#everything's a business opportunity for vox

[hazbinsponsoredbyvee]

How do the vees celebrate pride month

"Oh, we go all out! Our tower is all lit up in rainbow colors right now, and we have so many great deals on pride merchandise! We have flags, t-shirts, suits, dog toys, you name it! You can trust us to help you show your colors!"

[onetoomanyfandomfixations]

Hazbin Hotel Characters React to You Asking for a Hug (PART 2)

Buckle in bitches, its time for some COMFORT

Lucifer

Guys he’s SO nervous

“Oh really? You, uh, you want a hug from me? Are you sure?”

Nervous laughter 100

Takes a hot minute for him to adjust, but DOES give good hugs

WING HUGS. Y’ALL KNOW HOW I GET ABOUT WING HUGS.

Y’all gotta remember he’s a dad

So good, firm dad hug

His hands are clammy af, but don’t mention that pls

Gives you the opportunity to talk out whatever’s going through your head

Actually has really insightful advice

Like his daughter, honestly so honoured you chose to come to him

Lute

“Must I?”

Begrudging as FUCK

But she’ll do it

If she has to

Stiff, awkward hugs that last for 5 seconds tops

No wing hugs :(

“Human souls are weird”

Tries to teach you how to fight so you can use sparring as a “normal” coping mechanism

Adam

As much as I hate him, would give BANGIN hugs

“Fuck, you wan’ a hug? Fuck yeah bitch, get over here!”

Super enthusiastic about it????

Like, gives you shit, but its still one of the tightest and most excited hugs you’ve ever received

Very very warm

You will probably overheat if you stay there too long

WING HUGS!!!!!!!

Will be extra touchy with you from here on out

Arm around the shoulder, etc

Carmilla

Is she mom, or mommy? Jury’s still out on that one.

Will never ever refuse you if you need a hug

Will, however, try to pull you aside and make it a private moment

Not a big fan on PDA, but your wellbeing takes priority

Makes you rest your head against her chest, no matter how tall you are

If you tell her what’s going on, will fix it

You don’t even need to ask.

She’s gonna check up on you after at LEAST twice

Rosie

Is she mom or mommy part 2: electric boogaloo

Drops EVERYTHING

Ushers you into a sunroom and brews you a pot of tea to share

And grabs snacks, of course

Definitely forgets if cannibalism makes you queasy

Holds you hand from across the table and encourages you to talk it out with her

A lil bit pushy about it, but its from a place of love

But if you need it, will definitely hug you

Another one with bone shattering hugs

Her hands are cold af tho, so beware

Vox

Tbh doesn’t hear you the first time, he’s super focused on whatever else he’s doing

Once he hears you/it registers to him, he’s pretty confused

“Why do you need a hug?”

Only hugs you if y’all are really close

Generally not a touchy person

He won’t stop whatever he’s doing though

Most likely will just sit you in his lap, so he can cuddle And work

Multitasking, bitch

Don’t do it while he’s actively broadcasting though

Super against PDA (bc he’s embarrassed) and will probably snap at you if you break this boundary

Velvette

“Wot. Why?”

Also confused

Like Vox, usually to busy to properly hug you

But will let you stick around and lay all over her while she works

Anyone who questions it dies Very quickly, and Very grotesquely

Very protective

“Babes, do I need to hurt someone? Coz you Know I’ll do it”

Probs takes selfies of you hanging off of her bc she thinks its cute

Will dress you up to try and make you feel better

Valentino

Seek psychological help 💕

I know he’s got a sexy voice, but you know I’m right

[a-hazbin-reader]

how about going on a fancy ball with Alastor? Something like Charlie trying to make the hotel more popular or Lucifer is hosting a ball or something?

Omg the ballroom trope

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being rude??

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor absolutely loves any opportunity to show off and going to a ball is no different

He's going to look the best, dance the best, maybe even steal the stage and sing the best

Then to top it all off, he's going to have the best date there as well

It doesn't matter who's hosting it or who's going to be there, he just knows that with you on his arm there are going to be eyes all over you two

Spends the entire day picking out his outfit then pretending it was just something he threw on last minute

Will then pretend like he's fretting over it in order to get your attention, giving you a loving look when you fix his hair or shirt

As his date, no matter how much work you do or don't put into your look, he'll pretend you're effortlessly just as breathtaking

Makes a big show of entering the building with you, one arm around your waist and the other making dramatic gestures

He's very romantic with it, introducing you proudly to everyone as the two of you mingle

You lose him for a bit when he runs into a few people he recognizes and gets wrapped up in conversation with them

Which is fine, there's plenty of things to do at a ball besides hang out with your date

Like eating good food

Or drinking everything that is offered to you

Or sulking because Alastor is ignoring you

You're downing your third glass of champagne when suddenly Zestial is extending his hand out to you

Well who could say no to dancing with Zestial??

It's very proper and formal, a little difficult to keep up with but Zestial makes you look so elegant

Somehow, you end up dancing with Carmilla next, who puts your physical prowess to the test and leaves your legs shaking

You end up with a much more familiar face next time in Rosie, the lovely woman giving you a break with a gentle dance

And all your dance partners are overlords?? Not even Charlie or Vaggie can seem to get a dance in with you

You're so busy trying to keep up with the next overlord that you don't even notice the game of keep away they seem to be playing with Alastor

"Alastor! Show a girl a good time won't you?"

"Now Rosie, as much as I would love to-"

"The song is starting! Let's dance!"

He looks away for one second and the next thing he knows you're being passed around like an appetizer

He's struggling to get to you without making a scene, practically tossing aside dance partners when it's time to switch

"Alastor!!!"

"I sincerely apologize, Vaggie my dear, but I must get back to my date~!"

But somehow someone beats him to you, his ears folding back and eye twitching at the sight of you dancing with Vox

You look nearly bored and unimpressed, hardly enjoying yourself at all as Vox talks your ear off

Well that's just not right

Seems like Alastor just needs to get you a better dance partner

All his manners and grace are suddenly gone, literally bumping Vox off the dance floor and taking his place

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

You at least have the decency to look a little shocked by Alastor's actions, immediately closing the distance between the two of you to dance with him

"So sorry about that, darling! I was a bit busy but I hope you saved a few dances for me!"

What a sweet man you have

He literally hogs you for the rest of the ball, refusing to let you dance with anyone else or even letting go of you

Don't think about how attractive it is when he digs his claws into your hips whenever someone else tries to dance with you

You spend all night either hanging on his arm or with your arms wrapped around his neck

Not that you care, you like being the center of his attention and being so close to him

Alastor definitely tries to play with you a little bit during some of the dances though, whatever he can do to fluster you

Has dipped and kissed you under a spotlight at least twice already

But you can always get him back, dancing is one of the few times his guard is down enough for you to fluster him back

Watch his ears stick up straight if you take the lead in the dance and his cheeks will flush ever so slightly

You hardly look away from each other all night, it's quite romantic and a little embarrassing for any bystanders

At one point, Alastor takes the stage and sings some horribly romantic song while dancing with you, making sure everyone sees who you're here with

Zestial and Carmilla are paying off Rosie in the background, having lost their bets to her

"I told you that Alastor would break after Vox!"

This one was so cute and fun to do!! I hope you like it!!

[noemilivv]

Here I am with the ask!!! I was wondering if I could request headcanons for Adam, Alastor, Lucifer, Vox and Lute with how they would be with a sloth like S/o. I saw someone ask this on a blog I follow and I was stoked, I love this concept so much it's so funny I decided it's my favorite. INSANELY sleepy s/o, they sleep ALL the time and still manage to be super sleepy, they'd be walking down the street? They randomly fall asleep while walking, needless to say that's very dangerous in hell. In heaven a bit less, but let's say falling asleep while flying is definetely dangerous too. They're talking to someone? They might be trying to pay attention but still can't help help falling asleep, characters like Adam and Luci would definetely have no problem with that tho. They are incredibly slow, and also have the sloth tendency to climb(for the tall ones) and cling to said partner and hang onto them like ragdolls. They can stay awake if they replenish the energy they use immediately or by being monitored, but they're very concerning. I imagine warm milk would probably knock them out cold, coffee probably does little to nothing, maybe a huge amount would keep them on the brink of consciousness lol. (Sorry this got long, that's how much I find this concept hilarious, you don't actually have to include all everything I said if you don't wanna I was just rambling)

heyy again!! this is so cute and honestly i’m fangirling at the ideas i have for this haha, enjoy!!

Adam, Alastor, Lucifer, Lute, and Vox x Sloth!Reader

Adam

There’s a solid chance he makes fun of you for your sleepy antics, but only he can do that, no one else!

Unlike Hell, if you fall asleep on the side of the road in Heaven, he’ll just toss ya over his shoulder like nothing happened

Honestly, Adam is pretty tall, and he’s got a bit of muscle under his fit, so he doesn’t mind a bit if you climb about him and all that

Alastor

Honestly, Alastor doesn’t mind your sleepy antics, it gives him an opportunity to get whatever he needs done for that time until you awake again

Although, he probably won’t let you climb him though, due to his dislike of physical touch, but dw he’ll let you cling to him a bit

If you start to daze off while he’s talking he won’t mind, his smile will soften, and he’ll tug you to his chest, talking you to sleep

Lucifer

You guys don’t go out much, so it’s not often you fall asleep on the streets, but if you do, he’ll pick you up bridal style, he won’t make a big fuss about it, at least until you get home

Like Alastor, if you fall asleep mid convo, he won’t mind, he’ll just bring you to his chest and talk you to sleep

Although he is on the shorter side, if you wanna climb him, he’ll certainly let you! He thinks it’s the cutest thing!

Lute

Honestly, Lute hates it when you sleep a lot, as because of her job, she’s busy most of the time and can’t see you, so when she does see you, and you’re asleep, it’s eh…

If you climb on her, she’ll tense up a bit, but she won’t deny it, but there’s a chance she will the first few times. Affection is new to her.

Vox

He’s another tall one, so you could climb on him, but he’s a bit of a twig tbh, so he might not be able to hold you 😭

If you fall asleep during conversation, he’ll be all pissy, but if you fall asleep ON him, bro glitches so bad

Tried to make sure you don’t fall alseep on the streets in the first place, but if you do, bitch is waking you up, ain’t no way he’s carrying you

[hellisharchive]

・﹒・ comatose dreams [1]

Summary: After suffering from a fatal car crash, you had become comatose and had no hope of waking up anytime soon. You didn't know that, however, you thought you had died. After finding yourself in Hell, you wind up landing a job with Vox as your boss. You both fall quickly and deeply, but true love doesn't always work out.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of sex, masturbation, slight StaticMoth,

Notes: This fanfic is inspired by this lovely post by @timeslugarts! I would suggest reading it for a full summary, however if you want to go in blind, then don't!

﹒Stepping Stones﹒

An entire year working for VoxTech, what was your job, you ask? Well, you started out as a simple camera operator, then worked your way up to personal assistant, and you've had a crush on the television man for a good year now. Unfortunately, Vox always seemed so out of reach, so out of your league, you never even tried to even flirt with him and hoping he'd notice. He was an Overlord, one of the Vees, you were probably seen as nothing to him. Which hurt to think about, but was true nonetheless. So, you worked and went through your days with all your feelings festering inside you, ready to burst.

"Vox, you have a meeting with Vel and Val at three pm today to discuss potential strategies with Alastor returning, would you like to cancel?" You watched him as he adjusted his bowtie, ensuring that his outfit was perfect as always. He also had a tendency to cancel his meetings, but to the chagrin of his partners since he arrengaed them in the first place, but you still forced him to attend at least some.

"No, I know if I don't they'll be on my ass about it later" Turning from the mirror, he looked at you with a bored expression before putting on one of his smiles that you thought would be fake, but it was genuine. From working with him, you've learned to identify what smiles are real and ones that aren't.

"What? Do you really want to be alone with me THAT badly?" His smile then moved to a smirk, causing you get flustered and fumble with the tablet you were holding. Shit. Was that the first time he flirted with you? Vox chuckled as you regained your bearings, clearing your throat, you tried to remain professional.

"Well no sir, I was just uh, caught off guard by your uh...assumption" You coughed as he started to walk out of the room, knowing you'll diligently follow, and you did. You shut the door behind you and followed him as he made his way to his head of operations. He didn't tell you where he was going, but you knew his route every single day, that is- if he does, you'll still follow him wherever he went. You'll always be loyal to him and him only.

"Well, let's hope I don't have to calm Valentino down again today after yesterday..." He scowled just thinking about it. Yesterday, Val had yet again another temper tantrum and you watched as your boss did his thing. It was something you've grown accustomed to with your time as the tv man's personal assistant, they both fucked with no strings attached. Sure, they weren't together, but it still squandered you telling the truth about your feelings even further.

"Hopefully not, sir" You spoke as he entered his main control room, where he could spy on everyone and everything. He mainly has been monitoring the hotel and Alastor, even when the Radio Demon was gone for seven years, he never stopped bringing him up. The deer Overlord has only been back for a few months and he was the only thing Vox brought up for entire days sometimes. You didn't mind it though, it was pretty entertaining to witness. Sitting down in his chair, you grabbed yours and sat next to him as he observed everyone, trying to find Alastor roaming around. He checked the hotel first but couldn't find him with his scope of range. Time passes as he does his daily checking and observing, replying to emails, and the like. You busy yourself with checking his schedules and any business opportunities. You didn't realize that he stopped speaking until his sudden voice breaking the silence startled you.

"Do you think he'll ever take me seriously?" He spoke oddly quiet, his usual self gone as you swore you heard the faintest crackle in his voice. Looking up from your tablet, you saw that his head was down, looking at his lap with his hands fiddling each other as a sign of nerves. Sighing, you stood up and walked in front of him. Gently setting your hand on his shoulder, it caused him to look up with a face similar to a sad puppy. Smiling softly, with your other free hand, you placed it on his other shoulder.

"I know one day he will, sir. Trust me, you'll beat him and be the strongest overlord in Hell" You almost said "with me by your side" but refrained, knowing it was best not to mention that at all to him. This was about cheering him up, not entertaining your stupid fantasies. But, you saw as a digital blush faintly appear on his screen made your heart leap. You? A measly assistant managed to make THE Vox blush? You two were entranced, the feeling of leaning closer overwhelmed you as you both slowly inched closer and closer. What were you doing? You both were about six inches apart as he placed a hand over yours, now smiling devilishly as he chuckled.

"Of course I will, I just need someone by my side to do it" Did he...? You didn't have to fully process what he meant by that as you saw Vox's screen change to an incoming call with a ring. The moment ended as you cleared your throat and pulled away, taking your hands off his shoulders like they became fire. Of course- Valentino.

"Are you fucking-" He scowled as he transmitted the video call to one of his many screens, showing a very scandalously clad moth lounging on his bed, smoking and turning the screen into red before dissipating.

"Hey Voxy~ I need a fuck and I need it now. Angel Dust won't return my calls" Now, you weren't the biggest fan of Valentino, despite Vox also not being the best. But even as a sinner, you still did not agree with how that man treated others, especially his main star. Hearing the fact that he was demanding sex from your boss made your blood boil, yet you remained calm and neutral.

"Not now Val, find one of your other whores to fuck, I'm not in the mood" He didn't try to hide is displeasure as he held a very pissed off face staring at the pimp. Usually Vox never denied having sex with Valentino, so the sudden anger surpised you. Valentino just sighed, leaning closer to the camera. You weren't sure if he could see you, you hoped he didn't.

"You aren't fucking anyone else, right baby?" The question gave you whiplash despite not being the receiver. The moth sounded innocuous when you knew very well he manipulated Vox along with others. You knew his game.

"Fuck off Val" The tv Overlord than hung up, growling as he pushed out of his chair and started to walk towards the middle of the room. Following him, he headed back into the rest of the tower and back to his room. Before you could step in, he stood in the doorway, preventing your access.

"Don't bother me, do whatever the fuck you want for the next few hours, I don't care" and just like that, he slammed the door in your face. What the hell just happened? Taking a deep breath in, you mull over what you could possibly do when you decide to just take a walk. You needed some time outside the tower every once a while, so a walk would be perfect. Not wanting to head out in your work attire, you head to your room which was right next to Vox's (easier to be his assistant with you so close) and change. As you walked by your boss' door, you heard him panting and immediately flushed, walking away quickly as it felt wrong to hear him masturbate. You did walk in on him one time by pure accident and even to to this day he still teases you over it and makes fun of you. As you passed by, you could have sworn you heard him moan out your name, but he couldn't have. Right? Your ears were just playing tricks on you. Rushing past, opting to ignore it entirely, you went on your walk.

[pannman]

Could I request something where Valentino says he'll pay for ftm readers' testosterone and surgeries (top and bottom) if he signs a contract saying he'll work for him after everything heals.

I haven't done a Valentino fic in a while

The Offer

Tw: brief mentions of gender dysphoria and body dysphoria, swearing, Valentino being Valentino

Willing to do a part 2 later with more yandere themes if you guys like this one

Hell wasn't exactly a place filled with great health care insurance. There weren't many decent jobs. You were desperate for a job that would help pay for your transition. You knew you weren't the most qualified to work as in IT support at Voxtech. The most experience you had was some customer service experience working in fast food. And you were sure the competition would be stiff. But you knew a good first impression can do wonders

So with your best business casual clothes (that you could afford), a polished up resume, and a dozen practice sessions behind you, you arrived early for your interview

Just as you thought, you were NOT the only one interested in this position. You sat and waited, carefully thinking about your answers to potential questions

You were the last one interviewed. You were expecting Vox to be at the interview. You weren’t sure why. You just thought he'd be present. Instead it was two people in upper management who worked for him instead

"Hello, there Mr. Y/N, you are our last interview for tonight." The man who's sinner form looked similar to an eel of some kind shook your hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you" you replied trying to hold back yourself from talking too much. You were nervous and desperate and it made you want to ramble or try too hard. But you needed to remain appearing calm and professional

The older woman who had a frog like appearance looked rather bored and tired as she didn't say anything yet. The man decided to begin with the first question. "So what made you interested in this position?" He asked. You told him that you liked Voxtech and the innovations associated with it and that you were excited at the opportunity to be a part of it. This was true but it wasn't the real reason which you chose to keep private for now

The woman finally spoke. "You and everyone other applicant here" she spoke in an unamused tone. You knew it was a basic answer but you didn't feel comfortable exposing your identity at that time and it was the only other answer that had some truth to it

The man continued "do you have any technological experience?" You were dreading this question but still you answered as best you could. "No, I worked in customer service before though IT is a new field for me, but I'm very eager to learn" you said with a smile. You kept your posture straight and tried to keep your body relaxed. You wanted to project confidence

"Apparently not eager enough to learn before coming here" the woman commented rolling her eyes. You were beginning to worry. She clearly didn't like you or was in a bad mood from interviewing all day. Hopefully you could get her on your side and it wouldn't hurt your chances

The man gave the woman an uncomfortable glance. Before returning to his questions. "So, what could say would set you apart from our other applicants?" He asked. You thought about what you would say to this question. "Well, I'm really good at making connections, I work well with people and I am good at teamwork. I'm willing work hard to earn my place here" you said hoping it would be enough

The woman gave an annoyed chuckle. The man gathered his papers. "Thank you for coming in. We'll give you a call if we are interested." He said as he led you out. "Don't quit your day job just yet" you heard the woman say just you exited

You were pretty sure you did not get the job even before you had left the building. You headed down the hall and realized you had to use the restroom. You stopped to talk to the secretary and asked where the bathroom was

She pointed in the general direction without glancing up from her phone. Great! Another cheerful, delightful person...

You went down the hallway to the right. You didn't see a bathroom. You turned left hoping it was the right direction and soon you could hear someone yelling. You turned left still not seeing a bathroom so you continued further. You headed to turn right at the end of the hall when you collided with someone. Someone quite tall.

"Who the fuck isn't watching where they are-" the tall moth sinner paused when saw you. You recognized him immediately as the one the vees. Valentino.

"Well... my apologies, I shouldn't been storming out in a blind rage." His demeanor changed and a razor sharp smile spread across his face. He lowered an arm to help you up. You took it. Not exactly wanting to piss him off after he was about to bite your head off. Or something worse. "Tell me, what brings a such muy gaupo man to my part of the building?"

How lost were you? You stammered a bit. He made you nervous. You weren't sure if it was his angry outburst earlier or the fact that he towered over you but something about him seemed.... dangerous. I mean he was an overlord. He was dangerous

"I-i... I had an interview for a position at Voxtech." You finally managed to say. You felt his hand on your back guiding you (almost straight up pushing you) along with him as he walked and talked. He asked you how the interview went

"Good..." Your fake confidence was failing you now as you were incredibly nervous and uncomfortable in his presence. "Oh, poor bambino, was it that bad?" He asked in a tone of worry that was if he'd known you longer than 5 minutes

You decided that lying to him wasn't working. "I don't really have any experience for the job. And don't think one of the interviewers liked me much" you admitted. You felt a hand on your shoulder and you looked up to see him grinning down at you. He had barely touched you yet it felt like he was being touchy. You shrunk in his gaze. "Why do you want a job cooped up in some office anyway?" He asked. You thought about your answer to his question. You sighed. "I liked the benefits. The pay is good, so is the health insurance...." You trailed off

He seemed to read you like a book. "Money and health insurance. You got an illness or something?" He didn't seem to actually think you had an illness. He was probing you. And you didn't know how to think properly right now. "Its... for testosterone... and surgery..." You weren't sure if he was going to know what you were talking about. "So, you trying to get the right parts hmm?" Oh, he did know

"Well, you know..." he continued "my porn stars get superior health coverage. If you work for me you could get the same package. And one day have your own... package" he said the last part in a tone that sounded lustful and you didn't really think this was a good idea. But, you had tried everything. This was your first job offer that actually had good benefits. Interview after interview. Let down after let down. Maybe this was all you could get. Maybe this was the best you'll ever be...

"Ok... it-it sounds like a good option I guess" you stuttered. His eyes lit up like something predatory had awakened inside them. "Great! I'll draw up the paperwork. Follow me" he didn't trudge ahead instead once again guiding you along with him this time with a firm grip on your side as if he was worried you'd take off. And you definitely had considered it

He led you to his studio. People were on set everywhere. You were no stranger to sex but even this was getting you quite flustered. He led you into his office and pulled out a contract from the drawer under his desk

You don't know why you did it. You didn't see any other way. You wanted to finally feel right in your body. To like who you see in the mirror. And even though every instinct was telling you not to, you signed it...

Valentino watched you and flashed a dangerous grin "good boy. I just can't wait to get started..."

[beanzwrites]

⑉ Party For One ⑉

│Vox x Idol! Reader│

𝚂̷𝚢̷𝚗̷𝚘̷𝚋̷𝚜̷𝚒̷𝚜̷: (Y/n) was once an overlord, dominating the music industry with their talent and the souls they captured along the way. Then Vox came into their life and stole their heart with his big dreams. Everything was great for the lovers at first, then Vox wanted to team up with other overlords for more power. Vox became obsessed over his work, and with also looking out for the other Vee's, (Y/n) begins to realize that maybe they were never part of Vox's plans. They decide that it is time to start again and leave Vox behind.

━━━━━━━━━━━﹒⪩⪨﹒━━━━━━━━━━━

〣Featured tracks〣

You Need Me Now? │Single Soon │ Party For One

═══════════════════════════

It's been centuries since (Y/n) felt what it was like to be in power. They remember fondly of the countless nights where flashing lights hung above them, sweat clinging to their skin as they danced with such grace, and the warm buzz that ignited as the adoring screams of Hell carried in their ears. Though they would never admit it, they miss the opportunities of meeting sinners envious of their fame, only to take such demons under their wing, and mold them into their own image. What a perfect world they had created.

There was a time back then, where they did wish to slow down. The life as an idol is one of constant movement. You always had to be on top of things, avidly working with other big names to get your own out there. Along with the rising pop stars that (Y/n) had contracts with, things got pretty cumbersome. They loved the work they did, and it wasn't that much different from the earthly realm, but they couldn't even still themself in death.

No one, however, caught (Y/n)'s interest much like Vox did. He rose quickly to fame himself, the technology equipped under his belt top-notch compared to what was used in Hell before. He consistently improved what needed to be worked on, and (Y/n) quickly realized that making a deal with him would benefit their institution tremendously. They got the privilege of meeting him in an overlord meeting; Though Carmilla was ambivalent to accept him as an overlord at first, with some persuasion from younger lords such as (Y/n), she reluctantly invited him.

It wasn't love at first sight like the rumors claimed it was, but there was an undeniable click between the TV man and the famous idol. They enjoyed each other's company more so than any other overlord would do for another; it was like they were tied at the hip at times. The understanding between them was silent yet profound, and they aided each other whenever needed. Both of them were powerful on their own, yet unstoppable together.

(Y/n) wasn't fully aware that they were in love until the moment Vox showed them a tour of his first establishment, a proud smirk and rascally delight flickering in bright colors across his monitor. It was that same moment too, that Vox turned to them and proposed that they stick by his side for the rest of their damnation. Vox was never clueless then on how they felt, and he offered protection and power as long as they felt comfortable being linked with his name. (Y/n) wanted so badly to settle down from their busy lifestyle, and with a ring on their finger uniting them to someone they held dearly, they decided to remain in Vox's shadow for decades to come.

Vox was never a poor lover to (Y/n), and the first few years will always be held with care in their heart. The honeymoon phase never lasts as long as people would like it too, however. With gaining power comes the burden of responsibility, and as Vox grew as an overlord, so did his need for more satisfaction. Vox had asked his lover their thoughts on alliances, and wanting to see their husband expand his influences, (Y/n) encouraged him to seek it out.

Soon enough, the Vee's were formed, and the company Vox built with (Y/n) became that of a fortress. The nooks and crannies that (Y/n) grew accustomed to expanded into long hallways, and the small foundation that held Vox's love for them began to brittle and decay. The other Vee's were nothing but white-collared towards (Y/n), as they too in way, helped the two find their pedestal among sinners. There was no connection like that with Vox though, and (Y/n) quickly began to feel lonesome in a promised life of luxury.

Vox became neglectful; choosing his work over them most days. (Y/n) knows that it didn't mean he didn't care, but the gifts presented in opulent wrapping and silk bows began to mean less than nothing to them as nights without their lover continued. They saw more of his business partners than him, and though they aided the three whenever they could, the overlords opted to keep their projects to themselves.

(Y/n) began to feel restless from the interminable stillness that became of their life, and the rejection they felt in their own home made them feel small. They tried to bring up these issues with Vox whenever he decided to be present, but there was always a carelessness in his actions. His mind never wandered far from work, even if his other half was with him. (Y/n) held out longer than they should have with the shell of a man they used to know, the pleasant reminiscence that they held tightly of him beginning to dull out like that of a dying light.

They began to remember the distant pleasure of their idol existence, which felt like a forgotten reality from the many years of isolation, when watching from Vox's balcony as the Vee's were rehearsing for a big convention coming up. The extravagant costumes, the bright fluorescents, even the skimpy dancing, it all hit (Y/n) in the most amazing way possible. Soon enough, they began to dream for a new life again. This time, however, Vox wasn't going to guide them so easily.

(Y/n) left without a word to their lover, only choosing to gift Vox one last thing garnished in a simple blue velvet box; the ring he gave to them. Word got out quickly as (Y/n) began to sign off new sinners for fame, the habits from all those years ago coming back as if they never stopped pursuing it. Though (Y/n) hadn't been in the spotlight for some time, and the music industry went through many changes since their fall, the encouragement of their re-found wanting pushed them to do the impossible. They found connection with overlords they had established relationships with from long ago, and finding the need to become empowered again, (Y/n) was expeditious in striking deals that would benefit this. Even though the Vee's had a big grasp on the media industry, it didn't stop (Y/n) from finding opportunities to outshine them.

Velvette and Valentino immediately took notice of the traction their compeer's former partner gained, and though they knew they should've confided in Vox on what his run-away lover was up to, they couldn't pass up their chances of ascendancy either. (Y/n) remained vigilant in keeping their distance from the three, however, they granted the two their attention for mere amusement, and made simple deals with them for the sake of efficiency in the industry. Velvette became one of their many designers while Valentino's stars were given permission to be taught under the idol.

Though (Y/n) kept up with Vee's, it was nothing but professionalism. They never took up too much time with them, only choosing to do so for work, and Vox never came into conversation. (Y/n) was sure that he was keeping an eye on them, his control of technology impossible to keep under the radar. It's not like they really tried to hide themself from him either. Every now and again, they think of him, but they try not to dwell on it too much. After all, if he really wanted them back or felt embarrassed by the whole situation, he would've shown it by now. He very well had the power to destroy them if he wanted to, cursing their name and all that they stood for. The pride in (Y/n) told them that it was their dedication and luck that brought them back to where they were before Vox, but a smaller part of them also wondered why it seemed too easy. Was it truly the influence they had in Hell or was something else behind the scenes at play? Perhaps they will never know.

═══════════════════════════

[gyubby99]

@disneyanddisneyships I’m ruining my own day

“That must be so confusing for a little girl”

Summary: Just.. Emilia coming to terms with everything at a young age. (Part one)

TW for sensitive topics mentioned in this fic. This wasn’t easy to write for me.

Emilia knew from the start that she was born a privileged young girl. She knew that she could get everything she wanted handed to her on a silver platter if she asked for it. She had the life of a paradise. Her parents are two well-known overlords in hell, and she had connections with the other overlords as well. Take the overlord of adult films and fashion for an example. Not to mention, her mother’s best friend was the overlord of love, who married the radio demon himself, which was ironic because her father was Vox, the man who hated the radio demon more than hell itself.

She was never born a regular demon. She wasn’t a regular hellborn that popped up from her mother’s womb. She was made by the bare hands of the people who raised her. She was made a robot— a machine. An exceptional being who could perform almost anything she sets her mind to. If she wanted to learn different languages, she could do it. If she wanted to study the field of medicine, she’d have a PHD right now. If she wanted to learn baking, her pastries would be the most delicious ones in all of hell. She can be anything, and she could do it all at once. After all, she’s a machine. She’s destined to perform. To work.

Being a robot also meant that she was perfect. Physically, she could keep her figure, she’d never age, she would always stay as flawless as she could be. Every feature on her face, perfectly crafted by her parents, made just as what they had in mind.. and what compliments such a perfect woman more than a perfect life?

She was the daughter of a successful CEO. One of the most powerful overlords. She had everything in the palm of her hands. All the latest fashions of clothing, all the technological devices, all the opportunities of what side job she gets to do aside from running the tech company when the time arrives.. all the fame, all the admirers. It was perfect. It is perfect.

Correction; not-so perfect.

Emma has gained consciousness of everything that’s been going on around her as she got older. Including the way the cameras move towards her the second she steps out of her limo, or the way they would move further down as she takes a single step. The people chanting her name over and over as each of them rush in front of her asking questions she would often answer gracefully, just as she’d been taught. Seeing her name on every article because her very existence has been proven to be newsworthy.

She didn’t hate it, but she wouldn’t say it was comfortable.

She turned thirteen, and she just received her first fan letter. To say that she was excited, was an understatement. She always loved receiving support from her fans. They’ve always been with her, outside her window, swarming in her front yard. Surely, that has to be a good thing since they’d always be happy to see her.

It was a busy night, and she was in a hurry. She’d just stepped out from school and a bunch of people surrounded her like she was a tourist attraction. She just assumed being Vox’s daughter just.. makes her a celebrity. A man in a green shirt wearing glasses, seemingly in his 30’s, had approached her, screaming her name with full enthusiasm. By the time Emma turned around to face him, a letter was being held to her face.

She could remember him shouting his affections at her, his voice passionate.

“Emma!! I love you more than anything!! Please take the token of my affections!!”

Emma, the thirteen year old robot that she is, took the letter because she felt it rude to reject him. Even with her bodyguards pushing him away, she insisted that she would give him the chance to give her a present. She told him that it was kind of him to take the time to write her something, even if she didn’t know him, she felt appreciated. A fan used their valuable time for her. It was sweet.

She couldn’t help but read it as soon as she got into the limo. She wanted to see what he had written for her.

“It’s always been a fantasy of mine to get you alone, I’d love to see you stripping down and getting on your knees for me. I think you’d look cute in a lingerie, too. I’ve always pictured you in it, unconscious and clueless while I fuck your brains out. I hope I can get to do it, it’ll be my dream come true!”

She put down the letter before she could read the rest of it. One of her bodyguards asked her if she was doing alright, noticing her expression as she put the paper down. She kept a fake smile, telling them that the letter was too heartfelt for her to read all the way through. It was a dumb excuse on her part, but he believed it.

She spent days thinking about what he said in that letter. How she thought it was sweet of him to give her a present only for it to be a letter expressing his dark, twisted fantasies. She never mentioned the letter to her parents, she hid it from her sister. She felt it was to silly of her to tell people that she’s scared and uncomfortable. It was only a letter. He never did it.

As more time passed, she began to realize it wasn’t only him that had the same thoughts. Every day, the media had various things to say about her. Everything about her became a topic on the internet. Her father just told her it was typical behavior for people on social media, so she tried her best to shrug it all off and ignore all of them. Sometimes she sneaks a peek at the comments and posts about her.

“Honestly, being pretty is all she has that’s likable about her.”

“She’s overrated, and I’m not sorry for saying that. She’s too pretty to run a tech company. She should become a stripper like her mom.”

“She should put those hips to good use”

“Why are some people feeling bad for her? She’s literally a robot. There’s no way she has feelings. Rich people nowadays think they have it rough. Emma’s a machine made by a billionaire. You should stop sympathizing with her.”

Emma pondered about the last statement for a long while. It’s not like they were lying, she is a robot. She’s a machine. A mindless, emotionless object that lives to serve and please those around her. Someone to entertain people. Not to mention, she was made by none other than Vox himself— Vox and Mal. While other demons beg for scraps on the street, trying to survive and avoid getting killed by ruthless exterminators every year, she gets to sleep on a nice, warm bed in her father’s tower. While other hellborns have to earn their way for a moment in her shoes, she gets everything handed to her. Everything she wanted would be made possible by her parents in a snap of their fingers. So why should she bother resenting the life she has?

It was just one letter. The first of many she kept on receiving. Surely, it didn’t matter how many cameras are pointed at her thighs if it meant she’d get to have the life most people would kill to have. Surely it wouldn’t matter having to stay perfect as the prying eyes of the media watches your every move, waiting, biding their time to look for a single fault in how you talk, how you act, how you move.. if your life is as perfect as it is in the pictures.

“Other people have it worse. Just suck it up and give them a smile.” She’d often whisper to herself. “They love a good smile.”

She’d put in her years of training to good use, even at times when she’s free to act as she pleases, she can’t help but perform.

Emilia got older, and despite being a machine, she felt things that only humans and regular hellborns felt. She felt a lot of things, and like many people, she feared it. She feared she would start acting out of order. She feared being messy. She was afraid that after all the hard work she put into never letting anyone else see a flaw.. she would falter.

And like many people, she also felt love. Which was odd, because things like her never felt this way. Sure, she loves her parents. She loves her sister. Her friends. But that was already a given. They were family. They cared for her, treated her like someone important despite being what she is.

Growing up, she had many suitors in line for her, determined to win her hand for her looks and money. She might be a robot, but she’s not a fool. Everyday she’d find a way to refuse them without coming off as a total bitch, as many would say. Although she never liked any of them, she still wants to save her image.

But.. there was this one boy in particular she had heart eyes for; Theodore Hartfelt.

Son of the radio demon and Aponi Wings. A friend she knew since she was a little girl. Everyday he’d come over to her place with that same sweet smile she knew all too well. Something about him just radiated warmth.. belonging.. love. She might be exaggerating but Theodore had the ability to turn every dull thing in her life into something magical. She never thought board games were as interesting as people say until she saw the glint in his eyes whenever she would tell him that she’d be happy to play with him.

She fell hard for this boy. Sometimes a little too hard that it’s everything she wrote in her diary. If you can’t express your feelings for a special someone, just write it down. They’ll never know.

“I don’t know how much longer I can fight these feelings. Everytime I think I’ve gotten over him, he becomes the best thing that’s ever happened in my day. Everytime I try to erase how I truly felt about him, hell becomes a little bit of a better place because he’s in it.”

She did ask for a reason to move on and rip her heart out of her chest for the reason that he filled it. She never expected there would be one, until she started to notice him getting close to another girl, her name was Alicia.

Everything just fell apart inside of her as she watched Alicia kiss him for the first time. She’d stolen that kiss from her. It wasn’t supposed to go this way. But then again, she’s a robot. She shouldn’t be feeling this way in the first place. She’s not normal. He deserved someone who could actually feel emotions, instead of a girl who thinks a machine can actually love. How could she be so blind? He deserved so much better than her. Even the people would say so. How pathetic would he have been if he fell inlove with a robot. She loved him too much to give him that kind of humiliation.

She started going out with another boy to keep her heart out of Theodore’s grasp. Maybe it was the right thing to do.

It wasn’t. No matter what she does, it’ll never be right. The media started to invade her private life more often, wanting to see how Emilia Carrington is in a relationship. Is she a prude around her boyfriend? Or is she good in the bedroom? Does she really love him, or is she just paying him to date her? What did she ever see in him? Why couldn’t she date someone else instead? This relationship is too performative.

It was the same thing everyday. People saying that her boyfriend deserved better than her, someone who can’t even love. Everyday, the press always has something to say about her, about her parents, her friends, her love life.. no matter what she does, there’s still people who will never be satisfied.

Again. She was a machine. Unfortunately, knowing that very fact, her boyfriend took it as an advantage. Three months into their relationship, he started hitting her.

She never had bruises, so it seemed like everything was fine. She never told anyone. The thought of people treating her like some delicate flower who needs to be taken care of makes her uncomfortable. Not that she liked being hurt, but she also wanted to handle things on her own. She never told anyone anything, not even the countless conversations they had that raised red flags.

“I’d love to come over to your house sometime. Maybe we could have a sleepover!” She exclaimed, excitement filling her by just thinking about spending time with him. “We could watch those horror movies you like.. and before you can say anything, I can handle a few jumpscares!”

However, he grimaced at the thought. “I’m not sure if a sleepover is a good idea, em.”

Emma frowned. “Why not?”

He sighs. “Em, think about it. A sleepover would mean it’s just the two of us in the same room.. on the same bed.”

“And..? I don’t see the problem. We could cuddle!” She tilts her head.

Another sigh came out of his mouth, one out of frustration. He laughs it off. “No offense, babe.. but you don’t know anything about men and how they operate.”

She looks at him in confusion, her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He took her hands. “Listen, men have.. certain urges. One that involves… ya know.. doing it.” He shrugs, hoping she would understand.

“Oh.”

He continued. “If we end up with each other on the same bed.. alone.. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you. I know you don’t wanna do that yet— you’ve told me a bunch of times. So.. maybe we shouldn’t have sleepovers.”

Emma felt her robotic heart sinking to her stomach as she kept hearing his every word. She looked up at him after a moment of casting her eyes down. “Are.. all men like that?”

He nods. “Yep. It’s in our nature! We just can’t help it.”

She squints her eyes. “Theo isn’t like that. We have sleepovers all the time.”

He rolls his eyes at the mention of Theo’s name. “Well that’s because Theo isn’t into you. I am, and I can feel those urges around you.”

She pulls her hands away from his. “I’m sorry, that must be really uncomfortable to deal with.”

He kisses her cheek. “It is.”

And the dumb, naive robot that she is, she believed him. To be fair, her parents do make love a lot. Maybe they came to an agreement of some sort that her mother would always be there to.. relieve him. Maybe Theo was like that around Alicia. What if they’re doing it right now??

But her mother did say that it’s a bad thing if they force themselves onto another, so maybe her boyfriend was protecting her from that. Maybe they shouldn’t have sleepovers at all. Maybe they’re better off on dinner dates in public where everyone could see instead of the comfort of their own homes. Maybe that was for the better.

To this day, Emma still hated the thought of not knowing any better. She hated that she apologized for making him uncomfortable instead of telling him to control his “manly urges” and respect her boundaries if he really loved her. She hated it so much that she pictured an entire article about it in her head. “Emilia Carrington: Future head of VOXTEK and a spineless loser.”

‘I let him hit me. Why did I let him hit me?!’

Six months into their relationship, he broke it off with her, admitting to his infidelity. She always knew the day was coming, but she never expected it to be so soon. He was a jerk, an abusive asshole, and now, the icing on top of the cake, a cheater. She was just as confused as anyone else is on why she stayed for three more months. She could’ve broken up with him, but she waited for him to do it.

‘I’m such a stupid failure!’

In those moments, she couldn’t help but feel weak. Luckily, the media agrees with her.

“She could’ve left him if he was so abusive.”

“She’s a robot, she’s most likely faking emotions”

“Can you believe it? The future head of VOXTEK can’t even leave an abusive relationship!”

“It’s hell, bitch. What did she expect?”

And they got to her. Every time. Every word about her failed love life felt like daggers to her heart. They were piercing her, they were twisting the blade so they can rub her weakness on her face. Every single word.

She couldn’t afford to lose her pretty smile, not today.

Emilia was born a child of pure privilege, no one can deny that. A perfectly crafted machine made to satisfy people’s selfish greed of gossip, entertainment, and wealth. An object for one’s twisted desires. The future head of VOXTEK. Everyone was out of her league. No one could step up to her level. She is the sinners’ epitome of flawless. Perfection. She has what everyone wants. She could go out in a crop top and young girls would go out of their ways to create a “special diet” to achieve her waist. Some had healthy meals, some had none at all. It kept her up at night, reading the articles over and over again. Somehow, it made her feel like she was at fault for being artificial. For having a body that she can’t change.

She was artificial, she was perfect because of that. She’s been called many names. She was a spineless loser. She was a prude. She was a bitch. She was the top of her school. She was a machine made by a money-hungry overlord. She was a whore. She was a flawless goddess.

But one thing she’s never heard them call her, was a child.

[satanslittleyogi]

Starter for the amazing @mothvalentino ♡

The forces of the cosmos had led the winged demon to take a leap of faith and leave his comfortable, sleepy, city of Sloth in search of bright new opportunities. By listening to the stars and trusting in the ebb and flow of the universe, Yogirt had been handed a dream come true: working alongside Valentino, a powerful overlord, in his capacity as a mindfulness expert, spiritual advisor, anger management counsellor and general bringer of good vibes~ Despite the scarce lack of time he’d spent in Pentagram city thus far, he knew plenty about Valentino: the seductive, ruby-hued, stare of the sinner gazed down upon Pentagram City from endless billboards. The moth sinner was well-respected and much lusted after, being the head of an award winning porn studio. After accepting the job from a television-looking gentleman who needed an intense massage and some camomile tea, Yogirt had done some internet sleuthing, checking the essentials such as his birth chart and astrological sign in order to get a preliminary understanding of the man. The agreement was that he would arrive at the Vee’s tower on a day where the porn director wasn’t neck deep in shoots so that he could spend a little time getting to know him, and how best to serve his needs. Yogirt was genuinely filled with excitement that morning, he loooooved meeting new people~ He was intrigued to get to meet the glamorous man that he’d heard so many sinners gush openly about both in person and online.

The soft fluttering sound of Yogirt’s wings filled the corridor as he floated about an inch off the floor, moving beside an uptight suit-clad sinner. The poor thing’s shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the world. “Listen, I tooootally get it~ The spreadsheets, the deadlines, the never-ending meetings—it’s like a hamster wheel for the soul,” his tone was a lazy, laid-back, purr, “…but you don’t have to run so fast. The world’s not going to stop spinning just because you take five minutes to reset.” The man, who was leading him off towards the personal quarters of the overlords, seemed to merely mutter out a non-committal agreement in an attempt to shut the bright-natured demon up. Yogirt pulled a heavy, tie-dyed, tote bag higher up his shoulder as he allowed his awe-filled gaze to take in the tower. It was stunning, if a little too modern and clinical for his liking. It was heaps nicer than the shitty apartment that he was currently sharing with a not-at-all zen housemate. The demon caught a glimpse of his reflection in a long, floor length, mirror. He was dressed semi-casually in a pair of fitted, corduroy pants and a flowing, cropped, blouse. His platform, heeled, boots would have been an unwise fashion choice if it weren’t for the fact that he floated above the floor, saving his feet any possibility of aching. There was a necklace of dark garnet crystals — a crystal designed for creativity and sex, in honour of his new boss — around his neck.

Suddenly, they were face to face with a large set of heavy double doors, which were pushed open to reveal a lounge area — and, most importantly, Valentino. Yogirt landed on his feet, the soft thud of his heels against the floor filling the room as he walked over to the moth sinner. “Valentino~” he offered a hand out for the man to shake, “It’s such a pleasure to meet you. The billboards don’t hold a candle to the real thing,” he complimented with a bright, well-intentioned ease to his words, “I hope your business associate Vox explained everything?”

[am-i-interrupting]

Hello again!

This is the anon that request a part 2 to the Broadcast fic, I appreciate you giving some creative freedom on deciding what happens! I guess I was thinking maybe reader continued seeing Vox for the next years maybe even starts dating at some point and Alastor returns and finds out?

Anyway, thank you so much! I love your writing!

Alastor’s Reaction to You Seeing Vox

Technically a part two of A Broadcast for Bitch Breakfast but can be read alone.

He is immediately one the defense. You better explain yourself fast or give him a reason to not blast you away.

Once he’s calmed down, he sees this as an opportunity.

He can use this. He can try to bribe you into giving him information about Vox.

A sure fire way to stop his probing is to just start talking about your sex life with him and that exclusively even if you are dating.

That’s fine though.

He can still use this as a way to annoy Vox.

He’s known you longer, after all.

He’ll capture your laughter on record and replace his laugh track with it. Using your laughter on his radio show because he knows Vox listens in.

If he happens to be in Vox’s vacinity with you, he’ll start going on about some inside joke or a “remember that time.”

If he’s not, then he has no problems using his relationship with you to break down Vox’s confidence.

He’ll have picked up on your dating habits unconsciously at least and he will tell Vox about your past partners and how much happier you were with them.

Alastor records everything. I mean everything.

He has records from the past where he overheard things he’d rather not have or walked in on them.

He never disposes of his records and it’s precisely because of reasons like this.

He’ll tap into the radio Vox has to listen to him and play sounds of the few times he’s overheard or walked in on you having sex (because let’s face it, this man will just appear in rooms).

You’ll have to comfort Vox if he trusts you enough to be vulnerable, reassure him that you’re perfectly content and happy with the arrangement you have.

When Alastor himself is the cause of the jealousy though, expect to be fucked into the mattress.

Vox would also retaliate by hacking into the phones of hotel residents when Alastor is near and playing recordings of you two having sex.

I hope you don’t mind your sex life being everyone’s business because between two attention whores, you’re not getting any privacy.

Angel will compliment your body and voice though.

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

You mentioned Velvette being friends with sucubi in one of your post and made me start think about the Vees opinions/relationships to hellborns!

I was already wondering about that Topic in relation to sinners in general, but lets keep the Focus on the three:

Do they employ them? (There was that imp girl (Dia) that worked for Valentino in pre-show stuff but she is nowhere to be seen now.)

They do try marketing to them as well, would be stupid not to. So they must have people that are able to travel between rings to facilitate their business there.

Do they partake in the classist ideas we see depicted in 'Helluva Boss'? Seeing Imps and hellhounds as the lowest of the low while other hellborns they "respect"

Just something interesting to think about, since Hazbin is prob gonna focus on the sinners only a lot of things like this will be left for headcanons i guess

Ah my friend, do they partake in classist ideas? Look at them, does anyone of this bunch looks like the would miss an opportunity to bully someone? If there wasn't classism in Hell, Vox would personally invent it. So yeah I think they treat like shit all casts that are formally below them. Maybe Velvette would be a little nicer because she doesn't have fragile ego to maintain. But Val would shot imps for fun because unlike sinners they can actually die so it's more satisfying. Also I think Vox despises all hellborns because they make him aware of his own limitations - even if he was the most powerful Overlord, he still wouldn't be Mammon and he hates it. It's a glass celling he can never break.

I like to think that Valentino and Velvette can really get along with succubi. I know Ozzie would tear Val into pieces but his demons didn't really seem to share his ideals. So, succubi can for sure party but they also can get them all the nice stuff from earth if Vees need anything because as Viv mentioned "everything in Hell is off-brand and of terrible quality". I can imagine Valentino spending fortune just to get a quality silk dress smuggled from Earth.

They probably have some shark demons on their payroll like you mention to facilitate their businesses in other rings and Vox is especially fond of them because you know... They are sharks and they are native to Greed. What else... Valentino probably hired a shit tone of hellhounds when he discovered furries?

Knowing as much as I do about higher hellborns like Goetias I cannot really imagine any of them to have intrest in fraternizing with sinners. Maybe Velvette would be influential enough with her social media platforms to connect with younger or less dignified of them. Technically Stolas, Stella and her shitty brother with overtly complicated name live in Pride so maybe one of them would cross path with Vel during some fancy fashion event.

[valscigarette]

Summary: How it all started for Vox and Val. (Inspired by this beautiful art by @evevsy!)

Tags: Vox/Valentino, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Canon-Typical Everything, PWP that's mostly plot, Repressed Vox, Power Plays, Background Val/Angel, Networking

Warnings: Drinking, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Background Val/Angel and all it entails, Smut.

See AO3 or DM me for more detailed tags/warnings!

WC: 9.7k | AO3

-

One thing Vox cannot be accused of is laziness. He’s given this business twenty years and counting of his afterlife. He brought television, technology, the goddamned golden age to Hell, but his era of growth has finally stalled, leaving his creativity as stagnant as the mosquito-riddled swamps Alastor adores so much.

“Excuse me, Mr. Vox?” 

If he has any hope of competing with radio, he has to come up with something. Soon. No amount of stage lights and sequins will overcome a lack of substance. For the better part of the last week, Vox has run from writer’s rooms to costume shops in a desperate search for any break to the monotony, but nothing has come to him, despite knowing he has the best eye for entertainment in Hell.

“Mr. Vox?” 

One of his assistants, newer but remarkably brave, edges into Vox's field of vision and waits to be acknowledged. As he drums his claws against his desk, their ears twitch with anxious agitation, but whatever courage allows their interruption isn’t enough for them to do more than tremble at the sight.  

“Sir?” They try again. 

“Don't bother me when I'm thinking,” Vox snaps, fully swiveling his chair to face them. “My schedule is clear until seven.”  

The assistant flinches, but takes no steps to leave. Vox flicks his hand in a shooing gesture, giving them an opportunity to rub their two braincells together and fuck off before he makes them. Nothing. Sighing, he turns fully in his chair.  

“Alright,” he sneers, electricity crackling down his antennae and through his hands, “what’s so important?” 

Holding out their clipboard like a shield, they stammer, “Your, um, schedule isn’t actually clear, sir? You’re late for the Rising Stars banquet.” When Vox stands up, they shuffle back. “Not too late, though! Fashionably late. You can definitely pull that off. Do you need a fresh suit?” 

Forgetting about the PR event of the year is almost as embarrassing as having a staff too incompetent to remind him. Tomorrow morning, Vox is going to paint the fucking floors with the blood of everyone except the demon before him.

“Of course I need a fresh fucking suit.” As they leap toward the door, Vox clears his throat. “Something nice, or I’ll feed you to my sharks.” 

“Yes, Mr. Vox. I- I'll be right back.” 

He waves them off before slumping back into his chair. Normally, Vox looks forward to the banquet; he gets to meet with overlords and demons looking for associates, while dumping the glitz and glamor on his audience. If he’s late, he’s already missed the red carpet. No one will ask him who designed his suit, shove a camera into his face for a soundbite, or get distracted by a prettier face mid-interview. Despite how exhausting the affair can be, it’s one of his biggest nights of the year, and he’s blown his entrance. All he has left are the one-on-one pitches, where Vox only has one objective at a time. He should be pissed, if not infuriated, by his own forgetfulness and his employees’ incompetence alike, but after countless hours of fruitless desperation for his next venture, he can barely muster a grimace. 

While he waits for the assistant’s return, he pulls up the guest list on one of his monitors to get an idea of how the evening will go. Most attendees this year are minor overlords with only a few souls under their belts, who should be too starstruck by VoxTek’s invitation to complain about his tardiness. Those who do are worth keeping an eye on. 

Only a few minutes later, the assistant shuffles back into his with a garment bag in their hands and a freshly polished pair of saddle shoes draped around their neck by the laces. At his desk, they unpack Vox’s clothes with practiced efficiency. At least they have taste; the suit they’ve chosen is adorned by reflective silver thread, complimenting the polished tie clip, diamond cufflinks, and starry lapel pin zipped into the accessory pouch of the garment bag. Subtle silver accents on the saddle shoes pull the entire look together.  

“That’s good,” Vox praises, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it toward the secretary. “Classy. You like fashion?” 

They fold and set aside the coat with practiced precision. “I read a lot of magazines.” 

“That's not the question I asked you.” Vox strips away his vest, button-down, and slacks too, careless about where they land in his haste to get redressed. “Do you like it?” Cool silk slides into place like a second skin. He only wears tailored, custom-made pieces these days, and it shows in the perfect fit of the collar to his neck. “Not everyone has the vision...?” Trailing off, Vox realizes he doesn’t know their name. He raises an eyebrow and holds his hand out for the next piece of his outfit, disguising the failure behind the dismissive mask they expect. “You’ll have to remind me, my dear.”

“Stanford. And I guess I’ve always been interested; you can tell a lot about someone from their clothes.” When Stanford hands Vox his tie, they gather the strength to look him in the eyes. “I love working for you, though, Mr. Vox, I promise.” 

The pin, tie-clip, and cufflinks are easy to affix while they bend to help Vox step into his new pair of shoes. “I know.” He glances at the top of Stanford’s head and considers whether the secretary would be worth fucking, if he wasn’t already late to the banquet. Getting some action could jumpstart his circuits enough to come up with an idea. “You’re more useful than the others.” They tie his shoes like it’s the most important task of the day and don’t complain when he uses their shoulder for balance. Vox appreciates the dedication. “If you’ve got dreams, I’ll make ‘em come true, Stanford. You just have to ask, you know?” 

Finally, he affixes his cufflinks and turns away from the secretary. Until he has their soul under contract, he cannot stop another overlord from worming their way into Stanford’s weak mind, and Vox needs someone he can rely on to keep a schedule,

“I’ve got to run,” he says. “Block out time in my calendar for us to talk.” 

At least the banquet is held on the fifth floor of Vox’s tower. Here, his guests enjoy the finest he can offer, from imported booze to five-star cuisine, as they cycle between schmoozing and sizing one another up for a fight. By the time he waltzes in, the social atmosphere is buzzing enough for his arrival to inspire no fanfare.  

Vox snatches a flute of champagne from a passing tray to occupy his hands as he surveys the crowd. Usually, he gives an opening speech to set the tone for the night, and he’s whisked from one conversation to another, but without announcing himself, he’s invisible in a sea of nobodies. He’s nothing.  

His invisibility shatters as a white-furred demon with one black eye—a contracted soul—glides up to Vox and taps their glasses together. “Mr. Vox? I’m a huge fan.” Startled by the squeaking Brooklyn accent, a stark contrast to the pink sweater and heart-stamped body before him, Vox doesn’t respond in time to stop the demon from excitedly shaking his hand. “The fantasies I’ve had about that desk of yours-” 

“And you would be?” Vox interrupts, subtly wiping his palm on his coat when it’s released. He has to play nice; this is a fan, after all. 

Grinning toothily, the demon places his lower set of hands on his hips and frames his face with the upper. “Angel Dust, at your service. I'm Valentino's plus-one.” Angel blows Vox a kiss, then cozies up against his side. “But we’re not exclusive or anything. Not a lotta folks compare to Val, but I bet a stud like you can.” 

“Charming,” Vox drawls. He remembers approving Valentino’s invitation: he owns several clubs and their affiliated brothels, as well as the bodies he fills them with. There’s no doubt in Vox’s mind that Angel is one of Valentino’s whores, sent to butter him up. If he had no standards, it might’ve worked. “Where’s your boss now?” 

Angel’s eyes crinkle at the edges, indiscernible between pleased and distraught. “I’ll introduce you. C’mon, handsome.”  

One of his right hands finds Vox’s waist to guide him through the crowd. At first, Vox thinks it’s part of the flirtation, but when Angel stumbles four times in under a minute, he realizes it’s for support. Ugh. If Valentino’s employee is shitfaced less than an hour into a public event, Vox has low expectations.   

They find Valentino on the balcony, smoking a long cigarette as he flirts with one of Vox’s servers. The overlord is tall, even sprawled out over a wire chair, with four toned arms, two feathery antennae, glittering red eyes, and mile long legs. For several long, humiliating seconds, Vox can’t drag his eyes off the crease of Valentino’s hip, shamelessly displayed by the high slit of his gown, and Vox’s fans spin faster to compensate for the images flashing through his imagination. Only the red smoke streaming from Val’s smirk breaks his flawless image.

“Mr. Vox, this is Valentino.” 

“Please, just Val,” Valentino corrects, cadence slow and smooth like honey. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to tonight; Angie and I love your work. Do you have a few minutes to sit and chat?” 

Vox slides into the seat opposite Valentino and takes a deep breath to collect himself. Saccharine scarlet smoke filtered through his fans still tastes sweeter than maraschino cherries on his tongue as he crosses his legs at the ankle. “Absolutely.” 

“Good. I was afraid you’d be too busy for me.” 

Humility doesn’t fit Val, but his honeyed tone smooths the dissonance almost beyond notice. There’s a performer here, wrapped in fishnet tights and glowing under the gentle golden gleam of the city beyond; Vox understands, for the first time in his afterlife, the appeal of signing over his sou with no pitch necessary. His imagination suffices.  

“Not tonight,” Vox assures. “I’m here to get to know you, your work, your business model-” he ignores Angel’s giggle, “-and find out whether we’d make a good team.” 

Val turns to blow smoke directly into Angel’s face and pat him on the head. “I brought my Angel Dust in case you wanted to sample the merchandise.” Without waiting for Vox’s response, Angel sinks down in the narrow space between Vox and Val’s knees, and turns his sultry gaze toward his boss. Valentino’s orders are the only ones that matter. “He headlines all my clubs, one each night of the week.” None of Vox’s underlings are that dedicated. “Or, if he’s not to your liking, I can call one of my girls?” 

“I’m not interested in your, ahem, dancers, Val.” 

“Right. My mistake,” Valentino hums. He flicks the toe of his boot into Angel’s ribs, sending him scuttering away from Vox’s personal space after the second rejection. “You’re old fashioned, Voxxy, I can respect that. I’ve got something for everyone though, you know.” 

The pet name should make Vox’s skin crawl, too diminutive and familiar for their first conversation, but all he can think about is how pretty it sounds in Val’s voice. “I’m familiar with your brand. Voxtek does your security cameras, as I recall, but we don’t have an official partnership on the books; was that your decision or mine?” 

“I was a small outfit at the time,” Val says by way of explanation, “but those cameras are what helped me grow.” He leans forward and whispers, “I’ve got an idea that could make us both richer than fucking Lucifer.” 

Judging by the pearls elegantly strung around Valentino’s throat and collarbone, he’s as rich as Vox already, if not more so. His power ought to feel more threatening than intoxicating. Perhaps he’s the answer. Val’s allure, beyond the souls he commands, could make for a formidable addition to the network’s cast. It would buy Vox time, if nothing else. 

“Tell me about this idea of yours.” 

“Now, I know your brand is squeaky clean, but we are in Hell.” 

“I try to reach as broad an audience as possible,” Vox defends. The less offensive, the more palatable, his content, the greater his viewership will be- a simple truth of television. “I’m the default, babe. Every television in this city comes with my channels included.” 

Val nods slowly. “Yes, I understand, but do you want to know how I bought six new clubs in the last month?” 

When Vox approved the invite list, he only owned three in total. His first thought is that Valentino has somehow contracted the previous owners and taken their businesses as spoils, but that wouldn’t be interesting; it wouldn’t warrant a question dangled like bait in front of Vox’s face.  

“By all means,” he says.  

“Hmm.” Val considers him, eyes narrowed as he ashes his cigarette over the balcony railing. “Promise your head won’t explode?” 

“I promise,” Vox answers, trying to place why he doesn’t find Valentino near as frustrating as he should, despite a more salacious demeanor than Angel Dust and a smile like he wants to eat Vox alive.   

Leaning in, Val glances to each side as if to ensure their conversation remains private. One of his antennae bends to brush Vox’s and stiffens with the static charge, but no pain distorts his expression. “Ever since you introduced playback to your cameras, I’ve been selling the tapes to my Johns. They’ll pay as much for the video as they do for ass.” 

Vox recoils. “You’re making porn.” 

“I’m making films.” His discomfort spurs Valentino on. “Imagine how much money we’d make with a real studio, your nice cameras, a couple billboards... sex sells, amor, and we could sell a lot.” 

When he tries to think about it, Vox pictures the feedback he’d get. Killjoy would resign the second he brings Valentino in, and half the girls in hair and makeup would follow her. Audience letters would pile to the ceilings in the mail room with complaints as his televisions are smashed and discarded in the streets. Alastor would eviscerate him. To attach himself to Valentino could take apart everything he’s built in a matter of days. 

“I’m just saying,” Val sing-songs, “you might be fucking celibate, but most of us need to get our rocks off somehow. If we mass-market my films, we can sell them at a lower price to the poor souls who can’t afford to touch.” 

“It’s still porn.” 

“What’s the big deal? You’ve never picked up a filthy magazine?” On his next drag, Valentino blows the smoke directly at Vox, clouding over his visual sensors before his fans absorb it and flood his mind with the sweet vapor’s taste again. “Follow the money.” 

Angel stumbles back inside for another drink, but in the seconds the door is open, a wave of warmth and noise from the banquet brings Vox back to his senses. As Val knows, it’s about the money, but he doesn’t realize how temperamental an audience the size of Vox’s can be when he fails to meet their standards. Clean is good; clean is marketable. Furrowed brows and subtle flinches follow Angel’s path through the party like an omen of the mess Valentino would make of the company, given a chance.  

“I’ll throw some funds at your project,” Vox concedes, “as long as you keep my name out of it. You can have better cameras for a twenty percent cut. Make it thirty, and I’ll give you mics and lights, too.” 

Val’s inviting grin sharpens, claws of one hand gouging the table as he clings to the flirtatious persona he arrived with. “You must be an idiot. Or you think I am.” 

“You can take or leave my offer, Valentino.” Vox’s head spins when he stands, despite only drinking half of his champagne, and he grips the back of his chair for balance lest he fall over the balcony with Val’s smoke. “Enjoy the rest of the banquet.” 

Slowly, Vox makes his way back inside without incident, and evades Angel’s sight line until he finds a new guest to evaluate. He peruses the crowd, shaking hands and making unmemorable pleasantries with those who don’t need any more persuasion than the night of luxury he’s provided. Their offers will roll into his inbox like the morning paper tomorrow. Really, the guests filled with excitement or ennui are the ones who need his attention the most, Valentino being the former; Vox finds the latter in an overlord spread out on his couch as she mutters complaints to a black-eyed frog demon. Target acquired. 

After straightening his tie, Vox sidles up to her and perches on the arm of the couch with a deep enough lean to brush her shiny pink hair. “Hello,” he coos. “Love the dress, darling, the red brings out your eye.” When she looks up at him, unimpressed, he holds out his hand. “I’m Vox.” 

“I know who you are, alright.” Her clipped accent is more irritating than Angel’s, and she doesn’t shake his hand, but he recognizes her name when she introduces herself as “Cherri Bomb.” 

“The seductress with the best explosives in Pentagram City—other than Carmilla’s, of course—what an honor to have you here.” When a quick once-over shows her glass to be empty, Vox snaps his fingers at the nearest server. “Can I get you anything?” 

“Does your fancy bar serve tequila?” 

The server scurries off without needing to be told. “While we wait for your drink, talk to me: tell me your story. What brought you here?” 

“Free food and booze,” she answers immediately, as though the answer has been on the tip of her tongue since he approached her, and rolls her eyes at Vox’s subsequent forced laugh. “Honestly didn’t think we’d talk. You seem a little... put together, compared to my kinda fun.” 

“So I keep hearing.” He spares a second to remember how Valentino had phrased it, with more affectionate condescension than open disdain, though it should irritate him as much. She isn’t entirely dissimilar to Val; both have made their names in sex, in being so irresistible that they collect souls in exchange for their touch, in leaving their property bruised by bite marks and their enemies blown to bits. Cherri, however, rotates through her boyfriends with little fanfare, discarding them aside from the occasional booty-call once another pursuit distracts her. As for those who betray her, threaten her harem, or provide any vaguely reasonable excuse, she decimates them with her namesake. Whether they work together or not, Vox gets the sense he would prefer to remain in her good graces. 

“What you should know about VoxTek, my dear Cherri, it’s that everyone loves us, and sinners don’t know how to love something without wanting to destroy it. Our security is great, but I like to stay on the cutting edge of innovation. Your talent with improvised weaponry interests me.” 

Right on time, the server arrives with a crystal glass of tequila, top shelf, for her. As she takes the first decadent sip, Vox delivers his offer.  

“Imagine what you could do with my resources,” he tells her. Cherri looks at him over her drink, which she’s not savoring so much as sipping between sighs, with her single eyebrow asymmetrically raised. He brightens his screen and allows the slightest swirl to creep into his magnified left eye. “You could have all the tequila you want, for starters. Trust me.” 

For a split second, he has her. She lowers the glass, mouth agape and pupil slowly spinning, but it clears the moment he stops speaking, and she punches his arm. “Don’t ever fucking try that with me again, you smarmy cunt,” she snaps as he fights to maintain his balance and keep the pain off his screen. He must fail, because she smirks triumphantly before adding, “I’m not working with a bitch like you.” 

Vox might kill her for that if they weren’t at a public event. He tucks the fantasy away as a background process, immaterial to his current goal of shoring up the company until he has an idea, to focus on the benefits of a business partner courageous enough to punch him on his own turf.  

“Surely there’s something you want?” he plies, rubbing the sting from his arm.  “Name your price.” 

After shooting the rest of her drink, Cherri nods toward the balcony. “You’ve met Val?” 

Vox cannot resist turning to look. Through the narrow windows, he can see one of Valentino’s hands gesticulating wildly, the shimmery brim of his hat, and a segment of his right calf. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. When he looks to Cherri again, the excited sparks of his antennae reflecting from her eye, she huffs.  

“I’ll take that as a yes.” The sharp tone of her voice has Vox ordering another drink for them both. She drums her fingers against the outside of her glass impatiently as he does, but allows him to finish before continuing. “Listen. The only thing I want that I can’t get myself with enough elbow grease is his contract with Angel Dust.” 

“Huh.” If Vox considers Angel from an aesthetic viewpoint, he sees the appeal; in reality, the mere thought of intimacy with such a used soul makes him want to break out in hives. “Did Val steal him from you, or…?” he asks, disguising his curiosity under a blase tone.  

This time, he sees the blow coming, and dodges Cherri’s fist. “It’s not like that, dickhead. Angie’s my friend, and Val...” she hesitates for the first time. Vox stays silent, waiting for her to continue rather than upsetting the vulnerability he’s finally coaxed from her. “Valentino has the worst fucking vibes I’ve ever seen. I may not know for sure what goes on behind closed doors, but I have a pretty good idea. So.” When she goes for another sip of tequila and remembers her glass is empty, she tosses it onto the cushion next to her and fishes a tiny baggie of white powder from her cleavage. “If you want me to work with you, or whatever, that’s my condition.” 

“I can’t interfere in another Overlord’s affairs,” Vox hedges, watching her pour a jagged line on the back of her hand and snort it, “but if you were an associate of mine, I could put in a good word on your behalf. Maybe redirect Val’s temper to spare your friend?” He has a crisp salesman’s smile in place when she finishes her line. 

She laughs dryly. “Good luck trying to tell him what to do.”  

“Well then.” He stands smoothly, reaching for the server whose arrival he hadn’t noticed until his hand bumped their tray to get his fresh champagne. “If you’d like to talk realistic terms, darling, have your people contact mine.” 

He wins a scowl from her before leaving her side, a small victory, but once he’s sure she can no longer see him, he sighs and scrubs a hand down his screen. Two pitches into the night, and Vox has nothing to show for it besides a low-level buzz. Given how long it’s been since he made progress in any aspect of the business, the fear that he’s losing his touch grumbles through his gut. Time marches on without Hell on Earth, bringing new technology and slang and ideas, and no matter how well he understands the basic principles of entertainment, he finds himself floundering to keep up with the demands of the recently dead. How Alastor maintains such a strong audience without any variety to his programming, Vox will never know.  

Still, the banquet has hours to go, and he has countless other guests to speak with. He strikes a deal with a snuff photographer to join his magazine department, hires an assorted handful of overlords for additional security, contracts a puppy-like actress newly dead and still mourning her celebrity, and nurses his way through what likely amounts to an entire bottle of champagne over the course of the evening. Other small, petty conversations fill the gaps between his victories. Little by little, his guests filter out, until Vox’s underlings begin to rouse the over-intoxicated demons scattered across the room. 

Cherri Bomb is long gone, but when Vox takes inventory of the hall, he catches sight of Angel, surreptitiously sneaking a bottle of wine under his arm as he returns to the balcony. Vox shouldn’t be surprised Val and his pet haven’t left, but the idea that Valentino is waiting to speak to him again makes his heart skip in an otherwise inexplicable way. Picking his way over the trash and general mess left behind by the banquet, he runs his hands down his clothes to smooth away as many wrinkles as possible; his job for the night isn’t over yet.  

He steps onto the balcony with a megawatt grin. “Val! Glad you’re still here. Did you have time to think about my offer?” 

Over the course of the evening, what Vox assumed to be a red cloak has unfolded into a beautiful set of wings, spread behind Valentino like a velvety curtain. His immediate desire to touch them is so strong that his hand twitches at his side before he reigns himself in and meets Val’s bright gaze.  

“I did,” Val says. He takes a leisurely drag of his cigarette, and reaches to take the wine from Angel as smoke trails from his lips. “Run home now, Angel-baby; Daddy has some business to attend to.” 

Angel casts Vox a sidelong glance. “But-” 

“Angel.” The single hissed word drips with deadly sweetness. “I’ll be there before you know it.” 

“Yeah, I uh, I’m sorry, Val.” As he speaks, Angel backs away from Valentino, reaching for the door with his upper hands, hugging himself with the lower; Cherri was right that Vox doesn’t need to see behind closed doors to know this song and dance like the back of his hand. His parents, his colleagues, his marriage, half of Hell, have lived out the cliche, and while Vox has moved beyond the need for such unsophisticated techniques, there’s an old-fashioned charm to Valentino’s brusque methodology. 

Now that Angel is gone, Vox realizes how much space Val takes up, whether he means to or not. Those lanky limbs occupy half the terrace in his sprawl, his wings cut off the area behind him, and his smoke carpets the ground in a thick layer. With one of Val’s feet propped up on the chair opposite him, Vox’s only option to sit is on the table, precariously close to the deep vee of Valentino’s neckline.  

“Sorry about him,” Val says dismissively, flicking one of his wrists toward the window, “I let his leash get too loose tonight.” 

Despite Val’s apparent hope, Vox hasn’t forgotten whose idea it was for Angel to come onto him. It was a stab in the dark. He can respect making a move, but the assumption he would sink so low still stings. “Hey, no problem. I know how contracts are.” He hops onto the table, gripping its edge when it wobbles as if it would help, should his seat tip. “Doesn’t help when he’s so fucked up, he can’t walk a straight line.” 

“His talents don’t require much walking.”  Val bites the cork off his wine bottle and spits it to the floor. Before drinking, his wily tongue cleans spillage from the neck with practiced ease, and his unbroken eye contact suggests the skill is useful in more situations than this.  

“I have an image to maintain,” Vox insists. When Val offers him the wine, he figures another drink won’t hurt. Sickly sweet remnants of Valentino’s spit coat the lip of the bottle like syrup, as rich in color as the smoke and impossible not to swallow, tingling down his throat and into his stomach. He passes the bottle back. “My days are long enough without cleaning up after your sluts.” 

“You wouldn’t have to. We can hire people for that, once my films make us filthy rich.” 

Valentino has a point there, but Vox can’t get past the idea; he kept his public persona clean in life and has done the same in death, with enough success to never want for material goods. His pursuit for more power, more fame, more money, just more, has yet to lead him astray, but this feels like the last line left uncrossed and Vox is surprisingly hesitant to traverse it.  

“Bottom line here, you’ve heard my offer. I’m not risking everything I’ve built on your word alone. Get me some real evidence a studio would succeed, and I’ll think about it,” he decides. The next time Val offers the wine, Vox barely notices the sultry taste when it burns the whole way down like a stronger liquor. “As we are,” he adds, “I think my terms are more than generous.” 

After drinking, he wipes his screen on the back of his hand and comes away sappy with Valentino’s drool. Lighter in color than blood but less reflective, it reminds him of the slick oil running through his own veins, and when he looks to Val again, more drips from the corner of his mouth in wildly alluring twin trails.  

“You’re thinking too big, baby,” Val simpers, reeling Vox in with a loose curl of two fingers. “God doesn’t care what you do in Hell. I’m sure you’ve done worse than bankroll a little filth, no?” 

Worse is subjective, but Vox doubts Val can be convinced as such. “It’s about ratings-” 

“Ratings? Your ratings will go through the roof if you-” 

“Val!” Vox snaps. As he closes the last couple inches between them, his screen flashes to full brightness and the hypnotic swirl of his eye reflects back in Valentino’s glassy gaze, shutting down the argument in its tracks. “Do not fucking interrupt me.” 

“Oh, Voxxy, I’m sorry,” he purrs, entirely unapologetic, “I just want you to see things my way.” The inch of hazy air between them is charged with Vox’s static and Val’s smoke in equal measure, already claustrophobic before Valentino raises his wings around them and takes the end of Vox’s tie in one hand, his waist in another, and his substances in the final two. “Can I make it up to you somehow?” He strokes the fine silk between two gloved fingers, angling the tie in a way that both tugs Vox's neck and turns his mirror-finished tie clip the same brilliant red as the sky.  

The moment Vox tries to stand, his legs nearly fold under him, and he has no choice but to throw an arm around Val’s shoulders for balance. “You don’t have anything I want,” he insists, despite the way his heart sings at the feel of lean muscle beneath downy purple fur. “Doesn’t matter how popular you think it'd be; I know my audience. Do you want my help or not?” 

“I want a partnership.” Their bodies are already so entangled that when Valentino draws him closer, his pearl necklaces press into Vox’s chest through his suit, on the verge of uncomfortable as they dig bruises in between his body and Val’s. “We could rule Hell, you know. The only demographic you haven’t cornered is mine, and all I need is your reach.” 

“My ex-wife already tried that pitch,” Vox grumbles, “and dying didn’t get me out of alimony.” 

 Val raises his cigarette again, nearly burning Vox’s suit on its smoldering end. “Who, Katie? If you’re worried about her, you shouldn’t be; she’s a regular already. Convincing her will be,” he takes a drag of his cigarette, “honestly, easier than you.” 

“Uh-huh.” The next wave of smoke makes Vox’s head spin. He notices too late it’s affecting him, but he needs a deal to buy him time, Val seems unrushed, and he has no reason to fear the overlord before him. Besides- he wants to know what Katie Killjoy is doing in a brothel. “And I suppose Lucifer is a customer as well?” 

“I’m not fucking with you--” Val takes the bait, “--she comes in once a week to peg the everloving shit out of my dancers. Puts ‘em out of commission for a day or two. She’s probably pent up from being married to a prude.” 

“I’m not-” Vox starts, then stops to collect himself. “Just because I’m protective of my brand doesn’t mean I never have sex, Valentino.” 

Silently, Val presses the wine into Vox’s free hand. He turns his head to find space to drink, sips from the bottle, realizes they’ve managed half of it between them already, and allows it to dangle loosely at his side. When he doesn’t look back fast enough, Val tugs his tie sharply to regain his attention.  

Vox’s entire world shrinks to Valentino, the rest of the overcrowded city left outside his soft wings and demanding hands, as Vox searches his slowed processors for a coherent thought. No one, nothing, else matters anymore. Val beats him to the punch, growling, “Do you want to prove it, gorgeous?” with the smugness of someone who’s been waiting all night to put their offer on the table, confident it will be accepted.

Well, Vox did figure an orgasm would help him think. As easy as it would be to refuse the obvious bait, he doesn’t want to jeopardize the sparks Val makes him feel, like he’s alive again for the first time since he died. This can be a one night stand; Vox can have Val without compromising his brand with an investment in porn. Maybe letting loose for one night will be enough.

“It won’t get you a studio,” Vox warns, the arm around Valentino’s shoulders retracting enough to trail his hand down Val’s exposed back. “You don’t get shit for this; I don’t fuck hookers.” 

“Whatever you say,” answers Val, and then he kisses him.  

In the decades since death, Vox has only been kissed a handful of times, and still hasn’t gotten the hang of it. His screen doesn’t allow for lips, but Val finds his mouth well enough and seems more interested in feeding Vox his sweet tasting saliva straight from the source than actually making out with him. He allows himself a fraction of a second to miss real kissing. Then Val relieves him of the wine bottle, which allows him to finally touch the tantalizing stretch of Val’s waist and pull his hips closer.  

On their feet like this, closing that distance breaks the kiss and reminds Vox he only comes up to Val’s shoulders. The disparity makes him feel queasy, alone as they are, but he shoves it down in favor of slipping his hand into the slit of Val’s dress and squeezes his bare ass. 

“The wings will cover us enough,” he murmurs, “so long as you can stay quiet.” 

“Worry about yourself.” Val nudges Vox’s coat off his shoulders, pausing to undo his cufflinks, then focuses on unbuckling his belt. His four hands mean he’s everywhere at once, touching in too many places for Vox to keep track of and slowly driving him insane. “You’re a top?” he asks, winding Vox’s tie around his hand like a slowly tightening leash.  

Although Vox manages a laugh, it comes out high and glitched. “I certainly don’t fucking bottom.” 

“I’ll fix that another time,” Val hisses, kissing Vox again to distract him from questioning the response, too overwhelming for him to process anything beyond the touch. Back to seductive, he strokes the side of Vox’s screen, thumbing red drool from its corner and reaching down the waistband of his boxers simultaneously. “How are we doing this?” 

Vox knows the tables and chairs won’t hold them both, nor are they sturdy enough not to tip over while he fucks Valentino. He considers the floor and has a moment of clarity in which he processes that he’s about to have sex on the very public balcony of his tower, on a floor low enough for passersby to see, if any sinners are still on their way out the door. 

“On your back, on the ground,” he decides, “and put out the damn cigarette.” 

“Boo,” Val whines coyly, but still opens his wings to grind it out on the railing. 

He takes two steps back, trailing his fingertips along Vox’s body until he can’t reach anymore in a display that makes Vox feel cold without him. Bastard. But as Val sinks to the floor, the performer in him shines through the slow drop to his knees, followed by a languid lean back. His wings flare out as his legs fall open enough for his obscenely short skirt to ride up his waist. Preening under Vox’s attention, Val cushions his head with one arm and begins to touch himself with his lower two hands. One strokes his cock, half-hard and pink at the tip, while the other disappears behind it and comes back glittering with slick.  

“I don’t do sloppy seconds, either,” Vox says, despite his feet staying rooted to the floor when he means to walk away. 

Val drags one leg up, bending at the knee to give him a better view. “Perk of being a sex demon: I don’t need help getting wet.” 

“Guess that makes it easier.” To buy himself a few extra seconds to gather his bearings, Vox rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and tugs his belt out of place. This, Val, is too easy for his liking, and yet here he is with any reservations relegated to his subconscious processing and an aching desire to fuck Val so hard, he takes the offer Vox made him earlier in the night. “You need anything,” he asks, lowering himself to the unforgiving concrete, “or are you good? Not gonna cry on me or some shit like that?” 

A dreamy chuckle escapes Val as he nudges Vox’s ribs with his knee. “Don’t flatter yourself, baby.” 

“Fuck you,” Vox bites back. “I’m trying to be nice,” 

Val licks his lips and says, “You really don’t have to.” 

When Vox unzips his fly and shucks down his slacks and boxers, the cold night air reminds him where they are, and he pinches the edge of Valentino’s wing between his thumb and forefinger. “Cover, Val,” he reminds dryly, I'm not an exhibitionist.” He lets go in time for Val to envelop them once more, silencing everything besides the two of them. The slightest touch to Val’s soft thighs guides them, up and out of the way for Vox to scoot into position before they wrap around his waist and stiletto heels bite into the small of Vox’s back.  

As soon as Vox gets a hand on himself, the first proper touch he’s had all evening, any remnants of his self-control dissipate with a sharp crackle between his antennae. Val makes a displeased sound and snatches his wrist away. His narrow fingers, still wrapped by gloves and damp with his own juices, give Vox a few perfunctory strokes before guiding him perfectly into place.  

Valentino is soaked for him, practically blooming for Vox’s touch, like they’re the original sinners realizing what their bodies are capable of for the first time. His pants are halfway down his legs, but he doesn’t need more to push into Val. A full body shudder rolls through Valentino’s body, culminating in a squeeze that short-circuits a couple minor connections in Vox’s processor and has him collapsing face-first into Val’s chest. 

“Fucking shit,” Vox hisses. “Do that again, Val.” 

“Give me a reason,” Val chuckles. There are at least two hands on Vox right now, possibly two hundred for how overwhelming he finds them, skimming his frame so thoroughly that he wonders whether Val is making a tactile mental map. “You can get to work anytime, amorcito, I don’t mind.” 

Vox doesn’t have the presence of mind to both retort and move. He chooses the latter. After a shaky inhale to steady himself, he braces himself with his hands on Valentino’s hips, and hopes Val won’t complain before he can bruise the imprint of his palms and discover how deep he has to dig his claws to draw blood. Truthfully, it’s been months since Vox has gotten to fuck something besides his hand, longer still since his last affair with another overlord, but this shouldn’t steal his tongue as it does. He sets a slow, steady rhythm for his own benefit rather than Val’s; his ego couldn’t take a premature finish, and if Val thinks anything of it, he’s kind enough not to criticize. 

Instead, he cups the corner of Vox’s screen in one hand to direct his gaze down at where they’re joined. “See how hard you make me? And how wet?” It's obscene, the way Vox disappears inside him over and over, each thrust spilling Valentino’s pink-tinted fluids between them. “You know, if you weren’t already so big, I’d hire you. No gag reflex, that slutty little waist-” 

“Shut up,” Vox groans, shuffling forward on his knees until he physically can’t get closer to Val, barely thrusting so much as shallowly grinding into him because it feels like anything more would fry his motherboard. “I’m already fucking you, you’re not getting- shit,” his lower stomach brushes against Val’s knuckles on the hand around his dick, and it shouldn’t make Vox stutter, “-you’re not getting anything else from me.” His ability to think, already compromised from the booze and Val’s smoke, is melting faster by the second. “Don’t have to flatter me.” 

Part of him hates how composed Valentino is in comparison, but some long-suppressed corner of Vox’s mind revels in finding someone who can hold it together when he’s unable, despite this entire situation being Val’s fault to begin with. The conflict crosses wires somewhere and turns from frustration to another reason he can’t get away from the decadent oasis that is Valentino spread out beneath him.  

“Would you rather have me degrade you? I can do that, easily,” Val says, “just let me know.” 

“I want you to be fucking quiet,” hisses Vox in return, the swirls in his eye competing with color-blocked interference on his screen. He can have his eyes and ears all over Pentagram City, but evidently, fucking another overlord while trying to hypnotize them is too much of a strain on his intoxicated system, and Valentino only laughs at his attempt. 

“Aww, poor thing,” Val teases, his voice as syrupy sweet as his kisses had been. “You know, this would be easier if you let me take care of you, Voxxy. I promise it’ll be worth it.” 

If Vox could reach Val’s throat, his face, he might have a fighting chance of shutting him up, but the longer Vox kneels between his legs, barely fucking him, the more he realizes that it doesn’t matter how they arrange themselves; Val has the upper hand. This is his specialty. Vox is out of his depth, has been since the moment he sat on the table, but it’s too late to back out now.  

“You are the expert,” he mutters to himself, not quietly enough to escape Val’s notice. 

“Exactly, amorcito, I’m the expert, and you...” Valentino pinches the side of his screen condescendingly, “are extremely repressed. Let Daddy handle it, hmm?” 

“I’m not calling you that.” 

“But you’re going to let me make you feel good?” Val presses. 

Vox knows better than to hand over what little control he still has of the situation, he really does, but something about Val makes it feel like the first time again: he’s out of his depth, virginal in comparison to a man whose job is sex. All the queasy nerves are the same. And here, trapped in Valentino’s grasp, he can practically taste how good it could be if he lets go of the reins. 

“Sure, whatever.” 

“Good.” As Valentino’s grin stretches so wide it splits his face in half, he seizes Vox with all four arms and flips them over effortlessly, tightening around him in a way that fully blues-out Vox’s screen and wrenches a distorted whine through his speakers. “You have security cameras out here, right, baby?” he purrs. Something that ought to be fear twists around Vox’s heart and makes his dick twitch inside Val. “In full color, I bet.” 

“Fucking- obviously,” Vox manages to grit out, struggling to pull words together when Val is over him, on top of him, all around him, like more of a god than he’s ever worshipped, “I have every inch of the tower covered. Why?” 

Val pins him in place with all four arms, bending until their faces are inches apart. “Because tomorrow, when you miss me, you can watch the tape back,” he sighs. Finally, he begins to move with both the leverage and the self-control to properly fuck himself on Vox’s cock. His rhythm is slow but punishing, dropping down hard enough to make a dull smack each time his ass hits Vox’s clothed thighs. “After you jerk off, you can get back to me about my proposal.” 

“So that’s your angle,” Vox accuses, barely able to form the words between the huffs of air punched out of him with every thrust.

Then, Val kisses the rest of Vox’s words from his lips, flooding his tongue with more drool that washes the thought from his mind. He’s sampling the product, as Valentino intended from the beginning, and though he loathes to admit it, Vox can’t recall sex feeling this good in the entirety of his life or death. Realizing it, processing how much better Val is than he could have imagined, makes his hips jerk uselessly under Valentino’s weight.  

He’s lost in the cherry perfume clinging to Val’s skin, utterly pinned like an insect beneath a demon who, earlier in the day, Vox would be recalcitrant to touch beyond formality’s demands. He’s weak. And he knows it, Val knows it, his employees would know it if they opened the balcony door, the world could know it if they’re not careful- it would be too easy for Vox’s pristine reputation to disintegrate. The stink of the streets is only four floors down and Val could cast him out with a snap of his fingers.  

“It’s a shame you won’t bottom, you know,” Val chatters on after breaking the kiss, indifferent to his effect on Vox. “I’d ruin every other cock for you, like how right now, I’m making sure no other pussy will ever compare.” 

His taste still lingers on Vox’s teeth when he asks, “D’you need to talk to get off? Is that it?” He tests the strength of Val’s hold, finding it absolute. “Full of yourself, huh, Val?” 

“Full of you.” The correction comes with a circle of Val’s hips, squealing feedback from his system and a humiliating urgency to the need building within him. “If you want to touch, all you have to do is ask, and-” Val licks his teeth, “I don’t care if you’re gentle.” 

“Fuck off,” Vox says, automatic like the electricity sparkling between his antenna, his heart pounding like he’s done a kilo of cocaine. “You wanted to do the work, fine. Do it.” He won’t beg.  

One of Val’s hands abandons Vox’s waist for his dick, curling around it picture-perfect, angled so Vox can imagine the beauty of a foreshortened camera shot. Between the marigold lights and their bounce off Val’s carmine wings, his cock is a work of art, and the corner of Vox’s mind that’s always thinking of business sees the marketability in an adonis like Valentino, especially when his slender, practiced fingers coax a pearly bead of precum from its rosy tip. He snaps a screenshot of the sight.  

“So, you like being held down. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” 

Val sets a rhythm that rocks him between his own hand and Vox’s dick, in turn causing him to almost pulse around Vox in a pattern better than any high-tech toy or two-buck slut, and the sticky mess between them begins to cling to his dress ruinously. He must know how stunning he looks, how intoxicating he feels, when he seems more smug than surprised by the continued stream of garbled, static sounds Vox hardly recognizes as his own.  He’d give anything for this feeling to never end—though he knows it will any minute—and for a single, sick, second, he imagines this to be how Valentino ensnares the souls under his command.  

“Are you going to come for me, baby?” Val asks, as if it’s written on Vox’s screen. “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to last.”  

“I’m-” Vox’s protest dies before he speaks it, every wire crossed and capacitor sparking with the overwhelming combination of input. His soul is Valentino’s for the minute it takes him to orgasm. Everything is Val. His hands. His thighs. His tongue. His wings. His cock. His pussy. It’s all him, and Vox cannot fathom a more infinite bliss than filling him up with useless, compulsive thrusts that make Val gasp more than once. 

“That looked fun,” drawls Val, still riding with steady rocks of his hips despite the way it tips Vox past his peak, “but I’m not finished. Be good for Daddy a little longer, ‘kay?” 

Valentino seems aware that Vox is too fucked out to argue, perhaps prefers it, and doesn’t pause for a response before guiding one of Vox’s slack hands to his dick and grinding against it. The light above them shatters with the intensity of Vox’s overstimulation. His entire system devotes itself to differentiating pain and pleasure but still cannot make sense of it.  

“Almost there, amor, you’re perfect.” Val clenches so tightly around Vox that he bluescreens again, his muscles seizing with a zap of electricity that Val must feel, judging by the hiccoughed moan that rumbles from his throat and the subtle frizz of his short fur. “Fuck, we’re going to have fun together.” 

When Val finishes, his cum is the palest shade of rosy pink, exaggeratedly plentiful as it splashes up Vox’s shirt, neck, and screen. Vox doesn’t have the wherewithal to be upset, be anything besides overwhelmed, until Val gracefully stands and smiles down at him. Ten feet feels like a hundred; Vox is an ant, about to be crushed under Val’s shiny patent heels, and he can’t find it in himself to get out of the way. 

“Enjoy the tape, Vox. Call me.” 

Just like that, he’s gone, inside on his way back to street level, leaving Vox a mess on the floor with his fly down and his mind scattered. He solves the first problem immediately, then searches the walls for the telltale glint of a camera lens. It has to be somewhere. There are at least four on this balcony, and if Vox had half a mind, he wouldn’t need to hunt for them at all. By the time he figures it out, what he’s just done is beginning to sink in like a bad high.  

Disappearing into the circuits to reform in his command center saps the rest of Vox’s energy. He falls into his chair like a doll with its strings cut. The cool air refreshes his overheated systems even as it feels frigid to the warm ghosts of Valentino’s hands all over him. A hard reboot would shake the jitters, but he can’t leave footage of himself and Val in the archives for a moment longer than strictly necessary. There’s still work to be done. 

He pages the good assistant—Stanford—and prays that they haven’t gone home for the night yet. Vox doesn’t make the schedules himself anymore, nor does he care to keep track of the shifts so long as he has someone around the clock. They arrive in a record 96 seconds, out of breath but alert, eyes wide and focused on Vox like he’s the center of their universe.  

“You needed me, Mr. Vox?” they say, slowly lowering their clipboard when they realize how haphazardly he occupies his chair. “Are you- is everything okay?” 

“Fucking dandy, my dear. Listen, I’ve got a couple errands for you to run, discreetly if you can manage it.” 

They open their mouth as if to argue, but think the better of it when Vox raises an eyebrow at them. He tries not to imagine how he must look, a disaster with a few pesky errors still affecting his screen every so often and spit-stains all over his button-down from Val’s careless tongue. 

Vox lifts his index finger and begins, “First, I want the footage from the security cameras on the fifth floor. Every fucking one. Inside, outside, every corner of every room. Got that?” He pauses for Stanford to jot this down, nodding vigorously, before raising a second finger. “Then, get me a change of clothes, a pot of coffee, and a brick of cocaine, in no particular order.” Without stimulants he won’t be able to trudge through the tapes. 

“Yes sir, right away,” Stanford agrees, finishing the to-do list with a flourish of their ballpoint pen.  

Once they disappear, Vox folds his arms atop his desk and rests his screen on them. He’s woozy, sleepy, too fucked up to worry about much beyond making sure no one ever sees the recording of him and Val. It was stupid to sleep with him and Vox will hate himself for it in the morning, he knows, but he can’t find it in himself to regret his moment of weakness yet.  

He distracts himself with a rerun on one of the many screens at his terminal: a sitcom, the first he produced himself, still airing overnight to profit off its small but dedicated fanbase. Color television was new to Hell then, though the novelty had begun to wear off on Earth, and it shows in the garish shades Vox cringes at as much as the choppy writing. Nonetheless, it sucks him in with its simplicity for an episode and a half before his doors swish open with Stanford’s return. 

“Your coffee,” they place a full, steaming pot on his desk, alongside his favorite ‘Fuck Alastor’ mug, “and your coke.” As Vox pours his coffee, they unfold a pair of sweatpants and a striped tee shirt from the crook of their arm. “I brought you something comfortable, since it’s late; I’ll come back with a suit before breakfast.” The back of their hand brushes his arm as they reach into their pocket for a VCR tape. “And here’s today’s CCTV from the fifth floor. Is that everything?” 

Vox takes the tape. Its hard plastic digs into his fingertips and he realizes how easy it would be to simply destroy it. This is the only copy, and if he never watches it, he could pretend the whole evening never happened. Nothing has to change.  

“I want your opinion on something as a loyal VoxTek customer.”  From the corner of Vox’s vision, Stanford shifts their weight and glances back at the door. “No right or wrong answer here, don’t worry.” When they step back, Vox reels his trademark smile onto his face. He doesn’t know if he has the energy to force an answer. “Do you like our current image?” 

“I- uh, definitely, it- it’s perfect, Mr. Vox, I love it-” 

He sighs. “Yeah, I get that. Is it important, do you think, that we keep our broadcasts clean?” 

While they mull his question over, Vox ducks under his desk to find the VCR slot. The faint glow of his screen barely lights the way, but he finds it quickly enough to avoid making a fool of himself- not that his assistant would dare to comment.  

“I’m thinking about expanding our portfolio,” he explains as he returns to his chair. “Maybe a new channel, so it doesn’t interrupt regular programming.” Instead of clearing his mind, the caffeine just burns Valentino's imprint deeper into his servers; Vox needs to see him again, more than he needs air, and a partnership would guarantee it. “Any thoughts? Or is that too complicated for you?” 

Stanford pushes their glasses up their nose. “Our viewers are loyal, sir, and... I think they’d give anything a chance, if you made it. I know I would.” 

They toe the line between flattery and honesty well, enough of a tremor in their voice that Vox can almost taste their fear of having the wrong opinion. Life on earth was similarly filled with sycophants, but if he surrounds himself with yes-men, he’ll never have a wall to bounce the shitty ideas off of. In the back of his mind, he wonders whether Val would be honest: if he would send Vox back to the drawing board, or if he’d prop him up through the failures. Relying on someone could be nice.

Then Vox remembers he’s thinking about Val, the moth demon dripping aphrodisiacs from his lips as he spins promises equal parts invigorating and appalling, and he has to consciously remind himself not to make this into more than it is. He can align his business with Valentino, for profit alone, but it doesn’t mean he will ever experience Val’s manipulative, magnificent touch again.  

“Well, off you go,” Vox chirps, spinning his chair to the side. “Remember to clear space for us to talk, and oh-” he waits for the click of Stanford’s pen, “Get an appointment with that club owner, Valentino, on the books next week.” 

“Yes, Mr. Vox. Have a good night!” 

He listens to Stanford’s feet patter away and waits for his door to clang shut before he pulls the CCTV footage up on his screens, scattering the dozens of feeds so that he can see each grainy black and white image. He scans through them, from the hallways to the conference rooms to the bars, until he finds the three cameras from the balcony Val spent the evening on. From there, Vox jumps into the machinery long enough to wind the tapes faster, spinning through useless hours of setup and chitchat until the image displays him, balanced on the table, his shark-toothed grin not enough to mask how thoroughly Val ensnared him. He knows that once he watches, he won’t have it in himself to refuse Valentino’s proposition. This, more so than allowing Val to touch him in the first place, is the line Vox can never uncross. 

Still, he sparks back to his chair, and settles in against the comfortable leather in front of his screens. 

[michaelasworlds-blog]

Hey Hey!

Today I wanted to share a Human AU that I’ve been thinking about writing (well I’m gonna write it lol) It’s about my OC (Bean) and Vox (Vaughn), it’s set in the 1930s and goes until 1950 (when Vox dies). I’ve written the beginning. Everything you see is literally a WIP, so it’s all under construction (it may change over time) See how ya like it! 😊

Summary: In 1930, Beatrice is a young biracial girl who knew from the start that she wasn’t destined to succeed. However she meets Vaughn, a radio host trying to make it to television, this is her opportunity to make it; to have fame and fortune…

But what price will she pay?

~~~~~~

🚨TRIGGER WARNING: RACISM, HOMOPHOBIA, UNDERAGE MARRIAGE!🚨

Baton Rouge, Louisiana 1930

Vaughn Anderson was a man of many talents, and he was happy to share these talents with his friends and family, at least as long as they had something to give in return.

Thats why when his “friend”, Donahue “Donnie” Matten asked him for help he got on the next train to Louisiana. Vaughn had hoped whatever he wanted was worth it, Louisiana was hotter than Hell; he hadn’t been here since he was being interviewed at WWL; the only crappy radio station they had. The host, some four eyed bastard, tried embarrassing him on the air. He refused to come back, but Tommy, his publicist, convinced him it was a bad idea.

“There he is!” Donnie stepped out of the car.

Vaughn flashed him a fake smile, if he could describe Donnie in one word it’d be “irresponsible”. He was a talented pianist, was from old money and known by everyone in the North then he just disappeared, this is the first time he’s seen him in 17 years.

“Shake a leg Bea!” He yelled behind him.

A young girl came up behind him, she wore a light blue dress that with white gloves and heels to compliment it; the young lady struggled to keep her hat on her head. Her skin was what Vaughn was focused on, it was very tanned; almost a light brown, maybe a little lighter than a paper bag but she was definitely brown. “Sorry papa,” she took the hat off, revealing coily brown hair that reached her shoulders.

“Donnie, finally,” Vaughn laughed, shaking his hand.

“Hope the trip wasn’t too rough,” Donnie pat him on the back. Was he not gonna mention the brown elephant in the room?

“Well I had to ride next to a man that smelled like he showered in booze, I had to sit in this dirty stuffy train station for almost an hour, and I’m back here in this country hick place; so all in all..it was fantastic,” He wore a grin on his face, but his voice was full of sarcasm. “Please get to what you need, I’m a very busy man.”

“Right! This..” Donnie pushes the girl forward. “This is Beatrice.”

“Hello sir, pleasure to meet you,” she smiled.

Vaughn nodded in her direction, “She just got back from boarding school a month ago, she’s great at singing, painting and the violin-“ Donnie was interrupted by Vaughn pulling him to the side.

“What are you doing?” He asked him.

“I have the slightest idea,” Donnie looked smug.

“Just answer this, is she your daughter? Your ACTUAL daughter?” He glanced at Beatrice.

“Quite the looker isn’t she?” He nudged him. Vaughn had to admit Beatrice was beautiful, she didn’t have any blemishes or marks on her face but that could be easily hidden with makeup.

“What is it you want?” Vaughn was done with the run around.

“I want you to take my daughter’s hand in marriage.”

This made Vaughn laugh, “Do you know how illegal that is?! It’s more illegal than her existence!”

“Oh you would know about illegal huh? With your little community that you keep deep in woods, you tell the listeners it’s charity for the the homeless but we all what goes on, it’s also the reason that you’ve NEVER had a woman in your life; you’re some kind of fairy,” Donnie looked him up and down smirking.

Vaughn groaned, Tommy told him about everything; if there were rumors about him being a homosexual, he’d know.

He didn’t have a problem with…Beatrice’s people, some of his followers were of color; they were very resourceful people in nature but not in public. “Say I did marry her? Would there be something in it for me?”

“Vaughn on Air could happen a lot faster, I could talk to my father and he could talk to some people,” Donnie was smug, he had been waiting for something like this; Vaughn Anderson finally needed his help and he finally had something useful to give.

“And..who is this someone?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow.

“Sonny Rogers, that’s who,” Donnie responded.

Vaughn’s eyes widened, Sonny Rogers? THE Sonny Rogers?! He was able to make a star out of anyone, not that Vaughn wasn’t a star but this could be big, bigger than “Vaughn on Air”! He cleared his throat keeping his composure, “Well I have to talk with Tommy but you have a deal.”

“Excellent!” Both the men shook hands before returning to Beatrice, who was in her own little world. “Bea! Come on girl!” Donnie ordered.

She hurried over to him, standing in front of Vaughn. He looked down at her, a smile forming across face, “Enchanté ma chérie.” He kissed her hand, making her blush.

Translation: Pleased to meet you my dear.

Beatrice seemed frozen, just staring at him; “Bonjour,” she managed to say quietly.

Vaughn laughed, “No need to be nervous doll face, I’m just pulling your leg!” Beatrice also laughed.

“I’m going back to the house Bea, don’t cause any trouble; you listen to Mr. Anderson!” Donnie laughed, walking back to his car before driving off.

The two watched the car leave, Vaughn turned to the young lady; “I’m melting out here, how bout we hit the nearest ice cream parlor for some ice cream?”

Beatrice nodded, smiling with excitement, “We can take the trolley into town!” She took his hand practically dragging him to the nearest trolley.

Vaughn listened to the girl yap on and on about nothing, all he could think about was how she was the key to his success, and he was the key to hers. Which means,

She wasn’t going anywhere.

(Tags: @man--eater @artemis1214 @nkirukaj @mythosandthemorbid ) Just tagging ppl I haven’t lol

[artofhazbinhotel]

Have a story about Valentino and Vox being mutually toxic to each other

It gets a little suggestive at the end but nothing shown due to a timeskip

After the last argument between vox and Valentino, it ended with Valentino walking out, that's never happened before. As if Vox's fragile ego wasn't being threatened enough with that action alone it had been a couple days of Valentino just straight out avoiding him. It took Vox until the 5th day to crack, he needs Valentino, more than he wants to, he needs that validation and attention, what is he without it? He tries to convince himself that's what's wrong and not how attached he is to his business partner, but he knows that's not true. In order to hide the hurt of not being able to take being ignored, he masks it with anger, that's the only way Valentino might listen anyway, he's accepted that, and he also would never allow himself to beg for him to come back.

Vox waited until Valentino was alone, the studio just shut for the night and he was smoking in hid chair with one leg over the other like usual. The lighting was very dim but with a surge of electricity some lights in a row brightened completely before exploding, raining glass, but none close to Val. Val got up from his chair, immediately knowing who would announce themselves this dramatically, he smirks, oooh he likes where this is going. "Took you long enough" With a zap Vox had appeared in front and quickly slammed Valentino against the nearest wall pinning the wrists of his top set of arms. "Who the fuck do you think you are? I do everything for you and you just leave?? You'd be nothing without me!" Vox doesn't truly believe that, but he kind of wished Val did, maybe that would stop him from doing this to him. Valentino's wings hitting the wall hurt, but not enough for him to give any reaction, that grip hurt too, but he won't give the satisfaction of reacting. "I don't know cariño, have you seen your ratings lately? Without me to cheer you up you can't focus, can you?" Valentino wasn't taking emotions seriously, what else is new?

The grip on his upper hands tightened and it hurt but he retaliated, the lower set of hands gripped the other overlords waist, nails digging in "You need me, that's why you're here, you can't even go 5 days, that's a little pathetic, isn't it?" Despite the harsh words the tone was seductive, it was conflicting to Vox's emotions and body, he winced in pain not sure if it was the physical or emotional. "I don't need you, I want you, and you should be *honored* I do" The hands gripping his wrists that were now bruised sent a zap of electricity into them, not that hard, but hard enough to hurt and make his wings flinch. "You aren't allowed to ignore me like this, you're going to get yourself killed because you can't be left alone for 5 minutes let alone 5 days, you can't take care of yourself" another jolt, more intense went through and this time Val squeaked involuntarily "Val, Baby, if you get hurt or killed without your babysitter think about how that would make me look" Vox smirks, knowing that would hurt to think this is about business and not feelings, like Val just makes money and that's it, even to belittle his self preservation.

Valentino believes it, finally feeling hurt, the way he made Vox by leaving like that. But he doesn't take kindly to hurt feelings, on impulse he stomped his stiletto into Vox's foot, making him let go and step back in pain "Ow! Fuck you!" With his hands free, despite the harsh fall and possible damage of a TV hitting the floor, Valentino risked it, tackling Vox to the cold ground beneath them. The screen changed colors for a second, registering the force of a fall, but since it was from the back there were no cracks, damage more internal. Valentino took the opportunity to lean over vox with spread wings, making himself look even better "You don't tell me what to do, I do what I want"

Well Vox didn't even react and gripped that fur to yank Val's face to his, he squeaked again, the fur was already standing up from the electricity earlier "You want me, an argument isn't going to stop that, I know you, so stop being a bitch and just come back to the house tonight" His head was ringing, but the frustration was more important. The pimp pretended to think about it before smirking "Beg me." Vox refuses, glitching at even the idea, Valentino made him feel like shit and wants begging? Fuck no, that dick doesn't deserve it. Finally using those claws he always avoided, he pierced those shoulders and didn't let go, Val flinched in response despite being the one looming over him.

"You should be begging for my forgiveness but I'm being somewhat nice, you're coming home with me, I'll drag you myself if I have to, you aren't spending another night avoiding me, you're spending the night on your bed and I'm not letting go unless you agree with me" nails sunk in deeper. See, Valentino could never be intimidated by his Voxy, the same way Vox could never be intimidated by him, but being told what to do mixed with that pain in an attempt of intimidation just made him horny, this whole situation did actually. "Why's that? What makes you think you can give me an order?" He teased in a bratty tone. And vox got the message, the fact he was flirting meant they were so close to making up, it gave him hope. "Because you're mine and I don't want anyone else touching you tonight, especially with your poor wrists bruised like that, what if they hurt you?" He ran a finger along with a smirk "We wouldn't want that" Val reached forward and felt the screen, it glitched from the damage. "Can you even see to drag me home?"

"Coming from you?" Vox shut an eye at the pain, but smiled, Valentino was coming with. His own hand brushed through Valentino's fur, it was still all standing up from those shocks earlier. "Are you hurt?" Val shivered at the touch "Not nearly enough"

When they got home Vox was carrying Valentino while making out with him, despite limping because his foot was injured Val insisted on being carried, typical. He sat him on the couch because it was the closest thing and his sight was messed up too from that fall. Val was no better, the fur on his wings, antennas, and chest were fuzzed out and messy, the wings twitched with aftershocks, and both were bleeding in different places, the most obvious being Valentino's lip and both their necks, that salvia dripped from both their mouths. Velvette heard the commotion of them coming home and made the mistake of leaving her room, she froze in horror before gesturing to the scene. "What the FUCK!" She hates this fucking house.

[blue-rose-soul]

Well, hello!

First of all, I would like to tell you that your publications are very interesting, fun and inspiring, I really like the concepts and AU's that you share here.

So, my question is, how different are Vox's..."feelings" or thoughts towards Alastor between "The Devil's Bastard AU" and "Raised Together AU"?, since clearly in one case he later finds out Alastor is Lucifer's son, while in the other he knows it from the beginning, so there are probably differences with the canon.

I mean, from what I've seen here, I think you mentioned that Vox is still obsessed with him, but if you could elaborate a little more on the scope of those complicated feelings I would really appreciate it.

By the way, have a nice day :)

I actually had to go back and reread some of my old posts, because I needed a little refresher on everything I'd already written about Alastor and Vox. For the main Devil's Bastard AU, I would say that Vox's feelings upon learning about Alastor's secret are a mix of shock, fury, and horror. It doesn't really occur to him that Alastor himself didn't know that Lucifer was his father. Vox's first thought is that of course Alastor knew, he just kept it a secret so he could build himself up as a self-made man while secretly being a nepotism Overlord and a hypocrite.

It's one of those things he and Alastor often fought about, right before their friendship dissolved. Alastor coming from a poorer background and being a member of multiple marginalized communities during the days of Jim Crow laws, while Vox was a white, presumably wealthy cult leader who preyed on the disenfranchised, they had wildly different views on things such as class and wealth inequality. So when it comes out that Alastor is Lucifer's son, Vox comes to believe that Alastor was talking out of his ass during every one of those arguments.

At the same time, Vox is seething over the missed opportunity to have someone with Morningstar blood on his side. The royal family isn't well respected (except maybe Lilith, but it's hard to say definitively) but they are undoubtedly powerful. That's why the Vees were so nervous about Alastor making a deal with Charlie. Vox tells himself that if he had known, he would have fought harder to get Alastor either as a business partner or on the end of his chain.

He's right. In the Raised Together AU where Vox knew from the get go who Alastor was, Vox approached him with that knowledge in mind. His friendship with Alastor had a less organic beginning, as he had ulterior motives towards Alastor. However, I do think that he did develop real feelings for Alastor over time. Not necessarily healthy ones, mind you, but real nonetheless. I'm fond of the interpretation that Alastor was Vox's bi awakening and that the two of them had a genuine friendship before whatever incident lead to them becoming bitter rivals. There's also the implication that Alastor may have played a part in Vox's rise to overlord status.

Now, Alastor isn't stupid. He's aware that many of the demons who approach him are looking to improve their social standing. He was less open to Vox in the beginning, but Vox's charisma and honed people-skills did eventually get him into Alastor's good graces, and as Vox's feelings developed, Alastor's walls came down to the point that he willing to call Vox a true friend.

However, Vox didn't let his emotions get in the way of his ambition. If anything, he only became more determined to tie Alastor to him. He started trying to drive a wedge between Alastor and Charlie, encouraging Alastor's worse habits and more ruthless side. He tried appealing to Alastor's ego by saying how the two of them were above the common Sinners and with their powers combined they could control the entire Ring of Pride and blah blah blah. He proposed his alliance and, well...

Like I said. Alastor isn't stupid. He'd been fully aware that Vox had been trying to manipulate him for some time by then, but he valued their friendship enough to try to maintain it and arrogant enough to think he could do this while evading Vox's manipulation attempts. And, well, it wasn't like he didn't also use Vox, to an extent. Bridging the gap between himself and the Overlords, getting an in to their meetings and a direct line to some of the technological and social advances taking place in Hell. As long as it was reciprocal, it was fine. But when he turned down Vox's proposal, Vox exploded.

It didn't turn into full on physical fight, not because they weren't willing to hurt each other, but because Vox had enough self-control to remind himself that attacking Lucifer's son might not be the best idea. But their friendship did end messily in that moment, even without the bloodshed. Afterwards, Vox had to tread carefully around Alastor so although their rivalry still exists, it's not quite as public. What he didn't know was that Alastor actually prevented Lucifer from doing anything to Vox after their falling out. Later when asked, Alastor will say that Vox had only ever used him and never actually cared for Alastor, but he won't speak a word on his own feelings about what happened.

[liliana-cannon]

One more Games. She was trying to not be disappointed, to see this as an opportunity, a final window to make connections, but she couldn't help the irritated jealousy pulsing behind everything she did here. She was twenty-nine years old, well beyond the age her brothers had been representing the family at, and only now she was allowed to join the fray in the Capitol to represent the Cannon name? Bullshit. Bullshit, but she was still eating up the scraps her parents were giving her, because if she fumbled this...

She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, looking away from the contract she'd drawn up at a meeting with the fresh Vox Gamemaking team earlier that day. The Cannon arms business needed to evolve, needed to earn the government's trust, and these final Games plus a war... well, there was no better opportunity to strike up a deal. She was slated to take over the business, and yet she'd had to beg, bargain, beg some more to get herself here. She wanted to be handed the reins, she could not fuck this up.

The back of her neck tingled. She opened her eyes and cast a glance over her shoulder. Of course. Of-fucking-course. Her not-brother was hovering nearby her workstation in the Tower's lobby, casting her a completely indecipherable look. "If I had wanted to speak to the dead, I'd find myself a ouija board," she snarled in his direction, pretending to bury herself in her work again.

@everettcannon