Pairing: Vox | Vincent x Fem!Writer!Director!Reader
Content Warnings: Age Gap (almost 20 years), Canon typical violence and swearing, period typical sexism and racism, reader is mexican because I say so and there's too many white readers already c'mon.
English is not my first language so yeah, that's it's own warning too.
Status: On-Going
Cross-posted on AO3
Summary: Reader is a former actress trying to pursue a career as a film maker and screenwriter, surely she won't get sidetracked.
Or
A peek into the life of Mrs. Whittman, a woman married at a young age to a succesful TV host, her life with her husband Vincent, as a widow and her afterlife as a sinner with her dearest Vox.
Whaaaat Osomatsu-san x The bellybuttons? In this economy???
I have trouble separating fandoms, so I drew the NEETs in the style of Les Nombrils.
I even have several headcanons 🥹🥹🥹
— Karamatsu has a joke similar to John John’s: he never takes off his glasses because it could be dangerous for girls due to his “charm.” Wearing sunglasses is a sacrifice he makes for the sake of humanity.
— They’re all in their twenties but still studying at that level because none of them take it seriously and they refuse to get a job (even Choromatsu).
— Ichimatsu is almost mute.
— Jyushimatsu’s physical strength makes up for his intelligence; too bad he’s way too ugly for Jenny or Vicky hahaha.
— Todomatsu tries to be popular by winning over girls, but they reject him because they think he’s gay lol.
i made an outline that was 2.5K words and a segment that was 300 words long is now almost 2K words lmao
So I thought, hey this is very obviously going to be a long one-shot, might as well show everyone that segment so uhhh enjoy and comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist
How do you feel about the Eltingville club having fangirls? I'd be kinda shocked if the "worst guy you'll ever meet"™ I created had teenage girls fawning over him.
It's definitely been a surprise and a head scratcher for me, because these characters were not designed to be liked, let alone LIKED.
Chapter 3 - La Gloria Eres Tú by Los Tres Diamantes
“Dios dice que la gloria está en el cielo, que es de los mortales el consuelo al morir. Bendito Dios, porque al tenerte yo en vida no necesito ir al cielo tisú, si alma mía, la gloria eres tú.”
— Los Tres Diamantes
The year of 1952 was a memorable year, for starters, Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen Elizabeth II, a worldwide pageantry named Miss Universe was held for the first time (although it surely was just a fad), but none of those events came as close in impact on your life as the release of the movie Singin’ In the Rain.
Truly a work of art.
You remembered it clearly, you had expressed your interest for it and Vincent had promised you two would see it, at first you believed he was going to get the tape for you and rent out the theatre in your building so that you two could watch it alone, it was not a difficult thing for him to do, he had the contacts after all, but your loving husband went above and beyond, he took you out to an actual theatre to go watch it, and on opening night too! He had been invited to the premiere at Radio City about a month ago, and yet he had chosen to wait for the nationwide release to spend that evening with you, whatever prompted him to do so was beyond your understanding, it went against your arrangement, the risk of being seen was high, but you wanted nothing more than to have one date at the movies with your husband, especially now that he was so busy.
Being the host of many shows at all times of day and on top of that being the leader and center of a movement required lots of work, especially with how vague said movement was, obviously it was meant to revolve completely around him but the premise he used about media and entertainment was confusing for you, or rather, how people fell into it was confusing for you.
“You more than anyone should understand it,” he had told you once, “with the way you stare at the screen all the time and how you’re always glued to that typewriter.”
You still didn’t get it.
Wouldn’t people be more susceptible to a shepherd who promised eternal youth or to get rid of all evil? Sure, it was stupid, but far more plausible than seeking good entertainment, besides, the cult/movement was pretty obviously designed to revolve not around good television, but Vincent Whittman. When he first began ideating the whole cult, your adored Vox took you out on a public date to the New York Aquarium on December 31st of 1949, almost 2 hours before the New Year, disgusting place that was. Sure, the place’s magnificent structure, and some of the smaller more colorful fishes were beautiful, but the man you had chosen to marry was obviously more interested in the larger less beautiful fish, and it terrified you, he knew this of course, he had known so for years, just as you had known that he had a special interest in sharks, you on the other hand were terrified of the ocean, sure, the beach was nice, but the actual ocean, so little of it was known, and the deeper you went the more horrifying its creatures would become, “That’s because their bodies adapt to the dark and coldness of the ocean! Isn’t that smart? Getting rid of what is useless to thrive in such a hostile environment?!” he was practically beaming as he explained.
“Sure, but they are still not handsome.” You managed to mutter into his chest, not wanting to look up until you left the exhibit.
The reason why you had accepted to go to that horrifying place was quite simple, you never went out like a normal couple, just when you had to help him with crime scenes that were far too visual to be passed off as simple accidents, or when you needed to fabricate proof that certain colleagues were involved in illicit activities (one time you even framed one of your colleagues for Vincent’s murders!), and only on anniversaries you two would sneak into that very same Italian restaurant you two had gone to for your first day, although it wasn’t that hard when the two of you (mostly him) had bought the staff’s discretion; to put it shortly, something really big had to be going on inside Vox’s pretty little brain to have him take you out to such a public place, sure, it was 10 pm, it was closed, and he had pulled some strings to have you two be the only people in there, but it was still a new place.
You remembered that day clearly, mostly because of how scared you were, being in a barely lit place surrounded by predators with deep dark eyes that showed nothing but death to you… the only thing standing between them and you was glass, you wondered what would kill you first if that glass were to break, the shards, the sharks, the water or…
“Babe,” Vox called out to you “look!”
“Is it something scary?”
“No, it’s the food court.”
“Oh.” You opened your eyes and walked towards one of the tables, Vox pulled out a seat for you, you sat down and he did the same.
“Do you like this place?”
“Not really, I did like those small fish earlier, the colorful ones.”
“I suppose they are pretty, like you.”
The air was tense, you looked around the place, it was creepy, dark, empty, lonely, big; maybe it was better during the day, when young lovers would go on dates, students would enter guided by their teachers, and children would run around as their parents walked five steps behind them.
Children, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about them, about how surely Vincent would love to have a junior and you would have to name the kid Vicente to please him but also to keep your own heritage in the bloodline.
You just hoped you would never give birth to a girl.
“I’ve been thinking, about my job, about your job.” Vox spoke. “And I think that I can’t do it all alone, I need more people, we need more help.” He paused to look at your reaction and the continued, “I may be charismatic and you may be… efficient,” Rude, “but to actually position myself in a high enough place where no one can try and reach, we need more people to actually see what good I can make for the media, for entertainment.”
He really wasn’t good with words, at least not when he spoke to you, he knew he could not just twist the truth to tell you what you wanted to hear, so it was your job to untangle all his verbatim and make sense of it all.
“So you want… a cult?”
“What?”
“A cult.”
“What? No, no, no, not a cult, no.” He laughed nervously, “It would be more like a uhm a movement!”
“You really had to think for that one, didn’t you?”
Vincent now seemed embarrassed but also shocked, were you calling him stupid? Yes, you were.
“I’m sorry but, I fail to see how that helps us, it certainly doesn’t help me, and it certainly doesn’t help you, I mean, years ago, yes, it would’ve helped you, but now? You are the host of five different shows, you’re making cameos in movies, you- you had luncheon with Alfred Hitchcock last year AND hosted the Academy Awards two times already for Christ’s sake! What more support could you possibly need?”
“It’s precisely because of that that I need this.”
“Vincent-” he looked away, he hated when you called him that, “You have enough people following you around already, what could you possibly want with more?”
“I- I need to get higher, to shine brighter, to-”
“No, Vincent, what you need is to focus. What is your objective?”
Vincent took a step back, he had to play his cards correctly, if he said something wrong it would be over, you would not support him anymore, you would turn your focus elsewhere, he could not afford to have you support anything or anyone else, not even yourself.
Especially yourself.
“I want to be your husband. I want to be able to hold your hand in public, to take you to the aquarium during the day and take you with me to the ceremonies.”
You looked at him, looking for any trace of insincerity, he grabbed your hands.
“If everyone sees me as all-knowing, if everything I say becomes undeniably true, if my will is indisputable, then I can appoint anyone I want to whatever place I want, and everyone will accept those decisions.” He let go of your hand and stood up, “If I say green is blue, people will accept it, no questions asked,” he paced around, his steps were expressive, energetic, magnetic and magnanimous, “And if someone even dares to say it's green, they will be deemed as stupid and tasteless- no, they will be seen as just plain evil, the scum of the earth!” His voice echoed like roaring thunder in the empty parlor, electricity going through his veins, a spark in his eyes. “Whatever I say is true will become indisputable, whatever I say is bad will become a complete sin” he walked towards you and kneeled in front of you, he took your hand tenderly, but his gaze never softened, “If I put you in charge of a movie and say you are the next Méliès…”
You thought, long and hard, a second that felt like an eternity; you were so tired, tired of fighting to be heard, of being put below white men who had never faced any hardships, yet used the experience of those who had actually served in the front lines almost 5 years ago to justify their own sense of grandiosity, but they didn't even bother to listen to the actual boys who had seen their friends die in the field, they didn't care to listen to the women who had been serving and were still treated as lesser than, they didn't care to listen to those who had died for them, they didn't care to listen to the so called foreign brothers and sisters that came to their aid.
No, the only story that matter was that of the American hero, the soldier who got home, the one that seemed unaffected, the one who had killed and felt no remorse, the one who got the government's praise.
What a wicked country it was, forsaking its own monsters.
And somehow those assholes found a way to make the worst of others’ pains into their own, pushing you around for not being there, listening to men who had immigrated before you, just because they were men, listening to white women before you just because they were white.
What progress had you actually made? Just writing every now and then for different shows and getting your name skipped in the credits? Surely there was more progress that could be made aside from having men not grabbing your ass, right? You had graduated from people calling you a skirt the moment they realized no one could ever get to bend you over, so they just dismissed you whenever they could, “Oh her writing is too unamerican!” “That plotline would bore people to death” “This is precisely why women shouldn’t write” “If she didn’t come here to marry a real man instead of some hairy macho, why is she here at all?”.
To hell with it.
Vincent was right, you weren’t going to make it on your own, you needed him.
“You would need to be careful with it, it should be something easy to deny, don’t try to play God, just show concern for something, maybe… quality?”
He beamed with joy, he pulled your hand to his mouth and began kissing it with excitement. “Have I ever told you what a genius you are? You are wonderful!”
Indeed, you were wonderful and you were making him wonderful too; after thinking it through and typing down your thoughts to make more sense of them you had arrived at a conclusion, if he wanted to be seen as a man of taste he had to go more to the movies, read more as well, he was probably not going to do much of the latter but that’s what writers were for, giving cards to the marvelous performers, at first it was simple, a comment on the latest movies and plays, praising performances and writing, then you moved to the questioning, was this or that show truly substantial? Was this or that actor actually talented? What could he know? He was just the most popular host of the country, and he trusted his followers to have the brains and criterion to judge for themselves just like how they trusted him and his good taste.
Looking back on it, it did make sense people would fall for that, not just because it was you who had designed the bases of what would rapidly become Vinny’s non-cult, but because you had used the same approach you used when you first met him:
Flattery.
Your clever notes and cues made Vincent seem smarter than he was, and who doesn’t love to be trusted by someone superior to them?
Your husband was over the moon, eventually you gave him the cue to finally begin his favorite part of the scheme:
Punishing.
There were no “maybes” or “perhaps” anymore, there was just good and bad entertainment, and people took his word as gospel, if he deemed a show as satanist propaganda, it’s producers would get thousands of angry letters demanding it’s cancellation, if he said the greatest of actors was actually a danger to good society, then said actor would get a brick through their window and into their living room in a matter of days.
But Gods don’t just condemn, they reward.
In those months you had seen that man produce a plethora of ideas for shows and movies, he had scanned the crowds for new talent, he had shaken hands with young writers and directors that he knew could bring his many visions to life and wouldn’t wander off with their oh so precious and fickle willpower, you were almost impressed, you knew your husband was smart, even if he didn’t often use that brain of his, yours was far superior and more than enough for the two of you, and still, he had gone ahead and beyond what you had planned for him.
“When is it my turn?” you asked one time.
“Soon enough, darling.”
It may have not been in the way you had envisioned it many years ago, but you were exercising some control over the industry, even if it was through your husband, after all, behind every great man…
“Sweetie” your husband called to you, “be a doll and get me my black coat, you know which one.”
Let us go back to the future to the night we first mentioned, April 11th of 1952.
The second public date, far more special than the first for a variety of reasons, you two were going to a place YOU adored above any other, the movies; it was also during working hours.
As the taxi stopped near the entrance, the two of you fixed your scarves and hats, hoping to be decently disguised, Vincent stepped out of the vehicle and opened the door for you, he handed the driver a generous fee (thanking him for his discretion most likely) and walked you towards the theatre.
High pillars lit up with warm lights welcomed you, surrounded by people talking about everything and nothing, you tried your best to stay away from the people coming out, not wanting to spoil the movie for yourself, you did catch a few “That was simply beautiful!” and “Better than I thought” but that was it, as you got closer to the box office, the smell of pop corn flooded your nostrils, salt, butter, caramel.
This was home.
“Doll…” Your husband called to you, you turned to him and he took your hand and put two dollars in it.
“Oh, yes, yes.”
You walked up to the box office and handed the money to the man inside, “Two for Singin’ In the Rain, please” the man took the money and gave you your tickets and change, you loved the feeling of the tickets in your hand.
Going to the movies was a ritual, one you had performed uncountable times before, and you loved every single part of it, getting ready at home, putting on your best dresses, the anticipation as you made your way to the theatre, buying the tickets, the smell of the corridors, the feeling of the seats, you loved watching the previews, getting excited for the movies to come, you always brought a small notepad and a pen with you to write down dates and titles, during the intermissions and on your way back to the apartment you would jot down all of the things you had liked and disliked about the movies you watched; when you were still dating, Vox had taken you several times to the movies -to very secluded and intimate theatres- and this habit of yours struck him as weird at first, mostly because he couldn’t understand what you wrote, but he had never met anyone who was so marveled by something as simple as an intermission animation or even those pesky snipes.
Nothing in this world brought you the happiness that the movies did.
“You ready, darling?”
“Of course”
You both were seated at the back of the theatre, Vox took your notepad out of your purse and he handed it to you along with a pen, “Thanks, love.” Was all you said and you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
No one is ever so big that he wants to go through life alone.
No one is ever so wise that he does not have unanswered questions in his heart.
“Hey,” Vox whispered to you, “how’re you doing? Feeling good?”
You smiled at him and nodded.
“Good, good, just wanted to make sure.”
… You may be wondering, how can I live the best kind of life?
How can I enjoy life at its fullest?
“It’s just that,” He spoke again “We haven’t gone out in years and, even before that…”
You took his hand and squeezed it, “Thank you, Vincent, for making time for us, I know how busy you’ve been.”
The answers can be found only in God.
“Oh Doll, you are so understanding.” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on your knuckles.
Worship him in church, every week.
Worship him at home, every day.
Once the snipe was finished the screen went black and the music began, the Metro Goldwyn Mayer lion came up on screen and all the whispers in the room ceased, excitement rushed through your veins, Ars Gratia Artis, art for art’s sake, what a good motto.
Gene Kelly
Donald O’Connor
Debbie Reynolds
The actors began singing on screen, a lively tune indeed, not the way you would start any film, but you were giving it a chance, you had picked the movie after all.
In
Singin’ In The Rain
With
Jean Hage, Millard Mitchell, Cyd Charisse, Douglas Fowley
Rita Moreno
You tried your hardest not to scoff at the sight of the name, but you failed, your husband noticed this and tries not to laugh, just like you, he failed.
“Something funny?”
“Hmmm I don’t know.”
Story and Screen Play by
Adolph Green
And
Betty Comden
“Are you jealous of her too?” your impertinent husband asked.
“Whatever makes you say something like that?”
“Oh nothing, you’re just doing that thing with your nose.”
“I don’t do anything with my nose.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Let me watch the damn movie already, Vincent.”
“Aww, okay doll face.”
Dignity, always dignity.
To put it shortly, the movie was absolutely gorgeous.
There were not enough words to describe what it had made you feel, you didn’t even get to write down a single thing about it, when the lights of the theatre came back on you and Vincent sat there until a young man had to ask you to leave.
“Wait I- I- I- know you! From the television, you are-”
Vincent mindlessly took out his wallet and gave the boy all of the money inside, the young man then knew he had to leave and not tell a single soul about what he had seen.
You took your leave, not uttering a single word on your way back home, you walked home, didn’t even bother to stop a taxi, occasionally the silence would be filled with sharp breaths, as if either of you were trying to speak, but nothing ever came out of your throats, each of you was trapped inside their own mind, you were walking together, but you could barely acknowledge each other’s presence, your arms weren’t even linked, he had his hands inside his pockets while you were holding onto your purse as if softening your grip on it would cause you to fall into the sky.
The film had resonated deeply within both of you, you thought, a famous star who continuously lied about his rise to stardom, falling for a show girl with big aspirations who tried to act like she wasn’t totally starstruck by him in an attempt to be taken seriously.
“Had a good night?”
You looked up and were met with the doorman at your building, when did you get here?
You turned to your husband and saw the very same incredulous look on his face, “Oh yes, yes, marvelous evening” Vincent entered quickly then ran back outside and gestured for you to go in, you walked into the building and he followed you as a gentleman should.
You stepped into the elevator, still in silence and stepped off it on the fourth floor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Whittman” the young man inside the elevator spoke timidly, “You uhm, you don’t live in this floor anymore…”
“Oh right, how silly.” You tried to brush it off and the two of you stepped once again inside the elevator and didn’t get off until you reached the top floor.
Vincent walked to the door and opened it for you, you entered and finally dropped your purse, you stepped out of your shoes and walked barefoot into your room, you took off your coat and let it fall to the floor, walked into the bathroom, washed the makeup off your face and let yourself fall on the bed on top of the sheets, you inhaled sharply and let out a long exhale, you looked at the ceiling and you could’ve sworn you could see Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse dancing in that dreamlike sequence.
“Wine?”
You turned your head and saw Vincent holding a bottle and a glass, you shook your head and he placed the item on top of the bedstand, then he laid next to you, also staring into the ceiling.
“I… I didn’t know it would be…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah… I just wanted us to have a good time but that was-”
“Absolute perfection.”
“Yeah.”
“… Vincent… Why did you take me there?”
“Honestly? I just wanted to soften you up but… that was something else.”
“I figured.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Not really.”
You both laid there, staring into the ceiling, Vox might not have been anywhere near your level, but he was a cinephile, this movie had had the same impact on him as it had in you.
“The others just left… like it was nothing…”
“What is it?”
“What?”
“What you were going to tell me, what you are going to do, what is it?”
“I’m going to own the network.”
“Bob saw your vision board and said yes?”
“No.”
“Makes sense, he always saw right through you, he knows you’re ambitious.”
“Yes.”
You both kept staring at the ceiling, letting out long sighs every now and then.
Bob Sinclair, your former boss, had been Network Owner for quite a while now, and you had always feared your husband would go after that very same position because that meant he would probably kill good old Bob and truth be told you did have a certain affection for him, he had been the first person to see promise in you after all and had never had any other hidden motives to support you.
“Must you do it? The congregation follows you and supports you already, you could just appeal to the board and in a few years you could get it… Bob is an old man too…”
“I’m forty-seven, I’m not getting any younger-“
“Neither is he!”
“But I’m tired, tired of waiting for things to come… I’ve listened to you, I’ve cooled down with the murders… but aren’t you tired of waiting around too?”
You felt him shifting to his side, he was now facing you, your eyes were still fixed on the ceiling.
“I just want to go to the movies with my beautiful wife, where everyone can see how bright you shine… don’t you want that too?”
“I do.”
“Then trust me with our future.”
You turned to face him, how could you possibly say no to that charming man?
“God says glory is in heaven, that it is the consolation for men once they die. Blessed be God because by having you here in life I don't need to go to the golden heavens above, because love of mine, the real Glory is you.”
the more time you spend in fandom spaces the more you realize a lot of drama in those communities is less based around the fact that people in fandom are inherently combative or dramatic and more around the fact that there are like, two or three people who jump from community to community starting shit wherever they go and are responsible for like 60% of all discourse
Hey guysss so sorry I've been inactive, life got complicated and I'm back in school which means updates will be slower and most likely will only come out on the weekends
