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ellesthots · 1 month ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XXXVI. “whiplash”

parts: previous / next

plot: sobering up brings a host of emotion to the surface. your next interaction with Bruce takes things a step further.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, anxiety, panic

words: 7.2k

a/n: hiii !! been a little longer between this and the last chapter, started my final year of grad school and have had to adjust to a lotttt more work! but i got this done and i'm exciiited to keep writing <3 this will not be the new norm! grad school will not take away my fic time !! i refuse !! anyway, the characters took me places in this chapter I wasn’t anticipating 🤭

The night had been lengthy. As daybreak hit, and the ceiling had gone blurry from staring at it so thoroughly, the high-res image of him fuzzed into nothing more than an outline. The shadow of him followed you to the counter, where you ordered the first thing you noticed on the menu, plugged in your card, and waited for your latte in vain.

A girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen walked around the counter with an apologetic smile. “So sorry, but we’re out of oat milk.” She had bright brown eyes that turned down at the corners, and a lopsided grin. You continued to tread water, forcing back memories of your cursed adolescence that had led you here. You nodded at her first suggestion, slinking closer to the wall as you reset your waiting. You wanted to grab her by the shoulders, tell her to get out, to leave. That the city would swallow her up, smother her dreams, break her.

You wished you’d listened when your parents had done that to you.

Wood paneling brought warmth to the small dining area. A speaker nestled between some spider plants wafted lofi music from the far corner. A few friends clustered together with laptops and cheap spiral notebooks on the spindly tables and chairs. Your mind wandered around itself like an echoey ballroom, poking and prodding at each thing out of place. Why had you ever come to Gotham?

Your phone buzzed, but the cinch in your stomach knotted your fingers from grabbing it. It was a hot stove, burning a hole in the pocket of your hoodie so much you could almost smell it smoldering. Prioritizing your attention to the steady tempo of the heartbeat in your ears was the only reason you were still standing.

It buzzed again. Then again, giving you no choice but to stare the horse in the mouth. Mar was responding to the barrage of texts you’d sent her last night to distract; two-player games, memes, entirely too specific questions because you’d hoped she’d free you from the night’s torment. At some point, you’d deliriously tried to telepathically text Walter, so desperate for anything other than the frames of Bruce and you that slammed against your eyelids like hail.

Your thumb slipped and moved you back to your messages menu. The pull you felt toward his name was all too similar to slowing past a car crash, straining your neck against all better judgment to look away. You clicked on it, feeling like you’d fallen back into bed, the sheets coarse against your skin.

You’d taken a shower the second he left, stopping for nothing save locking the door. The water was ice cold, an attempt to shock away the play acting itself out behind every blink. Every movement of your arm across your body felt like a bullet, or a hot knife slicing through the top layers of skin. You fought through body wash like it was his hands gliding over you, wincing as they passed over the gigantic scarlet bruise assaulting your thigh.

You’d been convinced you were losing your mind, and swore not to take weed ever again.

After toweling off, tears stinging your eyes over the endless suffering of that shower, you wanted nothing more than to slip into a state of nonexistence. No thoughts, no hopes, no fears, no consequences. But the phone stared at you, and you stared back, knowing you had to text him.

The barista came out and handed you your coffee, and you startled to the point she apologized again, eyes squinting slightly. You muttered a thank you, and slipped out into the street.

Leaving the café had you feeling like a thief. Like someone was out to get you, breathing down your neck whispering I found you out. I know your secret. Walking past pedestrians felt like they could see right through you. Like you were stripped naked walking through downtown, pining for an alleyway you could slip into for a moment of reprieve.

The main intersection downtown had a notoriously ‘sticky’ walk light—sometimes it would go off too often, creating a horrific hazard for people too trusting, or it would only buzz rarely, leaving you stranded between you and your destination for far too long. After the third light cycle with no signal, you were forced to suffer an indefinite wait, the phone a heavy brick in your hand.

Almondmilk foam caressed your lips as you diverted your attention to the texture and spices in the latte. Still bitterly hot, you relished its sting, fingers tapping anxiously on the inflexible plastic back of your phone case. Burn me. Scald me. You slammed a gulp of it, and for a moment the desire to stare at your screen faded to gray. After a few seconds soothing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you squinted your eyes open to see if the walk signal was lit. No such luck.

When you thought about rushing into traffic, you made yourself take a deep breath. You needed to get a grip, and tried talking yourself down. So what? You’d been high, had an unprecedented dream, and the thoughts had lingered. The situation didn’t need to be stickier than that. As exposure, you looked through the messages from the night before, the first few of which you’d tossed and turned in bed before sending, suddenly overthinking every syllable you ‘spoke’ to him.

Hey, it’s Y/N. Back yet?

Home safe.

You recalled being shocked he was such a fast texter.

Thanks for following up. Got your number saved.

Does that make two numbers in your phone now?

Three. Running out of storage space at this rate.

1.Alfred

2.Alfred (Cell)

3.Me

How’d you hack my phone?

Lol (laughing out loud)

Thanks. Had no idea.

Now that Bruce Wayne is in the public eye, you gotta know this stuff.

Hope I don’t run into him. Heard he’s a total tool.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

You know Bruce, desperate to talk.

By this point you’d been grinning in bed, forgetting the turmoil of the past half hour. You’d set your phone on your nightstand, until two minutes later when it lit the room up.

I did have a great time tonight. Sorry if I intruded.

I owe you another bottle. And Skittles.

I liked the company. Wasn’t looking forward to being alone, hence the edible.

I’m sorry for how I acted this morning. If it helps, I’m safe.

It does. Glad you’re feeling better, really.

Appreciate you looking out for me. I’ll try to make it easier.

You’d have been lying if you’d said that didn’t make your stomach flip a little.

You don’t need to feel bad about this morning. It makes sense why you’d feel that way, the pity stuff.

Doesn’t mean you had to be in the crossfire.

How’s your head? Your leg?

Better. I think the weed’s helping somehow.

Good.

If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.

I forget the toll these things take.

By this point it was like a spell had overtaken you, like his kindness was a slippery slope of contagion enveloping you before you’d even realized what you were messing with.

For someone who claims these interactions are so new, you sound pretty normal.

Alfred fills the gaps.

I’m imagining him standing over your shoulder telling you what to say.

I’d sound more British.

In the pause of you laughing to yourself, he sent another text.

Followed up with Gordon before you texted. Miller’s still in custody, no chance of bail. Hope that helps you sleep better tonight.

You distinctly recalled thinking Talking to you is helping me sleep better before promptly throwing your phone across the room on reflex. It thudded into the pink chair of your desk, thankfully unharmed. You laid there, chest heaving, room spinning. Like a petulant, obnoxious visitor looking for any excuse to insert themselves, the mirage came back with a gentle pulse, and you felt his breath on your neck again.

You hadn’t responded the rest of the night, and that was where the text chain ended. By the time you’d gathered your breath enough to walk to your phone, it was too late to respond, made you too self-conscious. You’d hoped he’d leave it at that, and wouldn’t follow up more. You were petrified of the nightmare coming back.

The light turned, and after a triple check to make sure it wasn’t short-circuiting, you pocketed your phone and walked across, flinching at every crunch of a leaf under your shoe. Bruce had certainly been a favorable distraction from the reality of having been held at gunpoint, of being kicked and pummeled into the concrete, but you couldn’t shake the sweat-soaked feeling that clouded every thought about him: whiplash.

Walking home, the feeling was different than he’d ever felt before; rather than harassing himself about why he’d said this, that, or anything else, he felt… peaceful. A bit sore, but a good sore, like flexing a muscle you hadn’t exercised in a while. Simultaneously, he felt like he’d opened up too much for comfort and comfortably stretched his limits. It was disorienting, the usual word for how he felt around you. Rather than ruminating on words or tone, he looked at the flicker of the streetlights off the broken windows, how the puddles created a dew on the jagged edges of the brick in the alleys he slipped through. More than anything, he felt like he’d been cracked open. Like a sliver of light was getting in; the light of wanting to keep you talking on the couch. The light of getting lost in you.

As he drew closer to Wayne Tower, his legs felt more weighted. Maybe it was the alcohol, no, it was absolutely the alcohol, and he’d likely feel horrible in the morning, but for now, as he walked through the damp streets, his head felt less crowded. A nagging thought at the back of his mind was how the hell he’d fallen asleep so quickly. He was always keenly aware of his energy levels, having mapped them endlessly to accurately gauge how much longer he could stay out and fight. He hadn’t felt tired. It hadn’t even been midnight. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d fallen asleep that early. It was ridiculous.

It’d been about ten minutes into the episode that he’d noticed you were sleeping. As quickly as he could remember after, he’d followed your lead. He’d passed a long-abandoned park a half-mile from his house and a swingset creaked in the wind, mimicking the sound in his chest when you’d come back from the bathroom with a yawn. It’d been devastating to leave, but he hoped he’d played it off well enough.

Even cloaked in alcohol’s gentle embrace, he felt the sober him kicking at his walls. In the morning he’d be scared of this, and he knew it, he knew it as well as his feet knew their way home. He pictured himself in the batcave the next morning swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life, planning a campaign to make Gotham a dry town so he’d never again be tempted to fall into this. Or collect all the beers up in his tower so he could drink, drink, and drink the slope of your smile out of his memory.

Alfred was in the kitchen again when he’d entered; a fragment of him wanted to thank him, tell him he was right, that he’d opened some sort of door into something new. Instead he nodded at the man, striding past him like he wasn’t still coming down, like they hadn’t had the confrontation, and went up to bed.

As soon as he sat, his phone buzzed. Before inputting you as a contact, he read your number with focused repetition to commit it to memory. He sat back against his headboard, feeling its squish against the wall. As he responded to your messages, it dawned on him that he hadn't texted like this in ages, if ever.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks felt weak from the tension, and by then he didn’t care. After he sent the message about Gordon, he stayed up for the next hour waiting for what you might say back. Sleep interrupted his waiting, and he woke up the next morning with his phone still in his hand. He’d startled upon rousing, usually keeping it tucked into his nightstand or face-down on top of it. A few moments of blinking back to the room, and…

He felt like shit. Every feeling came back to him tenfold, alongside a mind-numbing headache. The gentle hold of last night’s vulnerability had degraded into a blanket of knives, puncturing every inch of his body. He ignored Alfred when he stormed down to get lunch, and ate it in a daze. He stomped up the stairs and threw on a hoodie and jacket, tightening the drawstrings and slapping a scarf over his face. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and called it a day, jogging the back alleys downtown, all deliberation gone on whether to visit or not.

In the hour before sleeping, deliberate he had; he’d ached over whether or not to visit you so soon. He owed you another bottle of wine, and some snacks, but he felt like shit inserting himself again. His feet slammed the pavement as he broke into a sprint, his teeth gnashing together with each thudding step. You’d only allowed him to visit because you’d thought he was in crisis, you probably felt violated having someone over while under the influence; probably thought he was irresponsible and opportunistic; maybe you’d even blocked his number by now.

Bruce had to take a detour from the usual route, having to slip onto the main road for a few blocks. He kept his head firmly down, never being out at this time of day and absolutely hating it. Keep to the right. Keep to the wall.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, falling and spilling the contents of their purse about the sidewalk. His head snapped up, noticing the color of your hair, stooping to collect what had fallen. Some lipstick, gum, keys. Did you recognize him? He moved his hand to his sunglasses to pull them down, a sneaky tell just for you, but when he looked up his stomach sank. The stranger grabbed her stuff from him quickly, hastily pulling the bag over her shoulder before rushing off.

Shit. He hurried and slunk more to the wall, the arm of his jacket skipping against the brick. He pulled against the snags when they caught, clipping along to the beat of his chest. He wanted it to be you so badly. Too badly. He felt nauseous.

Possibly in the worst timing of all, he found himself approaching the worst intersection in the city. Whenever he drew up his budget, he needed to lobby for it to be taken care of. Cars whizzed past, most drivers looking anywhere else but right in front of them. A passing thought: if they hadn’t died that night, they probably would’ve died here. How much blood was caked in the potholes and chunks of dry gravel?

The light came on, another force of hand making him interact with the world around him. Except when he did, his eyes dragged up to you at the other side, staring down at your phone while you sipped a coffee. The tips of his fingers went cold.

You were looking forward, but looked right through him. This was possibly the first time he’d ever been disappointed by invisibility; it was a trap, not freedom.

He’d look suspicious following you, but he couldn’t very well pull you to the side on a busy street corner.

He’d talk. He’d say something as you walked past, and you’d know it was him. You’d know his voice. You knew him.

He drew a breath before you walked past, but hesitated when you did. You’d been so close the ends of your hair had flounced against his jacket, could smell the subtle sweetness of your shampoo. He swallowed hard, his breath faltering. A light airiness bounced around his stomach. You were walking fast, he only had a few seconds…

He started walking toward you, but stopped after a few steps. You wouldn’t believe he hadn’t followed you, it would be too suspicious. He turned around with a snap, checking if the signal was still on, and jogged across the street. His head was a mess. He reassured the pit in his stomach that he’d see you on Tuesday for March’s rally, while also wanting to temper his hope, while also not wanting to have it…

“Hey, sorry, I was just in your shop, and—yes! Y/N. Oh my god, thank you, I’m a block away. So sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see you running across the street, your jacket flapping in the wind behind you, just like your hair, your phone pressed to your ear. At this point the universe was teasing him. Bruce Wayne can’t have simple run-ins. Certainly not with you.

You walked past fellow pedestrians, no one giving you a second glance, like you were another faceless member of the nebulous ‘public’. You were even allowed to say your name out loud, to use your voice without modulation, bare your face, dress how you’d like, go where you pleased. You disappeared a block down into a small café, and he wanted to follow, but he waited. You came out a few seconds later, finishing the pocketing of your card into your pant pocket.

You walked to the intersection a few feet from him. It felt bizarre watching you, like he was watching a movie happen in real time. A woman walked to the waiting area beside you, pushing a stroller with a very loud child inside. You and the woman exchanged grins, and you waved at the baby. Your hair flew into your face and you tucked it behind your ear, saying something he couldn’t make out. The woman’s voice got louder as she recognized you. “Wait, are you the journalist who did the interview with Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce stepped to the side a few feet, playing with his position against the wind to ensure he could hear.

“Yeah! It was wild, really cool he wanted to work with someone from GU.”

“That’s so fun. Congratulations!”

Even though the conversation was polite, it churned Bruce’s stomach to see your coffee trip be affected by your connection to him. She was only one out of many who had passed by without look or comment, but that ratio, and those interruptions, would only increase the more time you spent together. He felt like a monster, too big to hang out, encroaching on all remaining normalcy in your life.

The light turned, and you walked in tandem with the woman and her stroller. The wind was able to lap across your cheeks, not a camera to be seen; no shouting crowds, clamoring strangers. He turned and walked the rest of the way to his car, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket before standing limply by the driver door. Why couldn’t he walk up to you? Why was he wrapped to anonymous completion, having to obscure every inch of available skin for the crime of walking to his car? The scarf was stifling. His eyes sweat behind the sunglasses. At the beck and call of his dead family’s reputation was an excruciating place to live.

He jammed into his seat and restrained every muscle in his foot that wanted to slam on the gas, only letting himself do so once on the outskirts of town. The pedal hit the floor hard, and the world whizzed by in a blurry haze. He had half a mind to slam on the brakes, sending the car toppling over itself into the gravel ditch.

The image of it is what made him coast to a stop, the world slowing enough for him to catch his bearings. Once he was safely pulled to the side, near one of the city’s many graveyards, he pressed his forehead to the wheel, feeling what bubbled under the surface. Grief.

The drive home was slower and more deliberate. Every time his foot itched to slam into a tree, or ram into an alley wall, he counted his breaths. By the time he got back he was drained, but wouldn’t let himself sit in it. His stomach grumbled, ached with emptiness, his meds rotting an ulcer into his abandoned stomach, but he didn’t care.

Not able to enter Wayne Tower by the front, he didn’t see the police car sitting on the curb; instead, Alfred was already in the cave, standing by the elevator so there could be no faux pas. “Detective’s arrived. Wants a statement for this past Thursday.” His cane echoed coolly on the concrete floor.

Bruce would’ve asked if there was another time, or a way to skip altogether, but that wasn’t an option when it came to helping you. He pulled off his disguise and ran a hand through his matted hair before following Alfred up the elevator. It was difficult not to overthink the first extended interaction Gordon would have with Bruce Wayne. At the mayor’s funeral, he’d turned his nose up at Bruce, going so far as to eye him with criminal suspicion. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do if Gordon were to find out, and he didn’t want to have to think on his feet today.

Gordon was sitting at the table in Bruce’s seat. Martinez stood beside him, his energy expanding to fill the dim room. Alfred flipped on the last of the lights, making everyone wince. “Apologies, thought it best to let the light in.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Gordon cleared his throat, Martinez taking the opportunity to speak with the thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning.

“Sir, we’re here to collect your statement sir, about an incident that occurred on…” He continued to talk, but Bruce tuned it out, wanting them to leave already. He situated himself in your seat, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I was walking to a convenience store after the City Hall meeting. Passing by that alleyway, I noticed the shape of a gun being held to someone’s head. The man saw me, as he was facing back, and slammed on the gas as I approached. I didn’t know what was going on, until the journalist that I spoke to earlier this month fell out of the vehicle before crashing.”

Gordon notated everything, his tone light, but suspicious. He had this tone whenever interrogating someone he didn’t fully believe. “Lucky timing, huh?”

Bruce shrugged. “Glad I could help.”

“Of course.” He flipped a page in his mini spiral. “So, after she ‘fell’ out of the vehicle, what happened?”

He shoved down a brittle laugh. Did they really think he was nefariously involved in this? If only Gordon knew… if only they both knew. Martinez continued to have the same reaction to Batman as his partner was having to Bruce now.

“She told me he held her at gunpoint asking to recant her statement. Apparently they’d been in some sort of altercation the night before.” He wondered if he was speaking too matter-of-fact, if he should dull his adjectives and verbs. “Wanted to use her to get to my lawyers. Get him back in school.” He hesitated before saying the next part, trying to glean off pure body language if Gordon knew you hadn’t come back to your apartment that night.

“I wanted to help, so I brought her here for the night. Talked through things,”

“What things?” His pen sat menacingly above the ruled paper.

“About what happened then, and the night before. Got her situated in a room upstairs, took her home in the morning.”

“She trusted you to do that?” He peered over his glasses. Bruce nodded, and Gordon sighed. “Must’ve formed quite the alliance at the interview.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, feeling a shift in the room. What did he mean by that? Him too now? His voice was darker, grim, the rose-colored lens fading to purples and blues. “I don’t know what you mean.” He wanted Gordon to say it with his chest.

He didn’t bite. “Did she ask to come here, Mr. Wayne?”

“I told her it would be safest.”

“Didn’t think to report it?” His left hand fiddled with the curled pages at the bottom of the notebook, as if he were going through the motions, unfazed. Another one of his tactics to get people’s guard down. Maybe he’d even start doodling on the seams. “Slipped your mind?”

He grit his teeth. He knew Gordon was reading into the circles under his eyes and the laxity of his skin, both giving away too much to do on not enough sleep. “My priority was to make sure she was alright. It’s traumatic having a gun pointed at your head.”

Martinez’s eyes flashed just so, his chest puffing. Gordon rustled, closing the notebook with a plop. Bruce never liked employing that night in any form of defense, but this was threatening murky waters, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a rein on his temper with Gordon’s passively placed, blasé accusations about you.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Wayne. We’ll be in touch.” Alfred saw them out, and Bruce waited to hear the door click behind them before pulling himself out of his seat, returning right back from whence he came.

The elevator was rickety, and it unnerved him, which was unusual. His muscles felt tight, his chest and throat constricted. Rumors about the interview had reached the GCPD, infiltrated Gordon, ooh. He walked to the front of his desk, facing the computer that had been untouched the past week and a half, one of the longest breaks yet. He pressed his palms to the edge of the metal and hung his head, coaxing his temperature down.

Clicking the computer on showed where his mind had been the days before the attempt. A dozen tabs with varying searches for Electrum came to life just as the days swept into him. Before he could jump back in, he forced himself into purgatory, opening a new tab to draw up new contingencies. The blank document titled Emergency Plan: Mental glared back at him. He closed his eyes and typed, holding his breath like a ball in his chest until the last word was released onto the page.

- Come on quickly: easily accessible button to phone Alfred

- Unstable reality when it hits: program unique signal to physical distress

- During periods of stress: increase assessment of stress on patrol

- Some form of tranquilizer/sedative readily available

- Orienting item: figure out

He hadn’t stopped hearing what the nurses, psychiatrists, and social workers said to him in Arkham, he’d just stopped caring. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong, not them, adding an entirely new level of shame to the affair. It took longer than he would’ve liked to manage recall as he waded through the memory.

His phone rattled on the table closest to the exit, next to the pile of the day’s disguise. It was easy to pull him away from the computer screen, the back of his thoughts in a constant search for something to distract from the unraveling of his mind, potentially the upheaval of life as he knew it.

It was you.

The sunglasses were a nice touch.

It was like the air got knocked out of him. Your perceptiveness could’ve made him jealous if he weren’t the current victim. He’d worn a different scarf this time, you’d only seen his jacket under struggling streetlights, a dark kitchen after getting your head pounded into pavement.

Had to get my car. Didn’t want to bother you.

Do you believe that I won’t tell now?

I already have for a while.

He put the phone down and told himself it was to focus back on the work, ignoring the squeeze in his gut, the thread you pulled simply by acknowledging him, making him looser, the seams splitting, letting the contents of him jostle and spill out over your lap.

BZZT.

Now I kinda want to prove you wrong.

BRB, calling the president.

Told him. He’s helicoptering over to Wayne Tower as we speak.

Bruce grinned against his will again.

Your fingers were clammy from cradling your phone, the remains of your coffee sitting cold next to you at the kitchen counter. The woman from earlier had commented on how it was ‘so late’ to be having a coffee, but that she understood. It had been difficult hearing her with Anonymous Dock Worker Who Was Definitely Not Bruce standing behind you.

Now you can see me hold my side of the bargain.

Waiting at my apartment in armor. I have a big stick, don’t know if that changes things.

My weakness.

Too bad people don’t try that more often.

Got you all figured out.

More than most.

This conversation was equal parts painful and thrilling. In honesty, you’d ignored him when you saw him on the corner, hyperaware of his presence from the moment you walked past him. You’d suspected it was genuinely to get his car, no secret stalking, but you couldn’t put your finger on why you were so convinced so soon.

This was where things went wrong–when you felt like you knew a person more than you did. This was where charisma and power pulled their initial weight, in making their victims swim in a sense of novel electricity. It was the reason you hadn’t spoken to him on the streetcorner, and why it took pacing your apartment for an hour to finally send him a text back. You were circling the drain, avoiding the swirling waters that you knew could pull you under.

You glanced over at the couch, the cushion still ruffled from where he sat. He can be so sweet. The symphony of his smile and his laugh together, planting a glow deep in your chest, padding you from the familiar, harsher realities of your past experiences with him. You didn’t want to ignore them. It would be irresponsible.

You grabbed your laptop and pulled up the schedule of events for the next three months. Bruce was harsh and unyielding.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

He was a recluse, someone whose most regular social contact was his own butler, who he treated pretty shittily.

Lincoln March - The People’s Candidate

Still, he kept showing up for you, slowly increasing in warmth each time.

Campaign Goals:

But only because you’d lied.

Fully-fund Gotham’s K-12 public schools.

He was only being nice out of guilt. You couldn’t read into it further.

Maternity leave has long been a partially-funded social program in Gotham, but if elected, I plan to expand upon…

He ran another hand through his hair, shutting his computer off. You were only acting this way out of guilt, handling him with gloved hands, every interaction careful and gentle. Impulsive, he crossed the room to don the suit instead of sending you another text. The snap of his armor into place atop his padding was the sound of Bruce Wayne slipping away. Relief washed over him as he dipped his fingers into the tarry paint. He didn’t have anything to do but what Gotham gave him tonight.

He called Gordon once he was on the road. He didn’t answer.

The streets were filled, a typical Saturday night. He slunk round the same alleys, the usual crime spots, even looped around the watchtower in case Gordon was there, messing with a broken bat signal. Nothing. Until he heard some shouting at a nearby subway station. He cut the lights on his car and slipped silently through the corridor, ears ringing with adrenaline.

A small group of men were harassing a young girl with a sparkly pink backpack. She couldn’t be older than thirteen. The men were whistling, one of them tugging on her ponytail. Her face was scrunched up tight with her hands covering her ears. He didn’t even think before jumping in.

His fist connected with the nearest man’s jaw, amplifying a rush of adrenaline through him. Suppressing a grin, he followed it with the other, ducking to dodge a hit from the man behind him. He spun out his right heel, rendering the man unstable, and slammed him against the brick with a jut of his elbow. Every punch he landed was easy, instinctual, bliss. The fighting felt different. He had vastly more energy. While the three men staggered back, he gestured for the girl to run. She mouthed something he couldn’t hear, a hit landing in the plane of his back.

Jaw. Nose. Rib. Kidney. A tooth of the man flew out amid the tunnel of punches, skidding into a puddle. Batman grinned.

“COME ON, MAN!” A hoarse voice, the tallest man of them, shouted out. They ran off, leaving the empty sound of terrified sniffles echoing from the far corner. He studied their clothes, their hair color, and height, giving a quick call on his wrist to the GCPD. The dispatcher confirmed they already sent cars to the area, and he calmed his heaving body before turning around.

The girl was clutching her backpack like a stuffed animal, shoving herself into the metal bars of the subway entrance. He made his voice softer. “They’re gone, you’re safe. Do you know where your parents are?” The only time he wished the suit was less threatening were cases like this. Kids didn’t need to be more scared than they already were.

“LACIE!” The strained shout of a desperate mother arrived at the same time as Gordon’s vehicle. The child raced to their mom, and Gordon sidled up with another notepad for his statement. He gave it, listened while the mother tearfully explained that the kid had gotten off at the wrong stop, and left before anyone could see the blood dripping off the knuckles of his gloves.

Against your better judgment, you loaded up Scypher, clicking to clear but ignoring everything in the ‘Social’ tab and all notifications. You locked your accounts to ‘private’, upset you’d kept them public this long, but paused. What if that makes me look suspicious? You set them public again, noticing a ping on the ‘Crime’ tab.

GC1 News was reporting on a shooting at a nightclub about three miles north. Only minutes before their reporting, you saw a swarm of posts from right after.

BATMAN JUSR SAVED ME

Wtf are you okay????????

YEA HE TOOK A BULLET FR ME IM HSAKING

You refreshed, frantic. He was fine, right? His suit was meant to take bullets. He was used to taking bullets. He was fine. You could hardly read the screen your hands were shaking so intensely.

Did anyone die?

The shooter I think. I was at a bar nearby, so far only one body has been brought out and no one in handcuffs.

You texted him.

Are you okay? I heard about the shooting.

No response. You put your hands over your head and talked yourself down for the second time today. He’s fine. He’s used to this. He knows what he’s doing. He helped someone. He’s just busy.

But two minutes turned into five, which turned into seven, and you could barely breathe.

Text me when you can.

Which turned into ten, then fifteen, with no further mention of his presence online. It was fine. It was fine! You tried to meditate on the image of Batman before you knew his identity. Someone competent, agile, strong, impenetrable. That was still true. That was still him.

Your phone lit up as you were sipping water at the sink, and you nearly tripped rushing over to it. Alfred!

“Miss. Is Bruce with you?”

“No, whe—”

“It says he’s parked about three blocks east of your apartment. I lost the signal to his suit.” You were already out the door.

You didn’t think you’d run that fast before, racing right back to where he’d dropped you off the day prior. Was he bleeding out? Incomprehensible? Unconscious? You ducked through an alley in a shortcut, jumping over piles of trash and dead rats. Your leg was starting to stiffen at the thigh, your knee crunching and grinding as you propelled forward.

You had to clamp your mouth shut after almost shouting "Bruce!” at the masked man standing at his trunk. He spun around, his cape swishing against the bumper of the car with a satisfying crack.

“What are you doing?!” His voice had slipped the octave, going back to Bruce, a slipup that unnerved him on a spiritual level. He surveyed the surrounding area with a paranoid daze, motioning hard for you to get into the passenger seat. The door was heavy, tactical, and the seats the same. The outside of your vision took in all the gadgets, wires making shapes you’d never seen before, but you were centrally focused on the blue of his irises against the backdrop of black.

“Are you okay? Alfred–”

“What did he say?” You were shaking, out of breath, gulping after every word.

“Your suit lost signal and you were parked here, I heard about the shooting online, that you were there,”

It took every available cell in his body to smother an angry rebuttal, his defenses beginning to stack.

“Someone said you got shot,”

He scoffed. “I didn’t get shot,”

“Are you hurt?” You grabbed his wrist and darted your eyes along his chest. His breathing hitched at the contact, even through the layers. His brow furrowed, but you couldn’t see it through the cowl. He felt like you were looking at him, not Batman, even though he was sure you couldn’t see anything but armor right now.

“Are you sure you’re not in shock,” your cheeks were red-hot, inflamed from the sprint and the fear crushing adrenaline through you. All you could see was black, darkness, you couldn’t see anything, you couldn’t get a good look. You fumbled with your phone to find a flashlight, but it fell onto the passenger floor.

“It was a normal patrol,”

A strangled whimper left your panicked, overwhelmed body as you strained to reach the phone. You heard a shick and a button unclasp. “I just need—”

“—To breathe.” A warm, non-gloved hand wrapped around your forearm, applying gentle pressure back towards the seat. Your eyes shot up to his like a deer in headlights, his touch creating a separate raucous within you. He exaggerated the slow movement of his shoulders up and down, opening his mouth on the exhale. You mimicked his breathing, comfortably matching it after a few cycles.

“I’m okay.” He nodded at you as your demeanor settled, his attentive gaze drilling holes in your memory. “I promise.” He let go of your arm and your hand snapped out to grab his. Your breathing hastened the second he broke contact, and only slowed once your fingers interlaced with his. He welcomed your hand with a reassuring squeeze and continued breathing slowly, deeply, guiding you out of the stratosphere. You squeezed back ten times harder, feeling like the barrel was at your temple again.

He let your hands sit together for a few seconds, your eyes trained on his like life support. He nodded again, letting you know he was still here though he was slipping his hand out of yours. Bruce glanced out the windows for onlookers and pulled off his cowl, unclicking the front half of his armor, tossing it to the backseat.

His hair was mussed, sweaty, the paint around his eyes smudged and smeared. He had dirt and faint droplets of red along parts of his jaw, with shadowy stubble underneath. He took your wrist, always with an astounding gentleness, and moved your hand to his chest, gliding your hand across the soft padding. “See?” Your hand moved along the sides of his body, across his stomach, and up to his collarbone. No snags, no wet spots…

Your palm felt like it was on fire, your heart thundering, cranked up to eleven. You slipped your hand past his collarbone, over his shoulder, and glided down his bicep. Still nothing. You shut your eyes, shouting at your brain to believe it, begging your thoughts to stop swirling horrific images, jumping to horrifying conclusions. Including the ego-dystonic impulse that wanted to tug your hand lower, pull him closer.

Bruce couldn’t hear himself think with your hands skimming his torso. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He didn’t know how helpful he was being now, his breathing way too shallow to help you regulate, his brain going offline. He studied your face, the only part of you he could see clear enough, scouring it to see if this was bringing you even a crumb of peace. He was jolted back into his body when your finger skimmed his exposed neck as you trailed to the thicker padding over his sternum.

You shut your eyes and pressed your fingertips into the padding, seemingly grounding yourself. Your expression drew increasingly relaxed until your hand pulled away, falling almost limp at your side. When you fell back against the headrest, he finally looked away. He flexed his hand against his knee where it sat now, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He hardly registered it as he struggled not to pass out.

It was about a minute until he tossed a glance your way again; a minute of sitting at the bottom of the deep end, rationing held breath. He only exhaled when you did, a loud one, now more calmly leaning to nab your phone. “I’m… thank you. That won’t happen again. Freaking out. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to be nice,”

“I’d do the same.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

Oh. It was like Alfred had entered his psyche. A Freudian slip. You stared at the ground, evidently unaware of how candid an admission that had been. He was gridlocked. You fiddled with your phone until your shoulders sank, popping the door open without warning. “I’d better get home.”

He let your door shut before opening his, using any opportunity to gather himself before stepping out to the night breeze. He leaned his elbow on the roof of the car as you started down the gravel. “Text me when you get back.”

You gave him a thumbs-up.

He noticed a limp in your gait, feeling the smart in your thigh like it was his own. “And put some ice on that tonight.”

You unlocked your phone as you turned the corner. Bruce heard a buzz from the center console, and fished out his phone after settling into the driver’s side.

Will-do. So attentive.

He noted the concerned texts just before your message.

Just returning the favor.

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rubra-wav · 8 months ago

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Why So Blue? Vox x Reader

[ Part 2 - Never Gonna Give It Up ]

A/N Listen man, I don't know jackshit about code or hacking, and that's probably gonna become glaringly obvious throughout this fic 💀

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, intimidation and manipulation, slight mention of blood.

<< [ Part 1 ]

A month went by since the attack on his social media and hijacking of his camera systems had taken place.

The paranoid anticipation of a second attack was deeply present to Vox, but it faded at about the 2 week mark.

Surely, whatever imperfections there were had been mended! Someone would be thrown on the chopping block if not.

All his employees were on edge and were eager not to irritate him even a little bit after last time. Even more than usual. It was excellent to the TV demon, stroking his sadistic power complex even more than it already was.

Every blow done to his ego with the Sinstagram hacking had fallen away, and he was once again power tripping on everything around him. As expected, the home surveillance systems had made him a killing, and he could see places he'd never been able to make it to now.

All of these things put him in a rare string of a genuinely good mood. Everything seemed to be working out.

On the other hand, you worked hard on your next attack that'd far solidify your threat to him, that's for damn sure.

You'd given it a few weeks before you began to really step into your next plot, wanted to lure him into a false sense of security so he'd fall harder off his high horse.

You laid on your stomach in the middle of your living room surrounded by your collection of monitors, clicking away with one hand and typing code out with the other.

The next stage of you trolling him was just gonna be meme material alongside establishing your persona to properly establish your presence in hell.

The more serious pranks up your sleeve would be showing up later down the line. For now, you were just playing games with him for entertainment.

You were barely able to leave home nowadays, opting to befriending people or talking to those you knew before becoming a recluse online.

One of these friends of yours being a certain inventor who ironically very much wanted to be positively noticed by the object of your somewhat despise.

At first, it was because you took pity upon Sir Pentious, having helped to patch him up after he (literally) exploded through the wall of your apartment, however, you came to enjoy his presence.

He was power-hungry, of course. However, he also just wasn't much of a threat at all. He wasn't charming or manipulative - god, was he an awful liar - just good with making things. Pen was a glorified, awkward, and overly goofy fanboy more than anything.

You kept trying to encourage him to work on a business of his own rather than just trying displays of power against Cherri Bomb for the sake of trying to get attention from the Vees, but he just wouldn't listen.

The sound of you receiving a notification from said inventor snapped you out of spacing out at your reflection in the monitor in front of you.

I got the codes you asked for, (Name). 🫡

*Pen included attachments*

Do be careful with these, though. I had to talk to one of my acquaintances in league with lady Velvette's people for these, and they said that it seemed like bad news to have these on you!

Just what are you planning on using them for?

You hummed as you looked at the codes sent, thinking of how you would answer exactly, your eyes wandering absentmindedly to the slightly peeling painting of tree branches on the wall you had done many years ago at this point.

Your eyes snapped back to your monitor as you typed back simply.

Thank you very much! 🧡

And let's just say... tomfoolery.

....

Should I be worried?

You snorted.

Probablyyyyyy~~~

You laughed at the barrage of texts with extremely poor spelling sent to you one after the other half jokingly fretting about you. In the beginning, it was genuine panic from him, but he'd come to know you were smart enough to not kill yourself via being a menace.

Chill out, MUM. I'll be good.

I mean, you most assuredly wouldn't be good, but he didn't need to know that.

You weren't exactly going to reveal you were the one harassing Vox to anyone, even if you were friends. Doing so would be endangering you but also them as well.

You logged the access codes you had gotten from Pentious - ones you couldn't attain normally because they were physically kept in real life - humming and kicking your legs as you cleaned the attack up to make sure there wasn't some missed quotation or something which would fuck the whole thing up.

As you worked hard, a certain someone was about to wake up to the cemented vision of the series of unfortunate events you had in store for him.

This time, Vox woke up in a very unconventional way unlike the prior attack.

One of his main maintenance team members booted him up before his scheduled time.

He looked at the employee with confusion, which quickly turned to anger as he realised that this asshole had intruded into his sleeping quarters, he was very confident, without permission.

The embarrassment about his sleep attire of course underlying. It was hardly the same impression as what he wished to show to the world.

He instantly went to start yelling at the obviously shit scared man in front of him, but he was stopped short as he heard familiar lyrics that didn't yet fully register for him.

"What. What the fuck is that?" He asked, Vox looked at the employee who seemed to be grappling to try and explain.

"We're.. o.. angers.. o love.. u.. ow the rules, and...o do I!"

Vox's eyebrow furrowed in disbelief, mouth parting as he fought to comprehend what was going on, straining to hear what the song was.

"A.. ull.. commitments.. -at.. m.. inking of. O.. ouldn't get this.. om any other.. uy."

Seeing as the employee was useless next to him, Vox got out of bed and quickly raced to his bedroom window, ripping the blinds apart and opening the window.

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand."

Vox looked absolutely dumbfounded out at the scene of hell before him as his still tired brain fully comprehended what he was hearing and seeing.

"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you!"

Who in the fuck was rickrolling hell.

It was on every single billboard and screen that Vox could see out the window of the tall building he lived in, the image of Rick Astley singing 'Never Gonna Give You Up' with a small message Vox could barely make out at the bottom of the faraway billboard.

"S-sir, it's been playing since 6am, we haven't been able to turn it off! It's everywhere! This hacker- 'U' they call themselves, its the same person as last time it seems!" The frightened employee standing behind the hunched over and now trembling figure of Vox finally found his voice.

Vox let out a cold bark of laughter, slamming his hands against the windowsill as he jerkily moved to face the employee. "What the fuck," Vox began to approach the young man, him shrinking back from the clearly furious overlord. "Do you mean that this has been p-p-playing," Vox glitched as he gripped both hands on the techie's shoulders. "Since 6 in the fucking morning!" He yelled.

His claws dug into his shoulders hard. He was about to go fully apeshit, but the sane part of his brain won over that at the last second.

This was not one of his lowest earners, and he had far more pressing things to do then prey on the refuse lest his image be messed up any more then it already had.

He stiffly unhanded the employee, eyes admiring the way blood had started beading where his claws had dug in before taking a deep breath, composing himself and then forcing a strained smile.

"My apologies," a lie, of course. "I will deal with this accordingly myself since it seems like you and your team are un-a-able to yourselves." He spat the last part out, before striding out of his bedroom with one last 'get out.' directed at the employee shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze.

It was all over the internet and Vox knew he had no chance of dealing away with it like last time.

He could do away with a stupid Sinstagram post pretty easily. It was moreso from one source - the branches from that easily clipped and made to be forgotten about nearly completely with a carefully placed broadcast that was succinct and to the point with his hypnosis ability, and constant content moderation.

This though was a completely different story.

Even after kicking you from his system (he hoped), he found himself unable to even begin to try moderate everything as he did last time. He couldn't escape 'U' becoming a viral meme overnight.

Someone with obviously incredible hacking skills using said skills not to attack or harm Vox or anyone, but to instead Rick Roll the entirety of hell?

Vox became a victim of the meme culture him and Velvette had cultivated to keep eyes on them, and he hated it.

He was terrified, which of course manifested as red hot anger. Anger which grew even worse as something was discovered the afternoon of him finally managing to remove the video loop being broadcasted.

An account on one of the many social media applications he owned. An account he somehow couldn't touch with one single post going absolutely viral - the same as the text that was displayed across the bottom of video you had infected all of his screens with which he couldn't quite see from out of his window the prior morning.

'Never gonna give it up, never gonna let you go. Never gonna let you run away and avoid me~ - U'

If anyone wants to be added to a taglist for when I update this fic lmk - I was unsure if the people I @ last time still wanted to be (sorry)

[ Why So Blue masterlist ]

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox headcanons #vox x reader #why so blue fic #vox #sir pentious

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reyggtv · 6 months ago

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There's only so much I can say on Twitter to truly express my feelings about the show Hilda, and how much of an impact it has left on me to make me the kind of person I am today, so I'm taking to Tumblr to write all about it.

If you don't know who I am already, hi, I am ReyGGTV, though you can just call me Rey. I like to make YouTube videos, memes, talk with other Hilda fans, and make occasionally make art. You may already know me from the Hilda Crack videos I made since several years ago, as well as some more recent big videos of mine like my comparison video between Aster and Hilda. I am 20 years old, and have been a diehard fan of the franchise ever since I was just 14.

Firstly, let's discuss how I actually managed to discover Hilda in the first place. It was 2018, freshman year of high school had just started, during this time, I was still big fan of another animated TV show at the time called Star vs. The Forces of Evil. I was a fan of that show ever since its premiere in January of 2015 when I was only 11 years old. Honestly even if I don't look at it nearly as fondly as I do now, to its credit, the show did most certainly help me get interested into animation as a whole more than any other show I saw at the time.

Not even like 2 months after I got in though, I was kicked out. Not because I did anything wrong, but because for a while, my parents had me enrolled in a school district that I didn't even live anywhere near in at the time, so once they found out that I actually lived much farther from them, that's when they decided to let me go. This was devastating to me, all the friends I made in middle school, were suddenly going to go away, and it was only at the very last minute, at the principal's office that I received this news. I was upset, literally everything was going great and they just wanted to throw everything away for me, in favor for me going to a school that was so bad, it caused my family to move to an entirely new city with a better school by the time Sophomore year came around.

But anyways, about 2 weeks before all this happened, I was in a cartoon Discord server, where someone recommended me to watch this show called... you guessed it, Hilda. I took a lot at the promotional material for a while, and put it at the back of my head, not knowing that I would soon revisit it not long later. Fast forward to when I was out of school, I had like 2 weeks in the beginning of October to just cope with everything. It wasn't long that I just became bored, and wanted to do something better, so I pulled up Netflix wanting to find something new to watch. The suggestion from someone about Hilda just so happened to come up on my mind, so I was like "Eh, sure, why not?". I put it on, and the rest was history. I knew from the very moment I finished watching the intro for the very first time, that this was about to be the show of a lifetime for me.

Despite that however, I did not anticipate just how much impact Hilda would leave on the work that I am now doing nearly 6 years after that very faithful day.

I guess the biggest reason why the show left such a massive impact on me right from the beginning is because of its main title character, Hilda. Look, I may be no blue-haired adventurer from the wilderness that likes to munch on cucumber sandwiches all the time, but Hilda at the time for me, was the most relatable character and the character I found the most comfort in when watching it for the first time. Just like me, Hilda too, was also forced to move away from the place and friends she was always happy to be with, despite all her efforts, all it took was one giant, to come and crush it all, leaving her forced to live a new life in a new environment she was not familiar with at all. But, she moved on. She knew that while this was not the ideal way for things go out, life always comes with surprises. But maybe, just maybe, this could be something that could work out in her favor. This whole becoming friends with other humans and living in the big dirty ol' city, could be the best decision she has ever made. And I think it goes without saying that as the series continued, it was.

This was a message that I desperately needed to hear as I was going through overwhelming times at such a young age, and one that I was so happy to hear and watch once I finally finished the first two episodes of this amazing damn show. It showed me that if an 11-year-old girl from the wilderness can be brave enough to move into the big city, be okay and make the best out of it, maybe I too, will be okay with belonging to a new school, finding new friends, and creating new passions for me to follow for years to come. Hilda inspired me to look towards a bigger and brighter future, rather than doubt the bad that comes with the present. For that, I am forever grateful for the creative and writing team of this show, for helping me go through such a difficult time in my life, and convincing me that even despite all that has happened, there will always be something better to look forward to.

I would be lying if I said that this was the only reason as to why I ended up becoming such a huge fan of the show for the next 5 years. Asides from the writing being so good it literally cured my depression. The animation, worldbuilding, and characters were just unlike anything I have ever seen with my own two eyes. It was simple, yet jaw dropping at the same time. Just a silly kid either helping a Raven jog back his memory, try and fight nightmare spirits or ghosts, or help Jellybean out of a scary situation in which everyone wrongfully accuses him of being a big scary black hound. Even if certain episodes of season 1 didn't always turn out perfect, I would always rewatch every single one of them all day for several hours and for several weeks. I had even skipped multiple days of school especially when it was raining, just so I can head to the living room, cuddle up in some warm blankets, with the heater on during the winter season, and just binge the crap out of it for multiple hours a day. This was just the show that I can always count on to bring back the happiness inside of me. Even when I wasn't necessarily having a bad day, I would still continue to watch it for hours because it just kept on getting better and better with every watch I could get possible, it was almost like an addiction almost, haha.

Hilda was the show for me, and I had no intention of trying to watch anything else.

It was also around this time that I started to also get myself more involved with the show's fandom as well, back when it was a lot more populated and not as niche as it is now. While I'm not gonna say that my reputation in it has always been 100% perfect, at the end of the day, I'm just forever grateful I was able to meet some of the most wonderful people and hundreds of fans like myself because of it like @hkthatgffan, @helgafolk618, and many more I can't list here 'cause most of them are not on Tumblr. So much so that I now have the pleasure of creating hundreds, if not thousands of people who are fans/supporters of ME all across all my social media pages. All because I like to talk about Hilda, literally all the time. And to those reading this who has ever left a nice comment on one of my posts, said hi to me on my Discord server, worked with me on a commission, even went as far as to make fan-art of me or just tuned into any of my content whatsoever, thank you. Your support has left a massive impact on me and what I'm continuing to do now. Because at the end of the day, it's not about any popularity points you get from just talking about a TV show consistently for 6 years, for me at least, it has always been about making thousands, sometimes, even millions, happy with my love for it that is the reason that I'm doing any of this in the first place. I love Hilda, always have, and I want to make people happy the same way Hilda did for me, all those years ago.

Surprisingly enough, even though I was already as big of a fan as I could possibly be by the time November of 2018 rolled around, I still wasn't really a guy interested in getting my hands on Hilda merchandise. I knew that the graphic novels by Luke existed, but the only thing I even managed to get for myself at the time was this old T-shirt I bought from the now defunct official Zazzle store they had up for like a few months lol

I guess that all changed when I got my first ever Hilda plush though when I was 15. While it has now certainly showed its age after nearly 5 years, I loved this thing so much lol. It wasn't official because official Hilda plushies didn't exist at the time. I bought it off an Etsy store from AngelinaLily, and I would literally take this thing out with me everyday to everywhere I went to and take photos of it, especially in the wilderness. It was my favorite pastime. My little Hilda, in the palm of my hand 😆. Hey, when you have to wait more than 2 whole years for a brand-new season, what else are you gonna do to entertain yourself during the hiatus?

I had gotten this in the mail right when I had just exited out the mental hospital because I was actively wanting to h*rt myself and potentially putting myself in danger of committing s*icide. Because while Hilda did definitely help me cope with a lot that I was going through at the time, there was still a lot of overwhelming issues I was experiencing, and my mental health was the lowest that it had ever been. This plush effectively, was a way to help me cope with those thoughts I had, which turned out to be a great thing because I literally couldn't be happier with it.

After that, I just decided that "You know what? What if I just got... ALL of the Hilda merchandise?" Thus... that now leading to my massive hoard of Hilda stuff, that I now have everywhere in my room lol

These photos aren't even all the ones I have!

At 16, I decided to write Luke Pearson an e-mail, thanking him for his work and how much it has inspired me to become the person I am now, explaining everything that I just mentioned in this Tumblr post, and at the end of the day, just wanting him to know, that his creations mean a grave big deal to me, and that I will always appreciate just how much of a positive impact it has left me. I didn't really expect anything to come out of it, but about several weeks later, he said this to me lol

"I just wanted to say thank you for writing and relaying your experience to me. I'm sorry to hear that you've been through such difficult times, but I'm glad that you're able to look back on those times and find yourself in a better place. And if Hilda has played any small part in that, which it seems like it has, then I'm extremely pleased about that and it warms me to hear it. It can be hard to know exactly what good a cartoon can actually do for the world (beyond being a few hours of amusement) which is strange when so many people devote so much of their time and creative energy into making it happen. But hearing something like this goes a long way to making it feel like something genuinely worthwhile. I hope things continue to look up for you and hope you're taking care in these trying times." - All the best, Luke

When I tell you I cried like a baby when I first received this e-mail from him, I really did, lol. Hearing this, from the man who made it all possible, was truly the most inspirational thing I could have ever heard. And I was happy, that he was happy, that I was truly able to tell him for the first time, just how much his creation has meant to not just me, but to soooo many fans just like myself. It was truly something to never forget.

Now I'm 20 years old, still talking about the same ol' dang kids show I fell in love with all those years ago. What's happening now? Well now, I am an aspiring film director and video editor who has been taking film classes in community college for the past like 2 years now, I should've graduated already by now but turns out, college is pretty fricking expensive, and I don't even know if I have the funds to try and even graduate by next year. Asides from that though, I am actually in the works of creating my first ever feature-length Hilda fan-film called The Ultimate Hilda Iceberg. It will basically be one of those iceberg explanation videos you see on YouTube, but with the original source of the iceberg being about Hilda, specifically a version someone made on the r/HildaTheSeries subreddit. I've had the idea for this Iceberg video/fan-film as far back as January 2021, with the current script having started work as far back as nearly 9 months ago. And it's still not even finished! Me, as well as tens of dozens of other Hilda fans like myself, are actively working on it to have it be ready by the time fall of this year comes around, right now as we speak! If you want to support and/or follow this massive project as more updates come around you can either follow the official accounts on Twitter/X (@/HildaIceberg) or on Instagram (@/theultimatehildaiceberg).

Asides from that, the biggest passion project I have for my career moving forward, is directing my own big-budget Hilda movie. Specifically, a live-action Hilda movie. Now now, BEFORE you try and cancel me and tell me that this is the stupidest idea of all time and could taint Hilda's image forever. Let me cook. I am a huge movie bluff, I know which live action remakes are genuinely amazing, and which ones just really suck. My vision for a live-action Hilda movie is to make it sorta like how Who Framed Roger Rabbit was. All of the human characters and outside settings are done with real people and practical assets, whilst creatures like Trolls, Elves, or stuff that would normally be done with CGI, be actually turned into 2D-animation, ideally in the same style as that of the Netflix show. Ideally, I also want it to remain as faithful to at least how the show was as possible in terms of story. Look, if there's gonna be anyone else who knows their Hilda best asides from people like Luke or Andy Coyle, it's gonna be me, just sayin.

In conclusion, I just want to wrap this up by giving a huge shout out to people like @littledigits and literally ANYONE who has ever done any time making this fantastic and wonderful show (I couldn't think of anyone else to tag so I only tagged you Meg so sorry if that bothers you 😅). As this post has indicated several times, this show, has really made the best kind of impact in my life and I'm forever grateful to the creator Luke, the directors Andy Coyle, Megan, etc, the voice actors, artists, editors, composers, everyone who has ever had a part in making this amazing show just, please let me hug you. While I may not have been as enthusiastic with the show's third season overall as I wanted to in my opinion, Hilda will always have a soft spot in my heart, for years and years to come, for just how much it truly inspired me, to not just not only being able to have the luxury to do the things I love to do now, but do so in a way that has made, and hopefully will continue to make thousands, hundreds of thousands if not millions of people happy, because of the love that I will continue to have for this very show. Just because a show is small, doesn't mean it can't leave big enough impacts on people for the better ❤️

#hilda #hilda the series #hilda the show #hilda fan art #hilda netflix #hilda oc #animation #netflix

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ethicaltreatmentofcowplants · 3 months ago

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Asylum Challenge: Day Six - Part I

With Lux's departure, we got a new woof-woof in the mix: Rory Oaklow.

Vlad wisely decided that he was going to read his book literally anywhere other than the kitchen, thank you very much.

DIY time! Someone clogged the upstairs toilet (likely Raj with his SLOB trait) so Lilac fixed it.

If the "Soon" meme were a person...

And come sunrise, the arts class was in session. Vlad resumed his landscape painting but also took some time to scope out the talent nearby. Surely this wasn't a masterpiece in the making.

Spoiler Alert: it *was* a masterpiece in the making.

Between he and L., it appears Ted has come off worse. Actually he's going through an early midlife crisis. Fun times for me, if not for him.

The Watcher was anticipating this showdown, but surprisingly Rory and Vlad ended up... chummy.

Yeah, that was a good one, Vlad.

Scheming Hour with Jacques, Ted and L. GOOD Sim Meredith decided to stay out of it.

Skill hour! Meredith cross-stitched, Rory has the werewolf quirk where she hates being indoors so we sent her to work in the garden, while L. played the piano and our two schemers met over chess.

Lilac was on lunch duty, and once more the chef ignored the perfectly clear countertops in order to work beneath the drying rack.

Vlad's piano critiques continued.

Jacques told himself one hell of a tale, while LAZY Lilac napped in the sauna.

Contemplating world domination over the minibar.

Meredith had the whim to make a new friend, so she bonded with Lilac in the sauna, then cloudgazed with Jacques.

Lilac and Vlad are bonding - or something.

#my sims #lilac moon #sims 4 challenge #sims 4 gameplay #asylum challenge #sims 4 asylum #rory oaklow #vladislaus straud #ted roswell #l. faba #jacques villareal #meredith roswell #raj rasoya

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bleachbleachbleach · 3 months ago

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8/12 - 8/18/2024

I wrote a version of Renji 11 what is at this point several years ago (RIP me), and have since just been throwing random stuff/required additions into that Note with no rhyme nor reason, so it took over two hours this week just to sort it all out. But! It is sorted!

Modern-era Renji 11 consists of 3 new scenes and 3 already-existing scenes. I wrote 1.5 of the new scenes. As far as how well I think this Chapter is going, I dunno. As a narrator, Renji’s kind of like, oh hey, here’s a thought I had. And here’s another one! Which feels legit but I’m not sure if it allows the reader to understand which pieces of information are actually important for following the narrative.

You know those reblog memes that like, ask people to identify hallmarks of your writing? The concept is fun, but it wouldn't work in practice because 0.02% of anyone who might see that post would have any familiarity with my writing. SO. I WILL SIMPLY TELL YOU. My hallmarks are that I love an interstice—love having things that should be on the cutting room floor not on the cutting room floor—but am also a firm believer in stories not needing to have every scene the characters experience to exist on the page. This combination means there’s a good chance that actually relevant, defining scenes simply do not exist and only the interstitial nonsense does. I think in certain stories this can be a real thing that works. I think it can also have the effect of nothing hanging together, making any sense, or meaning anything, without certain bits of key information/certain scenes that I simply did not include because they exist in my head and therefore exist everywhere right. I think that’s where this chapter is.

Maybe the remaining 1.5 new scenes will help ameliorate that, but I feel like that’s asking a lot of them. And then, theoretically, you’d think fixing the existing scenes would go more quickly than writing from scratch, but I don’t know that they will. Because the story leading up to this point has changed enough that the characters are in very different headspaces and perceptions of each other than they were when I first wrote those scenes. Well, that’s not true—Kensei and Renji are in a very different place with each other. Renji and Hitsugaya need to have the exact same conversation but, you know… better. And FRANKLY, I do not know whether entirely overhauling Kensei and Renji will be harder or easier than merely line-editing Hitsugaya and Renji. =_=;;

I’d really like to finish Renji 11 by the end of next week, and then take some time to finish out the revisions on Rukias 7 and 10, which are the most related to Renji 11. Then I’d like to go back to do final line edits on Chapters 4, 5, and 8 before heading into the big mess of revision that is Hisagi 9, because those revisions will be most related to Hitsugaya 12.

I’m not anticipating getting much done in September, because I have a major work deadline September 30th, and the rest of autumn will probably be kind of garbage, too, and I probably won't exist. But I would love to finish Part II (so, Chapters 12 and 13) by December. Well, speaking honestly, my original hope was that I would finish Part II by May, but here it is, August, and I am still working on Chapter 11. So: I would LOVE to finish Part II by December.

—

I did a low-res mockup of the fic banner several months ago (okay, this might have been last November). I pulled out some high-res assets to work with on Friday and played around with a new design I thought was fun, but it turns out design-wise the old mockup looks much more polished. Or it would, if I were using higher-quality materials. XD So I’ll probably go back to the old design. The only reason to continue with the new one is that it reflects the clusterfuck spirit of everything that happens in this fic, but I kind of like the way the old banner puts a pretty bow on the clusterfuck lurking beneath the surface. Maybe I’ll solicit opinions once I’ve made a more serious mockup of the first version.

#'[pivotal fic scene]'s a nothing part captain'#'it's nothing 'til you don't got one. then it appears to be everything'#^ i'm part of that rare and exclusive club where that's one of my most-quoted lines from a famously quotable show #where that line probably shouldn't feature in my or anyone's top 10 #but here we are #stories for the sea

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aphroditestummyrolls · 11 months ago

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27 and wesper for the prompt meme 💕

Hiiiii! Thanks for playing ❤️ I was aiming to make these cute little drabbles, about the same length as the WIP game, BUT. That didn’t happen here.

So, enjoy what is essentially a oneshot missing scene from Only Way Out (is through).

27. Accidentally Sleeping In

The kitchen was still cast in deep blue shadow. The night clung to the corners of the room, and the furniture in the adjacent den was nothing but dark silhouettes as the windows gradually lightened. Blinking out over the fields with bleary eyes, it looked like another clear summer’s day on the horizon. A breeze made the jurda dance; the last stars glittered above; and the first fingers of sunlight were going pink as they chased away the darkness.

The house felt still in a way that it hadn’t since the boys came to stay. There was no glow of light under Jesper’s bedroom door, and there was no squeak of mattress springs as they restlessly shifted around and around. Wylan’s usual beleaguered whisper was absent, leaving nothing but the slumbering silence of pre-dawn.

He hoped Jesper had gotten that poor lad to go to sleep and stay asleep. And that he’d still gotten a good night’s rest for himself.

Colm looked at the wall clock— scarcely 5 bells.

He’d give them till the half chime.

He took the coffee pot down from its cupboard as quietly as he could manage, and set the kettle on the fire. He would give them until breakfast was ready. Usually, Jesper was stumbling down the corridor by the time he smelled griddlebreads, anyway. Even after all these years away, it was still like a summoning ritual for even the most exhausted of sons.

Even this exhausted, though? Addy’s voice chimed in from the back of his mind. You’ve never seen him this tired. You know that.

Colm sprinkled flour across the countertop, and unwrapped their breakfast dough from where he’d left it to rise in the hearth’s embers overnight. Perhaps he kneaded into the soft puff of it with more feeling than usual, but he couldn’t help it. He was worried.

He had never been able to hide from his wife— especially not now. And, as usual, she was right.

It had been just over a week since Jesper and his young councilman had docked in Shriftport. They brought with them two haphazardly packed cases of clothes, but Colm considered them lucky that their ship didn’t charge them extra for the bags under their eyes. There was a weight on Wylan’s skinny frame so broad and crushing, it almost surprised the Kaelishman to see the lad walking.

Jesper helped shoulder that weight with all the grace of a man anticipating an explosion, but Colm glowed with pride all the same. They were good partners, those two. He watched them give and take throughout that long, sleepless week— he caught the tail end of long talks and brief check ins. Every morning after they came in from the jurda fields, Colm brought in the post; and every night, he walked past their bedroom door to see the lamps still lit as they worked steadily through the passing hours.

And, he saw the circles under their eyes grow darker with each morning, over griddlebreads and coffee. In the pre-dawn, they seemed as deep as any shadow in the house.

Colm was finally beginning to understand the extent of what Jesper was trying to say in his letter, all those days ago.

Dear Da, it read, I hope you’re well. Good to hear the harvest is coming in strong, and the buyers are already lining up.

Things here are fine— I’m worried about Wylan. This house is starting to feel bloody haunted, and the noses of the council constantly poking in aren’t doing much to help. Everything is piling up. He thinks I don’t know how much this is grating on him, and I don’t know how to tell him he’s scaring me.

I know I’m not much of a communicator—

I understand if you’re still mad, but I’m trying to—

Did you ever have to talk to Ma— that one was so blotted with ink, that Colm had to hold it up to the midday sun to find the words underneath.

I don’t know what to do. You told me to tell you next time I didn’t know what to do, so I’m doing that. He’s not sleeping, he forgets to eat, we spend all day pushing through this damned paperwork, and getting him down to the club can only distract him from the worst of it for so long.

I’m so tired, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. Help? I suppose?

He signed it with love from the both of them, and Colm had reread it until the parchment feathered at the corners. It was still tucked into the bookshelf in the shadowy den, used as a place marker in a half-interesting novel he gave up on.

The kettle whistled. With floured hands, the Kaelishman turned in the time-honoured route from counter to stove, and then to the coffee maker. He didn’t need to think about it. The motions were as natural as breathing, and he had other things on his mind.

The night before, the three of them spent a few short hours in the den before retiring for the day.

Colm couldn’t even remember what was being said, when Jesper suddenly went very still, and quiet. His grey eyes blinked, wide and sparkling, and he looked over to his young councilman as if he wasn’t sure what he’d see. And then he smiled.

No, he beamed.

Because Wylan Van Eck was deep asleep, his cheek smushed up into Jesper’s shoulder. His thick lashes tickled along his cheek, chapped red lips just a little bit open. He took slow, even breaths against Jesper’s chest, and Colm couldn’t help the clench of emotion that snuck up around his heart.

He looked like a little boy.

And Jesper looked like he’d been given an absolute treasure of a gift.

He kissed his forehead— gently, so gently, as if he’d bolt upright at any second— and didn’t dare to wake him up to shuffle him off to bed.

Colm held open the bedroom door so Jes could fit Wylan and himself through the narrow opening. The smaller lad was laid out in the center of the bed while Jesper fluttered around the room, unlacing Wylan’s boots and slipping his braces from his shoulders. For once, Colm found himself glad that his son was so allergic to making his bed— it made it much easier to slip back in at night.

And that was the last he had seen of either of them. The Kaelishman bid his son goodnight in a whisper, and Jesper smiled. He looked so exhausted,and so relieved.

Oh, he hoped they’d managed some good rest.

By the time the half chime rang through the little farmhouse, each bread had been cooked to golden brown, steaming perfection. Coffee was ready. Plates were on the counter— not that Jesper would use one. Not when there was the option to leave crumbs on the kitchen floor.

But, Jesper wasn’t here. There were no creaking bed springs, or sleepy grumbling voices coming down the corridor. Colm craned his head to peek at the lad’s door, and the glow of the lamp wasn’t there, like it had been so reliably for so many days.

The sun was rising, painting the kitchen and the den with the wash of warm pink, yellow and Zemeni blue sky. Yet, even with the shadows chased away, the house was still heavy with a sleeping hush.

He sighed.

At least when Jesper was awake all night, he didn’t oversleep.

Rolling his eyes, he poured himself a coffee and took a long sip. He stared at the door, willing the light to turn on, and to hear his son roll out of bed and curse at the clock.

They were meant to start the second round of the harvest that morning. The first of the drying blooms were out in the silos, but the growing things of the earth weren’t just going to wait for them to be ready to pick them. The time frame was limited. How many times had he told Jesper that? How many times had he walked the short path from the kitchen to that bedroom door, and given him the wake up call he missed?

This time, though, he raised his hand to knock, and… paused.

Instead, he dared to open the door and poke his head into the room.

The sunrise was a little slower to reach Jesper’s room, turning the peachy dawn into a warm lavender haze through the drapes. The bedside table was stacked with the last of the letters to be sent— signed and sealed with a splatter of red wax. But, on the bed itself, there wasn’t nearly as much formality… or urgency.

The covers had been kicked around. Only a sheet was draped across Jesper’s skinny hips, his gangly limbs starfished out across the mattress. He was utterly dead to the world. His ribs rose and fell in deep pulls of breath, and Colm wished he could see his boy’s sleeping face better. He always looked so sweet and young, finally at rest for once in his wild life.

But, this time, his nose was buried in a nest of wild curls.

While Jesper had sprawled, Wylan had curled up under his arm, cuddled in between his body and the wall. His cheeks were flushed with the warmth of sleep, even in the low light, and he looked just the same as he had when he fell asleep the evening before. He had a cheek squished up against Jesper, lashes fanning his cheeks, and chapped lips slack. Now, though, his fingers twitched and flexed over Jesper’s chest, and he was burrowing impossibly closer to him. A tiny little sigh passed Jesper’s lips— he could see it as it ruffled the red curls obscuring his mouth. Maybe he smeared an unconscious kiss to his forehead. Colm couldn’t tell.

Oh Saints. Colm couldn’t bring himself to wake them.

“Da?”

Grey eyes blinked at him for a long, sleepy moment, not processing much of anything at first. And then, it hit.

“Fuck—!”

“Shh, shh— no.” Colm crossed the small room to stop his son before he moved and woke the both of them. “No, no. It’s alright, Jes.”

Jesper blinked. Wylan made a sleepy little sound, but didn’t wake.

Colm pulled the covers back up over them, and Jesper finally seemed to understand what was happening. His eyes went half lidded. He sighed.

“Get some sleep, son.” He murmured.

Jes just hummed.

They were both asleep again by the time Colm closed the door behind them.

❤️❤️❤️

#six of crows #wesper #jesper x wylan #wylan x jesper #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #colm fahey #thanks for playing!

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kirakirabluemoon · 10 months ago

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Happy New Year and I hope everyone has a better year ahead! 🙆🏻‍♀️💖💖💖🌻🌻🌻🍀🍀🍀

I know this Author’s notes looks long, but please don’t panic. It’s just an update, I’m still working on Belladonna. 😊👍🏻💖🙆🏻‍♀️

This is an update to let y’all know how things been going with Belladonna’s Chapter 31. It is still unfortunately incomplete, but I promise I’m trying! 🌚🙏🏻 Still ironing out some details and Chinese New Year is coming, so spring cleaning and stuff is in order. So update is probably after February. 🌚🙏🏻 I’m very sorry. 🙃😔😭🙏🏻

These three paragraphs only regards my health in slightly more detail than the previous post, (why I haven’t been able to update) so you can just skip it if you’d like. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖 As I mentioned previously, my health has been fluctuating since June 2023, I haven’t been feeling very well so my writing took a hit (on top of writer’s block). 😩🫠 The symptoms thankfully wasn’t too serious, all things considered.🤞🏻My fatigue however was the most obvious, there was also low moods, insomnia (caused by heart palpitations) and etc. However, I’ve gotten my blood tested around November and I finally know what’s going on. So at least I now know how to reduce and regulate the symptoms, I’ve seen improvements and hopefully I’ll make a full recovery soon. 🙆🏻‍♀️💖🙏🏻

But then at the end of December, I was tested positive with covid. 🌚🌚🌚🫠🫠🫠 So my fatigue worsened. At this point it’s like a triple layered stack. First from my nightly dreams, second from the issue that started in June, then now from the covid. 🫠 I have tested negative after 6 days, but my doctor did warn me that some symptoms and inflammation will probably persist for about a month after turning negative and to not do strenuous exercises, (even something simple like brisk walk). I found out sometimes just eating a meal brings me shortness of breath and my heart rate would reach 106 or so and then I gotta lie down. Feels like my heart was copying that one meme on Facebook and saying, “If you don’t stop, I will.” 😮‍💨🌚🤣 The same goes for house chores, like changing the bedsheets. So yeah. But I’m still kicking—albeit weakly—AND my low moods had thank god not plagued me lately. 💖😮‍💨🙏🏻 Bless.

I’ll be trying to get a swing back into things while minding my energy, so my health doesn’t decide to give me a sucker punch to the gut. Or a left hook, I don’t know, it’s been years and it still likes to catch me by surprise. 🌚🤷🏻‍♀️🤞🏻 Despite the annoyances, I’m still very thankful it’s nothing too serious. At this point, I’ll just let it throw a fit wherever it wants, and then let it die down whenever, while trying to get on with my life and maintaining inner peace. 🙄😑🤦🏻‍♀️🤌🏻 I’m done trying to control it to go the way I want it to, cuz it backfired, badly. 🌚

Anyways, thank you all so much and I really really appreciate the immense patience, love and support my dear readers has shown for my stories. 💖🙆🏻‍♀️🍀 I know I haven’t been updating as much as I would have liked, nor anticipated, after I graduated from school five-years-turning-six-years ago, in fact I thought I’d be able to churn out more chapters, guess I sorely underestimated the full extent of the symptoms my health could throw at me. 🙃😔

I wish everyone good health—seriously please take good care of yourself, and may all the lovely and nice things in life, be it big or small, be enjoyed, celebrated, and appear whenever you need it. 🥰🙆🏻‍♀️🌈💖🌻🍀

The very best of luck for 2024 and the upcoming Year of the Dragon! God bless everyone! Cheers! 🎆🎇🎉🎊🐉🎊🎉🎆🎇

Until next time! 😘

Ps: My inbox told me I have a new message/submission but when I click on it, there’s nothing there. 🌚🌚🌚 If someone sent me an ask, I’m sorry but Tumblr won’t let me see it. 😭🙏🏻

#belladonna

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avatarmerida · 2 years ago

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A Sleeve of Flowers

This is my attempt at a Huntlow Flower Shop x Tattoo Shop AU. There’s no real plot just like a fluff meet cute I guess? It kind of got away from me. it’s also very long for something with no plot lol but oh well If you see any spelling errors no you didn’t

---

Willow looked around the shop in wonder. Every inch of the walls were covered in something; art, pictures of past intricate tattoos, vintage posters of a books series she remembered Gus loved to read, clever memes Luz had clearly made. It was a vast collection of seemingly random things that came together to create the feeling of being inside a collage. She was so distracted by admiring the walls she didn’t notice the boy had entered until she heard him hit the ground.

“Can I- woah!”

Willow looked up to the sound and quickly looked down to see the source, a blonde boy in a jean jacket laying on the floor clearly embarrassed. What she didn’t know was that he had fallen because he was too busy staring at her to watch where he was going.

“Are you Caleb?” she asked with a smile as she offered him her hand. He looked at the girl before him utterly bewildered, she just looked so… classic. Her long black hair pulled into two perfect braids, her rounded golden glasses complimented the light green of her eyes and the matching color in her dress lined with small white flowers which she paired with an emerald sweater. She was a bright spot in the usual dark location Hunter could blame his distraction on how she managed to fit right in and stand out at the same time.

“Caleb? Oh! Because of the name! Of the shop!” he muttered as took her hand and rose to his feet, answering after what felt like hours. “No, no I-I’m Hunter.”

“Oh, Luz’s brother,” said Willow, recalling the hundreds of photos Luz had shown her. They didn’t do him justice, he was much taller in person and less blurry. And kinda cute. She shook that last thought from her mind and shook her his hand, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “I’m Willow Park.”

“Willow?” repeated Hunter, as her strong grip shook his whole body.

“That’s me.”

“Like, Luz’s Willow?”

“Well, that’s not exactly what it says on my birth certificate but I’ll take it,” laughed Willow. “I guess you're the Hunter she’s always trying to set me up with then?”

“S-set you up with?”

“Yeah, I told her I wanted to do a sleeve of flowers and she said that’s your specialty so she’s been trying to line up our schedules for weeks now.”

“Oh! Like, set up an appointment,” said Hunter. “Duh, obviously.”

“I keep putting it off and with Valentine’s Day around the corner, my shop’s only gonna get busier so when she said you had an opening I thought it must be fate!”

“Your shop?”

“Oh yeah, I work across the street actually,” she said. “Willow’s Wallflowers.”

“That… makes alot of sense actually,” said Hunter, embarrassed to not have made the connection sooner. “That’s why Luz goes there so much on her lunch break.”

“You’re welcome to join us for lunch if you want,” said Willow, looking down and realizing they were still holding hands though the hand shake had already ended. Hunter pulled his hand back,embarrassed, and cleared his throat as he led her to his chair.

“Well we usually take separate lunch breaks so there’s always someone in the shop,” said Hunter as motioned for her to sit as he prepped the needles.

“Well, I can take a long lunch if you ever want some company,” said Willow, removing her cardigan and making herself comfortable. “I'm sure my boss won’t mind.”

“Well I would hate for you… I mean if you’re sure…” Hunter stammered to respond before the dots finally connected. “Oh, it’s you. Y-you’re your own boss.”

“Bingo.” she said with a wink. “I’m actually celebrating one year of being my own boss, so I’m getting the tattoo as kind of a present to myself.”

“Oh, well congrats.” said Hunter. “I’m honored to be a part of the celebration. So Luz showed me the sun-.” he stopped, noticing her bare arms. She was more muscular than he had anticipated and that had never been an issue for him before, but something about seeing this muscle paired with her smile and overall nature like demeanor made his stomach spin. He had a feeling this girl could easily hoist him over her shoulder and for some reason he was very into the idea. But that was not a professional thought. “... flower. The sunflower you wanted. A sunflower. This one.”

He held up the drawing he had made earlier that day, wondering if he had known who it was for if he would’ve spent more time on it. It was perfect, he was confident of that, but somehow he felt she deserved more than perfect.

“Yup” she confirmed with a wide smile. “On my shoulder.”

“Perfect, great choice,” he said as he placed the stencil over the spot and began tracing, trying to be toilet normal about how close he had to be to her. “Is this your first tattoo?”

She nodded. “Maybe it’s a cliche, I’m sure you do alot of flower tattoos right?”

“Well, mostly roses if I'm being honest,” he said.

“Ugh, roses,” groaned Willow. ‘Don’t get me wrong, they’re great, but Valentine's Day is nonstop roses, as though people don’t think other flowers can be romantic. My backroom is nothing but roses right now. And for what? They sit in a vase until they- sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, no it’s fine, we have a similar stance on roses.” he chuckled as he removed the stencil to make sure she was pleased with the placement. She gave her approval and Hunter began the actual tattooing process. She winced slightly when the needle touched her skin, but nothing like his usual clientele reacted, Hunter was impressed, They sat in silence for awhile before Willow spoke again.

“So, are you busy on Valentine’s Day?” she asked.

“Uh… no I’m single,” he said, wiping off some excess ink. “I’ve got a perfect record of 25 Valentine-less Valentines days.”

“I meant the shop,” she said with a coy smile, not displeased with the answer. “Lot of couples getting matching tattoos I imagine.”

“Oh! Oh, yeah of course,” he chuckled nervously. Why would she ask about him? They had just met. She was his client, he needed to be professional. “Uh, yeah. This year is extra busy because Valentine’s Day falls on a Saturday so that means the day before is Friday the 13th which gets us a line out the door.”

“Oh yeah, you do like $13 tattoos right?”

“Yeah, anything off my flash sheet,” he said, reaching into his pocket to pull out a copy. “This is mine for this year, it’s mostly birds and wolves and some nature stuff. Luz’s does better, she does like creepy stuff that people really like.”

“Well, thank you for not making my flower creepy.” said Willow with a smile.

“Well, no promises on the next one,” he said with a smug smile. “That’s a joke, I’d never give you a tattoo you wouldn’t like. Not on purpose. I mean, that’s why we do consultations and tracings first so you-.”

“Hey, don’t worry it looks great,” said Willow, admiring her shoulder. “When I come back to add the color, would you be able to start another flower?”

“Oh, yeah sure let’s get you booked up,” he said, practically flying from his seat to the counter. “He flipped to his calendar to find the soonest date possible. Which was his usual process, it wasn't because he wanted to see her again as soon as possible or something.

“Um, how about Tuesday? Same time?”

“Sounds good,” Willow said with a smile. Hunter jotted her name down. “Oh, and here,” she said, reaching into her purse to pull out a card and a pen and quickly jotted something on the back. “Here’s my number just in case you wanna call me outside business hours.”

“Oh, cool,” he said, taking it from her and admiring the card. It was simple, the border a delicate vines littered with flowers and the I and o in her name were sunflowers, clearly her signature flower. As he went it tack it on the board, Willow reached back into her purse to pull out a collection of bills and handed it to him.

“Oh, Luz said you already paid,” he said, handing her back the cash.

“Well then consider it a tip,”

“That’s way too generous of a tip, it defeats the whole purpose of a friend's discount.”

“Oh please, she gave me well over the usual friend discount,” said Willow, placing the bills back in his hands. “And we went well over my allotted time, I refuse to be the reason for your small business’s demise. Take it.”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, taking the money. “But I’m applying it towards your next flower.”

“Fine,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to find another way to tip you for your services.”

She winked at him before walking out the door and Hunter prayed to every deity above that she didn’t see the blush he knew was covering his face.

---

“So how did your session with Willow go?” Luz asked as she strolled into the shop after dropping off Amity at the bookstore.

“Fine,” said Hunter, pretending he was too focused on finishing a sketch in his notebook to give a more detailed answer.

“Just fine?” prompted Luz, knowing him well enough to know there was more. Hunter groaned and set his pencil down.

“Yeah, we have another appointment on Tuesday.” he replied, still not looking up.

“Yeah, she sent me a pic,” said Luz, sipping her soda. “It’s gotta be some of your best work. It’s gonna look so rad when it’s done. Looks like you two will be spending alot of time together.”

“Guess so.”

“You cool with that?”

Hunter sighed, clearly frustrated and Luz smiled; she was hoping for this reaction.

“Why didn’t you tell me your friend was so cute?” Hunter demanded as though she had omitted to tell him he was walking into a bear trap.

“Um, I definitely did tell you that, several times.”

“Well, you call possums cute and Amity, how am I supposed to trust your judgment?”

“Rude,” said Luz, not taking it too much to heart as she sat on the chair across from him, putting up her feet and making herself comfortable. “But you like her, right?”

“She’s a great client,” Hunter said, not taking the bait. “She has a high pain tolerance.”

“You like her muscles don’t you?” Luz said with a smug grin and the scarlet color that took over his face was the only response she needed. He gathered his things in a huff and went to the back before she could lure any other embarrassing truths out of him.

---

“So how did you get into the tattooing business?” asked Willow the next week as Hunter was at work on her orchid.

“Oh, well actually it was because I wanted to get a tattoo removed,” he chuckled.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, focusing on the details of the petals. “Before Camila adopted me, I lived with my uncle. And he wasn’t the best caretaker. He let me get a tattoo when I was 14, which is illegal and I would never do by the way. So after I got out of there and realized how toxic that living situation was it just reminded me of him so I wanted to get it removed. But the removal process is almost worse than the process of getting it, so Camila suggested we cover it. I drafted some ideas and the Owl Lady, who became Luz’s mentor actually, somehow managed to take the ugly sigil and turn it into this.” he held out his wrist and showed Willow the tiny cardinal that rested on his wrist. She never would have guessed it covered anything, it looked as though it was meant to be there. “And ya know I was really into drawing and I'm not squeamish so it worked out. Sorry it’s not the best story.”

“Are you kidding? That’s so sweet ” smiled Willow. “And then you got Luz into it too? A real family business.”

“Yeah, some distant relative left me the building in their will,” continued Hunter. “It used to be a restaurant and we turned into a parlor but we kept the name. It was a nice font.”

“It is a nice font,” Willow agreed and for some reason that made Hunter’s stomach flip. He thought he could control the feeling if he avoided asking certain questions.

‘So what about you? H-how did you get into flowers?”

“Well, I was a flower in a past life,” said Willow simply. Hunter stopped his work and looked at her skeptically. “I’m kidding.” she said with an airy giggle that made him feel lightheaded.

“Oh, yeah of course,” he said and went back to work.

“I just like flowers I guess, it’s not as good of a story as yours, sorry,” she said. “There’s just so many layers, ya know? There’s so many different types and they all mean different things. They’re good company I guess.”

“Just like you,” he said quietly.

“What was that?”

“Uh… just like your tattoo! Which is done!” he said nervously, and Willow turned her arm to admire his work.

“You’ve done it again Noceda,” she beamed, in utter awe of the latest addition. “It’s absolutely stunning.”

“Just like you,” he said, this time not quiet and he did not attempt to cover it up. Willow smiled as he carefully wrapped the new piece, able to marvel at this closeness without worry of distracting him.

---

“You don’t have to keep giving me the discount just because I’m Luz’s friend,” said Willow as went to pay for the latest addition. “That should only apply if she’s doing it.”

“Well then how about I give it to you because you’re my friend?” he said bashfully.

“Well, I don’t want you to think I’m just your friend for the discounted tattoos,” she said sweetly, trying to hide her thrill at his suggestion.

“Well the honor is more mine, I’d say,” he said offering her crooked, toothy grin

“How many other people get the ‘Hunter’s friend’ discount?” Willow asked, leaning forward in the counter, resting her chin on her hand.

“Well you’re actually the first,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle.

“Do… girlfriends get a discount too?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, Luz gives Amity a discount but her tattoos are kind of boring if I’m being honest.”

“And you’d prefer a girlfriend who gets interesting tattoos?”

“I mean, she’s okay and they’re happy so I don’t think-,” he stopped himself as he looked at her flirtatious grin and felt like he had stumbled into a larger question. “Oh, you meant for me?”

She nodded.

“Well I-I don’t, ya know it doesn’t even matter,” he laughed. “I already have plans for Valentine's Day, can’t imagine any girlfriend would like that too much.”

“Kinda nice to know we’re both in the same boat for Valentine's Day though, huh?”

---

“Welcome to Willow’s Wallflowers! How can I -oh, hi Hunter!” she beamed when she saw who had entered her doorway. She set down the pot she held and rushed over to greet him. He gave her a timid wave as he marveled at her shop. It was brighter than his shop, there were more windows which meant more sunlight which the flowers obviously loved. It smelled amazing. He recognized it, the same smell lingered in her hair when she would come by for her sessions. Not that he smelled her hair, that was unprofessional.

“Wow it’s… beautiful in here,” he said in awe.

“Thanks!” she said. She wanted to say ‘It’s more beautiful now that you’re here,’ but she was on the clock and that was unprofessional. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, no,” he said. ‘Well, maybe? But no, actually I had a last minute cancellation and I was wondering if you’d be interested in taking the slot? Do another session during your lunch? Maybe add that Chrysanthemum?”

“Oh, I’d love that,” she said. “You are so sweet to think of me; but I had to skip breakfast this morning for an early delivery so if I skip lunch I might pass out.”

“Oh, yeah no don’t do that,” he said. “Um that’s fine, we can’t keep your regular appointment no big deal.”

“Well what about you? Have you eaten yet?”

“Uh, no I had this scheduled during my lunch so I was just gonna grab a protein shake or something between sessions.”

“Well, how about you keep that time slot open and we have a little lunch date? My treat.” said Willow with a wink. Did she wink at everyone or just him? He never knew what to make of it.

“Oh, well don’t you usually meet with Luz? We still stagger our times so-.”

“Nah, she ditched me for a lunch date with Amity,” she said with a fake pout and Hunter couldn’t help but notice she had used the word to describe Amity and Luz, a couple, having lunch as she did to them having lunch. Did that mean something or was it just a common turn of phrase that he was reading too much into? “So it’ll be just you and me.”

He decided to test the waters.

“I’m not really dressed for anything fancy.” he said shyly.

“I mean, I’m not really either,” she said, removing her apron to reveal a simple green dress. She always looked stunning in green.

‘Are you kidding? You look amazing,” gasped Hunter and she smiled at his insistence. “I-i mean compared to me. Well, compared to anyone… you, uh… you always look… nice.”

“Why thank you,” she said. “But I’m kicking myself; I was in such a hurry this morning I forgot to grab a jacket and it’s actually a little chilly outside.”

“Oh well, here,” he said, quickly removing his jacket and placing it on her shoulder before she could protest. “I always wear too many layers anyway.”

“Wow, you tattoo your clothes too, huh?” she said, marveling at the patches that covered nearly every inch of the jacket.

“Oh, yeah I guess?” he smiled, holding the door open for her as she followed behind and went to lock up, flipping the sign in the window. “Camila got me into sewing, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“It’s amazing,” said Willow, twirling in it as though it was an elegant cape. “How dare you say you’re not dressed for anything fancy when you have this treasure?”

“You really like it?”

She nodded. “You better keep an eye on me or I’m gonna steal when you’re not looking.”

“Well it’s not like I don’t know where to find you,” he chuckled. “It does look nice on you.”

“Oh, can you take my picture in it?” Willow asked, handing him her phone. “I wanna send it to Luz.”

“Uh sure,” he said as she started to pose, looking over her shoulder so the whole jacket could be seen. His usual steady hand was shaky, and when he looked at the photos he was embarrassed that she was blurry and out of frame as he was looking at her and not the picture. She ran over to see the results before he could explain.

“Oh I love them,” she said, laughing.

“Sorry they’re not great I’m not much of a photographer,”

“Well luckily I am,” she said as they continued to walk. She effortlessly slipped her arm through his to guide her as she looked at her phone to edit the photos. Hunters eyes darted down to see what she was doing as she turned his blurry shoots into photos that could’ve been on a magazine.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” gasped Hunter. “How did you do that?”

“I do a lot of floral arrangements for weddings and events so I’ve gotten pretty good at photo editing,” she explained. “I usually use an actual camera, but my photoshop skills have gotten pretty good if I do say so myself.”

“Oh wow so all those photos in your store? You took those?”

She nodded.

“Wow, I should hire you to take some new photos for the front room,” he said.

“Well, here’s a free one,” she said, raising the phone up and pulling him close to her so they could take a selfie. She looked at the camera and flashed the peace sign, and Hunter was caught off guard looking at her fondly. She brought the phone close and smiled at the moment she had captured. “Oh, the lighting is so good! You look so cute!”

“Really?” He said with a blush, looking at the photos over her shoulder.

“Yeah!” She beamed. “Want me to send this to you?”

“Oh um I actually don’t have a phone,” he admitted bashfully. “I mean I have a phone at the shop just not like a phone for that.”

“A man of mystery,” Willow mused. “No worries, it’s not like I don’t know where to find you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Um, so there’s a place up here? Is that okay?”

“Sure, she said, allowing him to lead the way. “So tell me, man of mystery, why did it take so long to finally meet you? Luz introduced herself with a plate of ginger snaps before you guys were even officially open.”

“Yeah well, she was always better at making friends,” he said. “I guess I’ve always kept to myself,bit of a wallflower you know?”

“Well, luckily for you wallflowers are my favorite kind of flowers,” said Willow. “Especially such interesting., golden ones.”

“R-right,” Hunter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh hey! We’re here! Lemme run in to grab us a table?”

“Sure thing,” Willow smiled, admiring the photo. Just then, her phone began to buzz with a video call request from Luz. “Hey, what’s-.”

“Willow, how did you do it?”

“Um, hi to you too?” Willow said, confused.

“How did you do it?” Luz repeated.

“Do what?”

“You got Hunter to smile,” came Amity’s voice. Oh right they were together.

“Yeah, so? He’s got a nice smile.”

“Willow, he never smiles,” said Luz, seriously. “Every picture we’ve ever taken he looks miserable. Even when my mom convinced him to sit for our Christmas card he looked so uncomfortable we thought his appendix had burst, but you somehow got him to smile and show his teeth? Are you a witch, Park?”

“No, I just caught him off guard, I guess,” she said with a chuckle, feeling proud of her feat. “Also, I feel like he’s smiled at me plenty.”

“Ooh he’s probably smiling because you’re on a daaaaaate.” teased Luz.

“Oh, hush.” said Willow, not correcting her.

“Wait, are you wearing his-.” but Willow hung up before she could further interest her, seeing Hunter wave her inside having secured a table.

----

She wore his jacket to every session, waiting for him to ask for it back. He didn’t. A framed photo of them from that day mysteriously appeared on his desk. He considered it a fair trade.

---

“Hey!” said Willow as she flew in the door, the bell announcing her presence.

‘Willow!” Hunter exclaimed, appearing from behind the counter as though surprised to see her and not like he had been watching her skip across the street. “W-we don’t have a session today do we? Not that I memorized it, I mean I do know my schedule even if you’re not on it but um that’s because I uh- what’s up?” he cut himself off, leaning over the counter as casually as he could.

“I brought you something,” she sang, bringing her surprise from behind her back to reveal a flouting plant.

“Oh wow,” Hunter's eyes widened at the sight. “This is gorgeous.”

“It’s a fern,” said Willow with a smile, delighted he liked it. “You mentioned getting a plant and I’ve been looking after this little guy for awhile and I thought he’d be the perfect fit for the shop.”

“Oh wow, yeah,” said Hunter excitedly, “Where should we put him? How much sun does he need? Does he have a name?”

“I’m glad you like it, '' she said, setting it down to the perfect spot. “They're not hard to look after and I have a list of care instructions. Plus I’m right across the street.”

“This is so nice of you,” he said, still not used to receiving presents, “Oh! I got something to show you too!” He reached into his pocket and proudly displayed what Willow assumed to be the last flip phone on the planet. “For texting!” he said, pride shining in his eyes.

“Wow, look at you,” she said. “Do you need any help setting it up?”

“Oh, Luz helped me last night.” he said, handing her the phone. “She already programmed your number in.”

“I see that… and was she the one who put five hearts after my name?”

“Gah! I don’t know how to erase them,” he said shyly, taking the phone back. “But now we can talk… outside business hours.”

“Oh, and… what should we talk about? Outside business hours?” said Willow, rocking back on her heels and batting her eyelashes at him. She thought he would match her teasing tone but instead he looked sweaty and sickly.

“Ya know, whatever friends talk about I guess,” he said nervously. “Fern care?”

---

Willow started leaving clues around Caleb’s for what her next flower would be. When Hunter was away, she’d come in under the guise of visiting Luz and hide the flower somewhere she knew he’d find it before she came in for her next appointment; in a book or on his desk. It was not at all the professional or efficient way of letting your tattoo artist know what you planned on getting, but Willow was starting to care less and less for professionalism and efficiency.

---

“Are you Hunter?” came a voice, much younger than the voices that frequented the shop. Hunter turned around and almost didn’t see the short boy who had walked in.

“Are you… old enough to be in here?” Hunter asked, looking around to see if he had come in with anyone.

“I’m the one asking the questions here,” said the boy. “Now are you him?”

“Yes? Who’s asking?”

“Agustus Porter, student, science fiction enthusiast and president of the WIllow Park fan club,” he said very officially. “I’m here to investigate.”

“Investigate what, exactly?”

“Your intentions,” he said, trying to make his voice lower. “With Willow.”

“Intentions? L-like marriage?”

“Hmm interesting,” said Gus, jotting something down in his notebook. “No one said anything about marriage and yet…”

“I’m confused, did Willow send you? Is Willow coming? We usually-.”

“She’s running late, so I saw the opportunity and I took it,” said Gus. “You’ve been spending alot of time together lately. When she’s not with you, she’s talking about you and when she’s not talking about you, she’s texting you. You’re a very slow typer by the way.”

“Oh, are you Gus? You’re in Luz’s class at the-.”

“Now I’ll admit, being Luz’s brother does give you an advantage,” said Gus continued, consulting his notes. “But this whole ‘bad but sad boy thing?’ I always thought it was kind of beneath Willow. I always saw her with more of a stoic type, like Chief O’Bailey.”

“Chief o- wait; is that a Cosmic Frontier notebook?” Hunter asked excitedly, recognizing the symbol on the cover.

“Wait, you know Cosmic Frontier?” Gus asked with matching growing excitement.

“Know it? I have a tattoo of their ship on my shoulder blade of course I know it!” said Hunter.

“What? No way, that’s so sick!”

“It’s actually fairly healthy, I make sure to maintain-.”

“Can you give me one?”

“Can you show me some ID?”

“Do you want me to tell Willow I don’t approve of you?”

“How about a temporary one?” Hunter offered after a beat.

“Can you make it hurt like it’s real?”

“Probably.”

“Deal,” said Gus, hopping in the chair and rolling up his sleeve and presenting his arm. “Make me cry! Make me cry!”

“Won’t making Willow’s best friend cry hurt my chances with her?” Hunter asked playfully.

“Calling me Willow’s best friend over your own sister?” said Gus. “I think you just earned the Gus Porter seal of approval.”

---

Willow sent him a bouquet of flowers for receiving the Gus seal of approval, which could mean many things. She spotted them in the vase when she walked in for her next session, but he did not mention them. She hadn’t signed them but she felt like he knew.

Hunter wasn’t at the next session. Luz had taken his place at the last minute, which Willow didn’t mind, but she had grown accustomed to explaining each flowers’ meaning to him and counting how many times she could get his face to turn her favorite shade of red. Luz said he was helping their sister Vee move into a new place with her partner upstate and Willow didn’t ask any follow-up questions.

But during the next few days there were no spontaneous lunch dates, no waving at her from across the street, no popping in to observe flowers to practice sketching. Willow went as long as she could without bugging Luz about it. After the third time Hunter was not at their session, she had to say something.

“Does Hunter not work here anymore?” she said bluntly, no beating around the bush. “Or did he change his schedule or-?”

“Oh, are my skills not good enough for you Park?” teased Luz as she swapped needles to start a new color.

“No no, of course,” Willow laughed. “He’s just been here for all my other appointments so I guess I just-.”

“He said… it was a conflict of interest.” Luz admitted, knowing her brother would kill her if he found out she told Willlow.

“Why?”

“He… was worried he wouldn’t be able to do his best work because he was getting… distracted.”

“Is it because I talk too much? Because if that’s the issue. I’m fine sitting in silence, I just didn't know if it would be awkward for him but that makes sense because of course he would need to concentrate and I-.”

“Willow, it’s totally not that I promise,” assured Luz. “Hunter is a pro at tuning people out, I mean he lives with me after all. No, he….well, remember when Amity and I got our Azura tattoos? Hunter did both of ours because he said me doing Amity’s would be a conflict of interest because…”

She trailed off, hoping Willow could finish the rest.

“Because you kept flirting with her and it was taking forever to finish,” Willow recalled. ”But how does that- wait.”

She looked at Luz with wide, distraught eyes. “No….”

Luz nodded. “Yup.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so embarrassed,” groaned Willow, covering her face.

“Wait… what?’”

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh I can’t believe I made him so uncomfortable I ran him out of his own shop,” she exclaimed, horrified. “Ugh, and he was such a gentleman about it, oh my,...and I sent him flowers?! What was I thinking? Luz, can you please tell him-.”

“Willow, Willow, Willow!” said Luz, reaching out to calm her friend, careful of the fresh ink. “That is… not what I was talking about.”

“Then what do you- unless…. No…”

“I’m gonna need you to say exactly what you mean because I’m afraid I'm gonna guess wrong again.”

“Was he… flirting with me too?”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner!” exclaimed Luz happily. “And my brother prides himself in his professionalism and insisted he could not date a client, hence the conflict of interest. So the only solution would be to remove you as a client.”

“So he could ask me out?”

“Exactly!”

“So why hasn’t he?”

“Well, he can’t exactly send you flowers, can he?” smiled Luz.

“He’s tried,” laughed Willow. “He called and asked if I could deliver a bouquet to the pretty girl at the flower shop, but I thought it was just a joke. He chickened out in the middle of ordering when he felt he was wasting my time on an order that wouldn’t be going out and then offered to pay anyway.”

“Yeah, that sounds like what his idea of flirting would be,” sighed Luz. “You know him, he’s a perfectionist. He’s logical and weird. He wanted to be absolutely sure of his feelings before he acted on them.”

“And?”

“Can I show you something?” Luz said, rising from her seat to rummage through his drawer before finding a red leather notebook and handing it to Willow. “This is where Hunter works on new stuff for his flash. Before it was mostly birds and wolves, some cosmic frontier stuff. When he met you, there were maybe one or two flowers. Then suddenly-.” she opened the book to reveal pages that envied a garden. “He became obsessed with flowers. Then, soon….” She turned the page and Willow felt as though she was looking in a mirror.

“Is that… me?”

Luz nodded.

“He was gonna tattoo me on people?”

“What? No! I don’t think… no, but he clearly could not stop thinking about you,” said Luz. “Between you and me, he’s never really had a crush before. He’s always been so serious and studious, focusing on school or work or something. I know for a fact you’re not the first client to flirt with him, but you’re definitely the first one he’s flirted with. Or at least tried to.”

“So is he gonna ask me out or is he just gonna avoid me?”

“I think both options are equally terrifying to him,” said Luz. “But this was supposed to be your last appointment so maybe he’ll stop being such a baby. I mean, I’m pretty sure he got a phone just so he could text you, I don’t know what he’s waiting for.”

---

The session with Luz turned into a gabfest so Willow started walking home later than usual. Forgetting if she closed the window, she quickly went over to her shop to double check. To her horror, the door was unlocked and she knew she had locked it before leaving.

Someone else was here.

She grabbed a cactus from the windowsill to investigate as she followed the muffled sounds of shuffling coming from her office. She spotted a flashlight shining from beneath the door. She took a calming breath before raising the cactus over her head and kicking the door in, screaming as loudly as she could ready to attack-

“Hunter?” she said confused, the dim light revealing the panicked boy. He smiled at her nervously, his gap tooth grin confirming his identity as she set her weapon down. “What are you doing here?”

“I used the spare key you gave me!” he exclaimed, his arms behind his back.

‘Well, okay that’s how you got in but why-?”

“I made you a jean jacket!” he said louder than he intended to, nearly shoving the piece of clothing in her face as though it explained his presence. Willow took the jacket and examined it, like his own it was covered in patches but Willow could tell this had been carefully selected for her: flowers, bees, mushrooms. On the sleeve was an elegant W, obviously hand stitched. The whole thing was. It must’ve taken him hours to make.

“Hunter this is… it’s so…”

“It’s too much isn’t it?” he asked, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I can take some off or rearrange them, I just kept finding ones that reminded me of you and so I-.”

She cut him off by wrapping her arms around him, trapping his arms at his sides. Hunter was used to hugs, his adopted family was extremely affectionate, but something about getting one from her… it was a whole new experience. “Hunter, I love it.”

“R-really?”

“Yes,” she said, slipping it on and delighting in its perfect fit. “But is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“No! I mean yes, I mean that’s what I was doing while I was avoiding you I mean… you noticed I was avoiding you?”

“Well yeah kinda,” she said, trying not to show her hurt in hearing him confirm it. “I really like talking to you and spending time with you, and just when I got used to having you around you vanished.”

“Sorry about that I just… I’m not used to being around,” he tried. “That’s not a good reason and I don’t blame you if you hate me but I didn’t know how explain why without sounding stupid.”

“Hunter, I’m sure it’s not stupid,” said Willow. “Unless you hate me, then that is stupid.”

“I don’t hate you,” laughed Hunter, her humor putting him at ease. “I kind of… the opposite of hate you. It’s just that Luz pointed out how much longer I spend on your sessions and I got worried I was taking up too much of your time just because I liked seeing you which wasn’t fair to you so I-.”

“Hunter,” she cut him off with a smile. “Do you really think I needed to spend two hours deciding what color I wanted my lily to be? I was practically holding you captive.”

“I just… words aren’t my strong suit,” he said. “I’m more of a doer, I guess? Every time I tried to say anything to you, I just… words didn’t work. So I started making this and I was gonna leave it on the back of your office chair for you to find and you’d put it on and you’d put your hand-.”

“-in the pocket?” finished Willow, pulling a small green envelope from said pocket with her name written in golden on the front. Hunter looked like he stopped breathing and Willow knew she was meant to find this in private. “What’s this?”

“It's to explain… h-how I feel… about you.”

She fiddled with it for a moment. “Well, before I read it… can I show you how I feel about you?”

“Oh, uh sure,” Hunter said anxiously. “Did you make a bouquet or-.”

No, Hunter had already misinterpreted several floral arrangements. She needed to express her feelings in a more direct and defiantly unprofessional way. She brought her hand up to cup his jaw and he leaned into the touch watching he rise to his level as she leaned up and gently pressed her lips to his, tilting her head only so slightly so there nearly bumped noses. She could tell he was holding his breath, and he truly did not exhale until she parted. He looked at her with disbelief, and she gave him her signature wink that sent a familiar warm tornado over his whole body.

“That’s… better than floriography,”Hunter said with a lovestruck smirk.

Willow smiled, pleased with his reaction as she opened the envelope she gripped slowly and her face could not hide her confusion. “It’s a… coupon? For Caleb’s?”

“Yeah,” said Hunter. “For your next tattoo. It’s a certificate, actually.”

“You… value me as a customer?” she said reading the prewritten sentiment all their certificates came with.

“Yeah, oh no wait, flip it over.”

“'The girlfriend discount?’” she read, breathlessly before adding playfully, “You’re giving me Amity’s discount?”

“What? No! No, uh that’s your discount,” he said. “I-if you want it, that is.”

“My discount huh?”

“Yeah, I’m upgrading you,” he said, dreamily. “I-if you want it.”

“Can I redeem it right now?”

“Really?”

“Well, luckily I have space for one more flower,” she said, holding out her arm to show him the empty spot on her wrist that perfectly mirrored where his cardina was. Luz had only done a few small flowers in addition to his larger intricate ones. He was impressed with his sister’s work, but couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. “I was thinking maybe a rose?”

“A rose?” he laughed. “I thought you hated roses.”

“Roses signify love and admiration, I could never hate them,” Willow scoffed dramatically at the notion. “Especially if it’s a rose you gave me.”

#huntlow #toh #willow park #hunter toh #toh au #winter toh #its so long and nothing really happens but whatever #also theyre older here obvi because they own businesses #willow is a girlboss

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