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trinityobsessesovatings · 3 months ago

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DOMESTICITY~! {ARCANE HEADCANONS}

ARCANE CHARACTERS IN A DOMESTIC SETTING!

characters included; Caitlyn, Vi, and Mel

WARNINGS: me being a slut for domestic shit, lowercase, cursing, maybe miniscule punctuation usage, slightly suggestive (?), slight angst at some parts (?), LONG AF, and me just gushing for domesticity

hello! hello! i’ve been gone for a WHILE, i for the longest time have been wanting to write but two of my buttons on my laptop keyboard had broke 🥲 BUT i finally got my bluetooth keyboard and now i'm back!!! might be very long because i’m weak for these kinds of concepts! some might be longer than others.

WOW WOW WOW WOW this one is a bit A LOT longer than my last one!

EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT!: for those who don’t know all of my writings, if a “reader” is involved they are most definitely female/have female anatomy! 💛

enjoy! 🥰

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caitlyn

LOVES HER LITTLE FAMILY DOWN!!

in the sheriff position

so she’s VERY BUSY but will always try and make time for her little family 🥰

DEFINITELY has twins!!

a boy and girl set to be more specific

her girl is definitely named cassandra in honor of her mother

i think her son would be named something fancy as well; callum? caspian? shit maybe even charlie! 🤷🏾‍♀️

i very much headcanon that the reproductive health care and science is VERY advanced in arcane universe

advanced hexstrap 🥴

so your kids are literally half of you and half of her

DOES NOT BELIEVE IN PUTTING YOUR CHILD IN FRONT OF A TABLET

that and it drives her crazy hearing ms. rachel repeatedly (speaking from someone who has a younger cousin who crashes tf out if ms. rachel is off)

she tried it for a little bit after getting the suggestion from both vi and jayce

but it's a definite NO in her book

NEOW it’s not like she won’t ever let her kids use the tablet to watch kids channels and videos

she DOES they just have schedule and SHE IS AN ACTUAL PARENT WHO MONITORS ELECTRONIC TIME

her kids WILL not be exposed to shit they aren’t ready for

some of her favorite moments with her family is the days she's off work and she lets the twins help her with baking sweets

kids are covered in flour

giggles galore

you’re watching on with a fond smile

everyone helping decorate the sweet treats

just domestic bliss out the ass

now for some serious stuff…

y'all know how I said her daughter would be named cassandra…

YUH in the beginning she DEFINITELY had a problem with ✨favoritism✨

caspian (we gonna go ahead and name baby boy caspian) was for sure feeling left out at times a bit of a velcro baby with you because of it

you confront cait about and she genuinely didn't know she was doing it

fixed that shit real quick it took a bit of time rebuild caspian’s trust but after a little while and a lot of work everyone like this🤞🏾fr

I would say caitlyn is authoritative parent honestly

just the right amount of nurturing, responsive, and supportive but she knows where to draw the line and set them boundaries

like yeah she wants her kids to have structure… but she also wants them to have independence

VERY COMFORTABLE IN SAYING “No”

is a supporter of having kids sit at the table and write "I will ___" "I won't do ___" 100x and if she's really mad front and back TWICE

PLEASE TELL Y'ALL KNOW WHAT PUNISHMENT I'M TALKING ABOUT 😭

also very open to hearing her kids side of things

but you know… she has clear rules and expectations for her twins

now would y’all hate me for saying after years of being a reasonable crash out… she would prefer to be a stay at home mom 🫣

like i can’t get out of my head how i just want this girl happy and thriving

SO FOR ME JINX AINT DEAD!!! WHYYYYY BECAUSE THIS IS MY WORK! NOW!

i feel vi would have boys for sure, triples specifically; khai (oldest), elio (middle), and ballar (youngest) ALL IDENTICAL TOO

not even gonna front with y'all… deadass would have trouble telling her boys apart at times

vi would be in the middle of lecturing who she thinks is elio but the entire time she's been lecturing poor khai who’s been minding his business the whole

elio is off to the side confused because vi keeps calling his brother…him??

khai is looking at vi like she’s insane and has lost her mine orange slice frozen in air as he was snacking on his fruit

then ballar who is so used to vi calling them the wrong names is like: “mama, that’s khai.” 😕

it was even worse when you insisted on dressing the three of them up in identical outfits for the first few months of their lives

she had to put a stop to that because really thought she was going insane

would also lowkey feel like she’s a bad parent because she couldn’t tell the difference between her boys

literally in awe with how you’re able to tell them apart

as they got older though and started developing their own personalities and styles it became a lot easier

a big believer in ms. rachel… LOVES MS. RACHEL DOWN

ms. rachel is her girl ON JANNA SHE IS

when she's behind on chores, sits her boys in the playpen in front of the tv and turns on ms. rachel to get housework done

some of her favorite moments is cooking and having dinner with her family

isha and jinx are invited OF COURSE

i headcanon vi as a damn good cook SHE CAN’T BAKE but she can cook

teaching her kids how to chop veggies with those child friendly knife that can actually cut food but won’t injure the child

teaching her kids recipes

i have this small little headcanon that vi writes down recipes so she can hand them down to her children 🥹

now for some serious stuff…

now we know our girl vi is a retired crashout so she has a temper

NOW I'M NOT SAYING SHES LAYING HANDS ON HER KIDS❗❗

but there are moments where she hits them with classic;

“because i said so!”

“i’m the adult and you’re the child!”

or plain out just yelling out of frustration and anger

she always feels EXTREMELY guilty afterwards

but after sitting down with her and talking with her she always comes back and doing so much better with controlling her emotions

when the triples were babies she was FOR SURE had an attachment style of parenting;

the boys sleeping in cots in that same room as you guys

always having them near her

skin to skin bonding as soon as they were born

as soon as SIDs aren't an issue the boys are in the bed with you until you have to tell her “hey they need to be in their own rooms now.”

as the kids get older develops more of a positive parenting style

very caring supportive and sensitive with her kids

like instead of focusing on the negative her kids do she focuses on the positive of what her kids do

for example; y’all remember when powder lost all of their loot in the first episode and instead of being mad she went “all that matters is that you’re okay.”

yeah like that

sets boundaries with her kids that supports their interests

does all she can to avoid punishment which in turn lowkey makes you the bad guy

but if need be she will take things away, give time outs, and worst of all grounding

cries in your arms after she has to ground the triplets after they get into a fight with some other kids

she also encourages her kids to be curious, have empathy for others, and just for them to be children

mel

MEL IS A GOOD MAMA!

I SAID IT!

i also feel she would be more of a one and done

mel 100% gives birth to her little twin fr 😌🤞🏾

all the good genes from her SHOVED INTO THAT LITTLE ANGEL SHE GIVES BIRTH TO

im talking gold freckles, eye color, perfect hair and all

DID YOU 🫵🏾 EVEN TRY!!!???

chile anyway

she’s still apart of the council y’all… but trust if need be… she pulling up with caitlyn for another 2v1 😈

has a little girl that she treats and dotes on

that’s her little princess

her little aurelia (which means golden child/golden one)

takes her to work with her sometimes

definitely has one of those cute cozy baby carriers on and her baby always with her

isn’t really fond of sitting her child in front of a tv but does vibe with gracie’s corner

but she would much prefer reading to her child or doing other activities to embrace her child’s imagination and creativity and knowledge

her little princess is always dressed in the finest fashion and wearing name brand clothes

you lowkey don’t get it because… aurelia isn’t even gonna be able to fit those clothes in couple months

she tells you respectfully mind your business and shut your mouth 😌

“yes ma’am”

happy wife, happy life 🫡

mel’s favorite thing to do with her family… FAMILY SELF CARE DAYS

i'm talking waking up early because y’all got appointments all throughout the day!

first thing y’all waking up and taking off cold sleep masks

a nice breakfast out at y’all favorite cute breakfast spot

now y’all gotta go to your early nails appointments

right after that the nice calm family spa

after that you guys gotta head to your hair appointments

then y’all end the day with a nice dinner out

serious tings neow!!!

now y’all know how i’ve been saying mel calls aurelia ‘“her little princess”

she lets her get away with EVERYTHING and ANYTHING

i feel it would come from her not wanting to have too many high expectations on aurelia like her mother had on her

and that leads to MASSIVE spoiling sprees 😬

it also leads to her stick up for her aurelia even when she is deadass in the wrong 🤦🏾‍♀️

it would get to a point where mel would get angry with you for giving aurelia any type of punishment

dare i say most the disagreements in your marriage came from you different views when it come to discipline for aurelia

like i’m talking arguments so bad y’all were sleeping in separate rooms

which means FOR A LONG time she was a permissive parent

lowkey… she would be a mother-in-law from hell NO KIDDING

but back on her parenting type..

which is a mix of permissive/attachment and then when you guys had a serious talk

you informed her of trying to change her ways and she starting getting into more of a positive parenting style like vi

when it comes to mel’s attachment parenting;

constant skin to skin contact right after she was born

she walked around with aurelia in the baby carrier

had aurelia sleeping in the middle of both of you

constantly had her in her arms

aurelia finally had her own room at the age of 3

now mel’s permissive parenting;

mel is a really nurturing and emotionally responsive parent

but didn’t believe in punishing aurelia or putting her foot down with her

which ultimately lead to aurelia having poor self regulation skills

when sitting down with mel to talk with her about how you both were parenting very differently and not in a good way…

that didn’t exactly go well..

it lead to another serious fight because aurelia would act one way with mel and act completely different with you and no one else because she knew she could get away with pretty much anything with mommy mel

the fight was so bad you stayed with your parents for a few days

so that meant mel was with aurelia 25/8

that’s when she started getting a glimpse of what everyone trying to tell her

because at some point in time keeping up that little princess facade for mel… aurelia would get tired of that and true colors show

after that you and mel sat down with one another and came to an agreement and the three of y'all went to family counseling 💛

mel is starting to understand that she can parent her daughter without plain spoiling... but she did make a habit of it so it's something that she has to work on breaking

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hope you enjoyed! ○( ＾皿＾)っ Hehehe…

#trinityobsessesovatings #trinitywritestings⌨️#arcane headcanons #arcane scenarios #arcane vi #arcane caitlyn #arcane mel #caitlyn kiramman #mel medarda #mel medara x reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #arcane fluff #arcane fic #arcane writing

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howlett-n-morgan · 6 months ago

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More Than Words

2. Questions

Logan Howlett x OC!Reader

Series Summary: Having lived for over two hundred years and never having the privilege of human touch is the biggest burden imaginable... until someone comes along with the healing ability to withstand the touch of death.

Chapter Warnings: still a lot for now but: mild language, canon typical violence, mention of murder, death, mutant experimentation, and a depressive episode briefly described. Logan is a warning, especially here

Chapter Summary: The bad dreams have ceased, but many questions lurk in their place, and the meaning behind those dreams is still one of them. In the middle of all the chaos, a few things will come to light.

Word Count: 8.4k

“Of everyone here, I didn’t expect you to be keeping a stash,” he sat down on the edge of your bed, facing your back as you were hunched over the desk, writing sloppily a few notes for tomorrow morning. “I asked Scott and Storm, they had nothin…”

You put your headset on this morning. You usually only used it to drown out everything else when you really needed to. Everyone has noticed except those who don’t know what it means. Those who do, remember the times in which you were at your lowest. Back then you were practically unable to function without the damn headphones over your ears. The last time you even remember wearing them was when you first started teaching here, all the noise and rapid energy being quieted by the music in your head.

After last night, and the confessions made to Logan, he seemed to be open to hearing more from you then… but he kept you at arm’s reach now, and you couldn’t say you didn’t understand why. He’s not just been thrust into the middle of an age-old fight between friends, but he also is struggling with his identity.

You did however learn something interesting after hearing chatter when you woke up. Logan and Scott aren't getting along. Why? Because Logan has been relentlessly flirting with Jean. You’d scoffed when you found out. Not because you don’t think Jean is worthy of such advances, but because he was basically shooting himself in the foot by even trying to take her from Scott.

Jean is a rare bird, and a special person. Charles argues the same thing about everyone who sets foot on the property, but with her, it’s especially true. She’s smarter than most people you know, having gone to a college outside of the education given by Charles and the others. She even attended school alongside you for a while, although it only took you a few semesters to realize you weren’t cut out for the medical field like she was. You have to be able to touch your patients, after all.

She had a lot to offer, and anyone could see that. Even excluding her powers, which were enough to level a city on their own. She was kind, nurturing, and very strategic. All of those things combined with the looks of a super model made her one of the most desirable people in the entire mansion, so even though you and Logan made a connection, you don’t find it hard to see why he’s taken with her.

It may bother you just a little, but you would never admit it to anyone who asked, not even Charles.

All of this is not why you put on your headset, but it could be a contributing factor.

You’ve just met Logan, or at least officially. It stands to reason that you shouldn’t have an inkling of feelings yet. You can’t imagine that would be how it goes. In any rational situation, you have to get to know him. That’s how relationships work.

You remember how it was with Charlie, how it took more than one night of talking late when everyone else was asleep. You got to know him, and got to see his kindness and compassionate heart. You’d seen who he truly was, and it warmed your heart and soul, despite not being able to touch him. You don’t know Logan yet, but you imagine he’s not as soft and kind, nor gentle or compassionate. He seems like sort of a lone wolf, and the type to push away everything except for what he’s got his eyes set on. You don’t even know if the connection you made was real, or if he was just looking for company…

He has nightmares, but you don’t know why. It’s only one relation, that’s all. Maybe he’d only asked you to stay because he was frightened of them, just like you are of yours.

You’d gone back to your room near the hours of sunrise, and fell back asleep before your alarm woke you, but you were still exhausted, and wondered if he was facing the same conundrum. It was only when you went to ask him about it that he became colder to you than the night before. He’d given a stiff answer and gone about his morning, which you were confused by, since he wasn’t a student, nor a teacher.

You passed him in the halls throughout the day, and nodded to him with a sweet smile. He doesn’t really return it, just kept walking. You think that maybe he just didn’t see you, or was on his way to do something else and couldn’t pay attention, but then at dinner he refuses to look at you, and you can’t for the life of you understand why.

You decide to block him out, to deal with the more pressing matters. The school, the mutant rebellion, and Rogue, the newest recruit.

She’s like you in a few ways, and you feel sorry for her. You hope that by passing on some stories that maybe she can find hope in her powers. They are a gift and a curse, but she holds them wonderfully well already.

You found her on the back balcony, overlooking the gardens. She’d been sitting alone for about an hour, but didn’t seem to be bothered, just enjoying the peace. You debated whether or not you should disrupt it, but the second she heard you behind her, she turned.

You had been organizing things back where they go, following the mess of mutant children to try and keep the house in good shape, and now that you’d found yourself with her, you wanted to say a few things. You peeled your headset off and sat beside her, offering a smile first. Her energy felt stiff, like she’d been unwelcome where she was.

“You settled in yet?”

She shrugged, unsure of what to say. Even in a place full of people like her, she was an outsider. “I guess I’m getting there.”

It was silent for a moment, and you sensed her energy was low and draining. She must have been sad, or angry, or even flat our forlorn about her powers and the danger they hold.

“Y’know, when I first found out about my powers, it was the worst day of my life,” you started, but quickly followed up, knowing the words were not inspiring. “They are a blessing and a curse, but for most of my life they were a curse… until the Professor found me. Now, I’ve learned to use them to help people. You can, too.”

It should have helped, but her feelings on the power she held didn’t waver, she just wanted to know what she was in for, and you knew better than anyone what she would face.

“Did you ever… hurt anyone?” she asked sincerely, turning to face you but managing the distance. Both your touches were lethal and dangerous.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking out to the gardens and hoping that the serene ambience would keep you in a good state of mind. “Most of them were the people closest to me. Always an accident, but still a deadly one.”

“I’m sorry,” she dropped her head, unsure of herself now, too. She didn’t know how to control it, or even subdue it. It may not even be possible.

“Don’t be sorry, it was a long time ago… I’m a lot more careful now.”

“They told me how old you were, how long you’ve been around…” she trailed, looking for a good way to ask such a terrible question. “How have you lived that long without being able to touch the people you love?”

You understood why she was asking. Of course, she was concerned about her future, but also her present. She’s a runaway, who’s left her entire family because of her ability. She must be feeling the lonesomeness that all mutants inevitably face at one point in their lives.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying not to become emotional. You’ve loved many people in your lifetime, many people you’ve lost early, or at the right time, but you could never go with them. You can’t seem to die, but everyone else does when you need them the most. “I think that being here is really what saved me. Not only knowing there are others like me, but knowing I can have a family who doesn’t fear me, doesn’t judge me. Even knowing all the things I’ve done.”

“You didn’t do them on purpose, did you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “But I’m still responsible for them, for the people I’ve killed.”

You’ve killed people. How many, she doesn’t know, but she feels as though you’re the only person that can understand her. That can understand being afraid of herself and what she can do to others. She knows that you’ve probably gone decades and decades just trying to learn how to be more careful, and that she’ll have to learn, too.

“You said you’d hurt people you love… what happened?”

This was a very soft spot for you. Even after a century, it was still an open wound. Something that would never fully heal, because there was no way to achieve closure over it. What’s lost is gone, and your powers were the cause.

“I was engaged once,” you dropped your gaze to your lap, looking at your hands and the way they were so well fitted with the green gloves. You practically never took them off.

“Engaged?”

“Yeah, engaged. I’d somehow managed to find the single man in the entire universe that didn’t require me to touch him to achieve his affection…” You trailed, trying not to go into detail. Searching for a small distraction, you fiddled with the hem of your sweater, pulling loose threads to ignore the sad memories. “I touched him by accident.”

“And he died?” She widened her eyes, both upset for you and becoming more afraid of herself. She doesn’t want to fall in love, not if she’s going to hurt that person eventually.

“He did,” you wiped your hand over your eyes before any tears could even fall, and then let it rest back in your lap. “But you’re not gonna make the same mistake that I did, I promise. I’ll help you.”

“You will?” Her eagerness to accept the assistance was clear. “Thank you.”

“Of course… and don’t give up hope. There could be someone out there that can withstand your powers just as they are.”

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to offer such things to her, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

Her brow furrowed, unsure if what you were saying was true. From your earlier words, you’ve been around a long time and it’s never happened for you. “Sounds impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” you told her, standing up from beside her on the bench. “Nothing is impossible.”

You left her on that note, and went back inside.

On your way up to bed, you caught Logan in the hallway. You gave a tight lipped smile on the way to your door, expecting him to be cold like he was throughout the day… but he fell into stride next to you, walking to his own door.

“You guys got anything good to drink around here?” he asked, partially as a joke, but usually never going without a drink for more than a day was catching up to him.

“This is a school, Logan,” you turned to him with a laugh and a light smile. Maybe he’d struck out with Jean and was off her coattails now.

“Well I can see that, but I figured with a limited number of adults chasing after a million kids, someone’s gotta be drinking at the end of the day,” he leaned against his door frame, and you had completely turned to face him, neglecting your door knob which you had reached for originally.

You huffed a sigh, shaking your head at him. You may or may not have a bottle of Jack hidden where no one can find it. If anyone in this hell hole had a reason to drink it was you, but you never did it in front of the kids, or nearly anyone else. You reckon Charles or Ororo would march up to you if they found out, voicing their concern.

“Stay quiet, and don’t say a word about this to anyone…” You opened the door, letting him follow you in before closing it and locking the knob. “Under the bed, back right corner.”

You allowed him to go fishing for it himself, going to your desk in the corner to make sure you were caught up on everything and prepared for tomorrow’s history quiz before you settled in for the night. He’d already been ready for bed, seemingly just roaming the halls and looking for alcohol at this late hour.

“I surprised you, huh?” you ask, not even throwing a look over your shoulder. You may have an interest in this man, but since you started teaching here you were always efficient, and that wasn’t going to stop now.

“Yeah, a little,” he chuckled, taking swigs straight from the bottle. It had been more than half full the last time you drank from it, so there was a decent amount. “You just seem like the innocent one.”

This made you drop what you were doing and spin your chair around. “Innocent?”

He smirked at your furrowed brows, but having known of your mutation, he was willing to guess everything and even bet on it. “I believe that’s what I said.”

You tilted your head at him, the look on your face making him grin even more.

“I don’t think I like that word,” you leaned back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and thinking of all the reasons why. “I’ve done and seen things that would be considered unfathomable to other people.”

“I don’t mean how dangerous you are, I mean how corrupted you are,” he kept on, another swig taken from the bottle. “And I think you’re innocent.”

“I still don’t like it,” you shook your head, laughing a little and reaching for the bottle, which he was all too happy to hand over, fingers brushing your gloved hands. “I prefer inexperienced.”

“Does it matter? It means the same thing,” he argued, watching you take a nice lengthy drink of the whiskey in your hand.

“It does matter, actually,” you were all too happy to correct him. “Innocence implies that my mind is pure of corruption, but really, I’ve just never been able to do the things I’ve thought about.”

He rolled his eyes, taking back the bottle and trying to keep up with you. He pointed to your head with a swirling finger. “Yeah right, I’m sure you’re just all kinds of perverted up there.”

You just giggled and looked at him for a moment. He was funny, he was handsome, and he was clearly interested in your favorite choice of alcohol. Just more things to connect on, you supposed. Maybe feelings weren’t so far down the road, after all.

You blinked out of it when you realized you’d been looking at his bare arms for too long, the beater he wore left little to the imagination as to how fit he was, and it was a nice view to take in, but not this late, and certainly not with a bottle of Jack.

“I should be getting to bed soon, big test tomorrow…” you trailed, standing up and going to the door. It was late, no one else should be awake, but you still wanted to make sure. “You can take the whiskey for the road, if you want.”

“I’ll get you another one,” he returned, knowing that by the end of the night, the bottle was likely to be empty. He’d not had Jack Daniel’s in a while, so he was grateful for the favor.

“No need,” you shook your head as he met you in the doorway, peering down and clearly shadowing you under his tall form. You had to take a breath and smile to break the tension you felt, as it was thick and heated. “I really should stop drinking here, anyway.”

“I’m happy to pick it up in your place,” he smirked, still standing right in front of you. If anyone had stepped out of their room, they’d see how close he was looming.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” You asked hopefully, knowing full well that he could respond with an empty promise, and still be cold to you as he was today.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

And he left without another word.

You awoke in the middle of the night to chaos in the hallway. You were surprised not to be plagued with nightmares for once, but the screams of your next door neighbor didn’t exactly settle you back into your pillows. You heard footsteps outside your door, and when you sat up, Ororo opened the door without knocking, the urgency of whatever situation that had happened started to set in.

“There’s been an accident,” she looked to you with an expression of fear and shock, leaving the doorway as soon as she could see you were scrambling to your feet.

You could feel the energy, it was all over the place. Kids were scared, and so were some of the adults, Ororo being one of them. You ran into the room, avoiding the touch of everyone you passed by, and stared at the scene playing out.

“What happened?” you rushed over to where Jean and Scott were hovering over Logan, his unconscious body thrown over the bed and seemingly in a state of paralysis.

“Rogue, she touched him,” Jean was working the best she could to try and keep him from death’s door, but even with her skilled hands, she looked afraid. “He’s fading quickly, she may have drained too much of his regeneration.”

You tried to think quickly on your feet. She drained his regenerative energy, but you could restore it. The manipulation of energy was clearly something you were all too familiar with, but you were afraid if his regeneration was too low that he might die from your mutation.

If he’s already going to die, you’re going to do the only thing you know how to try and save him.

“Jean, move,” you reach for him, and she practically dives out of the way of your bare hands.

“You’ll kill him!”

“Just trust me,” you said, your hands finding his shoulders. You heard gasps behind you when your skin met his, and they all started whispering, assuming that if he wasn’t dead before, he definitely was now.

You focused your energy on him, using what was inside of you and around you to build back up what had been inside of him. His mutation, his strength and endurance, and most of all, his healing capability.

“Alice, he’s dead,” Scott nearly scolded you, shaking his head. He wasn’t fond of the man, but that didn’t mean he wished him to die… and now he had, by your hand or Rogue he wasn’t sure. “What did you do?”

You ignored him, and all the ones whispering behind you. You could feel his life force, like a branch in the air around you, reaching out just the smallest bit, but not strong enough to hold growth yet. You were slowly building it, letting it stretch out until his own body could take it from there.

When he took a sharp inhale of breath and his chest started to rise and fall again, everyone nearly fell over out of shock. No one said a word yet, because they were too stunned to speak.

Logan was still in bad condition, but you trusted that his healing could help him out from here. You pulled him onto your lap, head resting against your body as you felt for a steady pulse, and saw the color returning to his hands and arms.

“I got you,” you whispered, holding him close. This was the first person that you’d ever been able to save with your touch, as before, it killed everyone who came across it.

“Alice?” Jean called from behind your shoulder, her mouth still agape and her eyes wide. “Alice!”

You looked to her, only slightly fearful that she may tell Charles about this, and then you’ll be in for an earful. He was the hand that guided you along the terrible pathways of your life, but he was also the one who reprimanded you when need be.

“He’s alright,” you promised her, but she still didn’t come closer. Scott however, was completely baffled and had a million questions.

“How did you do that? You can’t touch anyone-”

“I can touch him,” you answered shortly, your arms still wrapped tight around his limp form. “Just him.”

Jean shook her head and snapped out of her train of thought. There was too much to be asked, but this was not the time for it. Logan still needed more treatment, despite the help you gave. You stood up to accommodate her, keeping your eyes on Logan and making sure he was still okay. You could feel his energy restacking, like building blocks in the air around you.

“Start talking,” Scott pressed, the urgent situation now overshadowed by a need for answers. Ororo joined Scott in front of you, her expression holding more than just shock at this point. She looked nearly excited, but you couldn’t say why.

“I know him,” you said, trying to start slowly, but knowing the two of them, it wouldn;t be good enough. “When Striker had us, he got Logan, too. He doesn’t remember it, but he saved my life… yours too, Scott.”

“That…” he trailed, shaking his head. He’d done the same thing that you’d done. He blocked it out of his memory. That didn’t mean that it didn’t happen. You just had a better reason to remember it. “That can’t be possible… he’s touched you before?”

“He practically dragged me out of that cell,” you told him, and he recalled the day of the mutant prison break. He remembers a man helping them, but never imagined it could have been Logan.

“How is it possible? I’ve seen you drop some of the most powerful mutants where they stand, no one survives being touched by you,” Ororo was the one to pitch in this time, her question not so much one of what, but how?

“His regenerative ability. The way Charles used to explain my powers to me, he said to think of my skin like a radioactive energy poison. When such a poison is absorbed into one’s body it can cause it to shut down. My powers work the same way, just a thousand times stronger and faster. The thing is,” you pointed behind you, where Logan was slowly gaining small bits of health. “His regen mutation never allows my energy to be absorbed… I can’t kill him.”

“Scott?” Jean called from the ground, trying and failing to lift Logan on her own. “Gonna need a little help here. I need him in the med bay.”

Scott shook off the conversation, focusing on the matter at hand.

When Jean and Scott got Logan through the crowd of kids, they all dispersed back to their rooms. The only two remaining were you and Ororo.

She stared at you for a moment, wondering if you were going to leave, but then watched as you shuffled around in Logan’s things, looking for what you leant to him. You were hoping by some miracle that there would be some left.

“Aha,” you let out, grabbing the bottle from inside the dresser drawer, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig. There wasn’t much, but there was enough to ease your mind at this late hour. “Want some?”

“You really think this is a good time to be drinking?” she scoffed, crossing her arms and watching you fall back onto the foot of his bed.

“I think it’s the perfect time to be drinking,” you held it out to her, wondering if she’d actually take it.

She tried to keep her adult habits outside of the school, but these were tumultuous times, and she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to allow it under the circumstances.

Out of the silence, she turned to you, right as you took your next slow gulp of the smooth liquor.

“So,” her pause and sigh were unneeded. You knew what she was about to be getting on about. “You can touch him…”

“Yep,” you looked at her, a thin lipped smile on your face. You really didn’t have much else to say, but she did.

“I know you never got over Charlie,” she spoke gently, not wanting to pinch a nerve, or bring up bitterness in a moment like this. The calm after the storm, no pun intended. “But maybe this is your chance…”

“A chance to what?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” she leaned into your eyeline, still careful to stray from any of your exposed skin.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I know.” And then with the last swig in the bottle, you felt the warmth of the drink, and the tiniest bit of a buzz. “I don’t think Logan’s that kinda guy.”

“You don’t think he’d commit to a relationship?”

“I don’t think he’d commit to me,” you corrected, shrugging your shoulders. You wished you had more to drink after that revelation, but unfortunately, this empty bottle contained the only bit of alcohol on the entire property.

“He seems loyal, maybe you just need to know him better,” she encouraged, bumping her clothed shoulder with yours. Always a kind gesture, one of friendship and to show she held no fear of you like others did.

“He doesn’t even know himself,” you chuckled a little. It may have been a bit of a mean joke to make, because you can’t even imagine how hard it is for him, but still you laugh, because you know him better than he does. “I know who he was that day.”

“When he saved you?”

“Yeah, saved everyone,” you dropped your head, focusing on your hands and trying to keep your mind from falling down any bunny trails. “He was a hero. I think he still might be.”

“You should tell him that.”

“I did,” you chuckled, tossing the whiskey bottle back into the soft pillows of the bed to rid your hands of it. “He didn’t believe a word I was telling him…”

She sighed, knowing that with your stubbornness, and your fear of hurting people, you may opt to keep him at arms length, regardless of his ability to touch you. She knew about Charlie, and what you did to him. She knew you’d sworn off love since that day, over a hundred years ago… but she still had hope that this could turn into a part of your happiness.

“Don’t give up on him so fast, alright?” She asked, her eyes turning to that of a puppy dog, pulling at your heart and nearly making you comply.

“I won’t.”

Rogue went missing the next day, and while you’d been chomping at the bit to find her, you were unfortunately called to the office of the professor. You wondered if you were in for a stern talking to after the previous night’s events.

“Take a seat,” he began, staring out the open window at the setting sun, and the children on property who were playing in the grass before dark.

You did as you were told, not because you wanted to, but because you respected Charles enough to listen to whatever diatribe he was about to drone on.

“I’ve had quite a few people visit my office today on your account,” he turned his chair around, his face not one of disappointment like you thought it would be. He didn’t look upset at all, nor did he look like he was going to reprimand you for being careless with your abilities. “I must say, I was surprised to hear of what happened.”

“I know it was careless of me,” you defended, unknowing if it was even necessary, but wanting to cover your bases, anyways. “But I can explain.”

“There’s no need to put up an argument, my dear.”

“There’s not?”

He chuckled and shook his head, a small smile spreading over his cheeks. “Not at all. In fact, I’m actually quite happy for you.”

“Happy for me?” you asked another question, the reasoning for your visit becoming more unclear.

“I know how long you’ve suffered,” he sighed, his tone returning to something more serious. “I have felt your anger and bitterness towards your abilities. I’ve sensed your hatred of them for years.”

“That was before,” you tried to interject, to tell him how thankful you were for his training. “But you taught me they were not just a curse, but also a blessing.”

“And do you really think I believe you when you say it? Miss Beckett, I’ve known you more than half my life… I can read your mind without entering it by now.”

You knew that if anyone could understand you it was him. You could feel other’s energy, but when he entered someone’s mind he could feel that and so much more. He could feel emotions, think that person’s thoughts, and even see what they see.

“You knew all this time, then?”

“I did,” he nodded, but didn’t stop there. “I knew that no matter what I did, it wouldn’t change your burdens.”

You ducked your head, thinking back to the times you’d lied, telling everyone that things were better. Truthfully, as a person you felt less alone, less hated and less dangerous… but you never felt loved. You couldn’t. No one could, or wanted to touch you, knowing your mutation.

“Scott told me about Logan, how you’d all met once before,” he said, turning the conversation back around to that of a better note. “When you’d repressed the memories of what Agent Striker had done, you’d forgotten him… but you didn’t forget what he did for you, and you didn’t forget a special detail.”

“He touched me,” you filled in the blank, waiting for him to continue.

“Precisely.”

“I think…” you trailed, unsure of where this chat was going to lead. If Ororo had come to him, you were sure the thoughts exchanged the night before had come up, even if it was just meant to help you. “I think he may have feelings for… someone else.”

Charles nodded, he’d not purposely looked into Logan’s mind, but when Jean was stirring restlessly in the late evening, he took a peek inside hers, seeing the struggle to combat Logan and his advances.

“I understand,” he responded, but thought it was worth mentioning what he knew. “But his advances are pointless.”

“I still don’t want to get my hopes up,” you reasoned, a good point to be made considering his behavior towards you. “I’m getting too old for shit like this, you know?”

His understanding went without saying, he remembers your past, and knows of the only person you ever truly loved. It was a story for the ages with a tragic ending that would even make the bravest of men shed a tear.

“Of course.”

You waited for him to dismiss you, and when he nodded to you in finality, you stood up from your seat.

“Stay open minded, my dear, you don’t know where your path may lead.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, giving him a smile as you left the room.

“Thank you, Charles.”

First Ororo, and now Charles. Your biggest cheerleaders since they met you… you love them both, and want to listen to them, but you are older therefore wiser, and must protect yourself from things that aren’t good for you. Everyday you grow older but your face and body stay the same. Your mentality weakens when you realize you’ve still got so much life to live, and it burdens you more when you struggle to live it alone. Having someone by your side would be the answer to your every prayer, the reason you could keep going. But you know you can’t endure another heartbreak, you won’t survive it.

It’s been days, nearly a week. Your mind is frazzled, and you think that maybe it’s time for a break. A quiet time to let your mind rest and restore itself.

So much has happened, and you can’t put your finger on what was the most stressful part of it all. The quickness, the escalation, the chaos… or what it almost cost you.

Erik is temporarily defeated, but you know he’ll keep at it in the future. There were several mutants in his gathering that were unapprehended after the final battle. It will make for an interesting hunt that the X-men get to pursue.

One of which you wouldn't mind letting go about her business for a while. You knew Mystique when she went by Raven.

So much has changed since then, and you've changed with the time gone by.

There's still something on your mind after everything that's happened this week, and of course that something is Logan. His past, his present, and what he wants to do with his future.

He’s an X-man now, a part of the team and a member of the mutant family… but he searches for who he is, and you can sympathize with that, especially because of what he did for you. He didn’t just do it for you, but with the state you were in, he could have passed your cell, given up on you. Instead, he practically carried you out of that prison, never knowing how lethal your touch was. He saved you and gave you the greatest gift you’d received. Hope. A fresh start. The thought that life didn’t have to be such a burden.

The kids were settled in early this evening, after the late night that was pulled the day prior, they needed to catch up on their rest… but Logan was having a hard time sleeping. You were, too.

It was about eleven when he came knocking on the door, softly so nobody else would hear him. Ororo was behind the door next over from yours, her light on beneath the slit in that door, and he mentally kicked himself for even doing this at all, so late at night.

When you cracked open your own door, peeking through to see who it was, you were surprised at the man standing in the doorway.

“Logan? What are you doing up? It’s late…”

“Yeah, I know,” he whispered, just above the level you were speaking at, voice barely audible. “I wanted to talk to you.”

You were unsure of what there was to talk about, really. It had been radio silence since the mission, and you figured he wanted some space after something like that… it wasn’t unusual for an X-man, but you didn’t know him as well, so you didn’t know what you were supposed to expect.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and it was only now that you realized you’d been frozen in your spot, a furrowed brow worn on your face.

“Yeah, sorry.”

You closed the door behind him when he passed through, going back to your bed to sit down. He followed suit, and it was nearly a reverse image of the first night he arrived.

“I wanted to thank you,” he cleared his throat, trying to sound grateful. “For saving my life. Jean told me what you did.”

You smiled a little and scoffed, shaking your head and waving him off. “Don’t thank me… I actually endangered your life.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Whatever you did, it saved me.”

“I had no idea that it would, it could have gone either way,” you argued, not for the sake of being right, but because you didn’t want him to think you’d done something extraordinary or heroic. You were actually being quite selfish in your actions.

“You like to argue a lot, huh?” he teased, remembering the last one on one conversation you both had. You would admit, you didn’t like being wrong. You’d gotten it in your head that after being alive for so long, you ought to know more than everyone.

“Well, I am a lawyer,” you shrugged, a slight smirk on your face. You’d never practiced in a firm, or even got a law related job, but you liked to remind people of it here and there, it was always entertaining.

“I noticed that certificate on your wall the other night, noticed em’ all, actually…” he trailed, throwing a glance over his shoulder to check and make sure they were all still there. He’d come to the conclusion that you were intelligent the first time you met, your dialect being very formal for the age he thought you were… but above that, you carried yourself in a way that spoke to being knowledgeable.

“Oh, those?” you laughed, tilting your head and making a silly face in their direction. “Those are nothing, just reminders of all the times I’ve been bored.”

“Bored? You’re kidding me,” he mused, crossing his arms and chuckling.

“Maybe I also wanted to better myself a little,” you answered truthfully, rolling your eyes after getting it out. He didn’t seem like the scholarly type. Not a bad thing by any means, but you were sure his abilities far accelerated him in other occupations before he ended up here.

“Well whatever the reason, you’ve clearly done good,” he complimented, and you were certainly not complaining. Getting compliments from your friends, from your mutant family, it uplifted you… but getting a compliment from him? It felt different, more weighted. “And whatever you did to save me, that was good too.”

“I didn’t even know it would work,” you huffed, looking down at your hands. You hadn’t touched him since he came in, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were doing so purposely, or if you just hadn’t gotten the opportunity. “I honestly thought I might kill you faster…”

“Then why would you have tried it?” He couldn’t believe you. A smart girl like you, with the power you held? It seemed out of character to make a decision like that.

“Honestly?” you raised your brows, thinking of a sentence that didn’t sound weird, or selfish. “I was scared you were gonna die before I could know you.”

He tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You want to know me?”

“I do,” you nodded with a sheepish smile. Thank God for the darkness in the room, because you’re sure your face is turning red. “I mean, it’s not everyday that I meet someone I can shake hands with, so…”

He laughed a little, reaching out playfully for a handshake. You smiled wide, taking his hand and giving it a nice firm shake. You’ve shaken hands when wearing gloves, but it’s just not the same. You’ve touched others while wearing them, too. But the skin contact you’ve always been deprived of, it’s something that sends chills down your spine, no matter how simple the gesture is. Even just a handshake.

“I’d like you to know me too, but there��s just one problem with that,” he sighs, shaking his head in a bit of something akin to sadness. “I don’t know me.”

You can’t stand to see that look on his face. His hand was still wrapped around yours, now resting on his knee and near your lap. An idea springs to your mind, and though it’s a terrible one, you think about all the good it could produce in the long run.

“What if I could help you remember?” You suggested, grabbing his attention almost immediately. “You’ve said you don’t remember anything past fifteen years ago… that’s when you saved me from Striker.”

“You think you could help me?”

“I can try, I owe it to you.” Your reasoning made him turn the idea over in his head, but he wasn’t sure of how you planned to help him, exactly. “Something must have happened that day to make you forget… we can go back to the base, look for answers, see if anything triggers your memories?”

It was a bold move, but you had to take it. No matter what happened the other night, you still owe him your life, and this could be a way to even the playing field.

“You’d take me there?” he asked sincerely, a bit surprised that you would even offer, considering what he knew of your time in that prison. You shouldn’t want to return at all, but what’s worse is you want to do it for him.

“I would… If you want me to.”

He grinned, his look of bewilderment still laced in. “I would be grateful, if you could.”

“It’s settled then.”

He nodded to you, and you both gave a glance to the door. It was time to say goodnight, though you wanted him to stay and talk till sunrise. You had so many questions, about him, about his life since Striker, and even about his abilities… but it would have to wait till another time.

He got up, and you followed, getting to the door before you heard voices outside of it.

“It’s Ororo,” you sighed, turning to him and huffing. “I don’t know who she’s talking to…”

“I better not let her see me sneaking around this late,” he said, looking back at you with a comical expression. “I have a feeling that she’ll tattle on me.”

“You’re right, she would.” You stood with your ear to the door, hearing that the other voice in the hall was Jean. They were talking about you, and you figured it was not a good time to let the Wolverine go traipsing out of your room. “You know, you don’t have to go… if you don’t want to. You could just stay here tonight.”

His smirk held a bout of confidence before he spoke, “You sure I’m not crowding your space?”

“I’ve got plenty of room,” You nodded to the queen bed you’d stood up from. In all truthfulness, it was a big bed to sleep in alone, and you’d been forced to for over a decade. “You also just happen to be the only person who wouldn’t die if I accidentally kicked you in the middle of the night.”

He laughed, nodding his head. He didn’t want to leave in the first place, he just felt like maybe he’d been imposing. Tough luck on that, because if you had your way, he’d stay longer than just the night.

“With an argument like that, how can I say no?”

“I might not sleep for a while, though… so if you wanna turn in, be my guest,” you sat back on the bed, shoving your walkman with the headphones to your side so he could settle in next to you.

“Couldn’t really sleep already, that's why I came here in the first place.” He started eyeballing the walkman, scooting in closer to where you sat, legs crossed and back against your pillows and headboard. “You got music?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, just a little mixtape I’ve been listening to.”

You’d just rewound the tape earlier, and almost put it over your ears when you found you couldn’t sleep. Maybe it would have settled the noise in your brain… but Logan seemed to do a pretty good job of that, too.

“May I?” He gently reached for the set, and your heart stuttered in beat when you saw the sweet look in his eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” You handed it over with a smile, no hesitation, even though this new mixtape was built primarily on the feelings for him you’d been fighting. “It’s mostly just girl stuff…”

He put the headphones on and started listening, and you felt a bit awkward just watching him listen to the music, unsure if he would piece anything together or not.

The first song played was Fields of Gold by Sting… just a soft ballad that made you think of what life might be like if things were different.

By the second song, you pulled the plug of the headphones, letting the music play softly through the speaker instead so you could both hear it. It felt much better when you could listen to the music yourself. Music always calmed you down, made you feel more at ease.

You helped him fast forward through some of the songs he seemed bored during, but he stopped you on a few, nodding his head and smiling as the music filled his ears.

“You like this one?” You asked, watching him start tapping his fingers to the song I Was Made For Lovin’ You by Kiss.

“This is my kinda music, right here,” he laughed, letting loose a little, breaking down his tough exterior just slightly so you could see the softness lurking behind.

The noise from outside your door had long gone, but Logan didn’t seem eager to leave whatsoever… you did after all invite him to stay.

When the song Wicked Game came on, you opted to skip it, and he grabbed the tips of your fingers to pull your hand away and ask why. The intro kept playing, the somber guitar filling the air between you.

“It’s a sad song, kinda haunting,” you explained, but the real reason you were trying to skip it was because you’d rewound this one a bit too much when thinking about him, the lyrics seeming to match up to every time you looked at him the way you were now. “It’s not as fun as the others.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, taking the walkman and holding it so that you couldn’t skip the song yet.

World was on fire, and no one could save me but you

Strange what desire will make foolish people do

You looked up at him and he seemed to really be into the music, but his brow was furrowed, like he was thinking about it in real time.

I never dreamed that I’d meet somebody like you

You had to look away from him for a moment, your face turning red and your eyes falling to your lap.

And I never dreamed that I’d lose somebody like you

No, I don’t wanna fall in love

No, I don’t wanna fall in love… with you

You took a glance back up, seeing his face and the way it seemed to turn almost upset by the lyrics. You almost thought about reaching for the walkman, but his death grip on it looked too strong to break.

“The next one is pretty good,” you smiled, trying to lighten the mood. He broke out of his trance and nodded, handing the device back to you.

The smooth and laid back energy returned to the room, and you could feel the peace of it engulfing you as you absorbed the energy from the air. It fed you, made you stronger, happier.

You couldn’t even help yourself by the time it got to the end of the playlist, the last song making you quietly sing aloud in front of someone you barely know… which was strange considering you wouldn’t even sing in front of your dearest and closest friends.

The song just did that to you… it used to remind you of a love you once lost, but because of the lyrics, you were starting to associate the beautiful melody with another face. The one looking back at you with a small lip tug of a smile.

The song in question? More Than Words by Extreme.

You didn’t look at him when you sang it, because you were already falling too hard, too fast. You needed to slow down… but just thinking about the lyrics…

More than words, is all you have to do to make it real

Touching someone for the first time is more than words can express… sitting side by side with someone without fear of hurting them means more than words could possibly say.

When the song ended you stopped the tape, setting it to rewind and putting it over on your bedside table.

“Not bad… that last one, I’ve heard it a few times somewhere else. It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, I like it better than the others,” you said jokingly, as if he couldn’t already tell by how easily the words came out of your mouth. “Saved the best for last, right?”

“I’d say so,” he wouldn’t look anywhere else but you, and you felt so powerless under his stare. You were folding in record time, and honestly at this point, you’d count it as a miracle if you made it out of this night without ruining it all.

“You tired yet?” you asked, changing the subject and pulling back your sheets.

“I’m getting there…”

His soft and pretty hazel eyes were starting to make you wish you’d not invited him. He was making this difficult. You wanted to know him, and not just physically. There would be time for that, but you had to wait and make sure he was the one. You weren’t willing to let yourself love him to the ends of the earth if you weren’t going to be able to keep him. It would just haunt you for the rest of your long and burdened life.

“Me too, but uh… I’m gonna try and finish my book,” you smiled, reaching for the novel on your bedside table. Fahrenheit 451. “So, just turn in whenever you’re tired.”

He debated asking you about the book, but ultimately decided that he’d bothered you enough for one night. It seemed like something he might research himself, if it was something you like. You obviously have good taste in music, maybe he ought to give reading the same books as you a try.

He’d never admit it, because it wasn’t like him to do such a thing, but he liked being around you. Liked touching you. The energy you gave off was pleasant, and every time your skin connected, he absorbed a little bit of it from you. Something that would kill anyone else, he got to experience first hand.

He smiled and lied down, giving a glance over his shoulder before he settled in. Your bed was warmer than his, more comfortable, too. “G’night, Alice.”

Your grin compared to his was like a young schoolgirl, completely and utterly lovestruck for the boy you met last week.

“Night, Logan.”

Tags: @ayamenimthiriel @levislegislation @reidsworld @melsunshine @clairealeehelsing

#logan howlett fluff #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett #logan xmen #logan wolverine #x men wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman #x men

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reccyls · 9 days ago

Text

The Reaper and the Self-Righteous Monarch’s First Condemnation - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

This event contains major spoilers for Victor’s route.

William: My curse is not my master. I am its master. William: Even if I fall into destruction one day, it will be a destruction of my choosing. William: There is no reason for me to fear it.

After I killed my father in parliament and was in the middle of preparations for his funeral, I received a summons from Her Majesty the queen to come to the palace, where she told me of my fate. I possessed the curse of the “Self-Righteous Monarch”, and my fate was “to be destroyed by my own cruelty.” It wasn’t much of a surprise. However, I didn’t intend to let something like destiny take away from me the power to be master of my own life. That was why I didn’t take my eyes off the queen as I spoke.

Queen: …Your curse is beautiful. And you, within whom that curse dwells, are even more beautiful.

Her slightly husky voice spoke in a more casual tone than before.

Queen: The truth is, I am also cursed.

William: …What?

As my eyes widened in shock, she chuckled.

Queen: Sometimes, I think about how wonderful it would be if there were a place where Cursed Ones could live freely, without worrying about their sins or their destinies. Queen: But I am a ruler. There is no escaping my duty, nor the fate that one day will come for me. Queen: So that is why I wish for all Cursed Ones other than myself to be able to be free.

(She seems to long for freedom very much.)

And yet, she had decided not to pursue it. It was probably a decision she made only after much pain and conflict. But I did not agree with her choice.

(The moment when Her Majesty’s heart is set free is sure to be magnificent.)

I dropped to one knee and looked up towards her.

William: This country belongs to you, Your Majesty. My life, and my desires, are all yours to do with as you see fit. William: And so if you, who rule over this land from the throne, are shackled, then I am bound as well.

Faced with the absurdity of my argument, the queen doubled over.

Queen: …Ahahaha!!

A loud, boisterous laugh sounded in the room. I was startled. Because that laugh… …belonged to a man.

The queen stood up and put aside the veil she wore. That was how I came face-to-face with a man who had eyes like jewels. His beautiful smile, gorgeous enough to charm anyone who saw it, captured my attention.

William: …So Her Majesty is actually a man.

With a grin, the man said this:

Victor: The woman known as “Victoria” does not exist. Victor: There is only a man named Victor born to the royal family, who hid his identity when he ascended to the throne.

(...I see. No one would have guessed.)

There was no queen, but instead a king–a man called Victor, who had, for some reason, chosen to hide his true identity. Who would have ever suspected that he would choose to hide his gender to rule?

(I don’t know his reasons, but I’m sure it must be because of something truly extraordinary.)

Upon learning a secret so large it could shake the foundation of the country, my first thought was this: “How fascinating.”--It was the first time in a long time that I had felt such a thing. With his arms crossed, Victor appeared to be deep in thought before he spoke.

Victor: I had plans to establish a special unit reporting directly to the queen, but it had seemed like those plans would never come to fruition. Victor: But now that you’ve appeared before me, they may become reality after all.

William: What do you mean by that?

Victor smiled.

Victor: I want to create a group of Cursed Ones that operate under the queen’s authority. Victor: It will be a place where evil that cannot be touched by the law is punished, where those who are cursed are free to live out their sins. Victor: From what I can tell, what you want is similar to what I want. What do you think?

I had no intention of dragging others into my crusade.

(I will destroy the “Butterflies” through my own will, and grant freedom to the people.) (I didn’t want anything in return. This was merely me acting on my desires, after all.)

–But what if I had an ally in this fight?

Victor: “Evil must be met with evil.” This is what I believe.

As a sense of fulfilment and satisfaction welled up in me, I let out a laugh. Victor held out his hand to me.

Victor: William Rex, join me and walk the path of paying evil unto evil.

I rose to my feet and took his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

William: As you wish, Your Majesty.

That was the day we became accomplices.

#ikemen villains #my translation #victor (ikevil)#william (ikevil)

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

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ok what if reader is also a vigilante?

reader and Jason met in their civilian identities, and after a while they start dating. but like, neither of them tells the other one about their vigilante identities? and then something random happens and they both find out in a funny way?

(alsooo can I be 🐈‍⬛? :3)

Idk if this is considered ‘funny’ but I tired, oh and Yes, you may be 🐈‍⬛ anon. 🦦

When you first met Jason in the cosy book store, you were far too concerned with keeping your stint as a vigilante as close to a secret as possible, so much so that the mere aspect of dating wasn’t something you contemplated on a day to day basis; Never less dating a civilian when you’re fighting street level thugs. However you couldn’t help but get lost in the beauty of his smile, his eyes and the way he ran his hand through his hair.

All you were aware in that moment was that Jason is just perfection in a six foot something frame. He was just that beautiful that you couldn’t find yourself looking away from him, ever; It had to be illegal to be that beautiful.

When Jason first met you in the cosy book store, trying to reach for a book that was just out of reach, he was far too concerned about the new vigilante that had taken to the street of Gotham. Nightshade was their name and they obviously had natural talent but were still sloppy in some areas, but they showed enough promise in their debut outing to be apart of the Outlaws. Dating was the last thing he needed honestly, despite affection, loyalty and love were something he deeply longer for more so then anything, however he felt a little tempted by the idea when you gave him a look of gratitude as he handed you the book was enough to set him alight.

‘Jason.’ He blurted.

‘Come again?’ You asked.

‘My name. It’s Jason.’ He clarified, internally cursing himself for making himself looking like a right idiot in front of you, but you just had that effect on him and it hadn’t even been ten minutes upon meeting you. Was he really that depraved? He asked himself as in that very moment you decided to smile at him, which gave him his answer that yes, he was indeed that depraved for a genuine connection. ‘Well it’s nice to meet you Jason. I’m y/n.’ You greeted, finding Jason absolutely endearing and insufferably cute. ‘Do you often help people with books or is it just a one time thing?’ You then asked, holding the book close to your chest, biting the inside of your cheek.

‘I don’t come here as often as I promised myself I would, so consider this as a rare occurrence.’ Jason shrugged, leaning against the shelf. ‘So do you come here often or are you a fellow procrastinator?’ You chuckled and Jason has to pat himself on the back for that one. He managed to make you laugh and god did it sound ethereal. ‘I’m kinda a fellow procrastinator but that’s because I’ve been busy with life and such.’ You told him, not wanting to admit to everything to a conventionally attractive man you’ve just met at a small, run down book store just yet; You didn’t want to fuck this up for yourself.

‘Oh yeah? Then maybe if you come here more often, I’ll have more of a reason to stop by other than the books.’ Jason said and you felt your smile even wider and tighten your grip on the book, casting your eyes to the floor. Curse this beautiful man for making you feel like a silly little schoolgirl either way a crush, it was both embarrassing as it was all consuming. ‘Sounds like you’re asking me on a date, mr Jason.’

Jason shrugs. ‘Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I mean is it wrong for me to want to get to know you better?’

‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt.’ You admitted.

‘So it’s a date?’ Jason asked, anticipating your answer.

‘Yeah. It’s a date.’ You replied, feeling a warmth flood through your body, followed by a feeling of nervousness simultaneously it was hard to figure out which feeling you should focus on.

Several book store dates, skirting your obvious feelings for one another and moving into his apartment later, you and Jason were officially a couple: and a happy one at that. And yet despite sharing everything to one another, every deep secret you’ve ever kept in your entire life and yet the one secret neither of you chose to disclose was your vigilante identities, and for simple and justifiable reasons on both your parts; You didn’t want Jason to be brought into the crossfire as a casualty and Jason didn’t want you to get hurt because of the dangerous people he wronged as RedHood. You’ve both hated yourselves for keeping a tight lid on your vigilantism but you knew it was for the betterment of the other, after all ignorance was indeed -on some occasions- bliss.

However on this very night, everything you and Jason have ever hidden from the other had decided to come to light but not in a way that’d either of you were expecting.

You and Jason were cuddled up on the couch and enjoying a peaceful evening in together, seeing as for a week straight both of you have had your hands full with capturing and clearing the streets of Gotham of thugs, goons and drug dealers, and actually getting the golden opportunity to act like an ordinary couple and shower the other in the love and affection that you’ve both been aching for the entire week.

‘You need to get some better sleep Jaybirdie, I can see dark bags starting to form under your eyes.’ You mutter softly as you run your calloused thumbs under his eyes, naturally concerned for his health and well-being. ‘Are you saying that I’m not that appealing to look at anymore because I’m developing eye bags? How shallow of you babe.’ Jason joked as he moved his face from your hands and looking away from you with a pout on his lips.

You laughed, reaching to hold his face in your hands again and gently made him look at you. ‘Stop being dramatic my little Jay bird, I think you make eyes bags work for you but I just don’t like the idea of you staying up longer than you should.’ You said as you kissed his lips and then under his eyes, feeling him hum in content as he dragged you into him tightly. ‘I appreciate the compliment babe.’ He said as he pressed a kiss to your head, closing his eyes as he breathed you in deeply. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t had enough time with each other lately.’

You burrowed yourself deeper into him, hands clutching at his shirt. ‘it’s okay Jason and besides I should sorry too because there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now. I hope you don’t hate me afterwards.’ You admit, scared that this might break your beautiful relationship with the sweetest man you’ve ever met, who had been nothing but unquestionably loyal to you through and through. ‘You could do no wrong pretty baby,’ Jason cooed, ‘but since we’re sharing things, I have something that I’ve been keeping from you also sweetheart.’ Jason said as he feared that he’d only be scaring you away afterwards and he can only hope that you’d stay and hear him out.

‘No, Jason you don’t-‘ you were cut off by the sound of two emergency alerts going off from your shared bedroom and before leaping off of Jason’s lap, much to his displeasure and worry, and rushed towards the bedroom with Jason hot on your heels going on about something you couldn’t quite make out over the noise of the emergency alerts. It was rare that it goes off and when it does, it’s when someone like scarecrow or Joker has made a reemergence to the public and when they do, nothin good ever comes to pass.

Within the depths of your shared closet in your bedroom were two equal sized duffel bags. Inside these duffel bags held everything to do with your vigilante personas that you and Jason had hastily shoved inside, and all before you officially moved into his apartment too. You never touched his out of respect for him and he never touched yours out of respect also, you both knew which one belong to who as they also sat just beneath your own civilians clothes, that and the fact that Jason’s duffel bag was a lot more beat up and rugged compared to yours which only had slight wears and tears; but other then that it was relatively a new bag.

Right of this moment however you didn’t stop to think about which bag you’ve picked up because before you knew it you had locked yourself within the bathroom, just about ready to change into your attire, when you were face to face with a familiar red helmet causing you to freeze in place. While you were trying to grasp the idea that your beautiful, beautiful Jason was the ruthless RedHood, a knock on the bathroom door broke you from your thoughts, and you automatically knew that Jason saw your vigilante attire and was feeling a similar sort of confusion towards you as you were about him. You placed the red helmet back into the duffle bag, zipped it shut before unlocking and opening the door wide enough for Jason to hold out your duffel bag towards you.

‘I believe this is yours sweetheart.’ He said awkwardly.

‘Thank you Jaybirdie.’ You mutter as you took the bag off of him, placing it down on the toilet seat as you picked up his duffel bag and handed it to him through the gap in the doorway. ‘I believe this belongs to you.’

‘Thank you sweetheart.’ Jason replied as he took the bag off of your hands as an uncomfortable air of silence followed as you both stood on either sides of the door, not knowing how to properly address the situation. Until… ‘I knew I recognise that ass in spandex anywhere.’

‘JASON!’ You exclaimed, face becoming flushed.

‘What? It’s true you’ve got a distinctly shaped ass! So of course I’m going to recognise it!’ Jason replied, throwing his hands up in the air.

‘So you’ve admitted to staring at my ass like a perv?’ You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jason pushed the bathroom door open fully to get closer to you and hold your face in his hands. ‘Don’t start acting like you haven’t stared at my ass like a perv, perv.’ He says with a chuckle upon seeing the expression upon your face, pressing kisses from your forehead and all the way down to the tip of your nose. ‘I thought you wouldn’t notice.’ You murmur softly, making Jason laugh as he lead you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where he then sat you down on the end of the bed and held your hand.

‘Well unfortunately for you, I do notice and I can’t say I don’t like the attention that I’d get for my charming parent.’ Jason says as he kisses the back of your hand. ‘You’re not mad that I’m a vigilante and have been keeping it from you all this time?’ You asked, running your thumb over his hand. ‘No because it would be quite hypocritical if I did because I’ve been keeping the same secret hidden from you also. Would you be mad at me being RedHood?’ Jason asked and you immeditly replied ‘no because I know you did so to keep me safe.’

‘Ans I know that you didn’t tell me for the exact same reason.’ Jason butted in. ‘Now that we know however, this just means that we’re even more of a kick ass couple because we literally kick ass every night and I couldn’t be more prouder of you baby.’ He add as he presses kisses to your face, making you chuckle before pulling away. ‘But that doesn’t mean I won’t stop worry about my baby. So expect a whole lot of team ups in the future okay chipmunk?’ You pressed a kiss to his cheek before stealing one from his lips as you stood up from the bed, tugging at his arm. ‘Why don’t we start teaming up now? RedHood and Nightshade, they’ll never see us coming by a long shot!’ You said and Jason couldn’t help but smile at your excitement as he then stood up, groaning dramatically. ‘Alright, alright, quick pulling my arm and get changed so we can go catch us some bad guys.’

You beamed brightly as you stole another kiss from his lips. ‘I love you Jaybirdie.’

‘The things I do for you buttercup.’ Jason spoke against your lips as he kisses you again.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagines #jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #dc x y/n #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

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archivofliv · 2 months ago

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꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ » ℍ𝕠𝕞𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤 . . . ♡ˎˊ˗

contains hcs for characters and the world homicipher takes place

may contain spoilers for the game

a lot of character lore and world building (if you have different interpretations than me please let me know !!)

yes most of these are angsty asf i am SORRY okay

I'd like to make it clear that only the creator knows the truth of these characters and the world they're in, this is just my interpretation of it

» 𝚃𝙷𝙴 '𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳' . . .

Most of the characters were originally human—except Mr. Scarletetta, who I believe created this entire world. He designed it as a trap and exists as an almost godlike glitch entity

The other characters went through the same thing as MC and fell into his trap, and the more monstrous they appear, the longer they've been trapped there

I believe Scarletetta—considering most characters and assuming my headcanon is correct—lures in individuals who are either deeply damaged or repressing their true selves to conform to society

Given that the story is set in Japan, where social norms emphasize politeness, humility, and cleanliness, these types of people would make ideal targets. Those who are damaged often have low self-worth, making them easier to manipulate, while those who suppress their true selves in such a structured society might be drawn to something raw and chaotic—like the decayed ruins surrounding the elevator and Mr. Scarletella’s striking red color scheme (as red represents violence and is psychologically an enticing color to the brain)

The characters were certainly in a better state when they first fell into the underworld. However, I headcanon that the longer someone remains there, it not only alters them physically but also affects them mentally, bringing out their most primal, repressed instincts and scrambling their memories

» 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 . . .

(Just Mr. Crawling and Scarletella because they're my favs and I have the most thoughts about them, but there are other characters in the next section !!)

Mr. Crawling:

Mr. Crawling is so unique because, at his core, he is genuinely a good person. Even as the underworld strips him down to his rawest instincts, thoughts, and emotions, his inherent goodness remains

However, he does kill—like when he takes the life of Mr. Stitch—showing that even he isn’t free from violence. But that brutality isn’t necessarily bloodlust or anything of the sort, but rather to protect MC out of the goodness in his heart

I believe Mr. Crawling descended into the other world more recently than some other characters— along with Mr. Hood, MC, and The Bride. While the other characters retain only a spark of their humanity, if you were to place him in a normal human body and remove his monstrous traits, he would still feel entirely human even as he is now

Mr. Crawling has very low self worth— he endures so much pain from MC: she nearly kills him, strikes him in the head with a crowbar, and dodges a flying chair, letting it hit him instead. And that’s not even counting the emotional pain she inflicts. She terrifies him, manipulates his emotions, and, despite everything he’s done for her, ultimately abandons him in multiple storylines. She makes him believe he is loved, only to leave him behind

Mr. Crawling protects MC and makes it his goal to get her home because he doesn't want her to transform into a monster the longer he stays down there

Mr. Scarletella:

Mr. Scarletella was never meant to be good—I don’t think there’s any reality where he is, even if he weren’t a glitch, a monster, or even if he were human

His nature is inherently selfish; he doesn’t truly care about the MC—he only wants her identity because he’s desperately grasping at anything he can

The reason Mr. Scarletella created the other world is the first place is because he just wants something to hold onto that even slightly resembles an identity and/or human connection but he doesn't understand those things so he does it all wrong

Mr. Scarletella is deeply lonely, as he never interacts with the other monsters (except for Mr. Crawling, but that’s not a positive interaction—Mr. Crawling just saves the MC from him)

In the Scarlet Rain ending, MC exploits Mr. Scarletella's obsession and isolation, making him her servant under the guise of giving him an identity—she names him

Mr. Scareletta, desperate for something to cling to, accepts it, misinterpreting it as love, because he doesn’t truly understand what love is—he just needs something to hold onto

(fine i'll give you a break from the angst, i guess, so have some random headcanons)

» 𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚈 & 𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 . . .

Mr. Silvair gets his root touch up at the hairdresser and actually isn’t a natural platinum, he's a natural dirty blond

When Mr. Machete was human he used to bully kids on Roblox

Mr. Crawling loves when MC braids his hair or plays with it

Love Languages:

☆ Mr. Crawling- Physical touch and words of affirmation ☆ Mr. Scarletella- Quality time and words of affirmation ☆ Mr. Hood- Acts of service ☆ Mr. Machete- Acts of service ☆ Mr. Gap- Gift giving ☆ Mr. Silvair- Physical touch

Ms. Blue-Clad and The Bride were friends when they were human and shared a fashion Tumblr blog

Mr. Crawling would love taking bubble baths if they had bathtubs in the other world; he can stand for a short amount of time, but it's painful for him so showers don't work well for him

Mr. Hood is the oldest of all the characters and Mr. Chopped is the youngest (except for Hooded Child, of course)

ALL of the other characters know about the Mr. Crawling and Mr. Scarletella beef they all see it

Mr. Stitch finds it entertaining and Mr. Hood wants them to just shut the fuck up because he's sick of it (real)

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

i'll be adding more to this as i think of more headcanons, i just like rambling on about this game :)

#homicipher #homicipher headcanons #homicipher x reader #homicipher x mc #mr crawling #mr machete #mr hood #mr chopped #mr scarletella #mr silvair #angst #headcanons #fluff #lore #indie games #worldbuilding #character backstory

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cripplecharacters · 2 months ago

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Hi there!! I have an oc with a unilateral complete cleft lip & palate and I wanted to know if there’s anything I haven’t considered that I should think about or if there’s anything I got wrong / that should be changed! The oc in question was created for a medieval fantasy game’s setting but one with with easily accessible healing magic, so I’m saying they went through a relatively modern timeline of surgeries with the help of healing magic - cleft lip and palate repair, bone grafts, etc. I’ve made the decision not to have them have any revisions or rhinoplasty, in part because I don’t think the magical healing would be able to achieve the precise effects of modern plastic surgery and without modern surgical knowledge it wouldn’t be perfect, so their lip has clear scarring & a little gap where their lips meet & their nose is uneven. The character in question is the charming bard/spy archetype. I wanted them to be a fat disabled queer who’s pretty as hell and knows it. I’m not grappling with disfiguremisia in their story and they have a very healthy relationship with their appearance. They’re also not the only oc I have with a facial difference, of the other two ocs I made for their game (who they’re allied with) both have battle scars and one has albinism & nystagmus, and their mentor is heavily scarred and is missing an eye & some fingers. I might also give them a childhood friend with a cleft lip as well. Basically they do have community, which I know is something this blog mentions a lot.

I also wanted to consider how their cleft would impact them beyond just the visible difference. They have a slightly hypernasal voice, difficulty with super crunchy/overly spicy foods, hearing loss leading them to use an enchanted hearing aid (I’m HoH myself, I’m basically writing it as identical to a modern hearing aid but powered by magic), reduced movement in their upper lip from the scarring, and some breathing difficulties due to their nasal airway being a little squished down (so I had them play string instruments rather than woodwind or brass for this reason). Is there anything else I should consider with regards to the impacts of their cleft lip/palate that I haven’t, or anything that needs fixing? Tysm in advance for your time and thoughts !! ❤️

2/2 AH. Cleft lip bard anon - I forgot to add that the character in question is also missing a tooth around her cleft and has some crookedness / crowdedness going on, I didn’t forget the oral/dental component (I missed that lmao, I have a high arched palate with teeth fuckiness so I give most of my ocs imperfect teeth so I just didn’t think of it until now)

Hey!

I think you have a well researched character going on. A lot of the results/complications they have do sound like something a person with an imperfect repair surgery would have!

Other things you could do are honestly optional, since you're already doing a lot to make it clear that it's not an aesthetic choice. One thing that could be important for a bard character is difficulty with whistling (I never met anyone with a cleft lip that could, which is very much anecdotal) and the nasality of their singing, though there's actual research claiming that for people with cleft lips, the hypernasal tone actually decreases while singing (as opposed to regular speech). So it could be a neat detail to add.

Since your story doesn't deal with disfiguremisia, I don't really have any general advice for facial differences. But it's obviously great that there's more than just one character :)

TLDR: this sounds like a well researched character, and you clearly took their job into account while doing said research. Unless you're trying to write a story about having a cleft lip/palate, you're probably good already.

Followers with cleft lip/and or palate are welcome to add on :)

mod Sasza

#Sorry I took so long to answer this one🙏🙏 it got lost in the drafts...#mod sasza #anonymous #face difference

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crooked-wasteland · 6 months ago

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The Sound of Music: How the Hellaverse Doesn’t Get Musicals

Despite two generations being raised on the concepts of musical theatre through the Disney Renaissance, it's only in recent times with Disney’s failure to replicate their own formula that people have been compelled to ask why. Why do some musicals work and others don’t? It’s easy to find someone on YouTube talking about musicals and discussing the “I want”/“I am” song without really understanding what that means for the musical as an overall structure. In order to adequately grasp the importance of understanding how singing works in musicals, one must start at the beginning: Opera.

Like musicals, Opera is also broadly separated into two types of songs: Aria and Recitative. Recitative is the part of opera left behind. During the evolution of musical theatre, the operetta adapted recitative into dialogue, breaking apart the songs throughout the story and leaving only the Aria behind. Aria in opera is what are the large musical numbers that are best remembered. The entire story comes to a crawl as a character stands center stage, looks to the back wall, and starts to sing. The Aria was how theatre go-ers would learn about the characters, their motives, and desires. The recitative was often performed like a sing-song narration that could be more or less musical, but the true depth of the story was found in the Aria.

The reason why the story worked was the structural cohesion of getting to know your character in one grand, memorable way and checking in with them as the narration went along. You would see how they changed based on the songs and their progressions. You’d understand why things would change as the songs were coordinated with dramatic events littered throughout the plot. Something would happen followed by a character singing how that thing affected them. This basic structure inherited from Opera is still the structure of Musical Theatre. The Aria further deconstructed into the “I Am” and “I Want” songs. These songs as a basis help offer a deeper connection between the audience and the characters while also adding a sensation of progression with how the songs interplay between the narrative and world.

With the transition to our modern musical theater, we have tightened up the formula of integrating musical numbers and the pacing of traditional theater. Singing should never result in a stagnation of the story. We should constantly be learning something about the characters, story, or world at all times. Music works best when paired with profound moments in the story. The more emotionally heightened a scene or plot point, the more effective it is to express it in a song.

These are just the broad, unrefined general guides to how musicals work, but I believe these are substantial enough to grasp what makes a “good” musical and what is lacking when someone says a musical is “bad”.

On the surface Happy Day in Hell appears to be a classic “I want” song, heavily inspired by Howard Ashman’s Belle. My argument for this comparison being that Happy Day in Hell touches on all superficially similar points as Belle from the unnamed background chorus, Vaggie following Charlie by jumping along the rooftops similarly to Gaston, and the overall subjects the song incorporates such as the emphasis on setting. My points are focused on the superficial and take in account that the context are not identical, but the purpose was meant to be an imitation in some manner. Whether its a homage to Beauty and the Beast or merely a clumsy ripoff, Hazbin Hotel is very obviously copying notes. Which is why it's easy to identify why this song just doesn’t work.

I will preface this portion by recommending Calxiyn Cares Too Much’s video on Happy Day in Hell. She makes similar points to me and, while we do disagree on some points, overall she has more ethos than I do, being a musical theater performer. She is generally more lenient on the music and story than I am while providing more in depth technical critique in terms of rhyming conventions and lyrical pacing. But while I don’t agree with everything she has to say, I do think her video is worth a listen.

To come out and say it, Happy Day in Hell is a disaster of an “I Want” song due to a lack of coherent wants and this is the result of not knowing how writing and stories work. Even divorced from the structure of a musical, the entire message of the song is fundamentally confused and this is in part a failure of understanding narrative structure and misunderstanding what was going on in Belle.

In Disney’s 1991 animated film, Howard Ashman started the story with a magnificent musical number, masterfully weaving in the setting with the desires of the titular character and her conflict with the rest of the world. She is an outsider, both in her own perspective and that of the town. We see her disinterest in them with her line “There’s the Baker with his tray like always with the same old breads and rolls to sell”, layering the delivery with a hint of melancholy and perhaps even a hint of condescension. The lack of variety in her life is a source of resentment to her, not in that fiery passionate sense, but the frustrated impotence that comes with craving experiences over stability. She isn’t a cruel or rude person, but her attitude towards them is that of how someone would regard an NPC.

This is most clearly seen when she attempts to engage the baker in conversation about her book and he waves her off. The little eye-roll and smile as if to say, “Of course” with a shrug of her shoulders. It’s the purest display of condescension without malice. The movie has comparisons of the Townspeople to Sheep, first having Belle interact with sheep instead of the town before depicting the town as its own kind of herd to later outright having The Mob Song with the lyrics “We don't like/ What we don't understand/ In fact it scares us”. The subliminal messaging of their “sheep mentality” is intentional and multifaceted, not just positioning Belle above them by simply setting her apart but confirming that her perceived superiority should be seen as the truth. Belle is a better person than anyone else in town, she is special, that isn’t being challenged.

This is called world building. Belle’s singing is not just telling us about the town, but her feelings about the town and the town’s relationship to her. It foreshadows the finale and sets all the tracks down to move the story along. Belle wants fantasy and adventure, she doesn’t care that she doesn’t fit in whereas the Town’s musings of her shows that her not conforming is disruptive to them. This additionally explains why Gaston and his quest to marry Belle is so supported by the town at the end of the film. Why would they completely go along with imprisoning her father in the asylum unless Belle agreed to marry Gaston.

The opening number made that kind of escalation so natural to where it makes little sense to question motivations of anyone involved in the story. We have a thorough and intricate roadmap of conflicting wants and needs from three major characters in the cast all through the subliminal use of language and themes. So when Belle is literally singing about the town what she is actually conveying are her motivations for her want. “I want so much more than this provincial life.” The character embodying that provincial life is the Town. The Town is what Belle wants to run away from. Gaston is the force trying to keep Belle from leaving the town and pressure her into something that better adheres to the values of the town.

This song is the thesis of Beauty and the Beast.

Similarly, Happy Day in Hell is the thesis of Hazbin Hotel. But what exactly is that thesis? This is where the wheels fall off the cart. Happy Day in Hell doesn’t set the stage for Charlie’s desires and motivations, but rather loses focus and meaning the second Charlie leaves the hotel.

The straightforward response is that Charlie wants to convince Heaven of something to motivate them to do something about her Hotel.

It is unclear what she expects Heaven to do, let alone what she is going to do to get that outcome. In just discussing this question I have been told what Charlie wants is anything from “Convince Heaven to redeem sinners” (like she appears to be doing in Welcome to Heaven) to “Convince them to stop the genocide” (which seems to make more sense in regards to Adam and Lute), however neither of these aspects actually address the main issue of the song number: Sinners don’t believe in Charlie and her hotel.

This issue is also why the actual structure of the episode is just wrong: the B plot has nothing to do with the A plot. While it isn’t always necessary for that to be the case, it actually holds a story together better when they do overlap. In Rick and Morty season 3 episode titled “Pickle Rick”, the family attends therapy and Rick turns himself into a pickle to get out of it. Beth takes the syringe full of an antidote Rick was going to use to turn back into a human after the family left, showing how she doesn’t trust Rick not to abandon her. Beth’s B plot of attending therapy with the kids thus ties directly back to her fears of abandonment and distrust that kicked off the episode in the first place while juxtaposed with Rick’s A plot that, on the surface, has absolutely nothing to do with therapy. However, Rick entering a top secret base is metaphorical to him infiltrating Beth’s emotional fortress. He never asked to be there, and for all intents and purposes he doesn’t want to be.

As Beth locks down her emotions on Dr. Wang, the facility responds similarly. Even more, it is a father who is sent to kill Rick in order to protect his daughter. A plot point that becomes an even deeper parallel in the season five finale where it is revealed that Rick’s tragic backstory of his Beth being killed in an explosion alongside his wife from season 3 was actually true. So Jaguar having refused to work for the Russians and losing his daughter in the process is a direct and intentional parallel of their motivations. The hardships Rick faces throughout the episode from rebuilding his body to destroying a secret Russian spy base are thematically relevant to the B plot of attending family therapy. This episode also places Beth and Rick in a position to have their relationship evolve through “Froopyland”.

”Pickle Rick” was emotionally and thematically necessary in moving the characters to a place where they could change. And that was masterfully rafted through parallels between the A and B plots. So when it comes back to structuring “Happy Day in Hell”, it makes no sense for Charlie’s plot to focus on convincing Heaven to do anything. It makes more sense for her to be trying to convince Sinners to come to her hotel and attempt redemption. If she is trying to convince Heaven to redeem sinners, she should have sinners who she thinks are ready to be redeemed. If she is seeking a ceasefire from the exterminators, then she should have a hotel with more than one resident to show that there is a desire for redemption within Hell. If anything, the song reaffirms that Charlie’s plight is pointless.

Because of this confusion and lack of focus, Happy Day in Hell is a weak thesis for Hazbin Hotel. It apes on structures it doesn’t understand, telling a story it hasn’t earned, and fails to thematically connect the two plots of the episode despite having both leads in Vaggie and Charlie singing together. Structurally, the song foreshadows the fumbling of the rest of the series’ major plot and world building. It lacks an understanding of why musicals are the way they are and fails on even a surface level to comprehend the important role of musical diagesis And its inherent limitations in storytelling on top of failing to structure the music thematically to the character motivations and overarching plot.

Visual Storytelling is an intricate circus of multiple mediums coordinating together in a delicate balance that can corrupt the entire production by just one mistake in the visuals, pacing, writing, or music. All of these categories have their own completely unique set of rules that only become more complicated when trying to be used in tandem. And to have a director not understand the fundamentals of ¾ of those categories results in a sloppy cacophony of poor choices.

#vivziepop critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop criticism #helluva boss critique #spindlehorse critical #vivienne medrano #vivziepop #hazbin criticism #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique

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hearts4werka · 10 months ago

Text

The Devil Herself

Summary: You’re the famous Ghostface killer in the town of Boston while your ex-bodyguard Christopher is also an FBI agent investigating your murders, you overhear his conversation with his mother about a set up date with another woman so you decide to pay the woman a little visit after the date… Genre: Horror, slasher, age gap (it’s not a big one), female killer, obsessive stalker, crime investigation, The FBI, arranged date Warnings: This fic contains darker themes that may trigger some readers like gore, kidnapping, acts of torture, illegal possession of various of dangerous weapons ( don’t do this irl ) obsessive female!character, cursing, murder, detaching-limbs. Read At Your Own Risk! authors note: this turned out wayyy longer than I expected it to. I started to write this last night still kinda shocked how I finished it in one day. I’m already writing pt.2 to Missing and need to finish that but here’s a long Chris fic for while you guys wait for it. There might be a pt.2 to this too but I have to see if y’all will want one. Hope you enjoy!

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

The Halloween season is right around the corner and I’ll have to do some work to set the atmosphere for the lovely town I’ve been slashing for couple of good years.

I am called ‘The Ghostface killer’ around this town, known mostly for the gruesome crime scenes I create which I’m proud to said in know for that, how I always manage to cover up any evidence that could lead to discovering my identity.

There’s been many before me, some were better some worse. Dating back almost centuries, I can say I’ve been through some stuff in the past. I don’t want to get into detail with it but let’s just say I’m on a revenge mission, murdering and torturing the people who’ve hurt me in the past.

But there’s a little problem flowing in my mind… my ex-bodyguard, Christopher.

He’s an FBI Agent, often a bodyguard or guarding something. The FBI are currently investigating ‘The Ghostface Killer Crimes’ how do I know? Oh it’s obviously because I stalked him, unfortunately I also found out some unpleasant things too.

His mother has set up him with another women for a date. And it’s fucking tonight.

I may have hacked into his chat logs as well and overheard him and his mother talking over the phone when I was just watching him on the cameras with sound recorders I’ve installed along with the cameras.

As much as I try to let go of him, when I manage get him out of my mind and focus on other things at hand he just latched onto my brain and messes with it, just coming back each time like a boomerang.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

I’m getting ready to discretely stalk Christopher’s date, dressing up normally but keeping my mask on me since I’ll be doing some dirty work today and I can’t get blood on my beautiful face, can I? But mostly to hide my real identity from her.

I walk into my closet, picking out a black corset along with some matching black jeans that make my body look amazing together with the corset, I want her to see something pleasant to look at before she will go out.

Adding the finishing touches such as jewelry, a black leather jacket draping it over my shoulders and black boots I glance over at the mirror of my bathroom and fix my hair. I almost feel like I’m getting ready for a date to which I chuckle internally at the fact I’m going out for a completely different reason. ( outfit here )

I grab my bag off the bathroom counter it was sitting on, walking over to a big black duffel bag dropped on my bed I pick out what weapons I would like to use today.

Picking the classic and iconic knife along with a small electric saw but also a gun for extra fun, I shove the gun into a hidden pocket in the leather jacket and drop the knife and saw in the bag of today’s choice.

Inside of the bag already resides my phone, a digital camera I take pictures of my beautifully gruesome crime scenes and of my victims for little pieces of memories.

After I’m done preparing, I make sure everything is in place and locked as I finally walk out of the house.

Time to start this little shitshow

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Im in my car, sitting in front of a fancy restaurant the date was planned at with my laptop sitting my lap, watching them through the restaurants cameras I’ve managed to hack into. People really need to make their security devises have a stronger protection because this was easier than I thought it would be.

My blood boils with jealousy as she reaches out with a napkin in her hand to wipe off a piece of the food they’re eating that got left on his upper lip. If she puts her hands on him again, I’ll cut the motherfuckers off and give them to him if he continues to allow it.

He’s very aware of having a person stalking him but he doesn’t know who it is even being an FBI agent he couldn’t simply figure out who it is, I grab my phone out of my bag and open the messages app. Typing out a simple text I send it over to him and watch him on the cameras for his reaction.

Me : Is someone running off with other women? Keep having her hands all over you and you’ll see what happens next.

Seeing him excuse himself to check the message on his phone I’ve sent, a look of horror and caution creeps into his features as he looks around nervously but he hides them with a tight smile from the woman that’s completely oblivious of what the message contained nor why he suddenly changed in demeanor.

For the rest of the night, he avoided her touch as much as he could but slip ups did occur. At the end of the date he cautiously walked her back to her car, I was parked not far away from her so I saw everything with my eyes. When they say their goodbyes she leans in and places a gentle kiss on his cheek before getting into her car and proceed to drive away.

He returns to his own car and just sits there lost in thought, the look on his face etched into his features, more evident now that he’s alone. After a few minutes he starts the car and drives away.

Now it’s time for the fun part to start.

I tracked the woman’s home address before they went on the date and found out all of the basic knowledge about her without unnecessarily digging too deep, putting her home address into the gps now it’s finally my time to drive off.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

After a while of driving I finally reach my destination and park in front of an old-money house thats a pretty good size for someone who lives alone. Looks like mommy and daddy’s wealth payed off for her.

I have a feeling she’ll be fun to torture.

I grab my bag with all of the supplies I need and get out of the car in one swift open of a door, walking around the car I face the trunk. Opening it I take out a cloth along with a small bottle of sedative.

Popping the cap off the bottle I pour some of it onto the cloth, glancing around the containments of my trunk if I won’t need anything else, grabbing my signature mask as the last item I need and slide it over my head now concealing my face.

With one efficient and swift move I close the trunk and finally head towards her house, time to do some breaking in now, put the bitch to sleep and drive her to my house. After I’m done with that I’ll have some good old fun with her.

Going through the back door that thankfully was left open behind I quietly enter the building, checking if anything besides me is lurking in the dark shadows covering her house and find nothing, no sign of any animals too to which I sigh in relief. I really hate killing peoples animals. ( don’t actually kill animals irl )

I slyly maneuver my way through the darkness and up the stairs, them creaking as if I’m in a horror movie. Getting up the creaky ass stairs I see light coming out of one of the rooms, assuming that’s where she’s currently located I decide to put more of the sedative on the cloth in my hand to make sure she doesn’t wake up during the ride back to my house.

Scanning the surrounding area I can’t help but wonder if she left the door unlocked, she does live alone so no one could technically get into her house and into the bathroom while she’s in there, right?

As I come closer to the bathroom my ears suddenly get assaulted by music coming out from the slightly opened bathroom door, she has shit taste in music.

Creeping up to the bathroom door I widen the open hole with my hand as quietly as possible to not draw any sudden unwanted attention to it.

I take a small peak inside and see the shadow of her figure through the shower curtains she’s concealed behind, thinking this is gonna be easier than I thought I slowly enter the room and make my way towards the shower.

Pulling open the curtain my eyes are met with my target being completely nude while water rains onto her naked body from the shower head secured to the wall in front of her.

Without giving her anytime for further reaction than the horror slowly spreading across her features I slap the cloth over her mouth to muffle her screams pouring out of her mouth.

When she falls asleep I get her out of the shower and put the clothes she left in the bathroom onto her body, tossing her over my shoulder again I carry her back to my car and drop her into the backseat.

I drive off from under her house and on the path back to my house.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

We arrive at my house and I check into the backseat to see if she’s woken up.

“Still knocked out.”

I exit the car and take her out of the backseat, tossing her over my shoulder again and carry her into my basement or how I like to call it ‘The secret layer of crime’

Walking down the stairs and underground I drop her from my shoulder and into a bloody wooden chair in the middle of my basement or torture chamber, tying her down to it with a thick rope that was sitting next to it on a small wooden stool so she doesn’t get away when she finally wakes up.

Next to the chair is a white plastic table with various torture weapons I usually can’t carry around with me, opening my bag I dump out the weapons I took with me earlier.

I wait for her to wake up because I need her to be fully conscious during the whole process, I’m gonna make this painful for her. Mentally and physically.

After a few minutes of waiting she finally regains her consciousness and looks at me with the same horror on her face as when I took her, she tried to scream but realizes her mouth is ceiled shut with a cloth taped to her mouth.

A sinister laugh rumbles in my throat at her desperate tries to pry her way free or scream for help, this basement is sound proof so no one will hear her even in the slightest mumble.

“Oh are you trying to escape? You poor little thing, how sad.” I say with mockery lacing my tone, my eyes settle down on the table full of weapons and her eyes follow right behind, her horror spreading further and becoming more evident.

She violently shakes to try and loosen the thick rope she’s secured with tightly to the chair, grabbing a knife off the table I walk over to her. My shoes creating echoing foot step sounds that bounce around the walls of the basement.

Leaning down and getting up close to her face I raise the knife to her jawline and slowly trace it, the cold blade leaving goosebumps behind its path.

Her eyes become glassy and tears roll down her cheeks, a smirk spreads across my face at the beautiful sight of her being scared.

“You know why you’re here?” I ask, knowing I won’t get a clear answer out of her, the cause of it being the cloth taped to her mouth.

Shaking her head negatively, meaning she’s saying no and I become amused by not having a lack of an answer from her as I expected. She’s really desperate to stay alive, how pathetic.

“Well you don’t have to know but let’s just say you might be loosing some limbs today, hm?”

Her eyes widen at my sudden statement as her horrified state intensifies along with her desperate tries to escape, the sight is complete gold or a rare find that can only be dug up deep in the cold mines.

I slide a small stool with some blood covering the surface of it and place it under one of her hands, extending my hand behind me onto the weapon table I grab the mini electric saw.

Without hesitation I flip it on and it starts up with a roar, bringing the circling saw blade to her wrist and saw right down which detaches her hand from her arm. Blood sprays out from her arm and onto my clothes and everything around it as I take the severed hand and place it onto the weapon table.

Grabbing the stool and putting it where her other hand is and copy the same procedure of detaching the hand as on the other.

When that’s done I put the new severed hand next to its sister on the weapon table along with the now blood-covered saw. She’ll die a slow, painful and torturous death after I’m done with her.

I hover my hand over the weapon table and select a weapon at random, I grab onto something long and sharp, knowing what it is already I grasp the leather handle of it and bring the blade to her neck, slicing it open but not enough to kill her yet.

Putting the weapon down back onto the weapon table I walk over to a chest and open it, taking out a small carboard box among different body bags, trash bags and gloves I’ve left in here because I was too lazy to throw it out.

I close the chest and place the box on top of it, walking back to the weapon table I grab the severed hands and then go back to the box and neatly place them inside.

Thinking of what to add to it I decide or grab my camera from my bag I dropped onto the ground after taking out the weapons I took with me earlier I take a picture of the tortured and slowly dying woman on the chair. Just a little memory for him to remember.

I take the Polaroid out of the camera and grab the knife off the table, stabbing into what’s left of her hand to draw some blood onto the blade of it and I write a small letter with it on the back of the Polaroid.

After I’m done with my little letter I return back to the box, closing it and ceiling it shut with some tape I had in my grasp.

Grabbing the box and the Polaroid I exit the basement and go into my car to give Chris a little surprise. By the time I exit the basement the sun is already coming up and starting to illuminate the world.

I drop the box next to me in the passenger seat along with the polaroid and drive off to his house. He should be awake by now since he usually wakes up when the sun comes up.

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —

Arriving at my destiny under his house I take the box with the Polaroid and get out of my car, walking over to the front door of his house I place the box down onto the doormat that has ‘Welcome!’ written across it in black bold letters on a white background.

I neatly place the Polaroid on top of the the box that’s slowly leaking blood from one of the bottom corners and onto the white and black doormat, I ring his doorbell and walk back to my car to drive off from under his house before he saw me.

The note on the back of the Polaroid says is bloody letters.

‘Like running off with other women so much? Here’s a little surprise for you but I’ll say one thing. You are mine and no other woman is allowed to lay your hands on you. Ever again.’

- Your lovely Stalker

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tgmsunmontue · 5 months ago

Text

From the top 4/6

IceMav, (eventual) Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

Featuring not-mistaken identities (where they (Ice and Mav) pretend to be in the dark for REASONS), Ice is Jake's Uncle Tom, Mav is Bradley's Dad, everyone knows everyone, (un)requited love, coming out as an older person, and a little bit of a circus-vibe where Ice has a horrible realization that this is indeed his circus and these are also his monkeys.

An AU where Mav married Carole and adopted Bradley to make things easier legally. A USNA Bradley who has been very careful to separate Dad/Pete from godfather/Maverick. They had an argument prior to TGM, but it was around Maverick being careless with his life (RE: Darkstar because Bradley got the call that Maverick was missing, presumed dead). So it was about risk taking and thinking while flying, so that was happening and Bradley admits to the Dagger Squadron that Maverick is his godfather and they have a ‘complicated relationship’ which isn’t a lie per se, however it’s… complicated.

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE

PART FOUR

>>How did the sweeping go?

Pete stares at the message and rolls his eyes, types out you tell me before deleting it. For some reason he can’t wrap his head around, Ice seems to want this faux-layer of anonymity. He’s asking Pete what he thinks. Clearly wants to know.

>>It’s an ongoing project, not one I intend to ever stop. I think it started well though.

>>What about you?

>>Ask your best friend out yet?

He scrunches his nose as he looks at his phone, wonders how Ice is going to wiggle out of this one. He will wiggle though, Ice is nothing if not a phenomenal diplomat and has a gift with words.

>>We had dinner together. It went very well.

Even though he was there, even though he’d seen his effect on Tom, had had the realization about just how deep Tom’s feeling went and for how long it’s still incredibly reassuring to read that Tom also thinks it went well. Very well in fact. He grins at his phone stupidly.

>>Glad to hear it.

>>What are you up to right now?

>>Packing for a work trip. Flight is this afternoon.

Of course.

Hawaii.

>>I’ll leave you to your packing.

>>Let me know when you land.

>>Okay.

>>If you want me to.

>>I want you to.

The exchange leaves Pete feeling a little unmoored. Usually when they’re apart they don’t talk very much, a hangover from longer deployments when they’d send each other letters or postcards, each piece taking weeks to get there. It gives them plenty to talk about once they’re back together, but Pete wants some way to show Ice that he’s thinking about him. More than just messaging him or drowning him in flowers…

Postcards.

They’re not quite love letters, although maybe they could be, simply a sign that he’s thinking about him. Except the postal service is so much slower than sending immediate messages, but they’re something tangible, and Ice knows what they mean. He looks at his box of vintage postcards and smiles slowly, decides to send one to Ice’s office in Hawaii. He’s aware as he addresses it that Ice hasn’t even gone wheels-up to leave, but with the pace of the mail service he’ll likely get it halfway through his time there. And then Pete will make sure there’s a whole lot more waiting for him when he gets home.

… … …

Tom isn’t used to sharing so much mundane information with Maverick. When they’re apart they’ve always gone on the assumption that no news is good news, especially considering Maverick’s exploits generally reach his ears fairly quickly. However he dutifully lets him know that he arrives safely, and Pete likewise shares his own safe arrival. In his actual messages there is an invitation from Mav to come out to his hangar for dinner a day after he’s scheduled to get back.

He’s busy with work. While the Navy have given him special dispensation to work from North Island a lot so he can have family support while he was undergoing treatment he’s also well aware that there is a lot to try and cram in during his time here. He will need to relocate back here, once he’s given the all clear and his lips twist at the thought; the distance it will put between him and Maverick just as they seem to finally be figuring things out. Not that he doesn’t think they can deal with it.

“Mail for you sir.”

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t get mail very often now, most communication is electronic, but he can’t stop his heart skipping when he sees the postcard. Even without turning it over he knows it’s from Mav, the fact it’s a vintage WW2 postcard, a pinup girl on the front encouraging people to join the Navy. He’s immediately amused. Maverick’s collection of postcards is something Tom has always poked fun at, asking him what the point of buying postcards was if he wasn’t ever going to send them. He’d replied that he liked the history of them and the pictures, and he would send them if he knew the person receiving them would really appreciate them, and if they were important enough.

And here he is, receiving one.

It’s not like he had any doubts but this is… this is really something. He runs a finger around the edge of the card, thinks of Pete going through all his cards and choosing one to send him. He flips it over to read, finds himself smiling at Mav’s spiky script, isn’t surprised that there’s almost no text to speak of, too used to keeping things vague and brief on the back of a postcard that anyone could read.

T-14. M.

He looks at the date of the postal stamp and realizes it was received and processed the day he left. Fucking Maverick.

Swept indeed.

… … …

Pete usually works on his plane when he has free time. However he’s had a different project consuming his time while Ice has been gone. This weekend he’s expecting a delivery of a few things to finish things up. While the trailer has been fine, he’s not as young as he once was, he can accept that now. He’s also not going to expect Ice to sleep in it, doesn’t think he would fit, because Bradley had complained and he’s an inch shorter than Ice.

So his long-standing plans for the one corner of the hanger has become his top priority. A mezzanine level built over what is meant to be a permanent kitchenette. The skeleton and support structure has been built for years, and all the plumbing is in place but capped off. The cabinetry is sitting in boxes, unassembled. He doesn’t care about the kitchen, what he cares about is the space above. A bedroom of sorts. A large California king he’s ordered which is now sitting beside the P-51. Now he’s just got to figure out how the hell he’s going to get it up to the level above by himself. He’s spent time painting and laying vinyl, plastering and installing a fan over the bed, which had involved placing more beams. But he’s proud of his progress. Normally he’d have told Ice all about it, but he wants to show him. Surprise him.

“Mav? You here?”

“Bradley?” Pete calls out, popping his head to the side around the side-railing of the mezzanine. He could help. “Do you think you could help me lift the mattress up here?”

“Uh…” Bradley looks at the large mattress wrapped in plastic, the matt-black frame which still needs to be fully assembled.

“Mav… this is like a four-person job. At least. But… how about we assemble the base and set it up, then I’ll come back tomorrow with some of the others, and we can figure it out. Are you… finally settling down?”

“Finally doing something,” Pete mumbles under his breath, but louder he says, “yeah, finally admitting my back can’t handle the thin foam mattress in the trailer.”

“Good call.”

… … …

Bradley does return the next day, after convincing all the Daggers to come with him. They’ve all been out to the hangar before, but he had said that Mav needs their help, and well, left it at that. So half of them think they’re working on the P-51, which Bradley knows won’t be happening until either Mav dies or hell freezes over, or there is something else. He’d noted the unfinished kitchenette, and he’s pretty sure with all of them pitching in they can get things to the point where he doesn’t have to worry about his god-father hurting himself through DIY. It would make a change from it happening at work, but Bradley would put money on there being other extenuating circumstances that Mav isn’t sharing, and if Bradley can help those along then he will. He and Jake have talked about it, and they just have to wait it out.

“My dad is a plumber, I know what I’m doing…” Phoenix snaps, and Mav nods, backs away, she does indeed look like she knows what she’s doing. Fanboy and Payback have started unpacking the cabinetry and laying it out, while Coyote and Jake are discussing ropes and pulleys to lift the mattress up.

“Did you have to get a bed this big Maverick?” Coyote asks. “It’s not like you take up that much space…”

Bradley snorts, lets his eyes meet Jake’s who just smirks and licks over the toothpick in his mouth suggestively and Bradley rolls his eyes.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to son…” Maverick says, and then Coyote is spluttering and looking embarrassed and everyone is laughing.

… … …

He has sent a postcard every single day, glad that he can just slide them anonymously into the box on base near the administration block, not that he cares who knows, but he suspects Ice would prefer to keep things a little more private. Pete himself feels like yelling it from the top of the control tower every time he thinks about it, and he’ll tell Ice as much later, when he can commend Pete on his self-control and maturity in person.

They’ve somehow, without ever discussing it, separated their communications into two very distinct avenues. The messaging app where they’re both pretending they don’t know who they’re talking to, which he has come to appreciate for how open he can be there, like asking Ice to let him know that he’s arrived somewhere safely. Finding out how Ice feels without asking him directly. Except he is asking directly, but there is this thin veil of pretense they’re both letting hang between them. He’s started to like it, especially when Ice mentioned receiving the postcard, and how much he knew it meant to be receiving it. Pete hadn’t told him there would be another one waiting at his house for every day he’s been away. He wants it to be a surprise.

Right now they’re doing their almost regular night-time chat before Pete drops off to sleep.

>>What do you like about him?

>>Everything.

>>That’s not a proper answer.

Pete rolls his eyes and pulls a face, even though no one can see him, settles further into bed because he’s already fallen asleep once on the sofa and it had not been great for his back.

>>What do you like?

>>About your friend?

>>I asked you first.

>>But he makes my life brighter. I always look forward to seeing him, even when I’m tired or grumpy.

Pete snorts. If Ice is tired, then he’s grumpy, and vice versa. The fact that he looks forward to seeing Pete even when he’s feeling those things, that somehow his presence makes Ice feel better make him feel warm. Oh. Maybe Ice needs… reassurance or confirmation that Pete finds him… attractive? He’d rather do that in person. Surely Ice knows? Regardless Pete can make sure.

>>I do like everything about him.

>>He wouldn’t be my best friend if I didn’t genuinely enjoy his company. Respect him.

>>But there are things I love. Like his hands. They’re

>>They’re what?

>>Big. Capable. Clever. Elegant.

>>Oh.

Pete chews on his bottom lip, imagines Ice in his own bed, staring at his hands and imagining how Pete feels about them. Of course, he’s imagined quite a lot more about Ice’s hands, back when he was younger, before he very firmly locked the thoughts away so he wouldn’t ever act on them. Now of course is a different matter, knowing what he knows about Ice and their new relationship trajectory.

>>I love the way he smiles.

>>He doesn’t smile often enough but it makes it even better when he does.

… … …

Tom has never been so eager to get home. Most of his career one place has often been the same as another; while North Island has his sister and her family and Jake, with Mav close by when he’s not deployed, he’s never longed to be home as much as he does right now. It’s after nine at night, the porch light is the only light on, set on a timer. The taxi drops him off and Tom thanks the driver, walks up the path to his front door with weary steps. He’s tired and cold despite the warm spring night. He opens his front door and flicks off the porch light and the entryway light on, unlaces his shoes and places them on the rack; lets the familiarity of home wash over him.

He locks the door and turns the light off again, making his way through the house towards the stairs, his eyes adjusting to the muted-light from the street lamps outside, quietly heading toward his bedroom. His bedside light is on, beside it is a large glass of water and a stack of… postcards. Then he sees the little handwritten note, recognizes the writing as Maverick’s and finds himself smiling.

Have a shower. Drink some water. I turned your electric blanket on. Sleep well. See you tomorrow. - M

The gestures are all sweet and he wishes Mav was here himself, so he could curl up around him and fall asleep holding him. Of course he’s too tired for anything else, but… maybe tomorrow night. He hopes so, although considering he’s going out to the hangar he’s not going to hold his breath. The trailer might rock off its stands if they had sex too vigorously. Hell. What is he even thinking, they haven’t even shared a proper kiss yet.

>>Home safe. Tired.

>>Feeling very loved.

>>Good.

>>You are loved.

>>See you tomorrow night.

FIVE

#IceMav #From The Top #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #Top Gun fanfic

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devilfic · 7 months ago

Note

Just an idea, but this is something I often do with my own grannies. So sometimes when I come visit, we'll chat and gossip about random things like what parties happened the night b4 in the community and how I got called into work b'cuzz I'm a matron at the station (I never give names I only call em by their prisoner #'s) and I just give em a general synopsis of what I had to deal with b'cuzz they were screaming, or banging on the door or flipping oit etc, or I show them some true crime podcasts or some interesting documentary about how barbies were made or something other. And then there's visits where we don't even talk, we just sit down in silence while the tv's on or the radio, while having some tea and snacks or supper if I come by at dinner time, and we just enjoy each other's company, it's honestly the best visits when we do that. So just imagine doing that with Battinson Bruce, no talking, just peaceful silence while he works and enjoying each other's presence while also enjoying Alfred's tea and snacks. That'd be so wholesome, and then he walks you home, or you just crash on his couch. That'd be so nice, just something platonic and sweet.

❝I want us both to eat well❞

plot: "It’s so complicated staying alive sometimes." — your friendship with the elusive vigilante is a special one in many ways. pairing: platonic!battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: partially inspired by the poem "our beautiful life when it’s filled with shrieks" by christopher citro, fluff, reader used to live on the street, reader knows batman's identity, bruce being bad at managing his meal times bc justice never sleeps, platonic but you can read it any way you want to. words: 1.5k. a/n: this is such a sweet anecdote, and I have had some not so great writer's block, so I really appreciated having a simple idea to work with! there is quite a bit of talking but it's not an devilfic fic if they don't yap a bit

It is a verifiable fact that Bruce will not eat at a reasonable time unless you make him.

I mean, he does eat. There are meal preps in the fridge that he unfreezes at sunrise, and there are pre-workout protein shakes and bowls of fruit Alfred leaves for him to graze on, and every once in a while he’ll come upstairs to the dinner table—Bruce and Alfred both know these particular dinners are as much case debriefs as they are eating together, but they’re together and there’s food on the table, and that’s something. Isn’t it?

But for all his effort, Alfred has never been as efficient as you.

You bump Bruce’s shoulder with dinner, a greasy paper bag full of what you promised would make up for the calories, and he inches his book away before you can get anything on it. He feels the residue on his skin, though. “Alright, up and at ‘em. Eat this before it gets any colder than it already is.”

“What is it? Exactly?”

You set the bag on his desk and hand him one paper-wrapped burger and a set of (admittedly) delicious looking fries. “That, my good man, is a delicacy on my side of town. Bizzby’s Burgers. I even splurged and got you a large ‘cause I know you’ll like it.”

Bruce can’t remember the last time he had either of these. As he plucks a fry out of its container, he wonders if it’ll taste good enough to jog his memory. You swear by it, and it feels like he’s more willing to just take your word for it these days. “You didn’t have to.”

“It’s alright. It’s your money anyway.”

“That’s not how a job works.” Bruce watches you drag a stool over to his side and take a seat, catching only a whiff of the rain clinging to the very ends of your sleeves. It was good to know the money he spent on your new jacket was worth it. “You earned it, it’s yours.”

“You gonna finger that fry all night or you gonna tell me I’m amazing?” Bruce grimaces at your choice of words. He takes a bite and, yeah, he sees where all the grease came from, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t taste good. “Well?”

“It’s good.”

“I’m amazing, right?”

“This is a delicacy?”

“Don’t be a smartass, rich boy.”

“I’m just asking a question.”

You take out your own food and he realizes you’ve got onion rings instead of fries. You stuff one into your mouth, savoring the taste for a little longer than necessary, and really—they can’t be that good. “When gramps ran the place, he’d usually sneak me something at the end of the night. Whatever the others didn’t take home. But it’s been ten years since his son took over and he’s a real hardass about that stuff. I would’ve sworn off the place for good if it wasn’t for the fact that he cooks just like his fucking dad.”

Bruce used to follow you when this all started—a precaution he took to ensure there was no conflict of interest on your part—and this Bizzby’s Burgers sat smack dab between your favorite alley and the shelter. He used to wonder why you never really went in, always lingering outside like it used to be your home, once. Now he knows.

You bring out the sodas next, except he didn’t want a soda, and the next best thing to a fountain drink at Bizzby’s is a milkshake. It’s strawberry and more milk than ice cream at this point, but Bruce dutifully reviews it for you all the same. His desk is slowly becoming a mess from dinner, but it’s been a slow road getting you to take up space like this again. He can be bothered not to be bothered.

“I thought you were just shy, or maybe didn’t trust me, but you really don’t talk much. Do you?” Your question sounds like it’s already been answered in the tone you use.

“I talk when I have something to say.”

“Yeah. You don’t just fill in the silences like some people.” Bruce thinks that’s all you have to say on the matter, but he should know better. You like talking to him. “People pretend you don’t exist when you live on the street. I think they feel guilty, but you sort of get it into your head that maybe you really don’t exist after all. That you stop existing the second you end up here- or… there. I guess. I’m not there anymore.” You look far away in that moment. Bruce watches your eyes flicker, stuck on some unknown memory of a life much harder lived, but then you come back to yourself eventually, “You scared the shit out of me back when we first met.”

Most people remembered him for the fear. You had shrunk in on yourself when he appeared, shivering from the shock or the wind chill or the lack of sleep that clung to your drooping eyes.

Bruce keeps eye contact with you, biting into his burger so slowly that the paper doesn’t even crinkle.

“Like that,” you grumble. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Help what?”

“Look, that’s not the point. My point was that, like, you were so scary when you first found me in that alley. I thought… I thought you were going to beat me to a pulp over something I didn’t do… or worse, something I did do. You started talking and it felt like all the sound dropped out around me. Like tunnel vision. Like I was the only thing in front of you, and it scared me. Even when you were silent, it felt like… I existed too much. I was too seen. It was overwhelming. But now that I know you…” Bruce’s eyebrow rises. He spares no energy for any other reaction. “It’s kind of nice.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He doesn’t know how to take it; he knows it’s a good thing but in the way a compliment sandwich is mostly a good thing. “Kind of nice” was mostly a good thing.

You must see the uncertainty in his face—a rare occasion he doesn’t hide it—because you rectify your wording, “It is nice. You see me and I exist and I know I exist because you treat me like a person. It was jarring back then but now it feels pretty good. So thanks for scaring the shit out of me, I guess.”

You squirm in your seat, taking a long drag from your straw as you wait for him to say something. Bruce leans further back into his chair, gazing sidelong at you.

In reality, he didn’t quite understand how anyone could miss you.

He’d seen plenty of people just like you on Gotham’s streets, turned away from shelters and scared out of gang territory, and yet you had stuck out to him. When he’d found you curled up in the dark, rain drenching through your clothes, it had been just his luck that you had been witness to exactly what he needed to know, and it was even more his luck that—after the catatonia wore off—you told him everything.

And you caught his eye again, and again, and again. Always on some street corner, shrinking away from the crowds but always on the outskirts, hanging onto the coattails of the bigger bads he stalked after. He supposed you just had something about you. It was hard to trust gut feelings about people in this city (sweetness turned rotten all too suddenly), but so far, he’d been right about you. “You’re welcome.”

You still at his voice. You catch his eyes and something softens in you. Then you sniffle, and Bruce kicks on the heater beneath his desk.

The two of you continue to eat and Bruce waits for you to share something else, but nothing comes up. When dinner’s trashed, you watch from the couch as he works away on a case you have nothing to do with, Bruce waiting for questions that never come.

It’s two in the morning when he hears your first snore. Then six when you come down from the bathroom with a tray of coffee. He thinks it’s Alfred’s, but one sip and he knows it has to be yours; it’s different, not as clear as he's used to, but not unpleasant. Did you ask Alfred to show you how to make it? Or did you just know, and this was how you liked it? You don’t say anything as you sit with him again, eyes crusted over with sleep as you huddle closer for warmth.

It’s Bruce who speaks first, eventually, “I'll call you a cab.”

“Nah, it’s fine. It's a subway kind of morning.” You hoist your bag onto your shoulders, a pound heavier with all the snacks Alfred slipped you in the kitchen. “I can meet you in Chinatown tomorrow night. I know a place with spring rolls to die for.”

Bruce hums, holding the front door open for you, “If you’re willing to wait for me.”

You punch his arm and it catches up to him that he hadn't expected it, that you could've done something much worse and he'd have missed it because... well, because he knew you wouldn't. He feels safe with you.

You’re all smiles, none the wiser. "Who else am I gonna gossip with?"

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