

Then came the smell—savory, familiar, comforting. Her heart almost fluttered.

She stepped into the kitchen to find Charlie, apron on, swaying a little as she flipped arepas con queso on the stovetop.

Charlie turned with a grin, cheeks already smudged with a bit of flour. “¡Buenos días, mi amor~! Happy birthday!” she said, a bit too proudly with a broken Spanish accent .

Vaggie chuckled. “You’ve been practicing, huh?”

Charlie beamed. “I wanted to get it right for you. Breakfast is almost done. And I made café con leche just how you like it.”

Vaggie walked over and hugged her from behind, resting her chin on Charlie’s shoulder. “You’re too good to me.”

Charlie giggled, leaning back into her. “Only for the best girlfriend in Hell.”

They sat down with plates stacked with arepas, sweet plantains, and even a small side of spicy eggs. For a few blissful minutes, it was just the two of them, chatting softly about memories and plans for the day. Vaggie even started to feel—dare she say it—relaxed.

Then… she felt the coffee kick in.

“Okay, I’ll be right back,” she said, standing with a stretch. “Don’t let Angel touch my food.”

Charlie gave a thumbs up. “He’s not even allowed in the kitchen today.”

Vaggie smiled as she made her way down the hallway toward the bathroom, relieved at the quiet…

But when she opened the door—

“WAAAGHHH!!”

A ghostly sheet figure flung itself from behind the shower curtain with glowing red eyes and a ridiculous high-pitched scream.

Vaggie yelped back—and then immediately punched the ghost in the stomach.

“OOF!”

The sheet dropped to reveal Angel Dust, doubled over, wearing LED glasses and a glowing pacifier necklace. “FUCK—okay, maybe that one was too early in the day,” he wheezed.

Vaggie grabbed the towel rack to steady herself, heart racing, face flushed with fury. “You—you absolute—TERRORIST! I am going to lock you in the laundry room!”

Angel pointed at her, still wheezing, “Worth it. That yelp was like a banshee stepping on a LEGO.”

Charlie peeked her head around the hallway. “Angel!!” she scolded.

“I’m fine!” he called, limping slightly as he dragged himself out. “Birthday tradition!”

Charlie looked at Vaggie, then at Angel, then sighed deeply. “Just… at least let her finish breakfast in peace?”

Angel held up both arms, grinning. “No promises!”

Vaggie stormed out of the bathroom, face still pink, eyes narrowed. “He’s going to die today. I swear it.”

Charlie chuckled nervously, wrapping an arm around her. “Let’s just get you back to the table. I still haven’t brought out the cake.”

Vaggie muttered, “If there’s glitter inside it, I’m flipping the hotel.”



After breakfast and a stroll through a few gifts, Charlie finally brought out her homemade birthday cake.

It was simple, elegant, and clearly made with care—two tiers of vanilla and cinnamon sponge with hand-piped frosting shaped like tiny roses and heart details in red and gold. The top read “¡Feliz Cumpleaños, Vaggie!” in soft script, with a little fondant sword plunged into the side as a joke.

Vaggie stared at it with a warm smile, arms crossed as she tried not to get emotional. “Charlie… you made this?”

Charlie nodded eagerly, blushing a little. “All by myself. Well, Niffty helped, but I made the frosting roses!”

“It's beautiful,” Vaggie said, pulling her close and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “You're the best thing that's happened to me.”

Charlie beamed, eyes shining. “Make a wish.”

Vaggie leaned forward, closed her eyes, and blew out the candles with a soft breath.

Everyone in the room—Charlie, Husk, Cherri Bomb, Sir Pentious, Niffty, and even a weirdly well-behaved Angel—clapped politely. Vaggie sat down as Charlie started slicing up the cake and serving pieces to everyone.

They laughed, they shared bites, Vaggie even let Charlie smear a little frosting on her cheek and licked it off dramatically just to tease her, causing Charlie to turn cherry red.

It was… perfect.

Too perfect.

Because the moment Vaggie stood up and turned to grab another napkin—

“SURPRIIIIIISEEEE!!!”

A second cake—a store-bought monstrosity with neon blue icing and rainbow sprinkles—exploded against her face. Her head jerked back slightly from the impact, and the room went silent.

Vaggie stood frozen, frosting dripping from her nose and chin, mouth open.

Angel Dust stood behind her, both hands still out like a magician finishing his final trick, grinning like the devil he was.

“Double cake day, baby! I figured one for the mouth, one for the soul.”

Everyone gasped. Charlie was frozen with a fork halfway to her mouth. Husk muttered, “Oh shit,” and casually pushed his chair back.

Vaggie slowly turned around, fists clenched, eyes twitching. “Angel…”

Angel took a step back. “Okay, okay! Before you murder me—just know—I baked it myself! Well, technically stole it, but the thought counts, right?”

Charlie stood up quickly, wiping her hands. “Vaggie—deep breaths. Remember your wish?”

“My wish was for ten minutes without him ruining something!” she shouted.

“I thought that was your last birthday wish,” Angel said, smirking.

Then she lunged.

Angel yelped and bolted, slipping on frosting as he made a run for it. “ABORT! ABORT! SPIDER DOWN!”

Charlie sighed with a little confused smile as Vaggie chased him down the hall, threatening him in rapid-fire Spanish.

From the kitchen, Niffty peeked out with a mop. “Should I even bother?”

Husk grunted. “Nope.”

***

The sun had set, casting a warm orange glow over the Happy Hotel’s rooftop garden. It was Vaggie’s birthday evening, and the chaos of Angel’s pranks had finally died down.

Charlie had snuck Vaggie away to this quiet spot—just the two of them, string lights glowing softly above, a small table set with candles and two slices of the untouched second cake. The city below buzzed faintly, but up here it felt like their own little world.

Charlie leaned forward across the table, eyes warm. “Happy birthday, Vaggie. I hope—despite everything—you had a good day.”

Vaggie sighed, brushing some glitter from her sleeve with a smirk. “It’s been… chaotic. But you made it worth it.”

Charlie smiled shyly, inching closer. “Well, I’ve still got one more gift for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Vaggie raised an eyebrow, curious.

Charlie leaned in slowly, fingers gently brushing Vaggie’s hand. “Yeah,” she whispered. “A really, really… soft one.”

Vaggie felt her heart flutter. Their eyes met. Inches apart. The moment felt slow, sweet, electric.

Then—

“BOO, LESBOS!”

A loud, echoing screech shattered the air, followed by the blare of a foghorn and a pop of confetti from behind a bush.

“GAH!!” Charlie yelped, nearly falling back in her chair.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vaggie jumped so hard she knocked over the candle.

From the other side of a potted plant, Angel Dust leapt up wearing a sparkly party hat, holding a foghorn in one hand and a cardboard ghost mask in the other.

“GOTCHA!” he cackled. “I knew I’d interrupt something spicy up here!”

Vaggie launched her fork at him. He ducked, still laughing.

Charlie’s face was burning red. “A-Angel!”

“I just wanted to say Happy Birthday– again– to my favorite angel!” he giggled, dodging another fork. “What? No thank-you for the mood lighting?”

Vaggie stood up, fists clenched. “I swear to Lucifer, if you don’t leave in the next five seconds, you’ll be getting another birthday gift—and it’s my foot.”

Angel held up both hands. “Okay, okay, I’m goin’! Sheesh. Lovers these days. No sense of humor.”

He turned to Charlie with a grin. “Call me when you wanna spice things up with ghost noises, princess.”

Charlie covered her face with both hands, blushing hard.

As Angel retreated back inside, humming to himself, the rooftop fell silent again—except for Vaggie’s low growl and Charlie’s quiet giggle.

“Well,” Vaggie muttered, smoothing her skirt, “where were we?”

Charlie leaned back in, laughter still in her eyes. “Right before you were about to kiss your girlfriend.”

Vaggie smirked. “Sounds like the best way to end a birthday.”

Then she kissed her.

Chapter Text

Angel Dust had gotten a little too comfortable in his reign of prank terror. For months, he’d played tricks, set traps, and caused general chaos—especially for Vaggie. But what Angel didn’t realize was that his favorite target had been plotting.

And finally, Vaggie had had enough.

It started small.

The first morning, Angel stepped into the hallway, bleary-eyed and stretching, only for a shrieking demon face to drop from the ceiling, dangling by a string.

“GAH—WHAT THE—?!”

He flailed backward so hard he knocked over a plant stand. From around the corner, Vaggie silently pumped her fist, then walked away like nothing happened.

The next day, Angel opened his closet and was met with an airhorn duct-taped inside. The blaring honk practically launched him out of his own heels.

He hissed and clutched his chest. “I think my soul just did a backflip!”

He swore he heard giggling outside the door, but when he opened it—no one.

Then came the classic mirror scare. Angel walked into the bathroom one morning and jumped back with a gasp when he saw a figure behind him in the mirror. He whipped around—no one there. Just a cardboard cutout of Vaggie, taped to the back of the bathroom door.

“Okay… that one? That one was good,” Angel muttered, a mix of panic and admiration. “She’s learning.”

Meanwhile, Vaggie sat in the lounge, sipping coffee with a sly smirk on her lips. Charlie blinked beside her.

“You’ve been…really cheerful lately,” Charlie noted, raising an eyebrow.

Vaggie took another sip. “Just...enjoying the quiet.”

From upstairs, they heard Angel screech:

“WHO FILLED MY PILLOW WITH RICE?!”

Vaggie didn’t even flinch.

Charlie looked confused darting towards Angel’s room. “Um Angel? Are you okay?”

***

Angel had been walking around all morning with a swagger in his step, bragging that Vaggie’s scare pranks were “cute, but weak.” He even started calling her “Pranky Pants” like it was some kind of insult.

Vaggie just smiled.

“Hey, Angel,” she said sweetly, stepping into the kitchen where he was lazily lounging against the counter. “Wanna try a real challenge?”

Angel raised a brow. “You tryin’ to out-prank the Prank King? Bold of you, Vaggie.”

She held up a pristine white egg between her fingers. “Bet you can’t hold this egg in your mouth without cracking it.”

Angel blinked. “Uh, what?”

“C’mon,” she teased. “Unless you’re scared.”

“Pfft, please. I’ve done way worse with things in my mouth.” He grabbed the egg and grinned as he carefully placed it between his teeth, holding it gingerly like a gentleman with a pearl.

Vaggie leaned in, pretending to inspect it.

“Looks like you got it in pretty good,” she said.

He mumbled around the egg, “See? Easy—”

With zero warning, Vaggie delivered a light but sharp bop to his jaw with the heel of her palm.

CRACK.

The egg exploded in Angel’s mouth with a horrible squelch. His eyes bulged as yolk and bits of shell oozed from his lips like some demonic slime. He let out a choked gurgle, spitting the mess into the sink as he wheezed.

“WHAT THE HELL?! I SWALLOWED HALF THE SHELL—IT’S LIKE A CRUNCHY OMELETTE IN THERE!”

Vaggie was already doubled over with laughter, nearly crying. “You should’ve seen your face!”

Charlie poked her head into the kitchen, blinking at the scene: Angel covered in egg goo, Vaggie wiping tears from her eye, and yolk dripping down the counter.

“…Do I even want to ask?” Charlie said carefully.

Angel pointed at Vaggie, still gagging. “SHE’S A MONSTER.”

Vaggie smirked. “Monster? Please. You’re the one who glitter-bombed my shampoo.”

Angel wiped his mouth with a towel and narrowed his eyes. “Alright, Vagina. Gloves off. You started a war.”

“Correction,” Vaggie said with a wink, “I ended round one.”

Charlie just slowly backed out of the room.

***

Angel was standing by the edge of the lake, squinting into the sunlight and trying to pose like a model for the perfect shot. Charlie was fiddling with the camera while Vaggie stood nearby, watching a few birds fly by.

“Okay, Angel, I think you need to move a little—backwards. Yeah, just a few steps,” Vaggie said, flashing her sweetest smile.

Angel raised an eyebrow but trusted her. “Alright, but not too far—I don’t wanna end up in the water.”

“Just five steps, promise,” Vaggie said, biting back a grin.

Angel took a step back. Then another. Vaggie’s smile stretched a little wider.

“Almost there! One more step and you’ll be perfect.”

He took that step—and suddenly his foot slipped on a slick patch of mud hidden beneath the grass.

Before he could catch himself, Angel toppled backward, arms flailing, and he landed right in the chilly lake with a loud splash.

He sputtered and gasped, water dripping from his horns and hair. Vaggie laughed, hands on her hips.

“Next time, maybe don’t trust me with directions,” she teased.

Angel wiped water from his face, glaring but unable to suppress a smirk. “Okay, you got me. But you’re paying for this.”

***

Angel was deep in dreamland, probably dreaming about glitter explosions or some wild prank victory, when suddenly—THUD!

He shot up, heart pounding.

“WHAT?!” he whispered fiercely, eyes darting around the dark room.

Before he could get fully awake, Vaggie’s voice came crackling through the shadows like a war general.

“Angel! The Hotel is under attack! Get up, get up! We need to defend it!”

Angel scrambled out of bed, stumbling over his own feet, adrenaline surging. “Attack?! What kind of attack?! Are the flaming chainsaws back?!”

Vaggie grabbed a flashlight and waved it wildly, casting spooky shadows on the walls.

“There are invaders! Ghosts! Demons! Who knows?! We have to prepare—grab your weapons!”

Angel threw open his closet, trying to find anything—anything—that could be a weapon. He found a broom and a baseball bat, wielding them like a warrior ready for battle.

He peeked out the window, eyes wide, but saw nothing but the quiet, moonlit garden.

“Where are they?” he hissed, ready to defend his home.

Vaggie grinned mischievously from the doorway, barely holding back her laughter.

“Right here,” she whispered, suddenly popping out with a loud BOO!

Angel screamed, almost dropping his weapons. His heart was racing, face flushed.

“Vaggie! You little—” he gasped, but a smile broke through his shock.

“Gotcha!” she said.

“Oh, fuck you!”

***

Vaggie smirked to herself as she carefully placed the first fake spider on the edge of Angel’s favorite armchair in the lounge. It was a big, creepy-looking thing—too big to ignore.

She knew Angel’s one real weak spot: spiders. The annoying guy always freaked out the second he saw one, no matter how harmless.

The next day, Angel came strolling into the lounge, humming to himself, and plopped down in the chair.

“Hey, what’s—?”

His eyes locked onto the spider dangling just inches from his face. He froze, then jumped up with a yelp, knocking the chair back.

“AGH! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

Vaggie peeked around the corner, barely able to hold back her laughter.

“Relax, Angel,” she called. “It’s just a toy.”

But Angel wasn’t convinced. He flailed his arms and tried to brush it away with a cushion, eyes wide and wild.

Later, Vaggie moved the spider to the kitchen counter—right where Angel usually made his coffee. When Angel came in, he spotted it instantly.

“Nope! Nope! Nope!” he muttered, retreating slowly while keeping his eyes locked on the creepy crawler.

Vaggie was feeling tremendously satisfied, already planning the next spot.

The fake spider soon appeared near Angel’s bedside lamp, on his favorite video game controller, and even perched atop his pile of glitter bombs.

Each time, Angel jumped, yelped, or overreacted spectacularly.

Vaggie leaned back, enjoying her handiwork. “Who knew? A little plastic spider could be such a perfect weapon.”

Angel shot her a mock glare but couldn’t help chuckling. “Okay, okay, you got me good. Now get that ugly thing away from me!”

***

Angel was lounging in his room, scrolling through his phone and plotting his next prank on Vaggie, when the doorbell rang.

“Hmm, who’s that now?” he muttered, getting up to check.

He opened the door to find a delivery person holding a huge box.

“Delivery for Angel Dust,” they said, handing over the package with a smile.

Angel frowned. “I didn’t order anything.”

Shrugging it off, he closed the door and went back to his room. But then— ding dong —the doorbell rang again.

And again.

And again.

Soon, after several rounds, Angel’s door was nearly buried under a pile of packages. There were boxes of snacks, mystery gadgets, giant inflatable flamingos, and even a huge teddy bear.

Angel stared, wide-eyed. “What the fuck is going on?!”

Vaggie appeared in the doorway, trying to hide her grin.

“Looks like you got some surprise gifts!” she teased. “Maybe you should check what you ‘ordered.’”

Angel ripped open one of the boxes. Inside was a ridiculously oversized foam finger that said “World’s Prankster #1.”

“Vagina, I’ll be coming for you….”

***

Angel was in a rush to get ready for his walk with Husk and Charlie. Angel stepped into the shower, humming to himself, as he grabbed the soap from the bathroom sink. He started to wash himself.

As soon as the suds started to cover his body, Angel noticed something strange.

He looked down at his hands, then up at his arms — bright, electric blue!

“What the—?!” Angel yelped, slipping slightly on the wet floor.

He glanced at the shower wall, watching in disbelief as the blue color spread over his chest, his legs... his entire body.

“Vaggie! You did not just do this!”

He tried to rinse the color off with water, but it wasn’t coming off.

Angel peeked out the shower curtain nervously, hoping no one was around.

Just then, Charlie knocked softly on the bathroom door.

“Angel? You ready? Husk and I are waiting for our walk.”

Angel groaned and wrapped a towel around his waist, his skin still bright blue and dripping wet.

“Uh, yeah... just give me a minute.”

Charlie peeked inside, eyes widening.

“Oh wow… that’s a bold new look.”

Angel wrapped the towel tighter around himself, glaring at the blue tint still clinging stubbornly to his skin. He sighed, frustration bubbling up.

“What will Husk think when he sees me like this?” Angel muttered, voice tinged with embarrassment.

Charlie stepped closer, smiling gently. “Honestly, Husk probably won’t even notice. And if he does, he’ll think it’s hilarious.”

Angel frowned, not convinced. “I don’t want to be the weird blue guy on our walk.”

Charlie chuckled softly and gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Angel, Husk likes you for you—blue skin or not. Besides, this will make for a great story later.”

Angel let out a reluctant laugh, the tension easing a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll be out there soon with you guys.”

***

One afternoon, Vaggie grew tired of Angel’s constant fear and complaints about the spider lurking somewhere in his room, she enlisted Niffty’s help.

“Niffty, I need you to check Angel’s room and get that spider out. Please be careful!” Vaggie instructed. “We all know how Charlie reacts if we accidentally kill another spider…”

Niffty’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Got it! I’ll take care of it!” she chirped.

A few minutes later, Vaggie heard footsteps racing down the hallway, followed by Angel bursting out of his door with wide eyes and a panicked expression.

“F-Fat…Fat Nuggets… he’s dead! Someone killed him!” Angel cried, pointing at something on the floor.

Vaggie looked down and saw a strip of bacon lying where the spider had been.

She blinked. “Wait… what?”

Angel’s voice was trembling with grief. “Fat Nuggets—my fat little bacon pet! And now he’s been… squished.”

Vaggie frowned, then bent down to pick up the strip of bacon, realizing what horrible thing Niffty must have done. She marched toward Niffty, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside.

“What the fuck, Niffty?!” she hissed, voice low but sharp. “You were supposed to get the spider out of Angel’s room, not to kill fucking Fat Nuggets the pig!”

Niffty blinked in confusion, then shrugged. “I thought the spider would want a snack. It’s bacon, after all!”

Vaggie’s frustration melted into disbelief. She sighed deeply and turned back toward Angel, who was still visibly shaken.

Vaggie stared at the devastated Angel now spilling tears on the floor. She felt really bad and tried to find the right words to comfort the spider demon. She knew that pig meant so much to him and now he was gone…

“A-Angel…” her voice trembled, filled with guilt. “I’m really sorry about all this. I had no idea Niffty would just be so stupid and do such a thing. I just wanted to help…”

But before she could finish, Angel suddenly burst out laughing.

“Gotcha!” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “Nobody killed Fat Nuggets.”

Vaggie blinked, confused. “Wait. What–?”

Angel called out, “Fat Nuggets! Come here, buddy!”

From around the corner, a little chubby spider—Fat Nuggets himself—scuttled happily toward Angel’s feet.

Vaggie’s mouth dropped open, eye wide. “You actually lied about someone killing him?”

Angel shrugged, still smirking. “Had to keep you on your toes.”

For a moment, Vaggie was speechless. Then, her face flushed red—not with embarrassment, but anger.

“Seriously? You made me worry over a fake death?!” she snapped.

Angel held up his hands defensively. “Hey, it was a good prank, right?”

“Fuck no!” Vaggie huffed, crossing her arms. But the anger slowly faded as she looked at Fat Nuggets playing in Angel Dust’s lap. “That was kinda fucked up…”

“I know.”

“Can we just make peace? I don’t want to break my heart from stress,” Vaggie said.

Angel hummed thoughtfully. “Alright, fine…” Then he added, “Truce… but only for a maximum of one year.”

Vaggie snorted, rolling her eyes. “You are fucking impossible.”

They both laughed, the tension broken—for now.