Eh.....Hi Cherry, sorry to bother you, but could you write something about Angel Vincent?
By the way, I hope you're having a good day.
HELLO ANON!! I am having a good day :3 I hope u have a good day too!!! Thank u for this writing prompt !!!!
Writing Prompt #4
“You are just... breath-taking, like this.”
“Vincent...”
“No, seriously. Like, I know it’s been ten years and all, but I just can’t stop staring at you sometimes! Have you considered modeling? I heard this new overlord, Valentino, he does modeling!”
“He does adult modeling, you idiot.”
Vincent’s expression froze on a dopey, open-mouthed smile. Then his eyes widened and his screen glitched. A silly little feature Alastor was beginning to grow fond of, especially when his fellow stowaway did it during moments of embarrassment.
“He does what?!” Vincent’s screen was brightened with a synthetic blush. “Definitely don’t go to him!”
Alastor sneered in disgust, “I wasn’t planning to.”
Sometimes, he doesn’t know why he allowed Vincent to come down to Hell with him. The man is hopeless, awkward, seems to stumble all over himself. And, sure, that could be a result of Vincent’s romantical feelings for him, but he thinks that even without that added defect he would be just as graceless as he was now.
Vincent’s eyes roamed the busy streets of hell, silly little antennas drooping. “How about we forget I said anything?”
“Agreed.” Al stopped short of the sidewalk, catching the faux-TV demon by his arm before he walked into traffic. Cars were speeding by – faster then anything Alastor has seen before. It was magnificent. “My, they’re in a hurry.”
“Probably because there’s a turf war happening on the east end of pride.” Vincent mumbled.
He paused, then gave Vincent an incredulous look.
“What?”
“How do you know that?” Al’s ear twitched, “I didn’t hear anything of it.”
“Oh. I just, uh, listen... I guess? I mean, I pieced different details together. I used to write for this news station... That was before I quit to pursue a job related to my degree.”
Despite himself, Alastor gave a low hum of approval. Interesting! He didn’t know that about him. In the twenty years they’ve known each other, Alastor and Vincent never strictly spoke about their moments alive. Well, he has chosen not to. Vincent takes any second he can to talk about his experiences in studying a useless guppy.
“You have a talent for gathering news, then...” Alastor crossed his arms behind his back, “I wasn’t the sort for that, during my days.”
“Y-Your days?” Vincent’s voice was meek and full of static, endearingly fighting off his excitement at the tiny bone sent his way. “Like... alive?”
“Yes, dear, alive.” He looked both ways on the street with a dramatically flare, then spun his head with a sickening crack to face Vincent. The little shriek of fear he got in return was so satisfying! “I was a radio host! Oh, it was a splendid ordeal! I didn’t just air locally!”
Vincent’s eyes were wide, but the fear response seemed to start to fade away. “So you were, like, a celebrity...?”
“Nothing like that, I’m afraid.” Alastor sighed, twisting his head back into a more human angle and began walking across the street. He knew Vincent would follow without having to check. “But, it was popular. I just couldn’t... acknowledge that I was associated to it. Not that it mattered, in the end.”
“So, people found out?”
“A specific group, yes.”
A pause.
“And... you got fired...”
Vincent is from a later time, but at least he knew something bad happened because of his secret spilling. Even if the assumption was wrong.
“No.” Alastor hadn’t realized it, but at a point he had stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Sinners knocked past him, but he remained frozen in place. Just the mere whisper of how he died was activating his need to hide, to flee, to run and run and never look back. But, he can’t. He feels frozen in place. He spat the words out, needing to move past this moment. “No, they chose a different way to punish me.”
Vincent remained quiet for a humiliatingly long time. Then, his hand gently pressed into the small of Alastor’s back and he whispered, “Let’s go for a drink. Our place is just a few blocks away. I’m really craving a beer.”
“You have unrefined tastes.” Alastor breathed in, grounding himself through Vincent’s touch. It was a welcomed distraction – a type of uncomfortable he could nurse himself on to avoid thinking about his past. “But we have eternity to fix that.”
“Hell yeah, we do!” Vincent stepped in front of him, eyes glittering. “And, I was thinking, we should get demon names. I like Vox.”
“For me?”
“For me!”
“Ha!” Alastor was finally able to relax, tension melting out of his muscles and leaving a painful ache in its absence. He latched onto the pain with a feverish greed. “What a ridiculous name. What did you do? Combine the words Vincent and Idiot Box?”
Vincent’s wide grin turned strained.
“You did!”
“No one else needs to know that!”
All Alastor could do was laugh as they walked to their favourite bar, “You’re such an idiot!”
Vox could barely hear over his pounding heart. Alastor barely survived that battle — he knew, he knew, he should have offered his help. Of course, that would have dipped his percentage points by just merely suggesting Alastor couldn’t handle fighting Adam by himself. But, at least he would have been there! At least then he wouldn’t have to witness Alastor melt away into his shadows from a distance.
Where the fuck did he go? His radio tower? That’s destroyed! He gripped the sides of his screen. Where could he send his cameras? He doesn’t want to risk calling Alastor – he’d never answer his phone in this state, anyway!
Would he flee to our bar? It’d be empty... Maybe he’d go to Rosie? That rotten bitch would—
“Vin.”
Vox spun around, “Alastor!”
Fuck.... Fuck!
His love, his best fucking friend in all of existence, curled pathetically against his sofa on the ground. It looked like he barely clawed his way up through the shadows, panting and pressing a palm tightly into his chest where Adam’s weapon sliced him. Vox winced when he realized blood was seeping past the cracks between his fingers.
“Holy shit, fuck, Allie.” He ran forward and collapsed on his knees, sliding close to press his larger hand into the wound without thinking — anything to stop the bleeding. “Can you walk? Wait, no, you need to save energy... can I carry you? Al?”
Vox should be checking his stats. He should be thinking with a rational mind, figuring out what his body needed, where the pain was worse, if Alastor was even coherent — but all he could do was watch his own hands shake as he tried to apply pressure to the wound.
Will Alastor die? Vox’s eyes watered at the thought, vision narrowing and swimming. He can’t lose Alastor – Not now! Not ever! What will he do? What can he do? He’s going to lose the most beautiful, amazing person in all of Hell.
His momentary mental break was cut short with a harsh, but dutiful, hit to the head.
“Focus!” Alastor snapped at him, “And stop touching me!”
Vox looked up, eyes still wet but at least he could see clearly again. “I’m not letting you bleed out in my fucking home, Al!”
“Are you stupid?” Alastor rolled his eyes, “Move your hand, I’ve stitched myself up just as you started your little tiff.”
He paused, then lifted his shaky palm away and... Oh. Alastor’s not bleeding anymore. What was once a fast, seemingly endless, stream of red had been cut off with thick green stitches in tight, neat coils. Distantly, they reminded him of Velvette’s masterful stitch work and he realized that maybe Alastor had learned from her and applied it to himself.
“Oh my God, Al...” Vox sucked in a shaky breath, “I nearly fainted just now. I think I need a drink.”
Alastor huffed, his smile relaxing a bit as he leaned comfortably into the sofa. “Make it two... actually, three. I cannot believe I’ve humiliated myself so thoroughly...”
“What?” He blinked, then blinked again. “Are you kidding? You fucking fought the first man!”
Al closed his eyes with a grumbly groan.
“Okay, you got hurt, but who cares? You landed a couple hits on him! That was awesome!”
Vox watched as Alastor opened a single eye, peering at him with a narrowed stare. Just out of habit, he found himself turning on the chips screen overlays to see closer into Alastor’s mood.
[ 96% ↑ ]
It went up by a point... He thought, feeling his screen brighten with a static blush.
Vox cleared his throat, “You came here after the fight...”
“Where else would I go? My beloved tower?” Alastor sighed, dramatic and bratty and oh so comforting. His darling co-host seemed to hesitate for a second, before he opened both eyes and gave Vox a look of meek disappointment. “...The mic you gifted me was in there.”
The one from forty years ago...?
“Oh...” Vox felt his shoulders drop.
He felt disappointed, knowing that it was unlikely the mic survived the destruction. But, he needed to pick his next choice carefully. Alastor is being vulnerable with him right now and, even if Vox feels that immediate urge to comfort and cajole and tell him he’ll buy him any mic he wants... That doesn’t seem to be the point.
[ Emotion Calculator: Disappointed ]
[ Cortisol Levels: Elevated ]
[ Serotonin Levels: Low ]
[ Dopamine Levels: Low ]
Fuck, none of this tells me what to do!
“Al...” Vox haphazard, “I... I’m sorry.”
Alastor blinked at him.
“About the tower and the mic. I’m sorry.” Vox took a leap, raising his hand to gently squeezed Al’s shoulder. “We’ll build it back up together. Me and you.”
By the grace of Satan, or whoever is out there actually listening, Alastor’s face brightened and his smile got wider, genuine in its joy.
[ 98% ↑↑ ]
Happiness and pride vibrated deep in Vox’s chest, the way it always does when he trusts himself and says what he thinks might work the best and it fucking works.
“The two of us, as always.” Alastor agreed, sliding his fingers along Vox’s exposed forearm from where he rolled up his sleeve. “Would you be a dear and get me something new to wear?”
“Hell yeah. I got this new Voxtek sweater I wanted to show you, anyway.” Vox smirked, “I’ll have Ethan find a doctor or someshit too, okay? We’ll call for someone from Sloth. Hellborn should know what to do with this.”
“Buy their silence.” Al groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose like the diva he is. “I am not dealing with our silly little fans crying around online and using any pictures from the visit as a profile picture...”
“Wait, please? Pretty please?! The ratings would go so high!”
I am still trying to formulate my thoughts after what happened in Vermont a few towns over from me on Wednesday.
If you're unaware, on Wednesday, ICE agents surrounded a house near an elementary school without a warrant and the community took action. Our contact chain to get people to the scene worked. Really well. Protestors formed a human chain, blocking ICE from the house and getting a toddler to a safe location. Protestors held for six hours straight, requesting that a warrant be produced, until our city and state police assisted ICE by teargassing and brutalizing protestors and eventually entering the home. They arrested protestors and three immigrants. NONE were the individual ICE had a warrant for, he wasn't even in the house. The people taken into custody were here seeking legal asylum.
Vermont is one of the whitest states in the country and has some of the lowest % of immigrants. Just throwing that out there for reasons...
I don't know what's going to happen over the next few days. I'm trying to formulate my anger at what happened and the pride i feel for how effective our community response was together. Just know that VT is small, but takes this shit so seriously. They don't call us the Brave Little State for nothing. We threw JD Vance out in like a day in 2025. We should be boiling sap right now. But we have time for this too.
"We owe no allegiance, we bow to no throne,
Our ruler is law and the law is our own;
Our leaders themselves are our own fellow-men,
Who can handle the sword, or the scythe, or the pen." - The Song of the Vermonters, 1779.
feels like some of u aren't properly appreciating the fact that he sleeps in a berry patch. and he rolls over and squishes the berries into his fur. because he's so sleepy and content.
Criterion Collection has announced they will be launching a channel on TikTok to reach a new audience with their preservation of classic films. Launching today, Criterion has posted My Dinner with André (1981) as it’s first upload.
