#A MILLION WAYS TO BLEED &. YOU ARE MY FAVORITE . . . 𝐕𝐎𝐗

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oooo tags !!

FROM THE PARTED LIPS CRAWL LOCUSTS ﹠ IN THEM MY FILTH IS ETERNAL | 𝐨𝐨𝐜.

I AM A PITCH BLACK SLAUGHTERHOUSE ﹠ THE FLESH MAGGOTS ADORE | 𝐢𝐜.

I WILL CARVE MY WAY INTO THE NARRATIVE WITH MY TEETH ALONE | 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲.

BLESSED BE THE HERETIC SON OF THE TENDERHEARTED DOE | 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬.

THE OLD GAME OF OPEN WOUND ﹠ SACCHARINE DAGGER | 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝.

HOW CAN THEY HEAR THE TRUTH ABOVE THE ROAR ? | 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤.

AND NOT THE WORDS OF ONE WHO KNEELS | 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧.

BUCKSHOT IN TWO LEGS ﹠ A CHAIN AROUND THE MIGHTY THROAT | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬.

TAKE THE NOOSE OFF ﹠ WRAP IT TIGHT AROUND MY HAND | 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

TEETH TO TENDON ﹠ BLOOD TO LUNGS | 𝐝𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬.

EROTICIZE THE GROTESQUE AND UNSIGHTLY | 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰.

THE DOG THAT WEEPS ﹠ THE DOG THAT HOWLS SHADES OF RED | 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬.

ONCE ALIVE &. NOW SOMETHING MYSTIC &. WRETCHED . . . 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊

LIFE HOUSES NO COLOR / AND YET I AM STAINED IN YOURS . . . 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋

SHOULDERS HEAVY WITH FILTH AND SIN / WE ARE ANGELIC . . . 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

A MILLION WAYS TO BLEED &. YOU ARE MY FAVORITE . . . 𝐕𝐎𝐗

HOPE IS NOT A THING DECORATED IN IVORY WINGS . . . 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄

[allstag]

†  *. ༝˚ ↪    @advlox  asked     ;    ❝   🕯️   ❞

𝙰𝙻𝙻   𝙰    𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃   𝙲𝙰𝙽   𝙳𝙾   𝙸𝚂   𝙷𝙰𝚄𝙽𝚃.   (  and  good  lord,  alastor’s  body  was  a  cathedral  full  of  them.  how  curious  /  the  way  they  all  flickered  with  cyan  static  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  like  the  memories  were  creatures  that  could  not  be  caged.  ) vox is     . . .     𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆.  he is decietful. spineless. his arrogance stains his teeth and it gleams when he smiles in that AWFUL FASHION that never really reached his eyes  (  𝐀  𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃  𝐃𝐎𝐆  𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐈𝐓𝐒  𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇   ).  his cologne is too expensive and he layers it on too thick, the scent of white musk worn heavy on his collar. it decorates the fabric of his suit ; too structured, too flashy  -  the type of style that’s so  DESPERATE  TO  PROVE  SOMETHING.  

(  and  yet   ….    )

had someone mentioned the overlord’s name in front of him, alastor might stall a moment. he’d take the name into his mouth, he’d sink his teeth into it, feeling the way it bleeds on his tongue, before swallowing it and keeping it rotten in the very base of his stomach. he would eat the name and the memory like he did every piece of vox. and he would  LAUGH,  the pieces of nostalgia still stuck between his teeth  -  I HAVEN’T THOUGHT ABOUT THAT OLD PICTURE BOX IN DECADES. DON’T TELL ME HE’S STILL AROUND, HA - HA!

𝐕𝐎𝐗  𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒  𝐓𝐎  𝐇𝐈𝐌,  but only in the nothingness of the dark, when the rest of hell sleeps. when exhaustion has carved its name into alastor’s bones  /  VOX  EXISTS  TO  HIM  THEN.  all flesh rots, but memories remain, and alastor supposes that is his eternal punishment above all else. he sees them in flashes of color. a mustard - yellow turtleneck. the charcoal gray of an old television, its screen flickering with cyan and red. he is locked in a moment where they would’ve followed each other anywhere. 

the past beats within him like a second heartbeat. in the night, when the darkness is the only thing that is awake beside him, he finds himself prodding at the memories. his claws pick at old scabs. he supposes they will scar, and he’ll spend another lifetime hiding the scars underneath layers of clothing and false facades.  𝐇𝐄  𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓  𝐈𝐒  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑  𝐃𝐎.

he never thinks of him, not anymore.   (  all  a  ghost  can  do  is  haunt.  )   it’s pathetic that vox still puts so much energy into him, isn’t it? not that he’s surprised.   (  all  a  ghost  can  do  is  haunt.  )   he'd expect nothing more from a man like him.   (  all  a  ghost  can  do  is  haunt.  )