#muse-vox

[toranoya]

(Starter for Vox/alternate Dove)

Strange, beeping noises began to stir the damaged Nephilim from her slumber, her ears twitching towards the direction of the sound. Slowly blinking her eyes open, a bright, blinding light caused her to cringe but quickly adjusted to the strange surroundings. Her memory comes flooding back in, images of killing her father, Constantine, after learning he had killed her arch demon mother. Another image flashed before her, revealing her tangled with an exorcist as she fell heavily to the earth.

Then darkness.

Anxiety and rage were building up in her, letting out a blood curdling scream as she ripped the IVs from her arms. Electric, blue wings, followed by dark crimson antlers, protruded from her body, snarling as she went into berserker mode and attacjed the equipment, desperate for a way out.

Vox’s form crackled into existence in a burst of static, the harsh buzz of his arrival filling the air before his eyes swept over the wreckage she’d made. His grin was sharp, humor dripping from every syllable as he tilted his head.

“Well, well, would you look at that—Sleeping Beauty’s up and redecorating. Real nice touch with the shattered monitors, doll. I can practically smell the insurance premiums skyrocketing.” He leaned casually against a scorched wall, unbothered by the chaos, his static-laced voice carrying a lazy mockery.

“Guess I don’t have to ask if you’re feeling better.”

[toranoya]

The trap

Inside the towering screen-lit studio of VoxTek, every monitor flickered in perfect, synchronized rhythm. Blues and reds pulsed like a heartbeat. At the center of it all stood Vox, fingers steepled, screen-face glowing with a satisfied grin as he looked at Angel Dust.

“Thanks for coming Angel. Let’s try something a little more persuasive tonight. I kind of have something special planned for you to do for me.”

[@bewitchedmuses

[toranoya]

Ethan!

@hells-hazbins

The monitors in VoxTek flickered in their usual restless rhythm—graphs pulsing, cameras scrolling, data streaming faster than any human eye could follow. Vox thrived in that chaos.

Ethan did not.

He stood at one of the side consoles, shoulders tense, fingers flying across the glass as he chased down error after error. His tie was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. Vox had noticed hours ago. He always noticed—every spike in stress, every delayed reaction time, every subtle wobble in Ethan’s posture reflected in the cameras.

“Ethan,” Vox said smoothly through the speakers, voice softened just a notch. “Your efficiency has dropped twelve percent. That’s not very on-brand for you.”

Ethan huffed a tired laugh and took one step back from the console.

Then his world tilted.

The data spiked—heart rate erratic, balance failing. Vox didn’t hesitate. Screens went dark as he abandoned the feeds. He crossed the room in a blink, catching Ethan just as his knees buckled.

Ethan’s weight sagged into him, head falling against Vox’s shoulder. For a terrifying half-second, he didn’t move at all.

Vox’s grip tightened instinctively, one arm braced around Ethan’s back, the other steady at his waist. “Idiot,” he muttered.

[toranoya]

Vincent

@hells-hazbins

The alley was still smoking.

Charred feathers clung to the broken pavement, and the faint, metallic reek of angelic weaponry lingered in the air like a warning. The Extermination had ended only an hour ago, but Hell wasn’t quick to forget the way Heaven’s blades carved through its streets. It was a raw wound—silent, except for the faint drip of water from a busted pipe.

A static ripple split the air, and a tall figure stepped through the distortion, screens flickering across his face like shifting expressions. Vox dusted off his immaculate suit, exhaling sharply as the temporal gate snapped shut behind him.

“Ugh. Retro Hell smells like ass.”

Vox adjusted his tie, antennae sparking lightly. Then his smile curled—slow, predatory—because he could hear it. The quiet, trembling breaths coming from deeper in the alley.

There he was. Vincent.

His younger self. Smaller. Dirtier. Human-shaped still, not yet molded into the digital tyrant he would become. His hands were over the sides of his older tube-tv head, eyes squeezed shut, knees tucked to his chest. Flinching every time some distant piece of rubble crackled.

The sight should have made Vox angry. Instead, it amused the hell out of him.

Vox walked closer, his boots crunching broken glass as he advanced on his younger self. Static snapped sharply as Vox crouched in front of Vin. He let the silence stretch, let the kid get a good look at what he’d eventually become. The sharp suit. The glowing flat-screen. The grin that promised power and ruin in equal measure.

Then he extended a hand.

“Get the fuck up, you little pussy.”

[toranoya]

@thehazingang88 [ For Vox]

Velvette spun once, slow and deliberate, the feathers fanning out around her in a soft, whispering arc. They caught the light beautifully—every movement sending a shimmer down their length, as if they still remembered how to glow.

She watched herself, not in a mirror, but in the reflection of polished glass across the room, chin tilted slightly, evaluating.

“Mm,” she hummed, adjusting the drape over her shoulder. “Stunning.”

The wings—no, the dress now—moved like they had been made for her. Like they belonged there. That warrior archangel Michael officially has nothing more to give, under Vox's control and now his wings are going to be a beautiful dress!

Vox let out a long, exasperated sigh, one hand dragging down his screen as Velvette twirled in front of the glass like she'd just unveiled the greatest fashion statement in Hell.

"Yes, yes, you're breathtaking. Shocking development."

His glowing eye flickered toward the dress, then toward the heap of missing feathers that had once belonged to Michael. The static around him crackled with annoyance.

"But seriously, Vel."

He pointed at her with a clawed finger.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find quality Archangels these days? Do you know how much work went into getting him this obedient?" His voice rose dramatically. "I finally get Heaven's golden boy under control and you immediately start dismantling him for accessories."

Vox shook his head, though there was an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his screen.

"I could've gotten you wings. Plenty of wings. Fallen angels, Exorcists, Saints…" He waved dismissively. "I could literally have Raphael pluck some idiot celestial and gift-wrap the feathers for you."

[toranoya]

No more Al, the high and mighty Now that I flipped the switch

[toranoya]

@thehazingang88 Velvette smirks mischievously at Vox, perched upon the edge of his desk like she owns the place, her phone dangling from her fingers like a loaded gun. “So your real name is Vincent Whittman, then?”Her tone drips with mock innocence, though she’s barely restraining laughter this tidbit is pure gold to her. Did she learn from from Alastor? of course she did and now she's going to tease him about it forever..

Vox doesn’t even look up at first, his fingers still flying across his controls, screen flickering with data and signal waves like nothing in Hell could possibly be more important than what he’s doing.

A faint glitch ripples across his screen.

“What of it?” he finally says, voice smooth, but just a touch too sharp at the edges.

His screen tilts slightly toward Velvette, not fully, just enough to acknowledge her existence without giving her the satisfaction of full attention. A low hum buzzes under his words, something unstable beneath the polished tech mogul persona.

“Digging through files now, are we?” Vox continues, tapping something a little harder than necessary. “Careful, doll. You might find something that doesn’t like being found.”

[toranoya]

(For Vox) “So…you still mad when I joined the spirit bomb thing Charlie was doing?” Pix asked his grandfather as the computer screen sinner holds back a laugh.

Vox snapped his gaze down from his phone, the static in his eyes flickering like a warning light. Pix’s question only tightened the line of his jaw.

“Mad?” he echoed, voice rising with that familiar bass-heavy distortion. “Kid, I don’t get mad. I get results.” He leaned back, crossing his arms, still glaring—but not as sharp as before. More…irritated grandpa than enraged Overlord.

“But you? Joining some sparkly kumbaya spirit bomb against me?” He scoffed, a glitch crackling in the air. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly click ‘like’ on that.” Vox’s screen briefly flashed the buffering icon—his equivalent of an eye roll.

Honestly, the kid was lucky he was family or he’d have been fed to the shark and streamed in 4K. Yes, he was pissed. But…family.

So, Vox slid his phone back into his hand, thumbs poised to scroll again. “Now quit poking my CPU. Don’t you have… I dunno… literally anything you should be working on?”