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celiastjamesoscar · 9 months

Text

Clean

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: when Natasha comes back hurt from a mission, she lets you clean her wounds.

Warnings: fluff, light cussing, mentions of sex, jokes about kidnapping, reader being a menace

My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6K

AN: this is probably the softest fic I have ever written 💀

The sound of soft footsteps echoed throughout the compound as Natasha made her way into the kitchen. She quietly opened a cabinet and grabbed a bowl along with the box of Raisin Bran. She set the bowl down on the island before moving to the fridge and grabbing some milk, and then she made herself a bowl of cereal.

Today had been one of the rougher missions she's been on; it was supposed to be a simple bag and grab, but Hydra agents had gotten the drop on them, and she came back battered and bruised. Along with the bruises, Natasha had minor cuts littering her body, and a small jolt of pain ran through her body every time she moved.

You had warned Natasha not to go on the mission; it sounded too easy. And now, as she sat on the couch and rewatched her comfort episodes of New Girl, she wished that she had listened to you. You were always the wiser one in the relationship, and Natasha sometimes hated that about you. You would always try and talk her out of doing risky missions and she rarely listened to you. She was scared to face your wrath, so she wasted as much time as possible before entering your shared bedroom.

You had joined the Avengers as a surgeon; you were one of the country's best and met Natasha during one of her missions. She was undercover at a bar in Italy when she saw you.

It was a rowdy Friday night, and Natasha’s target was at the same bar. You had accidentally bumped into her, causing her to ruin her dress, and naturally, she was bitchy with you for it. You ushered out a plethora of apologies; you told her that you were only here because your friend had dragged you here but then left once she found someone to hook up with, causing you to be stressed, and that’s why you accidentally ran into her.

You bought her a drink as an apology, and she gladly accepted it. You wanted to talk to her, but she told you she had some business to take care of once she saw her target leave the building.

“See you in a minute, yeah?” She asked once she finished her drink and placed her hand on your arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Of course,” you replied, smiling as you watched the redhead leave the bar. Natasha was a willow, and she bent right to your wind, begging you to take her hand and meet her after dark.

Naturally, you didn’t see the woman again, and you felt ashamed for getting your hopes up. Eventually, you saw Natasha again in the same bar, and this time, she bought you a drink. The two of you conversed back and forth about your lives, even though you suspected she wasn’t telling you the whole truth about her job.

“I do background checks at the Smithsonian Museum in Washington,” Natasha said as she sipped her drink. You lightly laughed at her words but didn’t pry; you knew she was lying because her forest-green eyes refused to meet yours for over three seconds. You told her that you were a surgeon at one of the hospitals in New York City, and when she asked what specialty you are, you told her trauma.

The pair talked into the hours of the night, and when it came time to leave, Natasha asked you for your number, and you happily gave it to her. You spent one more week with Natasha before you returned to New York, and it was the best week of your life. You went on lunch dates with her every day she was free, and you quickly bonded with the woman.

When it came time for you to leave, you kissed Natasha’s cheek as you stood outside her apartment with a bouquet of lavender and violets. “I’m heading back to New York at 3 today, and I just wanted to say goodbye before I left,” you said with a smile, but your eyes had pain in them as you handed Natasha her flowers. She smiled at them and welcomed you into her apartment while she put them in flowers. The apartment was bare of any photos except a few that you could tell were of a fake family near the fireplace in the living room.

Take-out containers were in the trash can, while the fridge had a scarce amount of food in it. You weren’t naïve; all the signs you had picked up on that Natasha was a spy. You had dipped your toes in this line of work before; you had worked with Interpol for a year and a half before switching to medicine, so you knew all the signs.

When Natasha returned after putting the flowers in a vase, she invited you to watch a movie with her until your flight, and you gladly accepted it. When the clock hit one, you pulled your head up from Natasha’s lap and grabbed your things. “See you in a minute, Natasha,” you said as you kissed her cheek again and disappeared down the hallway.

Naturally, when Natasha returned to the States, she ran your name across all kinds of databases, and eventually, she found you. She read your file a dozen times: graduated high school as the valedictorian with enough college credit to be an incoming sophomore, finished a year early in criminal Justice, and soon worked with Interpol as a spy. You spent 18 months with Interpol before an injury threw you out, and that’s when you switched to medicine.

Just like high school, you graduated at the top of your class and got an internship at one of the best prestigious hospitals in the country. You’ve been there for roughly a year now, but you were one of the best residents there.

You weren’t even back home for three weeks when an agent from SHIELD asked you if you would like a job offer at Stark Tower. At first, you were a bit shocked at the offer, but when you entered the first floor of the Stark Building, and you saw your redhead, you knew it was her doing.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Natasha said with a sly grin as she led you through the luxurious building and toward a room with ‘T. Stark’ on the name mantle beside the door. You give her a questioning look before entering the room. “Good luck,” Natasha said gently before leaving you alone with the genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist.

The interview went well, aside from the fact that Tony kept hitting on you, and you were offered the job of a head surgeon. The salary was definitely an increase, and it had much better benefits than your old job, plus, you would get to see Natasha a lot more, so of course you took the offer.

One week into your new job and Natasha asked you on a date. It was nothing fancy; a picnic date on the top of Stark Tower, but you would be lying if it weren’t the best date you’d ever been on. You two talked and drank a bottle of Dom Perignon deep into the night, and when it was time to go your separate ways, Natasha pulled you into a soft and gentle kiss. It’s been eight months since Natasha started calling you hers, and she’s never been happier.

However, as she recalls all the happy memories since the start of your beautiful and gentle relationship, she gets called back into reality when she hears soft footsteps echo off the walls. She held her breath and prepared for the scolding that she would inevitably receive, but to her surprise, it was Wanda up looking for a light night snack. “Trouble in paradise?” Wanda asked as she grabbed her own stash of pop-tarts; no one dared to mess with Thor’s.

Natasha sighed at Wanda’s words; the poor girl was on the same mission as her, and Wanda knew how badly Natasha was banged up. “No, I just know that Y/N is going to have my head when she sees how bad it is,” Natasha said with a defeated sigh as Wanda walked over to her.

The Sokovian placed her hand on Natasha’s shoulder and gently squeezed it, “I wish you the best of luck with your lady; may your survival be long,” Wanda joked as she walked off.

“May your death be quick,” Natasha mumbled under her breath once Wanda left the room. She finished up her cereal and cleaned the bowl and spoon before she tipped-toed to your shared bedroom. The Russian quietly opened the door and gently climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you into her. You sighed at the contact before subconsciously nudging your head into your girlfriend’s neck.

“Where were you?” You mumbled into the crook of Natasha’s neck before kissing her clothed collarbone. “I had an amazing day, love. I’m so glad you asked,” Natasha joked as she pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head.

You groaned at Natasha’s words before nudging your head against the redhead’s chest. “Life360 said you got home an hour ago, Nat. So where were you?” You asked as sleep left your body. Natasha knew that this conversation could go one of two ways: she could be honest with you and have you scold her, or she could lie and have you not find out until training in the morning and then have you scold her. “I'm cheating on you,” Natasha lied.

“Seriously, Natasha? I'm not going to fall for that,” you stated. The last time she had pulled that was when she snuck out at midnight to watch Barbie with Clint. When she told you she was cheating on you, you went ballistic; you were on the verge of throwing her off a cliff until you saw a pink box in her purse backpack.

“Natasha, what’s this?” You had asked as you made your way over toward her bag. She tried to stop you, but you were too quick, and you pulled out a Barbie doll from its box. “Did you go watch Barbie without me?”

“Y/N, I love you so much, but this was the only time Clint could go with me. You are so beautiful,” Natasha said while making her way over to you. “I bought you the Barbie and car the theater was selling.”

You scoffed at Natasha’s words before setting the Barbie down on your dresser along with the car. “I want to wrap my hands around your neck and not let go, but I’m going to let it slide: on one condition,” you stated as you walked back to Natasha and stopped before her.

“Yes, anything.”

“I get to be on bottom for a week, no questions asked.”

“Deal.”

See, Natasha was one of those people who will lie only when the truth sounds like a lie, and you quickly found that out after that incident.

Pulling back from the memory, Natasha wrapped her arms around you tighter and whispered, “Promise me you won’t get mad?”

“Depends on what it is,” you replied. Natasha took a deep breath and kissed your head once and then twice before speaking, “The mission went a little south today, but I’m okay.”

At the mention of the mission going wrong, you pushed yourself up and the bed and turned on the lamp next to the bed. “What happened, Natasha? Are you alright? I swear to god if someone hurt you,” you trailed off at the end at the thought of losing your lover. “I’m fine, detka. Don’t worry,” Natasha replied as she gently grabbed your hands at the hems of her shirt.

“Natasha,” you warned as your eyes pierced the other soul; she knew you could be intense, especially regarding her safety and well-being. The Russian groaned at your words before allowing you to take her shirt off, and her heart broke at the small gasp that left your lips.

“I told you it’s not bad,” Natasha joked as you pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the lights. You motioned for her to sit on the sink while you looked through the cabinets for a first aid kit. Now that you were in better lighting, you could see all the cuts and bruises that littered your other half’s body. There was hardly enough skin that wasn't either turning a dark purple or that didn’t have a cut on it; you didn’t know whether to scold her for being so reckless or to cherish her for still being here with you.

Deciding to go with both, you gently cupped Natasha’s cheeks and pulled her into a loving kiss expressing all your love for her. She kissed you back as she wrapped her arms around your waist and slid off the sink. “I love you,” Natasha murmured against your lips as her breath fanned your lips. You kissed the words and pulled back, “I love you too, but I cannot believe you got this hurt and didn’t tell me about it! Now, get back on the sink so I can take care of you,” you said as you opened the first aid kit.

You grabbed some peroxide and put it on a cotton ball before gently pressing it against a cut on Natasha’s lower abdomen. Natasha hissed at the sting and gripped the sink’s edge as she groaned. “I told you to be careful,” you remarked as you set the cotton ball down and put some Neosporin on a bandit. “Yeah, yeah,” Natasha mumbled.

“Tell you what, for every cut I clean up, you get a kiss?” You proposed as you gently placed the bandit on Natasha’s cut. The redhead smiled at this proposition and tried to pull you into another kiss, but you put a finger to her lips, stopping her advances, “Nuh-uh, you’ve already gotten yours for this cut.”

The woman threw her hand back and groaned at your words, “Why do you hate me?” She exclaimed. You scoffed at her words as you grabbed another cotton ball and put peroxide on it, “I don’t hate you; I’m just not letting you bend the rules,” you said with a playful smile as you ignored how Natasha mumbled something under her breath.

When you placed the cotton ball on a cut near Natasha’s collarbone, applying more pressure than needed, she hissed and pushed you away from her, “Ow! What the fuck was that?!”

You rolled your eyes at Natasha’s comment before grabbing her shoulder with your left hand to keep her in place as you pressed the ball back onto her skin. “Stop being a baby, Nat, and let me clean your wounds,” you replied with a slight chuckle, causing Natasha to smack your arm. “Hey! Do not hit me, you little shit!”

“Don’t call me a baby, then!” Natasha retorted, refusing to let you clean her wounds again. You scoffed at her words and put the first aid kit back in the cabinet, and walked off to bed, “Fine, then. If you aren’t going to let me take care of you, I guess you just have to have Doctor Lee take care of you.”

Natasha froze at the mention of Doctor Lee. She’s only been to him once since you started working here, and she hated every second of it. You had the day off and were having dinner with a friend when you got a call from Natasha.

“Excuse me for a second,” you said to your friend while exiting the dining table. “What’s up, my love?” You asked when you stepped outside the restaurant and answered the phone. You had expected Natasha to ask if you would pick her up some food or maybe even ask if she could top tonight, but you didn’t expect her to scream in Russian about Doctor Lee. You had picked up a little Russian just from being around Natasha, so you knew the basic of what had happened: she had gotten a small cut on a mission that required stitches, and Lee made the cut worse, so Natasha had to get more stitches than needed and Lee complained about how rude Natasha was to her face.

Doctor Lee was a grumpy older man but was the best doctor you had ever worked with, so everyone put up with his attitude. You listened to Natasha rant about him for another five minutes before you interrupted her, “Natasha, I love you so much, but I’m going to need to get back to Kate before she thinks I left her,” you said with a small laugh when you heard Natasha groan. “Fine, let’s just hope I don’t bleed out all over our floor, and you have to clean it up,” she replied in an upset tone.

You rolled your eyes at her comment as you walked back into the restaurant, “you will be fine until I get back. If it’s that bad, I’m sure Lee can help you again.”

“He’s the one who got me into this mess!” Natasha yelled into the phone.

“Ah, so it must have been him who stabbed you then?”

The phone was silent for a few seconds before Natasha replied, “Yes.”

“Oh my god, you leave that poor man alone! He’s brilliant,” you said as you sat down at your table and across from Kate, who sent you a knowing smile. She was friends with Natasha’s sister, and she knew that the sisters shared a similar trait of exaggerating things.

“Just because he’s smart doesn’t mean he’s a good person,” Natasha retorted.

“I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to you when I get home, okay? I love you.”

“That’s if I don’t bleed out and die,” Natasha mumbled into the phone before adding with excitement, “I love you too,” before hanging up.

Natasha shook off the painful memory when she heard you get into bed and shut off the lamp. “Hey, Y/N. Wait,” Natasha said as she walked into the bedroom and sat beside you, touching your hip. “Please don’t make me go to Lee.”

You rolled over and faced Natasha, your face heating up as her hand was now on your lower abdomen, and you had to fight back your thoughts. “Are you going to complain?” You questioned. Natasha shook her head and prayed that you would finish cleaning her wounds; she would rather die than return to Lee. “Okay,” you said as you moved from the bed and walked back into the bathroom with Natasha on your heels.

“Do I still get kisses for every cut cleaned?” Natasha asked as she sat on the sink. “Maybe, if you behave,” you replied with a playful smirk as you got out the first aid kit again.

You repeated the same actions with the cotton ball as you did moments earlier and lightly pressed it onto a small cut on Natasha’s shoulder. “Do you remember when we first met?” Natasha asked randomly as you placed a bandaid on her cut. “Mhm,” you replied as you quickly kissed the Russian’s lips, holding up to your end of the deal, “the bar in Italy.”

“Yeah, but do you remember when we met again in the bar?”

You weren’t quite sure where Natasha was going with this, but you wanted to play along. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

The redhead hissed when she felt the sting of peroxide seep into her cut as you pressed the cotton against her skin. You noticed how her eyes looked everywhere but you and how she played with her fingers in her lap; she was nervous about something, and you had no idea why. “I went to that bar every single night after I first saw you,” Natasha admitted after you placed another bandaid on her.

You laughed at her words and her nervousness. “Natasha, you literally stalked me and basically kidnapped me after knowing me for a week! Why are you so nervous to admit you also stalked the bar looking for me?”

“I did not stalk you!” Natasha defended, “I just missed you so much; I searched everywhere for you and didn’t stop until I found you. And I didn’t kidnap you. You were 24 years old!”

“Mhm, if you say so, you can still kidnap an adult,” you replied as you threw away the ball and kissed Natasha again, “that looks like all the serious ones.”

Natasha frowned at your comment; she didn’t enjoy you cleaning the cuts, but she wanted the reward of your kisses. “No, I think I have some more on my back,” your girlfriend replied.

You pulled her off the sink by her hands and turned her around; there were tiny cuts over her back and some light bruises, but nothing that needed cleaning. You pressed your pointer finger into a bruise that was turning purple, “nope, looks good.”

The pain that shot through Natasha’s back when you dug your finger into her bruise was something she would never forget; she would be on her deathbed and still remember that feeling. She ducked away from your finger and turned around, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! That hurt!”

“That’s what you get for ‘adultnapping’ me,” you replied as you put up the first aid kit and left the bathroom. The older woman was right on your heels after turning off the lights, “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best crime ever.”

The sound of laughter bounced around the room as you climbed into bed and opened your arms for Natasha, and she quickly crawled into your grasp, laying her head on your chest. “We were jet-set; Bonnie and Clyde, huh?” You replied and placed a kiss on Natasha's head. “Mhm. I’m just glad you didn’t turn me in for the crime,” Natasha mumbled against your collarbone as sleep slowly took her.

“Of course not, my love,” you replied as you kissed Natasha’s head and rubbed her back as sleep consumed you; slowly drifting off with the love of your life in your arms.

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AN: I rushed this and I kinda hate it but oh well 💀

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #marvel #black widow #natalia romanoff

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wongyuuu · 9 months

Text

Willow | 02

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader genre: angst, marriage of convenience word count: 5.2k summary: seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

part one | part two | part three (final) | drabble

Seungcheol functioned like clockwork.

Every day he woke up at the exact same time, his alarm was obnoxiously loud — especially considering how much of a light sleeper he was —, showered, cocked the same breakfast, and left the apartment precisely at 7:45.

You don’t remember him being that punctual but your best guess was that grown-up Seungcheol took his life and responsibilities much more seriously than teenage him. And he probably had a lot on his plate too. He was set to take over the firm once his dad retired, something that wouldn’t happen any time soon, but it always felt like something he was being prepared for it.

And being honest, you couldn’t say that you knew this version of Seungcheol, not really. He was hot and cold with you, mostly cold, so it was hard to know where you stood in your relationship with him.

Truth was, that had a lot to do with you as well. You weren’t trying to make things easier for the two of you, if anything it felt like you were trying your best to make it as hard as possible — even if that wasn’t your intention at all.

While your husband was always perfectly on time, you were always running around late for every single appointment you could ever make. People from work already knew that if there was a student scheduled for 10:00h, you’d probably get there a little later. It really wasn’t on purpose, you tried your best to be on time, even tried to follow along with Seungcheol’s agenda. But it never worked out. So instead of being on time and having everything ready, all it did was make you nervous and even more late.

You also didn’t follow a schedule for your day. Every day, on your way home, you made a little detour, never failing in finding a new place to go or a different restaurant to try.

At the end of the day, you and Seungcheol lived separate lives, barely talking to each other, or even acknowledging each other. Most of it was just niceties because both of you felt the need to do so. It would have felt even more awkward to walk past each other in the hallway and don’t even say good morning. Anyone who looked at the two of you would think that you were just roommates, not actually married. Hell, not even friends.

If anything, the house arrangement contract you wrote made things even worse — if that was even possible.

After signing it, with a look of complete disbelief on his face, Seungcheol went to his room. His words “my own wife is telling me that she wants to date other men while saying that I should date other women” still rang in your head. You didn’t mean for it to sound like that, you didn’t want to push him to do anything at all. Your only thought was that since the marriage was fake, there was no love between you, there was no reason for you to be stuck to each other and live completely without happiness.

There wasn’t anything either of you could do in that regard, there was no way of canceling or ending the marriage, so all you wanted to do was give him a way to find something that could bring him a little bit of joy. If said joy came in the shape of another woman, then so be it.

After that, you never talked again. And he barely showed any emotion at all around you, no reaction. He didn’t complain or seemed fazed when you almost let the dirty water you used to clean your brushes fall on his desk and ruin, well, everything. He still followed the rules you created, almost religiously. Whenever he cooked, he made enough for you, if he was the one doing laundry he was careful not to damage any of your clothes.

Living like that felt oddly lonely.

You were used to being by yourself, having your own space. The last time you shared an apartment with someone, or more specifically, a room, was when you were still in college with Yeda. But the thought of living with someone else but never actually seeing them…

You thought that once you were married you would have someone to share your life with, even if that someone turned out to be Seungcheol. Naively, you figured that all of those years of your childhood spent together — even if those were also forced on both of you —, would play a part in making sure that cohabitation was a possibility.

We could still try to be friends, was what you told yourself.

Because your husband wasn't all that bad, to begin with. You might not see eye to eye on many things but you knew that he was a good person. You had hoped that, maybe, living in the same place, seeing each other every day, would change something about your relationship with him. And in a way, it did. It just wasn't what you expected. Instead of growing closer, you couldn’t be further apart.

You glanced at your phone again, the bright numbers seemed to be mocking you.

It was past 3 am and there was still no sign of Seungcheol. When 9 pm rolled around you assumed he had stayed at the office a little bit longer, finishing up whatever it was. Then 9 became midnight and staying in bed wasn’t something you could stand anymore so you moved to the living room, a book and a blanket in hand. But reading too was hard, the words were all floating around in your mind and none of it actually made any sense. Your mind was too focused on the fact that Seungcheol wasn't home yet to focus on the story.

Another hour went by and there was still no sign of him. The world outside the apartment was quiet and no car could be heard on the street.

The truth was that you were worried about him. There were little bells inside your mind telling you that something must have happened to him because that just wasn’t Seungcheol. It wasn’t him when he was young and it also wasn’t him as an adult. He wasn’t the kind of person who would disappear without telling anyone, so you were sure that there was someone who knew where he was.

The most obvious choice would be to call him and it would have been a great plan if you had his number at all.

The realization that you knew nothing at all about your husband made a sickening feeling slowly spread through your body.

It was so stupid to not have his number and it made absolutely no sense because he was your husband. Even if you were a fake wife, shouldn’t you at least be able to communicate with him if needed? Sometimes people have emergencies that couldn’t wait for their significant other to get home — or in your case never get home at all.

Option number two was to go through the things in his office. He should have at least a business card or something, anything at all, with a phone number. You thought about calling your parents or even his parents. How would you explain that even though you kept telling them that everything was fine, that things were finally falling into place, you didn’t have your husband's number? And never mind knowing someone who worked with him. Seokmin, what that his name? Seokmin probably knew where Seungcheol was but then again, there was no way to reach him either.

You stood up to cross the room, your blanket and book both forgotten on the couch when you heard the sound of keys being put in the lock and a second later the door was pushed open.

Seungcheol stood precariously on his legs, an arm over Seokmin’s shoulders, while the younger one tried his best to stop his friend from falling face-first on the floor.

“Cheol” you breathed in relief and rushed towards him, your hands reached for his cheeks, forcing him to look at you “Cheol…”

He opened his eyes for a second and a drunken smile, or at least an attempt at a smile.

“Ah, wife! Precisely who I wanted to see” his words were slurred, almost in sync with his body as it swayed from side to side.

Seungcheol stepped away from Seokmin and dropped all of his weight onto you. Your arms immediately circled his waist as you bent your knees a little, trying to hold him up.

"Sorry," Seokmin said as he tried to pull Seungcheol from you "I've never seen him get this drunk before, I didn't think it possible"

Neither did you, but then again there was a lot about Seungcheol that you didn't know.

"It's fine" you moved your feet back until you felt the couch behind your knees and with Seokmin's help you were able to get Seungcheol to sit "Thank you for bringing him home"

Seokmin smiled at you, tightly. He wanted to say more but he knew that if he did he would be butting in your relationship with Seungcheol and his friend would probably give him hell for it. Drunk Seungcheol was a problem — in the form of a cute lovesick oversized puppy, as he has recently discovered —, but sober Seungcheol would bite his head off without as much as a warning.

"I should have brought him home earlier, before he drank himself stupid"

You shook your head and pushed the hair out of Seungcheol’s forehead. You couldn't even bring yourself to be mad at him, not really. Before he got home you felt this pain in your stomach, telling you that there was something incredibly wrong, that he was in some kind of trouble. But the only real trouble was the fact he had, as Seokmin said, drank himself stupid.

"Honestly, it's okay. I'm just glad he's home safe. Again, thank you for that"

"I wish I could say it was no trouble" he laughed lightly "Do you need help with anything?"

You shook your head.

"I got it from here"

Seokmin opened the door and let himself out. He stopped for a second as if remembering something and reached for the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a business card. He didn't say anything as put it by your keyes.

You realized then that he knew. Seokmin knew about your relationship with Seungcheol, or lack of it. He just smiled and closed the door. You stayed frozen in place, looking at the door, as if somehow it would grant you answers.

Though you had told Yeda the true nature of your marriage, you never expected Seungcheol to do the same and to Seokmin, of all people. Not that you really knew him but just based on his interaction with Seungcheol on your wedding day, Seokmin was the last person you would expect to know the truth.

"y/n," Seungcheol said and you turned to him, "I think I want to throw up"

His warning was almost too late, there was no time to get him to the bathroom or for you to get him a bucket, but just enough for him to grab on the flower vase in front of the couch. You turned away from him, knowing that the smell of vomit wouldn't bother you, but seeing him throw up actually would.

"I'm really sorry"

It had been so long since you last heard him talk like that, almost childlike. The Seungcheol you knew liked to pose as this big, bad guy, but in reality, he was more of a softy that got things done. He could pout for days if he wanted.

Not only did he sound childlike, but he also looked like a child that messed up. His eyes were almost helpless as he looked at the floor, then his shoes, and finally his suit jacket.

"Don't worry about it" You reached a hand for him. His eyes focused on your hand, almost mesmerized, before his long fingers wrapped around yours "Let's get you cleaned up and ready for bed"

You helped him off his jacket and held both of his hands as he allowed you to pull him up from the couch. He pushed his shoes off once you reached the hall leading up to his room. This time, instead of putting all of his weight on you, Seungcheol used the wall to steady himself, still his arm was around your shoulder and he leaned a little towards you.

You wanted to ask him what happened, what made him want to drink so much. More than anything you wanted to know why he didn't warn you in advance.

Over the four months that you lived together, though there was no real interaction between the two of you, Seungcheol always found ways to talk to you. At first, there was a yellow post-it stuck to your door. They were simple notes. I made breakfast, or dinner with your parents tonight, I'll pick you up at 7. And sometimes they were more caring, those, you came to realize, were always blue. Do you still hate spinach? just in case, i didn't add any or let me know if there's anything you want to eat and even i canceled dinner tonight with my mom, you looked tired last night, you should rest this weekend.

He always made sure to tell you if he was going to be late, always. So not knowing where he was… you hated it.

Seungcheol didn't complain when you pushed him down on the mattress and undid his tie, later moving on to his shirt and then using it to clean his mouth

You didn't realize but Seungcheol's eyes were on you the entire time. Despite the alcohol, his mind was hyper-aware of your finger touching his skin, on the way you kept biting your lips as if doing your best to hold back from cussing him out.

"Can you shower on your own?" Seuncheol made a noise that you could only translate as a no "Do you want to brush your teeth?"

You probably already knew the answer to that too but still had to ask. His eyes were almost closed and he stayed sitting by some sort of miracle.

"I don't think I should stand up again" You nodded at him and turned around, you could at least get him to use some mouthwash before he fell asleep and maybe get him to drink a glass of water, but he held your hand and lightly pulled you back — not in a forcible way, just to get your attention "I don't like it when you make that face"

His voice was so quiet, barely above a whisper.

"It's the same face you did on our wedding day, when you walked down the aisle. You looked so pretty but sad, and angry too. Why were you so angry?"

You looked at his eyes for a second before looking away. They were all too demanding, wanting more than you were willing to give him. Your wedding day, believe it or not, wasn't a day you thought about too often and when you did think about it felt like years had gone by. The night you decided to suggest the contract was the one you thought of more often, with much more sadness.

"I wasn't angry"

Your voice was quiet as pulled the duvet for him to get under. In silence, Seungcheol removed his pants and laid down. He let go of your hand for only a second before holding it again.

"I was scared and worried, like today. You were gone for a really long time and I didn't know where you were. I couldn't even call you"

Having those thoughts around your mind was so different from actually saying them out loud, saying them to Seungcheol. If the night taught you one thing was that you didn't know anything at all about your husband. Everything you thought you knew was wrong. But if you could make a guess, judging by the way his eyes seemed to be a little more focused and his words a little less slurred, it was probably okay to say that he was sobering up. Maybe throwing up was all he needed.

"Our marriage is just so weird. My wife told me to sleep with other people" he laughed and pulled his hand away, closing his eyes "It's almost like we're friends with benefits but without the friendship part nor the benefits. We're just a piece of paper. If you think about it, we're nothing really"

Tomorrow, you suddenly promised yourself, tomorrow will be different and we will start this all over again.

The second he said yes to drinking with Seokmin, Seungcheol knew that he would regret it. The first time he went to a bar with the younger one, Seuncheol told him all about his fake marriage. So, of course, the second time couldn't be much different. He regretted it for more reasons than he cared to admit.

The entire night he behaved like a pubescent thirteen year old complaining about the fact that his crush didn't like him back. He was stupid enough to tell Seokmin all about the contract you came up with, to which his friend laughed hysterically. Because you must be the shitties husband in the history of the world if your wife has already given up on you like this.

And if that was what you thought of him, if you saw him as the worst husband in the history of the world, could he blame you? On your wedding way, that is known to be a day that everyone remembers, he was a complete idiot to you. No excuse he could ever come up with would be good enough. Because, truth be told, his behavior then had been inexcusable. In your shoes, he would have probably done much worse. You had shown him mercy.

And kept showing him mercy, even after months of him being silent and barely being in the apartment. He used work as an excuse often to get him out of situations in his daily life. He never thought that he would use it as a way to stay clear of you.

Because Seungcheol did work a lot but he also knew how to take time off. His job was important and his clients too were important, but he learned that he should have time to himself. and now that he was married, he needed to have time for you too. Even if it was just to stay home with you. He should have done that but instead, he found ways to be at the office until later than he usually did, took clients that he normally wouldn’t, and did the most stupid thing of all: went to a bar with Seokmin.

And the worse part of it all was that he remembered every single thing that he did the night before. He wished he was one of those people who get drunk and just forget about all the embarrassing things they did. But he wasn’t.

Seungcheol remembered being carried home by Seokmin, who again was having too much fun laughing at him, he remembers throwing up, the way you held on to him. But more than anything he remembers the way you said his name, Cheol, ever so quietly, when he walked in, the way your eyes searched his face as if looking for anything that could be wrong with him — other than being drunk.

He hated that he talked about being friends with you while he was drunk. Hated that you didn’t get to hear him while he was sober because he had prepared a whole speech for you, almost as if he was going to court and needed to plead his case.

He had plans to talk to you and maybe that was why he went out with Seokmin, to get his friend to push in the direction he wanted to go. Because truth be told, Seungcheol was scared.

For over ten years of his life, he knew that he would marry you. So had time to think about it, and ponder on every possibility that could happen. Because he had been in love with you for longer than that, but not once he was allowed to act on his feelings. At first, it was because of your brother, then because of himself, and then finally when you closed a door on his face — metaphorically speaking.

And when he finally had a chance to do so, he fucked up. There was no other way to say it. The two of you were already married, so what was the worst thing that could happen? For you to reject him? That was already happening.

He hated that he lost the chance to charm you from the get-go. And then again for months. He couldn’t miss the chance yet again.

Seungcheol pushed himself up on his elbows, tentatively opening his eyes. He expected the room to be filled with light but he was surprised to see that the only source of it came from the half opened door. He never closed his blinds before going to bed, he never felt the need to as he usually got up as soon as the sun was up, and he certainly hadn’t closed them the night before going to bed.

However, no amount of darkness could make him look past you, sleeping in a weird position in the armchair in front of his bed.

Seungcheol, who was usually a light sleeper, had no idea that you came into his room a couple of times during the night until you finally convinced yourself that it was okay for you to sleep in there because you were too afraid that we would throw up during the night; he had no idea that you got up in the middle of the night to pull the duvet over his body.

He knew nothing about those things, yet he felt overwhelmed at the sight of you.

For a second he wanted nothing more than to stay sitting there and just watch you. As creepy as it might be, it was the first time he felt like the two of you were more than just two people who shared the same apartment.

He could only hope that the night before had changed something for you too, because now there was no way he would just let things go back to how they were.

You were worried about Seuncheol. Had been the entire day. You woke up to the sound of the shower running and the sight of his empty bed in front of you. You left as soon as you woke up, deciding that he was probably way too hungover to want to talk to you then.

So instead of staying at home, wondering when it would be a good time talk to talk to him, you went out. There was nothing for you to do, no place to go and Yeda already had plans with her boyfriend so she couldn’t meet you.

You indulged yourself, going to the mall and getting a few new brushes and paint — not that you needed anything, but a mind filled with weird thoughts and a credit card with more limit than necessary could be the ruin of someone. But going there was somewhat of a bad idea, considering how many couples there were around.

All of them looked in love, happy to be around each other. You couldn’t help but wonder if it could be the same for you and Seungcheol. If you had talked to him in the months leading up to the wedding, would things be different now? If he hadn’t been a complete idiot on your wedding day, would things be different?

There were many answers to those questions, but none of them would matter. There was no way to go back to the past, to redo things. So all you had was the present, as it was, and a chance to change everything.

On your wedding day, your dad told you that he didn’t love your mother when they got married. He said that the love he felt for her was built over the years they stayed together. And you wanted to try that.

Because you never really believe in love at first sight, the idea of it was just too irrational for you. You believed that curiosity, attraction, lust, and enchantment could all be feelings that are awoken in someone at first sight. But love? That was a complicated feeling, that no three seconds look ever give you.

Because you wanted a love that was constantly warm. Too hot or too cold would burn you all the same. You didn’t want a relationship that was all over the place, with too many ups and downs.

And maybe, Seungcheol could that someone for you.

You had been standing in front of Seungcheol’s room for the past five minutes, building up the courage no knock on his door, had already raised your hand twice but was yet to finally do it. Seungcheol’s drunker words mirrored your thoughts, so you had to talk to him.

You took a deep breath before you forced your fingers to tap lightly against his door. You didn’t wait for his answer and stuck your head inside.

He was sitting on his bed, a book open over his chest while he scrolled through his phone. That was a scene you had seen many times while you were a teenager. It was easy to remember an 18-year-old Seungcheol lying on the couch, in that exact position.

“Seungcheol?” he looked at you surprised, he hadn’t heard you knock on his door “Come out, let’s have dinner”.

Without a word, Seungcheol followed you to the kitchen. His surprised eyes were focused on the food on the table. He clearly remembered you telling him that you didn’t cook, your mom said the same thing too.

“You cooked?” he sounded a little nervous, as if unsure that he should be asking.

He looked cute, you decided then. There was this childish look in his eyes, half in wonder, half in expectancy.

Seungcheol was waiting for something to go wrong again. The last time you had gotten him dinner was the night everything went to shit. What if this time you told him that you wanted a divorce because of the shit he pulled the night before? He was honestly ready to beg you not to do that.

“No, I got it on the way home” you waved a hand and he laughed and you felt your cheeks get warm “Are you feeling better? I left before we could talk”

He smiled and nodded at you, looking at the food in front of him. There was nothing special about it, it was something that he could have cooked, but still, his heart did a little flip inside his chest.

“I’m sorry about last night. I swear I don’t drink like that all the time. Or at all” his own cheeks got hot “I’m sorry you had to clean up after me”

“It’s fine, really. Yeda was my roommate in college and I wish she would throw up in a vase. I think I cleaned that dorm more than anyone else that used it before or after us”

Yeda was a good friend, but she took the idea of being the life of the party a little too far sometimes. That alone was the reason you found yourself going back to your parents' house almost every weekend. You had convinced yourself that the two-hour drive was worth it, if it meant that you didn’t have to clean vomit again.

The two of you eat in silence as you tried to find a good way to start a conversation with him. Why was it so hard? You had no trouble talking with him when you were teenagers. Sure, there was a lot of bickering but that was still better than nothing at all.

“Is everything okay with you? You’re not eating” he said quietly. the food in front of him was almost gone while yours had barely been touched “You don’t like the food?”

You shook your head and set down your fork.

“I’m a little nervous, so it’s hard to eat” he didn’t need to ask to know what you were nervous about “Can we talk, please?”

In silence, the two of you put the dishes away and the food leftovers on the fridge. There was no way either of you would keep eating so it was better not to waste any time.

Seungcheol’s mind was running a thousand miles an hour. He was certain, 100%, that would you ask for a divorce. He knew that you couldn’t do it. The rational part of his brain told him that it wasn’t an option at all. But the irrational side? It didn’t care. All the worse possible scenarios were playing in his mind.

The first one, as he expected, would be for you to ask for a divorce; the second one would be you telling him that there was someone in your life, someone you were in love with.

That thought alone was enough to make his heart ache. You being in love with someone else was too much for him.

“Oh my god! Will you stop looking at me like that? I'm not going to bite your head off! I want to talk with my husband. Millions of people do that every day. I'm sure millions of people are probably doing that right now”

He smiled then. That was exactly how remembered you, that was the you he wanted to see the most on your wedding day, when he talked shit and you talked right back at him. Because there was no way that he would get to have the last word in a conversation like that.

And it was also the first time you addressed him as your husband, at least in front of him. The first time you said it out loud.

But in that moment you confused his feelings for fear when all that he felt was some sort of joy. How borderline pathetic was it that he felt happy over the simple fact that his wife acknowledged his existence?

“The things you said last night… I agree with them. Our marriage won't last very long, we won't last very long, if we continue this way. We will be broken beyond repair if we don't do something right now. So we have to change, we have to, at the very least, be friends but we will never get there if we keep going this way”

That wasn't exactly what you wanted to say but you hoped that Seungcheol would understand, wished that he would read into your sloppy and messy words. He was a lawyer, after all, it was what he did for a living. Right?

“Let's go out once a week then, sort of like a date? But not really” you shook your hand and covered your face, you felt like a teenager asking the guy you had a crush on a date “Just so we can get used to each other again, be friends and all that”

Seungcheol pressed his lips, trying his best to suppress the smiles that threatened to take over his entire face. With a short nod and shake of hands, you and Seungcheol settled down on another agreement.

taglist: @belladaises @minghaossv @lol6sposts @weebotakuboy @alifethatsonlyonthepage @donquixotesvt @dearlosver @dearxia @yogurttea @royal9 @desibrownie @feat-sun @itsveronicaxxx @soonyoonswoo @matchahyuck

requests are open

#seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol #scoups x reader #seungcheol x you #scoups x you #scoups #seventeen angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #svt angst #seungcheol angst #scoups angst

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chosetherose · 1 year

Text

Updated as of 6/30

The Eras Tour *Surprise Songs*

Taylor said her goal is to not repeat each show’s surprise songs so I thought it would be fun to track them as the tour goes on! Black strikethrough is included in the main set list. Purple strikethrough are included in the main set list but have been switched up at some show/s. Blue songs Taylor played but might be repeated due to messing up.

Taylor Swift

Tim McGraw (3/17) • Picture to Burn • Teardrops on My Guitar (5/5) • A Place in This World (4/22) • Cold as You (4/23) • The Outside • Tied Together with a Smile • Stay Beautiful• Should’ve Said No (5/19) • Mary’s Song (Oh My My My) • Our Song (3/24) • I’m Only Me When I’m with You (6/30) • Invisible (5/20) • A Perfectly Good Heart

Fearless

Fearless • Fifteen (5/6) • Love Story • Hey Stephen (5/14) • White Horse (3/25) • You Belong With Me • Breathe• Tell Me Why• You’re Not Sorry (4/21) • The Way I Loved You • Forever & Always (5/13) • The Best Day (5/14) • Change • Jump Then Fall (4/2) • Untouchable • Come In With The Rain • Superstar • The Other Side Of The Door (4/28) • You All Over Me (6/3) • Mr. Perfectly Fine (6/16) • We Were Happy • That’s When • Don’t You • Bye Bye Baby • Today was a fairytale (4/22)

Speak Now

Mine (5/7) • Sparks Fly (5/5) • Back To December • Speak Now (4/13, Taylor restarted part of the song but did not confirm it could be played again) • Dear John (6/24) • Mean (4/15) • The Story Of Us (6/17) • Never Grow Up • Enchanted • Better Than Revenge • Innocent• Haunted (6/9) • Last Kiss • Long Live • Ours (3/31) • If This Was A Movie (6/23) • Superman

Red

State Of Grace (3/18) • Red (5/21) • Treacherous (4/13) • I Knew You Were Trouble • All Too Well • 22 • I Almost Do (6/9) • We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together • Stay Stay Stay • The Last Time (6/16) • Holy Ground (5/27) • Sad Beautiful Tragic (3/31) • The Lucky One (4/2) • Everything Has Changed • Starlight • Begin Again (4/23) • The Moment I Knew (6/4) • Come Back… Be Here (5/12) • Girl At Home • Ronan • Better Man (5/19) • Nothing New • Babe • Message In A Bottle • I Bet You Think About Me (4/30) • Forever Winter • Run • The Very First Night • All Too Well – 10 Minute Version

1989

Welcome To New York (5/28) • Blank Space • Style • Out Of The Woods (5/6, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • All You Had To Do Was Stay • Shake It Off • I Wish You Would (6/2) • Bad Blood • Wildest Dreams • How You Get The Girl (4/30) • This Love (5/13) • I Know Places • Clean (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again, 5/28) • Wonderland (4/21) • You Are In Love • New Romantics

Reputation

…Ready For It? • End Game • I Did Something Bad • Don’t Blame Me • Delicate • Look What You Made Me Do • So It Goes… • Gorgeous (4/29) • Getaway Car (5/26) • King Of My Heart • Dancing With Our Hands Tied • Dress • This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things • Call It What You Want • New Year’s Day

Lover

I Forgot That You Existed • Cruel Summer • Lover • The Man • The Archer • I Think He Knows (5/21) • Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince • Paper Rings (6/23) • Cornelia Street • Death By A Thousand Cuts (4/1, Taylor confirmed it might be played again) • London Boy • Soon You’ll Get Better • False God (5/27) • You Need To Calm Down • Afterglow • Me! • It’s Nice To Have A Friend • Daylight (6/24) • All of the Girls You’ve Loved Before

Folklore

The 1 (replaced IS multiple shows) • Cardigan • The Last Great American Dynasty • Exile with Bon Iver • My Tears Ricochet • Mirrorball (3/17) • Seven (spoken, 6/17) • August • This Is Me Trying (3/18) • Illicit Affairs • Invisible String (replaced by T1 multiple shows) • Mad Woman (4/15) • Epiphany • Betty • Peace • Hoax • The Lakes (6/2)

Evermore

Willow • Champagne Problems • Gold Rush (5/12) • Tis The Damn Season • Tolerate It • No Body, No Crime • Happiness • Dorothea • Coney Island (4/28) • Ivy • Cowboy Like Me (3/25) • Long Story Short • Marjorie • Closure • Evermore (6/30) • Right Where You Left Me •It’s Time To Go

Midnights

On 4/14 Taylor changed the rule: ALL SONGS ON MIDNIGHTS MAY BE REPEATED. I’m adding the dates to the midnights surprise songs but they will remain in black text since they can be repeated.

Lavender Haze • Maroon (5/26) • Anti-Hero • Snow on the Beach (3/24) • You’re on Your Own, Kid (4/14) • Midnight Rain • Question…? (5/20) • Vigilante Shit • Bejeweled • Labyrinth • Karma • Sweet Nothing • Mastermind • The Great War (4/14) • Bigger Than the Whole Sky • Paris • High Infidelity (4/29) • Glitch • Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve (5/7) • Dear Reader • Hits Different (6/4)

Other

I don’t wanna live forever (6/3)

#reach out if I’m missing anything #eras tour #eras tour set list #surprise song #Taylor swift #taylor nation

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rainybyday · 1 year

Text

Flower shop au continues

Gotham, usurpingly, had a lot of crime. Already he can hear an explosion down a couple blocks away and tripped a pocket picker from trying to rob him. It was sort of nostalgic to hear the chaos of destruction again and had to restrain himself from trying to transform and see who is causing such chaos.

He reassured himself that once he manages to set shop, a peace can come.

It didn't take long for him gain a property near the Gotham graveyard, an old, abandoned thing that no one used. Walls still intact but wallpaper pilling off with creaking stairs and holes in the floorboard. Furniture in pieces and a smell of decay wafted all over the building.

The graveyard was even worse with rusty metal fences and broken-down gravestones with dried up weeds and dying willow trees. Only a few of the hundreds of graves were well kept and clean

For a place that has such a high death rate, they really never took great care of their deceased.

But Danny sighed and got to work.

In a week he managed to clean his two-story shop with the help of his ghost abilities. He managed to work through a couple of nights to not only replace all of the flooring and walls, but he managed to repaint and clean the whole first floor. He decided that the second room should be an actual green garden room and replaced the roof and wall with screens. There were rows of beds filled with soil, growing vines wrapped by his hands on wooden pillars and many pots of baby seedlings yet to uncover themselves from the blanket of rich soil they are buried in.

It took two months to finally finish his new shop and another few weeks before the scent of flora wafted through the building. The store front wasn’t bright, dark tones of green and gray that seemed to fit the Gotham esthetic were painted on instead. The inside, however, was filled with shelves of flowers and vines crawling the walls and bean bags and chairs that were scatted all over. There was writing on the walls of names of people with markers near them. Then in the back there sat a counter with bags of dried flowers and scented candle sticks. If you look to your right, you can see the open stair way that will lead you to a jungle of greenery and peace.

Danny’s store was complete, and he was happy with it.

The first few weeks not many people came, in fact, no one came but that didn’t bother him. Instead, he filled his day with a schedule of sorts. In the morning he would clean and care for his plants around the store before weeding and picking flower petals to create dry flowers for teas. He would spend his late afternoons expanding his garden outside his shop for more flowers to grow before closing shop once the sun sets. It was at night did he grabbed on a hoodie and as many flowers he can carry and walk towards the graveyard leaving tokens for the dead.

Danny can tell that the dead, that Gotham, was suspicious of his attention to give a token to each and every grave. In fact, he can feel the creeping sensation of fear trying to use intimidation on him to get out plenty of times from the aura of death that surrounded the graveyard. But it felt like mere child play for him, and he kept coming back to leave tokens of flowers to those who pass.

By the time he met someone on his daily rounds towards the graveyard, the sensation of death and fear lessened, and the suspicion turned to a curious cautious feeling instead. He wasn’t welcome, not yet, but he was no longer pushed away. He didn’t think he was at the point of being allowed to meet one of Gotham's people, but he didn’t show his surprised when a man in a suit was watching him place flowers from the well-kept grave he was standing next to. Danny gave him a single glance before looking away and continuing his work elsewhere. He learned from experience not everyone wants someone around them when they are visiting their loved ones, so Dany respected the man by giving him space.

It was when Danny was walking back to that again place, he first spotted a bundle of flowers near the grave the man once stood. When he got there, he breathes in deeply at the choice of flowers before place one of his own and walking away.

(Louts flowers, Lewisia's, and Hyacinths.)

(Resurrection, new beginnings and rebirth, regret and sorrow)

(Maybe that's why the grave felt so empty, he thought distantly.)

Surprisingly, the next day, he saw the same man again out in front of his shop. Danny invited him in and ask what he would like.

And the man only said he was visiting his son.

So, Danny gathered a bundle of Primroses, Crocuses, Hyacinths, Forget-me-nots, and Buttercups.

(Primroses for youth and new life. Crocuses for children. Hyacinths for playfulness and energy. Buttercups for childness and youthful joy. Forget-me-nots for remembrance.)

The man walked off and Danny enjoyed the sensation of having a new customer.

Slowly more people came, mothers and fathers and grandparents and siblings and families and lovers. Slowly they all came in his shop and were blanketed by the scent of flowers. Most would ask for a bundle of flowers before leaving for the graveyard, but a few would come back and stay in the shop and take in the peace of it all. He would usually offer them tea (which no one has yet to refuse after taking their first sip) and leave them to thoughtlessly wonder through his store. Once a customer asked why he had names written on the walls which he replied they are the names of people that passed away and their loved ones left behind a message for them on his walls.

(It wasn’t a lie since Danny did have a message for each of his ghost friends he left behind at Amity and the Ghost Zone.)

The customer asked if they could leave a message as well and Danny replied by handing them a marker. It soon became a trend that spread throughout all his customers who would now ask for a marker first instead of him taking their order.

Slowly, Danny was fitting in with the eyes of Gotham no longer cautious but inviting, even soothing in a way. And slowly, so ever so slowly, if you listen just right you can hear that the screaming of the city became just a tab bit silent.

Danny was, ever so slowly, bring peace to Gotham’s land. Not a lot, mind you, but enough to know that one day the land can breathe again.

Then one night, when he was just about to close shop, the bell of his shop’s door rang as some opened the door late at night.

Another continuation later one: Pt3

#dp x dc #dc x dp #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #batfamily #batman #flowers #flower shop

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ohdorothea · 1 month

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hoax: a web weave - part one (part two)

1. hoax 2. ME! 3. the 1 4. All Too Well 5. Babe 6. Better Man 7. Paper Rings 8. High Infidelity 9. Maroon 10. Dress 11. right where you left me 12. Maroon 13. cowboy like me 14. Hits Different 15. King of My Heart 16. willow 17. Tell Me Why 18. Teardrops On My Guitar 19. I’m Only Me When I’m With You 20. illicit affairs 21. ‘tis the damn season 22. hoax 23. Getaway Car 24. Look What You Made Me 25. Call It What You Want 26. Look What You Made Me Do Music Video 27. Tell Me Why 28. Daylight 29. The Archer 30. Run 31. Better Man 32. Slut! 33. Say Don’t Go 34. Foolish One 35. I Don’t Wanna Live Forever 36. cardigan 37. Tell Me Why 38. hoax 39. Forever Winter 40. Style Music Video 41. It’s Nice To Have a Friend 42. This Love 43. Out of the Woods 44. Hits Different 45. coney island 46. Anti-Hero 47. ME! Music Video 48. The Archer 49. Haunted 50. ivy

51. hoax 52. right where you left me 53. this is me trying 54. Nothing New 55. The Way I Loved You 56. King of My Heart 57. evermore 58. coney island 59. Hits Different 60. exile 61. champagne problems 62. All Too Well 63. betty 64. hoax 65. Death By A Thousand Cuts 66. willow 67. So It Goes… 68. Cruel Summer 69. Tell Me Why 70. Bad Blood 71. Say Don’t Go 72. closure 73. long story short 74. High Infidelity 75. Daylight 76. tolerate it 77. Death By a Thousand Cuts 78. hoax 79. Daylight 80. The Archer 81. I Bet You Think About Me 82. 22 83. Treacherous 84. Wonderland 85. Better Man 86. Message In A Bottle 87. hoax 88. Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve 89. Change 90. ivy 91. Getaway Car 92. State of Grace 93. Maroon 94. The Great War 95. The Story of Us 96. Cornelia Street 97. Wonderland 98. Anti-Hero 99. So It Goes… 100. Dear Reader

101. False God 102. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince 103. Afterglow 104. evermore 105. my tears ricochet 106. hoax 107. Holy Ground 108. ivy 109. Dancing With Our Hands 110. Look What You Made Me Do111. Wonderland 112. right where you left me 113. Tell Me Why 114. mad woman 115. the lakes 116. The Great War 117. Cold As You 118. I Knew You Were Trouble 119. hoax 120. long story short 121. Don’t Blame Me 122. this is me trying 123. Red 124. Jump Then Fall 125. seven 126. This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things 127. gold rush 128. the last great american dynasty 129. hoax Lyric Video 130. the lakes 131. hoax 132. Is It Over Now? 133. Clean 134. Teardrops On My Guitar 135. Wonderland 136. seven 137. The Outside 138. Tell Me Why 139. illicit affairs 140. Come In With The Rain 141. Dancing With Our Hands Tied 142. Cornelia Street 143. champagne problems 144. The Other Side of the Door 145. Getaway Car 146. champagne problems 147. cardigan Music Video 148. Cruel Summer 149. hoax 150. If You’re Anything Like Me poem

151. mirrorball 152. White Horse 153. False God 154. I Knew You Were Trouble 155. Cornelia Street 156. False God 157. Love Story 158. Style 159. ivy 160. End Game 161. cowboy like me 162. White Horse 163. Ours 164. The Great War 165. False God 166. ivy 167. How You Get The Girl 168. coney island 169. Hits Different 170. Innocent 171. Look What You Made Me Do 172. You’re On Your Own, Kid 173. It’s Nice To Have a Friend 174. White Horse 175. Don’t Blame Me 176. betty 177. hoax 178. …Ready For It? Music Video 179. Hits Different 180. Forever Winter 181. All Too Well (10 Minute Version) 182. Everything Has Changed 183. Dress 184. Cruel Summer 185. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince 186. Paper Rings 187. Afterglow 188. The Archer 189. Lover 190. Dear John 191. State of Grace 192. Starlight 193. hoax 194. Bejewelled 195. Question…? 196. peace 197. Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince 198. Forever and Always 199. Say Don’t Go 200. Hits Different 201. Bigger Than The Whole Sky 202. Wonderland 203. Lover Music Video

#Taylor swift #web weave #Kelly makes stuff #I hope the citations are easier to navigate now!!!!!!#also thank you to the people who voted/commented on the poll however it turned out to be too big to put in one post anyway!!!!

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acaaai-t · 5 days

Text

3 months and counting

[modern au! scaramouche x gn! reader]

cw: angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, hints at suicide, probably unhealthy coping methods idk

The taste of bitter coffee and overly sweetened scent of dandelion tea lingered, lingered for a little longer than he liked.

Wilted flowers lay by a small vase of fresh ones. The pile of dead flowers seemed to grow bigger with each passing day.

The house was dim, with the only source of light being a weakly lit candle surrounded by empty dishes and untouched cutlery on the dining table. For a place that had felt so big not too long ago, it suddenly seemed to be so small.

Scaramouche hummed quietly to himself as he gently dusted at the debris that clung onto the picture frames. His touch was delicate as his fingers brush against the cold glass. The tune he has been singing echoed off the walls, traveling down the silent hallway.

How long has it been? He wonders.

Three days? A week? Two weeks? Scaramouche had long lost count.

Once he was sure that the picture frame was clean, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. In this empty house, the only thing that stood out most was the wall of what Scaramouche called ‘memories’. Golden frames surrounded photos of all kind, taken by you and hung by him.

He misses you.

On most days, Scaramouche would stay huddle in what once was a shared bedroom, buried deep beneath the blankets, scrolling through past messages. Dark circles heavily marked his under eyes, a stark contrast to his porcelain pale skin.

For the first month, he was a utter mess. Unable to process the tragic news of your sudden death.

It had just felt like yesterday, when the two of you were just out on a date, laughing and giggling.

The world was mocking him, taunting and laughing, watching the hallow shell of the man he once was as he stood there alone in the cemetery. Flowers previously placed by your grave was removed and tossed away, replaced by a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers.

The night you were buried under the willow tree, was the only night he had ever worked up the courage to sit by your grave, and wallow in the despair.

“I miss you,” the three words etched into his mind, quietly spoken into the empty void.

What about the plans you’ve made with him? The promises of a happy ending, a beautiful future.

Gone… all gone, far too soon.

“Will we get a cat too?” your voice was eager, full of hope.

Scaramouche smiled and pressed a small kiss to your temple. “Whatever you want.”

You giggled. “Let’s get a black cat then. I can see the resemblance between you and them.”

“Hey,” he whined.

You beamed up at him. “I love you.”

How he wished time could’ve stopped right there and then, allowing that precious moment to last for an eternity.

“I love you too.”

God, it was so fucking unfair. Why did you have to be the one to die?

It could’ve been anyone else, but you just had to be there at the wrong time.

He slumped down on the empty couch, cushions and throw blankets sitting in the same spot as before. Scaramouche didn’t dare touch anything. He was scared— terrified that if he even so as much move anything a centimeter away, he’ll lose the remaining parts of you that he had so desperately been trying to cling onto.

Scaramouche had already lost you once, he couldn’t lose you for a second time.

The soft golden glow of the ceiling lights flickered in and out for a brief moment, a sign that the electrical bill was long overdue. It was fortunate enough that the landlord took pity upon him and gave Scaramouche an extension to pay his bills.

3 months.

It’s been three whole months since the accident. Three months since he’s shut himself off from the outside world. Three months he spend crying and grieving, fantasizing scenarios of you and him. He knows it’ll never come true, but he can only hope.

Head barely above water, the bits of hope he has is all that’s supporting his weight, preventing him from drowning. Yet as the clock moves, he finds himself sinking lower and lower.

Two hollow knocks to his door startled him out of his trancelike state. “Who,” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

When the answer was delivered with another two knocks, he spoke louder. “What.”

“Scaramouche,” the muffled voice of Childe floated through the thick wood. “Open the door.”

He scowled, body already moving before his mind had even processed Childe’s words. The door cracked open with a soft creak, a silver of the sunlight spilling into the dark house. Scaramouche squeezed his eyes closed, momentarily blinded by the light. It’s been so long since he’s seen the sun.

Childe’s shadow stepped in and blocked out the light. He gave Scaramouche a tired smile. “Archons you look like shit.”

Scaramouche said nothing and kept his silent gaze on him.

The ginger sighed. “I was hoping you’d come visit… them, with us.”

There were no names mentioned, yet Scaramouche almost instantly knew who Childe was referring to. He felt his body tense up.

“Look, I’m not trying to force you or anything, but we all miss them, and you too, ‘mouche… you haven’t talked with any of us in three month now.”

Guilt gnawed at his heart, eating away yet another piece.

He hadn’t meant to neglect his friends. None of the things he was doing was intentional.

“… I’m sorry,” he whispered, lowering his gaze, unable to keep eye contact with Childe. He fear that if he continued, tears would begin to formulate, and there’d be nothing to stop them from flowing.

“Mind if I come in?” Childe’s voice softened.

Scaramouche felt tears prickling at his eyes. Childe placed one hand on his shoulder, gently giving a pat— and that was what finally broke him. The water droplets fell uncontrollably, rolling down his cheeks. A pitiful sight to behold.

Childe pulled him into a hug and remained quiet. There wasn’t much he could say to comfort Scaramouche’s pain. Everyone was still grieving, him included.

His quiet sniffles slowly died down. Just this one time, he thought to himself, wiping away at a tear. It’s the least he can do.

“Let me get my things,” Scaramouche’s voice was hoarse. A pain-like expression was scrawled across his features as he pulled away from Childe and step back into the shadows of his home.

There wasn’t much he needed to do to get ready. He’d given up on life the moment he was given the news that you didn’t make it. Why he had been fighting for so long, he didn’t understand.

He threw on a simple black cardigan, it was a handmade gift from you to him. In your words, it took you a week and a half to make it— “i hope you’ll like it,” you said sheepishly.

Of course he’ll love it. Cherish it even till death.

He took in a deep breath and went to look for Childe. The medications stored in his pockets jangled against the hard plastic with each step he took.

The last strands of hope snapped, and he sunk. Bubbles floating to the surface as his darkened silhouette slowly disappeared under the void of water.

Tonight, he decided. Tonight, he’ll be able to see you again.

The lights sputtered out as Scaramouche flipped the switch. With the last bits of power it has, the lights illuminated the series of letter sprawled across the glass coffee table— each one address to someone dear to him.

Then it all went dark.

✩ ·┆ masterlist

notes—

— this was fun to write

#[💫] acaaai-t #astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin #genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin scaramouche x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 4 months

Note

Every year at the start of December s/o becomes a kiss assassin, leaving mistletoe in strange places, offten hidden in plain sight but over looked.

s/o will have kisses and that is a threat

(Obviously if skelly isnt down to kiss they wont )

Have a mix between the two of them!

Undertale Sans - He tries to escape his fate, but you're very persistent. So Sans will do everything to make your job harder, hiding in impossible places or teasing you from places you can't reach, challenging you to come and get him, before teleporting elsewhere as soon as you reach him. He's a dirty cheater. And the worse is that it's making him laugh. Once you have him though, you're wrapping him in gift paper and torturing him for hours.

Undertale Papyrus - He likes that game a little too much and starts a competition out of this. Now you're two trying to get the other to kiss, and Papyrus is counting points. He's going to win this battle and flush you to death, so you better give up now before you regret it. You bet you'll give up! Gyftmas Eve, you have the same score. Gyftmas day is going to be a war.

Underswap Sans - He's a blushing mess, but also, you swear you saw him running under the mistletoe, screaming that he has to kiss you now, sounding so excited. He's far from running away from the tradition and he will gladly find all the mistletoes you hid away and have his kisses for this well-done task.

Underswap Papyrus - He turns bright orange every time it's happening, unable to look you in the eyes. He can't stop purring and he thinks it's so embarrassing. He's just so happy to have this much attention during December. It's like his favorite period ever and he will insist you keep on with the tradition all January because why should Gyftmas be only one month, that's boring.

Underfell Sans - He cleverly cleans all the mistletoe during the night so you don't get him during the day. Too bad he's really bad at finding it and he gets tricked every day by your hiding skills. Don't tell him you understood he was the one taking off the mistletoe so you put it back in the morning, he's going to pout. He's so frustrated, but he's no chicken so he kisses you anyway. But don't get the wrong idea, he's clearly not defeated yet!

Underfell Papyrus - Oh come on! That's cheating! Why your mistletoe is always working but never his? You think you're so much better than him? He'll show you how good he is! He can be a serial kisser as well! He's going to ruin your little prank by kissing you even more and then you'll crawl at his feet begging him to tell you how he managed to get you every time! You're not going to defeat him like that, he is the Great and Terrible Papyrus! You can't stop laughing at his tantrums every time you get him. Edge is so mad.

Horrortale Sans - You all have a headache because now, every time Oak sees you, he's purring like a tractor to have a kiss. He doesn't care there is no mistletoe anymore, he just realized he has free kisses this month and he wants to get as much as he can, even if it means he has to purr like a pneumatic drill all month. Willow is judging you so much for this.

Horrortale Papyrus - He gasps loudly every time he spots a mistletoe, as he knows what is coming. You then have the pleasure to see his face turn bright red as he's shifting awkwardly, blushing more and more as you get closer. The first times are fine. At the end of the month, it's just attempted murder. Willow is on the verge of crying every time you got him. Please, he loves to be showered with kisses, but he's begging you: that's too much now! He can't take it anymore!

Swapfell Sans - He rolls his eyes at you every time, but you suspect he likes that more than he lets one because when he finds a mistletoe and you're not around, he's so disappointed lol. And after that, he comes to find you to claim his kiss pretending you're going to get annoyed if he doesn't play your silly little game. Yeah, sure. That's probably that, right.

Swapfell Papyrus - He's going to ruin your game by always putting something between the two of you when you're trying to kiss him. It can be Edge's cat, an old sock, a pillow, his feet somehow, a rubber chicken, and even a chicken mc nugget once. God, you hate him so much! Rus loves your game though, he's never running out of new ideas to destroy your hopes.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He hisses every time you kiss him, but he's not trying to get away. It's just an angry hiss for his reputation, but you know he secretly likes this. He's a blushing mess and he sometimes even loses his words after you did that. He's too proud to accept he's enjoying this. Now get off his face this instant!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - What do you mean only one kiss?! That's unacceptable! He wants more! He's going to cover the house in mistletoe so you can't do anything but kiss him all day long. Please, he needs attention. Give the boy more attention! He's begging you! It's December, you should give him even more attention!

Mafiatale Sans - You want to get him dirty like that? That's too easy. He's going to make you struggle to get to him by trapping the house with lame magic tricks to give you hints of where to find him for your kiss. But... Uh... He's not as talented as his brother with puzzles and traps and one out of two doesn't work so that's a bit embarrassing. You end up tearing the whole house to find him, not caring if he's not happy about you cheating. You're gonna get your kiss!

Mafiafell Papyrus - He stares at the mistletoe like it insulted his family on twenty generations every time you tricked him into this. He won't run away, he's too proud of this, but he's not happy you managed to trick him this easily. Added to that, you won't stop calling him the Grinch because he doesn't like Gyftmas all that much and that's pissing him off even more. Why would you do that to him? You lucky he saw you're going to gift him a new gun at Gyftmas because he wouldn't do it otherwise lol. That's how he's nice.

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #mafiatale #mafiafell #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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halfmoth-halfman · 8 months

Text

the willow maid

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: implied smut, blood, death, loss, bittersweet ending Prompt: Fairytale!AU & “It was the biggest mistake I ever made.” & the song, the willow maid by erutan Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: here it is!!! the final fic for @glitterypirateduck’s GazFest 2023!! i hope you guys had as much fun with gazfest as i did!!! and thank you to the amazing glitterypirateduck for putting it all together!!!!! 💜

The tavern is nestled on the far edge of town, a barely held-together building run by an even more decrepit barkeep. Half resting on the edge of the forest, half consumed by the rich greenery, vines and roots split through the walls and upend the cracking cobblestones around it. The windows are covered in a layer of dust, door hanging on by a single bolt, entrance covered in years of muddy boot prints. Every imperfection is only amplified under the light of the early morning sun.

They’re given bread while they wait, circled around the lopsided table pressed up against the clean window, and MacTavish is the only one brave enough to try it. It’s good, if a bit off in a way he can’t fully describe; it’s sweet and light, but there’s a bitterness lurking on his tongue when he swallows.

The ale arrives and, with it, their long-awaited companion.

He’s quiet, Simon notices. There are only two other people in this tavern, a shifty-eyed child with no shoes and fidgeting hands and a cloaked figure lying with their head on the bar, but Simon hadn’t seen their newfound friend approach. It sets him on edge, more than usual.

(It had been MacTavish who found him, bursting into the inn they'd been staying at with a wide grin and a piece of torn parchment.

“Got a lead on the flower,” he’d said, handing Price the scrap to let him examine the hastily drawn map. “Met a man who claimed t’ have seen th’ bloom himself. Said to meet him there in three days’ time, jus’ after sunrise.”

Price had been skeptical, but it’d been weeks since their last lead dried up, and their gold was beginning to run low.. Desperate times, and all that.)

MacTavish told them everything he knew about his mysterious contact, but they hadn’t expected him to be so young.

Barely a year older than MacTavish, the man sits across from them with a polite smile and his hands clasped on the table where everyone can see them.

Everything about him is dark. His skin, his hair, his eyes. Even his cloak is a deep plum material, unpatterned and plain.

There’s nothing particularly special about him at first glance, but they know something’s not quite right about this man.

He’s too…clean, too put together. There’s no mud on his boots, no signs of hardship or travel, and his clothes are too purposefully plain despite the high quality of the stitching. His movements are too practiced, too elegant, as he takes a slice of bread and fills his cup with manners befitting someone of a far higher station. There’s not a mark or scratch on him, save for the single scratch across is left cheek.

This man is not what he seems.

“Your friend tells me you’re looking for the Willow’s Wail,” the man speaks, polished, measured, curious.

The three straighten at the mention of the flower.

It was supposed to be a myth, an old wives tale to tell your children when you put them to sleep. A story about a powerful Fae and a cunning boy who outfoxed her, obtaining a single seed from her garden as a reward.

But the boy, in his excitement at besting the Fair Fae, didn’t notice he’d dropped the seed just before leaving the fae realm. When the boy finally realized and returned to retrieve it, it was too late. The seed had fallen on the wrong side of the barrier between his world and theirs and he was forced to watch it grow until it bloomed a beautiful, glowing white.

The boy had one night to admire its beauty before its petals began to fall and the flower wilted. The wind carried the drifting petals, spreading them far and wide to bloom across the mortal realm. The boy was lucky enough to catch one, and it was said that the magic from that single petal granted the boy his heart's desire.

There were countless names for it.

Moondrop. Angel’s Kiss. Ghostheart. Star Rose.

It changed over the centuries, varying region by region, along with the story, but the details stayed the same.

A glowing, white flower that blooms for one night with enough potent magic in a single petal to keep you safe and sated for the rest of your life.

So many had claimed to have seen it, to have picked an entire bloom and reveled in its sweet scent. How many of the rich and mighty claimed to have one hidden in their vaults? How many urchins kept themselves going with the hope of one day finding a bloom, and pulling themselves from poverty?

How many rumors had their own merry little group chased, claiming to know where to find a moondrop or angel’s kiss or ghostheart?

Though, Simon’s never heard someone refer to it as the Willow’s Wail before.

“You know where to find one, I take it?” Price asks. The man nods through a mouthful of bread, taking a sip of the spiced honey ale before he answers.

“Not just where to find it,” he hums, picking at the crust of his bread. “I know how to grow one.”

That’s new.

There have been plenty who claimed to have found a petal. Even some who’ve said they’ve made their own deal with the Fae from the story.

But there’s never been someone who claimed to have a seed before.

The man says it so casually, Simon is almost inclined to believe him.

“S’pose ye’ll be wantin’ a trade for it?” MacTavish chuckles, already bracing himself for what will either be an absurd amount of coin or a request for a near-impossible task.

“Of sorts,” the man shrugs.

Simon does not like this, and one glance at Price tells him that the older man feels the same.

Price folds his arms across his chest, metal bracers clinking against his chest piece. “What’s your price?”

“A story,” the man simply says.

“You want us to tell you a story?” Even through the shrouded mask, the disbelief is clear in Simon’s voice.

This has to be a trick. The man is clearly a swindler, wasting their time to get a free meal.

“Quite the opposite,” the man laughs. “I’d like to tell you a story. One about how I came across this flower, and, if you manage to make it to the end, I’ll tell you how to grow the flower for yourselves.”

The trio shares a look of wary skepticism, knowing they all share the same thought. Something isn’t right here. It can’t be this simple, this easy. Not when they’ve spent months exhausting every resource, every contact–from officials in the high courts to the lowest of street urchins–available only to come up empty-handed.

This man is bold, brazen, and a liar. On that, they can all agree.

But there’s something about the way he’s so casually confident in his words. Something simmers just beneath the surface with this man. Something strange. Something…sad.

He may not be telling the truth about the flower, but they’re sure he has some information that could be valuable to them.

Price looks to the other two, brows raised in question. Simon and MacTavish each give him a single, reaffirming nod.

“Alright,” Price sighs, leaning back in his crooked chair. “Tell us your story, Mr…”

There’s an awkward pause when Price realizes MacTavish never gave him this man’s name, made only more awkward when MacTavish’s eyes widen as he realizes he doesn’t know the name, either.

The man takes it in stride, a soft chuckle as he tells them, “Garrick. Kyle Garrick.”

An old name. A rich name. A name written in royal histories about the first kings.

The name of a family that’s been dead for over a century.

There’s a hum around the table, a low buzz that sinks deep into their bones and weighs down their limbs.

Kyle sets his plate aside, staring them down with a toothy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something flashes across his face, a brief flicker of silver barely caught in the sunlight. There are no words spoken, but they all know–

They are trapped here.

“We’ll start with something familiar, then,” Kyle hums, sharp eyes sliding over to MacTavish. The look of someone who’s obtained a victory.

“Once upon a time…”

…There were no kings or queens to rule over the land.

No kingdoms, or even cities.

There was simply the Village and the Forest.

It was a simple exchange, a simple harmony between the two. The Forest would provide food, lumber, livestock, and protection so that the village could thrive, and the villagers would take only what they needed. No more, no less.

The villagers did not ask where these things came from. They did not demand to know the name of their benevolent caretaker. They said their thanks, made their offerings, created festivals to celebrate their Forest.

They were grateful.

Until the night of the full moon, when a young man, drunk from a week of celebrating the harvest, wandered into the trees. It had been a dare, a test of bravery from the woman whose hand he sought.

“Name your price, and I swear to you, I’ll provide it!” the man had foolishly declared, loud enough for all of his friends to hear.

The woman had no intention of marrying him, desperate to be rid of his affections as she preferred another, richer man. She smirked at him, nose high in the air as she told him, “I’ll take your hand and name, but three things you must bring me. First, a ring made from the brightest star in the sky. Second, a dress sewn from the silk of the sea spider queen that resides in the lake–”

Already an impossible task, a joke made of the proposal and the man.

But the woman was not finished, her grin cruel as she spoke her final request, “And last, a cloak made from the hide of the rarest creature to dwell in the Forest.”

Where there had been laughter, silence now loomed.

To go into the Forest…

It had never been done, an unspoken rule passed down through generations. They were only meant to take, to thank, to leave. Never to enter.

But the man would not be deterred, a dangerous mix of love and liquid courage coursing through his veins.

He turned on his heels, picked up his bow, and marched straight into the Forest.

It didn’t take long for the noises of the village to fade behind him, and the world to grow dark. The trees were too thick for the moonlight to reach, plunging him into unfamiliar darkness.

But the man would not be discouraged. He pressed forward, walking until his legs shook and the drink wore off, determined to find his rare creature.

And a rare creature he did find.

After hours in the black of the Forest, the man heard a voice. A sweet song, drifting through the leaves to reach down into his very soul. He felt light, the pain in his muscles fading as it lured him deeper and deeper and deeper.

–Into the very heart of the Forest.

A weeping willow larger than any tree he’d ever seen resting in a ring of red toadstools. So large was it, it broke the canopy of the Forest, its weeping white blooms glowing in the pale moonlight. Soft petals and catkins drifted in the gentle breeze, littering the pale blue grass beneath his feet.

And there, in the gold of its branches laid her.

Skin textured like bark, clothed in a dress of draping pale petals, hair so long it wound high into the branches, the Willow Maid sang into the warm, night air.

Entranced by her voice, her beauty, her presence, the man abandoned his bow. His proposal forgotten, he stepped forward eager to hear more of the maiden’s song.

Unable to keep his arms from her ethereal form, he unwittingly stepped over the threshold of toadstools. A gust of wind carried the last of her song, as she turned in her branches to stare down at him.

A piercing gaze, ever-shifting through the colors of the rarest gems. She watched him, staring into him, around him, through him.

Cautious. Curious.

So overcome by her beauty was he, the man spoke without thought, “Fair Willow Maid, I would seek forgiveness for interrupting your lovely song.”

A dangerous thing, to be indebted to her, but the man did not care.

“Then my forgiveness is granted,” she said, voice echoing in the drifting of leaves and waves of the grass. “But it is not forgiveness which brought you to my willow bed. You seek the hand of a woman. A love to be bought and born of my demise.”

“A hide,” he corrected, flinching under her accusation. “Of the rarest creature to dwell in this Forest.”

“What is rarer than the Forest’s own master?”

The man could not answer, stunned by this revelation.

Master of the forest, of beasts, and of men. And he had sought to kill her for a love unrequited.

“You will return to the object of your desires, a failure. My hide is mine own, and I will not allow it to be taken by a love-sickened hunter.”

Foolish and guilty the man may have been, but he was also clever, and a solution quickly came to his mind.

He could not return with the hide, but that did not mean he had to return empty-handed.

“Come with me, dear maiden,” he called into the branches. “Come from thy willow bed, and meet those who would worship at your feet.”

There was no anger in her, no offense at the thought she would be so vain as to want of worship, but instead peace.

Calm.

Serenity.

A gentle, pitying smile, her voice soft as the moonlight, “I cannot leave this place, daring hunter. Instead, I may present you with a parting gift.”

The winds shifted, drooping branches caressed his face.

The man blinked and found himself at the Forest’s edge, staring out at the sun rising over his village with his bow in hand. Around his neck hung a locket of pure gold, a glowing white willow carved into the center.

“I give you this gift,” her voice drifted into his ears, faint and distant. “Proof that you have been blessed by my forest. You may return if you’d like, but I warn you. Don’t ask me to follow where you lead.”

Kyle pauses to take a drink, his attention elsewhere long enough for their limbs to loosen slightly.

“Tha’s quite the tale ye have,” MacTavish says once he regains control of his mouth.

“So, the flowers are Fae magic,” Price hums. “Guess the stories were right about that.”

“More than you’d think,” Kyle sighs, a bitter chuckle as he sets down his cup.

“Forests are all cut down and contained now,” Simon says, cold, calculating eyes kept on Kyle.

“Aye, and th’ Fae Folk are all but gone,” MacTavish adds. There’s a grimace on Kyle’s face, a flinch that he covers by pretending to rub at his eyes.

“The flowers must be left over from the willows, then?” Price deduces, his head tilted towards their storyteller. Kyle shrugs, with a noncommittal nod that sets off alarms in Simon’s head.

“Where did you hear this story?” the masked mask asks. “We’ve heard all of the tales, the bedtime stories, the songs. Yet, I don’t think we’ve ever heard of a Willow Maid.”

“Very few have,” Kyle says simply. “For good reason.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Simon scoffs. “A man we hardly know, telling a story no one else has heard of, about a flower that might not even exist.” He looks to Price, the request clear in his eyes.

This is a waste of time. We should leave.

“The deal wasn’t for you to believe me.” Kyle’s voice is sharp, a dangerous edge laced across the tight smile on his face. “The deal was for you to listen.”

The word hisses from his mouth, and Simon feels his muscles tighten painfully. MacTavish groans next to him, and Simon knows he and Price are feeling the same. A weight holds them down, keeps them in their chairs, unable to move or look at anything other than Kyle.

Kyle simply smiles.

“If I may continue?”

…The village had hailed him a hero.

To have gone into the Forest, and emerged with its blessing? There was no higher achievement, no feat more accomplished.

They showered him in gifts, in favors, in endless wealth.

The woman whose hand he sought all but threw herself into his arms, so proud to accept his proposal now.

Yet, he denied it all. He did not want gold nor gems nor silks. He did not care if he had the biggest house, the fattest livestock, the fullest larder.

His heart’s true desire rested in the heart of the Forest, nestled safely in her tree.

He visited the Willow Maid often, disappearing into the Forest trees for weeks at a time. Others tried to follow him, tried to gain the Forest’s favor just as he had. All but him were spurned, led into the depth of the trees only to be twisted and turned and led back to where they had started.

The woman he once sought grew so green with jealousy, she marched into the Forest promising to find what had stolen his affections with a sharp knife and bundle of matchsticks. She never returned, and the Forest refused to provide until the man visited again to apologize on the village’s behalf.

They stopped following him after that.

The man was not bothered, content to be left alone with his Willow Maid. He enjoyed his time, resting in the shade of her tree, listening to her sing or telling her tales from his childhood. He spoke with her, laughed with her, learned about her and her Forest and her creatures.

Years passed, and his visits grew. He had befriended her, treasured her, loved her.

And she loved him in return.

The village was alight with rumor and speculation when the man walked into the Forest, dressed in his finest with a bundle of fresh sunflowers in hand.

Unwavering faith. Admiration. Sincerity.

To love until the end.

A proposal with the highest affections.

He stood beneath her willow and wrapped the flowers in the moonlit branches. They carried the fresh blooms to his love, his declaration loud for all of the Forest to hear–

“You’ve captured my heart, my sweet Willow Maid. With your Forest’s blessing, I would be honored to be your groom.”

She smelled the sunflowers, cradling them in her arms like the most precious of gifts. She released them to the branches, watching them drift high into the willow, out of her sight and out of his.

The wind whispered across his cheek, blossoms shrouding the maiden before she appeared before him at the base of the tree. He took her into his arms, holding her close against him. Everything about her was perfect, the velvet soft petals of her gown, the radiating warmth of her skin, the smell of ambrosia in her hair.

There would be no other for him, in this life and every life.

His heart was completely hers, just as hers was his.

“My dear, darling hunter,” she spoke, her hands a soft caress on his cheeks. “I can wed you never. Not near, nor far, nor soon.”

A heart-shattering rejection that would have ruined him for love eternally had she not looked so mournful. So regretful.

“Why?” he begged. “What is it that keeps you from me?”

A hand on his heart, the other on her tree he feels the pulse–the life–thrum through her fingertips. “I told you, I cannot leave this place.”

He grasped her hand in his, his voice a sweet murmur as he gave her his solution. “Then don’t.”

A long-awaited kiss, and an even longer-awaited night possessed by the feel, the touch, the love of one another. A promise of dedication, of ever-lasting love. Whispers sewn into the infinite roots of her willow.

They rested against her tree after, pressed against one another as she traced along his chest, a glowing willow forever marked over his heart.

“The Forest is not your home, my lovely hunter, and I would not be so cruel as to bind you to it. You may come and go as you please. I will always be here, awaiting your visits, but you cannot ask me to follow where you lead.”

A plea unheard, falling deaf on sleeping ears.

The barkeep comes to refill the ale, and the pressure releases as Kyle thanks him with a smile.

“This is startin’ to sound…personal,” MacTavish jokes, and Price is thankful for the man’s sharp eyes and unrestrained tongue.

Kyle murmurs something they don’t catch, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Perhaps it is,” he shrugs. There’s something playful in his tone. Mischievous. As if he's proud of their keen attentions.

“Laying with the Fae’s an awfully bold thing to do, but promising yourself to one?” Price lets out a low whistle.

“Foolish, more like,” MacTavish chuckles.

It wasn’t unheard of. There were stories of humans being whisked away in the night to live a life of comfort and luxury among their Fae lovers. They were mostly fairytales, told to satisfy young children and hopeless romantics, as most of those who’d grown already knew of the dangers of the Fae.

They knew the true nature of the Fae, and that a mortal’s comfort often went hand in hand with servitude. Wealth and luxury were rewards for proper entertainment and could be stripped away at a moment’s notice. The Fae were as cruel as they were kind, and their promises were not to be taken lightly.

“Maybe a little of both,” Kyle hums. “Love makes fools of even the best of us.”

“I’ll drink t’ tha’!” MacTavish laughs, and the pressure in his limbs loosens enough to allow him to toast his cup against Kyle’s.

“So,” Simon speaks up, flexing his hands as a test of mobility. When he’s given range, he leans back his chair, one hand resting around his cup. “What happened next?”

There’s something mournful in Kyle’s smile. A pained regret they very easily recognize.

They’ve all known that sting of loss.

“What happened next…”

…It was the tree.

The willow–her willow–kept her bound to the Forest, away from her love. She had tried everything in her power to make it see reason, to let her wander from its ring of toadstools.

She made offerings, formed new creatures to take her stead, begged at its roots.

It denied her every time.

The man tried to stay with her, but I–he could not thrive in the moonlight alone. He could not live off of Forest’s magic as she could. He had to return to the village.

They were resigned to spend their years as often apart as with each other. Not a moment together was wasted. Their joinings were beautiful–soft and tender and full of love–and their partings were miserable. They mourned in their time away, grief-stricken and sick with yearning for their other half.

Five years of this unending misery, and the man had had enough.

He stormed through the forest, a fury of determination. The trees parted for him, in fear of the sharpness of his eyes and of the axe in his hands.

He was going to take his faerie—his wife—and free her from her prison. They were going to be happy together, raise their children together, live their lives together as they were meant to.

He did not waste time when he reached the clearing, did not give her warning before his first swing.

The roots sprung forth, ripping through the earth to lash at the hunter, striking across his face to draw blood from his cheek.

Still, he did not stop.

Neither did the tree.

The Willow Maid dove from its branches, shielding her hunter’s body with her own, taking the strike in his place.

The willow halted its assault, axe planted firmly in its trunk.

She stumbled to her feet, the split across her back dripping into the pale grass, staining its blades a shimmering gold. She stepped a sure foot forward, crushing the toadstools beneath her bare feet, and took the axe in hand.

The echoes of her wailing melted into the cracking of the wood.

The cry of her willow as it fell would haunt the forest for a millennium.

She collapsed into sobs, but it was not for her willow that she cried. She cradled the bloodied body of her poor, dear hunter close to her chest. Hair falling around them, its long tendrils soaked by the sweet smelling blood-sap oozing from her tree.

She wept.

For him, for her, for their freedom and love.

She wept.

Her willow personified.

She waited until he was strong enough to stand, to face her, to hold her. A kiss over the cold corpse of her once caretaker.

He led her back through the forest, hand clasped tightly around hers, ready to bring her home. His home, her home, their home.

When they came to the forest edge, she gasped at the sight of the village. The burning orange sunset streaked across the fields, the speckle of lights from their windows against the darkening land, the sound of cheer and laughter and freedom.

Her smile was bright enough to rival the stars, eager to start her new life with her love eternal.

Two steps past the forest edge.

That was as far as she got.

Two steps beyond the threshold and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hunter held onto her, lowering her into the warm grass. Her body seized in his arms, barkskin peeling and flaking into thin wood chips. Cheeks sinking in, hair thinning into long blades of grass, petal clothes wilting against her body.

She pawed at his face, eyes wild with fear and confusion. Her whimpers and wordless pleas broke his heart, begging every god he could think of to fix his sweet Willow Maid.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be happy. Together.

He felt her fade, her body melting in his arms, and a shrieking lament tore from his throat as he lost his one and only love, left with only her dim golden blood sliding through his fingers.

The sun set, the moon taking its place high in the sky.

The wind whispered across his skin, a fresh sting against the cut on his cheek, carrying with it the voice of her fallen willow.

“You’ve stolen from me that which is most precious. Don’t you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?”

The Forest murmurs, trees rustled in the growing moonlight. Shimmering silver growing and growing from the dense woods, until it was almost blinding.

“You have taken but you have not given in return, and so I make this trade instead. I will take from you what you took from me.”

The golden blood began to glow on his hands, glow on the ground, glow in the moonlight, light rising and rising and rising. It skimmed petal-soft across his hands, slinking into the grass where the dirt drank and digested it.

There was shouting from the village as the lights crescendoed into one final, blinding beam then faded entirely. Everything was left in muted, dull tones as if the color was stripped from the world, the Forest silent and still for the first time since its conception.

He knew that the Forest would provide for them no longer.

All that remained was a beautiful, glowing flower. A moon-white blossom, a cruel reminder of what he had done.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet, one last biting sentence from the willow.

“You can not take from the Forest what was never meant to leave.”

Kyle finishes his tale with a sigh of longing.

“It was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he says, eyes cast down at the table.

“A cruel lesson,” Price laments, eyes full of sympathy for the young man.

“And one repaid in blood,” Kyle sighs grimly. He takes a deep swig, setting his cup aside as the pressure lifts entirely from the group across from him.

“The flower wilted by morning, taken from me forever, and I…did not respond kindly. I took up arms against the Forest’s creatures, hunted them to near extinction, and cut down every tree in sight. The magic was gone, but my people rejoiced. They named me Garrick, Spear King.”

The table goes still.

They’ve heard of the Great Spear King. There’s not a soul alive who hasn’t. The story of how he founded the kingdoms, brought the world to rule under one benevolent ruler, was taught to every child, passed on through every generation.

There were holidays named for him. Parades in his honor.

Respects paid to his burial chambers every year.

Kyle watches the realization wash over them, the skepticism, the caution. He stands from the table, a small gesture out the window.

“The ruins of my village lie a tenday’s walk in that direction. Just beyond the flooded river, in a deep valley. There are remnants, sometimes, when the moon is brightest. You may not get everything you wished for, but there is power in that soil.”

“And that’s what the others found? Is it truly soil that they keep hidden in their vaults? Is it dirt that they credit their wealth and power to?” Simon scoffs.

“If it is, it’s not from the Fae,” Kyle shrugs. “There’s nothing left of their magic in this world. I made sure of it.”

“Then, why tell us?” MacTavish questions. The once-king shrugs again, adjusting the fastening of his cloak.

“Curiosity? Boredom? Or perhaps, I just wanted someone to know the truth, and you lot seemed trustworthy enough.”

It should be a compliment, the highest honor given from the man who founded their nation, but it feels…sad.

“I wish you luck, travelers. It is a rare day indeed that I find myself so open to sharing secrets.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for them to say their goodbyes, or say anything really. He gives them a curt nod, and turns to head up the stairs to the tavern’s second floor.

They wait until nightfall to leave, making their way down the path under the shroud of darkness.

Kyle watches from the window of his room, sitting tucked in the windowsill. His cloak abandoned on the uneven bed, he smooths his thumb over the well-worn metal of the locket around his neck. The tree’s glow is dim, barely noticeable unless he cups his hands around it, but it’s there.

He waits until the trio fades from his vision, shifting against the rotting wood to sit up straight. The moonlight casts its shine down through the foggy panes, but it’s enough light to satisfy him.

Pressing his fingers into the sides of locket, he holds it under the light as it opens with a soft click.

Petals burst from the seams, throwing the locket open to release a beautiful, bountiful white bloom. The flower soaks up the moonlight, waves of golden light pulsing over its velvet petals.

For one moment, he is that young man again, no longer carrying the burden of loss in his eyes, or the torment of a man who has been granted the curse of eternal life.

He presses a tender kiss to the flower. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

The flower glows just a bit brighter.

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #mw fics #moth writes #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: loss #private

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jwirecs · 8 months

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RECOMMENDED SEVENTEEN FICS OF AUGUST 2023💖

hello, hello! here are my recs for seventeen for august! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers 💝

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

Dare You || @dontflailmenow🔞💕✅💯

↳ One dare. One night. One creepy, people-died-here, dilapidated house. Two reluctant explorers. Of course it’s Halloween.

Keep It Quiet || @jaemified🔞💕✅💯

↳ you and seungcheol never liked taking risks, especially with 8 of his 12 roommates home. but, up until your self control couldn’t handle it anymore, you both found it was best to keep it quiet.

Laundry Room || @ikigaisvt🔞💕✅

↳ in which your husband is really good at cleaning - and he looks hot doing so.

Taking Care of Their S/O having Foot Pain From Their Heels || @wheeboo💕✅

↳ Anon Req: heyy there! your blog is amazing <3 i recently went to a party and wore a new pair of very uncomfortable 4in heels for like five to six hours ( ended up getting cuts and blisters :’)) so may I request svt members reacting to s/o who tortured their feet in heels for a party? tysm<3

Your Cherry Flavored Kisses || @hannyoontify💕✅

↳ as his mom always said, kisses are the best kind of medicine for boo-boos

I Hate U, I Love U || @wonusite🔞💕💔✅

↳ After finally managing to escape the lifelong rivalry you once had with Yoon Jeonghan, you’re unexpectedly thrown back into the undesirable feud after receiving a scholarship to the most prestigious private school in the city. Despite your attempts to leave the past in the past, you discover too late that you’re the only one interested in letting the vendetta go. Years later, there’s a switch in dynamic when you’re the one unwilling to let it go.

The Very First Night || @shuadrive💕💔✅

↳ the search for a new place to live takes a turn for the worse when the only person willing to split rent with you is your ex-boyfriend.

Close Proximity || @chilligyu💕💔✅

↳ when she first met mingyu, she didn’t know what to expect. she was desperate for a roommate, he needed a place to stay. they were exactly what the other needed, in more ways than one.

Contusion Confusion || @seungkwansphd💕💔✅

↳ your clumsy lab partner left a bruise on you. seungcheol seems disproportionately upset by it, but it makes way more sense once you understand why.

Jihoon's Puppy || @rubyreduji💕💔✅💯💯💯

↳ jihoon can’t seem to shake the puppy dog who keeps following him around or the teasing he gets for it

Kidult || @hoeforhao💕💔✅💯

↳ can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

Real Eyes, Fake Lies || @wooataes💕💔🔄💯

↳ What do you do when you find out the one person that was created by the universe to be yours doesn’t want you back?

Willow || @wongyuuu💕💔✅

↳ seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

Your Games Suck: Next Level || @onlymingyus🔞✅💯💯

↳ (no summary but just think, wonwoo and seungcheol???. yes please.)

I'm Dating Woozi || @jihoonotes💕✅

↳ y/n is in a public relationship w/ woozi of SVTZ and decides to make a twitter acc to support jihoon, but SVTZ fans seem to think they're delusional.

Pang! || @kkumawrites💕💔✅

↳ You'd consider yourself a simple college student, a freshman who just wants to survive their first year - but things get complicated when you're suddenly falling for someone you definitely shouldn't be, especially since he has a girlfriend already.

Yearning || @jihoonotes💕💔✅💯

↳ for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight.. oops?

[Tales From The Pack] Soonyoung: Imperfect || @gamerwoo🔞💕💔✅💯

↳ Soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. Then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. He’d always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected.

Do check out all of the other seventeen fics that i have reblogged as well!!

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen smut #seventeen social media au #seventeen werewolf au #seventeen established relationship au #seventeen enemies to lovers au #seventeen exes to lovers au #svt fic recs #svt recs #seventeen fic recs #seventeen recs

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starry-eyesanddaydreams · 3 months

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NSFW Alphabet - Sinclair Bryant

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sweet and gentle. He’ll hold you as you come down from your high, running his fingers through your hair and giving you gentle kisses. Later, you’ll cuddle up against his side with his arm around your shoulder as he reads. If you ask him he’ll read out loud for you and you fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s not actually given it much thought for himself before. Maybe his hair? For you though, he loves your waist. His hands always find their way to your waist, his hands resting against your hip or arms wrapped around your middle.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's a pretty clean person in that regard, he likes to come deep inside you. He dreams about having a baby with you one day too, which only makes him want to be inside you more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d love to see you do a strip tease for him, but he doesn’t know how to ask you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's decently experienced. But he's not had many partners before and is more on the vanilla side.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Side by side, facing each other. He likes being wrapped up with you, being able to look in your eyes and have as much skin contact as he can.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You can make each other laugh very easily. Something like fumbling with clothes or stumbling into something while making out or trying to get undressed will start you both with a fit of the giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his personal grooming, but he's not overly concerned with it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a very romantic person. Making love with you is something special and wonderful to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If he's been apart from you for a while, he will. Or if you ask him to while you're in bed so you can watch him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Two words - Food kink. From kissing you at breakfast to taste the jam on your lips, to in bed licking chocolate sauce off your breasts, you are his favourite desert.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed, on the couch, in the shower. The most adventurous place was under a willow tree by the river.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you're just at home being comfortably domestic, like cooking dinner or curled up reading a book. It makes him so happy, and part of him was afraid he'd never be so happy, he wants to just lavish you with all the love he feels. Also, how you listen when he starts rambling about something. He knows he waffles on and is used to people tuning him out, but you actually listen, you find him interesting, and it makes him want to actually stop talking and kiss every inch of you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He'd never share you with anyone else (not that you'd want too anyway). And nothing public either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn't mind receiving, but he really likes giving.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual, all the way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers being able to take his time and be comfortable, but you've indulged in quickies a few times. Usually in the shower before he goes to work.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's up for a bit of experimentation. His curiosity will have him trying something at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually once is enough to satisfy you both, but you can go two or three times if you're both in the mood.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You've played around with vibrators sometimes. Either he would use it on you, or you'd use it on yourself while he watched.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's not really a teaser, not deliberately anyway. When he's taking his time with kisses and touches, it can feel like teasing to you, but he's just enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not really loud. Gasps and moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's got some sub tendencies, and he turns to putty in your hands when you get playfully commanding. One time you told him to "get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use" and he almost tripped over a coffee table to get to you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Like, 7in and decently thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty medium. Like, thoughts of sex don't occupy his mind constantly, and sometimes he's happy with just kissing and holding you. But when he's in the mood he can be very eager.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually, it takes him a little while to fall asleep afterwards, unless you've really worn him out.

#sinclair bryant x reader #sinclair bryant #alan rickman #n s f w alphabet #Some sexy time with our favourite ray of sunshine who deserves the world

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avatarmerida · 10 months

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@soldrawss : thinks of a huntlow AU

Me: instant brainrot

Sol posted a lounge singer/bartender AU on twitter like less than 48 hours ago and it instantly consumed me. I know nothing about lounge singers or what time period this is but I just went with it tbh here ya go. Part 2

———

She’s not coming over here, the voice in his head repeated as Willow lingered in the doorway of the backroom. No way, now way. Hunter had nearly jumped out of his skin when she came out, assuming she had left by now. The club had been closed for over an hour now, and he was always the last one out. But no, there she stood in the harsh light of the cheap light bulbs that seemed to favor her and her alone.

She was a vision but she was no illusion.

Maybe there’s some creepy fan waiting outside for her, he thought. The very idea made him shudder. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Willow was the one the other girls called on to take care of these things. He remembered once Eda had kicked out some heckler who had been stealing drinks from other patrons and quickly over served himself. As he was unceremoniously escorted out, he declared that he’d be waiting outside all night. The singer finishing her set came up to the bar to get a drink and Hunter offered to call the police to at least have someone walk her home, but she said she wasn’t worried. Before he could ask why, Willow walked up and asked him for some ice. He saw her knuckles were bruised and had a few tiny fresh cuts, obviously from a recent altercation. Hunter quickly wrapped some ice in a clean rag and began rambling about getting the first aid kit but Willow just chuckled and said it was fine as though it happened all the time (which Hunter later found out it did).

“But…. But your hand,” he sputtered, amazed at how calm she was.

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, unbothered by the purple hue it had adopted. The ice had prevented the swelling, which seemed to be her biggest concern. “That’s why we wear gloves, right?” She gave him a wink and any chance that a Hunter had of being normal around her was gone. Hunter already knew she had the voice of an angel, but turns out she had the ruthlessness of one too.

He was hooked.

So every night he sat at the bar, waiting for a glimpse of her. The regulars knew not to order a drink during her set because Hunter’s attention was rightfully elsewhere the moment she walked on stage. It wasn’t just her voice either, her sets were smart and funny too. She’d talk between songs, sometimes telling a story when she was introducing a number. Hunter wasn’t totally sure if they were true stories or just things she made up to help with transitions but any possibility at a glimpse into her life was too tempting to pass up.

Don’t stare, don’t be creepy, he thought, trying to steady his breath. She had unpinned her hair but that only made her look more stunning in Hunter’s opinion. Her emerald green dress clung to her like it was aware of what an honor it was, making the room feel like it was bland and beige when she wasn’t occupying it. Without her signature white feather boa, he could see her bare arms, covered in freckles like a collection of constellations waiting to be discovered. He had never seen her so close before, he felt objectively starstruck. It was like his eyes didn’t know how to look anywhere else. It felt like being too close to sun.

Usually he could only see her face through a sea of people, the spotlight helped but it paled in comparison to her natural glow. It was like she was destined to always be across the room from him. He held his breath as though this was a sighting the slightest wrong move could ruin, as though she could be startled. But she rummaged through her bag and when she found what she was looking for, she reapplied her ruby lipstick in her handheld mirror shaped like a white rose. She was effortlessly elegant. As she blew a kiss at her reflection, he felt his pulse stop.

She must be on her way somewhere, he thought. Of course she has a life outside this place, duh. He tried not to look like he was staring as he pretended to write something down, unaware he was holding the pen upside down.

From the corner of her eye, Willow scanned the room and saw they were alone. Perfect, she thought as she snapped her compact closed and made her way over to the bar.

Be cool, be cool, he begged. He expected her to walk by him, maybe give him a small wave or a smile to acknowledge him and say goodnight. He was mustering up the courage to give her a nonchalant nod, like she was just another person in the bar and not the unknowing keeper of his heart.

Oh Titan that’s so corny, he thought. There’s no way she even knows my name, I need to get over this-

“Hey Hunter,” she said, leaning on the counter like she was just anyone and not the most angelic thing to ever grace his bar.

“Oh, h-hey,” he attempted to respond casually, pretending to wipe the counter to look busy. He hadn’t exited her to stop. He cursed himself for not using her name as she had said his. He didn’t feel worthy of it. “Why are you here so late?”

“Skara had a date so we all moved our schedules around to help her out and I ended up with the short straw,” she said. Hunter recalled she had gone on later than she usually did. “But I don't mind, it’s kinda cool seeing this place empty.”

“Eh, you get used to it,” he shrugged.

“That’s right, you always close, don’t you?” she said, knowing Hunter was a famous workaholic. “Oh wow, with the crowds you get I bet you like the peace and quiet at the end of the night.”

“It’s nice,” he admitted. “Gives me time to organize things and do inventory.”

“Oh shoot, I’m probably interrupting your routine huh? Sorry, I can-.” she leaned back as though to leave but Hunter cut her off.

“No! Uh, I mean no… you’re not,” he tried to cover. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, actually. Someone who's not slurring their words, that is.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind the company,” she said, setting her bag down and making herself more comfortable. “I don’t mind being it.”

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, hoping she’d say yes.

She had been hoping he would ask. “You sure? Wasn’t last call over an hour ago?”

“Well that was yesterday,” he said, preparing a glass for her. “According to the clock, it’s technically a new day.”

“Well whaddya know?” she said as she watched him add ice to the shaker as he proceeded to mix her drink. He thought about doing the tricks he and Luz had practiced to get extra tips on nights when they worked together, but the risk of dropping something and looking foolish was too great so he played it safe. In record time, she had a drink in front of her.

“How did you know my drink order?” she asked, impressed.

“I memorize everyone’s,” he half-lied.

“Wow,” she cooed, stirring her drink as she watched him move behind the bar. “You know every drink by heart?”

“I mean, pretty much,” he said. “Just makes things easier, really. Sometimes I make up drinks when it’s slow.”

“Really? Do you give them fun names?”

“Huh? Oh, kinda? I-I mostly name them after birds.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh, I like birds.”

“Oh?” she said, tapping the glass with her nail. Do you like songbirds? She wanted desperately to ask, but instead she said: “Really? What’s your favorite one?”

“Um, well I have the cardinal which is just cranberry juice and bourbon and but I add some garnishes on the side that make it look cool,”

“I’ll take one,” she smiled and Hunter went to work. The moment she set her empty glass back on the counter, he had another one ready in hand for her. She knew he was famous around the club for his attention to detail but she selfishly hoped the gesture was based in special attention to her.

She took a sip and her eyes widened in delight. “Oh! I love this!” She said and Hunter beamed as though it was the only drink he had ever made. “Eda said you were the one who made custom drinks for her and Raine’s wedding.”

“Well, it wasn’t too hard,” he said. “They have very distinct personalities, Raine wanted their drink to be something easy on the stomach but with a hint of apple while Eda cared more about her drink ‘weeding out the weak.’”

“Oh I remember those,” laughed Willow. The wedding had been the first time Willow saw Hunter, it was when she found out he would be working at the club. She had maybe had one too many ‘Eda’s Elixirs’ (some kind of apple moonshine mixed with red wine and whiskey and some secret fourth thing that made it work somehow) and thought she had imagined the stoic blonde she had dubbed ‘Prince Jawline.’ But he turned out to be real, a friend of a friend, a future coworker, a kindred spirit even. A man she still referred to as Prince Jawline when he came up in conversation. He didn’t remember meeting her there, but memory loss was a common theme that night.

But luckily Willow was just slightly better at holding her liquor.

“What about me?” she said, trying to sound as though she hadn’t been dying to ask. “If you had to make a drink named after me, what would it be?”

“Hmmm,” he thought for only a moment. “Probably sparkling white wine and kiwi. It would be bubbly and sweet and green, just like you. And I’d add a pink flower garnish, like the one you sometimes wear in your hair.”

Willow blushed, having thought her question would adorably stump him so she could make a joke about him being a tall drink of water. But this was much better.

“Well, looks like I have a new usual then, huh?” She said with a smile as he went to give her a sample of his apparently improvised creation. He made sure to select the most elegant glass.

“So, what’s your secret?” she asked and he froze for a moment before she continued. “How do you make these taste so good?”

“Oh, that! Oh it’s uh it’s the cherries,” he said. “I always put extra cherries in just about everything to make it sweeter.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, you can’t give up your secret so easily, bar boy,” she teased, picking out one of the aforementioned cherries.

“Usually as a bartender, I’m the one people tell their secrets to,” he joked, trying to focus on counting the limes and lemons. But he hadn’t retained anything except the way Willow’s voice danced, the way it got slow and sneaky when she made a joke. It was the way she talked between her sets when she was introducing a love song.

“Ohh, you’ve got a stash of secrets, huh?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Anything good?”

“Well, I knew about the Blight divorce I think before even Odalia did,” he said in a low voice, fully aware no one else was there or would be there. But he liked how Willow leaned in closer to hear him when he did.

“No!” she gasped.

“Yeah!” he said. He had never been one for gossip, but that was no longer a secret so it didn’t count, right?

“Oh, what else?” she asked, sipping her drink in anticipation.

“Oh, wow I can hardly keep it sorted,” he said. “I get people telling me about how they hate their jobs, how they’re afraid of getting older. Oh man, you can’t imagine how many confessions of love I get in a night.”

“I dunno, I bet I probably can,” she said with a smirk he thought he imagined. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Anything,” Hunter said, hoping his smile was as charming as he was manifesting it to be. She paused for a moment to create suspense before a smile overtook her face.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” she said before erupting into a sea of giggles. She laughed with her whole body, her whole self present in the silliness and Hunter was so captivated that he almost didn’t notice she was about to fall off her stool. Hunter reached out and grabbed her hand to steady her and she looked at him in awe as he pulled her forward.

He gulped. “W-what do you mean?”

“I can’t wear my glasses onstage because of the glare from the uh light,” she explained breathlessly, not removing herself from his grasp. “So the whole time I’m up there I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still locked on him. “Nope, nothing,” she said, biting her lip. “Not unless they’re real close.”

Hunter then realized he was still holding her hand as he leaped backward as though she was on fire. She giggled again, it was like every sound she made was music. He pretended to be invested in the bottles near him.

“Oh uh wow I had no idea,” he chuckled.

“Well I guess that’s a good thing,” she said, sitting back. “It helps get rid of the stage fright when you can’t tell the difference between a packed house and an empty one.”

“You hardly seem like the type to have stage fright,” he said, cleaning out another glass that definitely was not dirty. Or an empty house, he wanted to add.

“Thanks,” she smiled, stirring the remaining ice cubes in her cup with her straw. “You’re sweet.”

“So uh, if you’re not looking at anyone what do you think about up there?” asked Hunter nervously. “Just because you always seem like you’re singing to someone, but that’s probably just because you’re a good performer.”

She smiled. “Skara taught me this trick for how to tilt my head so people think I’m singing to just them,” said Willow. “But I’m actually just looking at the back wall. Or would be, if I could see it. Huh, I guess I’m technically looking at you when I sing.”

He nearly dropped the glass on the counter. “Huh uh yeah well uh but it's not like you can see me or uh anything,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” she said, swirling the lingering ice in the cup in her hand. “Shame.”

“Did you want another?”

“I should probably slow down,” she chuckled. “I’ve already had three. Think I’ll work on some of these cherries.”

“Oh yeah you’re probably starving,” said Hunter, feeling stupid “Nothing’s gonna be open now, do you want me to get you like some pretzels or something? I could see if-,”

“No, no, no,” she insisted. “I already made you wash three extra glasses, I am not gonna let you go to any more trouble for me.”

He’d go to all kinds of trouble for her.

“Fair enough,” he said as he went back to his usual duties.

“Hmm, ya ever try to tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” she asked, starting to feel the alcohol warm her chest and make her feel cheeky..

“What? Uh, no I don’t think I have?” he chuckled, having never heard of such a thing.

“Here,” she said, tapping the glass nearly full of them as she took one for herself. “Try it.”

He indulged her, taking a cherry and popping it in his mouth as Willow did the same. She watched in delight as he focused on trying to maneuver the stem in his mouth, holding back the giggles as she tried not to win their unofficial race by too much. At last, a look of surprise showed in his eyes as he went to carefully pull out his creation.

“You did it!’ she exclaimed, taking out her matching knot to compare.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s so weird, is that like a party trick or something?”

“Hmm, something like that,” she said, making circles on the counter with her finger. “If you can do it, it’s supposed to mean you’re a good kisser.” She added her latest knot to a glass filling up with stems before giving him a wink.

“Oh,” he said, nearly choking on nothing. Had he known, he would’ve tried to be cooler about it. Her reveal got exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She loved the way his blush reached his ears. “I uh I didn’t well I don’t even-,”

“What do I owe ya, bar keep?” She said, resting her chin in her fist, having no intention of leaving but knowing he’d be caught in that loop for awhile.

“It’s on the house,” he said, shaking himself out of his trance before deciding to put a single glass away just to seem busy. He wanted to just talk to her, but was worried that focusing on that without a task to keep him busy would make saying something stupid easier. This way he didn’t need to worry about what to do with his hands or if he was staring. He was so used to staring at her freely from across a crowded room, seeing her so close felt almost forbidden.

“Oh no I know how badly this place pays,” she said. “Gimme the damage.”

“Oh no no, you misunderstand,” he said, leaning down with his elbows on the counter to see her better, feeling a burst of confidence for some reason. “When I say it’s ‘on the house’ I mean it’s on Odalia’s tab.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she leaned forward and reached over the bar to grab another bottle from underneath as she quickly unscrewed the top. “Pour yourself a glass then too.”

“Heh, I’d love to but I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” he said, his heart racing at the effortless way she had secured the bottle. He had never been so jealous of a bottle before.

“Awh, you sure? I hate to drink alone,” she teased. She examined his face to see if the phrase sparked a locked memory, but no. He didn’t remember saying that to her at the wedding. Nevertheless, she knew he was ever the professional, only he would consider being the empty bar so far after closing time as still being on the job. “What about a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries?”

He chuckled. “Well, now how did you know my drink of choice?” he said with charisma he hadn’t seen in years, preparing two of them, somehow knowing she’d also want one.

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” she said with a grin, As he passed her drink to her, she reached out and purposely placed her hand over his. She could feel his hand lean into the touch as the tips of their fingers fought the urge to interlace. “Thanks.” She made her voice light and airy.

“Oh yeah, sure,” sputtered Hunter, slipping his hand away as he mentally cursed himself for not being able to match her energy. He wasn’t entirely sure what the energy was, but he was not hating it. “T-thank you too.”

“‘Thank me?’ For what?” she chuckled.

“For… being here, I guess,” he said, not sure what he had meant either. He cleared his throat as he tried to compose a better explanation. “It’s nice having you here. Not just now, either. All the time. I’m kind of a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” she asked. She hiccupped, her hand darted to her mouth to cover it in embarrassment. She shook her head, hoping to shake them and continue to appear cool and collected.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah, I mean, you’re amazing,” he said. “T-the songs you pick are amazing. The way you… I mean, it’s all amazing.”

“Aww,” Hiccup. Darn it, why now??? She thought. But she tried to embrace it, hopefully he would think it was cute.

He did.

“What’s the sweetest drink you got?” She asked, failing to suppress another hiccup. “Cause that should be the one named after you.” She held her glass to her lips and gave him a wink.

There were many drinks she could name after Hunter.

One night, she had a sore throat which made her singing sound raspy and deeper. It was a nice sound, but by the end of the night she could barely speak. When she got off stage, Hunter had sent Luz with a special mixture of honey and lemon that had her back to normal the next day. She hadn’t told anyone she was sick or asked for a remedy, but he just knew.

When she had to work on her birthday, he added a sparkler to her drink. She didn’t know how he knew, she must’ve mentioned once in passing long ago, but he remembered. Luz said he had special ordered the sparklers, so it definitely wasn’t a last minute thing.

Dang it, that would’ve been a great time for the tall drink of water thing, she thought. The alcohol was making her a little spacy and she missed the way Hunter stopped functioning at her sweetness remark. She let out another hiccup, nearly spilling the drink she held to her lips. Hunter snapped out of his trance as he tried in vain to hide his chuckle and Willow pretended to be offended. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not bad I swear it’s really… endearing.”

“‘Endearing?’” she repeated, raising her eyebrow. He didn't want to say ‘cute.’ He thought it was cute, but he didn’t want to say that. She hiccupped again and he couldn't help but offer her a guilty smile and she gave him a faux vicious stare. “Well, they may be endearing to you but they’re getting on my nerves.”

“Here,” he said, reaching down to grab something from the fridge. “Biting on a lemon is supposed to help them go away.” He presented her with a recently cut lemon wedge.

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re joking.”

“No, no I swear,” he insisted.

“Okay then,” she said, reaching down to grab another lemon from the tray. “I’ll do it if you do.”

He was going to protest, saying he didn’t have the hiccups. But instead, he took the slice from her and allowed their finger to brush once more. “Deal.”

She smiled as they both looked at each other and felt something shift. Willow was insanely competitive, and she heard Hunter was too. Mentally, they decided to enter a match to see who could endure the sour taste the longest. They both brought forth their best poker face as they tried to seem casual about the sharp acidity. They stared at each other with cutthroat intensity as their eyes began to water.

They surrendered at the same time, each discarding their lemons in a napkin as they exclaimed their remorse.

“Hey, I think it worked,” laughed Willow, waiting another moment to see if a hiccup would interrupt. When he didn’t she refocused on the tart taste lingering in her lips. “Oof, I guess that’s why I don’t sing ‘Life is just a bowl of lemons.’”

Hunter laughed, debating if he should mention her rendition of the song had been his inspiration for adding extra cherries (he had ordered extra, thinking about her while filling out the order form).

“I’m sure you could make even that sound lovely,” he said softly.

She giggled, before taking a deep breath and sliding closer to him. “Liiife,” she sang sweetly and quietly, as though wanting to lure him closer. “Is just a bowl of… lemons.”

Hunter hadn’t had a sip of alcohol but he might as well have been drunk. Her voice seemed to surround him in an embrace, pulling and pushing him forward as it guided it toward her peridot eyes.

“I-I like it,” he said, trying to remember how to breathe normally. He gulped as she prolonged her gaze on him and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll dedicate it to you,” she decided, sucking her teeth as she suddenly felt inspired. “Hey you want a sneak peek at something I’ve been working on?”

“Really?” he said, eyes widened before he caught himself. “I-I mean uh, really?” He tried to downplay his interest, but she could see through him.

“Yeah,” she said, twirling the end of her hair. “You up for a private concert?”

“You don’t have to,” it hurt him to say, He didn’t want to impose. “I mean, you’re off the clock and I don’t wanna-.”

“Oh hush,” she said, flicking the loose strand of hair in the front of his hair, like she just needed an excuse to be closer to him. “You won’t let me pay you for the drinks, consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” he said, not trying too hard to summon an argument. She clapped her hands in excitement as though she didn’t do this practically every day.

“The mic’s not on, but with no one in here the acoustics are really great,” she said, hopping off the stool. She took her long skirt in her hand as she ran back to the stage, tapping the microphone as she often did before her sets, though nothing happened. She giggled and ran over to the piano to find her starting note as she prepared to sing acapella.

“Okay, well this one isn’t on the set, so lemme know what you think, okay?” She called as she smoothed her dress. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

She took a deep breath and suddenly the alluring sound of her voice flooded the empty room. She knew how to perfectly adjust her pacing to the echoes the emptiness caused. It was haunting and enchanting and Hunter felt as though he could melt into the floor as it swept over him.

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight…”

As Hunter stood behind the bar feeling a familiar lightheadedness her voice inspired, he couldn't help but notice she had put her glasses on before she started singing. There was no one else here, but she wanted to make it absolutely certain that she saw him.

Inventory could wait until the morning.

#huntlow #huntlow fanfiction #huntlow au #toh #the owl house #willow park #hunter toh #winter toh

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sepublic · 1 year

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The way Willow and Boscha were opposites, one seemingly weak and demure, the other dominating and aggressive. And in an attempt to move on from her traumatic identity, to get as far from that as possible, Willow came closer to overcompensating, resulting in the toxic mentality that Boscha herself notices a direct parallel in. And a lot of Willow’s earlier development came from ignoring Boscha and not believing in what she said, so when Boscha says she’s starting to be like her, obviously Willow must ignore that!

(Makes me wonder if Boscha wasn’t always like this, if she too low-key started off the same as Willow and was one of two dark end points to that trauma, the other being openly succumbing to an inferiority complex.)

And the fact that ever since Any Sport in a Storm, we’ve discussed how Hunter is a unique relationship to Willow because he’s someone who’s only ever known her as the strong leader Willow wants and chooses to be, with previous friends admittedly mostly intimate with that other side. But this appreciation for Hunter’s perception also means that Willow is deathly afraid of breaking that and having Hunter eventually start approaching her with that same understanding of Willow as someone who is struggling first and foremost.

So Willow is so desperately trying to move on from that traumatic past that she’s gone back into denial and repression all over again, her greatest flaw. Willow is so afraid of betraying her growth, so afraid of relapsing that in her effort to avoid it, she does exactly that, becomes that which she swore to destroy in Boscha. And Willow’s resolution with Hunter comes into play, because we’ve already seen Gus, Luz, and Amity tell Willow that it’s okay to show vulnerability.

But to hear this from Hunter, whom Willow wants to maintain this clean, ‘fresh start’ perception of her as abridged from that? Only for him to say, no, your softness, your vulnerabilities do not contradict my understanding of you as this, nor is my love conditional on how ‘powerful’ I consider you. To hear that being strong and showing vulnerability are NOT mutually-exclusive, preventing the pit Boscha fell into. Willow realizing she can still be someone strong and admirable to Hunter, without having to tightly control how others perceive her in order to be seen that way? Impeccable.

Plus, the memory photos she tries to burn, only to be making more photos for the group in Thanks to Them? Willow’s arc really has been about overcoming, accepting, and coming to terms with her trauma and the shadow it casts over her life and future. To realize that she can still be her own person from that without having to constantly define herself in opposition to the perception she fears, just as Hunter did when grappling with being a clone.

However they turn out, is still them, and any similarities to that past identity don’t have to mean anything. Everyone is vulnerable regardless of whether they’ve had a past mired with belittlement for being lesser. You don’t need to be a clone of a witch hunter to be kind, and if he WAS kind, it’s because of you, not him.

And again; So much of Hunter’s arc is coming to terms with his trauma. As is Willow’s, and like… No wonder they’re made for each other. No wonder Hunter was ignorant of his family’s true past, while Willow denied her own and even her present feelings. These two y’all.

#the owl house #willow park #huntlow #the owl house hunter #the owl house boscha #parallels #foils #character analysis #meta

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ittybittyowls · 3 months

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Age Regressor!Hunter Headcanons

He’d always wished he could do more childish things back when he worked for Belos, and yearned for simple things like toys. It was only when he found a book about childhood trauma and it’s psychological affects, did he find the coping mechanism.

He was embarrassed to try it out but it became (almost) easy to him, as it was what he was already doing but with extra steps.

He involuntarily and voluntarily regresses, and started doing it more often when he joined Luz and her friends.

When he involuntarily regresses it’s rough. He has to be held and talk to for at least half an hour, sometimes up to two hours. He rocks back and forth and hugs his knees very tightly while trying to ground himself. Once he’s decent, he’ll still be sniffling for a long time.

When it’s voluntary he loves to giggle and play with everything he can. Although he has a few comfort items, he loves to go explore as that was limited in his time with the Emperor’s Coven.

He regresses to around 1-5 typically.

He absolutely loves to babble when he isn’t shy anymore; when he’s completely comfortable he’ll draw and show his picture to whoever is babysitting him.

His favorite activity is movie nights, even though he loves to babble he prefers to be quiet and be sleepy.

Hunter also loves praise and tries to help his cg/babysitter with whatever they’re doing. Cooking? He’s putting water in the pot. Cleaning? He’s clumsily sweeping the floors.

He has a stuffed bird for when he misses flapjack. But while flapjack was alive? The bird would sit on his shoulder the entire time he was little, and would occasionally bring him small toys.

I think Willow would be his CG while they were in the human realm (along with Camila) but after they return Darius would be his full-time CG and Willow would be his secondary one.

Him and Amity didn’t connect well for a long time, but now they have little play dates together and trade stickers.

Hunter likes to paw at blankets as if he’s a wolf, and curls up in forts he makes like his favorite animal.

#aaa I heart him #hunter toh #hunter noceda #the owl house #hunter headcanons #agere #the owl house agere #regressor hunter #little hunter #golden guard #agere toh #agere hunter #agere headcanons

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inannasdream · 14 days

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i think the reason why i gravitate towards belos on a deeper level a lot more than any of the other characters in toh is bc my preference in characters and stories is in how they are affected by institutions and the messiness that results from understandable character flaws exacerbated by those institutions, whether they are the oppressed or are enabled to become the oppressor. belos is a mix of both in a way that i like — it's possible to read him as nd & left handed (both heavily stigmatized in his day and society) yet both are possible to hide. in the demon realm he yet again had a trait that made him a possible outcast, as he was a lowly human, yet he transformed himself into a magic user through painful mutilation of his skin all so that he could conform to that society, even when it was one he couldn't stand. his conformity in the demon realm supports the idea of him having to conform in the human realm. but because he was enabled for being a white man in the human realm and could reasonably hide anything that made him a nail to be hammered down, he clung to that power and dominion over others that it gave him for the rest of his life like a security blanket, represented literally with him lording his magical prowess over other witches and demons. it's a lot of layers that i think are very fun and i'm 90% sure are unintentional when put together into this cohesive of a picture for reasons i will state later.

compare that against almost every other character in toh (w maybe the exception of darius??) — every good guy has flaws that can reasonably be blamed on other people as a freudian excuse or that are downplayed by the narrative (eg. amity going from an active bully in her debut to a passive enabler of bullying in understanding willow). there's a dire lack of messiness in them all, from their appearance (all the witch kids could easily be mistaken for humans, fairly good looking ones at that, if it weren't for the ears), to how they deal with pain, etc. it gave me the impression that they really wanted only the villain to be allowed to be messy and ugly because those are traits for villains, when i think it's a lot nicer to see stigmatized traits (ugliness, childishness, hallucinations, mental illness, etc) in everyone. i really wanted the heroes to get in on that kind of action too.

another thing that drew me away from connecting with and trying to deeply understand most of the characters in toh is the lack of meaningful bigotry on the isles. i'm not criticizing the race-, queer-, and gender-blindness of the demon realm on an objective level bc the writers wanted to accomplish a v specific thing w that bit of world building and that's ok and it's a wonderful aspiration for usamerica. it's ok if it's not for Me and the world can't have a million yasuda sayos (i say with difficulty through tears). but because there is a lack of bigotry in what's supposed to be an oppressive society and there's no highlighted underclass in its place (covenless witches should theoretically be the underclass, but the show tends to undermine this aspect of its society, eg. letting wild witches like eda and luz roam perfectly free and having the government-funded school allow witches to study multiple covens without pushback from said government funding them), it becomes just another part of the show that makes it so much more squeaky clean and made me disinterested in a lot of the characters — i connect so much better with characters when i feel their pain and struggle against a world that can't find it in itself to care about them, witnessing all the ways they try to fight for their right to be happy frantically and imperfectly, and that is what makes their happiness so meaningful to me and makes me care abt them deeply.

contrast that w belos: i really love that he came from a society infamous for its conservatism and religious extremism grounded in the real world, and it's so thought provoking for me to think abt the layers of that society and how he interacted with it. which parts he rejected, conformed to, wanted to conform to, etc. that's a challenging character to understand (and then, after having fully understood them, condemn with so much more feeling) and i adore the idea of that being intentional if it wasn't for the fact that almost every other character in toh is boringly easy to understand because they lack enough material in the layers that can make them feel like real, messy people to challenge the viewer in a meaningful way. (side note: a lot of the layers created simply by belos being from colonial connecticut also disappear if you're solely looking at his background based on the text in the show, bc you're expected to fill in the gaps with, like, wikipedia basically lol. similar thing w luz where they show very little of her being bullied/outcasted bc of her adhd and you're mostly supposed to fill that in w your own experience & irl knowledge of adhd.) it results in the show being weirdly liberal about the bigotry/lack of bigotry certain characters have and only being able to halfheartedly say "idk some people are just evil i guess", instead of examining the material conditions that shape people to act the way they do. Bigot Phil vs Weirdgirl Luz could've been "these characters are shaped by their circumstances and have been encouraged to respectively become their worst/best selves through ideals instilled in them" but instead it's "some people are bad and we won't attempt to look at what made them 'bad' in the first place" and then pretending this is a groundbreaking message and not the laziest takeaway they could've possibly written.

basically i like my characters messy with hearts that you have to go out of your way to understand and sympathize with who come from understandable circumstances and i think all girls should be allowed to kill freely. i hope you can understand my position.

#chirp chirp!#this post got away from me. i swear at some point it was only two small paragraphs #what can i say i love mentally ill orphans (collection of ryukishi07 girls in basement)#anyway im going to pull my final trick and reveal my favorite character is actually eda #the characters i analyse and think about every day are usually top five but my favorite character is ALWAYS the wildin girl #(looks at sonozaki mion and shion. like im always thinking abt shion but mion is my number 1 freaking GIRL)#toh critical #bc i think i went a lil too hard in the later paragraphs. sry for blending together opinion and critique here #this was just meant to be a personal post don't come for me pls ajdkwjkfjc

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