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𝘝𝘖𝘟 𝘗𝘖𝘗𝘜𝘓𝘐, 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘗𝘌𝘖𝘗𝘓𝘌'𝘚 𝘝𝘖𝘐𝘊𝘌. SELECTIVE, CANON COMPLIANT W/ HEADCANONS. 𝘉𝘌 𝘚𝘜𝘙𝘌 𝘛𝘖 𝘔𝘖𝘋𝘌𝘙𝘈𝘛𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘛𝘝 𝘛𝘐𝘔𝘌.

‎ ‎ ‎ ☇ * CARRD ‎ ‎ ‎ ☇ * PROMPTS ‎ ‎ ‎ ☇ * WISHLIST ‎ ‎ ‎ ☇ * HEADCANONS 01 ‎ ‎ ‎ ☇ * HEADCANONS 02

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗧𝗔𝗡𝗞 . . . ⍆‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝘏𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘌𝘕𝘖𝘔 and 𝘙𝘖𝘛𝘛𝘐𝘕𝘌 𝗠𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗣𝗘𝗢𝗣𝗟𝗘 . . . ⍆‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝘛𝘙𝘙𝘚𝘗𝘚𝘜 and 𝘙𝘈𝘋𝘐𝘖𝘐𝘈𝘊𝘐 and 𝘓𝘜𝘟𝘐𝘔𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘈𝘛𝘖𝘙

‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦, @starpotentia1 ↴

‎ ‎ ‎ “𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳!” Morningstar’s mirthful chirping, like a short and fat bird up on a powerline, his unwelcome houseguest. Every moment he spends looking at Odile leads back to that awful sentence; the glow in Charlie’s eyes, the way she’d squeaked like a dog’s chew toy. He’d love to grab her and shake her and tear her apart. The anger has settled deep in his guts and burned all the way up to the back of his throat. He smacks his mouth and tsks and clears his throat when he doesn’t need to, like he might empty the icky feeling out.

‎ ‎ ‎ And Odile? Oblivious. She should see how angry she’s making him. Drawing in her stupid little notebook with her stupid little pencil. She’s just like Charlie, scribbling on paper. Why'd they make this arrangement? To give that starry-eyed bitch what she wants?

‎ ‎ ‎ He mulls on this for a week, a lawyer debating his law. Does he push her away, or does he keep his enemies close? He hates to prove Charlie right. He hates to prove Alastor right. The mangled maw of that beast is draped over him still, and unobstructed now with this direct proximity. All the while, rainbows lurk on the horizon, held up by white clouds. On one day, Vox bristles, disgruntled, when Odile touches his shoulder. On another day, he treats her personal bubble as a red carpet invitation, hands on her shoulders and pulling and pushing her around.

‎ ‎ ‎ Then, as if preordained, it strikes him: there’s something Alastor would surely be disgusted by, and Charlie made too awkward to broach.

‎ ‎ ‎ “You know,” he drawls, peppered by alcohol under his tongue, as he takes an opportunity to shift his hand from trying to grab her notebook to, instead, cradling the side of her face. The tip of his glassy tongue pokes through the cracks of his teeth and he speaks his syllables along wispy steps. “I wanna try something out.”

‎ ‎ ‎ The kiss distorts forceful and gentle, not quite taking yet not amicable to her rejection; no discernible lips makes his tongue more probing than most, and he has to tilt his head to the side for focus. His claws curve in when his fingers tense, rage from his insides expunged out to the knuckles and through his fingers. He finishes the kiss with a heavy breath like a stallion’s snort and keeps his eyes pinned on her as a dual painting, his pupils slim but the shape of his eyes heavy, and dark, as if he might want to kill her.

‎ ‎ ‎ After a pause, he pulls back further, and the edge to his language softens. “So, what did you think?”

"Kind of a strange work survey but here you go boss."

‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗩𝗢𝗫'𝗦 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗘? @unfortunatedarling ↴

‎ ‎ ‎ “Oh for ―it's not a work survey, you knobhead! How did you even get this?” Snatching it away from them hastily, he crumples it up and puts it in his pocket. There's a cool flush to his face.

‎ ‎ ‎ At least they'd scored well. One win. Now he's wondering if he should create a card for employees specifically…. Are You Vox's Employable Type?

"You're breaking my heart, truly."

‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗩𝗢𝗫'𝗦 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗘? @radioiaci ↴

‎ ‎ ‎ “You wouldn't need to check the shark box, anyways. You probably taste like shit.” His girls are picky. shok.wav is a bottomless pit hellbent on eating anything from a gourmet hot wing to literal rancid garbage, and would probably find Alastor a delectable meal no matter what he tasted like.

‎ ‎ ‎ He frowns at the little drawing, a knife-sharp look in his eyes. Whatever he wants to say, he doesn't. He offers a smarmy grin instead.

‎ ‎ ‎ “Breaking your heart…. implying that you want me?”

😊❤️

‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ ‎ ‎‎ 𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗩𝗢𝗫'𝗦 𝗧𝗬𝗣𝗘? @blackwiidows ↴

‎ ‎ ‎ Two full matches could be worth something to anyone else, but is she worth it for Vox if she doesn't have a good taste in movies? What if he shows her his top ten list and she doesn't understand any of them? He'll have to think on it.

‎ ‎ ‎ For now, he plays the role of spurned. “You wouldn't keep my secrets? No honor among thieves, they say…”

‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙒𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝘾𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙀𝙍, @hellishbind ↴

‎ ‎ ‎ The shapes of his eyes are sharp, and his mouth twisted in a grimace grotesque and scorned; seeing in her the reason for his own pitiful state, or anyone else stupid enough to be closeby. Her nice act will fail one day, and it will be catastrophic for Hell ―he works hard to make the people believe in him, while the community pulls out every stop not to believe in her.

‎ ‎ ‎ “Isn't that darling, Princess,” this disgusting word he says like a foul blight behind his teeth, “That you're still willing to see the good in a dirtbag like me?”

‎ ‎ ‎ Miserable and downtrodden. Forced to bide his time in a place he doesn't want to be in. What's the difference between him and a sinner with their soul under contract? This nightmare started shortly ago, and he's got an eternity ahead to face it unless he acts fast. Little Miss Sunshine poking her nose in his business won't chase that doom away any faster.

‎ ‎ ‎ The balcony, being too close to a horrible shadow's haunt, provides no safety like his balcony at home did. Stray too far from the hotel's premise, and he'll be herded back in like a straggler sheep. They don't seem to mind when the cattle lingers by the fence, though, so here Vox is, smoking a cigarette he'd pinched out of someone's pocket by the grand front doors of a million dollar farce.

‎ ‎ ‎ “You're exactly what I know you are.” He smiles an ugly, lopsided smile like a powerline half-harrowed by the wind, and pinches the stem of his cigarette between two of his far blunter claws. He pulls it from his flat mouth and tilts it towards her. “Cigarette?”