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definitelynotshouting · 4 months

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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FINALE OF SECRET LIFE!!!!!

so i sped-wrote this as soon as i learned who the winner was this morning, tried to post it twice, tumblr mobile deleted it BOTH TIMES... but i will not be silenced ive finally gone to desktop /silly

this will go up on my rough draft pseud soon, but until then please enjoy the results of me being EXTREMELY unwell about the secret life finale. WOOOOOO WE ARE POPPING THE BIGGEST OF BOTTLES TODAY FR!!!!!!!!!!!

Grian barricades himself at the top of the highest tower of Tango's citadel the moment he wakes up. It's a calculated move, admittedly. There are a precious few places one might still find him if he truly wants to hide, but the Deep Frost Citadel isn't one of them— and with the second Decked Out coming to a ceremonious close, foot traffic here is perilously low. Dawn is a swift-approaching knife on the horizon, and Grian soars above it all, face numb with chill wind, wings brazen and feathers strewn across an empty sky.

He doesn't want to be near when Scar wakes. And he doesn't want to be found just yet, either. Oh, Scar will track him down. Of that, he has no doubt— but for now, Grian takes solace in the snow crunching underfoot as he locks himself inside this barren tower.

It's dark here, which suits Grian just fine. He doesn't bother lighting a lantern; instead, he huddles right on the floor, letting the ice seep through him. From here, he can just make out the sky as it lightens, bringing with it the dawn of a new victor. Nausea boils in his throat. With that victory comes a price, and Scar— And Grian— Well. Grian hasn't treated him very well throughout the games, now, has he?

He curls in on himself even further, feathers brushing along the length of his chilled arms. Each hair stands at attention, in some vain effort to pull warmth from the surrounding freeze— when he scrubs a hand along his arm, his fingers shake, and the gooseflesh remains stark and raised against his skin.

There was a sand-drenched point when the concept of warmth was all he could register— scorching wind scraping the cut on his cheek, the scarlet splatter of blood across split knuckles. And like the steady drain of life from a corpse, that warmth has drawn away, poison from a putrid wound— it leaves him compacting this cold, this loneliness, to mold it into four high walls around his heart; a fitting tribute to every grain of trust he's rightfully lost. Grian huffs the barest traces of a bitter laugh as his breath mists in the air. A better man would meet Scar at his base, extend his support, no matter how icily it might be met.

But Grian is selfish, and a coward, and will always be a coward— and so instead he sits, marrow freezing, with only the thin garrotte of paltry sunlight wrapping itself around his tender throat to keep him company.

And there he stays, motionless, for long enough that the chill makes a home in him— the glistening, pale yolk of the sun warns him of the passing time, a watery heat that counts down the seconds to minutes to hours until Scar finds him. Grian curls his wings around himself, a pitiful embrace, and waits.

Two hours later, the whistle of rocket-propelled elytra warn him of incoming company. Grian doesn't bother fleeing; he knows Scar, and Scar knows him, and with this last, missing puzzle piece finally slotting into place between them, he's under no illusions that staying hidden for long is feasible. Grian's eyes skitter to a crack on the far wall as clumsy footsteps scatter the snow outside, scrabbling for balance before the muted click of a cane joins them. Footsteps; another, louder click— the door's latch gives way, and a brief, blinding wave of light crashes over Grian's face, obscuring everything but the outline of a painfully familiar silhouette.

Grian has to look away. The door shuts, and for a small moment, neither of them so much as breathe.

Then Scar's sighs— one great, resigned gust. "Grian...."

He says nothing else. He doesn't have to. Grian draws his legs up to his chest in response anyway, heart a frozen pump bleeding ice into his very veins. What can he say? An apology? They're past apologies, now— if Scar wanted to disavow him forever, take the crumpled remains of their friendship and throw it at his feet, he'd be right to do so.

But Scar doesn't shout; neither does he leave. Instead, his cane taps forward, boots sliding into Grian's line of vision— and, with a grunt of effort, Scar eases himself down, until he's sitting at a safe diagonal from Grian's hunched form.

Neither of them say anything for a while.

Eventually, Grian licks his lips. They're chapped from cold, thin and ready to split. "Hi, Scar," he says softly. It comes out weak, thready— a barely-there declaration. Whatever Scar wants here... he can take it. It's the very least Grian can do at this point.

From the corner of his eye, he watches Scar settle, shifting his weight before he lands on something approximating comfort. He takes his time with it, blind— or uncaring— to the erratic snarl of Grian's pulse. His voice is just as quiet when he responds. "So... that's it, then, huh."

Grian glances over properly before he can stop himself, stomach churning; Scar's gaze has slipped to the cutout acting as a window, middle-distant and lost. Locked on something only he can see. Then Scar shakes himself, an abrupt jerk of his head and shoulders, and that glassy look turns to pin Grian directly to the wall behind him instead. "Just like that?"

Grian's fingers tighten around his knees. "Just like that," he agrees, hollow.

Scar mulls that over for a moment. His sigh is a wisp of white in front of them, crystallizing in the glacial atmosphere. "Jeez," he says finally, scrubbing one hand through the tangled bird's nest of his hair. He must have flown across half the server as soon as he... remembered, Grian realizes with a visceral pang. "I didn't... that's a lot of memories to just, um, gain back on a dime, huh?"

Grian darts a sidelong glance at him. Shifts his wings until their primaries lower, sweeping the ground around his feet like a feathered cat's cradle. "I wouldn't know," he says, a quirk of black humor dancing around the edges of his mouth. He swallows. "Since. Well...."

He trails off. Imagines, briefly, that he is a black hole— a quasar. A neutron star. Something so tight and compact it can string him out, erase him; a ball of grief and misery dense enough that it contains its own event horizon.

Scar hums a little shakily into the blooming silence. "Yeah. I guess that would complicate things, wouldn't it." A pause. "Does it always feel—?"

Grian shrugs. "Don’t know that either, Scar."

"Oh." Scar's still looking at him, the searchlight of his gaze burning pockmarks into Grian's skin. "Cool, okay... so...." He hesitates, teeth worrying his lower lip, before finally forging on: "So what now?"

Grian sucks in his own shuddery breath. "Whatever you want, Scar," he says, blank and dull. Every inch of him frozen stiff, awaiting the tipped scales of Scar’s judgement. "There's no going back, after this." The quicksilver flash of a grimace tugs his lips back to reveal sharp, white teeth. "Welcome to the club, I guess."

"It sure is a warm welcome," Scar says weakly. "Got— uh, got your complimentary balloons, and— and um, a whole gift basket of... of...."

He trails off too, the fragile ley lines of his humor peeling off, cracking at the seams. Impossibly, Grian curls around himself tighter.

An apology is nothing but wasted air now, but it dredges from his throat anyway. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Scar. I—" He breaks off, jaw tight. "I'm... I'm not sure what else to say, honestly. I never thought...."

I never thought you'd win. It's a cruel phrase that haunts the air between them, hanging like a smoky pall across their shoulders.

Scar says nothing against it; he only watches.

An uneasy prickle crawls up Grian's spine. "You don't—" He stops himself before he can finish that thought. "Are you— Scar, why are you here?"

"'Cause Pearl's not talking to me yet," Scar says quietly, prompt. "And— and because I remembered. Us."

Grian's throat closes around the word. "Us," he echoes, a rough rasp that ricochets against the deepslate walls surrounding them. The word tears through his ears, distorting with each pass. "Look, alright— I-I don't know if you got the memo, exactly, but— I'm not—"

He breaks off again, lungs jarring, hitching in his chest. Hot prickles sear behind his eyes, but nothing drops— he’s too tired for crying. "I've hurt you a lot, Scar," Grian says at last, lips numb around the words. "I'm not sure if there's much of an 'us' left, at this point."

"I know," Scar says. His eyes reflect the snow-glitter outside.

"And— I wouldn't blame you, if you left right now."

"I know," Scar says again, softer.

"I—” Grian stares at him, helpless. "Okay, then why are you here, Scar?" He gestures between them, an aimless motion that somehow encompasses the breadth of everything that's rotted at their foundations. "If you know all that, then what—?"

Scar regards him with enviable poise. His throat bobs as he speaks. "Maybe, I just— now that I remember— maybe I just want your company, Grian. Is that really so bad?"

Grian stares at him, at a loss. "I don't understand," he says finally, and it comes out plaintive even to his own ears. "I thought you'd be— angry. After everything I've done, after all that's happened.... What's your play here, Scar? If you want to yell at me, be my guest. I think by now I've more than earned it."

But Scar doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shuffles closer— just by an inch. A careful, cautious inch. "Y'know," he says, apropos of nothing, "and correct me if I'm wrong, here— but I seem to remember something about you wanting an alliance before all of... that crazy stuff happened. Is that right?"

Something in Grian's chest spasms. Whatever expression it spreads across his face must spur Scar on, because he scoots closer again, just enough to bring their calves together. The brief shock of warmth explodes through Grian's skin, worming its way underneath the subcutaneous tissue to flood his veins and gnaw at the lingering ice.

After a moment, Scar's lips tilt up— a subtle, fragile smile. "Is it too late to cash in on that?" he asks.

Grian's mind goes blank, white and buzzing, the thin hiss of a creeper drifting through it like smoke. Unfiltered shock threads through his voice. "You want t— what?"

Scar's smile tempers further around its edges, stretching into something softer, knowing. Rounded out. With solemn motions, he reaches into the pocket of his utterly ridiculous safety vest, and delicately pulls something out.

It's a sunflower.

In the frigid gloom of Tango's citadel, Grian gapes, the brilliant yellow petals incongruous with this grim, grit, darkened room. When he looks up, Scar's eyes are overbright, painfully earnest— brimming with a desperate urgency that tucks itself away in the depths of his pupils.

"Can we try again?" Scar says, soft as the new-fallen snow beyond this isolated cell of misery. "Start over? I— I kind of hurt you too, you know. And— for the record, being without you sucks. I don't—" He falters. "I know it's gonna be all weird, y’know, between us… but I don't want to do that anymore. I just... want you here, Grian. That's all. I just want you to stick around."

Grian sucks in a sharp, daggered breath. "You're joking," he breathes, but his heart leaps, tumbling from his throat and onto the floor for Scar to stomp at his leisure. "You're actually— this isn't funny."

"Hey, do you see me laughing?” Scar presses forward once more, a calculated attack, but still slow enough for Grian to track each move, to stop him if he cared enough to. Gently, Scar unwinds one of Grian's hands from his knees, cupping it between his own and brushing the lightest of kisses against his knuckles before turning over Grian’s palm and pressing the flower into it. Grian's fingers curl around it of their own accord, silky petals burning against his fingers.

"So." Scar smiles, tremulous, eyes suspiciously red-rimmed. "Can we still be friends?"

And Grian has always been a raw creature, a tangled wreck of his own selfish greed— he’s craved the honeyed umber of Scar's love since he first cradled it, tentatively, in his palms all that time ago. In the depths of his heart, there will always be that sandstone cliff, the crack of his bones against hard-packed sand, and wings too clipped to fly freely. There will always be that calloused fist around his heart, and beyond his own scrabbling fear, there will always, always be that fervent need to bring Scar close even as he pushes him away.

And where before, Scar had been playing blind, a game with no true rules… now, his eyes trap Grian against the wall, clear as glass— diamond sharp and just as steady. From a winning game, there is no turning back. There’s nothing left to lose here, except this porcelain trust, this shred of hope Scar offers him once more in the form of a flower.

Even after everything, all the memories flooding back— Scar is still here, holding Grian’s heart, and offering up his own in return.

Grian slowly presses it to his chest with trembling, vulnerable motions. "You're sure you want this."

"I'm sure I want you," Scar says, unwavering.

Grian breathes in. Breathes out. Inhale and exhale, both a heavy drag in his lungs. Already, the sun is beginning to strengthen, casting thick rays through the window and splaying them across Grian’s lap. The advent of gilded noon weaves around them, perfuming the air with light and heat.

"Okay," Grian says at last, and it drops from his lips with the weight of a confession; a relinquishment; a solemn vow. "Okay."

This time, when Scar reaches for his hand again, Grian meets him halfway, and the tangle of their fingers nets the sunflower in a promise neatly between them.

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matrixbearer2024 · 2 months

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I'm On Your Screens.

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

Vox's POV of "Get Off My Screen!"

A/N: This is the silly TV man's POV on what I had written earlier since it was mainly just how dear reader saw everything. I wanted to do this before working on the Vox x Reader requests so I could do some practice on this dude's character hahaha. Also my goodness Tumblr you are THIRSTY for this man! Aaaaah I love it anyway so keep those ideas coming people!

Vox is a busy man, dealing with the other two Vees' chaos alongside his company kept his hands full daily.

Either always irate out of his mind or even grumpy because of it.

Velvette called him again because of Valentino making a bloody mess.

Oh great, this shit AGAIN-

Upon further inspection, the moth overlord was pretty much throwing another pissy tantrum because something didn't go his way.

Something about one of his whores stepping out of line or whatever?

Vox wasn't exactly listening.

Throughout that entire fit, Vox had half a mind to tell Valentino to just suck it up.

Sometimes shit goes wayside, it is what it is.

He was already exhausted mentally and physically by the time he dragged himself back into his monitor room.

Plopping himself back down on his chair, Vox let out a tired sigh and just stared at the many screens around him.

So imagine his surprise when he saw a random screen just crackle and fizz like an old CRT booting up.

Hell had done away with those darn things years ago-

He even made sure of it!

He swiveled his chair around to look closer at the fuzzy image that had appeared.

The static filter over the picture was definitely reminicent of an older TV screen.

He could barely make out a group of figures hunched over... something?

Vox tried to travel through the screen, as he could with the many many others in the room around him-

"FUCKING-! OUCH?!"

Only for it to rebound back.

Vox didn't know whether to be confused or surprised that he managed to zap himself.

HimSELF.

Besides that, a random prompt appeared on the screen.

What kind of haunted bullshit was this?

"What's your name?"

Okay, someone had to be pulling a prank on him.

Despite being skeptical, he decided to humor this weird situation.

"Okay-? The keyboard doesn't work. How am I supposed to use this thing? Just write on the screen?"

Despite his sarcastic remark to no one in particular, yes.

That was in fact what he had to do.

Which Vox found out pretty soon, and he felt a little idiotic that it wasn't the first thing he tried.

He had to squint to kind of understand what was happening on the other side of the screen.

He'd written his name on the screen aaaaand-

Great, absolutely nothing happened.

Someone had to be fucking with him.

There wasn't even any audio so he couldn't even use that for hints.

The group he'd been watching just all of a sudden jumped up and pointed towards him.

Or at least that's what it looks like.

Could they see him?

He wasn't even sure what happened next, the group somewhat hastily moved out of his sight.

Oh whatever.

Vox was about to just forget about the weirdness of the situation if something else hadn't popped up on an adjacent screen.

A phone homepage.

What the hell was that doing on his screens?

It wasn't like there was anyone in particular he was interested enough to look through their stuff.

Ohhhh he could interact with it this time.

Dumb fucking hackers could only zap him once, HA!

The screen with the TV filter quickly shut off when he interacted with the phone menu however.

He should really check his mainframe security and firewalls after this-

It took him no time at all to rummage away and scrounge up whatever he could from the phone.

Might as well do away with the tacky wallpaper while he's at it-

"Y/N huh?"

He saw your photos as well, only becoming more and more confused with the situation.

Were you a living human???

The camera app was unresponsive to his attempts at interacting with it.

So was the recording app...

Guess he couldn't use it to spy this time.

Before long, the phone was also being interacted with.

Vox could only guess it was you.

"Oh great- yeah, just go back to using the shitty wallpaper that I switched out on PURPOSE."

It didn't take much longer before Vox noticed other nearby screens popping up with electronic screens similar to this one.

He totally switched back the wallpaper before messing with the other stuff-

It was always the same, the cameras wouldn't work and neither would the microphones.

For a technology overlord, Vox found himself slightly irritated by how limited his actions were.

wtf was he even supposed to do with this?

Once he retired for the night, he wondered if all of this would just go away come morning.

Spoiler alert: It didn't.

Though the tacky wallpaper was back again.

Hm... this could be fun.

This went on for a few days, he and you were switching the wallpapers back and forth.

It was either his face or whatever random shit you'd change it with.

Sometimes Vox would just let you have some peace before switching it back after an hour.

He could only imagine how irritated you were.

Too bad he couldn't hear or see it.

But seeing you constantly battle with him for the wallpaper priority was entertaining enough.

Vox didn't bother with any of your other files or anything else at the moment.

He didn't see the point in doing so yet anyway.

Of course that was until the notepad opened.

"I know you're in there. Stop messing with me."

He chuckled seeing you type out the message, guess the jig was up.

But he wasn't going to stop this game you both were playing just yet.

"Oh I know, you're just fun to mess with doll."

Little did Vox know that his snarky response would've been the start to an... odd companionship to say the least.

Both of you exchanged messages over the months.

Either idle talk or just conversation about anything under the sun.

If something bothered him at work, most likely he'd leave a rant on your notepad for you to find.

Similarly, if you've had a shitty day- he'd quickly know.

"You're obsessed with this Alastor guy huh?"

"No, he's just an old timey prick who keeps fucking up my stuff."

"You're obsessed."

"Fuck you. >:/"

Interacting with you ended up taking more of his free time and the other Vees would be confused why he spent so much more time in his monitor room.

Vox just brushed them off and rolled his eyes.

He wasn't attached.

He didn't actually care for you did he?

Yeah no absolutely not-

There was a point Vox did get bored enough to look into your files though.

He spent a good hour sorting through stuff while you got work done.

"You should really label your files better."

"It's not that bad."

"Really? After I spent a good while organizing and managing your shit because of some randomly named ones? A goddamn 'thank you' would've been nice."

"Random? I don't do random."

"Oh yeah? What's this one? 'Yeetus' or this one- 'Bababooey'?! Hell, this one is just keysmash!"

"Oh shut up, I still find my things."

"HOW????"

Vox proceeded to rant and bitch about it for another hour-

Sometimes when he just wanted to fuck with you, he'd steal control of the cursor.

It was purely just to spite you.

Your notepad rants afterwards kept him entertained.

He was slightly proud that he beat your wallpaper war.

Or so you dubbed it.

Now his grin was practically a permanent plaster on your devices.

Even so, when he wasn't busy Vox sometimes found himself looking over at your work.

"How is your grammar this shitty?"

"We have grammarly for that, I don't really care much."

"Grammar- what??"

Inadvertently he ended up being your spellchecker every so often.

He only realized how much help he'd been giving once you mentioned in passing that your English professor bumped up your grade.

Why?

Because your writing was just better.

Correction-

Vox's writing was better.

He wouldn't let you hear the end of it for weeks.

You knew it was a mistake telling him.

He didn't even stop his trolling there.

Once he figured out how to overload your computer's memory, it was lag central.

Then he started messing with the display and aspect ratio, making visual glitches while he pulled up random tabs or applications you needed to fight him to close.

"I'm in class you jackass! We can do this when I get home!"

"Nope, I don't think I will. >:3"

He thought he was doing you a favor giving your devices some custom flair as well.

"Are these emojis of you?"

"Yeah, I thought you'd enjoy them."

"Huh, cool."

He thought he was doing great as your companion, until you downloaded that thing.

What in Lucifer's name was it even?

Another tiny human in your desktop?

"What the fuck is that."

"My new desktop companion, do you like it?"

Vox didn't even bother replying, watching it move around and emote for a hot minute while his eye twitched.

Were you trying to piss him off?

Eventually he took his frustration out on it with the cursor to the best of his ability.

Even if it only irritated him more that it kept getting back up unharmed.

Fucking hell, if you wanted a visual desktop companion you could have just ASKED.

Even if he stayed up a few extra hours to work on it, Vox felt like it was worth it.

He was better than that stupid little companion thing you downloaded.

"Did you upgrade my desktop pet by any chance?"

"Why? Do you not like it?"

"Nah, it's actually pretty cute. Thanks."

Vox couldn't bring himself to reply to that.

He was not fucking CUTE!

It totally flew over his head that you called it a desktop "pet".

Depending on his mood, he would use the small thing to emote or just keep you entertained.

At least you could sort of see him.

Even when he couldn't see you.

However, Vox was still Vox and he couldn't help himself to a little mischief here and there.

You both met by sheer coincidence from a weird situation.

Still, the tech overlord couldn't help but be just slightly glad it happened to him.

If Vox had to actually be honest, you weren't all rainbows and sparkles.

You could be a total bitch if you wanted to.

Heh, maybe there'd be a chance he'll finally meet you down here.

Guess he'll just have to wait and see until then.

#hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x you #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox #he's a little shit #a charming little shit tho #I need to write more of this fool #Get Off My Screen Series

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