halfcharacter
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Vincent Whittman was born for greatness.
He has plans. He’s going to escape the white picket fence future everyone has predestined for him, he’s going to climb his way up in the burgeoning realm of show business, and he’s going to rise higher and brighter until he’s the only one everyone will see.
He’s also going to kill his father. That last bit is proving trickier than the rest, but he’s got it all figured out. If he plays his cards right, everything will go his way.
Until it doesn’t, and Vincent is drawn into a chase that threatens everything he’s ever worked for, a pursuit that drags him around the world, following a shadow that systematically haunts and taunts him at every turn. What does this shadow want, really, and can Vincent outmaneuver him whilst balancing his own extracurricular activities? Only time will tell.
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Vincent is smiling, a lazy, really sexy kind of smile that’s making Gabriel’s brain liquefy into mush. God, he hopes he doesn’t look as dopey as he feels. Vincent’s teeth are imperfect. My teeth are imperfect too, Gabriel thinks. We can be imperfect together.
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A oneshot spinoff inspired by the events of art_snob's "If You Want It, Just Take It". Completely not canon to the main story. You should probably read that to understand this.
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torturous electricity (between both of us) by halfcharacter
Fandoms: Hazbin Hotel (Cartoon)
23 Nov 2025
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Vox’s knowledge of fabrics stops at knowing that there are suit jackets and there are suit jackets, and he leaves the tailoring to other people who know how to make him look good in front of the cameras, cinched in all the right places to have the mindless masses drooling and gagging for him when he does his live shows. Yeah, he likes a good suit. He likes the way they make him look hot. Which he is. He’s fucking sexy. He’s the sexiest motherfucker in hell, he saw the results of that poll—didn’t even have to create that one himself, he’s pretty sure Katie had a hand in that—
Remember the time you and Alastor went to the tailor? his brain supplies, and his thoughts grind to a startling halt.
Wait, what? Why did he think of that all of a sudden?
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or: Vox's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
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Le Vesconte pushes him through the tent flap.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, low enough so that only Sol can hear him, as they round the corner to see Hickey, arms bound and smirking like he was off to the races, “I don’t blame you.”
A man, Sol thinks, as he steps up to the gallows, Hickey beside him and Le Vesconte behind him. All officers are men.
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ends of smoky days by halfcharacter
Fandoms: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
18 Jul 2020
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They have duels in his head, sometimes, as if his head wasn’t already a fucked-up battleground of paranoia and self-hatred. The Glenn of his memory and the Glenn of his memory, and which one wins depends on how many bruises Sylvain is sporting that day and how utterly hollow he feels inside, sitting behind the stables so Seteth doesn’t find him, drinking wine he smuggled into the monastery until he blacks out.
He doesn’t want to talk about it with Ingrid, because the Glenn of Ingrid’s memory is infallible, carefully placed upon a pedestal (and doesn’t he do that too? what a hypocrite), and he also doesn’t want to talk about Glenn with Dimitri, who seems as though he is going to sink right through the floor sometimes with the weight of his self-imposed guilt.
And Felix?
Well, Felix.
[a piece for Sincerity: A Sylvain Gautier Zine]
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Val grumbles. “Vox’s just being a little bitch about the parade. Don’t worry, it’ll kick in soon.”
“It” could be a lot of things. Some benzos. A horse tranquilizer. Oxy, like his mom used to take. Angel is half convinced that Vox’s breakfast is a cereal mix of uppers and downers, powder in those bright colored-capsules that you give to old people. Things that look a lot prettier than they taste. Not that he has much room to talk. He gets the same shit, just in different packaging.
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Or: Drug-induced lobotomies are good for managing people who can’t manage themselves. They’re also great for PR.
Or, or: Vox looked really silly in the pride standees. Here's a fic about it.
Bookmarked by halfcharacter
20 Jun 2026
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Something terrible happened to Alastor in his human life and when he wakes up in Hell, he finds himself as prey for the vicious sinners around him. Desperate, he makes a deal he comes to regret.
Vox is fascinated by the deadly, untouchable Radio Demon and somehow manages to charm the man who initially wanted his head. They strike up a friendship that leads to some fluttery feelings on both ends, but before anything can develop, Alastor's deal (and a certain moth-demon) cause complications.
Misunderstandings and broken hearts ensue, and a blossoming romance sours into something messy and hateful.
And then Alastor disappears for 7 years. When he returns, his fight with Adam leaves him wounded and vulnerable, and Vox decides that it's time to put an end to the man who destroyed both his heart and his afterlife.
But his complicated feelings for Alastor won't let him end his life and it turns out that they miss each other more than either of them realised. Can they salvage the ashes of their relationship, or will Valentino and questionable deals destroy them both?
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 431,528
- Chapters:
- 77/77
- Collections:
- 5
- Comments:
- 6,345
- Kudos:
- 5,906
- Bookmarks:
- 704
- Hits:
- 208,812
Bookmarked by halfcharacter
17 May 2026
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Summary
A post season 1 reconciliation of Vox and Alastor, linked directly to my pre canon series, Competing Frequencies
- Words:
- 441,401
- Works:
- 68
- Bookmarks:
- 512
Bookmarked by halfcharacter
06 May 2026
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- Words:
- 85,665
- Works:
- 2
- Bookmarks:
- 63
Bookmarked by halfcharacter
01 May 2026
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Summary
Vox glared at Alastor. “You’re still not planning to tell me a single fucking thing about what to expect in here?”
Alastor leaned back and gave him a long, appraising look, his eyes sweeping down the length of Vox’s body. Vox’s screen felt warm, and he glanced down at his knees as Alastor leaned forward, opened the mini-fridge, and removed a bottle. “Champagne?”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Vox growled. But he took the bottle.
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OR: Alastor cons Vox into being his plus-one at a free use sex party where the stakes are terrifyingly high.
Written for Vox Humiliation Week 2026, day 3. Prompt: free use
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 18,892
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 84
- Kudos:
- 365
- Bookmarks:
- 94
- Hits:
- 3,584
Bookmarked by halfcharacter
30 Mar 2026