#william hooky

[banana-can-do-art]

Guys, why are there so many gay people named Will?

Will from Nevermore.

Will from Hooky.

Will from Percy Jackson.

Not really canon but there is no way Something Rotten’s interpretation of William Shakespeare is straight.

I barely watched Stranger Things but I think I heard that Will is gay.

Tell me about more gay Wills. This name is inherently homosexual to me now.

I apologize to all the straight Wills out there.

[stormyandodd]

Thoughts on Hooky-Marionetta. Some spoilers!

I know it probaly won't happen, but I would love to see the characters from Hooky interact with the characters from Marionetta. There are so many possibilities, but the ones I'd enjoy the most are:

Since Dani and Nico are spreading the word and building new bridges between people and witches, I'd love to see them interact with the members of the circus during this time in the story, but I'd especially like to see them interact with Sahed, Rainah and Julia.

I'd also be curious to see Dorian and Sahed interact, since, if I can recall correctly, Dorian had a lot of inner conflict about how he felt about non-magic users, and he had a lot of trouble making friends outside the people from home, which reminds me a little of Sahed in this way. Things weren't so black and white in regards to racial relations in Hooky, both did terrible things and sought revenge against the other, perpetuating a loop of voilence. I t's been a while since I read the series, but I'm making my way back through. Anyway, this is just all to say I remember it being really hard on Dorian to realize that yes, there are terrible non-magic users, but there are also terrible witches, and you really have to judge each person individually and not hold them accountable for the sins of others. You catch more flies with honey than with vinagar, so to say. Maybe knowing Dorian was coming from a somewhat similar place would help Sahed learn how to convince the other circus members to see the plight of his people.

I would love for Julia to get to talk to Monica and Will. I think there's a lot they could share with her that would help. Monica had prejudice against the witches initially, and she overcame it, even becoming a witch herself. Will grew up with suffocating expectations and sense of duty, both to his father and kingdom. They both know what expecting an arranged marriage is like. They know what it's like to fall in love with someone who would be very difficult to be with due to the social tensions and wars being fought between their races.

On a lighter topic, I think Monica would totally get into the shipping! I remember her trying to be her friends wing-woman, and her advice always seemed to fall flat, if not cause disaster (the love potion, telling Nico to button his shirt). She would definitely get into all kinds of romantic high jinks. Her and William's marriage situation also might give Julia a heart attack.

I'll bet Kamille would love to go adventuring with Mark and Aisha.

These are just my personal thoughts and opinions. These are just a few that have crossed my mind. There would be lighter interactions too, I think, but these are the ones that my brain has been latching onto. I'd be interested in hearing anyone else's if they felt like sharing!

If I need to mark this spoiler, let me know, I am new.

[dahliaisdarling]

i bought the physical copies of my comfort webtoon for christmas, and now that ive finished rereading the story i had an urge to draw them🥹

if u havent read hooky go read it now please!! 💗💗

[boniibelle]

hace tiempo que había hecho esto pero no lo había subido x acá ajsdja

[merf8]

Just finished the first volume and I already love it

[sunflowerpastels]

long live is the most monica and will song ever i don't make the rules

[todosmeiape1an]

Illustration I made for a spanish Hooky contest💖

[jesterjunkie]

𝐻𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓎 𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈

[maelove1819]

Hooky Characters as things My Friends and I have said

Nico:

Im not going to shoot you in the face whenever you get it wrong, Dorian… I’m not Mark. 😒

Dorian:

Papa John’s ❌

Papa Aisha ✅

Daniela:

I am a teenager, you cannot rebirth me.

Monica:

Hi guys, welcome to the friend group, Nico’s going to traumatize you now.

Mark:

MPREG!?!?!?

Aisha:

The council has decided, Amir. You are gay.

Amir:

Damien, and their evil counterpart, Neimad

Damien:

“I dropped someone~”

A baby?

William:

“I’m fucking, standing up for myself this shit SCARY”

Most Amir sentence to ever sentence.

@that-one-raccoonn

[sterlinggalaxy13]

The crew

[polaroid-phantom]

Hey so what’s your thoughts on writing about a small fandom with lots of potential for variety. Just curious; nothing specific really comes to mind. It would also be pretty cool if you wrote it after reading seeing the entire thing too.

[theautumnaldemon]

not me realizing Pyx and Thanatos have the same dynamic as Will and Damien

[crippling-pages]

finished hooky 3 and

im not as... depressed as I thought I would be

Well I AM depressed because the series ended T.T I think the reason I'm not completely screaming and crying in pain is because the ending was so sweet and beautiful :') And the book was kinda?? Fluffier?? Healing-ish?? Than the other too. But that does not mean i felt like crying at some scenes

When Dorian was fighting the spirit omg and then he ran away full on sobbing my boy please ToT

But Monica came after him and they kissed <33333333 sigh finally

NICO AND DANIIIII mwah they too were bootieful

I need to talk about Dorian being in a coma for three years. For one, and I say this nicely

Dorian with longass hair is going to be in my nightmares forever.

No offense, but I'm siding with Nico, it's scary as heck.

But like literally a day after waking up from a 3 year coma the first thing he does he get a hair cut and help out the town.

THE STANDARD I SAYYYYYYY

not him panicking about seeing monica again though hehe

Also NOT MONICA GETTING MARRIED TO WILLIAM!?!?!?! oh good gods-

Nah but MONICAAAAAAA MY ~QUEEN~ she is the potion masterrrrrr (Omg but Dorian was so excited and proud when he saw her secret lab place)

no but Dorian... he needs to cry a bit more T.T

Nico trying to hard with the crystal ball ToT Btw im so happy for him he has a powerr

Dorian in shorts lmaooooo ToT XDD

Then trying to get Dani to remember again was so bittersweet like... omg

and then when she DID get them back dudes I almost cried ToT

The general ending is so cute thoo <333

PROFESSOR WYTTE IS REAL GUYSSSSSS omg and his and Monica's date ughh so cute <3

NICO AND DANIIIII

The epologs were adorable, I love them sm <33

I also found out that apparently some scenes from the original version on webtoon got cut from the book version?? So now Im going through the Webtoon one to try and see all the scenes I missed reading the physical version T.T

I've already found and read a few though!! Most were just some minor cuts from scenes. Like the wine scene, the talk with Damien and Dorian (hehe), the closet scene with Dorian and Monica (Dorian's so funny lol) + more of the picnic scene, the bathroom scene with Nico, and the rose scene <3333 Sigh Dorian and Monica are the cutesttt <33 Also the kiss scene with Will and Damiennn eeehhehehee

Right now though, I'm 100000000% going to go Hooky crazy with fanfics on Ao3 or Wattpad, and on Pintrest, and with memes and JNHBGVFCDFGHJ I'll probably be writing of them too because my dear children I love them so much.

Hooky is and forever will be amazing <3

I LOVE HOOKY AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[boniibelle]

wamien

[thatgreatthane]

I don't have the Webtoon app on my phone so this is literally the only way that I am able to see the extras 😭😭😭😭😭

aiSHA’S FACE. i’m CACKLING

[antimonyandthyme]

2k, carcar, dress

“No,” Oscar said firmly. “No, no, no. This is all wrong on you.”

“I don’t.” Carlos ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Not a little big stung. Surely it didn’t look so bad. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

It was true it wasn’t his favourite shade of purple. And it was shorter than what he would’ve liked. With his heels he would be spending the entire night tugging the dress down. But it was tight around the waist, and it made him look, well. Pretty good, all things considered.

“What’s wrong with it,” Carlos said, a little plaintively. A little defensively. This had to have been his worst idea yet.

He didn’t know why he was having trouble meeting Oscar’s eyes through the mirror. It didn’t make any sense, why Oscar looked this way. Almost offended at the violet on Carlos’s skin. It didn’t make Carlos feel any better about having to put himself through this dog-and-pony show.

“It’s just not good,” Oscar said.

Carlos hid the way that grazed his underbelly by fiddling with the zip of the dress. Oscar’s fingers twitched by his sides, and for a delusional second, Carlos assumed he would come over and help.

“Fine,” Carlos said, relieved his voice didn’t wobble. “What do you suggest?”

Oscar didn’t answer, too busy rifling through the rack with an intensity Carlos had only known him to reserve for driving. He pushed away the Elie Saab which just so happened to be another unfortunate shade of lavender, then flicked through the long-sleeved Valentino as if he had just tasted a lemon. You’ve lost your mind, Carlos wanted to say. It’s a dress. For the silliest event of the year. With the silliest rules I’m just so happened to be bound by.

“No red,” Carlos said faintly. He didn’t know if he could stomach that, wearing a reminder of his dismissal on the very last event on their calendar, before he could finally be rid of horses and pretty teammates.

“No,” Oscar agreed. He sounded fervent. “Try this one.”

A midnight-blue backless Guy Laroche. It seemed—dignified. Nobody needed to stare at him head-on, they could do so from the back. That was fine with Carlos, just fine.

But then Oscar looked away, when Carlos slipped out of one noose into another, and Carlos’s gut churned with a resentment that he couldn’t bite down.

He would’ve paid the twenty-thousand dollar fine to skip this event entirely. The past three years he played the part obediently, wrapped himself in the shade everyone expected him to adorn. Stood next to Charles, who always looked as if rose were made for his skin. Carlos was tired. That was the simple truth of it.

Caco had grimaced, when Carlos half-jokingly half-hopefully said he might play hooky this year. They both knew it wasn’t possible. Ferrari was looking, even though the weight of their gaze shouldn’t matter any longer. Williams was looking. As was everyone else who carried opinions and expectations that seemed to stack against his future.

There were maybe a few people, he didn’t mind looking. Lando was always cheerful, leading him in dances that would result in Carlos giving up and tossing his heels. Gigi always got teary-eyed whenever Carlos dressed up. Then there was another—

Well. Who currently didn’t seem to want to look at Carlos at all.

--

Oscar happened to be there in the last race. Surprisingly made the effort for small talk. “Any plans for the break,” he’d said, and he’d looked as if he really wanted to know.

“I’ve got the FIA thing,” Carlos said. Then winced, because duh. They all had it. The reality of not having plans settled uncomfortably around his throat. It was kind of sad. He just had to get through the prize-giving for last place, and then, only then, would Carlos think about what came next.

“Don’t sound so excited,” Oscar said wryly. He sounded kind, like he knew. Actually. That probably wasn’t—Oscar was just being polite. Carlos was remembering it all wrong. Oscar probably sounded just like how he always sounded.

The Carlos who had just finished his final lap with a team who didn’t want him anymore was too worn down to notice. It was a kindness, and he had reached for it greedily like a starving man.

“I hate going to the gala,” he blurted out.

“Ah,” Oscar said. He was fully turned toward Carlos now. Carlos was probably also remembering this part wrong.

“I never.” He swallowed. “I never know what to wear.”

Stupid, silly things to be worried about. He was driving for Williams next year, and he was worried about what to wear. Such nonsense. The same kind of fruitlessness as gripping the wheel harder when skidding off a track with busted tyres.

Oscar’s mouth opened, then shut. If Carlos wasn’t being so morose, he would’ve scored some smugness, rendering Oscar speechless. A feat. He would have to remember this one.  

“Anyway,” Carlos started, attempting to spare Oscar the need to formulate a response to something so banal. “I’ll probably just throw something on—”

“I have sisters,” Oscar said.

“Oh-kay,” Carlos said. Oscar’s talked about them before. “I think I knew that.”

“I mean, I could. I could help.”

It was Carlos’s turn for his mouth to flop open. “Help. Eh. As in?”

“Help dress you,” Oscar said.

Oscar fiddled with the straw of his bottle, then took a long, long sip. In that span of time, Carlos’s mouth stayed open. For the first time ever, he cursed the fact that Abu Dhabi was a night race. He couldn’t see Oscar’s expression clearly enough.

“I mean,” Oscar tried again, sounding like he was scraping foam desperately off gravel, “if you want. If you. Uh, wanted a second eye. I could, maybe help you pick something?”

Carlos’s voice wasn’t working.

Oscar barrelled on determinedly. Very un-Oscar-like, except for the determinedly. “It’s, uhm. You know. Easy, for us alphas. We just wear our boring suits.”

“I’d prefer a boring suit,” Carlos said.

“I know,” Oscar had said, very soft.

It was the way he said it, that made Carlos think he wasn’t imagining it. The kindness. Oscar was looking at him, waiting. It was easy to roll over and accept.

--

There was none of that kindness now it seemed. Oscar was choosing to be extremely particular with his already particular brand of honesty.  

“No,” Oscar said again.

Carlos was no longer five, and he could no longer throw a temper and come out the other side without shame. Dimly, he was aware he was porcupining, extending his edges all sharp enough to cut.

He took a frustrated breath, ran a hand through his already mussed-up hair, from all the changing. The dress was a little long for him, but it’d do in a pinch. He could always go for the higher heels.

“Again. I don’t—Oscar. What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s no good on you,” Oscar said, already back at the rack. “We should try the Dior.”

“No need,” Carlos said. He was sore every place a body could be sore. There were only so many times he could hear, It’s no good. After the season he’d just had. “This one will do.”

“Carlos,” Oscar said, like he was gearing up for an argument.

This adamant, over a dress. Over something Carlos didn’t want to care for, but clearly cared for enough that he’d listen to someone tell him what was right and what was not. Over and over. Story of his life.

“There are better options.”

“Enough,” Carlos said, and this time, his voice shook.

Oscar whipped his head around. He caught Carlos’s expression, and then his usually placid expression—turned not very placid at all.

“Carlos,” he said, stricken.

“Don’t,” Carlos snapped, and then instantly felt like a terrible person. Oscar was just trying to help, and Carlos just couldn’t help being difficult.

Oscar took a helpless step toward him, and Carlos stumbled away, tripping on the hem of the too-long dress. He was furious to find his eyes sting.

“I’m going to. The bathroom,” he said, and then fled like a coward, even though he could hear Oscar’s frantic calling from behind him.

Crying over something like this! He looked up, felt the water well up at the bottom of his eyelid, felt the weight exceed the threshold capacity and spill over. He took a deep, deep breath, stared at himself in the mirror. Resisted the urge to call himself names. Resisted the urge to rub at his eyes, so they wouldn’t turn so noticeably red. Carlos tilted his head up, breathed and breathed.

He touched a paper towel lightly against his eyes. The walk back to the change room was stupidly mortifying. He was going to have to apologize. And he really hated doing that.

--

Oscar was gone, nowhere to be found. In his place, a warm, orange halter-gown. Saint-Laurent. Carlos wanted to roll his eyes, but the material was very soft to the touch, and—what the heck.

He tried it on.

It was long enough, but not long enough that it needed heels. He could wear shoes.

--

“You look exceptionally lovely,” Lando said.

“Why thank you.” He laughed, as Lando attempted to twirl him in a circle. Dancing would never be one of Lando’s strong points.

“No, really,” Lando said. His eyes were keen, his scent stronger than usual. “Carlos, you look incredible.”

He didn’t think he looked anything special, just comfortable. Oddly at ease in his skin. But his lips were moving faster than his brain. “Oscar picked it out.”

“What?” Lando’s voice drew up sharp. “Oscar—what?”

“He has sisters,” Carlos said weakly.

Lando frowned. “So do you.”

Uh. Right. The thought never even occurred.

“Congrats,” Carlos quickly said. “That trophy—next year it’ll be first place, huh Landito?”

The sourness he felt was cancelled out by Lando’s grin. Carlos was happy to be led, even if it was a little bumpy. Lando chatted in his ear, about everything and nothing. Gigi came around for a much more dignified dance. Fred linked an arm with him, and they skipped in zig-zag formations. Charles swayed with him, just for one dance, and Carlos could not begrudge him a bit of fondness.

Oscar kept his distance, though Carlos knew he was there by the inoffensive smell of cardamom. It burned him to know if Oscar thought this one, at last, suited him.

Good enough? Good enough for you?

He finished a dance, then another. Everyone wanted a turn. He was getting called beautiful a lot. It was a good thing he was in sensible shoes. Carlos thanked his partners, curtsied as gracefully as he could bring himself to. Then used them as opportunities to look. Over their shoulders, finally, a glimpse of Oscar’s boring suit. Deep green, a Zegna tailored to fit like second skin.

Sure. That’s so boring, Oscar.

There was something unfamiliar on Oscar’s moving, blurry face, even with the familiar, wry smile Oscar was wearing. There was something unfamiliar in Oscar’s scent too. The mellowed wisp that always came with apology, the sharp tang that preceded desire. Yearning mixed with hesitance. Right about how Carlos supposed he would be smelling himself.

All that wine, and Carlos’s nose was still acting as if it knew everything.

Oscar was going to make him wait. He was always going to be the biggest pain Carlos knew. Ever since the time they met in sparks, then held each other lengthwise apart on a couch. Carlos was learning a good deal about patience, this year. It would do him well for the seasons after.

“Well?” he said, when an arm curled gingerly around his back. Carlos allowed himself a moment of weakness, leaned in where Oscar’s scent could stroke his nose. The arm around his back tightened, almost possessively. It felt, wondrously, like an anchor in a ballroom of quicksand. “Good enough?”

“For you,” Oscar said.