#heavenom

[discoinfernos]

@heavenom

  the worst part is that Valentino had warned him not to go out. Vox's rampage had done more than lose him popularity, it had made him plenty of enemies. people who lost homes, loved ones, people who wanted revenge. Vox had brushed off the warnings — who would dare to fuck with him? even in his diminished state, his power was greater than that of most sinners ; he could take on any loser who'd dare try to go toe to toe with him & remind them that he was still an Overlord.

  but he hadn't been expecting random nobodies to be packing angelic weaponry. he'd be having words with Carmine . . . how the fuck was she letting random sinners get their hands on her shit? oh, he'd found the assailant the second after the shot rang out, tore him apart with industrial wire as a reminder to all standers-by of who he was.

  it wasn't until he was several blocks on his way back to the tower that he realized the white-hot burning of the bullet lodged in his torso was because of its angelic origin, that he wasn't going to be just regenerating from this. he managed to make his way back to his own bathroom, unbeknownst to him leaving a conspicuous trail of blood in his wake, before finally collapsing against the counter, fighting for breath.

  that's where he is now, coughing, feeling an ominous flagging of strength. Vox's vision blurs, glitching around the edges, his body alight with fire. he throws off his coat and presses a hand to the bleeding wound, eliciting a new flare of pain, static frying his vision. razor teeth grit, he braces himself with his other hand against the porcelain of the sink.

  when he hears the click of a door, he starts, wincing as the action jars him. fuck, he'd swear he locked the bedroom door behind him. he must have been too out of it. but who the hell would even come looking for him these days?

  he glances up to the mirror and sees the face of the intruder swimming in the reflection. of course . . . ❛❛ Angel. ❜❜

  Vox staggers to the doorway separating the bathroom from the bedroom and leans heavily against it, panting, trying to train his eyes on the other demon. but it's difficult when the edges of his vision keep blackening like a vignette. the arm across his body clutching his side blocks the wound from view, but not the alarming spread of crimson across his shirt.

  ❛❛ what are you . . . doing here ? ❜❜

[polaroidxcamera]

📐 + 8’6” ♡

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐗: 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐒

Send 📐 + your character's height to compare with one or more of mine!

|| Roi looks so teeny next to Angel omg ||

@heavenom

[hclluvahctel]

Me when the cute reply I write gets potentially turned into mANIPULATION

[anviled]

😊 : a blog that always makes you smile

rpc positivity meme

@heavenom i always find myself eager to see what eli posts, whether it’s ooc, headcanons, or threads. i’m here for all of it. they’re such a fun person to talk to and their portrayal of angel is so well thought out. the care and love put into him is obvious and i think that’s what makes me smile the most, when you can really see that love for a character shine through in a portrayal.

[kakodaimones]

@heavenom said: i can put a colla an’ leash on you an’ chain you to a tree

"Don't act like you're in charge here."

[discoinfernos]

i just realized i sent this to @heavenom but forgot to actually post it here!! anyway, staticdust aquarium date ♡ (progress images under cut)

[discoinfernos]

@heavenom cont.

Vox has become a mere shell of himself, aimlessly wandering halls he once strutted down commandingly. turning his head away when he encountered someone else, when once even a glance from him was enough to strike fear into any who encountered him. it's pathetic . . . he knows he's pathetic. he's wallowing. but he's not really sure what else he can do.

and to top it all off, Angel Dust is back in the tower. Vox supposes he only has himself to blame for that one, though when he lured him back through hypnosis he was merely imagining Angel would be another trophy with which to entertain himself once he ruled all creation. that part hadn't worked out so well. he certainly hadn't imagined Angel would stick around of his own volition. surely he'd be eager to run back home to his stupid fucking hotel with that princess cunt and fucking Alastor.

so when he sees him in that outfit, something in Vox snaps. two worlds, two versions of him, two lives lived suddenly eclipse and all he can see is Anthony — Angel, his Angel. the one he had and lost all those years ago, in another life. so he snaps, ❝ don’t wear that outfit again, ❞ and it's really a desperate plea wrapped in cruel shrapnel. and he expected it to be left at that. except, Angel snaps back, of course, he always has to get his fucking two cents in. that grating voice that is so achingly familiar.

Vox wonders if he should retaliate or just walk away — he's so tired these days. he's opening his mouth to retort when Angel hits him with. That.

and the world implodes.

Vox swears he can actually feel the surge of electricity, like a wire has just snapped, like a record scratch in his brain. he must have heard wrong, must be hallucinating, must be having some sort of psychotic break after everything. because there's no way Angel knows. Angel . . . knew? for how long? all this time??

❝ what — ❞ Vox's display glitches, his voice distorted with TV fuzz. ❝ what the fuck did you just say ?? ❞

[discoinfernos]

@heavenom

Vox inhales deeply, air whirring through his vent gills. he lays on his back in bed, Angel in his arms, bodies sweaty and contented from hours of lovemaking (Angel is still as insatiable as ever). one hand plays mindlessly with his lover's fingers, secretly thrilling at the size difference of their hands. his had always been bigger than Angel's, even when they were alive, but now they dwarf them, all deep indigo and sharp cyan against dainty pink and white.

this is often their routine after they've slept together. after Vox, panting, suspended breathlessly above Angel, murmurs compliments and thanks between affectionate kisses, and they separate but do not disentangle themselves from each other, and Angel holds him, and tells him how good he was. they will linger like this as long as possible, just holding each other, or talking, or falling into slumber.

it had been this way when they were alive, too. it's astonishing, really, how many things are the same. they've fallen back into their rhythm so organically, like the rest of their time in hell had been nothing more than a bad dream.

it hadn't been a bad dream, though. it was all terribly real, and there is still so much left unsaid and unatoned for. so much that weighs heavily on Vox's heart, even as he thrills and marvels at the fact that Angel is finally back in his arms. one of these thoughts is buzzing in the forefront of his mind right now, like a cable that hasn't been correctly grounded.

he fears that if he doesn't voice it now, in the quiet comfort of their shared intimacy, he'll never find the nerve again.

❛❛ you know, it's kind of unfair, ❜❜ Vox comments, trying to keep his tone light, as if it has only just occurred to him. his voice remains low, though, like he's a little afraid of breaking the silence of the room. ❛❛ there's still so much I don't know about what . . . happened to you. ❜❜ he lapses into silence for a moment more, like he’s waiting for Angel to say something, then continues, ❛❛ I'd imagine my death was pretty publicized, but I have no idea what happened after. for a long time, I thought you must have still been alive ; that you'd moved on, and were living happily somewhere above. when I found out you'd followed after so quickly — ❜❜ 

Vox isn't sure he has words for that feeling. it was a strange sort of grief ; even as he was busy forcing himself to hate and resent Angel for moving on, there had been a sort of comfort to knowing that he was living a long and happy life in his absence. it was no less than Angel deserved. but it hadn't been the truth. to know that Angel had been in Hell nearly as long as he had, and had never come looking for him . . . the memory twists something ugly and hurt inside Vox, and he tries to shove it aside.

❛❛ I don't even really know how you — died. ❜❜ his voice hitches on the last word like he's choking on it. it's a word, a concept he is beyond familiar, even comfortable with. but when applied to Angel, it seems to take on its mortal significance again. it’s painful to consider, but hasn’t stopped haunting him.