Hi, I was wondering if could you write a platonic relationship between Charlie and Vaggie x human!child!gn!reader who have a curse?
The reader are a human child that go to Hell after their parents tried to sacrifice the reader in a ritual. It failed and the reader not only go to Hell, but they get cursed. And the curse is that after their death, their soul will never reach the Hell or Heaven, where their will go is an enigma and nothing can break it. So when Charlie and Vaggie meet them and get to know about the child's curse, they try their best to protect and take care of child, as if they become the new parents of child.
Thank you and sorry for this long test.
Platonic Chaggie as parents & cursed human child!reader
fic universe: none / platonic character pairing (request!) [hazbin hotel]
tags/cw: parental figures Chaggie, cursed human child in hell, child!reader, fluff + angst // (rating: teen+), sfw. Allusion to child abuse & murder.
a/n: Hi there!! Thank you for the request! 💜 No need to be sorry! This is a bit rougher & more stream of consciousness than my usual request fills but I gave this scenario a shot! I hope you like it anyways!
Landing in the hotel is literally the best place for the kid to have landed. I’m imagining like… a 10 year old. Old enough to understand something is wrong but still not know what to do about it. Also, contextually, I am assuming the child!Reader is not dead and is still going to grow up, grow old, etc…
I think Charlie & Vaggie would be very balanced parents- Vaggie being supportive but the more serious of the two, Charlie having that child-like wonder and wobbling but not unbending sense of hope that is endless inspiring. They’re both so tough you look up to them a lot- face what you have to face while being cursed in this way with dignity and pride.
That said… Charlie would cling to the idea there would be some way to break the curse. Vaggie doesn’t “give up” by any means, I just think she accepts the inevitable a lot sooner than her girlfriend… wants to make the time they have with you special and safe.
This is kind of a crazy situation because it’s like your new guardians/parents are both immortal, they’ve never been and never will be human and even though you’re in Hell- a place were eternity is real- you’re a child that’s living a legitimately finite existence through no fault of your own. In a way, you’re the most human thing they’ve ever met- alive or dead- and they come to love you like mothers do, only to lose you… eventually, hopefully naturally, but eventually and also forever. That’s tragic beyond belief.
For your part, you come to terms with it too, but I think there would be a lot of resentment there (not just for your parents but for your circumstances). As a child, this is obviously a very childish “This is not fair!” when Vaggie & Charlie figure out how to explain your circumstances to you in a way you can understand.
Anyways, Child!Reader talking about their parents to Charlie and Vaggie in the way that children do, not realizing that what they’re describing is abuse, or wrong, or anything. You have a really good fun no stress day after that, Charlie & Vaggie make sure of it.
Also you missing your parents and crying in their arms. Crawling into bed with them because you’re lonely and scared and don’t know what’s happening to you. This breaks their hearts immeasurably.
They’re both insanely protective, to the point of smothering. Yeah you’re going to grow old and die eventually… but if a hair on your head is harmed sooner than when you’re ready to die at the ripe old age of…
“How long do humans live again? What about with- you know- magic? Like 100 years?” Charlie reluctantly asks Angel or Husk… or even randomly one of the guests.
Charlie settles on like an average of 80 years… barring anything crazy happening (but this is Hell and crazy things happen so often…) and with both the belief that you’ll live longer because Vaggie and her are taking SUCH good care of you & that she’ll figure out how to fix it.
Charlie has pets… I’m pretty sure despite never having been human she won’t forget to feed you, etc.
If you ever asked for a pet as a kid Charlie would probably immediately get you one ngl. It also makes her feel better that you’re not alone when she or Vaggie can’t be with you for whatever reason.
They get Husk to babysit… reluctantly… if neither of them can be with you. You are literally never lonely no matter what. They don’t really trust Alastor to babysit on his own… Angel… yeah. Lucifer… is not a reluctant babysitter (he’s begging and pleading) but I think Charlie has some mild reservations.
In the end, Lucifer’s actually the best babysitter and you develop a fascination with your new grandpapa/gran-duck. He totally cries about earning a nickname. Literally loves you to absolute pieces- the best of humanity is right here and it’s you, his grandchild by proxy. (or some other weird variation of the nickname for grandfather that kids are so fond of butchering in hilarious ways. Pip pop, gran-dude, etc.)
Obviously Lucifer makes you SO MANY toys. A lot of which are duckies, of course. You have your own ducky that looks like you as Charlie & Vaggie have. Also gets you to watch those duck musicals & whatever else (so long as they're child appropriate)
Charlie has the hardest time with separation while you’re still a child, and an even harder time letting you live as a teen/adult.
You, as a small innocent child, do end up participating as a prop in Hotel exercises but under very VERY close supervision.
I think you would like drawing with Charlie and Charlie encourages it so much. I can see you as the kid who is drawing all their “friends” (the Hotel guests) and like slipping these drawings under their doors… It's very cute… but at least one guest is the hyper paranoid type to think it’s a threat unfortunately.
“What… the fuck is that thing and why is it here.” Vox says, even-toned and mildly perturbed when he notices the ratty little thing that’s watching the spectacle, hidden behind Charlie’s leg even with the worst case scenario. She nudges you further behind her like it’ll make.
Velvette peaks up from her phone, eyes widening for a split second before her expression turns into a more exaggerated haughty sneer than before. “Whatever it is… it’s ugly as sin.”
“They are one of our guests.” Charlie corrects, grits her teeth.
“... So… are you going to tie the evil child to the train tracks next or…?”
“That would be great footage, princess.”
WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER POINT… Charlie & Vaggie are also protective over the fact that you will die permanently forever and that you’re like their kid… they’re both really afraid of you being hurt when used against them. God & Satan forbid anyone try…
I also think you’d draw Vox & Velvette terribly on purpose and hand it to them as they’re leaving… in a children’s version of the middle finger. Child!reader who can smell him being condescending to your mama who’s doing her best. Vox, mistakenly, thinks it means you must like them…? and like… okay. Ew… a child. Do you- do you really need a father figure that bad? Fuck… go find someone else that is not the life for him. Except-? Would that be good publicity for the whole…? No, no, that’s silly. (Also the Princess is glaring daggers at him & he has bigger problems than some petty stunt right now.)
I was thinking about this a long time ago now but the thought went something like: “Would there be schools in Hell? For hellborn, probably, but for Sinners. How many evil children could there possibly be to justify having to MAKE schools of various levels? Sinner children would also never age as far as I understand… school forever would be kind of Hellish, okay maybe there are schools.”
and with that in mind I think, even if there is some kind of educational infrastructure (of which I still have doubts) Vaggie homeschools you. Even if there’s a school system to put you in, I think it’s that hyperprotectiveness again because you are so fragile. That’s the main thread here when it comes to how they treat you.
I think Vaggie would playfight with you. No real weapons obviously, but like.. basic self-defence disguised as playing. How to hold yourself so people know you mean business. Start young so it sticks naturally, right? Vaggie also takes you flying a little bit (Lucifer too, for that matter).
They love you so so much & it breaks their heart that you grow up into an eternity of nothingness… but they make the life you do have matter, even if one day all you are is a beloved, sacred memory to them.
Basically i want to be near the 141, without going through basic. And i like fairies.
This was NOT how this was supposed to happen.
Sneaking around a busy base was difficult, a job only for trained adults. There were many pairs of large predatory eyes, and many resource lists to pay attention to. The amount of food, and fabric scraps made it worth it to live on this base though. You’d spent your whole childhood curled up on a cushion listening to the older folks spin stories of thievery and capture. Their tales of escape leaving you wide eyed, and slack jawed. Your own grandfather always maintained that he’d actually spoken to a human before. Insisting that he had spent hours and hours conversing with a general of all things about everything under the sun. He was your favorite to listen to, even if some of his details were fuzzy, and rambling. The stories about the war beasts were always the most harrowing. They felt too terrifying to be real, like they were straight out of a nightmare. It was said that they could smell you out no matter where you were hidden, and dig you out with claws of metal. Those stories made it difficult to fall asleep after. You often raced around the nest pretending to be chased, captured, and escaping. Back then you’d used a small piece of wood instead of a needle blade. Your mother would have had your hide if you’d stolen your grandfather's blade to play with. All the children from the neighborhood would come together to form pretend rescue parties, and raids under your family's careful eyes.
As you got older the more your merry little group were urged to consider the jobs that needed doing besides being a raider. Baking, mending, gardening, and cooking were just as important as acquiring raw materials from the outside. During your 13th year you and your peers were expected to have chosen your roles. Summer, and Lily were set for baking. Their first loaves of bread were passable enough to warrant an internship straight away. Fern, and Axel had always been excellent at making home bases for play so it was only natural that they turn to mending. Travis’ parents had instilled a love of soil and water in him from a young age. Gardening was his passion long before it was time to learn a trade. Only you were still daydreaming of humans and beasts when the time came to decide. Your mother had sobbed when you chose your path.
You were a teen about to start training when you’d been told the real stories by the gnarled old raid leader. The stories where some would be trapped forever entombed in endless winter. Their only marker being a ghastly mound of ice. The stories of those who fell from the rafters twice taller than any human, where the crack of spines and ribs would echo. Those who were unfortunate enough to be under foot at the wrong time, with their demise marked by a streak of blood and bile on concrete. And worst of all, that the war beasts were real. Dogs were apparently the human term. Those who fell to them left no mark, only screams as they were torn to pieces and eaten. The leader had taken his arm out of his sleeve at that, and showed you the stump of his arm from a narrow escape impressing on you the horror. He then asked if you had still wanted to be a raider. Your lip had trembled when you still said yes.
And now here you are years later…being jostled awake by an ignorant giant boarding a plane. You’ve never miscalculated this badly before in your life. In fact you’d never regretted a whole ass decision so quickly before.
Your current raid was poorly timed apparently. Generally the soldier’s habits were easily observed and memorized. The raiding office had years and years of records and patterns to look upon and lay plans with. Today was supposed to be an off day for most of the soldiers. An empty base made for easy resources. But something was happening. Multiple helicopters had landed right when you were trying to run from one building to the next. The wind nearly blew you off your feet, and trying to walk through the blast felt like pushing through a wall. You actually had to stop and catch your breath inside the bunkhouse from the effort. Hand on knees, gasping, the whole nine yards. Resting was top priority after catching your breath. Crawling into a dark corner of the room had taken the last of your energy. Your muscles ached with the effort of hiding yourself in the dark fabric inside the forgotten bag. You were out like a light in minutes.
He nearly squashed you flat with his knuckles when he haphazardly stuffed the last of his belongings inside your makeshift shelter. Your frazzled, startled brain hardly registered how lucky you were that your limbs and tail were all ok before the teeth of the zipper started to close. You tumbled backwards as he picked up the bag and started walking. As you fight your way to the top of tee shirt mountain to the zipper you hear the blades of the chopper. You were in deep deep trouble. The deepest trouble has ever been even. Your progress was all for naught when he slung you onto the ground. The fucker had knocked the wind right out of you. It took a moment longer to once again right yourself in the pitch black, but at least his clothing didn’t smell horrible. As you flailed about your hand touched sticky plastic and you realized he’d foolishly only eaten part of a granola bar before zipping it up inside so yay no starvation on this final death ride.
After what felt like hours and hours of constant ear splitting noise, good god humans were loud, he grabbed your bag again jostling you further into the bag…again. He’s gonna be lucky if all you give him is a piece of your mind at this rate. If you’re inside a pair of underwear you’ll kill him, ignorant or not.
You’re bounced onto a mattress and the teeth start opening.
His hand comes in and grabs.
You squirm.
He yells and fucking drops you again.
You glare and bristle your tail, and he stares at you with his mouth open.
This first meeting is going well, so very very well.
I have not written anything in some time - since I took a break from my writing account, actually (now deleted) - so cut me some slack here. I’m gonna format this in the same way that I did my old fics for that jolt of serotonin. So, if you would be so kind to indulge me, this is how I (niceimafan) would have submitted this work on fandoesfictionwriting:
What War Does || (platonic) Father Figure c!Phil x Teen gn!Reader
A/N: This is my submission for the 100 follower milestone of the lovely @/krabmeat! Krabs (Damien today) is an amazing friend of mine and is quite possibly the best human being in the world. (Go follow him if you haven’t already!)
War struggles paired with the classic familial miscommunication, what could be better as a way for me to get back into writing? This takes place around the time of Doomsday, or the final battle/destruction. Also I can’t remember if Wilbur’s room was still there at the time of Doomsday because I have goldfish memory so pretend it was if it wasn’t.
Requested: No
{Word Count: 1,946}
CW: intense arguing, mentions of war, mentions of death, cursing (up to the f-word), caps, use of godforsaken (I don’t know if people get triggered by that? I’m not religious so I wouldn’t know), very brief mention of spit, less than great relationship with father
This is an xreader fic!
This has been proofread. (skimmed rip I don’t like reading my writing)
- In which Y/N and Phil argue about Y/N and their right to participate in Doomsday. -
Phil works away high in the sky, loading cannons with enough TNT to detonate a nation. He, Techno, and Dream have everything planned out; you know because they did all of the planning right in front of you. Meaning you know everything they are going to do, and you aren’t even allowed to be involved.
You avert your eyes from your father and pick mindlessly at some grass instead, feeling the cold breeze of afternoon cool your flaming temper. For a moment, it appears as though everything might be fine, like you could get over this and let the Big War Men do their thing. But then Phil’s boots appear in front of you, and it’s all ruined again.
“You look miserable,” he says. Phil finishes his sentence with an airy laugh, trying to convey that he’s trying to joke with you. And so you make sure that the gaze you shoot him ensures he understands you do not find him humorous. Phil sighs, taking a seat beside you.
“Look, I understand that you want to help. I do! But I also understand that people with a spirit as strong as yours have risen to unimaginable heights, only to crash back down onto the blade of loss. And I fear that you will be no different.” Phil places his hand on your shoulder. “I just want you to be safe.”
You shrug him off, turning your neck so fast to glare at him it leaves a sharp stinging sensation in your movement’s wake. “Safe? You want me to be safe? No one is safe here, and you know that.”
“Y/N, you know-”
“What, Phil? What do I know? Because according to you, it doesn’t seem like a lot.” You stand after that, stomping off in an attempt to clear your mind, hoping Phil won’t follow you. But, of course, he does.
“Y/N, wait.” He shouts, but he makes no move to speed up or stop you. He simply follows along at a distance, saying nothing else. Probably waiting for you to make the first move. But you refuse, you refuse to let him win this and watch you break again.
And so the two of you walk in silence, you with no destination in mind and Phil’s footsteps echoing yours calmly in the distance. All you can do is follow your feet to wherever they find fit for this argument to play out.
To your amusement, you find yourself in Wilbur’s old room. Where he blew up his dreams for the first time and where Phil took the life of his son. How fitting.
You finally come to a stop, taking a brief moment to collect yourself, before spinning around on your heel to address your father. “Ph- Phil?” It does shock you to find that Phil isn’t there. He’s not standing behind you with a small, comforting smile, or with his eyebrows pinched together in a way that lets you know you’re going to be scolded. Nothing.
“You dress like him, you know.” Phil says from behind you. You whirl around again, reaching for your sword on instinct. Phil stands with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the soon-to-be battlegrounds.
“What?” It feels like you’ve lost all air in your lungs. Phil doesn’t just say things like that, especially not to you. And of course you know who he’s talking about; Techno doesn’t wear tattered trench coats and Tommy hasn't adorned ripped up fingerless gloves to protect from burns, to your knowledge. But speaking of Wilbur when referring to another child of his in this room in particular hit you in a place you have not yet built walls in.
“Wilbur. You dress like him.” Phil turns around, and you finally see that his eyes are watering. But he still has that sympathetic smile plastered on his face. “Every day, you remind me of him. And in doing so, you remind me that I can not let you turn out the way that Will did.
“Wilbur was changed by war. He destroyed everything he worked for because of it. And for that to happen to you, with such grand dreams and ideas, it would be heartbreaking.” Phil can’t maintain eye contact with you anymore, “I just want you to be everything that Wilbur couldn’t have been.”
You let his words sink in, and as they do, you begin to fight with yourself.
He just wants to help you!
How, by comparing me to his dead son? Yeah, something about that doesn’t feel right.
Just hear him out.
You grit your teeth, balling up and releasing your fingers into and out of fists. “I am not Wilbur.”
Phil shakes his head, rubbing the place where his eyebrows crease together. “I know that, and that’s not what I’m trying to sa-”
“Yes, that is exactly what you just said!” You begin to raise your voice, getting tired of this stupid game you two are playing with each other. Lying about what you’re really talking about to try and avoid the inevitable. “You just compared me to your dead son that went crazy and blew up everyone’s homes! The one that sold drugs out of a damn hot dog van!”
The air around you seemed to heat up as tensions between you two started to rise, Phil clearly getting more angry as well. “You are not Wilbur, but you are my child!”
“Oh, am I? Am I, Philza? And how long have I been your child for, huh? My whole life, a year, a few months, just this past hour? You have been trying and failing to be my father figure because you just see me as some rogue that could get too far out of control unless you’re there. Isn’t that right?”
“No, of course not. I just-”
“No! How could I have not realized? You just want a replacement! Someone to fill the hole that was left in your poor old heart when you stabbed your son through the chest.”
“I love you, Y/N, you don’t understand! You are like a child to me, you always have been! From the moment that I met you, I saw greatness in you. I swear, you mean more to me than just some replacement for Wilbur.”
Tears burn your eyes, the singular one that fell leaving a streak through the gunpowder and dirt smudged on your cheeks. You shake your head and scoff, unable to believe that this is the conversation you are currently stuck in. “Phil, that’s the kind of bullshit that you have to tell yourself in order to sleep at night. But guess what? It doesn’t work on me.”
“It doesn’t have to ‘work on you’, it’s just the truth, Y/N. I don’t know how I can get you to believe me.”
“You can’t, Phil.” You say, trying to ignore the way your voice cracks. “Because I have believed people, and then those people have either died, or tried to kill me, or both. So you know what I did? I grew up, Phil. Because THAT is what war does.
“It doesn’t make you write sad song lyrics on the walls, it doesn’t make you love your father figure oh so dearly, all it does is make you realize that there is more in this world to deal with than whatever any one person can do. And once you wrap your head around that, you realize that the best you can do is make the smallest of dents, and hope some other people do the same. That is how this world works, Phil.
“And do you know what my dent is going to be?” Phil has blurred by now. Once you blink the tears away, you can see that he’s crying too. Good. Now you’re really on the same page. “Blowing up this godforsaken nation once and for all.”
You turn to walk away again, hopefully for the last time, but Phil actually makes a move to stop you before you can get anywhere. “Y/N, I refuse to allow you to go out there and risk your life for a war already fought.”
“No war is already fought until people are dead.” You snap at him, resisting the urge to spit on his boots. “Besides, I can handle myself, I don’t need you to tell me who I can and can’t fight.”
“Y/N, I am your father!” Phil’s voice practically echoes through the entire SMP as he shouts at you, finally just as mad as you wanted him to be. You’re convinced people on the other side of L’Manberg can hear you two arguing. “Listen to me, you can not risk this.”
“YOU ARE NO FATHER TO ME!” You scream, getting your face as close to Phil’s as possible while still being able to look into both of his eyes. Phil’s eyes widen, whether in pain, shock, or both, you don’t know, but he quickly recovers with a stare solid enough to cut through stone.
“Do NOT turn this argument to family matters when we are discussing life and death!”
“This is no longer a discussion, dad,” you make sure to add as much venom to the name as possible, “We are not talking this out like a father scolds his young kid about what they can and can not touch in the house. We are screaming, and shouting, and ruining relationships like adults.” You try one more time to walk out. This time you make it down to the ground floor, but Phil follows you yet again, stopping you before you can reach the Prime Path.
“You aren’t an adult, though.” Phil’s voice is softer now, he sounds like he’s on the verge of defeat. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”
“I was made an adult because of this damn war over some stupid place, I should be able to fight for it’s destruction like one.” You also stop shouting, but you don’t soften your voice. You keep it as firm as it can be despite your wobbly crying, letting Phil know that you are no longer playing games with him like you used to.
“I know that you could. I do. But that does not mean that you should.”
“Awwe, you really think so?” You feign a high-pitched voice, even clasping your hands together under your chin. “You honestly think that I can handle something more than a boo-boo, huh?”
“You know that I am making no attempt to infantilize you, Y/N. If you’re such an adult, you need to grow up. I do believe that you could fight for us, but I do not see it as wise.”
“Bullshit,” you say again, wiping at your eyes with your sleeve. Phil tries to speak again, but you cut him off. “No. No! No, I don’t want you to tell me over and over about what I can and can’t do. About how you think I could be a good ally to you. I already know that, because I can make my own decisions.
“Do you know what I do want, Philza? I bet that’s something that your infinitely wise mind can’t think of. All that I want, all that I have wanted for the past SIX. FUCKING. YEARS. Is for you to just take me seriously for once in your damn life!”
Philza stands there in silence, seemingly dumbfounded, and you take this as your chance to stomp off for good. But you know full well that you’ll see Phil tomorrow. On the battlefield.
But you won’t be fighting for him, or Tommy, or Wilbur, or any of them. Tomorrow, you fight for yourself, and you win for yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
DUDE WHAT?!?!?! INK THIS IS IMMACULATE HOW IN THE- WHAT THE F-CK THE WAY YOU CAPTURE THE ANGER AND FEELINGS AND HESITATION OF THE ARGUMENT IS SO WELL DONE!! AND THE FLOW OF TRANSITIONING FROM ONE SETTING TO ANOTHER ISNT CLUMPY OR FORCED AT ALL, THIS IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL INK! AND THE BUILDUP TO THE QUOTE, THE WAY YOU REALLY EMBODY ALL OF THE CHARACTERS IS SO MASTERFULLY DONE DEAR, AMAZING JOB!!!
