#discoinfernos

[cherrixbombshell]

❛  you can't erase what happened.  ❜ (from Angel)

"Angie," Cherri blinked a her eye at the other, "I don't want to erase what happened. Sure Val is gonna be pissed at me for punching his dick and stealing you away for a few days, but I'll deal with it. You need a break. I can fend for myself,"

"Just keep your head down when you go back an' apologize real good. Tell him what a bad influence I am."

[devilishdanse]

"Leave me alone." (for Val from Vox)

Random 3 Word Prompts / Accepting

Wings flare. Fury ripples through Valentino in waves, only visible by the clenching of fists and the bearing of teeth. It wasn't the first or only time he's been so bluntly dismissed by Vox before, but for some reason this time stung. He had barely stepped into the room before the three words were uttered with finality.

Val thinks of picking something up to throw, or sweeping his arm across Vox's pretty little desk. He imagines what it would be like to utterly destroy the room and demand his attention. They were supposed to be business partners after all, and to some end, Valentino imagined they were even something akin to friends.

What a fucking joke.

"Fine! Be a dick then! And don't bother calling me when you get a bright idea or some shit!"

He storms out with a snarl, slamming the door behind him. Being in the same building wouldn't suffice. Val needs distance before he completely went off the deep end, and he refused to do it so readily under Vox's watch. Back to his old penthouse in the city limits, then. For a night or two until he cools down. Booze, sex, and his signature smokes would bring him down from the rage. Slowly but surely.

[gcxingsuprnva]

"W-why are you looking at me like that?" (from Alastor)

"Oh, so just because I happen to be looking in your direction, that must mean I'm specifically looking at you?" Exaggerated eye roll. "And they call me the self-absorbed one. Stop acting like you're shitting a brick over it, too. We all know you love the attention. You're like a fucking naughty cat or something."

[gcxingsuprnva]

"I can't- please- I can't-" (from Angel)

"Oh, but I promise you. You can."

It doesn't matter if Angel's pleading causes some small, shriveled part of his gut to twist in some emotion that strays dangerously close to guilt. To remembrance. He's proven far too useful as a pawn for Vox to relinquish his hold now. Once he gets his claws into something, he sinks them all the way down to the bone, and thus there's no way for the useless little bitch to be free of him now. Not without leaving permanent marks. Besides, at least this way he has some fucking use, instead of being nothing more than a convenient hole to stick things in. Val can whine and bitch about it all he fucking wants, but at the end of the day, Vox is molding and shaping him better than the porn studio ever could. He's going to make sure Angel goes down in history, if only because of the trail of ruin he leaves behind him.

(Besides, why would Angel ever want to leave this behind? Deep down, he likes being used and abused. Vox can practically see it written all over his stupid, simpering face.)

"All you have to do is keep looking at me," he practically purrs out, the reverb entering his voice as he lets one eye lapse into its lazy, hypnotic spiral, as he cradles Angel's face in some twisted, perverted version of intimacy. "Just keep looking at me, and don't worry about a thing. You're not even going to remember this come morning."

Really, it's only thanks to Val that he's not making the mindwipe thorough enough to leave Angel a drooling, barely coherent mess permanently. The useless whore should really be thanking him for that much.

"Any weaknesses the Princess has, I want to know. Tell me in detail. Don't leave anything out."

That hypnotic spiral is practically taking up Angel's entire vision now. Obey. Obey, and it will be easier. It won't hurt as much. You want to obey. You CRAVE obedience. JUST GIVE IN.

[starpotentia1]

❛ Not everyone is going to hurt you. ❜ (from Emily!)

NOW PLAYING ... MISPLACED COMFORT, ft. @discoinfernos

" maybe not where you're from. " and maybe not everyone, but anyone. you don't survive long in hell without learning that lesson; odile's still paying the price for her own shitty lapse in judgement there. but hey, how could she possibly expect one of heaven's finest to understand that? " any other life-changing advice you wanna share, or are we done here? "

[sinnersmarch-a]

that moment when you realize you were moots with one of your mutual buds 13-14 years ago on different blogs too. wow.

[a-hell-of-a-time]

“you okay?” (for Vassago from Stolas)

Upon hearing Stolas's voice, Vassago picked his head up from the desk to give him a warm smile. "Of course! Just got caught up in work, is all." Never mind the fact that he had been forsaking sleep in favour of trying to see through whatever bullshit Andrealphus had presented to the court all those months ago.

[angie-long-legs]

"You don't achieve anything by hating yourself." (from Alastor)

There was an uncomfortable quality to Alastor that always made Angel feel as though the man could see right into his soul. Not in the way that the owner of said soul presented it to the world - the sex fantasy that he sold to whoever brought the biggest buck. No, Alastor looked at Angel with something uncomfortably real that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was it pity? Disgust? Judgement? What did Alastor see in Angel that made him feel quite so painfully visible?

The answer came in the form of back-handed advice.

"Hatin' myself?" the spider slurred, swiveling on his bar stool to face his sudden company and lurching slightly to the side before catching himself on the bar top. Shit, maybe spending the night alone at the hotel bar with nothing but a bottle of whiskey for company wasn't the wise idea it felt like when he had come home from work feeling fucked up and furious.

"The fuck makes you think I hate myself?" spat the drunk, battered porn star, not quite quick-witted enough to recognise that his current state of being was a fitting answer to his own a question. A question that he hoped Alastor would realise was strictly rhetorical.

"An' where do you get off tellin' me what to do?"