#toxicamour

munday asks!!!

what are your honest thought about your muse’s canon?

i've answered this one here, but i will happily say i enjoy my own canon backstory for angel / other angels backstory's they've formed, so i'm very wary of anything thats to come...

do you have ship bias?

see, when i first started writing him i would say yes. i had a huge bias towards alastor - mostly because of dynamics explored through the fandom between the pilot and the show, even if i didn't have an alastor i felt comfortable shipping with at the start. now i just have huge bias for angel x being happy and learning how to be healthy in a relationship

what are your favorite RP tropes to play? (angst, hurt-comfort, etc…)

that being said.... angst and comfort are always a huge love of mine to explore. i tend to write darker, more triggering content on discord with those i feel comfortable discussing and exploring the darker side of it all, but i will never turn down the chance for angst and to hurt angel

Continued for @toxicamour

Angel is looking up from his phone, resisting the urge to roll his eyes - that would just make things worse. And when they were confined to the tight space of the limo, that was the last thing he wanted. Not when the only possible escape was jumping out of a moving vehicle, and wow he absolutely could and had in his life, he didn't want to ruin his dress.

Eye roll may have been reserved, but it didn't stop the peel of lip back in a slightly aggravated sneer, huffing and shoving said phone into his fluff for safe keeping. "How th' fuck am ah' makin' it 'bout someone else? God forbid ah'm happy 'bout my win and want t' let my friends know." That was it. That was literally it. Yet here they were.

"Sent like...one damn text, Val. Took me less than a minute, and yeh' gettin' all - " He's gesturing to the pimp, and the attitude the man seemed to be throwing. Angel hated that it was ruining his own mood. The high of actually feeling successful as an actor. (Not that he didn't already know that, but this time...this time it had cut it close).

"Can't yeh' just be happy f' me too? Fuck and if yeh' ain't happy f' me, be happy f' yeh' studio and VoxTek or whateva'. Anotha' win f' yeh'. Yippee."

Lute’s entry into Heaven [ & later corruption ] hinges on her being both a creation of Heaven & a casualty to its system. She was never admitted by merit, by genuine redemption; she was manufactured for it. Whether as the Edenic Eve revived in Heaven post-Fall, or as a construct forged from Adam’s remains post-ascension, her purity was, essentially, artificial — engineered to serve divine order, yet doomed from the start; the moment perfection is broken, what’s made from it can only inherit its absence. Her “worthiness” was deemed more than sufficient when she pleaded & begged to Heaven [ on her deathbed ] for atonement, to spare his soul at the cost of hers if needed, to be made useful in His service once more. She proved her resolve in her loyalty to her husband [ Adam ]. Heaven answered [ or rather, its system I should say ] & what she was granted was refinement — conditional redemption rooted in function,

Her acceptance may have been eased by her creation. Though drawn from Adam’s rib, she was crafted by Archangel Michael’s own hand — his precision, his will, his blade, his touch. When she was later permitted ascension, that same rib was bathed in his ichor, a divine safeguard meant to both preserve her purity & restrain her corruption. The act tethered her essence to him in ways neither fully understood; her body carries traces of his light, her spirit marked by his signature [ she’s on his leash, essentially, so Heaven’s leash ] If this truth is known at all, it is not spoken. Whether it was mercy, insurance, or simple design, no one can say; Lute exists as both creation & containment; sanctified by the very safeguard meant to keep her from ever turning against it,

Her faith was genuine, though carefully shaped; devotion was not forced upon her so much as cultivated within her. After her ascension, the terms [ to remain in Heaven ] were set by the Speaker herself & enacted by Sera, who oversaw every detail of her rebirth: she would not speak her old name [ Eve ], she would not reveal herself to Adam, she would not claim the title of Mother. Her existence was to be silent service, her atonement measured through utility. The process began in the training crucible [ remind me to touch on this sometime but in a nutshell, she was killed over & over again until she learned combat, ] To achieve perfection, Heaven deemed it necessary to destroy what remained human within her; to purge the rot, the residue of choice,

The irony? What they thought was corruption [ perhaps the rot from the fruit ] was her very essence; it could not be erased, only contained. The ichor sealed the fracture beneath armor & obedience until, in time, her system began to use it instead. She entered Heaven because she followed the system’s design exactly as intended: loyal, penitent, silent — Heaven let her in through the Pearly Gates manually, so to speak. It truly believed it could refine the fracture, strip away the human, & cleanse the rot that had once spread through Eden. In truth, she has always been the rot: Adam’s flaws made flesh, sanctified through Archangel Michael’s craftsmanship & sealed beneath divine ichor. Over time, Heaven’s light itself became the catalyst, forcing her system to metabolize what it could no longer suppress. Heaven’s own process turned her into something it could no longer recognize,

[📺] Of course he was fixated on that small detail. Did it really matter how they got up there? Clearly there had to be a way if the angels could come down here as they pleased. He might not entirely know the how of it, but like he said, semantics!

He let's out a soft sigh, "You are focusing on the wrong thing here. The point is that when we get up there, we're going to rule the place like the Gods we will be! The how -- does it really matter?"

The look he was getting said yes, it definitely mattered. If he had a nose, he'd be pinching the bridge of it right now. "Look, the semantics of getting there are simple," he chuckles, "We know how angels get down here, right? The portals!" The screen behind him changes to show the gaping hole that opened during an extermination. "All we have to do is get an angel to open up a portal for us." His smile was growing dark, the plan forming in his mind as he spoke. "And we happen to have our own angelic figure right here in Hell."

Back on the wagon; back to Valentino. Swept up into his lover's arms, Angel giggled as he was smooched all over and over before catching Val in a deeper, needier kiss. He grinned as he pulled back, his forehead resting against Val's.