Thinking about Vox's internalized homophobia.
Thinking about how this charismatic, obsessive, arrogant man was once a little boy. A little boy with mismatched eyes and an uneven, awkward smile, and a picture-perfect family with a cruel successful father and a mother who no doubt wanted nothing more in the world than her little boy to grow to be just the same. Growing up knowing what was expected of him, refusing to even acknowledge anything that strayed from the norm. Hungry for power and power alone, and what's more powerful than a wardrobe full of freshly ironed suits and a nuclear family and a neatly-mown lawn with a white picket fence? And as his mental health deteriorated, any decisions he made were only for himself, his vision, and even the man willing to fight tooth and nail and dagger to the top would never dare to even think of such a criminal act, of himself as a- as such a man, no, never him. And Vincent Whittman died with his secrets fried and melted into his own bones.
And then he woke up. And he woke up in a world where anyone could do anything, because there was nowhere worse to go, no eternal punishment promised for straying from the path because he had already earned it. What a failure. But a man raised to fight to survive still fights when there's no more life to live, and Vox, the Voice, will step on anyone to be seen. In a world of addicts and prostitutes and low-life murderers, he would become something. He would make a name out of his sins, of the envious visionary he was. Nothing more.
And no longer can Vox rise to the top alone. And no longer does he want to, when instead he could rise hand in hand with a man willing to entertain his tales, to cock his head in amusement and chuckle and order him drinks until Vox quite frankly forgot there was anyone else's opinion who had ever mattered in the world. Vox spills his life to this man, and he gives his back piece by piece, and Vox is... intrigued, to say the least, by someone so truly impassioned by causes far from Vox's own. Vincent Whittman would never be seen with such a man, and "such a man" could mean any of it at all, but Vox... he starts to recognize something about himself. Slowly, frightfully, but there's no point in pushing it down. Maybe that's why he ended up here. Maybe those thoughts alone... but what would it matter, when it led him to Alastor? So charming, so confident, so polite. So inviting for Vox to give his heart to. There was every sign. There had to have been, there had to- he was- Alastor was everything, Vox had told him everything, Vox had given his- there was nothing he hadn't- and it all meant NOTHING-
He vows to never humiliate himself again.
He focuses back on progress, on novelty, on tearing the rest of his humanity out wire by wire while he gets wasted every night and gathers souls by the dozens and fucks anything with a hole as long as he can try to pretend it's not a man. Not that man. Because look where it got him. The only time he ever trusted his heart and look where it got him. Alastor, fucking full of himself, to reject him, to embarrass him, to think himself above a business deal, the rest of it aside- unless he knew all along that Vox wanted him- unless he was so disgusted, unless he told someone, and what if all the other Overlords knew and Vox went back to being a mismatched-eyed, awkward-smiled f-
Valentino. What a name, Valentino. What a body. He's popping up, on billboards and magazines and Vox's lap with red smoke that does nothing but clog his vents and a purring voice that has such an effect on Vox that one could assume for quite some time that the fumes actually affected him. It doesn't count, though, because Valentino is so feminine. It doesn't count, because he's young and skinny and whiny, and Vox doesn't need to think about his dick because he would never let it anywhere near him, it's on the whole other side, and an ass is basically the same and even if it wasn't Valentino still treats him with such pitying tenderness that makes Vox almost unashamed to think of himself as... as... perhaps, something flexible. When he's drunk. Or lonely.
That's all it is. Trust him.
He's not Valentino, far from it, but Valentino's presence in his business life grows to nearly as much as his presence in his bed, and Vox can stand the distraction, except when it comes in with a distraction of its own in the form of that fucking- Val's boyfriend. Boyfriend. What a fucking word. The two of them are meant for each other, the fucking flamboyance, and Valentino always wants to share, and looking at Angel Dust makes something sick and violent start twisting itself in Vox's stomach in a way it hasn't before. Valentino, at least, has a fucking spine. Angel Dust has nothing but lust, and love, and he shouldn't be allowed to. Not because- no, no, he's not jealous, despite what Val suggests, because being jealous means he has something to want, and he does not want anything at all because he has the world and if he dares to fall for someone again he'll just get humiliated and laughed at and spit on again and-
And Val gets him flowers.
And Val takes him on dates.
And he doesn't mock Vox for mind-wiping everyone in the place when they're done.
And he teaches Vox language, language he would never use to describe himself, of course, because he's not, he's not bisexual or whatever Valentino says, he isn't, but Val is patient, and he devotes his time, and he lets Vox help him let off steam, and he's passionate, just as much as Alas- no- he's nothing like that motherfucker because he's perfect. He's crazy and he's perfect and... and Vox can live like this. With a business partner who likes to fuck him and kiss him and bitch about his boytoys, and Vox listens and isn't jealous because he has nothing to be jealous about. Because he's a just business partner (and a gracious one at that), and he's the face of novelty in all of Pentagram City, and he most certainly does not let Val hit it from the back when he asks nicely, what, who's saying that? No one's saying that. Make sure Alastor never hears that one, okay? Ha. Alastor. What a bitch.
VoxTek. Trust us, with your identity.
