#I remember I was trying out new brushes and some perspective angles in this one

[shootybangbang]

In which peaches are eaten in more ways than one

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Prompt]: Arthur watches you seductively eat a juicy peach (from @outtricking)

[Ao3 Link]

———

The abandoned manor’s peach orchard is overgrown with tall grass and small white clusters of wild carrot blossoms. Most of its trees stand bare, choked with ivy, the vastness of their skeletons the only testament of their former grandeur. But here and there are straggled survivors, the majority of which have long since been picked clean by other travelers and passing wildlife. The only fruit left is strung up high in the topmost branches, hanging down golden-edged and plump. Ripe enough to make your mouth water.

“I don’t think climbing’s an option,” you say, pressing down on a tree’s lower branches to check its give. “We could get a big stick and try to knock ‘em off, or maybe you could just… uh… y’know… ”

You mime picking up an object and placing it on your shoulders.

Arthur sighs. “You want me to carry you.”

“It’s quicker and easier than anything else.”

“You ain’t paid me to be your horse.”

“That’s true,” you admit. At this point, the number of things you’ve had him do out-of-contract would probably fill a book. A decent person would concede his point and apologize. Instead, you try out a more oblique method. “And I’m probably too heavy for you, anyway.”

He gives you an irritated glance and shakes his head. “You tryin’ to bait me into provin’ you wrong?”

“Figured it was at least worth a shot,” you say, shrugging.

Arthur looks up at the top branches of the fruit tree, then at you, and works out a rough height comparison in his head. He sighs again and kneels down. “Alright then. Get on.”

“What — really?’

“Don’t wanna hear you complainin’ about this later is all.” He looks back in your direction expectantly. “C’mon. You want them peaches or not?”

You place a tentative hand on his right shoulder, leaning against him for support as you swing one leg over his left. “Then do I just… um… like this?”

“Yeah. Just like that. And now the other — yeah, there we go.”

Arthur steadies you by holding down your knees. He grips you firm but gentle, like a man trying to keep something frail and flighty from slipping between his fingers, and stands up.

The sudden shift in balance is startling. Your hands frantically search for something to hold onto for support, and you end up grabbing at his wrists as you reorient yourself. He stiffens at the contact, but says nothing.

When you’ve straightened your back enough to survey your surroundings from your new vantage point, you take a moment to appreciate the new perspective. “So this is what it’s like to be tall. Bet you run into a lot of spiderwebs.”

Arthur ignores this. “Can you reach ‘em?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You twist off a particularly large peach from a nearby branch and take off your hat to use as a makeshift basket, then swivel your hip to reach towards another that’s just barely within your grasp. “Too bad we’re not close to town”, you say, thinking already of possible desserts. “Sophia told me that over in Georgia they eat peaches with cream and sugar, and…”

For a while, you ruminate dreamily about peach cobblers and preserves, about the luxury of vanilla ice cream melting on latticed peach pie. And all the while Arthur clenches his jaw and tries as hard as he can to concentrate on what you’re saying in an attempt to divert his focus from the weight and warmth of your thighs atop his shoulders.

It’s something that he’ll carry with him for some time, he recognizes with a heavy pang of guilt. Something he’ll almost certainly keep carefully tucked away for later, when he’s alone in his own bedroll.

———

Late afternoon, you help him set up camp along the Kamassa River. After the horses have been watered and the kindling gathered, you both sit sprawled and weary against the ruined hull of an old boat half-sunk in the sand.

Resting his head against the sun bleached boards, Arthur briefly closes his eyes.

Through the woods comes the sound of cicadas, deafening in their multitude, ringing like an omnipresent hum, insistent and rhythmic in its cadence. Like a chant, a soft murmur of chitinous voices. Alongside it, the quick, clear notes of riverwater running through the rocks and the rustle of leaves overhead, the sway of branches arching from the wind in slow, lazy waves that merge overhead like a green sea.

And the distinctive scratch of graphite across paper. He drowsily cracks an eyelid open and angles his gaze downwards.

The battered notebook in your lap looks like it’s seen its fair share of miles. It’s tattered and dog-eared, with smeared ink at its edges. The leather cover is scuffed and stained, and the pages don’t quite sit flat, due to the occasional pressed flowers trapped between them.

He watches you scrawl out what looks like a brief itinerary of the day’s route, listing off landmarks passed along the road and detailing what flora and fauna you’re able to remember. Then little snippets of description that you cross out and rewrite with increasing frustration, disjointed but pretty little phrases littering the margins…

Your pencil stills. “You’re reading over my shoulder.”

“Trying to.” Arthur points to the corner of the page, where you’ve drawn a wobbly line with little stick trees atop it. Under it is a crude half-circle labelled boat. “This supposed to be where we’re at now?”

You bristle. “Yes.”

He gropes for something inoffensive to say, then opts for silence.

“Well, you’re the artist,” you say, offering him your pencil. “You draw it.”

“Sure,” he says, taking both notebook and pencil in hand. He flips to a clean page. “Not like I can do worse.”

Brushing sand off the seat of your pants, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms high and fitting your fingers together like interlocking gears. “I’m gonna go check on the peaches.”

———

The Kamassa runs cold, even in the dog days of summer. Earlier, you’d wrapped the peaches in sackcloth and submerged them in its waters, then ringed them tight with rocks to hold them in place. Now, you cut an inelegant figure as you crouch at the river’s edge and fish one out, cupping it thoughtfully against your palm to check whether it still holds the fading glow of afternoon heat.

You pick out the two biggest peaches in the pile before resecuring the rest, then seat yourself back beside him and proffer one to him.

Arthur shakes his head. He’s in the middle of sketching the sandbar in the middle of the river, drawing the shapes of shrubs and other assorted vegetation out from the blank paper expanse. “Don’t wanna get the page dirty.”

“Make sure you eat one later then,” you tell him. “So you don’t die in a ditch before I can hire you out again.”

He snorts. “Didn’t realize peaches could make a man bulletproof.”

“Ah, well… it’s more of a superstitious thing, really. Like knocking on wood or throwing salt over your shoulder.” A hint of embarrassment creeps into your voice. For a moment you seem almost shy — but then you toss a peach up in the air and catch it again, like a performance of the world’s worst juggling act, and it passes. “You give people peaches for good health and a long life. Considering your line of work, I figure you need all the help you can get.”

“Figure a decent gun’ll do me more good than any peach ever will,” he says wryly. “You eat ‘em both. God knows you need the luck just as much as I do.”

———

The rippled light reflected in the water is only just beginning to tint gold. The horizon edges pale, shifting slow to the soft, warm shades of early evening. But only the faint suggestion of it, a subtle gradation filtering in imperceptibly at the present, but that he knows will flood in all at once with the inevitable trajectory of the sun.

Golden hour, Mason had called it. Goes quick, but it’s worth it. I’ve known some photographers to set up camp and wait all day for just that little window of time.

The landscape itself feels soft and heavy, almost drunk from its own perfect interplay of light and dark. The clarity of day dims to a suggestion of itself, and everything is briefly gilded, momentarily transfigured into something striking and achingly pretty, and you no exception.

A sliver of sunset settles over your skin. A veil of amber, a veil of rose, both colors folding in on themselves like silk. The glint of light that reflects across your irises makes visible the ridged corona circling your pupils, the tiny crenellations and impurities of color. Bright and sharp as cut glass.

He watches you bite into a peach, and its dusk-pink skin breaks beneath your teeth with a wet, crisp noise as you tear through to the soft and yielding flesh beneath. Then you bite down again, and your lips are shiny with nectar now, dripping with it.

A clear rivulet of peach juice runs down your wrist like blood. You raise your arm to your mouth to catch it, then trace it back to its source with your tongue, and he can’t help but wonder at the taste — the sweetness of fruit mixed with the salt of your skin.

“Oh, these are really good,” you say with pleasant surprise. “Sure you don’t want one?”

Arthur tries to suppress the sudden twinge of arousal running through his body by staring very hard at a tree. “I’m sure.”

When he’s finally able to settle himself to a manageable level of sexual frustration, he forces his attention back to sketching. He lays out the wash of sand and silt that lies liminal between woods and water, then the ridge of grass that marks the river’s reach when swollen with rain and spring melt. The twinned, twisted alders on each shore whose roots hold fast to the ground as their boughs reach over the water and towards each other, like doomed lovers. The gaptoothed boat hull half-buried and long abandoned.

By the time he’s finished, both peaches have been reduced to their pits, and the light has begun its transition to a deepening red. A last brief cry of sunlight before it’s stifled by the cold blue of evening.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, when he hands the notebook back over. “If you finally get tired of robbing stagecoaches, you should do this for a living instead.”

He makes a dismissive noise, but there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face. “You flatterin’ me because you want another favor?”

“No, I’m serious. This is pretty enough to belong in a book.” You touch your fingers to the page with the kind of care he’s only seen you lavish on the things he’s known you to hold very dear: the faded red hair ribbon, the well-thumbed guide to wildflowers, the thin jade pendant you sometimes wear tucked under your shirt… and now this — just an offhand scribble of his of no particular effort.

“I, uh… it’s a real rough sketch.” A flush of embarrassment colors his cheeks, and it’s obvious to anyone with eyes in their head that for him, compliments are a gift as rare as they are precious. “Next time you hire me out, I’ll sit down and draw you something proper.”

“I’d like that,” you say, and nod. “I’ll hold you to it.”

———

A few hours later, Arthur sits by the fire and tries to measure the exact depth of the idiocy he’s plunged himself into.

You’d gone to bed first, citing exhaustion. And he’d taken the time spent alone to jot down a few thoughts in his journal, attempt a handful of sketches, then inadvertently kindle in himself a desperate, hopeless need for intimacy so intense that, were he truly on his own, he’d not have hesitated to take himself in hand for relief.

It’s a foolish thing to do, encouraging his own infatuation like this. But the images are fresh in his head still and his hand itches to put them to paper, wanting to keep them somewhere beyond the whim of memory.

And so he traces with his pencil the soft, indulgent cast of your eyes as you’d cupped the peach in your hand, bringing it to your mouth with the simple decadence of Eve and her apple: the innocent gesture embodying something intensely sinful. Each bite near tangible in his blood, as though it were his heart in your teeth, its every painful beat an ache of barely suppressed impulse.

Then the drip of nectar down your wrist, the pink flick of your tongue lapping it up with a quick, smooth glide across your skin. Peach juice glistening on your lips like honey. And his own base reinterpretations of it all, distorting reality to innuendo and bringing to the surface things he’s only let himself imagine in the confines of his cot, with the tent flaps drawn tightly shut.

The weight of your thighs on his shoulders comes to mind again, and if he shuts his eyes he can nearly place himself into that oft-used fantasy of his — you, sat on the edge of a hotel bed with him knelt before you, whispering hoarse and breathless praise as he licks into you. Your fingers running through his dark blond hair as you speak to him like a favored pet.

The flat of his tongue running against your clit with slow, careful strokes. Your desperate whimpers as he draws the nub between his lips and sucks, the tremble of your body, the taste of your slick. The sound of his name on your lips, the syllables of it faint and shivery with pleasure.

And afterwards, the sight of you sprawled across the sheets, eyes dreamy and soft as you beckon him towards you. Take out your cock, you’d say. Show me just how much you liked doing that to me.

Arthur closes the notebook and walks down to the river. He dips his hands through its surface, the reflected moonlight there rippling into a bright mosaic of broken glass in his wake, then cups the cold water between his fingers and splashes it over his face.

“Dirty old man,” he mutters to himself. “Oughta be ashamed of yourself.”

When he reaches down to repeat the action, he brushes against sackcloth and automatically pulls the bundle of submerged peaches from the water.

Long life and good health, you’d said. He scoffs at the very notion of it. It’s a foreign concept for someone who’s taken so many lives that he’s all but guaranteed his own to be nasty, brutish and short.

And truth be told, it’s been a long time since he’s even bothered to think about any future for himself outside of the immediate. Not much to look forward to save the small, petty pleasures afforded to him, most of which have been bought with the blood of other men. Not much to work for, save the next big score. The promise of stability — it’s not a luxury afforded to the likes of him. Nor should it be, if a man’s fate really is weighed by his deeds.

He’s made his peace with it by now. Kept his expectations low and steered clear of personal commitments. So it’s really very stupid then, that he’s spent so much time nursing the seeds of his own wretched affection that they’ve already begun to sprout.

More and more these days, he’s caught himself marking down points of interest whenever he’s out wandering. Setting up the skeletons of future excursions in his head. And with each new meeting, the possibility of the next looms in him eager and expectant.

Arthur unwraps a peach from the sackcloth and brings it to his mouth. It’s sweet — sweeter than it has any right to be, growing as it has unattended and abandoned in that red Lemoyne dirt.

The cicada song has quieted to a whisper. Fireflies spiral in arcane patterns over the grass, blinking their silent messages through the dark. Night birds are calling, their sounds strange and strident over the rush of river water.

In the midst of all this, Dutch Van der Linde and all his talk of savage utopia seem further away than ever. More past than present.

He bites into the peach again and closes his eyes, savoring the taste. Long life and good health. Probably no more unfeasible than any other thing he’s had preached to him for the last twenty years. And not an unpleasant prospect, if the days spent are anything like this one.

No, he thinks to himself, pulling another peach from the bundle. Not a bad prospect at all.

[mikrowrites]

andromeda

(vignettes cut from cottages of constellations; can be read as a one-shot)

c!wilbur x reader

summary: a series of memories from y/n’s perspective; the war, the death, the stars, the secret, and the meeting.

warnings: fluff, angst, violence, war themes, bad mental health situations, death, language, manipulation

a/n: this is basically a bunch of scrapped ideas from cottages of constellations that i shoved together bc i already had them written and have been hitting a writer’s block with pt 3. the only part of this you should regard as “canon” is the syndicate vignette, that will be in pt 3. enjoy!!

Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets.

That was not something unknown by any, not a surprise to some. The two seemed to have words unspoken, existing between the glance of an eye or a brush of a hand, a nod of a head and a ever so soft sigh. Y/n and Wilbur kept many secrets to themselves and themselves only.

The cottage was one. A secret kept along a peaceful riverbank, until the price of TNT seemed higher than that forgotten paradise. There were some other secrets too. Some inconsequential, some almost burdening.

Y/n and Wilbur kept a secret they chose to not share with anyone. A secret that would be for the best if left unsaid.

But the price of freedom would prove higher and more demanding. The price for a tall brunette man to whisper the words into an enemy’s ear, for the enemy to relay it to someone who was once deemed an old friend.

The moment Schlatt spoke the secret out loud to Y/n with threatening intent, everything came crashing to the ground.

It was a secret Schlatt would die with.

—

The War…

Y/n arrived as the sun rose at dawn.

Wilbur was there to meet her, his uniform jacket unbuttoned messily and his cravat askew. As she approached him closer he smiled softly, but the smile was tired, aching, the light in his eyes dimmed by the bags beneath them.

What was the saying, “winning is easy, governing is harder”?

Y/n feared both feats were insurmountably difficult.

“Hello, love.” Wilbur sighed, striding the distance of Y/n’s approach and pulling her into his arms, holding her like a lifeline.

“Hey Wil, it’s okay, I’m here.” Y/n reassured.

He pulled away with a less tight smile, wrapping his fingers around her own, pulling her towards the majestic walls.

“Y/n L/n, welcome to L’manburg.”

And L’manburg was small, and undeveloped, and nothing quite impressive really. But it was her lover’s nation, and to Y/n it looked like a spectacle of heaven. “It’s wonderful.”

Wilbur led her into the camaravan, where battle plans and declarations had been hung and placed about, with an occasional empty bottle or a misplaced piece of weaponry.

Y/n had fought in wars before, in another life, far from this server. She had played the part of diplomat, of ally, of enemy. It was all a language familiar to her like breathing, and she suspected Wilbur was well aware, why else would he write begging her to join the front lines?

She hummed in thought, running her hands over a tabletop. “When’s the next battle, then?”

“Tomorrow.” Wilbur replied simply.

Y/n nodded. “Okay. Where do we start?”

Wilbur smiled once more.

—

The Death…

Y/n struggled against Quackity’s hold, screaming her throat raw. “YOU KILLED HIM!”

Smoke from the firework barrage still lingered on the execution box, Schlatt turning from his podium to Y/n. He smirked. “Y/n, my dear, he was a traitor. You know what happens to traitors.”

Y/n spat at his feet, the man laughing. “That’s cute. Remember Y/n, I hold all the cards in my hands. You don’t want to step out of line, remember? Who knows what secrets could get spilled.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Y/n glared, her eyes like fire as the two stood off against each other on the podium under Manberg’s watching eyes. “Because I am going to fucking kill you before you even think about it.”

Schlatt laughed loudly again, facing the crowd. “Do you hear that, folks? Miss Y/n is going to kill me!” He lowered his voice, leaning so he was face to face with her. “That’s treason, my friends.”

Y/n hardened her eyes, as Quackity let her arms go. She stepped forwards, her hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Everything was quiet, not the crowd’s jabs or cries were heard by her, not even Niki’s protests to spare her best friend.

Schlatt smiled, unsheathing his own sword as Y/n stood her ground, preparing to produce her own in hopes of taking down the tyrannical man once and for all.

“These were not the ideals of L’manberg.” Y/n shouted so the audience could hear her. “And Manberg should be no different. And I’m getting really fucking tired of you hurting everyone and everything I love. So yeah, I’m a traitor, because I value people over a country.”

“People you’d be willing to lose a life for?” Schlatt jeered.

“Time and time again, yes.” She verified.

Schlatt shook his head in amusement. “Y/n, the patron saint of L’manberg. You’ll fall as easily as any man.”

Y/n smirked, drawing her own sword. “Good thing I’m not a man then, yes?”

“STOP! Stop!”

The two adversaries’ heads whipped over, catching the glimpse of a tall brunette in a brown trench coat walking down the aisle of seats, hands out in a preventative gesture. “Stop.”

“Wil…?” The man who left her behind. The man who promised safety. The man who most importantly, loves her. The former President, to protect his former First Lady.

Schlatt’s sword ran through Y/n’s body. Wilbur screamed.

The girl gasped, grasping Schlatt’s shoulder’s with tight fingers, looking at him in shock. He had gotten the upper hand. Y/n had never lost a duel, yet this one was over before it had even started because she did the one thing she had been trained to never do in battle.

Y/n found distraction in a lover.

Wilbur would always be her hubris.

Schlatt leaned over with booze-tainted breath to whisper in her ear. “Your secret is safe with me.”

He then ripped the sword out of her, and everything went black. The last thing Y/n heard before waking up laying in the soft grass of a forest was the sound of Wilbur shouting her name.

Y/n was killed by JSchlatt

—

The Stars…

Long ago, in a world different from where she was now, Y/n’s mother had taught her every constellation strewn across the night sky. The young girl would marvel at her mother, eyes shining with curiosity and awe as the soft-spoken woman would point to each cluster of stars.

Life was simple then, before war after war Y/n was forced to fight and win. Before aching loss and hurt.

Y/n laid on the angled roof of Philza’s house, her lips parted slightly as her eyes traced designs of warriors and beasts and lovers. Her breath fogged into the night sky, the girl indifferent to the cold surrounding her.

“Kid, what’re ya doin’?”

She flicked her eyes down to where Technoblade stood beneath her, staring up at her form with disinterest but yet a glint of confusion or curiosity.

Y/n smirked, her eyes traveling back up to the sky. “Chasing constellations.”

Technoblade definitely had the right idea to be a tint worried at the sight of Y/n on a roof, staring off into nothing. It had been a week and a half since they had both blown up New L’manberg, and her mind was undoubtedly conflicted. Techno supposed if he were in the same situation, he’d feel the same perhaps. But now (though he’d never show it) he was just concerned of the well-being of his old friend.

So Technoblade was immensely surprised when Y/n patted a spot on the roof next to her and said: “cmon”.

The blood god was silent and still for a moment before pulling out his trident, using it to launch himself up and land gracefully onto the roof next to her. The girl didn’t flinch a bit, just turned back to the night sky.

Y/n looked tired, Techno noticed, but yet relieved. He hadn’t seen her this relaxed since their last war fought together away from this server, where she had spoken of a kindhearted brunette she was running away with after the battle’s conclusion.

Technoblade sat next to her, the girl sighing. “No more wars, Techno. I’ve fought my last one. I’m tired of being a pawn in someone’s game, of breaking myself for others.” Y/n huffed out a laugh. “I think I might try that retirement plan.”

“Retirement is overrated.” Technoblade groaned. “So if I made you an offer, you’d refuse?”

Y/n shrugged, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “Depends on the offer. I’m pretty done being taken advantage of.”

Techno turned to look at her. “All these years and you don’t trust the proof I wouldn’t.”

“Can’t blame a girl for having trust issues.” She grumbled. “What’s the offer?”

“I’m putting together a group of people with common ideals. Anarchy, we’d be there to abolish these kingdoms’ governments before they can cause more death and destruction, cause more Wilburs.” Techno explained, the girl turning to him at the sound of her ex-lover’s name. “We’re called the Syndicate.”

Y/n murmured the name to herself, furrowing her eyebrows. “Who’s we?”

“Philza and I. Zephyrus and Prostileus. And, potentially, you.” He stated. “Codenames.”

She turned back to the stars, silent for a few minutes. Technoblade patiently sat in the quiet, letting the girl mull over her thoughts. It had been about five minutes when he spoke up. “So? What’ll it be?”

Y/n pursed her lips, before parting them with a soft exhale. “Andromeda… call me Andromeda.”

Technoblade smiled at his old comrade in battle, now considered an ally and friend.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, Andromeda.”

—

The Secret…

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she had sat in the makeshift cell. Had it been days? Weeks? She didn’t know. All she knew was locked away to stand trial for “aiding fugitives in escaping”.

Her thoughts drifted to Wilbur, as they usually did in moments like these, where she fought desperately to remember the sound of his laughter or his loving assurances. Y/n hoped he and Tommy were safe, and she knew they were smart so they would be.

But she feared for Fundy as well. They had spoken on the night he announced his campaign for president, their hushed voices behind the podium as the rest of the server were asleep.

Y/n met the boy in the shadows of the podium, Fundy looking at her for some kind of reaction. Would she shout in anger? Cry in sadness? Running against his father was a betrayal, he should be reprimanded by the closest thing to a mother he had.

Instead, she smiled, and hugged him.

Fundy tensed in surprise before wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder as his hands clutched the back of her jacket.

“You know I have to support and stand by your father,” she started, softly rubbing small circles into Fundy’s back. “but it will never overshadow how proud I am of you.”

“Thank you, mama.” He sighed out, Y/n smiling kindly.

“You are my pride and you are my joy, Fundy. There’s nothing you could do that could make me love you less. Don’t forget that, okay?” Y/n asked.

Fundy nodded his head against his mother figure’s shoulder, still embracing her.

He missed the tears in her eyes as she bit her lip to keep her walls up. Indulging in this moment wasn’t something she was deserving of, and she knew that.

She had chosen to forego this path, it would be unfair of her to try and act as though she hadn’t changed everything.

The door to empty room creaked open, Y/n looking up to meet the eyes of a man she had once thought of as an old friend, but now some who repulsed her more than anything on this server. The man smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Y/n. Long time, no see.”

“Schlatt.” The name sounded like venom on her tongue, Y/n glaring at the man with dark eyes.

“How are you, hm?” Schlatt pulled a chair over for him to sit on, Y/n scoffing in disbelief.

“I don’t know Schlatt, you tell me. What the fuck is wrong with you, you were our friend!” She shouted.

Schlatt sat back in his hair. “I’m no one’s friend here. I’m a president here to run this country.”

Y/n rolled her eyes and leaned back against the wall, the man smirking.

“I want you to join me.”

That made the girl start to laugh, shaking her head. “You are something else, Schlatt.”

“I’m serious, I want you to join me and Manberg.” Schlatt deadpanned.

“Fuck off.” was Y/n’s reply.

Schlatt sighed, standing from where he sat, and paced to another side of the room. “Tell me, does your little lover boy have an infatuation with TNT?”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “Not that I’m aware, and if I was I wouldn’t tell you.”

“Fair enough.” Schlatt said, his footsteps clacking against stone as he further paced. “Well, he recently made some deals with the devil and came into possession of a lot of fucking TNT. You wanna know what he traded for that much power? Secrets.”

She stiffened, eyeing Schlatt warily, her voice barely above a whisper. “Secrets?”

Schlatt hummed, grinning. “Oh yeah. Loads of ‘em. I’m a chronic eavesdropper, so I had to get the scoop. And you’ll never guess what I heard.”

Y/n stood slowly, like an animal bracing for a fight, her fists shaking. She uttered the man’s name in warning, Schlatt stopping and turning to her with a wicked grin.

“You have a child.”

It felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Y/n momentarily forgetting how to breathe. Her mouth felt dry, her body numb. Schlatt laughed, knowing he had her right where he wanted her.

“Fundy’s actually your son! Biologically and everything! And you never told him, you just left!” Schlatt exclaimed.

Y/n burst forwards, slamming Schlatt against the wall and lodging her forearm across his throat. She spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I was young. I was stupid. And I wasn’t ready to be a mother. I couldn’t be the mother he needed.”

“So you left. And then you come back and you play the part of his mother, while the poor boy thinks your lover fucked a fish? That’s fucked up, Y/n.” He chuckled lowly.

Y/n pursed her lips, glaring into Schlatt’s eyes. “What do you want?”

Schlatt slowly removed Y/n’s forearm from his throat. “I want you to join me as one of my officials. I want you to betray Wilbur and Tommy. And if you don’t…”

“… I tell Fundy your big secret… and then I personally kill him until he’s dead.”

Y/n felt completely and absolutely defeated. She had never let someone have the upper hand on her. Not like this. She remained distraughtly silent, Schlatt nodding Ashe received his answer.

He reached into his pocket, throwing her comm device onto the floor. “Lover boy’s been trying to call you for weeks. You should call him back one last time and tell him to never call again. You know what’s at stake.” Schlatt then turned and walked towards the door. “I’ll have a fine pressed suit for you tomorrow morning and a more comfortable room, then the real work begins. Goodnight, Y/n.”

And he was gone.

Y/n fell to her knees, her body shaking with fear and guilt. Why did she have to be so stupid why did she have to create such deep-sewn weaknesses, why did she leave her son?

She reached for the comms device, her trembling fingers clicking a button as she spoke out in a terrified whisper. “Wilbur?”

—

The meeting…

Y/n hated parties with a passion she could not fathom. The celebration of another war won, a country saved. She was just a wandering soldier, moving from one battle to the next, finding celebration a little tone-deaf.

But nonetheless she stood in the banquet hall, her sash of medals and patches detailing her great accomplishments hung on her frame, with the world’s most uncomfortable dress covering her. Technoblade had told Y/n to liven up, drink and dance a little, though what a fucking hypocrite because he didn’t show up.

Y/n sipped her champagne, leaning against the bar top, a bored expression laid across her face as she traced circles into the wood with her finger. She didn’t register the boy standing next to her, eying her with curiosity before he spoke up. “One vodka neat, please.”

She finally indulged to meet his gaze, the tall brunette smiling and offering his hand. “Wilbur Soot.”

Y/n knocked back the rest of her champagne, before shaking his hand. “Y/n L/n.”

“You seem bored, Y/n L/n.” Wilbur observed.

She scoffed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

“So I can tell.” He quipped, Y/n beginning to question the audacity of this kid. But he just smiled widely, pulling a stool and sitting next to her.

“Look, I don’t know what you want, but if it’s getting in my pants tonight it’s definitely not happening.” Y/n bluntly responded.

“Woah there! Take me out to dinner before we discuss that.” Wilbur defended, retrieving his drink from the bartender.

Y/n couldn’t even tell if the man was joking, but she rolled her eyes anyways. He was silent, she could tell he was trying to size her up. Figure out what made her brain tick, how to read her.

Must be frustrating for him to know he can’t.

She sighed, pulling away from the bar top, smoothing out her despised dress. “Well, thanks for the chat Wilbur, but I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Have a good night, Y/n.” Wilbur raised his drink and tipped it towards her in a kind of toasting or saluting gesture. She was a high ranked militia official anyways.

Y/n nodded and walked away, Wilbur watching her as she left. What she didn’t know, was he could read her like an open book. He saw her pain, her guilt, her stone disposition. But he saw her kindness, her generosity, her beauty. Wilbur was intoxicated by the mere presence of her, and her mystery.

Wilbur just had a gut feeling they’d cross paths again. And when they did, maybe in a space she was more comfortable than the loud and cheering party, maybe he’d offer her a drink, or even a dance. The boy slammed his drink on the table before standing, and rushing across the room.

Why wait when you know?

Y/n felt a gentle hand on her wrist, the girl turning to see Wilbur. She raised an eyebrow in question as he released his soft grip, and held his palm flat out in front of her. “May I have this dance.”

She had seen years of pretty boys offering her drinks and dances and the world. Each disappointed, each never following through. But Y/n looked up at Wilbur, and she could see the world in his brown eyes, she could see hope and chivalry and mirth. She pursed her lips, the boy seeming to deflate at her monotone and silent response.

Y/n took his hand, to the boy’s surprise. “One dance. That’s all.”

They danced all night. And laughed all night, more than Y/n had in years.

Y/n had never felt more alive than the night she met Wilbur Soot.

[blueprint-han]

stay tonight — bang chan.

↪ why, you must be in love, then. oh trust me, i know.

— new years’ with Chan is spent confessing known feelings to each other and getting back at him for what he did to you on your first date.

pairing: chan x (gn) reader [while this was written with a fem reader in mind, i do think this can be read with a gender neutral perspective]

genre: fluff.

⇥ warnings: nothing at all! a little bit of kissing here and there, but this is completely sfw.

word count: 2.6 K

type: drabble. 

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Bang Chan, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

song: this was inspired by Stay Tonight by Chungha! Highly recommend listening to it when reading this fic <3

↯ note: This is actually shit™ because I was very writers blocky with this fic and had to rewrite it many times to develop a decent plot </3 still, hope you have a lovely Christmas! 🥰 Happy reading <3 this isn’t very well edited so please excuse any errors <//3 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“You know you’re not supposed to be sitting there, right?” 

You straighten up and turn around at the familiar sound that rings through your ears, content when it’s exactly who you wish to see standing there. The smile exchanged between the both of you is simple, sweet and relaxing as you get off where you’re seated on the compound of the building. Walking towards him, your hands go around his waist and he chuckles in response. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You revert back. “I was just about to call you.”

Chan quirks a brow at you, silently grabbing your hand and leading you to the two random chairs placed at a convenient angle — one where you can both bask in each other’s presence and do some stargazing at the same time.

“Why? Did you miss me that much?” His tone is very cocky at the moment, and it makes you want to kiss that stupid grin off his lips. Sadly, he knows you well enough to know that such comments only fluster you when spoken — and that’s exactly what happens — you feel yourself go warm from the inside, a dizzy expression taking over your face as you sit next to him.

Love. The first time you’d encountered the term was in first grade — yet you’re almost certain it’s nothing like what you feel when he’s around you. This kind of love is different — it’s special. It’s the kind of love that causes a fiery sensation to bubble through you when you spare as much as a glance at him, yet it’s also the kind that keeps you calm and running like the waves washing against the shore of a golden beach. 

You can’t put words to explain what love means after you met Bang Chan. It’s more than just a feeling or sensation — it’s like the warmth that flows through your insides when you sip on hot chocolate during cold winters, it’s when your whole life turns into shy smiles, delicate giggles and nervous glances exchanged towards each other. That could perhaps, only outline what you felt around him.

A small tug on your lips and flutter of your eyelashes is all it takes before Chan places his warm hand over your own, lacing fingers together as his thumb runs over the soft skin of your hand. There’s no need for words right now — just soft gazes lingering on each other and the chill air that clouds itself around you, making you yearn for the warmth that you know only Chan can provide.

You take a brief moment to let your eyes quickly run over Chan’s features — his black hair falling over his temples, his eyes peering into your own, his lips slightly parted open. He hasn’t taken the face chain off, yet. He looks like he’s taking you in too, and you want this moment to freeze right here. Because the way Chan’s looking at you right now almost sweeps you off your feet.

But of course, there’s your goofy side coming out when the feeling gets to the point where all you wanna do is just lean in and close the gap between the both of you.

“Close your mouth, mister.” You give him the most obscene-looking pout ever. “I know I’m too pretty to resist.” That (very cringy statement), paired with a wink thrown with each eye causes Chan to break eye contact from you and start laughing, hysterically.

“Y/N.” You can’t even see his eyes because of the tiny™ crescents that have taken their place. “What, in the name of lord, was that?” Chan clutches his stomach, his loud giggles very prominent in the quiet surroundings around you.

“Oh, come on, it’s the end of year. There should be harmony—” The last word is in a singsong voice, spreading your arms out to enhance the dramatic tone. “— everywhere possible. You just can’t appreciate my comedy.”

Chan only coos at you, leaning in to kiss your cheek ever-so-lightly before giving you the most beaming smile you’ve ever seen. He pinches where your cheeks feel hot. “Yes my little comedic genius, you’re adorable.”

“You love it.”

You pout at him, and Chan immediately leans in, cupping your cheeks and squishing them together before kissing the pout right off your face. He pecks lightly once, twice, thrice before pulling away, eyes glittering under the stars — you could see a whole universe in his orbs, and they seemed to be dragging you in.

You’d met — no, you’d properly seen Bang Chan for the first time when you passed by him in the MNET Countdown for their Miroh comeback. You’re forgetful enough to not remember what song you were promoting at that time, but you do remember bowing down at all the members of Stray Kids multiple times as you exited the stage. It was also the time you felt that tug on your heart’s strings, all because Chan’s lips pulled into a smile when his eyes fixated on yours. 

You’re again, forgetful enough to not remember anything about your surroundings, but you do remember staring off into his brown eyes, even if it were for a mere second — yet it felt like you were swept off your feet. You do also remember when Chan reached out for your shoulder, and you froze. You weren’t capable of words as Chan brushed off a piece of tinsel off your top; throwing you a beaming smile.

“T-thank y-you,” You remember saying, stuttering, rather. You could feel his radiance clouding your brain as you scrambled along your route, trying to calm yourself down of that unfelt rush of emotion you’d just felt. The loud applause and the bustling crowd, the members singing their parts of the song, the other groups making their exit — you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on anything except that smile. Those eyes that crinkled into the finest of crescents, that flash of his dimples that softened your heart and then that final brush of his fingers against your shoulder, enough to take your breath away.

Call you lovestruck, but Bang Chan had you in his grasp the moment he laid his eyes on you.

The second time you met Bang Chan was again, at a show, but this time. You were an MC instead of a performer. You don’t need to dwell on the lot of details again, but you can still feel that shock wave that ripped through your fingers when Chan borrowed the mic from you. Your fingers only barely touched, yet you could feel all the blood rush to your face in that very moment, biting your lip slightly as you allowed him to do the talking.

You did pray and hope that he, or anybody else for that matter, didn’t notice how red you were, because hell that was embarrassing. 

“You look at him like he’s an anime character come to life.” Ah, typical friends. Using your love for anime boys to tease the way you kept blushing every time Chan even so happened to walk past you. 

Of course, by the third week of this happening, you were almost certain you’d fallen head over heels for the man — that man who you’d never talked to before, if you didn’t count the awkward hellos and bows you’d shared. You didn’t understand why or when or how he managed to catch your attention so much — all you knew was that you were hurled headfirst into the vortex of love, and you were only plunging deeper and deeper in, with no way out.

But did you want a way out?

“I can feel you staring.”

Oh shit. You awkwardly straighten yourself before shifting your gaze two degrees to the side. Chan’s dorm (he’d made sure all the boys were out) was a less-than-ideal-location for a first date, but being an idol has its own repercussions, you like to believe. 

“Y/N!” He exclaims, giggling at you as he shakes your arm, like he’s trying to pull you out of a trance or something. It only makes you very obviously shy of the fact that he’s caught you red-handed.

“I have something for you…” He drags, his eyes looking curiously into yours, scanning for a response. Your own widen and a smile takes over your lips — you don’t care about the gift in all honesty, just the fact that he thought of getting you something for something like a first date warmed you up.

“What could that be, hm?”

“Wait here.”

He runs into his (shared) room and you hear sounds of him rummaging through something, and he returns with a small object in his hand. You try to get a glance at it but his hand is covering it up majorly, and he cheekily smiles as he sits in front of you.

“Close your eyes.” He says in that adorable, pouty voice that can have you do almost anything for him. Sure, this is your first date, but it took you two weeks after the confession to clear up your schedules and set a timing and place for you to meet up.

“Channn, just show it already!” You counter, groaning at his secretiveness.

“Nope, you’ll have to close your eyes.” 

If he wasn’t so freaking adorable, you’d have snatched that thing from his hand, owing to the amount of curiosity you had.

“Ugh, okay fine.” You squeeze your eyes shut, sighing when you feel Chan’s soft hand engulf your own before placing something cold and… is that plastic?

You open your eyes to look at the small, rectangular object in your hand.

“A cassette tape?” You raise an eyebrow — not mockingly, but rather in a questioning way. As far as you remember, cassettes weren’t something used regularly to play music. 

“Mhm, we had a lot of time before our first date, you know? So I thought I’d try to make it special.”

“Awh, how are we gonna play this?”

“Behind you.” 

You frown, turning behind you to look at the massive, ancient cassette-player sitting on a table.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan shrugs. 

“Let’s l-listen to it then.” A small smile graces your lips.

And of course, you were crying by the end of the tape.

You do remember the contents of the tape. It had four songs — all of which were supposedly written for you — you didn’t bother to ask, but the mere thought of him going through all that to record and immortalize them into a tape had you touched.

The thought invokes a heavy feeling of nostalgia — suddenly you wanna go back in time, one year ago on your first date, just to relive the experience. Looking at Chan has always made you want to give everything you could to the man — yes, he was handsome, he was pretty, but moreover you could never, ever get over how much of a kind hearted and empathetic man he was. He’d pulled you out of your most vulnerable state and shown you how the true world was really like — filled with love, joy and exhilaration.

“Hey.” You hear the whisper and shake yourself out of your thoughts. “It’s thirty seconds to midnight. They’re gonna release the fireworks.”

A nod, and the both of you rush to move to the edge of the compound and gaze at the night sky.

“Don’t you think they’ll be looking for us below?”

“Nah, I told Hyunjin and Jisung where I’m going, they’ll take care of it.” Like usual, he intertwines your fingers together once again, looking up at the sky and then at his watch. You only giggle at his words, nodding before leaning to rest your head against his shoulder.

“Twenty seconds.”

This was it. In twenty seconds, the year would come to an end — while all the memories you’d made with Chan, and everyone for that matter, would remain, a small part of you would miss this year and all it’s days. Yet, you could be either excited for the year that was to come, or be sad that an amazing one was going to end — and you were leaning towards the former.

“You know,” You feel a sudden burst of emotion cutting through you — almost like you’re starting to tear up. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m-I’m really glad I met you.” 

The bustling of the city grows louder, and you can hear the collective chats echoing throughout the space.

Chan isn’t amused, but you can tell he’s taken aback by the sudden vocalization of your thoughts, especially when you tend to keep yourself on the more silent side.

“O-Oh…” 

You smile, still holding his hand when you turn to face him and he does the same, eyes filled with curiosity, a hint of confusion, but he nonetheless let’s you speak. 

“I don’t know, every time I look at you, I just think about — how grateful I am to have you standing next to me like this. And I might sound a little cheesy or dramatic here, but I’m really, so happy when I’m with you — you really make me smile without doing anything, you make me feel safe and it’s just… you’re so special to me.” 

Perhaps it’s just the sudden surge of emotion you feel when you look into Chan’s eyes, but you can’t seem to stop yourself from saying anything. The words just spill out and string themselves into a confession that leaves Chan breathless.

A soft sniffle leaves your lips and Chan’s eyes gloss over too, he silently brushes his thumb under your eyes to collect the tears that fall out. 

The loud sound of ringing resounds throughout, signifying that there’s only ten seconds left. The chants pour in, one by one. Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Chan really doesn’t know why he’s gotten emotional over a small confession, but to him it feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Not that he had any doubt in the first place, but the reassurance you give him is more satisfactory than anything he’s ever felt. While Chan knows you’re happy being with him (and vice versa), moments like these are what make your relationship lively and exciting, joyous.

Six, five, four.

“Why, you must be in love, then, Y/N.” He feels himself say. You look up to him and your eyes meet and it feels like a world’s united together. You love him, he loves you, and tonight, that is all that matters.

Three, two…

“Oh trust me.” You say, and at that moment, you hear nothing, except for the thudding of your quickened heartbeat and Chan’s voice catching in his throat. “I know.”

One.

You barely notice the luminescent firecrackers that start bursting behind and all around you high up in the sky when Chan’s gentle grip on your cheeks tightens and he pulls you in, chest crushing against yours as his lips engulf your own in one of the warmest, softest kisses you think you’ve ever received.  

Because in the end, this is where you like being the most — in his arms, feeling his presence beside you building your confidence. You think it’s destiny, it’s fate how the both of you seem to click so much and fit with each other so well — indeed, you’re in love with Bang Chan. Because with the start of the new year,  you can feel yourself forgetting about everything negative, everything except the light of your life, him. Your thoughts are fuzzy but still coherent, and you want to drown yourself in everything Chan, Chan, Chan.

When you pull away and rest foreheads against each other, finally, it all seems peaceful. There’s the distant chattering from below, but you and Chan are trapped in your own world to notice that.

“Happy New Year…” It’s a tiny whisper, yet you catch it quite easily.

“Happy New year,” you say, smiling at him lovingly before pecking his lips, leaning into his chest and humming when his hands wrap around your shoulders, engulfing you in warmth. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

You smile to yourself. In your head, you know what you’re gonna do is half to revive past memories and half because you want to get back at Chan for almost making you cry on that first date with his dimpled smile and his thoughtful gift.

“I have something for you.” You playfully word, feeling that wave of nostalgia hit you when Chan raises an eyebrow.

“I thought we didn’t get each other gifts for new years.”

“Yeah, but this is special. Close your eyes.” Chan does as you say, though reluctantly, holding himself back from tangling his fingers with yours again. You snicker at how he bites his lips and stiffens his fingers, leaning to press a soft kiss into his palm before placing the gift.

Chan frowns and opens his eyes to peer into your own, fiddling with the cassette tape in his hand.

“A cassette tape?” he probably doesn’t remember in explicit detail, but you try not to laugh at how he mimics the exact same way you acted on the first date.

“Yeah, it’s something I made for you.”

“Oh,” He looks at you sweetly, making your heart swell as you nod in agreement. “I’ll listen to it when I get home, we have the cassette player there.”

You shake your head. “Mhm, nope! Lucky for you, I contacted the right people so you could listen to it.”

Chan raises both his eyebrows in amusement, chuckling to himself as he turns in the direction you point.

“Behind you.”

And just like the old times, that cassette  player was still there. It had taken you a whole two trips to McDonald’s to convince Minho to help you sneak it in, but if it all worked out, everything was set.

“How did I just notice that now?” Chan seems amused at the level you’ve gone to present your gift, and a tiny bit mellow at your actions.

And this time, you were the one who had him tearing up by the end of the night.

*:･ﾟ✧ find the other fics here ! ​

[batgurl1989]

We Meet Again Chapter 3

Summary: After what happened at the Inn at the Crossroads, you take Geralt home.

Word Count: 1700

Warnings: Spoilers (as always), sex, unprotected sex

A/N: If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :)

Taglist: @rmtndew​ @princesssterek​ @djinny-djin-djin​

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter Three

You touched your lips as you walked toward your house. They felt swollen and bruised, but you couldn’t stop the smile lighting your face. It had been a while since you had been kissed like that, and even though you two were frustrated and angry with each other, the spark that had been between you all those years ago still seemed to be there.

You felt him crowd you as you paused at the door to unlock it. It took a couple of tries to get the key in the lock. Your shaking hands certainly didn’t help. Geralt reached around you, placing his warm calloused hand over yours. Gently he moved your hand away from your keys, and gave them a hard turn. The stubborn lock gave way under his touch, and the door swung open on squeaky hinges.

Before you could step over the threshold, Geralt’s arm snaked around your stomach, pulling you back against his hard body. The armour he wore under his cloak dug into you, but you didn’t mind as you were in his arms again. He took a step forward, still holding you to him, forcing you to walk but not stray.

“I think we need to finish what we started at the Inn.” Geralt pitched his voice low, almost to a whisper. His breath tickled the shell your ear, causing a shiver to run down your spine. He didn’t miss it. His grip tightened on you, gently squeezing you. “I missed you.”

Your heart thundered against your ribcage at his words. You placed your hands over his arm, gripping it as you tried to remain grounded. You felt his muscles flex as he turned you in his arms. Suddenly you were face to face with the man who had been in your dreams almost nightly. And the want you saw in his eyes almost made your knees weak. You had intimate knowledge of exactly how weak he could make your knees, and you wanted him all the more for it.

As if someone had called “go!” you pulled his face to yours again in a searing kiss. His hands pawed at the ties for your bodice as you reached for the clasp for his cloak. You growled in frustration, pulling away from him when you couldn’t figure out how to get his armour off. You glared at each other as you both stepped away, and started pulling your own clothes off. His random pulls had tangled the laces of your bodice, and you were certain you had messed up something for his armour.

You kept sneaking glances at Geralt as he shed layers of armour. He had new scars, some were fresh, some looked like they should have been death blows. But no matter how many he had, you still found him insanely attractive. If nothing else, the scars added his rugged handsomeness. The muscles underneath all the scars had gotten bigger. You supposed that with fame came more contracts.

“This would go faster if you stopped staring.” Geralt’s voice was laced with urgency and need. Of course, he had felt you staring at him.

“I’m not the one taking long.” Your words drew his gaze over to you where you stood finally free of your clothes. You watched his gold eyes darken as his pupils dilated and racked over your body. You had never felt more exposed, but with him it didn’t make you uncomfortable.

“Fuck.” He breathed out that one word, but it was all he needed to say for you to know exactly what he was thinking.

He ripped off the last of his clothes, not caring that he would have to get them repaired later. His eyes never left yours as he stalked toward you across the room. You backed up, grinning as you led him into your small bedroom. You sat down on your bed when your knees hit the wooden frame. Geralt paused in the doorway, watching you as you crawled backwards on to the bed, leaning against the headboard. The light of a candle flickered, catching his golden eyes, and showing you just how badly he wanted you.

“Then come and get me.” You responded. You smiled coyly, crooking your finger at him.

That was all the invite Geralt needed. He was on the bed in seconds, kissing his way up your legs, over your flat stomach, across your breasts, until he finally reached your face. Your lips met in a languid but passionate kiss, your tongues exploring each other’s mouths. His hands grazed over your skin, refamiliarizing themselves with your reactions. A light brush of your nipple had it beading. A gently squeeze on your other breast caused you to moan. A fingernail running down between your breasts to your stomach had you arching your back.

Your hands didn’t remain still either. Your fingers delved into his hair, loosening it from the half ponytail he usually kept it in. He groaned as your nails scraped his scalp. You traced a path down from his scalp to his back, causing a series of moans to rumble from his throat. You were careful not to dig your nails into any of the fresher scars, as they could still be tender as you ran your fingers down his back.

It wasn’t until your hands reached his arse that he pulled away from the kiss. His eyes searched yours, asking the question that clearly hung in the air between you. You nodded slightly, and spread your legs wider, encouraging him to finish what you both had started.

Geralt shifted, fitting himself at your entrance. He took a moment, as though giving you one last chance to back out, before slowly sliding himself home. You let out a long, low groan as your body stretched to accommodate his girth. Once he had fully sheathed himself inside you, he paused again to give you time to adjust. His breathing was ragged as though he was struggling to hold himself back, but wanting to give you time. It was sweet, but not what you wanted.

You tightened your grip on his arse, your nails biting into his skin. The look of fiery passion that shot through his eyes was exactly what you had hoped for. You didn’t need sweet Geralt. You needed hard, rough Geralt. And now you knew you were finally going to get what you wanted. When your eyes met, you raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Geralt shifted both of you, adjusting the angle. He gave a few shallow thrusts, testing your reaction before he gripped your hips. He started with deep slow thrusts, making sure to fit himself entirely inside you. He enjoyed watching you writhe below him, a blush forming on your cheeks and chest. Moan after moan exploded from your lips every time he was deep inside you.

“Geralt… please…” You were practically begging between panting breaths. He grinned, his hands leaving your hips to grip your breasts. You gasped as his calloused palms cupped your breasts, massaging them. “Please…”

“Alright, Younin.” Geralt leaned down to catch your lips in a quick but passionate kiss. He sat up once again, and began to drive himself into you.

His fast but deep thrusts drove you wild, but you managed to find a rhythm and met him thrust for thrust. Sweat broke out on your forehead, and you knew your blush was now bright red. His hands let go of your breasts, and trailed down your stomach back to your hips. Lifting you slightly, he changed the angle again, driving even deeper inside you. A scream of ecstasy escaped your mouth as pleasure expanded from your core to your limbs. You knew you were close, but couldn’t get the words out to let him know. You gripped his biceps, adoring the feeling of his muscles flexing. Trying to concentrate on that, and not the almost painful pleasure seeping into your every nerve, your orgasm ripped through you making you see stars.

Geralt kept thrusting into you, bring you to another orgasm before you had come down from your first one. It was during your second trip to the stars that he came, grunting above you. His eyes slid close as pure satisfaction flooded him. He stayed inside you for a moment longer, leaning over your to kiss you as you both rode out the pleasure of your orgasms.

Geralt rolled off you, laying on his back. He tucked you into his side, using his arm to pillow your head. You sighed, cuddling into his warmth, the sweat from earlier cooling on your skin. His one hand stroked your back, while his other played with a strand of your long hair that had trailed across his chest. You ran your fingers over his stomach, feeling his scars. You both enjoyed the brief moment of silence that cocooned you.

“Come with on the road.” Geralt’s low voice broke the silence. You tilted your head to look at him to see if he was serious. His gold eye met yours, and you could tell he meant it.

“I wouldn’t want to get in your way.” You couldn’t think of another reason why you wouldn’t go. You did love your quiet life in the village, but it was starting to wear on you. You had felt it in your bones a few months back; the wanderlust that came with needing to protect oneself.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t.” Geralt chuckled, pulling you closer. “You would be more helpful on the road than Dandelion ever was.”

“What? You didn’t like the songs he came up with about your adventures.” You laughed. The bard had caused more than a few problems for Geralt, but he had also solved a few. “He did change the public’s perspective of you, Butcher of Blaviken.”

“I hate that name.” Geralt grumbled, a darkness casting itself over his eyes.

“I know, and luckily for you, not many remember that name.” You stroked the side of his face, trying to chase away the dark thoughts you knew haunted him from that dark day in Blaviken. Nodding, you made your decision. “Okay, I will go with you. But you will need to give me a few days to prepare.”

A humming sound came from Geralt, but you saw him smile. “I think I can do that.”

[kaetastic]

Where Have You Been? 2

pairing: Harry Potter x Slytherin!Potter!Aunt!Reader (no incest- just aunt and nephew battlin’ through evil :)), (possible future evolution to pairing with Sirius Black)

summary: After years blinded from the tainted power and lies, Y/N Potter finally sees the truth. The truth that urged her to clamber out of the hole created by the Dark Lord. Will young year-2 Harry accept the absence of an aunty he didn’t even know he had? 

word count: 4.8k

warning: fluff, heavy angst, guilt, mentions of death

note: lately, i haven’t found myself writing as much, i don’t think it’s w****r’s b***k, it’s just me being distracted by so many other things lmao. thank you for waiting this long for the second part, i’m pretty sure there’ll be a third :)) there’s no harry in this but i wanted to keep the pairing consistent

Harry was just a thirteen-year-old boy. He was a young wizard, trapped in the walls of muggles who wished they had nothing to do with his kind. There was no other safe place for the boy. If Y/N had not fallen into the rabbit hole that branded the mark on her arm, maybe she had the chance to keep her nephew with her. Y/N could do nothing about it. Despite her ideas of getting him out of that suffocating house, to finally enjoy the presence of someone she shared her blood with, to show him what magic truly was, she knew it would only place great danger onto him. Her life which had slanted down like that anticipated, fingers-digging-into-the-railing part of a roller coaster had gone from a flowery childhood to having no other alive family member if Harry was to be excluded. 

If the time she had been on the run was to be calculated, it would’ve roughly been thirteen years. Thirteen years of shifting houses to houses. Although, one year, she had feared for the loyal followers to be sent to capture her, the rest twelve, she had to constantly check over her shoulders for a sign of Aurors who were on a mission to chuck every last death eater into Azkaban. Y/N hoped the day where she would not have to leave a bed to enter a new one would come. The witch didn’t mind if it was sooner than said, it would be nice to open windows to the scorching sun with a cup of warm tea in her hands. It would be nice to walk on open streets without a heavy, ominous clock over her head. It would be nice to walk on the streets, not pathways that had been littered with spit. 

Although, the sweet victory taste she had dreamed for had turned bitter, acidic to her tongue as if those scenarios she wondered on for hours had been nothing but bait, a tease. The Privet Drive might’ve not been the best place for Harry, but it was the safest for the boy. Well, safer than going on the run with his aunt who had to keep glancing over her shoulders in case a shadow scurried after her. 

Even though the wizard had suggested he could follow her since she had magical blood, just like him, the witch had no choice but to turn him down. Even the frown on his face had embedded itself in her memories. The disappointment at the rejection of a better life with the sister of his father had plagued Harry’s time at school. Not before Y/N told him to not mention their meeting to a single soul. It might’ve been hard for the young boy, but he somehow managed… well, apart from his two other friends he had found a strong connection with. Harry had mentioned the name Hermione and Ron during the heart-aching conversation of the early morning in his bedroom. Unfortunately, it had been cut short when the witch had realized the time. 

Y/N was sick of scrambling around, running away and cowering from everything. Because she had not only feared the suppressed group that had gone either into hiding or had lied to not face the terrible consequences but also the Aurors. Aurors who had tied a price tag around her head. She couldn’t even defend herself. By that, the witch meant that the way her head had wrapped around the wrong she had done placed her perspective in an angle some people would not believe. In simpler words, Y/N believed- no, she knew that they wouldn’t spare a speck of mercy onto her soul. Even though she had thought of surrendering herself with hands high in the air, the Potter had not been dumb. Not to forget, she had pride. Pride to not give the golden trophy right into the hands of the Aurors. 

Then, she made a move. It had been a risky path she fell into, but she moved her Queen piece across the chessboard. The only piece she had defending her sole King. Y/N sent a letter to the headmaster of Hogwarts. Despite her worry about his response since he was in fact, the creator of the Order of the Phoenix, there was no need to overthink of the great wizard’s reply. Dumbledore waited for the day, not losing a bar of hope for the return of the witch. The day she would clamber out of the dark hole she had stumbled into. Taking a chunk of his busy and occupied time, the wizard had made time for her. It was not long before they met up at the place he had chided to her when she was just a twelve-year-old, the place he told her where one should go before they die. Although, the place didn’t live up to the wizard’s words as it had been nighttime, the perfect and safe time for her to be out of her lodging, and it had recently just rained.

“There isn’t anything I say that will defend for what I have done. What I’ve done… it’s unforgivable.” Her gaze trailed down to brush over the clumpy doughs of the drenched soil. The stretched-out shapes had been filled in with the recent shower from the tears of the clouds. Although, the teardrops had been pure, innocent without a speck of tainted colour, now- it was just clouded. Y/N wished that was how she remembered her horribly chosen youth. Unfortunately, it had all been crystal clear. Despite her trying multiple choices of blurring out the wrong she had done, every single moment plays in her head every night. It sat in her mind, permanently. 

With her lack of interaction with other wizards to minimize her appearance to the wizard community, obliviating herself wasn’t really an option. There had been some… pathetic muggle suggestions such as hurling her head against a wall. It didn’t take her long before she discarded the idea that would only cause more harm than good. Even though she wished she would not be reminded of such memories, she then remembered one of the few hopes that kept her hanging on that cliff. 

No one was placed at such a position like Y/N’s. Well, other than someone she had grown to associate with the passing of years while she was a death eater. Is it still ‘was’? Was the thing she needed to yank out of her chest in the past? The ‘tattoo’ still remained. As time passed, it had faded from the prominent ink. Even though Y/N felt joy unfurl in her chest at the thought of it becoming non-existent, ready to see her bare arm once again without the hideous memory from her past, it lingered. The mark stayed to torture her every second. The branding on her arm had been the last string that labelled her as a death eater. She had not found anything to remove it. Y/N had gone through books after books, crumbling pages to flying lines, unreadable handwritings to hidden, enchanted chapters. None had given her an ounce of hope she needed.

“There have been many people who’ve done nothing but wrong their whole lives, yet, they always had something to say. What makes you an exception?” The man quirked up, his silvery eyebrows jumped at her figure with his infamous words that had been packed full of knowledge and riddle. It had always been like that, ever since she was just a child, the man who still rocked his extensive beard had become a prominent feature. Although, the two lost contact as she dived into the side she was warned about during dinner. Dinners that lasted short, a smudged out memory. Y/N pressed her lips in thought, fingers twiddling without a slight intrusion in her head. A habit she had grown up with. And like as always, he cut her off with another sentence for her to process. “If I remember correctly, you mentioned in the letter that you have not done more than maiming someone.”

“In the name of the Dark Lord.” 

“Yes, but it was for your survival,” Dumbledore interjected. Oh, he always had his way with his speeches and his sentences. 

A sigh brushed her lips, creaking into the heavy air of the light wind toying with the hairs of trees as if they were puppets. Pushing her legs to rest her back against the bench that had been damp from the previous shower, Y/N murmured without peeling her eyes away from her fingers, “He killed Regulus. Regulus never came back, you know? After a trip, he was gone… forever. That’s what made me doubt my choices. His death was the sole reason I had left.”

“Regulus Black. Sirius’s younger brother.”

Y/N hummed while her arms slithered to wrap around her body, the chilling kiss of the air had been merciless to the defence of her clothing, “Regulus Arcturus Black. Whenever I was lazy to call his name even though it’s just seven letters, I called him ‘R.A.B’,” She let out a chuckle since it had been her joke for the boy to embrace the three letters as his signature, before the corners of her lips curled down in realization. “Although, now, I seem to find the longer being comforting.” 

“There’s no need to worry, what matters most is your safety. You must try to stray away from any sight of those who may seem interested. I will write a letter once Harry starts his third year.” Y/N nodded even though she was slightly reluctant to the life she would have to shift her own foot in. Deep down, she knew, no matter what other’s would say to comfort and calm down her nerves, she would always have something to fidget about. Something that came in the package when one falls into the Death Eater’s path.

It had barely been a month since she had met with the well-known headmaster, and Y/N hadn’t exactly found peace in continuing her life of being a criminal. The ability to sit still in a seat for longer than fifteen minutes was non-existent. Thoughts ran, scrambling from one side of her head to the other without rest. Every second, she would always have something to think of. A smart decision she made during her Hogwarts years was focusing during classes despite her side chores, so, it only became helpful when she needed a vial of ‘Draught of Peace’ or ‘Calming Draught’ to calm down her relentless thoughts. 

Harry recently started his third year at Hogwarts as the letter sent by the one and only, Dumbledore. The wizard had reminded her as he had promised; although, she remembered the day the students would be going back to school. Y/N could only stare into the abyss while she dreamed of walking onto the ground of the school once more. Oh, to feel the chilling stone walls during winter. She could only dream. 

It was for the safety of her nephew, and for her to stay in hiding that she didn’t write to the boy; even though she desperately wanted to. So, Y/N spent hours on the crooked wooden desk which had been slanted down, the folded piece of newspaper had begun to damp in the humid air, melting into the floor. The witch wasted hours of her day that flew by once she completed the letter to her heart’s desire. Days that stretched out when she didn’t occupy herself. 

She could barely count the number of lines she had scribbled down onto countless yellow sheets of paper. After a day of jotting down hefty block of paragraphs that was enough to build castles, she would stuff the pile of letters away, under her bed, or she would try her best to cram the sheets into the minuscule gaps between tattered books and the shelves. Most addressed to her nephew, now, just unsent thoughts that had been occupying her head, and desires of her heart which she had no one to pour out to. 

There was nothing Y/N could do. She was edging to the last sentence of her book, the last chapter of her story. If she was to stay, all she would have is Harry. Even so, she didn’t have him. The young wizard was hurled into the palms of her sister-in-law, muggles who hated whatever wizards were capable of. 

Maybe the only reason she reached out to Dumbledore was because she had information, intel that would be impeccably useful to the Order. Things the members wouldn’t even be able to smear against, things they can’t even imagine. Comparing herself to some members of the organization who had achieved great things in the available tasks by the Ministry, Y/N had seen far more than some of them has. She has seen gruesome sights, sights she wished she had glanced away from. However, she knew, she knew he was watching. 

That was her lifestyle now. The witch would have to suck it up, swallow the truth and deal with the reality she was stuck in. Stranded in a sole, pathetic room of a sad excuse of a building. Y/N had barely left the place she would have to call home. There had been multiple times the owner had tried to usher the lady out for a quick talk, Y/N did not want to risk anything. The only walls that had been present in the rented room were for the loo, that- she was grateful for. 

Then, news broke out into the wizarding community, it cracked over their heads like a spoiled egg, the yolk oozing out in a battered pace before it splattered into a squelch. News that sent everyone into a frenzy, news that made heads poked into corners of streets before they proceeded to walk the route they had been used to for years. News of the notorious Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban. It was impossible. No one had fled away from the prison. He was the first. 

However, unlike most, Y/N knew things some didn’t know. It was not belief, rather, she knew the truth. Sirius Black did not do the things wizards and witches had whispered into each other’s ears. He was not capable of said-things. Y/N had met the man from his tight friendship with her older brother. Friendship that people had poked at him for being weak since he had shown his back to James. Those people knew nothing. They didn’t know how close they were for James to bring the boy to live at their house. They didn’t know that her parents had seen Sirius as their son. No one knew the truth, yet, they still let their words slip up into stubborn rumours. 

During her years of being a death eater, side-by-side with Regulus, her head held high without a quiver in her bone, Y/N had heard and seen things. Maybe some of them she should’ve not even eavesdropped on. It would’ve cost her life… she still did so. Y/N was meant to be in Slytherin, it was destiny that she had denied ever since the hat had spoken, and she saw her brother’s expression falter at the declaration. Despite her opposition to the situation, she wore the new shoes perfectly. The first few years, she was as close to her brother as she was before, any time she saw him in the corridor, she would wave, or they would pick up a desultory conversation. With that, he had introduced his friends. Y/N could see the tight rope around them, bonds she can’t see broken. Or so she thought. 

Then, it inched to her fourth year when she truly distanced herself. No, nothing would be blamed onto Regulus, no idea of his would be looked upon for the dead could not even defend himself. Y/N fell onto the path her parents had prominently warned her about. Their occasional talks about people who were surrounded with an aura that would send shivers down their spines sparked into muffled ears. Those lectures and lessons were all forgotten as Y/N found comfort standing beside the person she could not tear herself from. 

Walburga would accept the girl with warm embrace. Although, that came with its consequences. Y/N had to sit at the dining table, next to Regulus while the woman rambled poison-filled words about her parents who were not ashamed to be in the presence of muggles. The blinded girl did as her blurred head told her to do so, she tolerated the blows to her gut. It was only rare times when Regulus would speak up to stop his mother from hurling more onto the meal made by the elf. Despite Walburga’s hatred for Y/N’s parents, the woman had mentioned countless times that she had filled in the shameful place of her other son. Y/N was sure the empty space in her house had been plucked in with Sirius Black. 

Regulus would just be flushed with crimson red whenever his mother had brought up the two. She always took the chance to talk about how good they looked next to each other. There were few, forgotten times when she had dropped the word marriage. However, there was nothing but friendship between the two that would constantly burgeon, blossoming every second of every day. Walburga would swat it away, not believing them. 

It was true, despite the pureblood mother believing the two had something going on. It was nothing but friendship. Sure, there had been gentle kisses against cheeks, but it was nothing more. 

Everything then fell apart. She didn’t know who was amusing themselves by having a poke at the blocks of her life, but she knew it had wavered her platform. It was Regulus, then, it was her mother and father. The night when the elf had stumbled into the Grimmauld place, an ominous locket in his grasp, Y/N’s head went into a frenzy. She had never seen the creature look so distraught. The only reason she had remained at the house was because she had nowhere else to go. It wasn’t until days she would piece everything together. Regulus had gone, so the house-elf had confessed. The truth was not to be told to his family. How did anyone expect her to stay at the house she had made unforgettable memories? Y/N left, not even a farewell or a note for the family. 

The two had whispered conversations of the truth of becoming a death eater, they would do so under their breaths, afraid of who might listen. Whatever Regulus did, she did too. 

Kreacher said he had been ordered by Regulus to go back home with the locket, leaving the wizard to die. Y/N had screamed at the creature for his pathetic words, thankfully, Walburga nor Orion was at home. The two Slytherins had discussed of the Dark Lord’s attempt to murder the house-elf before they dived into countless pages, all so they could land to assume that the locket had been a Horcrux. The two eighteen-year-olds had just found out the deepest secret of the Dark Lord. And one of them died with the truth, while the other ran for her life.

If it wasn’t enough, Y/N could not even attend the funeral of her parents. The people she had not spoken to for years. She had listened to the words on the street that it was to Dragon Pox. It was then Y/N had to sit through excruciating months before she had the chance to visit their graves. The last she had seen their faces was a photo she had absent-mindedly packed before she had run away from home. If seeing her parents in flesh was in consideration, it was the sobbing mother who could not calm her hiccups in tears with every caress of her husband’s warmth. The photo might’ve been the best mistake she had ever made. 

In the midst of 1980, thoughts that would only surface when the sun no longer exists had steered the witch away from the path she thought she would be on until she bled to death. Just before she allowed the thought of living her life on the run consumed her, she had planned and listed out everything that would come as consequences if she was to proceed. That was when she tumbled over something. Still a death eater, she had stumbled upon the voice of a man who had been deeply trusted by her brother conversing with none other than the leader of the dark. His squeaky voice poured out every information he had about James and Lily. However, that was not the thing she had eavesdropped on. It was the fact that the man was Peter Pettigrew, the boy who would trail with the group. All so he could fall under the protection of the Dark Lord. What a grave mistake he had made. 

Y/N didn’t know what it was in her, but she then cut off any ties with the death eaters. That sounded easier than it truly was. There would be nights when she would feel her arm burn, flames piercing into her skin. He was angry, furious- she knew. All she could do was clutch onto the frigid sheets of the bed around her inflamed arm. She lived and survived, something she didn’t know how she came out successful, and lived her life on the run, always on edge. She stayed at multiple places, hoping the dark lord and his goons had not found her. To her luck, the pain dimmed down, she had only felt the faintest of a sting at the mark. 

Then, it was the unseen, unfortunate death of James and Lily. Y/N didn’t waste a second when she had heard a man regurgitate the words at the bar to sprint towards the house. The motionless figure of the man she once had picked on for accidentally wearing her jumper of an adorable bunny. So, she cradled his chilling body while streams of tears gush out of her eyes. There was no one left for her. That was, until she reluctantly pulled away from the corpse to follow the boisterous cries. Up the mess of a corridor and into a nursery with planks of wood decorating the floor She was met by a gruesome sight of her sister-in-law, flat on the ground, and the relentless toddler who the dark lord feared, her nephew.

Even though Y/N wished to spend more time, she had no choice but to peel herself away. She apparated away once she jumped through the window. Not long after, it was the rest of the Order’s turn to take in the event. 

Y/N knew there had been some death eaters who remained loyal to the dark lord despite his fall. Some had been locked up in Azkaban, while the rest still sauntered over streets casually. She knew some of them would be chasing after her, she knew the Ministry was searching for her, so why did she fall for the words scribbled by Dumbledore to meet up with Remus? 

“Sirius didn’t kill James and Lily.” Remus nodded, his eyes finding the sight of the pond to be more captivating. 

“I know.”

“Sirius didn’t murder those muggles.” Remus nodded once again.

“I know.”

“You know, yet, you had not defended the man when everyone’s ears had been stuffed with lies.” The wizard could only press his lips, lost in thought.

“Y/N, listen, we haven’t exactly been on the same path, but I feel like we are now,” The witch’s eyebrows furrowed. Remus swung from the same bench she had sat with Dumbledore. “I wanted to meet you when Dumbledore had told me he had met you. Although, I didn’t have a good excuse to do so. Now, I do.” 

His ominous words had only made her fingers crawl towards her wand. Neck snapping towards the rustling of leaves, she shot up from the seat, the wooden stick pointing towards the source of noise. With a spell murmured by Remus, her wand was out of her hand. She didn’t want to falter her gaze from the shadow that poured out of the bushes, but she couldn’t help her expression morphing into that of betrayal. Remus didn’t bother to send a face to comfort her. 

Y/N felt every muscle in her body freeze, every fibre was pulled taut before they remained stationary. The black dog paced towards her at a casual pace, almost approaching her carefully. Its eyes, it looked familiar. She had seen it somewhere. And no wonder… she had. Before her eyes, the dog transformed into a man who was dressed in tattered and shabby clothing of dull colours. The face of the man who had been plastered all across newspapers and streets, “Sirius?”

Maybe she should’ve panicked first, to why he had even put himself at risk, her even, but she reverted to another path. She saw Regulus in him. The infamous Black’s dark hair which Regulus would gingerly trim and take care of had flourished on Sirius’s head. 

“You’ve got to be joking me,” Y/N gushed out, the corners of her lips curled up in amusement even though she felt anything but amusement. “Are you out of your mind? You truly have gone insane in Azkaban.”

The witch turned to face Remus, “You too. Is this the plan of yours? What? To bag me up for the Ministry?”

Remus sighed out, his fingers splayed out against her wand, “Sirius wanted to meet you, the reason, he had not told me. This meeting is not a trick, no one knows Sirius is here.”

“Will you be holding my wand throughout this?” The man could only give her a slight nod of his head. Y/N let out a frustrated huff. “Fine, get on with it, I can’t wait to leave the country after this.” 

“Do you know of Peter’s boundaries?” Sirius’s voice sounded hoarse, raspy as if he desperately needed water. Maybe that’s what happens when one has just escaped a prison which was believed to prevent escapes.

Y/N’s face transformed into that of an offended expression, “Peter Pettigrew?” Once the man confirmed with a nod of his head, Y/N scoffed at the accusation. “What makes you think I know where he is?” 

“Well, you two bear the mark,” The words fell off his tongue without a care for her. “You two sold yourselves to Voldemort, it would only make sense if you knew where the traitor is.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I have no idea of where he is.” 

Seconds morphed into minutes, minutes of Sirius’s eyes beaming onto her, “Have you bothered to search for him? Did you even know he was the one who sold out James and Lily to Voldemort?”

“I know a lot of things, Black,” Y/N sneered. “To satisfy your endless questions, I’ve done everything I could to find him when I happened to stumble upon his voice at the Malfoy’s home.”

“You knew that Peter was meeting with Voldemort and you didn’t bother to spend a cent on the thought that it would be James and Lily’s fall? Were you too busy snogging my brother?”

The mention of Regulus sparked up something in her chest, something that spun through hurricanes, Y/N’s expression hardened at the sight of the man, “Do not speak ill of Regulus.”

“Still defending my brother? You two never parted away from each other, every corner I turn at school, you two were always side-by-side.” Sirius could feel the corners of his lips curl up. 

“Sirius,” Remus interjected to stop the man, he knew this would not go well if the convict had not held himself back. 

“How hard it must’ve been for you to see him gone.”

Y/N could feel her fingers furl with every word he uttered, “He was your brother.”

“Was. I was exiled from my family, remember? You would remember clearly, I remember the day you left home to stay at that horrid place.”

“Sirius, that’s enough.”

“No! Remus! She must know the pain she inflicted onto her parents when she stepped away from that house, the sadness James drowned himself in when he couldn’t find any way to invite you to his wedding.”

“Would you stop mentioning my brother?”

“Oh, so now you consider him with sentiment? What happened to avoiding us?” 

“Are you done? I had only prayed the meeting with Remus to be civilized, yet, here you are.” She sneered. 

“Why do you fear of talking about James? Are you turning away like a coward? Now?”

“I don’t want to talk about James because I’m not in the mood for it, Sirius.”

“When are you in the mood then? Is it because you are saddened by the fact that you couldn’t take Harry when you visited their house?” Y/N accidentally allowed her eyes to widen at his words “You didn’t think we wouldn’t know?”

“I was in no position to take Harry.”

“You were in every position to take Harry!” Sirius yelled out, his veins popping up to bulge into the air. “You are his blood! His aunt! His godmother!”

“His what?”

taglist: @teheharrypotter​

[ineffably-effable]

further good omens fic recs

It’s been awhile since my last reclist post so here goes, please enjoy the rewards of my complete lack of self-control when it comes to this ship.

Please reach out if I’ve missed a tumblr tag, or drop a note if you have any recommendations I’ve missed! ( 31 recommendations underneath the cut )

(51k) Acts of Service by seekwill / @jasmine-cottage-uk

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

mood: pining, denial, secrets, idiots-in-love. 

(Warning: Don’t start reading this one at midnight expecting to put it down. Learn from my mistakes.) 

(44k) Mirror, Mirror by ImprobableDreams900 / @improbabledreams900

Crowley from an evil!au swaps places with our Crowley.

mood: butterfly effect, identity theft, Aziraphale!whump, badass!Aziraphale  

(40k) The Strong Tower by BuggreAlleThis

After the failed executions, a vengeful angel takes it upon herself to neutralise the threat presented by Crowley and Aziraphale.

mood: aziraphale!whump, protective!crowley, hurt/comfort, pining and fantastic world building.

(23k) You Might Think I'm Crazy (All I Want is You)   by soft_october / @soft-october-night​

Since the next shop over closed down, Aziraphale's had a peaceful few months, barring those unpleasant interactions with the men in cheap suits who keep trying to persuade him to sell his shop. But now a (handsome) new owner has taken up residence beside him and, horror of horrors, he wants to open up a coffee shop.

mood: fledgling friendships, obviously-in-love-to-everyone-but-themselves, almost-letting-your-doubts-and-insecurities-ruin-things, if-only-these-dumb-bastards-knew-how-to-communicate

(23k) names in history by lagaudiere

Maybe he’d shown Crowley how to perform a few miracles, but that Crowley had taken to them so well was surely a sign that he wasn’t all bad. And maybe Aziraphale had let himself be called upon to perform a few temptations, but that was just testing the will of the faithful if you looked at it from a different angle.

mood: slow-burn, through-the-ages, beautifully written.

(22k) This Soul Outstreaming by Rend_Herring 

Aziraphale constructs intricate rituals to touch the skin of other men (by “men” I mean Crowley).

mood: slow-burn, through-the-ages, forbidden love, UST, beautifully written. 

(29k) 5 Times Aziraphale was Almost Discorporated and One Time He Actually was by charliebrown1234 / @charliebrown1234

What it says on the tin.

mood: Aziraphale!whump through the ages, protective Crowley, hurt/comfort, wonderful characterizations.

(20k) In Pleasure's Clothes by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Three Times Aziraphale Stalked Crowley In Gay Clubs And One Time He Moped At Wilde’s Grave.

mood: jealousy, pining, miscommunications, idiots-in-love

(18k) Soft (A Love Story in Three Bites) by mia_ugly / @mia-ugly​

Crowley was an angel, once. Before she fell. Aziraphale was a warrior (she fell too. It just took a little longer.)

mood: ineffable wives thoughtfully done and beautifully written, pining, emotional vulnerability, hurting the ones you love, references to gothic romances that absolutely slay me, switching POVs between Aziraphale and  Crowley.

(18k) On Earth as it is in Heaven by JMA

Aziraphale was at Crowley's trial...the first one.

For six thousand years Aziraphale felt like an angel who has fallen, waiting for Heaven to realise. His fear and doubt has shaped and defined him. Now, with the Armageddon over and Heaven and Hell off their backs it is finally time to come clean.

mood: betrayal, pining, misguided attempts at atonement, miscommunication and forgiveness 

 (15k) Through Every Door by darlingred1 / @darlingred1​

After thwarting the end of the world, Aziraphale begins to avoid Crowley, and Crowley accidentally awakens his own repressed lust.

mood: mutually-pining-idiots, miscommunication,  immortal-beings-taking-turns-with-their-single-brain-cell, surprisingly-Crowley-has-first-dibs

(16k) Least of All by stereobone / @stereobone​

Every so often, Crowley talks to God.

mood: Crowley worrying after Aziraphale through the ages. Beautifully written, fantastic Crowley perspective.

(14k) Wine Fraud and Other Worthy Pursuits by ImprobableDreams900  / @improbabledreams900​

When Aziraphale, rare book dealer and part-time wine collector, encounters a bottle of 1844 Château Lafite-Rothschild he suspects isn't all that it claims, he becomes determined to track down the truth.

Unfortunately, the finger of suspicion seems to point at fellow wine collector Anthony J. Crowley, whom Aziraphale is already well on his way to befriending.

mood: suspicious Aziraphale and fledgling friendships  

(12k) Laugh When It Sinks In by Tenoko1 / @tenoko1​

Crowley stopped them in their trek, slipping his arm from Aziraphale’s grasp to face him, hands on his shoulders. “Are you sure you’re alright? A-are you having, like, a mid-life crisis or something now that Heaven’s cut you loose? You’re worrying me. What’s next? Cherry red sports car?”

mood: making a home for yourself and your charmingly oblivious life partner 

(10k) The Original Bar Joke by deathbycoldopen / @deathbycoldopen​

The way Crowley saw things, it was all one big joke, with him as the punchline.

mood: drunk!pining, idiots-in-love, jealous!Crowley, straw-that-broke-the-camel's-back moments, drunk!confessions

(8k) did you open up your heart there? by weatheredlaw / @weatheredlaw​

Aziraphale and Crowley meet over and over and over again. Aziraphale doesn't know what Crowley is, or why their souls can't seem to be parted, but he is a creature of love, and he's not going to argue with that.

mood: ready to have your heart broken over and over and over?

(7k) The Ark by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley​

We’ve all been assuming that it takes them 6,000 years to figure it out, but what if it takes 6,300?

Or: the ineffable husbands evacuate a dying Earth.

mood: ineffable dystopian sci-fi romance (and yes, I love that this is a mood I can use to describe a good omens fic).

(7k) Where Thou Art by Mottlemoth / @mottlemoth​

A late-night bus to London, a few human comforts, and a long overdue confession... nothing will ever be the same for an angel and his demon.

mood: we-might-be-dead-by-tomorrow-love-confessions

(5k) Love Stories by goodomensblog  / @goodomensblog

Crowley goes too slow, Aziraphale drinks copious amounts of alcohol, and the bookshop is (very nearly) set on fire. Again.

mood: drinking because you’re an idiot in love (or because you’re in love with an idiot), looking after your drunk mate (only he’s not your mate he’s the love of your life and he’s finally starting to get that)

(4k) A Metaphor Of Some Kind by copperbadge / @copperbadge​

After the world doesn't end, Hell gets Crowley and Heaven gets Aziraphale, but not for very long.

mood: witty with great voices, loads of fun

(4k) One Sweet Moment Set Aside For Us by Arej 

Tattoos are like stories you write on your skin, and they'll say things for you if you'll let them. Or perhaps prompt other people to say things.

Or, Crowley is just drunk enough to get bold and let his guard down, and it leads to something he never thought he'd be allowed to have.

mood: pining, touching, reverance, love confessions

(3k) Something To Talk About by iamtheenemy (Steph)

Aziraphale jumps to some very inaccurate conclusions.

mood: pining and misconceptions, let’s see if we can make Crowley have an aneurysm.

Wow! Thanks for scrolling this far! You’ve unlocked the secret  “I’ll be in my bunk” section of the rec list! ;)

(That’s not to say the fics above don’t have their own hot scenes, or that the fic below are only  pwp, but these are the fics where the plot is either focused mostly on sex or the build-up to sex.)

(4k) left with no trace, as if not spoken to by drawlight / @drawlight​

Aziraphale's finger brushes against the edge of Crowley's hand. The theater is packed, it is dark. Everyone is watching the stage (no one is watching them). "Do you - ?" "Yeah, angel."

mood: Shakespeare may not have deserved this, but this reader is glad this exists.

(4k) I Tempt, You Thwart... Right? by AEpixie7 / @knightofthesevenfandoms​

Crowley accidentally-on-purpose roofies Aziraphale and then feels bad about it because Aziraphale is so high that he can't remember how to sober up.

mood: serious wing kink, drug-induced-loss-of-inhibitions

(6k) Appetite by spunknbite / @spunknbite​

Crowley places the macaron against Aziraphale’s lips with more reverence than the angel had thought him capable. “It’s alright, angel. Just take a bite.”

mood: drunk sex, overcoming inhibitions, first time, hand feeding 

(6k) The Better Part of Valour by obstinatrix

Said I, a few weeks ago: "I feel there’s also room for e.g. bedsharing fic where the apocalypse has Not Happened and they’ve fallen into queerplatonic (or so they think) bedsharing and Crowley thinks he’s alone in being driven slowly to distraction by it, so he says nothing. Then one night he wakes when it’s still dark, and at first he doesn’t know why, until he hears Aziraphale’s breathing a little raspier than usual, and feels the very slight trembling of the bed."

mood: bed-sharing-with-serious-insecurities-and-misunderstanding

(7k) a treatise on your fingers in my hair by Nimravidae / @tooeasilyconsidered​

Crowley sleeps for two days, his hair is a mess, and all it takes is a touch. Like a catalyst. Like striking flint, like a matchstick, like touching fire to gunpowder

mood: all that pent up UST has to go somewhere 

(9k) Released by vaguely_concerned / @vaguely-concerned​

After they get together Aziraphale has some lingering Ideas about his brief stint in the Bastille; Crowley is happy to help him explore them. Hijinks, as they say, ensue.

mood: french revolution era role play w/ feelings, fantastic dialogue. 

(17k) One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster)  by Atalan / @seaskystone​

Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it.

mood: flirting and first times

You’re still here? Can’t get enough? Well check out these amazing WIPs!

Slow Show by mia_ugly / @mia-ugly​

The Ineffable Pining Showmance AU that no one asked for.

mood: a more accurate summary would be the: ineffable pining showmance AU that no one knew to ask for, and everyone wanted more of. The characterizations in this are amazing. Crowley as a fallen film star is perfection. 

Shifting Heaven and Earth by BuggreAlleThis

For most of history, since he narrowly avoiding Falling from Heaven with Lucifer, Crowley has been working for the Angelic Corruption Unit. This ended up being far more boring than he hoped it would be, but things change when he is assigned to go undercover on Earth. His mission is to investigate Aziraphale, an infamous angel who has been on Earth since its Creation, and whom Heaven is sure is guilty of corruption or dereliction of duty. 

mood: slow-burn, betrayal, regrets,  aziraphale!whump, bamf!aziraphale

the bucket list by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

Still here? :)

My previous good omens recs post can be found here [x]

[argylemikewheeler]

|| i saw this post and just had the idea of will freaking out at mike for being tall-- but of course that’s not really what it’s about. just something short and sweet (literally) for you || ao3

It’s in the grocery store that Will just snaps at him. Will’s going shopping for his mom after school. It’s no big thing; Will enjoys the time alone. Except of course, it’s the last day before spring break and Mike’s skipped the last day of school and driven up to see him. Mike’s an extra set of hands to help brings bags into the house, and he’s not too bad of a driver to man the cart.

When Mike pulls up to the house-- just as Will’s grabbing his bag and getting to Jonathan’s car-- he looks so different. His hair is just a little shorter-- cropped and kept, just how Ted likes it, but with Karen’s kind influence of letting him be, Ted, come on. The main thing, at least to Will, is that he’s taller. The man is taller. Will feels his neck crack as he tilts back, just a little. He didn’t shrink, but when Mike runs up to him, he swears he did.

When Will is silent and stares at him for a while, Mike replies that he’s six-foot-two. Which is fine. It’s fine. It’s just that Will is five-foot-six still. But whatever. It’s fine.

Will kind of forgets about it-- forgets about how his new friends call him small. not short but small; how his new doctor is worried he’s stunted from all his “medical trauma” and is trying to talk his mother into having him take steroids; how he secretly likes being the same height because he knows his mom can’t afford buying both him and El new clothes; how he hates that the first thing people notice between him and Mike isn’t even that they’re two men since Will’s short enough to match people’s perception of what “normal” couples look like. Will just forgets about it. And for a while it’s nice.

Mike doesn’t know jack shit about vegetables and Will teaches him how to pick fruit that is just the right amount of unripe so it will last longer in the fridge. Mike pushes the cart and nods, at least pretending he’s enjoying the lesson. It’s 1988 and Mike places his hand on Will’s back when he stands and stares at the wall of soup cans, trying to read prices and brands quickly. It’s 1988 and Will doesn’t even watch how he says “Michael”. It’s a nice outing until they get to the cereal aisle.

It is nearly cleaned out, all the extra boxes up on the top shelf in disorganized storage stacks. Will groans and steps up onto the bottom shelf, his hand straining as he feels around for a box of something. His ribs are pressed to the middle shelf and he tries to keep from swearing. There’s an older lady with two young kids that’s been watching them since they arrived in the aisle-- Mike’s hand gently finding Will’s-- and Will doesn’t want to give her any ammunition to start shouting.

“Would you like some help, Will?” Mike laughs and grabs him under the arms. He hoists Will nearly like he’s weightless, helping him step down to the floor again.

Will sighs. “Yes.”

“What do you want?” Before Will can answer, Mike is sliding box after box down and placing them on the shelves in front of Will’s eye line. “I’ve got ‘em all.”

“I just needed the Cheerios, thanks.” Will grumbles, taking the box and tossing it into the cart. He pushes the cart and they leave the woman’s stare. He feels tense all over again. He forgets to keep forgetting about it-- about everything-- for a moment.

“How do you do this without me.” Mike is simply trying to tease him-- be verbally affectionate when his hands can only jostle his shoulders. “I need to think about moving up here you don’t have to struggle every time you just want to buy something--”

“Shut up, Mike.”

“W--What? What did I say? Was it that you’re short? Because... Will, we know this. It’s my favorite thing about you, you know that.”

“I don’t really want to hear it right now.” Will isn’t aware he’s clenching his teeth until he hears himself speak. “Being small is kind of not my favorite.”

“Oh, but-- It’s fun! You fit right under my arm and you don’t really need to steal as much of the blankets when we sleep--”

“Mike.” Will tries to drop out from under Mike’s arm: he placed it around his shoulders to demonstrate his point. Will is suddenly very aware that they’re two men, even if from every other angle no one seems to notice because he’s... a full eight inches shorter than Mike. It doesn’t feel great to be able to excuse homophobia because he’s as short as a girl. “Mike, please shut up.”

“What?” He’s sincere, but he’s still very confused. He still thinks it’s about being short. He doesn’t move his arm. “OH, well, actually I do hate the whole you-get-to-steal-my-clothes-thing. But if those are the reparations--”

“Would you just shut up, Tall Boy!” Will snaps, twisting around to face Mike. They’re in the middle of the baby section, where no one would be likely to stumble into them.

“T-Tall Boy?” Mike laughs, but he’s still trying to figure out that Will’s genuinely upset. “I-- What? What happened? Did I say something?”

“Yes! Stop talking about how short I am. I hate it.” Will doesn’t know why but he chokes up a little. He pretends he needs to be looking at plastic sippy cups. They look so out of place when the older lady and her children come strolling past. “I hate remembering I’m short.”

“Remembering.” Mike repeats. “Do you... forget?”

“El grew four inches in like... two months.”

“Okay...”

“Mom had to buy her new skirts and jeans because they got too short, too fast. It was the middle of winter and her ankles were so chapped-- She worked another two shift to pay for it.” Will’s breathing is choppy and it’s so stupid. Mike is silent, but because he’s listening, which is still weird for Will to think about.

“Okay. So short is good. You’ve got all your clothes and you’ve got all mine if you need it. And I’m sure Steve’s got more stuff that’s up your alley. It’s okay. Will, it’s okay. I won’t let you go cold.” Mike places his hands on Will’s shoulders, his thumbs brush against his neck.

“They say I’m small at school.” Will pushes through. “Small. You know what else is small? Babies are small. Mistakes are small. OH and you know what is usually small? Girls. Girls are small-- except my sister. Who’s giant--”

“She’s only like... five-nine.”

“Mike.”

“Sorry, literal perspective I see is not the point here.” He nods. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s just-- People don’t think you’re gay sometimes.” Will realizes this doesn’t make sense to anyone but him.

“Uh. That’s... I’m not sure that’s our fault.”

“Well, see, it’s my fault. From a distance, I look like your girlfriend. Not a very, short short man.”

“Well, that’s not your fault. People are blind and weird and straight. That’s not-- You’re not a girl, Will. You definitely aren’t a girl nor look like one or act like one or-- You just aren’t. Being short is not a fault!”

Will sighs and leans into Mike’s hand. “You’re supposed to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”

“I could complain-- would you like me to?” Mike says with a smile. His eyebrows are still furrowed though: he’s upset. “I hate that you can fit comfortably on any bed we share. I hate that... You sometimes can buy kids’ shirts? Because they’re always cooler. Like, you have one you bought as a painting smock that has a freakin shark on it and I gotta say... Men’s clothes, not as cool! I’m less cool as my art school boyfriend because I got tall too quick. Dude, that sucks. I want to be cool like you!”

Will is definitely crying, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. He laughs and smiles. He hopes it makes up for his sniffling. “You think I’m cool?”

“Yeah! My cool, short boyfriend. He’s awesome and he’s super nice because he... worries about the socio-political meaning of him being short. Like. He’s so smart. So smart.”

“He’s the only one who knows what the hell a mango is in your relationship.” Will says, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah! Concentrated intelligence!” Mike reaches for Will’s underarms again. He catches Will’s smile before jokingly hoisting him an inch off the ground. “He’s better because of-- everything, but right now let’s say it’s because he’s not a six-foot-two monster who hits his head on every door frame in his house.”

“Oh my god-- is that what that bump is from?” Will hiccups, laughter nearly scaring him. “Oh, Michael, you poor.... tall thing.”

They laugh in the baby aisle until Will’s face is less red and puffy. As they walk, Mike makes jokes about the weird names of food brands. He offers to get Will things on all shelves, just being a helpful partner rather than a shopping giraffe. He repeats Will’s name every time he speaks to him and someone is in earshot. Will smiles and each time calls him a sappier and sweeter version of “Michael”. Will finishes shopping and feels rather accomplished as they pack the car up.

He forgets about everything again for a while. Everything but Mike. Well, Mike, but more importantly how he makes him feel: so happy, so listened to, so short. And it’s all okay. It’s nothing. Just one small thing in a short life full of so many wonderful, loving things.

[incarnateirony]

S15 Remaster: Grace, Souls, Conversion; Effects of the Fall; The Journey of Man; Self-Godhood and Free Will.

Alright, so over in another thread (x) @curioussubjects​ evoked an interesting take about the effects of the fall vs grace/souls and the meaning of the two, and I remembered having an old post that was a bit of a mess from early S13 where I applied Qabbalistic concepts to SPN not long before the actual... Qabbalistic and Hermetic elements started manifesting (The Shadow, the Empty/Ain Soph, etc) and before I pretty much started flipping theological shit.

The other thread was already becoming titanic with a hodge podge of other philosophical musings between users (I think @winchestersingerautorepair​ and @thecoffeebrain-blog​ are still pending to add their additions to it once life clears them), so we sort of mutually agreed to save this discourse for another thread while I took some time to remaster and update the old talking points.

It's a fundamental point that is generally vaguely brushed over, or often has modern concepts plugged into it in streamlined media form rather than exploration: What makes a soul, what makes existence, what makes meaning in our lives.

This, in fact, is the fundamental question and exploration *of* the soul, which Dabb's SPN seems to be tackling fairly directly.

So let's explore the differences and transitional conversions of grace and soul as we've witnessed in SPN. I'll be starting with my take, but of course, as all philosophical discussions go, this is best a conversation of shared concepts.

Also uh, this post was kinda on-request but is literally ridonculously long. Fuck Andrew Dabb for being the only person on the face of the goddamn planet that can make me write infinite words about esoteric philosophy about a TV show.

So this conversation gets a bit difficult to even know where to begin. I'm going to notch a few notes for everybody to keep in mind: Season 6: Death can not destroy souls. Souls are the most powerful known force in the universe, and he who has the most Is Become God. Season 13: Only god can create new angels, they are the biological definition of an asexually reproductive species (as opposed to sexual orientation identity) -- they are unable to create among themselves, and must be created by a supreme force in command of the grace that creates them. This will passively brush over the oft-discussed topic of angel sexuality as well, but that is far from the core point. Season 14: God calls souls "complicated" to handwave away making new ones. Season 15: Yet again, Belphegor tried to consume souls to become a great power, reflecting S6/7 Castiel's arc.

Now that I've sort of dropped those as a lead-in of applicable concepts, I'd like to move forward.

Now as per my S13 listing, we've all seen this fandom turn over and try to apply human sexuality and identity labels to angels over and over again and, while I understand that and mean no offense to that in general, I feel like approaching it from that angle of the human perspective and lens makes a great deal of the substantiative qualities of SPN's discussion of the human soul vanish into the aether. How are these things related? Let's talk!

Sex isn’t the only part of this discussion. As they are wavelength lifeforms, rather than biological, they aren’t really dependent on biological functions. Many of their native elements pass to their vessels: They don’t eat, sleep, or have general body functions… normally.

Their senses are all sorts of different, too. They see in the astral, they taste and smell in molecular compounds, and especially early-vessel-claiming, they seem to have next to no actual pain response. It’s like, well, some giant wave form stuffed in a meat sack they use like a marionette more than having genuine attachment to. Early on angels could waltz through gunfire without flinching and take a knife to the chest with a very bland look of, “Really?”

When it comes to discussing angels and grace, I'm going to pull some sections from the linked post at the start of this:

We know the biblical concept that all things are made by grace; we know Chuck controls his fake construct, but not the free will of the human soul. Consider Gabriel’s constructed worlds where he can manipulate the fake people inside it and snap them away in veils of blue, they’re just pieces of a machine. “I’m the cage.” The human body is part of the sandbox, but the soul is something beyond it.

If angels are living aspects of grace, wavelengths of celestial intent for Chuck’s machinations, the programs that keep the matrix in order – and fallen angels are the rogue programs – they’re still relatively connected to being just… an animated, if intelligent rock or any other piece of the universe. To use more Matrix terms: Just more lines of code. But Castiel’s break in that was contact with his profound bond with Dean that left a mark on him, a brand, just like Balthazar’s soul claims. This tie was powerful enough to be stronger than even Amara’s connection to Dean, for example.

The human soul is the essence of the one true good, realistically – The One Thing that exists, truly, by which all other things come, the Prima Materia – “What Jack did wasn’t evil, it was the absence of good.” – this is actually a hermetic concept but that’s a whole other bag of words, that’s how I quoted that line before the episode aired from the title alone but MOVING ON

If we look at Eileen for example, her ghost is still deaf. Her body/cage/vessel in life never introduced her consciousness, her humanity, to the tactile sense of sound as it exists within Chuck’s sandbox, ergo her spirit doesn’t know it. But it is the soul, like the sleeper, seeking the meaning of its existence and where it is home that commands the body, and leaves the body, and ends up in chuck’s other matrixes of control like heaven and hell that keep people distracted, keep humans from returning to the primordial man that rivals or maybe even betters God.

That all said, human Cas for example suddenly had the full awareness of experience, rather than an autonomous sentient part of the universe chained to divine intent, free or not; that freedom and liberty came by way of the human soul. (Per metatron, Season 8 finale, “When you die and your soul comes to heaven,”)  But with his tie to Dean, and humanity, and a soul his hands laid on, the extraction of his grace also left… but what? A soul born of Dean, really.

Whenever his grace came back, that universal power and awareness, he lost those senses, but he didn’t lose many of the attributes that came with. In fact he pined for them.

Also if we go Jungian with the inky man/shadow as the primordial man or spirit of man, Anthropos, while it didn’t reflect Lucifer, Billie, or soulless Jack it reflected Castiel.

I’ve held the theory that Castiel still has a soul like the nucleus of an egg buried beneath a titanic presence of universal power.

I’d also further endorse this by pointing out while metatron cited Cas having a soul in the S8 finale, when Jack lost his, neither Dean nor Cas thought Cas could empathize as well as Sam could.

In example, Castiel is the only one the Shadow reflected, not Billie, not Soulless Jack, not Lucifer, just Castiel; I’ve even gone so far as to speculate that the smiley attempt at communication was the sort of subconscious borg having the essence of Jack’s soul trying to communicate with his spirit/mind otherwise alert based on consumed grace in the Empty. Speculation, yes, but… potentially loudly resonant.

The journey of man to self-godhood is a complex and tangled affair, traveling through facets of the self represented by a wide array of *ideas* we have begun to face in the show (including color schemes Dabb has actively employed)

If you venture into my shorthand visual post about The Shadow, Anima, Animus, and the Self (x) you'll find how the show has chosen to address this. Similarly, the masculine and feminine paths of universal progenation would be worth a cursory read (x).

Similarly, @winchestersingerautorepair​ recently sent me a chart from a 1973 book titled "The Colors of Love" discussing Hellenistic use of color in association (which, minding alchemy's growth path through time, is hugely relevant). As Maeve said, "John Allen Lee is the mvp by the way. Hes at the crossroads of psychology and LGBT concepts of love and sexuality, and has a fascinating career and life story."

Before I fully locked on to just how loud Dabb was being in his use of alchemy rather than casually tapping on it, you may remember a series of color metas I built specifically on these very colors (and, let's face it, black light doesn't exist, but blue does, and has similar psychological associations). Click this (x) to go to my color metas on tumblr regarding Optimism, which follows this path. Unfortunately my Nihilism one is either untagged or I only posted it on Pillowfort. But you’ll take note I just sort of avoided/dodged/ignored established fanon color meta in favor of other stuff, just a heads up there if you’re expecting me to follow anyone else’s pre-existing fanon -- it ain’t there.

This is all an aside to the actual question of *souls*, but an important framework to how Dabb is choosing to explore the journey of the soul through its many aspects of Being.

To defer back to what I quoted from my other post about Gabriel's universes: What makes humanity different from the moving bodies performing functions of controlled story, rather than guided elements, inside Gabriel's world? If we were to, say, drift into Doctor Sexyverse, or Cop Proceduralverse, nobody seemed to flinch or even be aware of Sam and Dean breaking the script, they continued on their own paths until Sam and Dean "played their parts". But what made Sam and Dean *different* from them?

Explaining freedom to angels is "a bit like teaching poetry to a fish," said Castiel, now bound to humanity since laying his hands on the human soul in hell that, even the S8 DVD commentary mentions, is how he has come to know, love and, as they say, be "enamored with" humanity. We have seen it now-- blank stares of confusion from breaking their course of action, their function. Their predesigned purpose that they were wavelengths of intent for within the machine. They aren't all so different from Gabriel's creations in the end, with Doctor Sexy's Nurses being not too unlike angels to Chuck. They are there for a path and a reason, and should they be somehow interrupted from that function, they seem to lose all purpose.

To convert this to another method of understanding than "matrix code", in case that isn't sinking in with anyone, think of angels as forces of nature. The hurricane means no malice, it simply exists as a function of or even result of universal laws, and often evokes great rebalancing effects that change the course of history for a huge amount of humans and other creatures that it's basically oblivious to. The hurricane does not understand your feelings much less care about them. It is here to do what it does until it is done with what it does. This very concept is why so many ancient gods are primitive archetypes of natural forces.

If we cease trying to box angels into human perceptions for the want to identify with them in such a representation-light landscape, the field opens up to something infinitely more complicated. Such as: what makes Castiel so different? I've already addressed that, of course, in this post, but let's pitch that as a conversational hook again.

"You want to know why we're meant to stay away from those humans? It's not because we're a danger to them. It's because they're a danger to us."

Now BECAUSE sexuality is the angle this fandom has heavily thrown its discussion chips into beyond the other senses, I'm going to move forward into that topical field:

Anna, talking to Dean, lists a long flurry of reasons to become human, among which sex was stapled. In later seasons, Cas comes up with a different list, but it’s more reflective of his emotive view of humanity, and doesn’t include the sex. Either way, it actually leaves interesting take on the human soul’s function (which is also a silent part of something I’ll get to later** ) as per the trinity of mind-soul-body sometimes called “The Threefold Nature of Man” in a lot of classic mysticism. **

So why would Anna include sex in the list if others can enjoy it? There’s various reasons of taking this into consideration, and I consider most headcanon potentials valid since… you know, there’s really no clear statement on this.

- Most angels have a copilot and that’s just creepy AF - It could be subliminal commentary of wanting to enjoy a native drive for it rather than a learned one, since affections and emotions are also canonically attached to the human condition (as well as the 3fold Nature discussed later). - It could have to do with gradual humanization effects (will discuss shortly) - Misc other.

Barring our specific presumption of why this hangs in the air, the detail is that it simply *does*. Perhaps the truth is between all of these, with each angel unto their own.

Anna lurked, invisibly, on earth observing men as long as she knew. Now, gradual humanization effects is a complete headcanon proposal associated around  all elements to be covered in this discussion. That is to say, most angels that have exhibited sexual behavior and enjoyment of various goods have either been fallen or in their vessels for a LONG TIME, perhaps gradually removing the disassociation from the body and gaining familiarity with its functions.

Yes, we can evoke Balthazar’s sexual activity, but we must also evoke his appreciation for wine and food and music and all of the other things that we have canonically, even mechanically witnessed in Castiel (inability to appreciate food or drink, in example, as an angel.) So WHAT makes Balthazar different that he CAN experience all of these things (beyond the potential of Plothole AF)? There is literally something he has that other angels don’t. The second Cas clicks back to angel, he can’t appreciate food anymore and beer does nothing for him, but Balthazar can enjoy alcohol? There is LITERALLY a difference of template of EVERYTHING going on here, not just sexuality. We can postulate it all we want, but the only one that immediately comes to mind is “gradual humanization”, as we haven’t the FOGGIEST idea how long he has had his vessel. Unless we assume various appreciations of his are Just An Act, but then why not assume it’s performance behavior on the sexuality too? Pick one or the other, don’t run the line on both. (Also if you want to be under the assumption that despite terminal soul dealing it was his first vessel run, I’m going to leave this as a note, and a REMINDER of his meddling in attachment to, handling, trade and use of human souls for his own means, and tuck this aside until we GET to the meaning of human souls.)

The VERY SAME can be said of Gabriel. And Gabriel we KNOW has been on earth as Gabe for a VERY. LONG. TIME. His sweet tooth is what got him busted. Again, it’s not just about his sexuality, it’s his entire composition is somehow DIFFERENT from otherwise canonical function of angels.

Again I point out there’s also a big ??????? on Naomi because again… 400 year old Crowley in Mesopotamia. We have no educated way to even ADDRESS that one because… is it a time warp? WTH??? Even Mark called this a plothole. Literally we have to headcanon how they were even there together before we headcanon what was even going on in a big old pillar of ridiculous headcanon, so I’m going to float that off in a box labeled with a question mark and admit, it’s just random AF. The “fling” is also implied and unclear. So I mean- we’ll just… note that and keep moving on why it’s never impacted my perception of this much.

How long fallen was Lucifer?

Hannah brings an obvious question to mind in challenge to all of my surrounding premises, but this is literally where “choice of experimentation within a vessel” comes into play, as with all of them. I’m human now, this seems like a fun thing to humans, let me try the thing; that’s all I’ve ever read that as. You may have your read of it otherwise, but angels try a lot of things. And I’ll bring this up during canon talk.

The concept of humanization-with-time does have some further established presence of S13. When Lucifer is still an angel but largely drained of his grace, he too begins feeling compulsions of hunger, cold, and basic human instinct he was previously immune to. Diminished power, and the closer one comes to being of Soul Rather than Grace, the more they seem to resonate. Anna carved out her grace to fully enjoy humanity and was born into it, experiencing its gifts of awareness. Cas can no longer fully enjoy humanity as an angel. We don’t know what Balthazar’s status is. And so on. But it appears that by VARIOUS METHODS, such as the depletion of grace or just being a long-assed time to attach to a specific vessel, they do end up ATTAINING various behaviors.

Preparing to speak on Humanized Angels.

What really triggered this premise to me was the recurring humanization of Castiel. And again, this goes far beyond just sexuality preferences. I’m going to do a brief break to get to that ** I marked above about the threefold nature of man before expanding.

** Mind-Soul-Body trinity:

Angels have the mind/spirit (grace) and body, but lack a soul; grace is closer to their natural body’s composition than molecular and transmits a wavelength thought into whatever sack they’re using to operate. But there’s a disconnect here in classic mind-soul-body structure (which is sometimes alternately listed as Body-Spirit-Soul, with Soul as the mind instead, and Spirit in place of the alternate listing of Soul? People swap these terms interchangeably but you’ll find a common pull). There’s multiple takes on this. For example, we’ll go with the standard accepted biblical take as a first ideation of it, considering the various judeochristian influences of SPN.

Please NOTE I’m going to list several variations of this, and have no hard cast “this is the exact model” they’re using, as much as “this is a recurring theme in religion and philosophy”, which, while SPN is rarely 100% accurate to any one specific model, they often call on.

The EXACT itterations of this vary, and there’s no real saying which exact respective “silent ven diagram” they’re using, but as if a triple circle overlapped with Mind, Body, Spirit with the balance we as humans know at the core. Removing a rung of this strips out major overlap of function.

The inner spirit, insight, will and memory reaching from spirit/mind to body by WAY of the soul, for the spirit to engage the human senses within the constructed universe

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

To fully understand this chart, I again point to (as earlier in this post) this previous post about primordials, explaining the chain (x), Anima Animus and the Shadow (x) and also its association with the paths on way to enlightenment at the source of creation which is explored, for a particular path, right here (x)

Just another way to stack out this chart, including the adventure of Anima and Animus, as well as the id/ego/superego I’ll discuss soon; However, you can see the literal concept is the same. There’s an inner mind, a central essence of the inner court that reflects close to the aspects of Humanity Cas told Hannah, and then the “living room” of the body, and the senses. Same deal. Again, "I'm the cage."

You see a running theme here?

The Soul is essentially commonly received as a vehicle between the higher mind and the body (as well as possessing aspects of our emotion, and sense of self, such as how Sam lost parts of himself without his soul) That, without which, we are lacking various critical anchors of the human experience that we often see lacking in angels.

This therein raises the challenge, “But Soulless Sam was ALL ABOUT the sex.”

That’s where species difference comes in.

We’ll talk psychology a bit, wherein we have the psychological variances of id, ego and superego rather than just body-soul-mind/spirit. They essentially perform the same functions (base instinct drive, early personality function, learned and refined function with choices etc, to boil it down to super-simplistics).

“According to this Freudian model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.” – Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Vol. XIX. Translated from the German under the General Editorship of James Strachey. In collaboration with Anna Freud. Assisted by Alix Strachey and Alan Tyson, Vintage, 1999. [Reprint.] ISBN 0-09-929622-5

A Sam with no soul has his base species survival instinct but his acting mind. A Cas with no soul has HIS base species survival instinct (in lack of sexual reproduction as much as potential learned appreciation under the above spoken methods) for an id, if any, and a curiously arranged body until other elements come into play. The ego and superego, such as the application of a soul, leaves room for the gradual inclusion of preferences to anything within this model, such as angels developing their own ORIENTATION once having a vehicle by which to come through.

There’s a few other points to notice about the transition. The Mind/Spirit is capable of questions and doubts, or faith. “I’m not a hammer, as you call it; I have questions, I have doubts.” - S4 Castiel.

The mind is capable to think and to reason, but complex emotions are a challenge to it without a soul, which also filters our thoughts and memories from upper mind into the body, wherein we gain connectivity to the physical senses and the realm we experience.

But the universe -- the wavelengths of intent that make it function -- simply can not experience itself, any more than any other code running on your computer can experience itself. It is you, the human, that experiences the results of that code, and views and understands it and reaches out to aspects of life through it. Grace, should all things be made by it and through Chuck, as the thing that creates this code/intent of angels -- it simply is, and runs, and functions.

So BACK TO THE HUMANIZATION OF ANGELS,

Castiel has humanized or near-humanized three times and we're pending on a fourth. Briefly in the hospital, he was braindead (lacking Jimmy’s brain function, but instead having his own mind) while his heart remained pumping, meaning the body/vessel was alive, but the remaining grace WAS in fact functioning in place of a mind.

CASTIEL 5.21 I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead. (…) CASTIEL You could say my batteries are – are drained. DEAN What do you mean? You’re out of angel mojo? CASTIEL I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I’m saying that I’m just incredibly… DEAN Human. Wow. Sorry.

However, it was depleted, and this is addressed in effect later on by Metatron removing grace. As grace is removed,

METATRON 8.23 And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story.

Now Castiel goes on to return to himself by going all cannibal and whatnot, but that’s its own story. The simple fact of it is, with the mind housed in a vessel, but the grace attached to it depleted, the body seems to generate something like, equivalent to, or equal to a human soul in its function.

Now to reflect back

2014!CASTIEL 5.04 So, in this way. We’re each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it’s, um, it’s surprisingly physical. 2014!CASTIEL spots DEAN. 2014!CASTIEL Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy? The WOMEN leave. 2014!CASTIEL You’re all so beautiful. 2014!CASTIEL stands and stretches his back, grunting. DEAN What are you, a hippie? 2014!CASTIEL I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me. (…) 2014!CASTIEL I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I’m sorry, no dice. DEAN What, are you stoned? 2014!CASTIEL Uh, generally, yeah. DEAN What happened to you? 2014!CASTIEL Life. (…) 2014!CASTIEL You want some? DEAN Amphetamines? 2014!CASTIEL It’s the perfect antidote to that absinthe. DEAN Mmm. Don’t get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I’m happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what’s going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap? 2014!CASTIEL laughs. DEAN What’s so funny? 2014!CASTIEL Dean, I’m not an angel anymore. DEAN What? 2014!CASTIEL Yeah, I went mortal. DEAN What do you mean? How? 2014!CASTIEL I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I’m practically human. I mean, Dean, I’m all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months. DEAN Wow. 2014!CASTIEL Yeah. DEAN So, you’re human. Well, welcome to the club. 2014!CASTIEL Thanks. Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I’m powerless. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It’s the end, baby. That’s what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that’s, that’s just how I roll.

Now, we can try to extrapolate that it’s “all the drugs,” but drugs or not, while decadence includes MORAL decline, it also is this:

dec·a·dence ˈdekədəns/Submit noun moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

And Cas doesn’t get words wrong (unless he’s trying to make an awkward conversation starter with Dean as what’s almost a routine for them, always in idioms and never in definition). In fact, he has a very on-point vocabulary. How often does someone evoke “Insouciant”?

Calling it decadence defines this as a luxury to Castiel. The entire episode is like One Giant Exposition of the differences: being breakable, prone to decadence, bang a few gongs on the way out. Yes, it includes drugs; hell, he’s now subject to being INFLUENCED by drugs, contrary to being able to drink down the entire bar before “starting to feel something” or needing to drink the whole liquor store before the grace stopped implicitly filtering it enough for him to stagger in on Sam. At some point, Castiel decided these were ALL his coping mechanisms, but this is an adaptation of some period of humanization between late 2009 and 2014.

This could be considered a one-off of Zachariah’s manipulation or whatever if we choose to ignore Edlund saying it was a real universe, but then we get the SAME THING hitting us again in season 9, if under a different, immediate scope rather than “end result.”

9.01 CASTIEL looks at his bloody palm. CASTIEL It hurts. (…) MAN How about we get you some water, hmm? CASTIEL I, uh, I don’t drink water. (…) CASTIEL It’s okay. I don’t eat.

and

9.03 CASTIEL (Chewing on the toothpaste) I’ll be moving on tonight after work. It’s time. The MAN nods and hangs up his towel. CASTIEL Can I ask you something? MAN Sure. CASTIEL walks into one of the bathroom stalls. CASTIEL Do you ever tire of urinating? I’ll never get used to it. (…) HOMELESS MAN You’re new at this, aren’t you? CASTIEL Food… sleep, or passing gas, it’s all very strange. And it’s occurred to me that one day I’m gonna die. CASTIEL and the HOMELESS MAN just look at each other curiously. CASTIEL Well… I better try falling asleep. It’s quite a process, isn’t it? (…)

Now, we’re going to take to the raw moment of Castiel and April,

She kisses him gently on the cheek, but stays close and eventually kisses him on the lips. CASTIEL seems surprised at first but then joins in.

Cas is surprised… and then joins in. Castiel did not expect this, but falls into it of his own action. No force was implied, and the moment leading into it was all of a few seconds, rather than any persistence or insistence.

A few more bits,

APRIL So, that was okay? CASTIEL Very much so. Um… what I did, that was, uh… correct? APRIL Very much so. CASTIEL (Smiling) (…) APRIL So what happens next for you? CASTIEL More of this, I hope. They smile and start making out again.

I don’t exactly get the feeling that she’s entirely leading this situation on all by herself, to the dismay of several gatekeeper ship or sexuality stans.

More elements with regards to humanity in this episode,

CASTIEL I am really enjoying this place. Plentiful food. Good water pressure. Things I never even considered before. There really is a lot to being human, isn’t there? DEAN It ain’t all just burritos and strippers, my friend. CASTIEL Yeah. I understand what you’re saying. SAM You do? CASTIEL Yes, there’s more to humanity than survival. You… look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter. DEAN Where does hedonism come into it? CASTIEL Well, my time with April was very educational. SAM Yeah. I mean, I would think that getting killed is something. CASTIEL And having sex. DEAN chokes on his burrito for a second. DEAN You had sex with April? SAM Yeah, that would be where the hedonism comes in.

This isn’t just Castiel talking about having sex for the first time. This is Castiel acknowledging the allure of hedonism for the first time (…not minding the timewarp of 5.04, which didn’t happen Because AU.)

And here, also 9.03, before meeting April CASTIEL is once again wandering through the noise and the people. He is trying to take everything in – he glances from a hot dog stand to a woman’s breasts to a supermarket. The whole place is noisy and crowded and confusing. He is overwhelmed.

In 9.03, among this onslaught of Castiel’s change in visual, sound, sensory, and other instinctual acknowledgment of a change in the senses (see back to the 3Fold Nature and the acquisition of a human soul), we also get Castiel rubbernecking at a woman’s chest for the first time, before encountering April; the transcript doesn’t do the moment proper justice with the pure level of focus directors and editors called to it. In fact, we get slow camera pan and a rubberneck that might as well have ended with him walking-flipping into a trashcan blindside.

With all of these stacked connotations aside, I find it difficult to interpret anything but it being installed as a yet-again evocation of a difference in function.

Episodes 1 and 3, the first two episodes Castiel is in during season 9 after losing his grace at the end of season 8, DELUGE us with a current of differences of all of his sensory faculties.

Once his state is “corrected,” (for lack of a better term - Castiel seems to yearn for his humanity back through the show) the show makes a point of showing us a reversal as applicable,

SAM What? What are you talking about? CASTIEL When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying. SAM Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying. CASTIEL But…I enjoyed the taste of food – particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling. SAM [sitting on the table next to CASTIEL] So, what? Now you can’t taste PB and J? CASTIEL No, I-I taste every molecule. SAM Not the sum of its parts, huh? CASTIEL It’s overwhelming. It’s disgusting. [looks longingly at the sandwich] I miss you, PB and J.

Once again, paradigm shift. What he once appreciated, amidst the VAST wash of senses they told us about, just seems… null now. Something is missing, and something is different. Again, the universe can no longer experience ITSELF.

Now, I’m going to fall back a bit to cover what would possibly be framed as an argument against all of this, but frankly builds into it,

Back in season 6, Meg was UNABASHEDLY FLIRTING WITH CASTIEL and trying to prompt him to “move some furniture around,” and, in a learned “last night on earth” move, Castiel makes a motion in 6.10

Meg grabs Castiel by the neck and kisses him, at the same time removing his sword. Castiel pushes her up against the wall and returns the kiss with interest. MEG: What was that? CASTIEL: I learned that from the pizza man.

NOTICE. LEARNED THAT.

With FORWARD PROMPTING from Meg, and existing example (porn), Castiel did in fact make a move. That is to say, “learned behaviors” and “personal orientation” beyond “species reproductive instinct”. But as made clear by April, this never led anywhere particular, never completed, and while he expressed wanting repeats with April during being human, this is the only actual example we have of it.

In short: throughout the show, Castiel finds new things and tests new things. These new things become bizarre little childlike obsessions at times even. This one… obviously a little less childlike. (clears throat) But again, this is a process of “learned motion.” (though I’m somewhat disturbed that canonically Emmanuel-Cas sees her face and is absolutely horrified at her appearance, meaning this is also not likely even by nature of physical/spiritual attraction as much as personal, almost a demisexual trait with experimental curiosity which, as an independent idea beyond “holy shit she’s a demon”, is a healthy phase.)

But by way of learned motion/acquired taste and function, we then have the question of “why doesn’t Cas repeat this if he clearly enjoyed season 9?” Well, I can name a few. We can go over the fact that Cas simply doesn’t explore social venues that make it ready. Or we can mention his seeming lack of compulsion for it which ...is a topic of this post. Or we can simply reflect to the *challenges* of hedonism and what it will, in this post, continue to implicitly adventure as the cage and trappings of the human body and experience within what we call “life”, which the human soul extends well beyond.

But it leads us to an interesting series of questions about Castiel and Dean’s seemingly changed interactions in season 12, on a subliminal level.

And no, I’m not implying they’re boning. When Dean is no longer getting strung across a variety of cosmic elements to save him directly from the crosshairs of, or from himself, we’re getting this weird vibe of gruff jealousy, bickering, and infighting. As if Castiel, settling in more among them, is channeling increased humanity. Despite being an angel in some crippled capacity still, personality traits acquired from his human period are still there, leading to believe the soul element never ENTIRELY disappeared, as much as with further ding-dang-donged up grace, we have to wonder - is this almost a sliding scale? Or can both run mutually when one doesn’t overshadow the other? The exact specifics of this mechanic would be unclear.

But all of these complexities is why I find it nearly impossible to, in my head, reduce it to the simple “well some like it and-” because I have always read an intentional base-beat of differentiation between the human and angelic experience including, but not limited to, sex.

There’s a subtle hint of some osmosis of this in what I mentioned above with Hannah. “Perhaps I’ve been with them too long.”

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

And so why I find it impossible to just address “angel sexuality” as its own topic. This may just be my brain at work, but I don’t see all of this effort in dividing their experiences, in a show that addresses theology and concepts like the human soul, to be arbitrary and random and I just see SO much beautiful complexity IN the shift of his sexual behaviors, among other operations. It’s not just about Castiel’s sexuality, it’s about addressing the complex creatures that are humans, and what builds us at a core. Frankly, from that end, it doesn’t matter if Cas is bi, ace, straight or pan – Castiel has been human, and wants to be so again. And it, along with other things littered throughout the show, have given us great insights on the soul, or the lack thereof, and all of these beautiful building blocks.

And so to roll away from approaching sexuality so heavily, and instead ball and bundle that up as part of the human experience within the body, the reflection of the human soul, I hook again: The universe can not experience itself more than Windows OS can experience itself; it requires the essence of man to experience the result of the work of grace and by which it finds many things of itself, even within the trappings of a human life.

The fact that humans are afterwards caged elsewhere is a whole other discussion me and others have been holding in the original linked post, so let's step away from that and instead go back to the concept of, far and away beyond sexuality, what makes a soul, and how is it different from the created universe.

If we were to apply these concepts -- angels, bodies of grace, as parts of the universe and how it functions -- versus the irrevocable free will fundamental to the human soul, dividing bodies from just being roving parts of the construct like Gabriel's realms -- to our dialogue in regards to Castiel as our seeming oddball with a crack in his chassis, "And the universe came to humanity, and laid hands on humanity, and fell in love with humanity to come to know it; it abandoned its own purpose and functions due to this connection to the concept of the human soul, and began to live and dream and love as a man, rebelling against its predesigned function; and one day, the orphic child of both the universe and man looked through the eyes of the universe to first see man, and itself was born from the universe unto man, to live and learn as a man and hold its dominion of both human sovereignty and creator of grace, mastering both realms." in regards to Jack's very creation, and why he is such a huge threat to Chuck's power and control of his realm.  

As a powerful creature of grace, he can take and reroute those elements without issue by authoritative command of the independent liberty of the human soul, free thinking and not just a Doctor Sexy Nurse in motion.

But the question is conversion, which we've seen in both directions, be it Castiel acquiring a human soul or Jack converting humans into angels with his command of both of these dominions. The best I could liken it to is AC/DC energy conversion. It is worth noting, however -- grace can be drained without permission, it is not tied to freedom. Humanity is the body of choice: be that humans choosing to surrender that in the name of glory and power to simply become part of universal functions, which isn't so different from choosing to burn one's own soul away in the name of spells, magic or other power; or the human spirit attached to its cage of a body and life still needing to concede and give permission to be taken BY the forces of the universe, surrendering the potential impact of their own choices within their own moving cage to what the universe would will of it.

Ironically, if you use an AC inverter to power a computer or television, the power supply in the device is converting the 120-volt alternating current into a much lower voltage direct current. The sensitive electronic circuits in these devices need low, regulated voltages to work, so you're actually converting DC to AC so it can be changed back into DC again. You can't use straight direct current without the AC to DC inverter because the device's power supply needs the AC power in order to properly step down and regulate the voltage. That is to say, in conversion parts are lost, but they can still be transmitted; so while Castiel was subject to the human experience, he still struggled with parts like dreaming. It was a young, small spark of a soul, converted from another energy form, and likely with his connection to Dean acting as the inverter.

Demons go to the empty; demons are former human souls that corrupted and lost the light that made them inherently "good." That which defines them. They have collapsed to the pressures of Chuck's universes and let their flame go out. But realistically, that's also antagonized by other human souls in hell trying to escape their own torment.

It has been seen, time and again, that the only thing that can destroy a human soul is... the human soul.

*takes a breath*

And now to explore what @curioussubjects​ has been saying about The Shadow as a recycling Bin of souls, which would predate the universe and even Chuck, I simply repeat this segment, to help master-off this post:

If we take the Shadow as the reflection of the collective soul, which then becomes the substantiative Prima Materia through which all things come (x), including even the potential of Chuck and Amara as manifestations of the primitive concept of masculine and feminine, light and dark as among the first thoughts in the cosmos. But in such by it all things are born, even the universe or the gods, in this proposed theory. It is the primitive self asking (per the far-above chart), first–well, WTF, why am I thinking, but after that – who are they, and then who am I, and then eventually who are you, before the end of the soul’s journey on its path is Who Art Thou, long ventured within the constructed realm to learn what it means that we even exist.

Those first thoughts then create the totemic pillars of creation by which it can explore the very meaning of existence, even if its own thoughts have made cages and trappings for itself in the expansion of infinite time, but those cages are themselves the vehicles of higher learning and experience, and without those cages, the rest is for naught.

This is the nature of the Prima Materia, the One Thing by which all comes which I linked above. If the soul and Prima Materia are synonymous, then while the universe comes by grace, then all things -- even grace -- come by way of the raw template of the collective soul, which then structures all resulting thought and experience through an infinite series of independent human experience that defines who were are, independent to ourselves, beyond the vat of primitive consciousness that binds us.

The question even comes, why not just reset time? But I am good with who I am. I am good with who you are. This isn't just a story. It's our lives. So god or no god, you go to hell.

And so the reincarnate journey of the man, through the many deaths and rebirths of Sam and Dean and lessons gained within the universe, begins to lock on to the meaning of the independent self in what it means in full, beyond the challenges sent by the creator that may very well be a reflection of our own primal thoughts, our doubts, our fears, our internalized challenges not too unlike the Shadow which again I raise, and point back to the above-linked protogenic discussion of the masculine and feminine paths: In this premise, are Chuck and Amara anything less than the Animus and Anima of humanity, should the Shadow be their forefather?

The path of alchemy, before it became pursuit of literal gold, was about self completion and sovereignty. The phases I have listed above, as well as a brief overview of Dabb's use of it, but if anyone wants a visual aide in these, check out these three videos (x) (x) (x) and remember that Chuck desperately wants them to believe that nothing Gold can stay, should it complete this path; because should man become Gold, they also become God, and he has no authority here. Because in the end, if we abandon the cages -- be it human bodies or heaven -- in here, in this headspace that is Chuck's, we're all just projections of the primitive man trying to find our independent meaning in life. So in here, we're all the same. So in here, Chuck's all talk. And Chuck's afraid, and even wounded by elements of his own creation fallen into the free hands of man.

And so to FULLY hook back, the effects of the fall --

To be detached in various tiers from the divine spheres of constructed intent, and surrendered unto man, or touched by man, or tied to man, or even converted unto man simply seems to be removing the lines of code that defines the constructed universe and instead leaves only the experience of soul, be it directly gained or by proxy. And with that comes many things -- be that the oft-discussed sexuality of angels or any of their other senses, but also their ability like Castiel to understand "complex" ideas like independent thought and function that is otherwise like "explaining poetry to fish" to his kin. I remind you of Agent Smith in the Matrix, who was essentially infected with the power of the One that completely started warping the laws of the universe and, eventually, left the universe, to become the body of man outside of the universe.

It is the universe falling into man, as man at some point seems to have fallen into the universe. And their child now waits beyond the universe, holding council with Death and the Inky Man over what to do from here.

The human experience is double-sided. By it we learn, experience, and exist; but as chuck designed the sandbox, so too did he the bodies as cages. So be that "hedonism" or anything else, these are limitations and bindings. It is not the limits themselves, as much as what we learn in facing them, that becomes who we are as people, and what meaning we bring to our own existence. And this, some angels themselves have chosen to convert and surrender themselves to, some more successfully than others, but the ultimate point between all of them is "Free Will", whether they like PBJ, sex, or good water pressure at the same time -- something that only comes from divorcing themselves from the divine spheres, when otherwise they're numb to bullets or a knife through the heart. The universe simply operates. Man experiences. The universe learns more of itself only by way of man, as man learns the universe.

There are those who fall that do not embrace humanity, but instead explore their creation. These are rogue programs, but still limited in their function. Be that angling out a line at a river, or just needling humanity as lesser ants. But these do not come to the same essence of humanity that those who choose to fall into it and truly experience it do. They still lack a great deal of motivation or purpose, as in breaking away from their programming without gaining genuine compulsion to want, to seek, to find, they find fascinations between their own strips of code that immerse themselves in, and sit, and observe, still not too unlike Anna before completely divorcing herself from her grace.

It is humanity, be it indirect or direct, that proxies the ability to experience, desire, and enjoy, and that more than anything is the nature of man and his power. It is the path of the Soul between Gevurah and Hesed; from the divine spheres descending, passive intellect and active intellect from the different pillars, and hidden higher learnings, reach by way of Spirit and Mind towards the individual self, strapped across passive and active emotion to learn the individual self. From the angle of man, in the material world, and the body as a manifestation of it, our ego, identity, and other evolutions of the mind TOWARDS the self of individuality lead from Tiferet, by path of the soul, into those emotions to climb the tree towards the divine self. Hell, I'll repost the chart so you don't have to scroll.

Castiel, the consciousness of the divine, with active spirit and mind, and intellect, descended towards the individual self within the realm of ego and super ego, and learned of them through Dean Winchester, while hedging at the sphere of emotional complexes and the identity of the self by which he chose to fall into the world and humanity, into and below and between the cross paths of the soul, and in those paths attained a soul. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, was lifted to explore the upper spheres in reverse, to understand the divine self gradually, and with time, as we now prepare to face within season 15.

Man is freedom. And some fall into it. But man can conquer the tree of his own ironic fashioning. The only absolute is what thou wills of it.

The rest is commentary.

Let there be gold. But all that is gold does not glimmer.

[valhallanrose]

Sabina ( @arcanecadenza ) did this lovely prompt of A Kiss for Losing a Bet between her OC Dante and my Zelda, which immediately made me spiral and now I have a second meeting fic from Zelda’s perspective because I ultimately am now a fan of this pairing. Dante’s just baby, I can’t help it.

Fic under the cut for the sake of your dash

Zelda heard the locked shop door pull as if someone tried to open it, she’d been wrist deep in a flowerpot full of dirt, getting it ready for one of her other plants to be transferred into it. There was a moment of panic, several moments of just standing around with her muddy hands wondering what to do before she remembered that she was, in fact, a magician. 

“Oh, just a moment!”

She quickly flicked her wrists, the dirt vanishing into nothingness before she crossed the room to the window beside the door. Zelda was already half leaning out of the stained-glass panels before they were fully open, polite smile on her face as she spoke. “I’m sorry, we’re closed at the moment, but I’ll be open again tomorrow…”

When she got a good look at who had been trying to open the door, a really good look, she could have just about died. 

Dante stepped down off the stoop as she laid her hands on the windowsill, face cherry red and eyes wide as he approached the window with a casual sort of smirk that had her mind committing a minor malfunction. She was frozen as he leaned in, bracing his arms on the windowsill and speaking to her in a hushed sort of tone. 

“That’s alright. I came looking for you, anyhow.”

The night she’d kissed him, over a game of cards with just enough blackberry liqueur helping her throw all inhibition to the wind, she hadn’t expected to ever actually see him again. She didn’t visit taverns, certainly didn’t gamble, and figured that the odds of him actually looking her up were rather slim. 

So the fact that he was standing in front of her right now, outside her shop?

Fuck. 

“What, you want me to absolutely demolish you in cards again?” She teased gently, watching with some delight that his own cheeks turned pink. “Can’t say I’d be opposed, but I don’t own a suitable deck at the moment. Or is this just an excuse to lay one on a stranger when you bet a kiss again?”

Zelda propped her chin in her hand, a smile pulling at her lips as he flushed, and found herself taking him in all over again. 

The dim light of the tavern hadn’t done him justice. She couldn’t easily see the freckles scattered across his skin, so many more than she had, couldn’t see the different shades of brown swirling in his eyes. Her eyes followed the loose curls of his hair down the sides of his face, over the curve of his cheeks...down to that beauty mark in the center of his lower lip that she found she wouldn’t quite mind kissing again. 

She idly wondered if he’d taste like orange juice and gin again if she did. 

“I like to think I don’t make it a habit of kissing strangers.” Zelda heard him say, drawing her out of her reverie and making her refocus on the conversation at hand. “Though, if you’re so eager for a recreation, we don’t have to be.”

Zelda chuckled and rolled her eyes, reaching out and gently pushing his glasses back up his nose when they started to slip. Her voice lowered to a purr, much more characteristic of when she got a little tipsy than her usual self, but...something about him just made her bolder than usual.

“Oh, but you aren’t a stranger to me. I’d wager I know you far better than you think.” She murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob slightly as her hand lowered to smooth out his necktie.

He lifted a brow, expression somewhat roguish despite the growing flush on his cheeks. “Oh really? Have we met before? I’d hope I wouldn’t forget such a face.” 

His hand lifted, brushing a few pieces of hair out of her eyes - surprisingly at height with her even as she leaned down from the window. Zelda only laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand in hers. She turned it over in her palm, lazily tracing her fingers over the lines of his hand as she spoke. “No, but I do read palms, and yours were quite easy to get a look at over the table.”

Dante groaned dramatically, leaning hard into the windowsill and rolling those warm honey eyes in her direction. “Oh, and this is the part where you predict my impending death and tell me there’s a dark, handsome stranger in my future, isn’t it?”

She smacked his palm lightly, playful over aggressive, and shook her head. 

“Hands tell a story, Dante. I can read them just like an open book.” Zelda’s hand started to pull away, her tone becoming nonchalant as she continued. “Of course, if you’re worried, I can always just keep it to myself…”

When he grabbed her hand again and nearly smacked it down on his own, she had to bite back laughter, his expression somewhere between disbelieving and curiosity as their hands settled on the sill again. 

“No, no, I’d like to see what you think you know. But if you’re wrong...you owe me a favor, to be called in at any time.”

“I’m rarely wrong, so I’ll take that bet. I’d like to maintain my winning streak.” Zelda giggled softly, lowering her gaze to his hand in hers. For a long moment, her fingers passed down his, following the shape of his hands and the lines of his palm before she looked back up at him. 

She didn’t notice the way his eyes lingered on her face, too focused on her quiet words as her thumb idly stroked over his palm. 

“As I said, hands tell you a lot about a person.” She said softly, trailing the very tips of her fingers across the center of his palm and smiling a little as his own fingers twitched. “And not a lot of people think about it. You can probably tell I’m a gardener just by looking at mine.”

“And not at all by the absurd number of plants I can see over your shoulder.” Dante teased, and she felt herself flush again under the intensity of his gaze and the curve of his lips. Instead, she just managed a roll of her eyes, lowering her attention back down to his palm instead in hopes that would somehow keep her from making a fool of herself.

“Palmistry, on the other hand,” she chose to ignore his amused snort, “tells more about a person if you know where to look.”

Her fingers shifted, tracing first over the curved line arcing around his thumb. “This one here is your life line.” 

“Ah, so this is where you tell me I’m going to die in three weeks. What do you think, food poisoning or mugging gone wrong?”

“Five minutes, using the pruning shears in my back pocket.” Zelda shot him a grin as she looked up to meet his own mischievous expression, snickering under her breath before her gaze lowered again. “No, the mortality thing is a misconception. Your life line focuses on your general well being, your passion for life, major changes and events in your life.”

She lazily drew her nail along that line, trying not to focus too hard on the chipped green polish that made her quite aware she hadn’t done shit to take care of her hands for a few days. “Yours is a long and strong line, meaning you’re dependable, but...it’s forked. Forked lines are usually indicative of a new path, redirection, and life change. And angled toward the Mount of Moon...traveling to far off places, which we know is true, dear traveling salesman.”

Her gaze flicked up briefly, searching for a reaction before her eyes dove back down and her cheeks heated when he realized he was watching her, not their hands. She held his gaze, brown nearly searing gold in the sunlight that made her feel a little weak until she managed to spit something coherent out.

“What? Something on my face?”

His face turned pink, but he shook his head, gesturing for Zelda to continue before she lowered her gaze. She pulled her hair idly over her, the ends brushing his palm as she lowered her fingers to the heel of his hand. She didn’t move it, though - she needed the cover to pretend like she wasn’t blushing like mad when she really took in how close he was. 

“This one here, in the center of your palm, is the head line. Yours is long, deep, and curved...you’re a person who’s intelligent, has an excellent memory and concentration, but you’re a romantic. You’re creative and open to new ideas, unafraid of exploring concepts and beliefs unfamiliar as you go. And here…” She tapped the next line, highest on his palm. “This one is your heart line. This one is wavy and double-forked - that means that though you weave both romance and practicality into your life, you’ve experienced less in the way of serious relationships.”

“Your fate line expresses how much of your path is controlled by destiny as opposed to your own will, and yours is…” Zelda stifled a laugh as she took in the line in question. “Well, let’s just say you’re very self-driven. You chose your own path, not the one laid out for you by others. And if your sun line is anything to go by...you’re willing to work hard for that success. It runs parallel to your fate line, meaning you could continue to grow that success and gain quite the reputation for yourself, but...it’s short, too. Don’t forget to stop and enjoy life, take some time for yourself, especially when it seems like you’re stuck in place.”

Zelda was quiet for a moment before she stiffened, realizing with some horror she’d practically been petting his hand for a good ten minutes and wanting to die a little inside as she cleared her throat. “Or, you know, die in three weeks via carriage accident and all your ex-lovers will come to your funeral to mourn.”

There were a few more beats of pause, and Zelda wanted to die just a little bit more, turning her face away as she started to withdraw her hand. But...his own shifted, just enough for him to lay her hand in his palm just as she had done to him before.

“So you get to know all about me, and I haven’t got a thing about you?” She heard him say, tone playful, idly noticing when she looked up that he was now studying her palm. Zelda watched as he carefully adjusted his glasses, brows quirking up when he lifted his gaze back to hers and gave her a light smirk. “What does your hand say, hm?”

“Oh, kotyonok, what makes you think I’d give that information over so easily?” Zelda grinned, feeling suddenly energized and impulsive all over again as she reached out and grasped his tie carefully. She pulled him into the window opening ever so slightly, placing a kiss on the corner of his lips before leaning in to murmur in his ear. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you a magician never reveals her secrets?”

Delighting in the way his face flushed, and ignoring her own reddening cheeks, she leaned back and pretended to consider the idea for a moment, then made a face as if she’d had an epiphany. “Well, not until she’s at least taken you on a proper date. How about you swing by at seven? Then you can learn all about what my hands tell you.”

The only answer she got was a sound very much like a mewling kitten as Dante, red faced, managed a nod and a sheepish sort of smile as Zelda straightened. With a final, very cheeky wink, the panels of her window swung shut - and she would wait a long, long time, until she was sure she was alone to laugh nervously in the empty and quiet shop.

“I am in so much trouble.”

(kotyonok - Neviv/Russian for kitten)

[ducktracy]

159. she was an acrobat's daughter (1937)

release date: april 10th, 1937

series: merrie melodies

director: friz freleng

starring: mel blanc (dole promise, who dehr, heddie camphor, hippo, stickoutski, donkey, leslie howard, duck, father duck, angry moviegoers)

mel blanc’s roles are growing increasingly larger and larger, as they should be! not only is this a popular motif used in cartoons (such as being sung by daffy in daffy doodles), footage from the cartoon itself has been reused. bob clampett and art davis’ bacall to arms uses a hefty amount of footage from this cartoon, but for good reason. it’s a turning point for freleng for sure as we observe parodies of news reels, songs, movies, and more.

the title song is underscored as we iris in and pan down to the outside of a movie theater, advertising 36 HOURS TO KILL WITH HIS BROTHER’S WIFE (intentionally read as one single title). pan over to the other side: 15 FEATURES 15¢ -- ALSO REJECTED SHORTS (a pun on selected shorts). i believe this gag was in buddy’s theatre as well. inside, reused in bacall to arms, a lone moviegoer gets up and switches his seat. another decides to do the same, and then another, and soon enough the interior of the theater is whipped into a frenzy as everyone scrambles to change seats. a very funny gag with succinct timing. i don’t like comparing everything to tex avery, because friz has just as much talent as tex and i feel like i’m holding tex up as the Ultimate way to do animation, but this gag certainly does feel like an averyism. 

one of the many WARMER BROS. puns that we will be seeing in many a short (i believe debuted with hollywood capers? though it could have been from one of the bosko or buddy shorts too) as we open to the beginning of the show, a screen flashing WARMER BROS PRESENTS -- GOOFY-TONE NEWS -- SEES ALL-KNOWS NOTHING. the “sees all - knows nothing” is a take on “sees all, hears all, knows all”, from fox’s movietone news reels back in the day. the puns just keep on coming! 

a caricature of movietone news reporter lowell thomas, caricature design courtesy of t. hee, opens us up, billed as dole promise instead. mel blanc provides the vocals as dole announces “good evening, folks. this is, uh...” he pauses, forgetting his own name. the gag is wonderfully structured, as he has a nameplate and a sign posted on his desk, as well as his name posted in big letters right on the screen, yet he still squints at his script with the most analytical, stupefied concentration he can muster. the offscreen whisper of “dole promise!” is just the cherry on top. “oh yeah. this is dole promise, bringing you the latest news events of the day.”

the first news reel: U.S. BUILDS LONGEST LINER IN SHIP BUILDING RACE. wonderful timing (and a neat overhead layout!) as we see the longest liner in person: an extremely elongated ship right in the middle of new york and london. the ship inches forward to london, and then back to new york, and then we cut away to the next order of business. next: FLASH! SPECIAL! heddie camphor (a take on eddie cantor, of course) finds “little oscar”, vitamin (a take on vitaphone) newsreel man gets exclusive interview with oscar. we see a little bug next to a purse (that has the initials of JW on them, jack warner of warner bros fame) and hear mel blanc talking in a russian accent. “ahh, dere you are! tell us, oscar, how does feel for to be back home after being lost for such long time?” the little bug rambles on in high pitched, nonsensical garbles. “oh, thank you very much, oscar! how you like that? he say he would rather be lost!” i haven’t found anything as to what the gag means, so unfortunately the meaning has been lost to the sands of time. but, if anything, it’s amusing hearing mel do one of the voices we’ll be hearing so often in many cartoons.

what is it with movie-centric cartoons and hitler? bosko’s picture show in 1933 was the first cartoon of any studio to ever depict a caricature of hitler, and now we have a gag where a man is invited to sit in the last seat in the row. unfortunately, his view is seldom ideal: we see some rather impressive perspective and animation as hitler on screen marches forward, eventually disappearing into nothingness because the moviegoer can’t see anything. aggravated, he moves a few seats down, right in the front row and in the middle. i believe this is bob mckimson animation--this scene would be reused two years later in the film fan, with porky in place of the dog trying to crane his neck to see animation of a jockey riding on the horse. the warped perspective is quite impressive and does a good job of hitting home. we’ve all been there, stuck in the front row and trying to see what’s happening. nevertheless, the dog begrudgingly accepts his fate, forever doomed to view the news reel at inadequate angles.

also reused in bacall to arms is a gag of a hippo trying to get out of the row, proving to be a nuisance in the process. he’s a polite nuisance, at least, repeating “pardon. pardon me. pardon.” as he bulldozes his way through. tex avery would also lampoon overweight hippo moviegoers in his hamateur night in 1939. 

time for the birth of a caricature! we have our first caricature of vaudevillain lew lehr (penned as who dehr in this case), whose catchphrase “monkeys is da cwaziest peoples!” would be lampooned in many, many, many, MANY warner bros cartoons (especially bob clampett cartoons: porky in egypt, porky’s snooze reel, russian rhapsody, and so forth). here, he opens us up with nit-wit news. “ladies and peoples, listen while explaining you the latest news of da day.” the napoleon hat/garb in general is a nice touch, often used to symbolize insanity (like porky suffering here from the “desert madness”). 

lehr (or in this case dehr) narrates the malady of a strange dog bite affecting the city of “boondoggle”, mo. that strange malady has turned the citizens of boondoggle into boonDOGS as everyone runs around on all fours. “look at dat! even da mayor leads a dog’s life in boondoggle!” the mayor, digging a hole, comes across a dog and growls (i love the detail of his sideburns raising like a dog’s ears in defense), both him and the actual dog engaging in a tussle. the brushing on the fight is very well done for this time period, feeling like a precursor to drybrushing which would be so prevalent in so many cartoons. the mayor wins the fight, running away with a bone in his mouth. elsewhere,  BOONDOOGLE'S LEADING SOCIETY MATRON IS LATEST VICTIM OF SCOURGE. amusing animation and narration by blanc/dehr as a woman sits on a pillow, panting like a dog, eagerly running up to her butler and eating a piece of steak thrown at her. dehr wraps up the presentation, he himself getting a taste of the scourge as one of the affected residents crawls onscreen and bites dehr right in the leg. nonsensical? absolutely. but it’s the GOOD kind of nonsensical. the use of black and white is a nice touch with this being a technicolor cartoon. many of the other news reel cartoons have been/are in black and white, so the mixing of technicolor and B&W really adds some authenticity.

“boulevardier from the bronx” seems to be a theme for slow, lumbering characters as the lumbering hippo makes his return, squeezing himself through an angry row of patrons while he dismissively pardons himself. he sits himself down just in time to see “STICKOUTSKI at the fertilizer”. a lion caricature of leopold stokowski invites the moviegoers to a rousing chorus of “she was an acrobat’s daughter”--not unlike bosko getting his own audience to sing in bosko’s picture show. the song is very catchy, the slideshow visuals equally as entertaining as the lyrics. i especially love the gag where one picture, not a part of the slideshow, reads “please do not spit on the floor”, yet the patrons sing it in tune regardless, then correcting themselves and singing the next verse in the same tune. a hilarious gag with great timing. a short merrie melody for sure, but a good one at that.

next is a parody of the MGM lion, crowing like a rooster instead of doing its signature roar. the film is “petrified florist, a take on “petrified forest” (which would be used as a gag in book revue). after an interminable cast scroll through (reused in bacall to arms), we see the star of the film, a caricature of leslie howard unsuccessfully hitchhiking, tying his thumb to a railroad crossing sign, making the light swing. while the film is playing, a random donkey decides to peddle peanuts, crackerjack, chewing gum (with an underscore of “puddin’ head jones”, a favorite of mine). the donkey is booted out of the theater, hitting his head on a streetlight and still repeating his peauts, crackerjack, chewing gum mantra in a daze. a little incongruous and random, but there are some interesting angles and closeups as the donkey walks straight towards the audience.

back to the film, the leslie howard caricature summons a bette davis cariature (again, caricatures by t. hee), demanding some food. bette flirts with him, smitten. “what’s your name?” “puddin tame. ask me again, and i'll tell you the same.” “are you a poet?” “after a fashion. “ooh, i love poetry!” “would you like me to recite?” “no.” even better than the “no” gag is howard struggling to recite mary had a little lamb regardless. “mary lad a little hamb. mary mad a little amb. mary had... oh, she had a goat.” while leslie struggles to retell the story, bette sighs, completely enamored.

a very interesting discovery, at least for me: i always wondered why in some porky cartoons, porky had a little white duck sidekick (not daffy) who was a pest. mainly a 1939 phenomenon: i’ve only spotted him in it’s an ill wind and porky’s hotel. his name is either dizzy or dippy duck, i can’t remember. but i always wondered why he was porky’s sidekick when daffy was getting to be established as porky’s sidekick at the same time. turns out THIS dizzy/dippy duck’s first appearance, or at least a prototype. here, he pesters his dad, barraging him with questions. “why, daddy? why did the man look at her like that, daddy? why, daddy? does he like her, daddy? does he like the lady, daddy?” and so on. while the dad furiously attempts to hush his kid, his efforts are futile. the duck is only silenced once the entire row in front of him turns back to shoot him down with glares. that is, until the duck starts rambling again, asking a bunch of obnoxious questions. i love this in particular, for i can relate--weird anecdote, but my mom said the first movie she took me to i started walking up and down the aisles and chatting up strangers. so i like this kid! even better is when the angry front row shushes him once more with angry “NYEHHHH!”s. now, the father speaks up in a w.c. fields voice. “heyyy, what’s going on?” a punch to the face from an offscreen fist.

the kid, not getting the memo, pesters his dad once more, who shooes him away. now, the kid darts out of the theater and up to the projection booth. i love the animation of the kid turning his head in wonderment, staring at the door (bob mckimson maybe? it’s pretty solid and constructed). he barges in, fiddling with the controls. he turns a lever from MED. to FAST, and the movie is sped up to frightening speeds. the kid panics, trying to fix his error, but to no avail. now, the movie plays backwards. the animation is quite good--skipping and jumping around, but still room for there to be inbetweens of SOME sort. i can only imagine trying to sort those frames out in the (in)correct order! it’s easy to mess up, but hard to mess up on purpose!

now desperate, the kid sticks his beak inside the projection camera, where it gets caught. in a similar (yet less gruesome/strange) manner to baby bottleneck, the kid gets caught in the gears, his body twisting up and down and around, feathers expelled into the air. iris out as the kid flops to the ground, unscathed, cursing as his body is covered in film.

this cartoon is a GREAT one, probably the best we’ve seen from friz. or, at the very least, the funniest. it’s so ahead of it’s time--so much so that it was reused in chunks in bacall to arms in 1946, which proved to be quite anachronistic. you have the conflicting styles of clampett/davis (mainly clampett, this is probably the most clampett-y short in terms of looks out of the ones he didn’t finish) from 1946, and the simplistic 1937 friz style. that’s QUITE a contrast, but that tells you how well the humor holds up. i’m really fascinated by the dizzy/dippy prototype. in all likelihood, it was just a one off character. friz didn’t sit down thinking this would be his next star (our next review will cover talkative, famous ducks ;)), but he is VERY similar to the duck used in hardaway/dalton’s it’s an ill wind and later clampett’s duck used in porky’s hotel. i believe mel does almost all the voices, save for bette davis. i don’t believe the w.c. fields voice provided by the father duck is tedd pierce. it’s very exciting to see him climb up the ranks--next cartoon, he gets to voice our favorite pig (and duck!) in all, this is a hilarious cartoon. some of the gags are a little (or a lot) dated, often skewing the joke--i wish i knew what the meaning behind the little oscar joke was--but it wasn’t a constant thing. the song number was hilarious (i love the “please do not spit on the floor” gag) and catchy, the animation was good, the caricatures were lovely... while there are many more funny cartoons than this one, in terms of this time period and comparing it to what friz has churned out up to this point, it’s probably his funniest one yet, and that in itself constitutes a watch. it’s definitely the funniest news reel cartoon we’ve seen so far. go for it!

link!

[marshmallowgoop]

Doing yearly writing reviews isn’t really a thing. But once you start doing ‘em, it doesn’t feel right to stop, you know?

Seeing progress in other arts is of course a lot easier than seeing progress in writing, but I think there is some forward movement for me, especially when I also consider my compilations from 2017 and 2018.

In regards to 2019, I’ve selected various kinds of writing for this post: analytical essays, opinion pieces, news articles, creative fiction, and maybe some works that can’t be categorized so easily, too. It was a very difficult year on many fronts; I dealt with job struggles, financial insecurity, destroyed relationships, medical hardships, seemingly endless cyberstalking and online harassment. 

But there were good things, too. New friendships. New passions. New outlooks. I feel like I’ve learned and grown a lot more in these past couple of months than I have in a long, long time.

The end of 2019 is more than just the end of one year. It’s also the end of a decade. But I think the best advice I’ve received all decade comes from this year:

✄ Sometimes, you have to say yes to saying no.

✄ If you can’t do something well, do something poorly!

✄ The best option may be to simply not engage.

✄ You don’t have to apologize for disappointing others.

✄ Your worth isn’t measured by how much you “accomplish.”

✄ You have rights: the right to have your needs and wants respected, the right to make mistakes, the right to determine your own priorities, the right to not be responsible for the actions or problems of others, the right to express yourself, the right to be human. It’s not selfish or narcissistic to stand up for your rights.

And, since it is the end of the decade and all, here’s also a comparison between one nerdy fandom essay from August 2010 and another from August 2019:

2010 (with added spaces because yes, this really was just a huge block of text originally):

Also, in my own opinion, nobody really gave a damn for Xion all that much save for Roxas. I mean, yeah, Axel cared a little, but in the end, he got totally mad at her, got mad any time she was mentioned, got mad whenever Roxas worried about her, got mad when she showed up at the clock tower. She was his friend, yeah, and he didn’t want her to go, but in the end, he would have chosen Roxas above her anytime.

The other “mean villains” didn’t really care. Luxord didn’t care, Demyx didn’t care, Xaldin got exasperated once at her, but overall didn’t care, Xigbar didn’t care, Xemnas outright said he didn’t care, Saix was rather cruel to her, but really, in the end, he didn’t give a damn for her. The others weren’t around long enough to have an impression on her. I think even Riku didn’t really care all that much for her, in all honesty. He just wanted his best friend back.  

Also, you have to keep in mind that we played the game through Roxas’ perspective, and it’s in my personal belief that he fell in love with Xion. And if you’re in love with someone, when she gets into a coma, or goes missing, or ignores you, you’re gonna be upset, and talk about it. So Roxas did. 

But you know, he doesn’t actually do a lot of it until the end of the game. Before that, it’s all about the THREE of them. He loves his friends (even if he doesn’t know it), and he wants them to be together forever, but when Xion goes missing or whatnot and they can’t ALL have ice cream together, he gets upset.

2019: 

I’ve written more on the subject here, but to keep it short, Ryuko only tries to take Nui’s life when she’s convinced herself that she’s a monster, and her development is less about her becoming less okay with killing people and more about how she won’t let her anger and rage control her. What makes Ryuko’s attitude so different in the end isn’t that she’s reconsidered her thoughts on murder but that she’s composed. Come episode 22, Ryuko ain’t saying that she’s gonna kill anyone to sound tough or to intimidate. She keeps her cool even against her worst enemies.

But that’s just what I think! Maybe I’ve interpreted the character all wrong. But Ryuko’s freak-out after she goes berserk and hurts others in episode 12, her devotion to defending even people she’s just met… I just struggle to see her as someone who’s actually a-okay with killing. The fact that Ryuko’s perfect fantasy in episode 20 depicts her as a sweet girl without any of the violent tendencies that she has in reality also points this way; not to mention, Ryuko outright admits that her picking fights and causing trouble are bad things when remarking on her childhood in episode 8.

And Ryuko? She doesn’t want to be bad. All the poor girl’s ever wanted is love, and I can’t imagine she’d ever think that getting angry and killing people would get her a lot of that.

Progress may be slow, but it does happen.

At least, I think so.

Image Texts

January 2019

And personally? I find that sweetness just absolutely, utterly charming. When I understood what the rap was trying to communicate, I couldn’t imagine listening to the song without it. Heck, even before I understood, I found the “without rap” edits empty and barren. No matter how “silly” the lyrics might come off, the unabashed cheese is fantastic. The rap section that I was once “meh” about legitimately became my favorite part of the song.

Plus, I really can’t stress enough how sad the song is when it’s purely Ryuko. The official [nZk] remix replaces Senketsu’s rap with a reprise of Ryuko’s first verse, which recounts how she and Senketsu met. And it’s tragic! She says, “But I’m all alone,” and she is. Senketsu isn’t singing with her, no matter her claim that she can hear his voice. Considering what happens to Senketsu in the end, his absence in the song hits even harder.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/182361051017/oomoj-marshmallowgoop-the-rap-is-good

February 2019

The focus then shifts away from Ragyo, but Kill la Kill ain’t at all done with building the audience up yet. As the scene moves to the following day, viewers are met with quick, close-up shots of Uzu’s note to Ryuko, timed right to the beat of “Blumenkranz.” Uzu wants to duel, and we soon get to see his full request in an engaging low-angle shot where Ryuko looks up to this sign looming over her. The weight and gravity of the situation is effectively conveyed: the smooth transition from Ragyo to here, as well as the music and shot composition, let us know in no indirect terms that this fight isn’t something to be brushed off. Uzu’s duel is a big deal, and it’s very much connected to Ragyo’s expansive empire.

And the tension just keeps growing. Ryuko’s reaction to Uzu’s note is presented with a dramatic canted, high-angle shot. The camera—which is just slightly tilted—peers down at both Ryuko and the sign, communicating a sense of danger and unease. Viewers already know that the upcoming battle is important, but here, we also understand that it’s not going to be easy.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/182841724817/all-the-discussion-around-episode-6-of-kill-la

March 2019

Kill la Kill the Game: IF is currently being featured at the 2019 Game Developers Conference that runs until March 22nd in San Francisco, and a flurry of new gameplay videos are now available for viewing. Notably, these videos feature full English subtitles for the character dialogue for the first time since EVO 2018 last year and never-before-seen stages, such as what seems to be the Fiber Castle in the Kiryuin Manor.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/183766224117/kill-la-kill-the-game-if-gameplay-footage-from

April 2019

I mean, Kill la Kill ended over five years ago now. There’s been fairly minimal new content ever since—an OVA in September of 2014, a few pieces of merchandise here and there, a small crossover with Grand Summoners last year. And then, not even 11 months ago, out of seemingly nowhere, there was confirmation for a full-blown Kill la Kill video game. That we now know will be released in just 14 weeks!

Lots of jokes were made about the announcement for a game so many years after the series finale, but, like, seriously, as a longtime Kill la Kill fan, it’s hard to wrap my head around. Ever since the show ended, I’ve dedicated over half a million words to writing about it, spent tens of thousands of yen on books and Blu-rays and CDs, devoted nearly 60 GB to my own GIFs and edits. I’ve loved this thing to death. I’ve always found more and more that I want to write and create from this series, but I never really imagined nor expected that we’d ever get much more official content from the original creators themselves. And now we are getting so much more, and???

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/184228103137/kill-la-kill-the-game-if-releases-on-july-25th-in

May 2019

Kiznaiver: Oh, I was so excited to love this show! I was lucky enough to see an advanced screening of the first two episodes, and I was totally hooked. It was drop-dead gorgeous—and probably the prettiest series Trigger has ever put out—and I was very intrigued by the plot and characters. I remember just coming back to my hotel room at like 3:00 am after the premiere, utterly filled with excitement. I mean, Kiznaiver  was directed by Hiroshi Kobayashi, the episode director behind the two episodes that got me hooked on Kill la Kill (episodes 5 and 18)!

But… my excitement quickly died. The story tried to develop way too many characters in way too little time, and I never enjoyed the romantic pairing of Katsuhira and Noriko, finding it shallow, undeveloped, and nonsensical (in a bad way), which… kind of ruins a lot of the series when that’s arguably the heart of the whole thing.

Kiznaiver is still super, super pretty, though. That last episode’s animation got me shook.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/184700944732/so-have-you-watched-the-other-stuff-studio-trigger

June 2019

I do recognize that many, many matters do not warrant conversation. I do recognize that the phrase “I’m just trying to have a conversation” can be—and has been—utilized as a means of directing criticism away from inflammatory, unacceptable, inhumane remarks. I in no way feel that hateful, discriminatory comments should be promoted.

Simultaneously, however, “conversation” should not automatically be a dirty word in the field of analyzing and seriously engaging with fiction, and thoughtful reactions should be supported and striven for. Nothing in fiction is ever black and white. There are so many nuances and complexities to the storybook realities of our media. I want commentators and critics of fiction to be passionate about listening, considering, and rethinking those nuances and complexities. Isn’t that why we do this work at all? To share our own point of view and open ourselves up to others?

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/185289615202/we-need-to-change-the-way-we-seriously-discuss

July 2019

Initially, I was really bummed by this lack of development. But as I thought about things more, I… didn’t mind so much. If this dream or universe or whatever is something that Satsuki “experiences” before the events of the anime, of course she won’t grow as a character here. Maybe this game is kind of the Kill la Kill prequel I’ve been begging for for over half a decade.

And as much as I didn’t get anything, I thought the ending bits between Ryuko and Satsuki were so good.

Like, I suppose Ryuko’s absorbing the Life Fibers or something?? But wow, pretty.

And the part where they talk before Satsuki disappears? That’s my kinda anime bullshit. It’s the kinda anime bullshit I wanted from the OVA between Ryuko and Senketsu.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/186648065467/goop-plays-kill-la-kill-the-game-if-satsuki

August 2019

That book, Log. 2, is a fan doujin from Kotaro Nakamori, who worked as an animator and animation director in Kill la Kill. There’s a bunch of assorted fanart in there, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Nakamori is a fan of Urusei Yatsura and wanted to make a little crossover between that series and Kill la Kill.

Personally, though, as someone not too familiar with Urusei Yatsura, I kinda just saw the image as oni-Satsuki (with oni being demon/ogre-like creatures in Japanese folklore). Oni are traditionally depicted wearing tiger skin loincloths, and Lum herself is definitely basically a space oni. So, I saw the cover and got super excited about oni-Satsuki because I love oni a lot, haha.

Fun fact: character designer Sushio has also drawn Kill la Kill characters as oni for setsubun, a celebration that’s held on the last day of winter (February 3rd). During setsubun, you might see folks dressed up like oni—who get beans thrown at them in an effort to bring in good luck and chase naughty demons away.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/187228888187/do-i-see-satsuki-wearing-lums-outfit-in-your-last

September 2019

Though I don’t see it much anymore, I remember lots of comparisons between Ragyo and the villains of Saturday morning cartoons back in the day. She was described as a generic, two-dimensional “evilz for the sake of evilz” baddie and criticized for her simplicity.

And though I did admittedly agree to an extent—I craved a lot more depth and insight, particularly in regards to her haunting line about “still having something of a human heart” whilst brutally attacking her own daughter in the final episode—I also found Ragyo to be a remarkably compelling, powerful, and horrifying villain even without tons of backstory and explanation. Perhaps my write-up on her first scene in episode 6 best details why; this woman has such a presence, and the visual language of the series amplifies that presence spectacularly. Ragyo’s intimidating and scary without the audience even needing to know anything about her.

And… I’d say that’s a good villain. That’s exactly what a villain should do.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/187987858537/on-ragyo-kiryuin

October 2019

And, though there are no visuals, so I can’t be sure if it’s an “Ocean of Light” or not, the fourth Drama CD also has the same kinda deal happening. In the CD—which takes place immediately after Ryuko learns the truth of her origins—Ryuko’s pain manifests as an explosion of light that knocks both her and Senketsu unconscious and pushes Senketsu away from her. The sound effect here is familiar, and I’m personally convinced that this is another “Ocean of Light” moment.

Which brings me to the “light” part of the terminology. Light is often associated with good, yes, but light is also associated with heat, and heat is associated with pain. In the Drama CD, Ryuko’s light is so hot that Nui even remarks that Senketsu “almost burned” from it, and when Mako embraces Ryuko after swimming through her “Ocean of Light” in episode 12, Ryuko’s touch scorches Mako’s skin.

I’ve already written an essay on the symbolic and narrative use of fire, warmth, and heat in Kill la Kill (that you should totally read because it’s actually maybe Kinda Good, Maybe), and relating to that, I see the “Ocean of Light” as a physical representation of Ryuko’s fiery spirit. That fire can be used for good, and that fire can also be painful, but no matter what, that fire is a part of Ryuko.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/188247077227/i-always-wanted-some-explanation-you-are-smart

November 2019

She looks around her cottage. Her eyes find the walls and the furnishings. Her eyes find the scratched floors and stained wood. She does not voice it to the once-emperor, but she had never been able to remove the stains from the attack. Her son's blood has painted the brown wood red. It is a reminder of what she cannot remember. It is a reminder of the past she has forgotten.  

“This home feels so desperately lonely,” she admits. “I do not know who is missing. But it is not complete.”  

The man is quiet. He did not expect to find himself feeling sympathy for the woman's plight. Perhaps she is a fool, to have given her heart to a demon. But kindness ought not be punished, he thinks. Or has he grown so cold that he believes it should be?  

December 2019

🏀 Michiru and Shirou’s relationship may be the focus, but Nakashima emphasizes that Michiru’s relationship with Nazuna is also involved in the story in a big way.

🏀 Nakashima stresses the importance of depicting teen girls realistically. Two women screenwriters are on board: Kimiko Ueno and Nanami Higuchi. Both wrote for Little Witch Academia. Ueno also wrote for Space Patrol Luluco, and Higuchi was behind the production reports in Trigger Magazine (and, interestingly, wrote the script for the anime adaptation of BEASTARS).

🏀In regards to Michiru and Nazuna’s relationship, producer Naoko Tsutsumi (also an animation producer for Kiznaiver and Little Witch Academia) provides input as well. Nakashima says that they greatly value and take to heart the opinions of the women creators.

Full post: https://marshmallowgoop.tumblr.com/post/189928986922/otomedia-winter-2020-bna-brand-new-animal

[littlemisssquiggles]

Pinehead Headcanons: Oscar’s Longest Memory II:  Living Like Oz

@miki-13​ Hey Miki-chan. Funny story. I was actually writing up this new Pinehead headcanon in response to your last question about Ozpin being Oscar’s Pilot when I saw your new messages last night. So I decided to combine my answers to your questions in this one post since ironically, the ideas for these actually lined up perfectly with this headcanon I have so I hope you enjoy it.

miki-13 asked “What do you think of Ozpin= The Pilot from The Little Prince?”

Let’s start with my views on Oz being the Pilot in Oscar’s Little Prince story. From what I read up on the Pilot Character from the Little Prince, he was also the narrator of the story. He was essentially the character through which the reader learnt of the Prince’s journeys after leaving his home planet. It was through the Pilot that we learnt of the Prince’s story and the wisdom he imparted on the Pilot during their time together in the dessert.

I also remember you telling me that the Pilot was another character that the Prince shared a close relationship with other than his Rose and the Fox.

From what I read up on the Pilot, it seems like the lessons about responsibility that the Prince learnt from the Fox and embracing the things you loved as a child was what the Prince imparted onto the Pilot and was what he mostly remembered about him from their time together.

When I look at it from that perspective, I can see where Oz can play the Pilot in Oscar’s Little Prince story. It makes me think back to my Oscar’s Journey to Oz headcanon where Oscar deep dives into his mind to bring Ozpin back. Somehow I can imagine the reconciliation between the two souls paying homage to the Little Prince’s encounter with the Pilot with the two just meeting in a part of Oscar’s mind that takes the form of a place from either Oscar’s memories or perhaps Oz? And the two just sit there within this memory talking to one another about their lives, their experiences and more importantly of all, where they both go from where they currently stood, y’know what I mean?

It’s moments like this that makes me wish we had gotten just a few more seasons with Oscar and Oz growing closer before we got the inevitable separation in V6. It probably would’ve been twice as more impactful if Oscar and Oz shared a deeper connection than what we know them to have canonically.

From the moment Oscar met Oz, their relationship suffered a rocky start with Oscar’s whole apprehension of leaving home to go to Mistral on behalf of Oz and everything he told him regarding his sudden change in fate.

Even up to the moment where Oscar first meets Qrow, Oscar still harboured a snarky attitude towards Oz’s presence. Sure things started softening up between them during what little we saw of their interactions during V5, but in hindsight, it’s very evident that Oz and Oscar still have way to go before they can live in harmony with one another like the Wizards before them.

I will admit this though. I was pretty nice to hear Oscar acknowledge Oz as a part of him in V7CH7. It makes me wish we had gotten more moments like that with him just sitting around thinking about Ozpin and the potential of them reconnecting. I guess this is one of my gripes for this season in regards to Oscar’s side of things. Here we are yet again with the PLOT not taking the opportunity to further flesh out Oscar’s character and his relationship with Ozpin by presenting Oscar attempting to reconcile with Oz within his mind and bring him back while working together with Ironwood.

We don’t even really know how Oscar even feels about Ozpin coming back since the show focuses so little on him and how he’s been taking in everything and even when it does focus on Oscar, a lot of it seems to only hint at Oz without really addressing him.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to see more examples of Oscar being his own person by having him express how he feels about certain topics rather than it be him trying to mimic Oz in some way. I like that a lot. However, at the same time, I feel like the show is having Oscar almost ignore Ozpin in a way. Despite implying that he’s a part of him, we don’t get to really see how much Ozpin’s absence has affected Oscar in the sense of how this has affected Oscar’s overall relationship with the old soul. We’ve gotten one or two glimpses of it here or there but nothing really grounding as yet, at least in my opinion.

Often at times, I can’t help but feel as if the PLOT avoids the characters talking about Ozpin and just writes around him, if that makes sense. Like it’s evident that his presence and the result of his actions are spearheading the events currently happening in the narrative at the moment. However at the same time, I feel like the characters are addressing Oz without really addressing Oz; y’know what I mean? Like they mention him in passing but they don’t really go in depth with how feel about learning of his past. 

The closest thing we’ve received to that thus far is with Ruby confessing to Maria back in V6 that she’s still unsure of how she felt about Oz after the truth was revealed. This was later repeated again when Ruby voiced her concerns to Qrow that she might be mirroring Oz in her actions toward their trust in Ironwood---highlighting that what Oscar’s words to her at the start of CH3 did weigh on her ---only for Qrow to brush it off with an air of indifference. Qrow is another character with whom the PLOT has portrayed adamantly avoiding addressing his true feelings in relation to his affiliation with Oz. 

I actually think Qrow’s stubbornness to talk about Oz is what’s irking me the most given their longstanding history together. At the least the show has highlighted how much Ironwood would like for Oz to return as well as Oscar’s willingness to accept Oz coming back should he chose to come back of his own accord.

But Qrow---Qrow I would say is a tough case since, even if V7 ends with Oz making a comeback with all of our young heroes wishing to give Oz a second chance and bury the hatchet, I’m not so sure about Qrow. I think Qrow might take a long time to get over his resentment towards Oz right now.

Seriously Qrow, Oz wasn’t just the man your sister once claimed you blindly followed for several years of your life. He was also your friend. Quit acting like he doesn’t exist to you anymore, for Pete’s sake.

It’s moments like these that made me wish we could’ve gotten at least one or two episodes of V7 where the main drivers of the chapter were Ironwood, Oscar and Qrow. With all the stuff going on with Watts and Tyrian, the politics surrounding Atlas and Mantle, Jacques and his wicked schemes in pursuit of power, the construction of Amity Arena and so forth---there’s just not enough time to focus on these three guys.

And that’s a feels bad moment right there since I honestly feel like this volume should’ve had Ironwood, Oscar and Qrow be the three focal characters of this season. I mean, in some ways they kind of are…but…not really? I mean it’s subtle if you squint your eyes but more definitely needs to be done for these three since they are the people closest to Oz right now.

Ruby’s part in all of this is important too since I believe she’ll be needed to convince the others as our titular spark of hope but, I dunno, I guess bottom line what I’m trying to say is that I could’ve used just a smidge more focus on the General, Oscar and Qrow talking about their true feelings in relation to their respective ties to Ozpin. But who knows? Maybe there’s still hope for me to get my wish a little bit. We do still have 5 more episodes left before this season ends so we’ll see.

In meantime, let’s go back to the Ozpin Pilot connection. So I’ve already shared my views on Oz being Oscar’s Pilot, however I’d like to present to you another consideration m’dear Miki-chan. Have you ever considered the thought of perhaps…Oscar could be the Pilot to Ozpin’s story?

Similar to how the Pilot’s encounter with the Prince changed his perspective on the world, you can say the same was done for Oscar since meeting Oz sparked his journey to becoming a huntsman. However that’s not the angle I’m really going for. As I mentioned earlier, it was the Pilot who relayed both the Prince’s story and his time with the Prince to the reader. 

So imagine if we got a similar scenario in RWBY where we finally learned of Ozpin’s story ---the man who he used to be before he joined Ozma’s lineage and became the man we know as Professor Ozpin---through Oscar?

For the sake of my theory, I’m going to refer to original Oz by my fanon idea for his true name---Zoroaster Ozpin or simply ‘Zo’ for short.

What if…somehow, someway, Oscar is the one to reveal Zo’s past to us as the audience, highlighting his journey and struggles from the day he became a Wizard of Light to the moment he became the man we know as Professor Ozpin all concluding with the moment we never got to see---the moment Oz died and was eventually paired with Oscar.

One curious question that I have been pondering about for some time now was why was Oscar the one specifically chosen to be Oz’s successor? Everything I’ve gathered on Oscar right now seems to point to him being different than past Wizards.

Let’s start with the first clear indicator---Oscar’s age. Even after learning of the Lost Fable, Oscar is still clearly the youngest Wizard in Ozma’s lineage. For the most part, each of Ozma’s descendants has been adult men (possibly in their mid to late twenties or so) who all appeared no older than Ozma was when he died in his first life. I’d like to think that even Ambroise---the withering old man we saw depicted in Ozma’s line following Diggs’ death---was probably a young adult when Diggs soul was paired with him and what the Fable mainly portrayed was how the previous wizard lived with their successor up even in old age.

In my RWBY Musing #57 discussing the Ozma Cycle, my theory was that the age that all Wizards were chosen was 28 years old. I also mentioned the possibility that the Wizards were each reincarnated a consecutive amount of years apart. My hunch is that the Wizards were all reborn half a century apart so each time they return, it’s in a completely different time period in Remnant’s history from their predecessor. I strongly believe that Oscar is the first instance where a Wizard was resurrected ‘prematurely’ within the same era as the last one and my rationale behind this thought was due to the villains’ reaction to Oz being back so soon.

Not to mention how Oz stated back in V5 that he left specific instructions with his trusted lieutenants in the event of his death. If the way the Ozma Cycle worked was that the Wizards were reborn immediately then why the need to leave detailed instructions with trusted advisors? I don’t think Oz was supposed to be back. At least, probably not for another couple of decades buying his advisors enough time to live out the tasks Oz had entrusted him with before he returned down the line---probably when all of them were dead.

Although Oz didn’t seem to react at all to being reborn so soon despite his enemies reacting that way, it doesn’t denounce the fact that Oscar is somewhat of an anomaly within the cycle. Not only is he the youngest Wizard shown to record but the shortest rebirth with Oz being paired with him shortly after his death during the Fall of Beacon. Oscar is meant to be different than all the other Wizards. There is an air of intrigue surrounding him and his fate with the Merge and why I bring this up is because I have a hunch that Oscar might be curious as to why he was chosen to be a part of Ozma’s cycle.

It wouldn’t surprise me if Oscar may have questions surrounding his fate, particularly with what will happen to him one day with the Merge. Or rather, I wonder if there is a part of Oscar that wonders how Oz previously handled his inevitable fate before. 

How did Oz---or rather Zo- take to learning that one day he was just going to disappear and become someone else that he might not recognize or might not even know that he’s changed into?

I bring this up because the show has subtly dropped some hints to Oz’s past as Zo and his experience with the Merge. It was teased through Ironwood with his apparent affiliation to Ozpin both during his lifetime as headmaster and formerly as Zo.

I can’t help but shake this feeling that the PLOT could potentially be leading us into learning more about the true nature of the Merge with Ozpin’s backstory. 

I think there is a golden chance for both the audience and Oscar to learn more about Ozpin and I think a way this can potentially be done is if Oscar lived through Ozpin’s memories, both in his life as Zo and his life as the man we knew he became.

This is the section of this post where I’m going to go into my answer to your recent message from yesterday. 

miki-13 asked:

“ So I just had an absolutely awful idea. You mentioned the possibility of Oscar and Ruby arguing and Ruby saying she doesn't trust Oz, and by extension Oscar, and how that's the final straw that pushes Oscar away from her. You also had the headcanon of Ruby having nightmares where Oscar uses the relic to reveal everything they did and what they learned in Volume 6. And Oscar brought the relic with them to the Schnee Manor in episode 8.

What if the argument happens at the manor and Ruby's emotions over everything finally boil over and she says something she regrets immediately? This could be the final straw that makes Oscar decide to tell Ironwood the truth and Ruby, in a fit of fear, grabs him to stop him. While they two struggle against each other, the lights go out and they hear screams. Tyrian has shown up and starts attacking people like at the rally.

In the dark as they try to get their footing and try to get the lights back on, Ruby hears Tyrian whisper in her ear, "An eye for an eye~" and raises his tail to attack her... only for Oscar to push her out of the way and take the blow for her. The lights come back on, Tyrian is gone and Ruby can only stare horrified at the bloody wound Oscar has suffered as he falls unconscious.”

What you call absolutely awful, I call brilliant since I had a similar thought, m’friend. In a nutshell, yes to everything that you wrote. 

I like your idea of Oscar confronting Ruby and her accidentally saying something that she’ll regret later. I like it since I shared the same concept in my Oscar’s Longest Memory headcanon. It was even on my Bingo Card for CH8 but we both know how that went...Hurumph! 

Basically, my version of this concept was that Ruby and Oscar would get into a fight over revealing the truth to Ironwood and during that fight, Ruby lets it slip that she doesn’t trust Ozpin.

Heck, I even have this imagined scenario where Ruby lets her emotions get the best of her like you said and she goes as far as to say that she HATES Ozpin.

Like it’s a moment where Ruby outright says she hates Ozpin because she blames him for everything---blames him for hiding the truth about Salem from everyone; making them fight a war he knew fully well that they couldn’t win.

Blames him for then leaving them behind in the dark on what to do next while saddling Ruby with that burden considering that since Ozpin left, she’s the one whose been forced to carry the full weight of everything on her shoulders with everyone looking to her for guidance. 

It’s a moment of genuine frustration for Ruby that she just unloads on Oscar in the rawest of unapologetic anguish since she’s been doing her best to make up for all of Ozpin’s many, many mistakes so Oscar accusing her of being just like him hurts more than anything since from Ruby’s point of view, how can she be like Oz when she’s the one who’s actively been trying to fix the mess Oz made. It’s all on her now! Or y’know something like that.

I can see this being a really heated argument beween Ruby and Oscar---the most we’ve seen since Yang and Raven. Oscar calls out Ruby for her actions and Ruby in turn takes out her frustration on Oscar ultimately culminating in her saying that she hates Oz---a remark that this time, Oscar takes heavily to heart just as how Oz took Qrow’s remark from V6 and he makes the same perplexed, broken expression of utter shock.

After all, Oz is a part of Oscar and this is how Oscar sees him too. The PLOT even acknowledged that in V7CH7. So if Oscar sees Oz as a part of him then Oscar will take any animosity directed at Oz onto himself. 

So if Ruby says she hates Ozpin then naturally Oscar would take that to mean that she hates him too by extension.

Then again, perhaps Ruby yelling that she hates Oz might be too harsh. On a slightly more light-hearted tone, let’s say...Ruby reveals that she doesn’t trust Oz since she blames him for everything. And since trusting in love or love and trust going hand in hand seems to be a theme for this season, let’s say Ruby implying that she doesn’t trust Oz is synonymous with her saying that she hates him in a way. At least, that’s how it’s treated through Oscar’s reaction.

So the thing Ruby ends up regretting later is her yelling in Oscar’s face that she doesn’t trust Oz with him taking it to mean that she doesn’t trust him either. After all, Ruby can’t trust only half of Oscar especially if the idea, by Oscar’s impressions, is that he is supposed to disappear one day while Oz takes his place.

If Ruby doesn’t trust Oz then she basically doesn’t trust Oscar too. And although we get a scene where Ruby might probably attempt to redact her statment, let’s say…Oscar retorts by asking Ruby if she trusted him wholeheartedly meaning all of him, not just the part of him that’s still himself.

It ends up being a question that Ruby is unable to answer since she’s conflicted on her trust in Oscar and her trust in Oz. However in the end, Ruby doesn’t need to answer since her hesitation was all Oscar needed to solidify the truth---if Ruby doesn’t trust Oz then she doesn’t trust him either.

So just like in your idea, the argument between the Rosebuds ends on a sour note. The scenario then worsens with Tyrian showing up after Ruby and Oscar fight and Oscar getting hurt afterwards. I even like your idea of Oscar pushing Ruby out of the way and taking the killing blow for Ruby. 

See, it’s like adding salt to the wound. It hurts because it burns and in Ruby’s case, an idea like this could give her another reason to feel guilty afterwards for her actions.

As the lights turn back on, there is Ruby standing over Oscar with her hand hard pressed against bleeding chest where he had been punctured as Oscar struggles to breathe and say something to her. 

Let’s say...Tyrian got Oscar straight through the chest---it’s a bad enough wound for it to be seen as life threatening but Oscar still survives through it in the end because let’s say Tyrian missed him Oscar’s heart by an inch. However it doesn’t stop the poison.

Ruby is there, hands shaking and tears falling from her face as she did her best to keep Oscar alive. She even yells for Jaune multiple times to help. Immediately Jaune is at Oscar’s side ready to pump aura into him to save him. 

However it took a few minutes for Jaune to actually get Ruby to move away since she was so scared that Oscar could die before her eyes. It wasn’t until, Yang or maybe Weiss gently takes her away from Oscar when Jaune was allowed to do his thing to help Oscar long enough until the medics came. Or something like that.

Continuing off your idea, let’s say this leads to Oscar being hospitalized in a comatose state; warded at the same medical facility we saw Winter take Weiss in CH5.

From here, we can get the story building up the prospect of JNR_RWBY reconciling with Oz by having what happened to Oscar weighing heavily on all of everyone emotionally.

Ruby is especially devastated the most by this incident since the last thing, according our theories, the last thing she told Oscar before he got seriously hurt was that she basically doesn’t trust him. 

In Ruby’s mind, Oscar could potentially die and the very last thing Ruby told him is the equivalent of saying I hate you after he risked his own life to save hers. Right after he tried to stop her from making a big mistake.

Let’s say...Ruby blames herself for what happened to Oscar and who knows? Perhaps this type of scenario could even lead into Penny helping Ruby. 

Imagine if...it’s a scenario where Oscar is in the hospital but Ruby hasn’t been to visit him since the night he got attacked. She’s been avoiding seeing Oscar; instead choosing to distract herself with huntsmen duties since the loss of the heating in Mantle and the uproar of its citizens has been causing more and more Grimm activity which means all huntsmen on deck.

Let’s say...the others notice Ruby’s reluctance to see Oscar but it’s Penny who goes to speak to her. Ruby has always been very understanding of Penny and her emotions, offering her a listening ear whenever needed.

It’d be nice to see this reflected in Penny with her helping Ruby deal with her feelings and guilt over what happened to Oscar. Y’know have Penny help Ruby understand her emotions for a change, if you get what I mean while sticking another pin in the growth of the Nuts and Dolts friendship.

If something were to happen to Oscar again, I can see it sparking another chain reaction that affects the other members of the hero team leading into everyone potentially rethinking their actions and how they might've been treating each other (or other people they’re affiliated with) in the recent times (or even in the past) since they got to Atlas.

Let’s say…since Oscar’s coma causes Weiss to recall what her mother told her in regards to Whitley’s well-being leading to her rethinking her entire relationship with her baby brother; might even lead into some more Schnee Family discussions between Weiss and Winter, this time about Whitley.

Maybe it also sparks Ren finally coming clean to Nora about how he’s been feeling since his whole spiel this volume is his inability to express how he feels; apparently. 

And from there, perhaps it can lead into Nora finally talking about herself and explaining why she’s been so hot and bothered over the affairs of the People of Mantle.

For Yang and Blake, perhaps we might receive another example of them talking about what transpired back in Argus surrounding Adam which could potentially lead into them discussing their relationship as a whole.

Not necessarily in a romantic sense but just in general since, as the PLOT keeps hammering in our faces for this season, these two have been through a lot together and haven’t really had a breather to talk to each other about it, y’know what I mean

I can see a subplot like this leading into some really solid character building for everyone. Particularly Oscar. 

Why? Because other than the rest of the group, I can easily see this idea presenting an opportunity to peer into Oscar’s mind and learning more about him through his memories. It can even lead into us learning more about Oz and his life as Zo?

This brings me to the meat of my post.

What if…while in a comatose state, Oscar ends up living through Ozpin’s memories, experiencing them either as if he was an invisible spectator watching them play out in front of him or perhaps it’s a case where Oscar opens his eyes to find himself standing in Ozpin’s body. 

In the memory, Oscar is Ozpin playing through his life as if he was Ozpin, making all the decisions that Oz once made in the past while going through all the emotions as Oz once experienced themas if they were his own.

Consciously Oscar is fully aware that he is still himself but since it’s Ozpin’s memories that he’s living through, he neither can help but feel the way Oz felt in those scenarios nor can he actively do stop the outcomes of certain choices Oz was forced to make in those moments even if he wanted to.

It is in this sense where Oscar can become Ozpin’s Pilot---steering us through Ozpin’s backstory as he learns it himself by living it. 

Oscar even lives through the same Oz memory that Ironwood told him about in CH7---where he was the one who suggested that Atlas use the Relic of Creation to lift the kingdom into the sky. It was the day Oz first brough the Relic of Creation to Atlas.

Imagine if…through Ozpin’s memories, Oscar meets a different James Ironwood--- a past version of the man we know him to become.

Imagine if…this memory was Ozpin’s first time meeting with James and during this encounter, Oz was accompanied by a different Leonardo Lionheart who was there to assist Oz in recruiting Ironwood in a sense.

Oz did say back in V6 that our heroes didn’t know the man Lionheart used to be before Salem got to him and since we never got to see more of Leonardo, maybe Oz’s memories of him from the time he was still his trusted friend can be the PLOT’s chance to help shed a different perspective on Leo.

Not necessarily trying to redeem him of the cowardly man turned traitorous villain we knew he becomes but more so to highlight how Leo was from how Oz saw him and how Oz felt about him at the time.

We can even meet a younger Qrow Branwen, touching on the memory of when Oz first met Qrow---showing how Qrow used to be as a teenager training to become a huntsmen at Beacon while explaining why Qrow chose to believe in Oz for so long. It’s a chance to show the spark of Qrow and Oz’s relationshop, justifying why Qrow cherished it for so long while simultaneously rationalizing his resentment towards Oz now. 

Who knows? Perhaps… we can even learn more details on Summer Rose and her disappearance through Ozpin’s memories of her? 

 In V7CH4, it was heavily implied by Qrow during his conversation with Ruby that Oz might’ve been keeping something on Summer as well.

“…Her last mission, was that another Oz secret?”

“ There were a lot of those back in our day, but this one was a Summer secret. When she didn’t come back, Ozpin seemed just as in the dark as myself and your father. Still, who knows what he may have hidden from us over the years…”

If there are more secrets to be learnt then the next key to uncovering them would be in Ozpin’s memories. Memory is the key. 

Last time we learnt Ozma’s memories and his biggest kept secret via Jinn and the Relic of Knowledge. 

Although we didn’t learn everything since we never got to see Ozpin’s side of the story and as Qrow told Ruby in V7CH4, there is more to be uncovered about Oz.

So yeah. Basically what I’m saying here in a nutshell is in the event of Oscar becoming another unfortunate victim of Tyrian at Schnee Manor, I can see it leading into us learning more about Oz by having Oscar live through all of Ozpin’s memories unveiling any more secrets he might’ve hidden over the years, including any info on what became of Summer Rose.

More than that, it’s a chance for Oscar to learn about Oz by literally being in his shoes and living through his life. Who knows? Perhaps we might even learn more about the night Oz died during the Fall of Beacon revealing how and why Oz ended up with Oscar of all people in the first place and why so soon.

And from this experience, not only will Oscar walk away understanding Oz more than he ever did before but maybe the audience will as well. 

Maybe this experience could even lead into Oscar finding Oz deep within his mind.

Maybe by the time Oscar meets Oz again, he is so overwhelmed by all that he experienced through learning of his full life and all of his personal hardships that the most the young farm boy could so is just embrace Oz in solidarity. Because now he understood.

 Now Oscar understood Oz. 

Thus…this leads into the two souls finally being able to mend their relationship properly thus sparking a more collaborative path toward Oscar and Oz finally living together in harmony since now, Oscar knows Oz’s life because he’s lived it. Oz’s life and journey is now a part of Oscar.

And who knows…perhaps from this experience Oscar receives the answers that he’s been looking for in regards to the Merge. From living through Oz’s experience with Merge, he learns that he is going to be okay or at least he gains an understanding of Oz that he no longer feels apprehension of becoming a part of him in the end. Or something along those lines.

This type of story is a chance to really have Oscar and Oz come together in true camaraderie and be a real chance to flesh them both out.

I know most Pineheads are hyped for Oscar’s potential semblance reveal. 

However for me, y’know my anticipation has mostly been directed towards learning more about Oscar as a person and/or seeing him and Ozpin reconcile while inside of Oscar’s mind.

I don’t know if we’ll ever get something like this in the canon at all. If I’m being completely honest, I kind of doubt it. However, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think this was a possibility given some of the breadcrumbs dropped as set up from the last few episodes.

But in the event that Tyrian doesn’t attack Schnee Manor and Oscar walks away fine and dandy, I do have a Plan B alternative to this theory where we can have Oscar unlock more on Oz through the Relic of Knowledge. 

However, I’ll save that for it’s own separate post for the New Year since this post is already long as it is.

Overall, I hope you liked this post Miki-chan. If you’re able to shoot me a comment on what you think of this post, let me know. If not, that’s alright. 

I hope you liked it either way and I hope it answers your questions at least. I know I wrote a lot XD

That being said, with this officially being my last Pinehead headcanon for 2019, gonna wish you and all my fellow Pineheads a Happy New Year and see you guys in 2020 for more Oscar- worthy theories from the squiggle meister!

More Squiggles’ RWBY Content

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[askiisoft]

FAN ART FRIDAY: Triple Dragons

Imagine dragons. It can be the European winged lizards or the long, windy Asian ones, it doesn’t matter. Now imagine that, like most lizards, it molted its skin every so often. But afterwards, that shedded skin came to life, put on a suit, and started trying to take over the identity of the original, creeping out its friends and war buddies in the process.

That’s the sordid history of Gamma Fifteen, a.k.a “The Dragon of New Mecca”. I think no one behind Katana ZERO imagined he’d become the game’s breakout character, receiving more fan love than the rest of the cast combined. But we’re not here to talk about him...or at least, not just him. Thanks to the raw talent and wild imaginations of fans, there have become at least three different versions of Fifteen in fanon.

So buckle in, because today we’ll be going on an expedition into the urban jungles of the Third District, to get a look at the three species of The Dragon in the wild.

Thanks to @55_yamisan for drawing all the species illustrations below! You can see the original artwork here.

[WARNING: Contains plot spoilers for ‘Katana ZERO’]

Ssshhh. Stay low, and be careful of snapping twigs underfoot. Just through the brush, we can see a juvenile Dragon in its natural habitat. Here, have a look.

Don’t be fooled by his boyish charm—at the tender age of 15, this NULL specimen is already a proficient killing machine. From this juvenile form, a Dragon can eventually grow into one of three different forms depending on its diet, habitat, and artist. 

—

Exhibit A. Here, we have most prolific and successful species of The Dragon. Using his long, spindly legs, he prowls the Earth’s upper atmosphere for small birds, passenger planes, and other prey.

One of the mandates for Katana ZERO’s promotional art was that spoiler characters like Fifteen and Headhunter couldn’t be shown. It was a smart move for hiding the game’s various late-game twists, but as a consequence, fan artists had nothing but his in-game sprites as reference material. 

This led to debates about whether he wore sunglasses or had cat ears, until natural selection produced the perfect assassin; a bishonen-yet-deadly apex predator.

by @IERotAK

I love hatched lines. They’re useful for drawing the eye or adding texture, shadows, and folds without the use of color. Unfortunately, a combination of shitty tablet drivers and my own unsteady hand means I can only draw lines a couple dozen pixels long before they start losing their straightness.

That’s clearly no issue for IEROtAK, who manages to convey the distinct textures of glossy leather gloves, a dark suit, and cold steel using nothing but amazingly neat hatched lines and negative space. The thick webs of intricate lines dazzles the eye from afar before it slowly makes out the clean shapes and low perspective of this masterpiece. Real badasses don’t look at explosions.

by @PsykoShipht

One of the best ways to make dynamic action is by accentuating movement; things like Batman’s cape, Strider Hiryu’s crimson scarf, or Rad Spencer’s dreadlocks billow and sway with their every movement, giving a sense of momentum and a clear line of action. 

PsykoShipht gives Fifteen’s stylish ponytail a life of its own; I can already picture it straightening with each Chronos Rush attack or forming zig-zags and right angles and he navigates platforms. Even Fifteen’s comparatively lanky proportions and clean silhouette scream ‘agility character’ before he even draws his sword.

—

This species is a rare sight in the wild, and thankfully so. His briefcase is lead-lined, so even X-ray scans have been unable to reveal its contents.

It all began in The Concept Art of Katana ZERO and seemingly normal piece of concept art by Kenju, depicting an alternate version of Fifteen bearing a green sheath, green hair, and what looked like mild burn scars on his face. 

by Kenju

Fan artists immediately took the idea and ran with it, inventing a bizarre, disfigured, and delightfully mad doppelgänger—first dubbed “Proto Fifteen″ and later, “The Snake” or “The Serpent”. He carries around that mysterious silver briefcase and a creepy yandere obsession with Fifteen’s old comrade, Zero. 

Is he a failed clone? A bizarro-version from another dimension? And what’s inside that briefcase? We may never know. But the idea of having a stalker with Fifteen’s level of speed and swordsmanship is an utter nightmare...

by @55_yamisan

Why drown a drawing in rainbows when just a few spots of color makes all the difference? 

Adding red eyes to Yami-san’s black-and-white art style immediately leads one’s gaze in a serpentine spiral, from the snake’s glare and up its graceful coils to The Serpent’s cocked head and seductive smirk that distinguish him as the ‘evil twin’. Even without the green in his hair or his signature briefcase, it’s easy to tell this is a totally distinct character from The Dragon. 

Let’s hope Zero can tell the difference, too...

“There’s something important inside.” by @moryu​

When Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction hit in 1994, everyone had their own guesses about what was inside the ‘mysterious briefcase’. Diamonds. Nuclear launch codes. Perhaps even a human soul.

In this case, however, my guesses are a lot more morbid, as anything The Serpent holds dear is likely slick, smelly, and related to Zero in some way. The way fan artists took a discarded detail from concept art and transformed it into The Serpent’s central conceit is beyond impressive.

I shudder to think of the kinds of reference photos @moryu​ used to achieve such realistic-looking burn scars in this picture. It doesn’t stop there, though; the mottled glow of The Serpent’s suit and hair and dull metallic sheen of his briefcase add an extra dimension of warmth to this otherwise creepy portrait.

—

“The Crocodile” is a relative newcomer to this ecosystem, but has carved out a niche of lifting his prey with a single arm, then drowning them in a toilet or other convenient body of water.

Truth be told, this one’s on me. When drawing some Steam Backgrounds for the game’s PC version, enough time had passed that The Dragon was fair game for publicity material. What I drew ended up like a blood-spattered cross between Clint Eastwood and Owen Wilson.

by @godsavant

This sent shockwaves rippling through the Katana ZERO fan community. Where was the sharply-dressed samurai prince everyone thirsted for? Surely this stomach-kicking, mobster-torturing beefcake couldn’t be him, thus earning him the moniker “The Crocodile” or “The Alligator”: muscular, deadly, and singularly obsessed with revenge.

by @sbserpent

Dragons are a consistent theme in art across many Asian cultures; for example, the Chinese once believed their emperor was descended from dragons, and thus bore their wisdom and benevolence. Here, sbserpent demonstrates just how frightening a human embodiment of a dragon really is.

Where The Dragon carries himself with an air of calculated composure, The Crocodile exudes sheer terror. The thick, angular brush strokes evoke Japanese sumi-e artwork, yet blotchy ink spots and harsh shadows are a far cry from the koi fish and bamboo forests of those traditional paintings. 

by @Zebralineku

Chiaroscuro is a technique that uses bold contrast between light and shadow to leave certain parts for the viewer’s mind to fill in. 

Here, Zebra gives us an imposing film-noir bust of The Crocodile as glimpsed through narrow blinds or a slat in a dark alley: the foreboding red mixed with heavy shadows evoke a hitman staring out at crimson neon signs, and his dark suit mixes with the black background to make him almost a shadow. Yet we can envision the other half of his face and ponytail in our mind’s eye from the scantest details; truly the touch of a master.

—

Remember, the specimens we’ve observed must be viewed from a safe distance; should you spot any of them in the wild, do not approach!

If you’d like some artwork featured on a future Fan Art Friday, just use the Submit Button on this blog!

by @Kazzang3