#my toxic trait is that i see two people who are thematic foils and i want them to amooch immediately

[the-stage-manager]

This is brilliant! But can I make a suggestion? Hear me out: Angel, as a mafioso, had to be in control of *everything* and the stakes were always *high*—he was expected to act a certain way, tough and cold and masculine. And just think of how fucking *toxic* masculinity was in the 30s—repressing every emotion that isn't anger, being stoic and stern, hiding any flaw or weakness, constantly being in control of your image and your wife and your kids. Not to mention he was part of the *Mafia* and that adds an amount of pressure to never make mistakes—you could alert the law, you could be killed and made an example of. Angel knew that the way he felt about men was *illegal*, let alone bizarre. Can you imagine an openly gay man in the Mafia? Ha! They'd be shot! And if anybody ever found out he liked to try on Molly's dresses, they would've hung him by his intestines. Back then, marrying young was expected. I wonder if Angel was married to a pretty girl, just to keep up appearances? Washing away the disgust with PCP?

Meanwhile, Vox has *never* been in control. If he was middle aged in the 50s, I guarantee he was a WWII veteran. Those vets saw unimaginable shit—they witnessed the concentration camps, the devastation of Europe, the dropping of the Bombs. Then, when the vets came home, they were expected to seamlessly reintegrate into civilian life without a peep. It fucked up an entire generation of people—I bet it fucked up Vox too. He lost his youth to a war and his adult life to a shitty office job. I bet he married a girl he liked but who couldn't understand the horrors of what he had witnessed overseas. Maybe he had a baby who reminded him a little too much of the starved little faces he saw in the streets of France or Poland, whose screams reminded him a little too much of combat. Maybe the one time he lost control, he scared his wife a little too much, and he never saw her or the baby again. Maybe he blew his brains while watching TV, surrounded by bottles of liquor.

I like to imagine they were drawn to each other by a shared love of movies: they were nostalgic to Angel. Some of the best times of his life were when his mother dressed them up and took them to a night at the theater, before he matured into the crushing weight of his heritage. Vox loved movies too. Specifically, cowboy westerns, stories of powerful, handsome men who saved the day—men who were important, who were revered.

Maybe they meet accidentally at a shitty theater, and they strike up an accidental friendship bitching about how shitty the movie is. Maybe Vox tells Angel about Marilyn Monroe, of the movie-star culture of the 50s, of the glitz and glamore. Maybe they get a drink together, chatting about life and death and hell and religion and all the shitty things they did in life. Maybe they bond over their wives? Maybe Angel admits he never loved his girl, she repulsed him.

"Oh, so you're a friend of Dorothy's," Vox asked casually.

"A what?" Angel demanded. He'd never heard the phrase but had a feeling he knew what it meant.

"A homosexual. You like fellas. Christ, Angel, you don't have to act all offended, we're in hell. What am I gonna do, damn you?" Vox snorted. He'd considered himself a "Good Christian man" in life, but he'd been dead long enough to know there was no point in clutching pearls. Then, he said something he hadn't planned on saying, something he'd never told anyone before "I buggered some British jackass I mean overseas,"

Angel's eyes widened, and Vox's did too, anticipating... Well, shit. What was he expecting from the admittedly queer mafioso? Certainly not peals of laughter, but that's what he got.

pre-valentino mafioso angel meeting little sepia beta vox in the fifties, rapidly realizing that this guy has been bottling up all of his worst impulses his entire life AND afterlife because no one has ever respected him or taken him seriously, which angel understands intimately, and just being like "are you tired of being nice? don't you just wanna go apeshit?" and lets vox just go full-on looney tunes cartoon violence on angel's shitty family.

the buddy-comedy (and angst) potential of these two is so strong. angel not begrudging vox his upgrades because he knows how dehumanizing it is to not be recognized as the threat that you are; angel who was given the form of a spider but has never stopped being treated like the fly; derided for being gay and gnc in the thirties and just solving all of his problems with a gun because it's easier than addressing his self-worth issues.

enter vox. who's never been able to be anything but a boring middle-aged guy at a white collar office job bc his ambitions were never given the space or support to be able to thrive. gradually building up huge amounts of resentment & repressed cruelty that he couldn't ever vent & then dying & going to hell & being a little cartoon. doomed to an eternity of never ever being anyone or doing anything important because he STILL exists only for everyone else to demean and ignore and dismiss. but now it's worse bc his survival depends on his entertainment value. imagining the relief of meeting angel & seeing his own fury & sadistic desperation reflected there. absolutely LEAPING at the chance to slaughter angel's abusive mafia family with him. and thus a beautiful doomed friendship was born.

doomed, because, well... a few decades later, they're both going to meet someone who makes them feel uniquely valued. respected. seen. and only one of them is going to make it out of that situation with their autonomy intact, because the thing vox has always wanted most is to be on top, by any means necessary - but all angel has ever wanted is to not be alone.