#milott

[inbetweenhours]

I read "death has not done us part (would you fall in love with me again?)" by nikibutnot on ao3 and fell in love with Milo/Scott from wcsmp all over again and in the span of a couple days made this messy as hell animatic with the namesakes song in mind.

while the animatic is inspired by the fic, it doesn't actually mirror the plot so i very much encourage anyone to go read and leave comments because i love the fic a lot <33 Its a sweet lil oneshot about Milo's revival

[yb-cringe]

I'm also thinking so hard about wc!Scott and Milo, so here are some thoughts so far

His love languages are gift giving(the flower) and acts of service(making dinner for him)

He started calling Scott "sunshine" because despite his pastel appearance, he was still sarcastic and slightly bitter, so it made for a funny irony.

Scott calls him moonstone or stormcloud in response

sobbing. absolutely sobbing. Milott...........

honestly yaeheayeah and scotts is gift giving (giving cleo and eloise trinkets and tools and magic stuff slash presents) and i just. i think they got into a feedback loop of trying to one up each other with presents- which is why milo out of the blue gets him flowers because theyre just so often giving each other things.. ...

im *obsessed* with stormcloud as a nickname back. like obsessed. milo loved rainstorms, found comfort during them, so calling him like rainstorm, stormcloud--

I also wanna throw in 'lover boy'. because milo is a loverboy first and foremost.

[roxie-roo]

Hi Roxie I've been evily cackling as I write this. Thought ab sending it as a message but I think a proper ask is in order >:3

Milo loved thunderstorms so much he's pull Scott out of the house and they'd dance in it together. Milo would spin them around through the mud and puddles while they laugh so hard their stomachs hurt. One time Scott slipped on the wet grass and hurt his ankle, so they built a designated patio to dance on.

Every time they'd come in long after the rain had stopped they'd draw a hot bath and cuddle under a mountain of thick blankets, with either bowls of hot soup or tall mugs of hot cocoa. Milo liked his with so many marshmallows it gave Scott cavities just looking at it. ...Scott wishes he could still look over and feel those imaginary cavities.

OH OW YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DO THIS(you are totally allowed keep it coming)

I can just see it storming when he's hanging out with one of the other witches, likely Cleo.

She sees him look slightly regretful about something and asks what's up.

Scott can't help himself from sighing with an air of grief Cleo recognizes far too well.

"He loved storms... he-.. we'd sometimes dance in the rain, like in some of those cheesy movies.."

"I see.." they had heard plenty of stories about this mysterious "him" that Scott was bringing back. "Well... hey. You're not alone for this storm.. I'm right here." She offers a bit of a smile. "Okay?"

And for the first time, she thinks, Scott smiles a little.

"Okay." He says, and rests his head against her shoulder as they listen to the rain

[inbetweenhours]

wcsmp Milo/Scott prequal fic excerpt: "Scars"

How did Milo and Scott meet? What is the Witching World and how it relates to the Overworld? Who were these two before the domestic bliss found in Scott's flashbacks or in the tragedy of necromancy that came after?

[1006 words]

[quick tw for discussion of past child abuse]

/////

“Every scar a new story, huh?” Scott snorts, fingers tracing idly over Milo’s body, with its skin exposed under the twilight sky.

“Yeah, of course!” Milo chuckles, yet another tale of fighting off beasts in the great untamed woods of the Witching World ready to leap from his tongue. He’s had so much fun already just telling Scott about his adventures.

He hadn’t meant to brag, didn’t feel like much more then nearly dying at the time. He knows more than anything his mother would hate it, if she could see the way he throws himself into danger. 

But Scott throws his head back with a laugh from where he’s propped on his arms looking down at Milo, touching him carefully. A shiver between them for the sentiment. Gentle touch, what a wonderfully foreign thing. Milo hasn't had that since before his mother died.

He imagines Scott hasn’t been too acquainted with it either, for as little as Milo really knows about him.

“I’m sure you have some stories of your own,” Milo murmurs, his own stories falling from his tongue. He instead reaches for Scott with his own hand, smiling as Scott merely raises a brow.

Milo grasps Scott’s palms from where they lay on his chest, turning them over to see the old scars he knows are there. Scott stills over him, the coyness of his expression dropping into something a little more guarded as Milo leans up to kiss the palms gently.

“It’s not much of a story,” Scott says, after a long moment. Milo just shrugs.

“Something left its mark on you. That isn’t nothing,” He says, though his tone neither pushes nor retreats from the conversation.

Scott is quiet another long moment before he takes his hands from Milo. Then he lays down, settling his head on the hunters chest and facing him. His expression is pensive, holding his own hands and clutched protective near his chin as he thinks. Milo doesn’t disrupt him, instead reaching to run a hand through the others hair and smiling as the green eyes he’s grown to love so much stare up at him.

“People in the Overworld are scared of magic. You know that,” He mutters looking away again into the clearing.

“I know,” Milo agrees softly.

“My town wasn’t very appreciative of my talents,” Scott huffs, as if attempting a dry laugh. He reaches and, though his hand shakes, beckons a lily from the earth.

“Their loss,” Milo murmurs with a smile, reaching for the flower and plucking it up to tuck behind Scott’s ear. The man snorts with some small amusement. The small glow of affection settling warmth in Milo’s chest amidst all the ache of seeing Scott so wary again.

“I didn’t know to hide it when I realised I was… good with plants,” Milo doesn’t correct him, letting Scott call it what he wants. “I showed off a lot. So my parents took a belt to my hands hoping it would free me. Or maybe just stop me from doing it again.”

Milo has heard of cruelty, he understands it uniquely through his mothers spiralling paranoia and the stories she spun. Of witch hunts and the dangers of man, the cruelty of a life he hasn’t any memory of.

Here, Scott presents him with a new kind of horror. One he can’t even imagine, especially as Scott speaks so calmly. Guarded, as if talking about it could cut his hands anew. Or even that he is embarrassed by the confession.

It doesn’t make sense to Milo. His mother in all her paranoia had never hurt him on purpose. She had been smothering, raised her voice at times, but she was never cruel. She would have given anything to protect Milo from pain, and she ruined both of them for it. But the point stands, she had tried.

The easy smile on Milo’s face drops more tense than he has been in a long, long time. He stares at Scott. At his hands.

“Your parents,” Milo parrots, voice broken. It’s what finally takes Scott's gaze from the clearing back to Milo, frowning.

“Sorry, I told you it wasn’t much of a story,” he murmurs, tucking his hands clasped again to hide the palms. As if he can just put them away after Milo knows what's been done.

“Your parents tried to beat the magic out of you?” Milo sits up forcefully. Scott yelps, his head falling into Milo’s lap instead.

There’s a wild look he finds in the hunter's eye. It makes him gulp nervously just as easily as it flushes his cheeks.

“And my teachers, with rulers or pointing sticks,” he says, though he can’t imagine why. Milo already looks horrified.

“Why?!” Milo asks, suddenly desperate. Because he has known cruelty in theory, but this beyond anything doesn’t make sense.  “You were a child, and they hurt you. Tried to take away such an important part of you!”

“Didn’t work well, now did it,” Scott mutters, lifting his hand to touch the lily still in his hair. “They were scared, I guess.” 

Milo lets his mouth gape before closing. Unable to find the words. Nothing worth saying comes to his mind.

Milo knows what fear does to people. He knows what it did to the villagers who so greatly betrayed his mother, and he knows how it warped his mother herself. He gulps, mouth feeling dry. He understands, he does on a technical level alone. What Scott has said makes sense. Afraid people do drastic things.

Scott’s parents scarred his palms for fear of his magic and what he was capable of.

Milo’s mother isolated him for fear of the world, and what it might do.

“Well, that's not a very good reason,” Milo mutters, throat unusually tight. Scott shifts in his lap, squinting up at him for a moment before the expression softens impossible.

“No, I guess it’s not,” He agrees quietly, almost as if the thought had never occurred to him before. Not with such empathy at least.

[yb-cringe]

sits upright. wcsmp scott calls milo ‘minnow’ as a cute pet name.