#human val

[notherpuppet]

Let’s Dance

Part 1/12

Part 2

Takes place in the radioapple human nanny AU 📻 🍎

[little-angel-in-hell]

Gotta say, absolutely love the sheer number of people who looked at Vincent in Brighter, did some quick math, and proceeded to immediately go "oh yeah this was Val's sexual awakening/reason he realized he's into men/teenage crush". We have the same brains and I need literally everything that's been done with that topic ever, please and thank

[strabiart]

Woe, Toxic Yaoi be upon ye!

Iegit not proud of how val's braids turned out 😂😔 reference photos only help so much without proper practice

[mswani]

"Try not to get us in another scandal."

🎨 by Kuring_k6!

[juliantina-moodboards]

Paranormal/Supernatural!AU

Human!Valentina 

Part I   Part III

[fantasyimmortalarts]

A fanart of @s-fellows-art ‘s OC Val (human Val lol) 

I’m still unsure if I’ll color it or not though ^^

[little-angel-in-hell]

"He was V, just V, most mornings, standing a half inch over six foot in bare feet, glaring at me balefully and bleary-eyed over the rim of a mug of island blend coffee if I woke him too early. He was Valentino in slacks, in nice suits in the nice places I took him to where he couldn't dress quite like he wanted. He was god-knows-what, or who, when he posed for cameras that weren't my own. He was Tino in his leather jacket, and Tino, also, to his old friends, a dozen other tanned and pretty boricua boys that didn't have a patch on him. He was, rarely, Desantos on the dotted line. He was God, more than once, with his lips smeared in carmine and wrapped tight around my cock. But for me, on my lap, in my bed, in my arms, he was always Val.

V-A-L, a three-step trip for my mouth to take, starting with lips caught under my teeth in a wholly different way to the coquettish way he so often did it; those lips slightly parted, then, reminding me of his soft, breathy exhales with a vowel caught in them; ending with the tip of my tongue pressed just behind my front top teeth, almost mimicking a moue he sometimes made. Val, light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul.

Val.

My destiny, my catastrophe, my love.

Val.

You know, given a group photograph of young men, and asked to point out the most handsome of them, a normal person might not necessarily point out someone like him. You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite, solitary melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in your veins and a dangerous, voluptuous flame permanently aglow in your subtle spine, ever just waiting to catch further fire (and oh, how you have to cringe and hide, a monster among monsters, always set apart!), in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs ―the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone, the slenderness of a downy limb, the brilliant spark of an eye, the natural tint of a lip, and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness and regret forbid me to tabulate― the little deadly demon among the wholesome others; he stands unrecognized by them, and perhaps, if rarely, unconscious himself of his own fantastic power, though he will come to know it and use it, past the bloom of a certain age, in almost all cases, if life has taught me anything.

By the time we met, Val most certainly was aware of it, of himself, there in the quirk of his red lips and the hungry glint in his amber eyes, and it was love, whether I wanted to admit it then or not, the second I set eyes on him; love at first sight, at last sight, at forever and ever sight, and it tore at my soul to feel it, to know.

I hardly battled with myself, because I already knew I couldn't, but did try to flee. And it was not conscience that made me do so; I'd done (and I'd do) worse things by far than lusting after a pretty boy or a hundred, by the time our paths crossed. It was a sort of cowardice. I knew, somehow, in that moment, that I was in the presence of someone so terrible and wonderful, so volatile and fascinating by his mere existence, his personality alone, that he would come to have a hold on my life, my self, my very soul if I'd let him, and that I wouldn't be able to escape. I take no credit to myself for trying to run; like I said, it was merely a sort of cowardice.

Or perhaps it was pride; as independent as I was, I was so very proud. I was, until he touched me. (Still was, when he wasn't touching me, but his eyes alone were a physical weight on my skin).

But in any case, conscience and cowardice are the same thing, when it comes down to it; conscience is merely the trade name of the thing, that's all. I stopped running, if I ever truly started.

He barreled into every inch of my life and of me, except my job perhaps, with all the force of a lightning crack, and I stood back and let him, knowing it was not in me to stop a storm with my bare hands, as he burrowed there. And all at once, or so it felt like, we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; at least I know I was, and to know with some certainty that he returned at least a fraction of that, because I was never fully sure of more, not then, not again, shook me and settled me at once more deeply than I thought anything ever could since one terrible December in New Orleans. We lived together much sooner than it was in any way advisable, and I let him play me to the tune he wanted; and nothing else mattered, because despite our tiffs, despite all the fuss, and his whims, and his moods and the faces and demands he made, and the vulgarity of him —and often of us—, and the danger and hopelessness of it all, despite all of it, I was in paradise; in a paradise whose skies were the color of hell flames, but a paradise still, and I wouldn't, couldn't, have traded it for anything."

[mswani]

Hc Crocodile likes to sleep on his side with his arm around Val and fucking flips her with him when he rolls over like a damn gator roll.

"Morning.... Why are you on my side?"

"Survival."