A/N: Yeah I'm not stopping. As usual link at the end.
Vincent’s hands were still trembling — not from fear, but from excitement. Blood speckled his shirt, his knuckles, even the corner of his cheek where a stray drop had flicked up.
He didn’t notice any of it.
All he could focus on was Alastor standing infront him, one hand cupping Vincent’s jaw with that slow, confident tenderness that always made his circuits feel like they were overheating.
“You are doing it great, sweetheart,” Alastor murmured against his ear, voice smooth like warm radio static. Praise wrapped in velvet. Encouragement disguised as sin.
Vincent’s breath caught — he lived for that tone.
He leaned into Alastor’s touch, eyes fluttering shut briefly as the older man’s thumb brushed over a smear of blood on his cheek.
Vincent’s grin widened, sharp and boyish all at once.
“Thank you, honey,” he whispered, blue and green eyes glowing a little brighter, pride rolling through him like electricity.
The knife in Alastor’s hand gleamed, freshly used but steady, held with elegance only he could make look romantic. Vincent’s own hands rested on Alastor’s waist — messy, trembling, desperate for approval, desperate for him.
Alastor guided Vincent’s wrist gently, lining up the blade again, his voice soft and coaxing:
“Just like that, darling… slow and deliberate. There’s an art to this.”
Vincent shivered — not at the gore, but at the attention.
At Alastor choosing to touch him, to guide him, to let him be part of this intimate violence.
The room smelled like copper and adrenaline.
Vincent had never felt more loved.
Alastor kissed the side of his neck — light, approving, almost domestic.
“Good boy,” he murmured.
Vincent practically melted, breath hitching as he leaned further into Alastor’s chest, hands gripping him tighter.
He whispered with that shaky devotion only Vincent could have:
“Anything for you, Alastor… anything you want.”
Alastor smiled — a soft, wicked, unmistakably pleased thing — and tilted Vincent’s chin up to kiss him, uncaring that their lips smeared together with red.
“Excellent,” he purred.
“Then let’s finish what we started.”
And for Vincent, nothing had ever felt more like home.
i think people should be required to read up on fandom history of censorship and why ao3 was founded in order to use ao3. too many people going "ao3 shouldn't allow certain things!" nowadays.
we were critiquing character designs in class today, when there was a really good one, and someone turned to the artist, holding their laptop. the screen of which just said "WOULD" in big trackpad-drawn letters
youve convinced me on vox x Emily, theyre super cute
now you got me thinking of an alternate universe where vox/ Vincent whittman, a religious man falling far from his faith, had a personal encounter with the seraphim of joy her self where she's the closest he's ever felt to a religious experience and decides to worship her instead of god
I believe the artist that sold me on this ship is working on a sort of guardian angel au for them and I'm excited to read it, but that is a good one too.
Vox becoming obsessed because despite how much he's been told to have faith, that faith is blind, Emily is visible and solid and REAL. Why shouldn't he believe in something he can see and hear and touch and smell and TASTE. She is the being of joy, she makes him happy, keeps him focused, sane. His biggest supporter no matter what. But those darker urges? Still there. And he is a master manipulator when it comes to situational punishment. He begs for her retribution, her punishment, eventually claims that he can only find absolution within her perfect form. That this is likely to be the only Heaven he is able to find.
Emily finding him covered in blood, smiling like a maniac while tears stream down his face and carve tracks through the grime and her heart breaks for him. She's watched him for a while and she intervened because she knows he's good deep down but his desperation for love and acceptance have twisted his heart. If his desire to worship her gets him back on the right path she will never promise to be a false idol.
Oh! Wait! A popular charlastor trope is priest Al/succubus Charlie right? Why not priest Vincent/angel Emily? She could be sent to him after he prays desperately for salvation, begging to be saved from the wicked was taking hold. Not only is he having impure thoughts not fit for a man of god, they're impure thoughts about another man. A fellow priest. And there comes Emily; the answer to his prayers. A guardian angel sent to guide him and protect him from this wickedness. Except, she's too pure, too perfect, and the darkness in him seeks to consume her. Comes to a head when he discovers Alastor consorting with a succubus; when in a move driven by care and possessive jealousy he goes to kill the demon and save his "brother"'s soul only for Emily to intervene. Tell him that this is not the way, but he's seen too much, been too tempted, too corrupted. If a demon isn't too good for a man of god, why should an angel be? Emily has always been there, Emily has never had anything for him but kind words and boundless support and endless love. She is god's love made manifest and he selfishly wants her all to himself.
An optimistic ray of sunshine that cares about souls others around her do not:
A dangerous overlord with a penchant for song and dance who shares a similar color palette/family with her. Thinks the idea of people getting better is a joke and obsessed with power as represented by the female they are a foil to:
Bonus points: the two men are more or less "evenly" matched but both women could easily kick their asses (something they're not so secretly into)
What she means: Val and Vel making the active decision to save Vox from himself and take him with them instead of abandoning him outright once he became a liability means they do believe people can be forgiven for past mistakes if given the oppertunity to actually reflect and bounce back and they're way closer to being on Charlie's side than they think.
What she means: Val and Vel making the active decision to save Vox from himself and take him with them instead of abandoning him outright once he became a liability means they do believe people can be forgiven for past mistakes if given the oppertunity to actually reflect and bounce back and they're way closer to being on Charlie's side than they think.
KENDRICK RELEASE A 3RD AGE GAP VOX AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 💗🙏
𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐩 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐕𝐨𝐱³
Age gap romance, version 2
✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Age gaps don't mean much in hell. When Vox was alive, a younger lover would have gotten him hot and bothered, but since age is relative to the year a sinner dies, it's not nearly as taboo as it could be. Still, it's fun for him to play into.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He loves showing you Hell from the vantage point of somebody who's already clawed his way up every tower of influence. He guides you through the neon skyline, pleased to flaunt his success. “Stick with me, and I can promise you the premium tour. How many sinners can say that? Fucking zilch.”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Post hell, Vox becomes protective as opposed to possessive. If somebody mouths off at you, he'll step in, tilt his screen, and glitch menacingly. You're not very popular these days. Still, Vox gets a kick out of it. "No need to lift a finger. Your man handles customer complaints.”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The age difference comes through in the way he steadies you emotionally. If you're quick to fluster or lash out, he'll place a hand on your jaw and hold your focus. “You burn too hot too fast. Let me show you the long game. You trust me, right?”
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He touches you confidently, gaging your mood and desire. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, but he already knows and intends to deliver.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ He praises you only when you earn it, which makes it hit twice as hard. Mid kiss he murmurs, “Fuck, you are addictive,” in that low voice that curls down your spine.
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