#he's just the easiest for me to draw i draw him from memory at this point

[terraxart]

Me: YOU SHOULD DRAW FANART OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS YOU LIKE !!!!

Also me: Draws soldier for again for the 100th or so time

[spitdrunken]

man. still have NOT managed to get my hands on the book of bill because it's sold out literally everywhere over here, but have any of you seen the new 'how not to draw' vid on the disney youtube channel that features bill? it really got me thinking.

notes: fourth wall breaking, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships, implied sexual content, implied mind control

it's heavily implied that the video takes place in a world where gravity falls is supposedly fictional, like our own. bill literally says he's going to break the fourth wall! because i'm a sucker for fourth wall breaks and characters being aware of their own fandom (to an extent), i simply just HAD to run with this scenario.

i just like the idea of 'you' being just a person, some totally, in the large scheme of things, insignificant human walking the earth. you have a tendency for escapism, perhaps. you have always been drawn to stories. you like gravity falls. maybe it was something you watched while you were younger and recently rewatched, or an interest that had never waned. regardless, bill cipher, charismatic and unapologetically evil villain that he is, is one of your favourites.

you doodle him on the edges of paper when you're supposed to be doing anything else. (regardless of anyone's artistic skills, it's not difficult to draw a triangle with a top hat and an eye, is it?) and in this world, you are hardly the only one who likes him, who, perhaps, ships himself with him, who thinks about him a lot. who makes drawings and writes or reads fic. you don't think it's all that unusual.

in a stroke of luck or, depending on how you look at it, the exact opposite, the universe's idea of a cosmic joke, you are the one to catch bill's eye. (it's, after all, much easier to infiltrate the dreams of someone who already has you on their mind. makes sense, doesn't it? a tentative, wavering link had been formed already.) there, in your dreams, he tells you what to say--triangulum, entangulum. meteforis dominus ventium. meteforis venetisarium--and the next morning, you remember it clear as a memory.

you do it. for funsies. why wouldn't you? you don't expect it to actually work. he's a fictional interdimensional demon. why would it work? but much to your surprise, and horror, because surely a screw must've gotten loose for this to be happening, one of your little doodles has life blown to it. as a response to your summon, a tiny little bill cipher darts across your paper, alive but still confined.

(you've given him an in. now, he only has to take the crack you've opened for him, dig his fingers in, and tear it open.)

oh, he'll be funny! he'll be exactly what you thought of him. perhaps he even voices a line of dialogue you swore you wrote down somewhere days prior. yes, he's read whatever you wrote or read, whatever you looked at. he's keeping it himself for now. it's not easy to inflate his ego further, but you might have succeeded. rather than a meatbag, bill first looks upon you with the eye of someone presented with a puppy. fundamentally lesser, but capable of being something with the right training.

he urges you to make a deal with him and the promise he'll act out whatever fantasy you've been cooking up in that brain of yours, even if it's gross and weird and physically impossible!

he'll warp your dimension to make all of it possible!!! it's great!!! don't worry about it!!!!!!

…you don't do it. you don't touch the paper. you've seen the show, and you aren't stupid. bill nearly balks. he'd expected you to be the easiest mark of all time, but he suppose he forgot that even puppies have teeth. that's fine. he can work with this. because even though you have not let him in yet, and you refuse to shake his hand through the paper, you don't seperate yourself from him just yet.

you could oh so easily take the piece of paper he's on and throw it in the nearest shredder. or set him on fire. in you, he recognises lingering curiosity, and the excitement at having stood out, at being chosen, in one way or another. it's not hopeless yet.

he can play a bit of a longer game, then. he's been at this for a long, long time. he'll tolerate the paper he's on being folded into a little square and tucked into your breast pocket, granting him a view of your life and the world you're living in. (all the time, his hunger grows.) your decision not to throw him away ends up being your downfall. spending so much time with bill, letting him joke around with you, complaining about your problems… it takes a while for you to realise that, for a while now, he has not been speaking out loud anymore, but instead through your mind.

a connection that cannot be cut has been formed in between two of you.

on bill's part, he had thorougly expected to be bored. but perhaps it's your genuine interest in him, not the things he's offering, which he does not often see. (he's been down this road before. won't end well. but...) the sheer mundanity of your life that makes him wish he could twist and turn it all around. or just a random alignment of the stars. the heart doesn't always follow logic. in this scenario, at some point, bill realises that he has become genuinely invested in you, too. and at that point, you'll never manage to slip away. he's already dug in his heels in your mind far enough. you had no adequate protection.

he still wants to take over your world. he still wants to escape the discomforting flatness of the paper you've summoned him in. but, perhaps, you two could share that meatsack of a body of yours, before things get that far.

[jolapeno]

circles and squares

simon ghost riley x f!reader (cod)

an: you should all thank @halfmoth-halfman for this one and our early morning chat. I heart you lots.

an: written on phone, mind any errors.

Ghost is aware he’s not the easiest person to be with. 

He's an entanglement of repressed feelings, scars that run deeper than layers of skin and a need for solitude, that you seem to have slid past. 

You take it all in your stride, not fazed—not asking too much—the patience of a saint.

It’s not that why he likes you. It’s that you make up rules for the two of them with relative ease. Providing him with ways to express himself without using words.

For someone whose skin is littered with only a handful of marked memories and a heart still soft, you surprise him with how deeply you understand him.

How much you just get him.

In all of his future thinking, Ghost never envisioned such a soul would fall for him—although Simon had always hoped. 

Two fragmented parts of him working together, desperate to keep whatever was happening between the two of you intact. Even if he had little to give and not a whole lot to offer, you stuck around.

You say very little when it comes to his past, taking what you can with gratitude. When you’re ticking, turning over thoughts—needing something but unsure how to ask for it—you make up solutions to give him a voice.

Not a physical one, but one just as loud.  

“—like this,” you explain, taking the pen from his hand, drawing a circle—small, no bigger than 2cm—onto the plain, crisp page. 

The black stands out, all stark against the white paper on the chipped wooden desk. His eyes glancing up from the nib, to your eyes.

He wants to ask for an explanation, folding his arms, sighing as he runs his tongue over his teeth. 

You smile. 

He suspects it isn’t because you hear his sigh or because of the way he folds his arms—but because you know him. 

You know it isn’t to do with impatience or confusion, but rather because you understand that the two of you squirrelled away in a room brings questions. Ones he wants to save you from, as though you’re a damsel and not a lieutenant under him. 

You don’t need to protect me.

You’d said that once. Under him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your fingers brush over stubble and blemishes.

But he does.

Not just from the gossip, from the glances. But those who look for him—those who inflicted each defacement he lets you see.

If anything, you’re one of the very things he needs to protect. Keep you safe.

“If we fill it in like this,” you say, shading in the circle. “We’ll know the other person isn’t okay. We don’t have to explain to why, but we’ll know.” 

He cocks a brow, not that you can see it. His mask, the one all plain black, more for the base than out in the open, hiding his expressions from you. 

Ghost suspects, though, you see right through the fabric. Like you saw through him to begin with. Ignored the snark and the bitterness, saw something—someone—worth getting drenched for when you were both stationed in Europe. 

He hadn’t liked the rain before then, not the scent of it—not the way it made his clothes cling to his skin, how it suffocated him. But he likes how you looked in the rain, how your face relaxed even as your hair flattened to your head. How your hand turned palm over, catching droplets like they were blessings and not something which had ruined an entire night of recon. 

“Alright, but if we’re OK?” He asks. 

Your head nods, drawing another circle next to it. Not filling it, just leaving the outline there. 

“Not filled in means we’re okay.” 

It doesn’t cross his mind what they’ll do if there’s no paper, if there’s no way in a crowded room to get across that you’re drowning. That it feels too much. That you need him. 

You think about it, though. Because you always are. Always thinking of ways to make things easier, better. Ticking it off—always assessing, attempting to better things. Not for you, never for you (your selflessness knows no bounds), but for him. 

An answer to his inner thought was answered a month or two later.

It’s a mess, loud voices—arguments brewing in fractions as mutinies begin to build. Price in the centre, chewing his cheek, fingers twitching, likely desperate for a cigar or even a drink as another captain chews his ear off.

The 141 rarely partner with others for this reason.

He doesn’t linger on Price. Knows if he’s needed, he’ll hear his name cutting through the loudness. So he looks for you, eyes searching, finding you pressed into the corner. Alone. 

You’ve not been sleeping. Tossing, turning beside him. Fingers reaching for him, finding his side, his arm—even his fingers—as your brows knit and stencils lines into your face.

He never wakes you, just lets you take—and when you don’t take, he just holds. Clutching you close, pressing your ear to his chest, hoping the steady beat of his heart is enough.

Sometimes it is.

He suspects now wouldn’t be.

Your back is pressed against the wall, eyes down on the ground before they flick up, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Not just because your eyes are stunning, cutting into him from across a room, but because of how you look at him: a silent calling, a beckoning, a help dancing close to your pupils.

Slowly, for confirmation, he watches as you raise your right hand, drawing a circle on your left shoulder. His eyes track it, following it as it meets your starting point. Mind drowning out Johnny, not even listening to the group of idiots next to him—focused instead on how you begin using your finger to fill in the symbolic shape.  

He nods.

Feet moving, gloved hands pushing shoulders and bodies, parting the pockets of people as he moves towards you.

Ghost isn’t sure what he can do when he gets there, his pulse just thumping—following only a need to be next to you. He expects murmurs, more suspicious comments about how he’s always close by to you. Smarter soldiers recognise that he always has an eye on you if you’re close—they’re just not smart enough to identify something is already happening, and has been for a while.

As he nears you, he’s thankful he doesn’t need to ask it because you’re already keeping your eyes on him. Seeing as he gets closer that your lips are slightly parted, a little O created, chest rising and falling as you take in shallow breaths. 

He wants to offer something, whether it’s his voice, presence, or anything. Which is why he asks:

“Wanna get out of here?” 

He’s not sure if you expect it—not sure if you had considered it an option. Your head nodding, furiously, blinking away tears that threaten to spill as your hand brushes his wrist. 

Not to take his hand—the two of you don’t do that—but to tap. Once, twice. 

Thank you. 

He nods. Not able to (or wanting to) stop the way his heart soars at it—at being able to provide you with something.

Give you a fraction of what you give to him: a way out, a safe place.

In time, your things begin to merge with his.

Not just on base, but back in England too. Your socks are washed with his, your back covered in one of his tees that skirts your thighs.

He doesn’t mind, for the most part, only finding he struggles with it at night. When you’re sound asleep, soft snores kissing the darkness as he turns over the many ways you could be taken from him.

Ghost sleeps less when he’s home. Most of his REM is collected in the day, sun shimmering through the blinds, your fingers drawing shapes on his shoulders.

Sometimes they’re squares—which means either I love you, or I miss you—and sometimes their triangles. The latter, he’s not sure if they have a meaning. He just draws them back on your knee, watching your lips slide up into your cheek as you try to read your book.

He likes it—the code.

The one he can say down the radio. The one he can draw on your arm when you’re both pressed together in some place in the Middle East.

Which is why it doesn’t surprise him when you shout his name, the front door being kicked shut behind you—a surprise in a carrier bag.

“I know you’re struggling.”

You say it so plainly. Not a hello or how are you, getting straight into it, watching him as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his joggers.

He says nothing either because there’s little reason to lie. He wears the truth well, the bags under his eyes worse than when he’s sent away on a solo—his need to pin you under him in the morning when sleep hasn’t been wiped from your eyes another tick against your assumption.

Retrieving the item from your bag, you place it on the counter with a tap. His eyes falling from you to them, noticing four magnets.

Nothing impressive, nothing too much. But he knows instantly what they are.

One black circle, one white circle; one green circle, one red circle.

“Naturally, I’m the colourful ones.”

“Naturally,” he snorts.

Moving towards him, you slide a hand over his hip. “They’ll live at the base of the fridge door, and we’ll slide one up—close to the top. When we remember,” you say, looking at him. “Same as the circles. For me, red is—“

“Black.”

Nodding, you try to smile. “Square.”

“Square,” he says back, quickly. Palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing a line across it.

Wondering, as he always does, how you remain so soft, so kind. How even though you’re haunted too, you still find ways to do things for him—

“Because I love you,” you say, as though reading his mind. “It’s easy because I love you.”

Swallowing, he holds your cheek more firmly, his other hand resting on your hip.

“Y… you don’t have to say it, I’m fine with—“

“I love you. It’s why I worry.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh—soft and small—before you nod. “I know, Simon. But we keep each other safe. Yeah?”

He nods back.

Because you do keep him safe. Not wearing a mark on your skin from him—or asking him to leave one—just in case. Your name on the place the two of you call yours, just in case.

An understanding is known about the future—mainly around rings and names, just in case.

“Which circle are you?”

His lips twitch, a smile wanting to show. “White.”

“Okay, good.” Your finger begins to draw a triangle, his eyes narrowing, your lips rising into a smirk. “Bought something else, too.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you lick your lips, eyes widening as you continue to draw it on him. “Wanna go upstairs and… see?”

It hits him only then. The deviousness in your eyes showing.

Triangle means—

“I want you,” you whisper.

He snorts, his laugh dying in his throat, wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck, bringing your lips to his.

Kissing shapes against your lips, unshaded circles, squares, and then triangles.

[50cal-fullauto-astarion]

horny, sulky, kinda mean, kinda roughhousing könig thought bc it's my birthday, it's 2:50am, i have been horny like a fuckin werewolf for like a week now. f!reader ig for talk about pussy.

So our man König doesn’t keep normal hours—not that you do, but dude is two days back from KorTac and pretty much strung out on the “fun” amphetamines KorTac req officers pass out like candy if you even wave smth that looks like a form at them. So kind of out of the worst of it, exhausted, but wired and feeling kind of shitty and toothy and wound up.

He wants to fuck. Easiest way to diffuse, decompress, and he’s hard as shit by the time he lumbers his way into bed with you—over you—all around you. You were reading off your kindle, not anymore. He plucks that shit right out of your hand and puts it behind him, tangling those long, heavy limbs around you like a boa constrictor.

“Was wondering when this was going to happen,” you say, hissing when he’s none to kind in nipping the skin of your neck, wrapping his arms around your torso, pushing your breasts up under your t-shirt. “Shit, you’re moody,” it’s half a laugh, and a grapple at not immediately just folding and giving into him. You like to bite, too.

“Give me your mouth,” he grunts, nose pushed into the spot behind your ear. He’s pushing down your underwear, singlemindedly stripping you down. His words make your skin humid, “Gonna play with your pussy, want you fucking wet for me.”

You give that little bit, turning your head over your shoulder, smirking into a kiss that drives deliriously deep as soon as contact is made. König isn’t a prim kisser, but a primal one. It’s not a clean act; sloppy, yes, and somehow tinged with something kin to restrained violence. Challenge? Dick swinging? Maybe something more biblical in nature—gluttony, or greed.

He’s a fearsome thing, and he may only be beautiful to you. A needful thing, too, twisting nest of starved serpents—6 feet 10 inches and pushing-300-lbs of fucking muscle, battering-ram-body housing more than thirty years of neglect-crushed memory out for retribution.

But you never were a target. He didn’t have a choice in that matter. You both know good and goddamned well that you picked him. Everything he gets away with is at your allowance, and good fucking Christ, he loves you for it.

His cock throbs against your bare ass through his boxers as his arm wraps around you, craning his hand to pump two big fingers into your sopping cunt, angling his wrist so he can press and rub your clit with his thumb.

Man’s got his perversions, and he’s the most physical person you’ve ever met in your life. He’s had a fraction of the sex he’s fantasized about, but you’ve covered hectares of that ground since you’ve gotten together. He’s a quick study, and his mind’s a nightmare of steel trap memory. He never forgets what you like.

Two fingers turn to three, and he almost pushes it to four—assured torture, too much stretch too fast—before you snap a hand around his wrist and buck hard back against him, seething his name in warning. “Don’t fucking dare.”

“Ja. Ja, Schatzi,” he mumbles, breathing hard and too collected. You’re both sweating already, and the bed feels too damn warm, but neither of you shift. The spooning position is perfect as-is, only needs acted upon. In the mean time, he draws his slicked fingers up, leaving them in the air before your mouth in question. He groans and shudders harshly when you take the digits into your mouth, almost laughing at the ever-fresh amusement of your own taste. Salt and cold coins, your own metallic tang a complement to the one on his skin. His voice shakes as he warns, “Time, now. It’s time, bitte, aw, fuck.”

Just like that, he sinks right into you, to the base, balls pressed tight against your lips due to your body’s contortioning to meld against his form. An ungodly moan bellows out of his throat, rattling from his chest into yours, arms tightening around you. You meet the fuck-weird noises, turning your head to keen into your pillows and pressing back against him. Your hand anchors behind you on his hip, as if pinning him in place, affixing your bodies together.

You both hang in a moment of suspension, hearts pounding, minds blank, stomachs rising as if careening over a hill with momentum not sparing you a moments reprieve.

When that finally snaps, you have to force him to focus, to fuck, and he’s slow about it, grinding into you as your cunt sucks him deeper.

That huge hand you know so well drops between your legs, right back to toying with you. Oh it doesn’t take long to get you off, bent in half on your side, holding onto him and gasping as you’re hit with wave after wave of pleasure.

He’s not subtle to signal when it’s his turn. He pulls you back up and clamps his teeth into your shoulder, biting down hard through the fabric of your shirt, fucking you rough, now, and unheeding, like an animal in heat. When he finally finishes, spasming and jolting all over now that his balls have been emptied into you, he leaves his heavy arm over your waist, keeping you close. “Good shit,” he mumbles, throat sticking to itself it’s so dry as he pants, parched, “we split a smoke?”

You’re not much better, even though you’ve bravado to fucking spare. “I smoke. You go the hell to sleep now,” you try to sound stern and dismissive, but there’s a laugh in your tone some place. And fondness, undeniably. You feel his grin against your neck, his body purring mhm in question. “Feel better?” you ask, at length, stroking the hair on his forearms.

“Yes,” he says after a moment, weak and sweet with relief, “can sleep now.” A pause, you can hear him thinking. “Won’t, though. Because you were an asshole and had to bring it up first.” His laugh wheezes, low and susurring.

[lopposting]

The major question of the story that we are now asking:

Why, exactly, does Carlo never "wake up"?

[long post]

[Spoilers ahead]

Well, simply put - Because he is dead.

OK, that seems like too obvious an answer, but I'll elaborate, and bear with me here. I want to recap some elements first so you know where I'm coming from, but I'm also trying not to completely explain everything because that's way too hard and would be too long.

[Currently, we don't understand everything about the story or its meaning. Because of some of the shrouded nature of the lore and narrative, it leaves much mystery. But from viewing these questions and the story from a thematic standpoint, something unexpected and really cool happened. I found that the story and the lore opened up in reverse.]

The easiest way to explain the plot (in my opinion):

It was my impression that Geppetto never “started” the puppet frenzy. The puppets were NEVER breaking the grand covenant, interpretably they are protecting humans by stopping the spread of the petrification disease, it’s just that everyone in the city was infected by that point. 

Now with the puppets killing everybody in a city where everyone was infected (ergo being the result of the disease) Simon can go around harvesting all that ergo and Geppetto presumably plays him by letting Simon collect the Ergo first, and then sending P to kill him. [again, these details may not be completely accurate, but bear with me here]

Why create P in the first place?

He's made in Carlo's image so to speak because Geppetto hopes that Carlo's spirit will awaken. This is also why P is never bound to the covenant (it seems that not being bound to robot laws makes puppet egos awaken faster, since awakened puppets can break the grand covenant). So that is the two functions of P, to destroy puppets for ergo to harvest and so Carlo's consciousness can restore. I was just guessing that the arm of god was enough to get Carlo to revive, and Carlo's mental spirit reviving would be helpful but not entirely necessary. But for reasons we don't understand, Carlo never does regain consciousness.

Geppetto bitterly tells us that we don't seem to have inherited Carlo's memories. There is no big moment where Pinocchio or Pino or P reawakens, fully, as Carlo. He isn’t treated by the story as him. During the course of the game, P struggles to forge his own identity, to become a real boy, despite starting as a copy of the original. It’s a very fitting parable for the genre identity of a soulslike.

However, there are other successful re-incarnations of people through puppets, namely Sophia at the end of the Rise ending. We ask, for consistency's sake, why are puppet-form Romeo and puppet-form Sophia assumed to have retained their original identities, but not Pino? This is just my personal interpretation of why Carlo just couldn't or doesn't wake up. It isn't really based any lore or deduction from story details, this is from more of a philosophical point of view. And it isn't just the luck of the draw.

I had some initial thoughts about Carlo's failure. Romeo was made with intention of continuing to fight against the disease, as it's told that he "made a deal with the devil". Sophia may have been a special case, as she is a listener (Arlecchino even refers to her as the goddess in the tower), she may have had an ergo identity so strong that her essential self could retain this process. But either way, the implication is that Pino may have been able to recover her not long after that final fight. Look at the nameless puppet. The state of Carlo's body is so poor, that more than not his body seems to have been replaced with puppet parts. I think the implication was that Geppetto had been replacing parts as they rotted away. Maybe he had simply been dead for too long. But again, this isn't exactly why I think he couldn't awaken.

Simon and Geppetto

Lies has two main antagonists, although one isn't completely revealed until the last section. Both Simon and Geppetto are the perpetrators of Krat's destruction, but for what seems like different reasons. Simon is trying to be reborn, and Geppetto is trying to revive his dead son, Carlo. Interpretably, they are both trying to become Gods. Simon by grasping the supernatural, cosmic power of one, and Geppetto by raising the dead. They have destroyed Krat in their attempt to become a god, or more succinctly put, attempting to become God, singular. Geppetto's goal is, in essence, the same as Simon's goal - Because bringing back the dead would make him God.

That's why it seemed all so confusing. Haven't Geppetto and the alchemists already raised the dead, as Pino does at the end of the Rise ending with Sophia? Sophia, Romeo, and Carlo were all afflicted with the disease. Their Ergo were all made into puppets, but there's a minor but important distinction here. Sophia is still alive in her condition and actively suffering, this is the reason why she asks us to end her life. It seems as though Romeo lost his friend to the disease, and then made a "deal with the devil" to continue fighting, this implies being made into the king of puppets. We collected Sophia's ergo while she was alive, which we then used to animate the puppet. So the three of them were afflicted with the petrification disease. Sophia perished, Romeo perished, but Carlo died.

Now if we see the sand memories section of the beach, the stalker's words start to gain some clarity. If Carlo died from an incurable disease that the stalker couldn't prevent, why is she too late? Perhaps the goal was never to "save" Carlo's life. She laments; That she was too late, NOT to "save" him, but for him to be able to be restored. The stalker seemed to understand that whatever procedure needed to be done would be useless past the point of death.

I have to admit that there was something that I thought could override my theory. It seems as though the alchemists already were able to bring back both Champion Victor and The Eldest of the BRB, and from the dead no less. We read from notes in the Grand Exhibition that Victor had caught the disease, died to the despair of his adoring fans, but then miraculously made a comeback somehow stronger than ever. But maybe - he had only appeared to be brought back from the dead to the public, as Victor sought the help of the alchemists. And when it comes to the Eldest in the coffin, I'm wondering if he was actually only mortally wounded, leading the brotherhood to consult with the alchemists. [The way he was carried out by his brothers too (shouldered on either side) isn't typically the way you would expect people would handle a dead person]

Mirroring Sophia, Romeo, and Pinocchio, who were made into puppets: There is Champion Victor, The Eldest, and Nameless Puppet. We can see the former three as Geppetto's method of "cheating" God (cheating Death), and the latter three as alchemists' method. Only "Carlo" has a form in either one - The Nameless Puppet and the player, P. The Nameless puppet appears to share a similar undead quality with Victor and The Eldest of the BRB (including the tubes). We know that the collected Ergo can animate puppets, They are puppeting around their own dead bodies.

I feel like the Nameless Puppet tells us in a poetic way that Carlo is gone. My thoughts on this are more abstract. Again, this isn't from a factual analysis, but more of from viewing the Nameless Puppet itself as a metaphor. The Nameless puppet has qualities similar to the other undead bosses, yet the game doesn't describe it like it does Victor and the Eldest. It's not a body. It is a puppet [Human on the outside, mechanical on the inside - the inverse of our protagonist]. And straight in the text, we are told this is "The Nameless Puppet". But we know who Carlo was. His name was Carlo. We split open its head, and there are only cold, mechanical parts, instead of what we in the modern world now regard as the very most essential self (the brain). Because there was nothing to recover, there is no one there. Carlo's spirit had long, long since departed the world.

We are also told through one of the game's narrative devices that the Nameless puppet was the first puppet fitted with the organ. Ostensibly, Carlo's body was being prepared for whatever procedure that needed to take place, but Carlo died before that could happen (perhaps thankfully), and Geppetto pushed forward with his plans anyway, perhaps past the point of no return.

There are two forms of revival and we represent one of them, as in, there was the puppet form of Carlo and the undead form of Carlo. Presumably, the undead form was incredibly destructive, and thus stored away; We are the second try for Carlo's rebirth, this time in the puppet form, but we cannot even wake up without the aid of Sophia.

Lies, God, and the Finality of Death

But doesn't Geppetto actually succeed in one of the endings? Simon fails to become a god, (well, presumably only because we kill him in the process of doing so) and then we confront Geppetto. If we hand over our heart, Geppetto actually does revive Carlo. We see the resurrected Carlo, but with one simple smile we realize this isn't the Carlo the game has been leading us to believe existed. This ending leaves us with distrust and unease rather than a sense of peace and resolution. Simon fails to become a god, and at the bad ending - even if he "wins" - the game makes us wonder if So does Geppetto. No matter what, Carlo could NEVER be truly, and in both senses of the word, honestly, be revived.

[Simon Manus - like Simon Magus, the biblical figure who tries to buy into the supernatural power of God. And Geppetto, of course alluding to the 1883 italian novel The Adventures of Pinocchio - a puppet master, a creator indeed, but of wooden imitations of life, and a poor imitation of God]

So, why I think Carlo could not wake up? Because whatever needed to happen could not be done after the actual point of death, and Sophia and Romeo's hearts were both transferred before they actually died. His spirit had long gone from this world. Krat has methods of eternal life, but these transfers happened while they were still alive. While the alchemists and Geppetto could certainly cheat death (as we maybe even would with modern day medicine), they could not defeat it. Carlo can no longer wake up, Carlo can never wake up again, because he is dead.

[megachaoticstupid]

Birthday hunt

Summary: it is your birthday and Copia, with the help of the ghouls, prepared a quest for you

Word count: 3028

A/N: Since it is my birthday today, i decided to make something wholesome for Mel and I and it got out of hand 🤣 @her-satanic-wiles happy birthday to you! ❤

Warnings: none Masterlist

You woke up rather early for you on your day off. It was just around ten and you had a whole day ahead of you. Not just peeking through the closed curtains, the sun was high in the sky and you could tell it held its grudges specifically against you, blinding you painfully. You lazily left your warm bed, showered and slipped a shirt with one of Copia’s favorite bands on the front. Copa wasn’t there but there was breakfast waiting for you. It was still warm and had a note on top of it with slightly curved handwriting.

“Buongiorno, amore. I made breakfast for you but I am sure that you decided to read it first. Unfortunately, I will not see you until evening but I found a way to occupy you for the time being and remind you how important you are to me. Eat well and go on adventure! Happy birthday!” 

You chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit and flipped the note on the other side.

“Bah! You found a secret letter so soon?! Well, hopefully you ate and you are ready to go on this glorious hunt! The first riddle will be the easiest so far and I am sure you will crack it up easily. “This was your favorite for a while. It’s name also belongs to one of my favorite bands. That night I realized something important for me” Good luck, amore and don’t forget that I was made for loving you”

You chuckled. While you ate waffles with strawberries, you though over the riddle. He was laying it on thick in this one and you still couldn’t help but feel excitement for what’s to come next. Of course, you knew what he was writing about. When it happened you already were close, teetering on the edge of something closer than just friendship. It was a New Year’s Eve ball. You danced a lot and laughed a lot and generally had the greatest time. He held you a bit too close during dances. Your heart was betraying you the whole evening, making you yearn for something you never thought would be yours. Together you were swaying to the music, smiling at each other and his arms around you felt so natural that you were on the verge of blurting out your confession. Instead, you saw Klimt’s painting in the farthest corner of the banquet hall. Relived and at the same time torn by your own feelings, you took this opportunity for reprieve and dragged him to the painting just to blabber about it for thirty minutes straight. And he listened to you with the softest smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, still keeping his hand on the small of your back. 

You smiled at the memory dressing up and then hurried out of the room, skipping the steps on the stairs whenever you could. You needed “The kiss”. Once you got to the needed hall, you almost flew to the painting. It was still in the same corner as three years ago. The reproduction, made by some of the most talented members of the church, was still as beautiful as you remembered it. It was bright and beautiful drawing you gaze to its colors, bedazzling you making you blink so you could return to the present. Luckily, it wasn’t hard to find what you needed. You just searched the frame of painting carefully until you felt an envelope tucked behind the frame.

“Aha! I knew you’d find this, amore. But just like I said, it was the easiest so far. That night gave me a push I needed to finally confess to you. I was (and still!) deeply in love with you but my own self-doubt was preventing me from taking this step. But that night changed it all. You were shining as if you were the sun that’d decided to join us in celebrations. You stole my breath and made my heart beat faster. I couldn’t tear my eyes from you the whole evening and was jealous whenever you danced with other partners. And when you dragged me through the hall to this painting just to pour your heart out talking about Klimt, I knew I wanted this. I wanted to listen to your thoughts and stories; I wanted to embrace and love you and kiss you every day of my life. I still want that and still feel grateful to you for blessing my life”

You feel your eyes prickle a bit from tears. You wanted to never part with him and you loved him so-so much. Sometimes you felt as if your heart was ready to burst from the amount of love you always held for him. Sniffling, you flipped the note once again and saw his other riddle.

“Hope you are still interested to find your surprise, but for now you should guess this riddle. “They are small and unimposing but if you make a horde of them, they will destroy cities. Find three of them and you will find the answer.”

You went over this riddle several times and only on the last reading you managed to guess what he meant. His rats. You smiled and hurried out of the hall and up the stairs to your shared rooms but there were none of them. You frowned and searched everything, even the small balcony in case Copia decided to give them sunbaths. Once again there was nothing. You turned on your heels towards the exit, hoping to search for them in his office, and saw a poster on the door with cut out letters from papers

“We got the piccoli ratti if you want to see them alive and well, bring a cake from the kitchens to Cardinal’s office as soon as possible”

Chuckling, you shook your head, folded the paper and hurried out of the door down to the kitchens. Today was a leg day. 

The kitchens were empty and the only cake you found was in the fridge, covered only in white cream. You shrugged your shoulders and walked out of the door going to the east wing where the clergy’s offices were. After countless staircases you finally reached Copia’s door and opened it. The picture you were met with was so funny that you almost dropped the cake laughing hard. Aether was holding the cage with rats solemnly while Swiss turned around in the chair, making a caricature of don Corleone.

“You barge in here without respect��” he said slowly spinning away from you.

“Yeah, here is the cake, give me the rats and I will go”

Swiss tsked, made another round on the chair and shook his head dropping the act.

“No can do. You will have to wait for…” he glanced at the clock. “five minutes”

“Why is that?” you asked propping your hands on your hips and frowning at the ghouls but they remained indifferent. Aether gently put the cage on the table and glanced at Swiss giving you several papers. 

“Nothing’s bad,” he said nonchalantly. “We just need to hold you here for a bit and then off to the hunt you go»

You sighed impatiently and turned your attention to the small notes and the envelope in your hands.

“Mia cara, I am glad you remembered the mighty beasts – Rigatoni, Ditalini and Rotini. I still remember when you saved my Rigatoni the day he escaped his cage. If it wasn't for you, I would have lost him and if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have met, si? This encounter showed me how kind and sweet you were, worrying about the small creature most people would have ignored. I can’t expres how grateful I am for that with words, but I hope my actions will tell you everything. As for the birthday hunt… Rigatoni gives guidance, Ditalini gives place and Rotini says number. Good luck, I am sure you will deal easily with this small task ♥️» 

The next three scribbles you were given just a few words. Rigatoni’s said “our first encounter and one of your favorites here”, Ditalini’s named the “5 row” and the cutest rat Rotini gave you a number – “ten”. You sighed, waved at the ghouls and swiftly walked out of the door, ignoring Swiss’s protests. After all, you had riddles to solve. 

You quickly climbed the stairs, going up, up, up to the fifth floor, to the place where you met each other for the first time – the library. Once there, you swiftly walked inside and ignoring siblings of sin you started pouring through sections. You loved a lot of genres and authors and the church’s library provided you with myriads of books to enjoy and fell in love with. It was hard to imagine what he meant by “one of your favorites here”. You went through every section, climbing from genre to genre until you noticed a pair of siblings of sin, giggling over a book and looking so charmed with each other, that you remembered a scene from the past; the puzzle finally clicked in your head. You swiftly went to the romance section, and here in the fifth row you immediately grabbed “Pride and prejudice” from the tenth shelf. Inside there was a letter.

“Congratulations, bella ragazza! You are almost finished with running around the abbey, I promise! I still remember how much I was charmed by you on a first encounter. So much so I ended up reading this book just for a chance to talk to you (you held it in your hand that day). Back then I hoped to find a friend in you. Your kindness and wit drew me that day and never let me go. The book was wonderful, but you were even better. Now please return to our room, there will be a dress for you and a final direction for my surprise”

You smiled, holding the letter close to the chest and then you swiftly returned to your quarters feeling a thrill run in your veins. But there was no dress waiting for you. Slightly disappointed, you sat down in the chair, going through the letters from him and once again feeling his love warming you like a good warm sweater. 

Time passed, you checked the phone and sighed. He might have forgotten about this step, overwhelmed with his duties or other preparations. As soon as this thought crossed your mind the door suddenly opened and you saw Aurora carrying the dress for you. The one you have wanted to buy for so long but never got around to actually buying it. It was of a deep red color gradually turning black down to the hem and had a low cut. You just loved it since it was simple and a touch sexy.

Upon seeing you, ghoulette freezed, holding the dress closer to her chest and blinking several times as if not believing that you were real and standing right in front of her.

“I…You shouldn’t be there” she said, frowning. “Did those two let you out so soon?”

Now was your turn to frown and cross your arms on your chest

“That’s my room and I can be there for however long I want to and whenever I want to”

“No-no,” she shook her head sighing and placing the dress on the bed. “You just solved these riddles far too quickly and now the others should hurry up since we are falling a bit behind the schedule…” she noticed the look in your eyes and mischievous smile spread on her lips. “I am not telling you anything else! Cardinal’s orders”. 

 “And when should I dress up and go to Copia?” You asked curiously, trying to guess what else Copia had decided to do for you

“In an hour and a half” she clicked her tongue and flopped on the bed. “We can watch a movie and if you are up to it, I could do your nails and hair”.

You looked at her, then at the notes from Copia in your hands, and nodded. After all, you could get even more pampered on your birthday.

Two hours later, you followed the instructions stated in the final note from your cardinal. You went into gardens, right toward the gazebo covered in roses. You had been there for your first date years ago and now you were curious about what he had prepared this time. Unfortunately. last time almost ended up to be a failure: the food got burnt and you got bitten by mosquitos and had to use ointment while he tried to wave them away. You chuckled at the memory and quickened your steps, wanting to get there faster.

In his note he promised a good date for the two of you which will succeed all of your expectations and the scene that unfolded in front of your eyes was definitely like no other. Copia, your Copia, was holding a beautiful bouquet of roses, your favorite. He was dressed in his red stage costume that fitted him like a glove. But, despite his looks he was in a state of clear distress, yelling at someone and flailing his arms desperately. Someone, and you could see that this someone was Dew, argued back at him, gesturing even more expressively. They argued for a bit more and then the ghoul stormed out, his tail flailing irritably.

“Love?” you called out for Copia, coming closer to him. “What’s going on?”

If you hadn’t known him for long you could swear you saw fear in his eyes. He immediately closed the distance, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his lips, while blocking something with his shoulders from your view. His mustache tickled your skin a little and at the same time  this touch was spreading warmth through your body. You missed him dearly today.

“You look stunning amore mio” he says trying to pull you closer and then remembering about the bouquet. With an awkward “eh” he gave it to you and continued after clearing his throat: “Happy birthday bellezza, may Satan always bless your life and I will try to fill it with happiness.”

You smiled at him and kissed his cheek tenderly

“These are my favorite, Copia. Thank you. But what was the matter with…” 

But he didn’t let you finish your question. Making an awkward sound, he wrapped his arm around your waist and tugged you slightly closer to him.

“Ah, just some…ehh… disagreements on the menu. Nothing serious really. But we might wait a bit for food.”

He smiled sweetly at you but you could see that something was wrong. You let him usher you into gazebo and sat you down at the table with unlit candles.

“Ah, mi dispiace, I..um… let me just…” he took out a lighter and started lighting them. “I just, I was excepting you a bit later so…you know, it would have been a candlelight dinner with a setting sun, but…ehe… you shine brighter than any candles”

You took his hand in yours and smiled softly 

“I love you. Thank you for this evening and riddles. They were fun to guess and your notes were so sweet. I wish you were there; I would have kissed you every time I got something right”  

He smiled wider at you; his cheeks were getting slightly redder under his freckles and squeezed your hand in his bringing it once again to his lips.

“Well, it’s not nearly an evening, amore. We can eat and then I will give my birthday girl the best treatment and all of the kisses and more.” he finally relaxed; self-assured smile shone on his features. You smiled back only to tease him further

“So, tell me, love. Did you open the gates of hell just to add a bit of spice to my birthday or did you and the ghouls burn something in that small kitchen?”

His smile fell and then returned back, more amused than before. Then he finally chuckled completely relaxing

“Ah, demonietta, should you betray me like that?” he sighed running his hand through his slightly greying locks. “I don’t know why, but whenever I plan something grandiose for you everything goes to literal hell. Your dress didn’t come on time from the cleaning services and I had to drive to pick it up myself with Cirrus. My library note was taken by another sibling of sin and Cumulus had to track them down and forcefully take it from them. They are fine” he added when he saw you worried glance. “Then, I asked Dewdrop to watch over the food I have been preparing for you since morning and this… stronzo, decided to make the fire stronger to cook it faster. So, when we returned, everything had been burnt to crisp.” He sighed heavily and then smiled thinly at you. “And Swiss and Aether who should have watched over him fell asleep in my office. The only good thing is - the birthday cake. It is untouched and the roses were fine.”

He looked at you guiltily, ready to apologize for everything but you didn’t let him. Instead, you swiftly stood up, came closer to him sat down on his lap hugging him by the neck.

“I got the dress I wanted and really enjoyed the hunt you made for me” you sad reassuringly.

“Yeah, you were clever with them and dealt with the notes much faster than I anticipated. I made you wait.” He started again and you shushed him.

“Aurora made my nails and hair prettily and I got to watch my favorite movie” you see him open his mouth and swiftly pecked his lips. “I also got lots of love notes from a certain cardinal who cooked for me and promised me lots of kisses and even more, a whole birthday cake”

Copia chuckled burying his face in the crook of your neck, hugging you tightly.

“And a take out, I am not a complete savage to leave you hungry” he nuzzled his face deeper in the crook of your neck and sighed. “I need to tell the ghouls to not attack the courier. One more attack and nobody would be delivering us food”

You chuckled, running you hand through his locks

“And we have to control Dew’s future cooking” 

Copia raised his head, rolling his eyes and kissed you sweetly, giving you the best present – his love. 

[pinkeoni]

The “Will Has Powers” Basics Post

I’ve realized recently that whenever I talk about Will having powers, I kind of just expect everyone to be on the same page as me, without really explaining much of what lead me to believe he has powers in the first place. I don't really have a good foundation to point to.

So that's what I want this post to be, not really too detailed but more of an introductory post. I'll explain the basics of my Will has powers theories, why I believe he has powers, and what kinds of powers I think he has. I'll be using evidence I've used in a lot of other posts while also keeping it simplistic and not trying to add anything too speculative or theoretical.

Evidence & Powers #1) Nancy's Dialogue and Time and Light Powers

I think one of the easiest pieces of evidence and my usual go-to is Nancy's dialogue in 4x07 when the teens are in the Upside Down. Nancy remarks that the Upside Down is stuck on the day that Will went missing, and then brings Will up again in regards to the lights. Both of her pieces of dialogue here implicates Will as the one who froze time and got the lights to work the way they do.

"The last entry is November 6, 1983. The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened."

"Will found a way. Will. He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights."

(So I used to think it was "The day the gate opened. The day Will went missing." and not "The day Will went missing. The day the gate opened." but after rewatching the scene it is actually the former. My bad.)

Now obviously Nancy wouldn't know that Will is responsible nor do I think she has some kind of psychic intuition, but the writers would know and are writing her dialogue in a specific way that points toward Will in both instances. Bringing him up by name not one, not two but three times places emphasis on him specifically. I think that

El opening the gate had a part in this, but if it was her solely then I think Nancy's dialogue would read as "The last entry is November 6, 1983. The day El opened the gate." rather than trying to tie Will into it in the first place. Moreover, the gates that Vecna is opening with El's powers don't seem to be updating the Upside Down to modern times, Will is an important piece of the puzzle.

The light thing is something that I do think is solely Will, given that gate opening isn't brought up and Nancy brings Will up by name twice in the same line of dialogue.

The word "found" here is also interesting because it could have two meanings.

A) Will stumbled upon the lights ability

B) Will created the ability to communicate with lights

Had Nancy said "Will stumbled upon a way to talk to Joyce through the lights" it would suggest that the lights is a rule from the UD that has always been there. Nancy saying that Will created the ability to talk through lights wouldn't make sense for her to say because Nancy wouldn't have access to that information. "Found" is the perfect balance between the two— it makes sense given Nancy's access to information while allowing enough room to imply that Will had something to do with it.

Evidence & Powers #2) Will as an Artist and Creation Powers

If you created a tv character who had magic powers, but you couldn't reveal it until the final season, how do you pull it off without it feeling out of nowhere? How do you build up the reveal without completely giving it away.

Well, I would do it by attributing his powers with aspects of the character that has already been built up and that the audience has become familiar with.

It's established that Will is an artist from season one, and his art continues to be important to the plot it nearly every season.

In season one, Joyce is able to correctly identify that El is not because Will's drawings are much more advanced than El's stick figures.

In season two, Will uses drawings in order to help visualize his now memories and creates a map of the tunnels.

Not much in season three, but Will does use charcoal in one scene to demonstrate visually how the shadow particles work.

In season four, Will creates a painting for Mike that becomes an important moment in the season and sets in motion important events for the future (aka byler endgame)

I will admit that this piece of evidence by itself is not enough to convince an audience that Will has a supernatural link. Will is an artist -> Will has powers is a pretty far stretch. But I think that this combined with some of my other evidence could support what kind of powers I think he has, which I think is some from of creation ability. Will has powers because of xyz -> Will is also an artist -> Will has powers of creation is a better argument and what I'm trying to get at.

Without getting into all of the chunky theoretics here, I believe it's possible that Will may have the ability to create whole lifeforms and vast worlds, such as the Upside Down itself and the creatures inside.

Evidence & Powers #3) Will the Wise, Fire Powers & Prophetic Abilities

This goes along similarly with what I said about using Will's artistry to foreshadow his powers, or using another facet of Will's character to hint at powers without giving it away altogether. Although, I would say that this piece of evidence is probably a lot more obvious than the previous bullet.

"Will the Wise" is Will's Dungeon's & Dragons name, which comes up pretty frequently in the show. Will the Wise is confusingly labeled as both a wizard and a cleric, although both classes are magic-users within DnD.

Each member of the party has a DnD class and character, although Will's is the one that get's brought up the most. The name Will the Wise is referenced—

Episode one when Will is playing DnD

In a flashback later in season one

The episode title "Will the Wise" from season two

And in season three when we have our most obvious piece of powers foreshadowing, when Will dresses up in a Wizard costume

During this same scene, Will says that he has "seen into the future" which is why I suggest that he may have prophetic abilities. Vecna displays a similar ability when he shows Nancy the future in her vision.

It's also possible that Will may have some kind of fire abilities, based on one of Will the Wise's attacks being "fireball." (@reikunrei made a really great post recently proposing that Will's fire powers might extend to some of his other abilities rather than being purely a fire attack, but alas I cannot find it ((I am so sorry Wilbur)))

Evidence #4) Continued Connection With Vecna

Another reason why I suspect that Will may have powers comes from a series of questions:

Why is Will the first one taken to the Upside Down?

Why choose Will as the host of the Mind Flayer?

Why continue to have a connection with Will?

I think I could write-off the first two as incidental if the show didn't make it a point to continue this connection through seasons three and four, that along with Nancy's dialogue in season 4 discussed earlier. Could Will's disappearance have been a coincidence? Sure. Could Vecna have just needed Will to be a spy, and is completely disposable to him? It's possible. But if so, what is the narrative reasoning for maintaining this connection? Is it to just for the convenience of having Will as a beast sensor?

Something else that tips me off about Will's disappearance is the why it happens as well, which we aren't really told. We are told with Barb that the demogorgon is attracted to blood. Nancy and Jonathan later use this tactic to lure it to the house.

And yet with Will, we don't see any blood. In fact, they make a point to emphasize this when Hopper tells Joyce that there was no blood on his bike.

Evidence #5) Will's focus in season 5

Despite Will always being my favorite character and loving him so dearly, I didn't start seriously theorizing until I saw this tweet by Discussing Film, which came out shortly after vol. 2 was released.

I know that outside cast and crew comment shouldn’t be taken as gospel, as they have lied before for the sake of spoilers. Which is why I put this at the end, and why it’s not my only piece of evidence.

But still, it’s not like every comment is a lie, and even then, wouldn’t this be a wierd thing to lie about? And kinda cruel? Imagine saying “Oh, this gay character who hasn’t gotten a lot of screentime is going to be a focus.” only to say “Haha just kidding, he’s actually unimportant!” So I’m inclined to believe that they’re telling the truth.

So if this statement is true, then how could Will not have powers? How would you make a character the center of a show about the supernatural, if he has no tie to the supernatural at all?

[alltheyoungmoons]

the ghosts of my memories won't let me sleep

Rated T, 2.1k words - Summer of 1995. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, has become the new base of the Order of the Phoenix, but Sirius finds it hard to fall asleep on his first night there.

The clock in the drawing room chimed thrice, the sound shattering the mortiferous silence of the ancient townhouse. Sirius heard it all the way from the kitchens, in the basement. He hadn’t set foot in that house, or in Islington for that matter, for twenty years, twelve of them spent in hell. He thought he quite deserved a drink to celebrate the unlikely return, and remembered very well where Orion stored his liquor collection. Kreacher had caught him tinkering around that cupboard several times, the young boy mesmerised by all manners of fancy bottles and delicious-looking liquids. He produced some ice with his wand inside of a fine crystal goblet he plucked from the mantle top and poured a healthy dose of aged Firewhisky that must’ve cost a fortune, stirring slowly. He brought the glass to his lips, inhaling the smokey, rich smell of the alcohol. He looked down and sighed, and placed the goblet back on the table. With a tap of his wand he transfigured the goblet to a mundane-looking Old Fashioned glass.

“Much better,” he muttered to himself, and went for the stairs. 

Sirius, for all his misfortunes, had never thought he’d be back in this house. He hadn’t thought twice about giving it to the Order, relishing in the fact that their parents would be rolling in their graves if they knew. It had been the easiest decision he’d ever made. He didn’t think he’d be forced to stay there, though. He’d take his cell at Azkaban or a frigid Scottish cave over his childhood bedroom any day. Thankfully, Remus was there with him.

He planned to nurse his drink on one of the library’s sittees, hopefully with a useful read in hand. He felt wide awake, adrenaline coursing through his veins just like after a duel, or a flight, or a quick shag. If he couldn’t sleep, the least he could do was keep his mind occupied. 

He was deep in thought when a rotting step whined under his foot, and he looked up, flinching instinctively. 

He was in front of his mother’s portrait, the curtains drawn wide open, but she wasn’t screaming, as she did that morning, when he, Remus, Moody and Kingsley breached the entrance of Grimmauld Place after a decade of abandonment. 

Instead, she looked at him gravely and with disdain, her mouth a tight line. 

In this silence, Sirius had the chance to properly see her. She wore her mourning dress, black cap and veil to cover her silver hair that matched the gray in her eyes, the same that were looking back at her now. She was so different from how Sirius last remembered her - a beautiful, regal woman now turned old and bitter, her hateful scowl forever impressed on her once smooth skin in deep wrinkles. 

He broke the silence first. “Hello, mother,” he said, tilting his glass towards her in a sort of cheering gesture.

She didn’t bother to look him in the eyes, her gaze wandering out of frame. “You’re no son of mine.”. Her tone was flat, indifferent. 

“Believe me, I’ve spent the better part of my life hoping just that. But alas,” he opened his arms as if to show off his surroundings, shrugging “The house opened for me. So.”

No response. Walburga kept staring off into the distance. Sirius wondered silently what she could see within the dimension of the frame.

“Guess you didn’t disown me after all,”

“Well, You won’t catch me complaining about it. It’s been pretty useful lately.”

“The inheritance, I mean”,

“Turns out being put in prison for twelve years is an excellent savings plan.”

Sirius saw her eyes dart to him for a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was the mention of Azkaban that did it, or the fact that he had the gall to bring up a subject so common as saving money. 

He took a sip, suppressing a smirk. 

There was a thrill in being able to talk to her without the fear of retaliation that was engrained in their every exchange since Sirius was ten. 

He still felt a little nauseous, though. 

“You were sent to Azkaban.” She said, then. It sounded like an affirmation, but Sirius knew better. His mother never did questions, only statements. 

Sirius nodded. He studied her reaction. 

Her eyes would’ve glinted if they weren’t oil paint set on canvas.

“Just like your cousin.” 

Sirius had been wondering when the comparisons to other members of the family would start, a fixture of Walburga’s chinwag. 

“Dear Bellatrix was there, alright,” Sirius nodded, circling the remnants of the ice around his glass. “The whole jolly company was there, eventually, the inner circle at least. Saw them coming in one by one. But I was there first.”

He looked up at her, and saw one of the corners of her thin mouth lift slightly. He was starting to enjoy this. He wanted to make her believe he’d recanted his belief in the end, and then pull the rug from under her feet. He wanted her to ask. 

“And I was the first out. First Wizard to ever do it.”

“I’ve been at large for the better part of two years now.”

“Thankfully no one can find me here.”

He winked.

Walburga sat up, straightening her already impossibly rigid posture. The shadow of pride swiftly passed on her features - Sirius recognised it immediately. He used to chase that impossible shadow as if it was his only reason to live. Before Hogwarts. Before he knew better. 

They studied each other for what felt like minutes, their stern features a mirror of each other. 

“How.”

Sirius rose to his full height. Not so much a question as a demand. Still, she had caved.

“Well,” he started, with a chuckle. “I tried to avenge my best friends’ deaths and was falsely incriminated because of the curse of the name that I carry! This title taints everything it touches like poison, it fosters animosity and mistrust, it follows like a haunting! The system this family helped to build sent me straight into the Dementors’ mouth without even sparing the thought of a trial, just because I must’ve done it, I must’ve been rotten after all, because I am a Black! First and foremost, forever scarred to drag around your filthy, thoughtless, sheeple beliefs with me even if I made extensively clear that I never wanted to be associated with you or the obscenities you preached! You were always so concerned about decorum and standing and reputation that you never noticed that all of those things had slipped from your control decades ago! Outside of your stupid Sacred Twenty-Eight circle-jerk everyone thinks you’re utterly mental!”

Twelve years of pure agony, of building a steady hatred for them and all they came to signify, had come out in almost a single breath, his tone clear but never loud, precise and cutting - he had learned from the best, after all. 

Sirius had never hated his family during his school years, and even after, during the First War, he tried his best to act like they never existed at all. Indifference was the best way to hurt someone, he knew that well. But in Azkaban there were no distractions, and he found that rage was an excellent companion, keeping his flame alive. He had been caught because of Peter, sure, but he was imprisoned without a trial because of his name. It was never going to go any other way. 

Walburga’s face had turned into a mask of blistering fury, huffing angrily, chest heaving - she stayed silent for a moment, and Sirius had to remind himself that she was a painting. He would not flinch. 

So he took another sip, smacking his tongue at the end.

Walburga lunged towards him fruitlessly, shrieking, her rage bound to the two-dimensional space of the canvas, starting off her usual tirade:

“Filth! Traitor! Coming here in the house of my forefathers slandering the name of the Noble and Most Ancient House in Britain! How dare you come back here, you scum! I knew since the day you came back from your first semester at Hogwarts that you were going to be nothing but a criminal! A degenerate! Fraternising with blood traitors and half-bloods! Having impure thoughts about them! You’re nothing but utter filth and I cursed the day you were born until I drew my last breath! Traitor!”

Sirius just stayed there, leaning along the rail, finishing off his drink and letting her words slide off him, like water off a duck’s back. There was something cathartic about letting his feelings explode like this, with no filters, even if it meant they’d probably have to endure Walburga’s shrill shouting for a while. The treat had not been without its consequences; still, better be subject to her incoherent string of slurs rather than one of her well-placed hexes. 

There was a sudden noise from up the stairs, and after a moment, a sleepy Remus appeared, in his pyjama, wand drawn. He stopped a few steps from Sirius, looking confused and disheveled from being woken so abruptly. Sirius looked up at him tenderly and smiled, and Remus let his arms rest down to his sides, donning a grumpy expression. 

“Merlin’s balls, Sirius. I thought someone broke in.” Remus had to shout over Walburga’s yelling to make himself heard.

Sirius couldn’t help but grin at him. “Couldn’t sleep, bumped into Mother. Thought it’d be rude of me not to greet her properly.”

Remus squeezed his eyes at him suspiciously. His gaze registered the empty glass and Sirius’ fingers nervously tapping on them. 

“You had to go and tick her off uh? What year is this, 1973?” Remus had stepped down a few and was now eye-to-eye with Sirius. He was studying his face in that way of his, as if gathering information and quickly making a log of it in his head. 

They hadn’t talked about it, exactly. They had a steady correspondence streak going since the summer after Sirius - and Peter - escaped, but some things couldn’t be committed to parchment. It was clear that they were both inclined to naturally fall back into their old ways, but so much had changed, and even when forced to share a bed - seriously what was Dumbledore thinking, just sending him there, no notice, as if Remus lived in a mansion, as if Remus wanted anything to do with him after all those years… it had been extremely awkward to say the least. 

And for all the free, comfortable beds that Grimmauld Place had to offer, Sirius still couldn’t sleep.

But the love was still there. They both felt it. If it was never going to be like it had been before, Sirius was fine with that. Remus was his oldest friend. 

Still, it was fun, sometimes, to slip into the old ways. 

“You know, I have an idea that would really aggravate her”. Sirius glanced at Remus’ lips and wriggled his eyebrows. 

Remus arched one brow and crossed his arms. “How many of these have you had?” 

Sirius huffed as if he were offended, but smiled. 

“Come on, help me draw the old bat’s curtains.”

“Fine, but I want a drink too, afterwards,”

“Fine, but can I sleep in your bed,”

They looked at each other, spooked, and then warily glanced at the portrait that was still mumbling angrily, quieter now. It didn’t seem to have noticed them.

Sirius was just bantering along, but the truth had its way of slipping out. 

Remus’ lips were parted, and his cheeks were flushed. Sirius couldn’t stand the buried pain in his eyes. He looked down, and whispered.

“Can’t sleep.” He found his gaze “This fucking house, y’know?”

Remus exhaled sharply, and nodded. 

“Sure, yeah.” He whispered back.

“It’s not really her, you know.” Remus added, still looking at him, searching.

“Yeah… yeah I know. Still. Felt good to take some things off my chest, I guess.”

“Might want try to piss off Phineas Nigellus’ portrait next. That one’s more animated.”

Sirius tutted “Remus, don’t give me any ideas.”

Remus smirked “Bet he loves an argument just as much as you do,”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he was elated. It was the first time they had been able to joke between them as if no time had passed at all.

“Tease.”

They yanked the curtains shut, and tried a few silencing spells to boot. When they were done, Remus plucked Sirius’ tumbler off the railing and gave him a delicate shove.

“Come on then, Master Black. Show me where that cranky old elf keeps all the booze.”

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

Yet another Jealous Simon post

Saw this scene again here and it just hit me that this is lost in the hilarious irony of Simon saying “nobody is seducing a vampire” while Baz is Right There like “am I a joke to you?” but CO is already telling you that Simon answering “who am I jealous over, Baz or Agatha?” with “both, I guess” is bullshit right here too (it’s the easiest answer to avoid processing).

I mean… I was logging on here saying “Simon’s romantic jealousy is only about Baz” (and sexual, or however the fuck you want to name it) because he doesn’t give a fuck about Agatha having male attention or having had a boyfriend while he was mistakenly telling himself “he wanted her” (he didn’t want her, he wanted to be like her, he’s finding her aspirational in the memory he uses as an example when he’s tellingly like 12, when he should have plenty to draw from during their time dating or before if he actually wanted her – he has nothing!) (and we only learn shit like that in her own POV, or when Baz calls Dev), Simon snatching Baz’s handkerchief from her and keeping it to himself, “nobody knows Baz better than me” (he’s even seeing Agatha as competition), essentially making a jealous scene to Baz (can’t listen to what Baz is trying to say because he can’t get past “did you have to hold her hands??”) etc. But I can’t believe I missed this shit.

In the scene is question, Penny and Baz are talking about “seducing” Nicodemus (I’m pretty sure Baz is just being a little shit here). It’s Penny’s idea, and Simon’s response is basically “none of my female friends are seducing a vampire” (he, however, is perfectly allowed to seduce one) because note that Penny is presented as an option first, and Simon’s reaction is “no.” Immediately. Then Penny singles out Agatha, saying she was thinking about her seducing a Vampire… and Simon’s reaction? Fucking nothing. He’s completely focused on telling Agatha they’re not doing anything illegal instead. And after that, he says The Line. Simon has a much stronger reaction to Penny. Penny singles out Agatha, but Simon’s reaction singles out Penny… which firmly establishes this line as platonic concern over the girls, rather than jealousy because Agatha might be seducing someone. Agatha and Penny are grouped together here, put on the same level (and, as usual, Penny comes first… note that whenever Simon brings up important people in his life, Penny is always leading his list, even when he’s like “oh well I’m dating Agatha, shouldn’t I put her higher in my list?) (when it’s a general “important people” in his life, he mentions her second – he mentions her dad too, the mage is third iirc – when it’s Agatha The Girlfriend? She’s dead last) (tellingly, Baz is talked about constantly before either list is brought up). With Agatha, the only time Simon has a reaction to her being around a vampire is when it’s Baz. When he doesn’t feel like he can “trust her” to be around Baz. Even when he’s not explicit about this or it might deceivingly look like it’s the other way around, Simon establishes her as competition through his actions and behavior, and only ever cares if the “target” is Baz.

With Simon’s closest friends, he draws the line at “seducing” a vampire. With Baz? He draws the line at talking to them. When he’s kissing him, one of the things he’s thinking is “I’m not ever letting him go, I like him under my hands, not off plotting and talking to vampires.” Baz should be kissing Simon, not doing objectionable things such as “plotting” and “talking to vampires”…. I’m repeating this shit right here for emphasis because italics aren’t enough.

And if it needs to be more obvious… enter Lamb in the next book. Simon, who already had a problem with Baz talking to other vampires, goes along with this because they think it’s the only way to get information to rescue our good pal Agatha… he’s not even fucking contemplating seducing, and then All That happens. Then Simon has to hear Baz doing more than talking (he’s flirting!! And having milkshakes! And practically DATING the vampire!!!). He immediately reacts to Baz saying “maybe he wants privacy” with “fuck that, we’re all going” even while talking about other things and eating (only Baz gets more attention than food, which Simon puts no.1 in his list of favorite things when going to Warford, even before Penny) (with Agatha the reaction is the opposite: he’s focusing on the discussion). We know what happens later (Simon attempts murder) (screaming “I’m his boyfriend” at Lamb as his introduction… classic “he’s taken, so back off bitch” move).

Then in awtwb, he’s strongly opposed to sending Baz “alone on a mission.” Las Vegas has him traumatized. He puts “you’re not going alone because it could be dangerous” on the same level as “I’m not listening to you have another date.” Except “I’m not listening to my boyfriend talk to other men (who might be interested in him and might try to make a move while I’m here, unable to do shit about it)” is perhaps the most distressing thought, because in Vegas, Simon trusted Baz to keep himself safe, but after Vegas, he can’t trust Baz in the latter situation because he has no vibe-check. Important things are at play, and rather than focusing on that (like he focuses on “we’re not doing anything illegal”) he’s focusing on “no way in hell I’m letting my boyfriend go there by himself when he might end up on another date without even realizing while I listen. Fuck no, not again. I’m not strong enough.”

[rwrbmovie]

RE: intimacy & the intimate scenes

Quotes from interviews on #RWRBMovie about the intimate scenes and the intimacy between Alex and Henry

This post will be updated as content is released

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Last updated: August 9

From Glamour

Red, White & Royal Blue, the book, is—I'm not sure how to put this any other way—famously horny. For the movie adaptation, intimacy coordinator Robbie Taylor Hunt was enlisted to ensure that physical intimacy between Henry and Alex was told in the best and safest way possible. “He was incredible,” Zakhar Perez says of working with Taylor Hunt. “In London there are these brand of mints called Smints, and we called him the Smint Lord because we would always come up to him and ask for a mint or Listerine strip. I didn't want my breath to be offensive to Nick as soon as we get on set and have to be intimate with each other…” He continues, "A great thing about having rehearsals is that we'd have an hour a day set aside to be with Robbie. It was just like a dance. I grew up in theatre, and Nick's done musicals. We're both very musical people. So Robbie found it easiest to talk to us in musical terms—there's a musicality to intimacy. There'd be lots of counting. Like, ‘1, 2, 3, 4, grab. 2, 3, 4, squeeze.’ That's what was going through my mind as we did it, to get it in your body. Once your body remembers it, you can let it go. The muscle memory is so strong. Then it's just about getting your mind in the game.” Adds Galitzine, “It's a very vulnerable and trusting space. Taylor and I had to rely on each other because we really wanted to tell that story honestly and feel that we weren't hindered by any of our own boundaries that we were setting up. It becomes a sort of wonderful choreography that all serves to facilitate these two young men who fell in love with each other. Robbie was really helpful in educating me in the physical language of the character.”

From GQ

As our tea gets cold and our time draws to a close, we quickly touch on what it was like to film Red, White & Royal Blue’s more intimate scenes. To fight the awkwardness of being surrounded by the film crew, Zakhar Perez and Galitzine would whisper jokes and try to make the other one crack up. “There’s a playful teasing that never veered into anything nasty, which was a lovely dynamic to be a part of,” says Robbie Taylor Hunt, the film’s intimacy coordinator. “But also they just treated each other like colleagues and co-creatives in a really nice, collaborative way.” “There’s so much choreography to sex…ual scenes,” Zakhar Perez says, laughing, recounting the sheer amount of time and energy (and the occasional blow-up mattress) that went into rehearsals. “It’s a crazy thing to be intimate in that way with your friend,” says Galitzine. “And we want people to fall in love with these characters, because their love has to be real.” “Our guards were down during the rehearsals,” Zakhar Perez adds. But as soon as someone would yell “Cut”? “One of us would say something stupid, like, Get off me!” 

From People

When Red, White & Royal Blue got labeled with an R rating from the Motion Picture Association, López admits he was surprised by the stamp. The MPA cited "some sexual content, partial nudity and language" in its rating. "I think I was a little surprised at the R rating just because, while I never was encouraged to limit what we were showing or limit what I was depicting, the scene is what I intended to show. It plays exactly how I wanted it to play," López says of a sex scene between the two leads. The Tony winner explains that he had free rein to include whatever he felt necessary onscreen while depicting the love story: "It's the movie I set out to make." He adds, "I essentially decided to hedge my bets, in that I wouldn't step a toe over the line of PG-13 into R when it came to language, when it came to— there's no violence in the story, of course. But I would just do what I felt was right for the story when it came to the sexuality of the film and let the chips fall where they may."

From Out Smart Magazine

The director explains that giving the film’s sex scenes the royal treatment was an important factor for him. “One of the things in the novel that I knew needed to be in the film was the fundamental truth that these two people have really good sex with each other, they are very attracted to each other, and they find ways of expressing it physically. I inherently knew that there were a multitude of ways that we were going to express intimacy in this movie and that we were tracking the progression of their closeness. They sort of meet-cute and not only go from being enemies to lovers, but one of them is not fully aware of the extent to which he’s into guys before they meet. I thought a lot about the intimacy themes in the movie as a way of bringing them incrementally closer and closer together. “By the time we got to the real lovemaking scene in the movie, I knew that I wanted to create something that was beautiful, loving, and tender. It’s not about maximizing an opportunity to get as much sex in the movie as possible. It’s about maximizing what I’ve got in order to tell the story effectively and honestly, in a way that the people for whom the movie is being made understand that it is being made for them.”

From Hindustan Times

Red White And Royal Blue also features a sex scene that was so empowering in terms of how it chooses to focus not on the body but on the gradual understanding between what two people in love want from each other. Did you always have a specific direction in how you wanted the scene to be shot? My answer to your question is your question! That is precisely how I wanted to shoot it. It is undeniable that these are two beautiful men but what was more important to me was this be a scene of true intimacy between these two characters. I always knew I wanted to shoot those scenes primarily on their faces. I knew that what we would read in their eyes and their faces was much more powerful a storytelling tool than what I could have shown in a wider shot using their bodies, and it allowed them to thoroughly act that scene rather than simply perform that scene. I love that question because the way you phrased that question is exactly the way we talked about the scene- as we planned it with my intimacy coordinator, and as Taylor, Nick and I rehearsed it. Yeah, so you could just your question and turn it into my answer, because that's precisely it.

From TV & Satellite Week

The two leads were equally keen to make their characters’ relationship evolve believably. ‘Nick and I felt a responsibility to bring to life these sexual moments that are in the book in a real, grounded way,’ says Zakhar Perez. ‘The intimate scenes were choreographed and specific when it came to whether it was a moment of passion, or a tender experience. In a relationship you go through different stages, and we got to explore those throughout the film.’

From PinkNews

“I don’t think you can tell the story of Alex and Henry without talking about their very enjoyable sex life,” he says. However, the sex isn't just thrown in for the sake of it, each has a purpose and nuance. López likes to think of the scenes as songs in a musical. "It needs to progress the story, it needs to progress your understanding of the character. If it doesn't, then it doesn't belong," he explains. The two lead stars worked with an intimacy co-ordinator to ensure the scenes were done carefully and safely, but were also realistic. “We need to actually believe that Alex and Henry have really great, connected sex,” López says. “That, as a queer man, was really important to me to convey.”

From Observer

Hollywood has a tendency to shy away from gay sex onscreen. But this movie goes all in. Did you get any pushback about that?  ML: When I was pitching myself for the job, this was part of my pitch. Basically, “If you hire me, you’re getting this.” I let it be known from the get-go that this was going to be in the film. And, of course, there were negotiations throughout the process of what exactly it would be. But I was adamant from the start that this film honor what’s in the book, which is that these two characters have a very healthy sex life. They are very, very into each other, they have great sex, and a lot of it. So that was important to me.  It was really important to me as well in a mainstream love story. We talked about this as a rom-com and there other times we talked about it as a love story. As a love story, it was really important to me that the audience understand that these two young men are deeply connected—emotionally, intellectually and physically. Their physical connection is a huge part of what binds them. It would have been absolutely the decision I would make if it was a man and a woman. So I was going apply the same storytelling and requirements on my queer film that I think anybody would on a on a heterosexual film. I will say Amazon didn’t give me a hard time on these scenes. I got support. I got notes, of course. But that’s what happens when you don’t have final cut. There was a lot of support for this story being told as we all knew it needed to be told.

From MetroSource

Our sex is beautiful. The way we have sex is beautiful. Our intimacy is beautiful. Consensual sex between two humans is a beautiful thing, and it’s one of the wonderful things about being alive. The book is very steamy, very sexual, and I really love that about the book. I knew that I’d be committing heresy if I didn’t bring that into the film. A sex scene in a movie is like a song in a musical. It really does need to either charm you or teach you something about the characters and move the plot along. The other thing, too, is that you’re asking two performers to do something that is really vulnerable, and you don’t ever want to ask too much of them, and you don’t ever want to make anybody feel uncomfortable or forced into doing something. We were conscientious about how we approached each one of these scenes. I spent a lot of time with my intimacy coordinator mapping them out. We really paid particular attention to what story are we telling with each and every one of these intimacy scenes so that we could turn around and speak to Taylor and Nick and explain to them exactly why we were asking them to do what we were asking them to do. Beyond just sort of the mechanics of the filmmaking, to tell the story of Alex and Henry and not include the fact that they are very passionately, physically attracted to one another, is to not tell the full story of Alex and Henry.

From Windy City Times

Robbie Taylor Hunt was the intimacy coordinator on the film. How important was that for this film? ML: It was essential. I think that if someone doesn't like working with intimacy coordinators, then they are missing the point. Robbie was an important partner in creating this. In essence, it was a way of protecting the actors and making them not just feel, but be, safe. It is no different than working with my director of photography or my costume designer. We use stunt coordinators with stunts, so in the same way, I wanted to use an intimacy coordinator. Robbie helped me articulate what I wanted to show and execute it. He was invaluable to me.

[jellyfosh]

throwback of who’s most likely to draw but w/ lore in making + Chosen n Mango’s relationship.

I remember when I was making this. I got little creative and took it to a deeper-ish level. For all four. Midas/Mike (owner is @yennasun), Navy, Dark and Chosen. Having their scars drawn with flowers, basically the “you drew stars on my scars kind”

It took me forever to find the flowers that matches them. Warning : Prepare for a lot of reading cause lots of text. Sorry in advance Q w Q

V

Midas - When I was looking up for flowers. I thought the Lotus flower would be the best to define Midas in R.S AU, given to his past and what he went through over the years. - Not wanting to leave just one, I remember the flowers that grew commonly in my old high school The Forget-Me-Not flowers. And fit to describing of Rooney, Midas’ old mentor n possible close as family growing up. - Coming to flower placement. If I covered his scars entirely, Midas will look like a walking Picasso. So I did this or in this scenario, Mango did this. His scars on the right side act vines for the Forget-Me-Not for “Each Scar holds a memory” while the Lotus is “Rising from the ashes” coming from the left of his scars.

Navy - originally I was going for an Orchid symbolism and meaning, but the Camellia flower caught my attention. Mainly it was the longing part, this connects to the AU of Redemption Squad between Orchid and Navy. - Magnolia although is the name of the flower, Magnolia was someone dear to him before he met Orchid. No known information of this person yet. - Because his scar was too big to be covered up. Mango decided to turn his scar into something that complements the flowers- by making it look like a pond.

Dark - The meaning behind the black roses, supposedly my way of saying how Dark sees in Chosen/Zen- including Chosen’s character. The romance dialogue describes how much Dark means to Chosen. - Of course I wouldn’t wanna leave out Charlotte. - He was pretty much my easiest part to draw, cause i already thought out that his flowers would be the Black Roses and the color looks good on him.

Chosen - It was tricky to find flowers that best describes Dark. The iconic flower i went was the Spider Lily because- I couldn’t let that pass. It was the best description of Dark honestly- and I wanted to add something more by putting the spiritual meaning to Japan and China (I looked up) and said it lead to reincarnation. As that fits to the character I put in for Dark. - The Peacock Flower describes how Chosen sees in Dark. Energetic, very lively. And it connects to his story, overall it shows of Dark’s second chance of living his life.

Then I went back to this while making.

I wondered how Chosen felt when his scars were being painted. Given to his past and actions he had done in his villain rampage. The fires, the deaths, the begging and screams, everyone being afraid to death by him. In the showdown, while fighting Dark- a part of him thinking that he deserved this - knowing he was the reason it all happened. And here he is, sitting down and letting Mango paint all over his scars.

As it was stated here in the bio of the two. Chosen becomes cautious around Mango who wants Chosen to be comfortable around him. This isn’t because Chosen is afraid of someone- It ended to be misunderstanding. Chosen was afraid of himself, overthinking that one day he might accidentally hurt Mango. While I was making Mango’s character. Despite seeing him as a powerful stick who nearly took down Minecraft/herobrine/the mobs and ruled over the piglins - and being also the King thing. He’s no different than a normal stick figure civilian. Not born as an abnormal or created by animators/creators. Sooo Think of it like a (S)trongest afraid of hurting (W) x (W)eakest not afraid of (S) dynamic. - It’s still working, it’ll work out.

I rlly wanted to say this, I like putting out Lore but not fully XD

[pyjamaart]

A looming presence... (A piece of fan art for Episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis)

Read more for an essay on all the memes and references ;)

So here it is. Finally. Only one month too late: This piece of CCC fan art I've worked on since the episode came out.

Sorry for the delay, but I just started at my new job this week and it's been a little stressful, so I didn't have much time to work on this. But now it's finally here!!! I gotta say, the hardest part by far was the background, lol. I didn't mean for it to escalate that much. At the end I was honestly running out of memes to draw.

I bet we can all agree that episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis was so worth the wait, right???? My god. Peak entertainment. I still can't believe I'm getting all this awesome lore and music for free, feels kinda criminal.

I'm so invested in this story, it's unreal. I can't wait to see how it will end. I can already tell it's gonna be pretty emotional. (And not to alarm anyone, but I have a slight feeling that the Voice is not gonna make it out of this story arc alive. I mean, after everything he's done, it's safe to say that he kinda deserves it. Of course I really don't want him to die, cause that would mean…….. Woodman would also have to die??? Otherwise the Voice will just keep coming back again and again because Woodman is keeping his memory alive…….. Oh man wait a moment….. I don't even want to think about that. Forget I said anything about this.)

Anyway, let's talk about this piece of art for a moment.

In the foreground, we have our brave protagonists. I really really like how Nozomi turned out, so I decided to make her my new icon from now on. Don't get me wrong, I love my old icon, but it's kinda zoomed out and you can't really make out any details when it's really small. So Nozomi it is. Meta Knights sword was shockingly difficult to draw, especially because I had to figure out how to draw it when he's holding it at an angle like that. Otherwise, drawing him was actually one of the easiest things about this whole thing. His design is really just two circles with some arms and armor. Figuring out how the circle tool in Gimp works has never felt this good. (Kinda crazy I can just draw him like this now, considering how obsessed with him I was when I was about 12-13 years old. Back then you had to download official renders of your favorite characters onto your computer, then print them out and hang them on your walls all around your room. Yeah I've always been like this.) Drawing Santa was really fun too, just his right hand was a little difficult. But that's just because I still can't draw hands in general. Maybe I should practice drawing hands more. (Naaaaaah I'm just kidding, I'll never do that.) Now that I'm looking at him again, he's also longingly staring at President Haltmann in the background. Doomed yaoi fr.

Speaking of the background, let's talk about that next. There's obviously the title-giving "looming presence" the Voice. I had his hands completely in the background at first, but I thought it looked cooler when they were hanging threateningly around Santa's shoulders. (You may ask yourself, 'man these hands look kinda alright for my usual hand drawing standards', and that is because I traced over pictures of my own hands. I love "cheating" at art.) I also gave him his stupid little bow tie and the colored buttons on his suit sleeves. Not only is that kinda my trademark for drawing him at this point, it's also supposed to show, that under all the threats and the evil villain persona, he's just kind of a loser. A real (male equivalent of a) girlfailure. That's why I made sure that half of the things shown in the background are there to make fun of him a little. I love the Voice dearly, but that's just what felt right.

And now let's get to the actual main course of this essay. I probably spent half the time working on this on the freaking background. I'm just gonna start in the top left corner and then go down each column and explain what each of these mean or what they reference. (Since there are some quite obscure ones in there.)

Let's start with the two ponies in the very top left. They're actually ponysonas of Nozomi Tojo (left) and Takane Shijou (right). Nozomi is an earth pony and has a tarot card as her cutie mark, specifically the ace of cups. Takane on the other hand is a unicorn and has some musical notes as her cutie mark, which you can't really see. I don't know enough about the Idolmaster to think of something more meaningful for her, sorry. ;)

Under that are Susie Haltmann and her father, President Haltmann. They were (after Woodman) the first characters I wanted to draw into the background. Susie has this black bar covering her face, since she was never really there to begin with. The whole story line with her father wanting to bring her back was actually so freaking sad. And when the Voice killed him in episode 11 and that image of Susie flashed on screen as the last thing he saw before he died….. Oof……… That's also why I drew that cursor looming next to her "window" about to click on the closing button. Haltmann himself is also the only character in the background to actually leave his little window, wanting to reach his daughter. He's also glaring at the Voice for causing him all of this grief and anger in the first place with his false promises.

Then there's…. ahem, "Hot robots in your area". With drawings of a random unnamed robot and Mettaton from Undertale. Which the Voice has apparently bookmarked. This is just a head canon, but I like to think he has a thing for robots, lol. ;)

Oh and on the left next to that on the very first column is Simpleflips' logo. Shoutouts to Simpleflips indeed.

Onto the next column. At the very top is Haruka Amami (also from the Idolmaster), who played a pretty huge role in the CCC, especially in the latest episode. That moment at the very end where she saved Grand Dad from certain death was just fantastic. Absolutely goated scene. She's kinda pressing her face against the window she's trapped in. I hope you can even see that from far away, haha.

Under that is one of the more obscure references. It's from a King for Another Day video, specifically one titled "The Hobart Hootenanny - SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day". It's a slideshow made of beautiful Hobart pictures. One that struck me personally the most was a little family picture of Hobart and the rapper Eminem, who was also a contestant in the KfAD tournament, looking lovingly over their son sitting in a cradle. Eminem is seen saying "Our son is beutiful". A truly touching photograph indeed. In that same slideshow is also another scene of Hobart together with the Voice, but we'll talk about that one later.

The next one is a reference to the CCC side story "I wanna thank me" and shows a pie chart with the election results that were discussed in that episode. Under the pie chart itself is a little box containing all the different parties and showing their respective percentages. On the left is a poster for the "Poké Poké Literature Party", showing Monika's head with the words "Just vote Monika" at the top of the poster. The words (and Misha.) are scribbled on the bottom, lest we forget that she's not running this party alone. This side story was first featured in the Christmas Comeback Crisis Watchalong in 2020, which was actually the first time I watched the CCC in its entirety. It all went downhill from there. ;)

Then there's the Voice's… thing? Object? Weird apparatus where no one really knows what it does or what its purpose is? Every time we see the Voice sitting in his office, this thing is sitting on his desk right next to him. There's been loads of jokes about its purpose. They've all been made before. I'm not going to repeat them. Only the Voice himself truly knows what this thing does. Probably. Could just be a decorative piece of art.

Then we have something veeeery self indulgent on the next column. It's Aquaman from Megaman 8 (With a not so subtle skull right next to him). You should all know by now that I'm the founding father of the Aquawood ship. And I also have the head canon that Woodman and the Voice are very divorced. Interpret into this whatever you want.

Next to Aquaman is the internets' favorite panel from the web comic Tails Gets Trolled. I fucking love that comic. If you haven't read it in its entirety, I highly recommend doing it. (Though be warned that it contains some pretty heavy topics, many many slurs and a plethora of gore.) Okay, maybe I don't recommend reading it. (Just read it with all of that in mind.)

Under that is a personal favorite joke of mine. It's supposed to be Spotify, with a playlist open that I created some time ago. I called it "Die Pizza Playlist" (Remember that die in German is just "the") which I always listen to when I'm baking my own pizza. Highlights include "Pizza" by Antilopen Gang, "Pizza Heroes" by Lemon Demon (You can actually see the album art for Spirit Phone on the left of the playlist.), "Pizza Pizza Pizza" from the Ratatouille musical and so on and so on. The first song in the playlist is obviously "We like pizza" by the Pizza kids, which is even playing in the image. On the side are two more music artists, at the bottom is the image for the Veggie Tales soundtrack, which also featured a song called "Pizza Angel". And over that is Mitski. I just feel like the Voice would listen to her music. Do not question me on this.

The audience laughs at the funny 7.

On the Voice's left shoulder sits a single green bean. It's flashing you a cheeky grin and a peace sign. While I didn't intend for this to happen, I accidentally referenced my own Woodman birthday gallery art from two years ago, where the bean also sits atop the Voice's shoulder. I know that next to "Yankin'", the bean is one of the most hated memes on SiIva, but I think he's just a silly little guy! :D

Let's head on over to the next column. Seems like the Voice has an incoming call from one of his guards, but he's ignoring it as he has more important things to do, like hovering intimidatingly over Santa Claus.

Next to that window on the right are the Voice's messages. I almost wrote "messanges". That would have been embarrassing, thank god I caught that in time. This is also (yet again) a little self indulgent, since the Voice apparently has the last message he sent Woodman pinned to the very top of his messenger app. His big triangular head is blocking most of it, but since I'm the artist, I can tell you exactly what it says: "Please call me back", which was sent on February 1st 2023, the day "The Disappearance of Woodman" was released. Yeah, I'm still very upset, how could you tell? :( Under that is a message to his trusty pizza guy asking for a pizza with extra cheese.

Next we have two of my favorite memes on the SiIvagunner channel (My absolute favorite being "Funny budots", since I never wrote that down anywhere.), one being Frisk Undertale becoming uncanny and the other one being the goat. I don't really know how to describe the goat, but apparently it was crafted by the same artist who made the stoned fox that's also very popular online?? I may just be stupid, but I didn't know about that until I looked up a reference for the goat. Since it often appears alongside Undertale and Deltarune, many have made the assumption that this is what Asriel would look like in real life. That's why Flowey is there next to it with an equal sign. Whoever drew up that calculation wasn't really sure of their work, which is why they drew a question mark right next to it. Between Frisk and the goat is a little Soul, also from Undertale/Deltarune.

Onto the next column, where I'm dropping very subtle hints that a specific character in this image might like pizza. Or might even be a little obsessed with it. On the left is a list with the contact details of three well known pizza chains, on the very top is Sonic the Hedgehog who just recently became a brand ambassador for Totino's and on the bottom right of this section is a flyer for some kind of pizza sale.

The next window contains my favorite joke of any rip on the entire SiIvaGunner Youtube Channel. "Peepoona 5. Let us shart the pants." Just typing this out is making me die of laughter yet again. (The rip in question is "Our Beginning - Persona 5".) But as you all know, I am very into toilet humor. That's why Aquaman is one of my favorite robot masters. And why I'm such a big fan of Youtube Poop. And why I watch Minion fart gun religiously. But enough of that, you get what I'm trying to say. I love funny poop jokes. That's why this is here.

Oh man. This next one is why I wanted to write this very detailed essay in the first place. A reference so obscure, even I can't find its origin anymore. And believe me, I tried. Thankfully, I took a screenshot of the original comment thread this was based on. A user called "The New Guy" commented on a SiIvaGunner rip, something along the lines about how much they enjoyed this specific rip. At the time, the comment had 920 likes, so I'm guessing it must have been a pretty popular video. (The comment should also be about 4 years old now?) Anyway, under that comment, someone asks them what their profile picture was from. They simply answered "wagon", since that was exactly what their profile picture showed. Someone on the SiIvaGunner team must have found this exchange so funny that they commented "wagon" as well. And that's the origin of this joke. If anyone knows which rip this is from pleeeeaaaase tell me. I need to know.

I don't think I need to explain who the next guy is. Just the love of my life. I specifically drew Woodman in his getup from the Nuclear Winter Festival, since that was the last time he appeared on the channel. He's looking kinda concerned in the general direction of the viewer, for obvious reasons. And right under him is his trademarked >:] emoji.

And last but certainly not least, the final column! Now I finally get to talk about this other scene from the Hobart Hootenanny. It shows Hobart and the Voice having a romantic stroll at a beautiful beach, while the sun is slowly setting in the background, making the water shimmer with its breathtaking colors. Okay, the last thing didn't really happen, since it's a shitty MS Paint drawing, but I like to imagine it did. Maybe I should draw a remake of this image one day. Now I'd like to quote the video in question: "A man and Hobart were walking together on the beach. He looked back and saw that in his times of sadness and need, there was only one set of footprints. He asked Hobart why he would leave him in his time of most need. Hobart simply turned to the man and said, VVVVVRRRRR SRRRRR RRRRGGGHHHH--" (Thank you SiIva Wiki for the transcription.) Now I don't think I need to explain why I drew Hobart in a bikini top and fishnets. The question answers itself.

The next image is actually quite easy to explain. It's mm5charge and smol Maki. In another universe, Chargeman and Maki might have been integral to the SiIvaGunner lore. This specific image is just stolen from my piece of fan art called "Megaman 5 Brainrot (featuring Acidman)", which I posted in 2022. I still head canon that Megaman and Love Live take place in the same universe. Just because I think it's funny. And because I want to see funny robot masters interact with the girlies from Love Live. How do I explain this? It's like…. balancing out the world? The robot masters are almost all male (with a few exceptions) and the characters shown in Love Live are all female. How would Thanos say? "Perfectly balanced, as all things should be." Don't question my cool head canons, okay?

After that we have a poster featuring the Jazz Cats! I really really love the little animations that showed their backstory when KfAD2 first came out. I don't know if it's okay for me to say this, but I also really really enjoy the song "But Not You" written (in universe) by Doge and Naxx. The text is veeeeeeery questionable, but man, does it sound good regardless… And shoutouts to wolfman1405 for the heavenly vocals.

On the right of that is a missing poster for Wade L.D.. Nothing much to explain here I guess.

Left of that is the Voices shopping list, which lists flour, oil, yeast… Wait a minute…. All of these are ingredients for pizza dough! Guys, I'm beginning to think that this guy might like pizza.

On the very bottom of this column is Mario 7 Grand Dad himself, who has his hostile gaze directed at the Voice. I would be pissed off too if someone kept me locked in a glass tube for 7 years.

The last little window just shows the Vineshroom with the words "fecal funny" written under it.

And with that, it is done. The entire background thoroughly explained. (I may have gone a little overboard this time.)

It's been a while since I posted new art, huh? In the meantime, a lot has happened. As I said before, I started a new job, got a tattoo of Woodman on my leg (best idea I've ever had btw) and I also started watching MLP, which explains the Love Live / Idolmaster ponysonas, lol.

And that's all I wanted to say. I hope that the next piece of art isn't that far off. Jenny out. (I think this might have been the longest essay I've ever written here. I'm so sorry. By which I mean, I'm not sorry at all. I'm not forcing anyone to read this.)

[chitsuu]

OC Kiss Week 2024: Lost

Doing this little challenge this week, with my FFXIV character and his husband (@kitshunette's son)!

I actually forgot that the paper of this watercolors sketchbook is not really forgiving when it comes to multiple layers, so that should help me not overthink the sketches

Also, I'm not much of a writer, but I decided to write a little something for each drawing, little windows in their story (which is also why I'm using the @ockissweek prompt list but not in order)

Jisul was walking fast, almost slightly running, as he did not want to be late to his meeting with the Viscount Jannequinard de Durendaire. Getting accepted in the Athenaeum Astrologicum had not been the easiest task, considering he was not from Ishgard in the first place, and Ishardians were still a bit wary of foreigners. But Jisul was highly motivated, and he really wanted to make sure they would not regret their choice. So getting to the school late was simply not an option.

In insight, what happened was totally predictable. Just as he was about to reach the entrance, there was a loud thump, a collision, and astrology cards went flying everywhere amidst the falling snow as both the Au Ra and an Elezen lost their balance.

“Are you alright?”

Hearing the voice, Jisul’s heart went strangely still and the world tilted.

***

The city was burning. Smoke rose everywhere, the sky was red, intermittently illuminated by flashes of light, and ashes were slowly falling like snowflakes. Jisul somehow remembered how the city looked before - large paved streets, city lights, the muted noises of long robes fluttering around. Now the only sounds left were the fires raging all around, and soft cries.

He felt an infinite amount of grief piercing his heart. Grief for what had been, what was happening and what was going to happen next.

Yet, in the midst of all the chaos, the only thing that felt right was the man standing in his arms. Jisul reached up to cup his lover’s face in his hands, and the grief he felt suddenly seemed tiny and laughable when faced with the clear eyes looking straight at him. The sense of loss brought by looking into those eyes was being deeply engraved into his very soul, as if willed into existence by creation magic itself, while the world crumbled around them.

“Let’s make a promise. No matter what, we will find each other again. In every live.”

His lover spoke in a low voice, unfaltering in his conviction, and yet the pain was lurking just below the surface, a pain mirroring Jisul’s.

“We will. I promise you. We will find each other again, no matter how long it takes. I will stand by your side again.”

“So will I.”

They both smiled, but the sadness contained within was overflowing. That vow was made on burning, empty grounds.

His smile is so beautiful, even now.

Jisul was unable to stop the thought from forming.

Without thinking, without a word, their lips found each other, as if to seal the promise. The kiss tasted like ashes. The feeling of losing a part of himself was overwhelming. The world was lit ablaze.

***

“Are you alright?”, the man repeated, a touch of worry in his voice.

As Jisul drew his gaze to the clear eyes looking straight at him, the world tilted back in place, and his heart started beating again, albeit a little faster than usual. The eyes belonged to an Elezen with tan skin and darker hair. The very image of the already disappearing memory he just experienced, except for the pointed ears. Then again, in that particular vision, Jisul had neither scales nor horns.

“Ah, uh, yes, I’m very sorry about this, I hope I didn’t hurt you…”

Jisul offered his hand to help the man stand, suddenly feeling shy.

What was that memory?

As they got back on their feet, the Elezen smiled, saying there was no harm done, but maybe they ought to pick up the cards before they could get damaged by the snow? Flustered, Jisul agreed and started collecting the stray cards, pondering on the already fading vision, just like a dream leaving in the morning.

Jisul would have doubted his brain entirely, if it was not for that quiet sense of a promise fulfilled swelling in his heart, filling the hole of having lost something he did not even realize he had before, along with a part of his soul contentedly humming, deep down.

Found you.

[anonymouspuzzler]

god help me i'm Writing

i did a little prose one-shot with Buck and Davey just to test out how it felt, and my buddies talked me into puttin 'er up, so now You All Must Read It Too. art at the bottom too if you make it through!

content warnings for: "Buck is basically about to have a panic attack the whole time" and "brief, not especially graphic description of that time Davey lost an arm", "maybe some secondhand embarrassment because Buck can't pick up a hint if his life depends on it", and "Like Exactly One Sex Joke". Okay Enjoy Or Don't

A bit of a crash after a job was standard. You know, the adrenaline wearing off, replaced by aches and exhaustion. The contrast of going from a dramatic heist or a bombastic fight, to mundanely washing up and scraping together dinner and such. The early stirrings of inevitable cabin fever, lying low for however long it took for things to blow over and the heroes to move on to newer, shinier threats. That ever-present, anxious itch at the back of his skull - the one certain that one day, his luck would run out, and he’d be tracked back here by someone who knew he wasn’t quite unkillable - growing just a bit louder in the aftermath of drawing so much attention to himself. Yeah, all that was normal; something he’d come to expect.

He was not currently experiencing that. No, the cold crawl in his gut as he looked around the empty hideout was decidedly not the usual post-job, I’m-gonna-be-cooped-up-a-while anxiety. This was new, and he knew exactly the cause.

Davey still hadn’t come downstairs.

No-- no, Dynamo. Dynamo hadn’t come downstairs. He kept letting himself slip like this, into that casual, dangerous familiarity. He absolutely could not keep doing that. He’d already gotten too close, crossed the unspoken boundary that kept them both safe in their line of work. It was exactly what’d gotten him into this mess in the first place.

For a few beautiful moments right after the heist, running on pure adrenaline and the high of victory, it had been like none of those concerns existed. Just him and Davey-- Dynamo; him and Dynamo-- and a giant, freshly-swiped stash of unstable compounds in the backseat. A job neither of them could have pulled off alone, and that had gone off with nary a hitch together. The strung-out, victorious cackles from them both, grinning wide, hands gripping each other’s shoulders, heaving breaths passed between each other so closely, he could still feel it in his lungs if he concentrated on the memory.

(So close to each other, that he could’ve lurched forward and kissed him like it was nothing. It took all his willpower not to do so, and that was one of many, many things here that terrified him; that his willpower could be so easily tested by what should have been the easiest, most obvious boundary.)

Of course, that moment couldn’t have lasted. Of course. It couldn’t have just from the baseline, but especially not when they had to deal with handing over the material to Practis. (Practis, stupid fuckin’ Practis, if he hadn’t owed them the favor he would never have gone to deal with ‘em.)

Davey-- Dynamo wasn’t stupid. Quite the opposite. All it’d taken was one well-placed question from Practis while Buck had been busy unloading the goods, and all the dots connected from there.

“O-positive?”

“...excuse me?”

“Your blood type. It’s O-positive. Am I right?”

He’d cut in before they could talk any further, of course, hustling Davey-- Dynamo into the car and bidding Practis a curt farewell, but it was too late. Dynamo was silent as they drove off, tightly-drawn lips betraying that he was deep in thought, even with his eyes hidden behind his goggles.

Buck’s mouth had been dry. Barely able to glance at him out of the corner of his eyes, heart pounding as he wondered whether he ought to make small talk just to distract from the elephant in the room.

He didn’t get a chance. Davey spoke up first.

“You went to them for help when I lost my arm.”

It wasn’t a question. Buck couldn’t tell if the tone was meant to be just observational, or perhaps accusatory. “...maybe,” he answered regardless, cringing the second it was out of his mouth. Repulsed by his own noncommittal cowardice.

Davey would have been entirely within his rights to cuss Buck out for the breach of trust; for hiding that from him all this time, leaving him in Practis’ debt without even realizing. He stared down at his lap instead, silent for a long moment. “...this job was the payment for that,” he added, another not-question. Nothing for Buck to answer; to clarify. “You had to do all this because of me.”

“Not because of you,” he retorted, only mostly lying. “It’s, just… you know. And, you ended up helping me get this stuff for ‘em in the end. So, like. You’ve more than returned the favor, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not, actually.”

“Oh.” Shit. His grip tightened on the steering wheel; his eyes honed in on a suddenly-very-interesting stretch of empty road on the horizon. Great job convincing the guy he owed you a favor, Buck. (Why do you care? Why care what he thinks? Why do you need his approval so badly?)

“...why the hell’d you go through with it, Buck?”

Shit. The million-dollar question. The one he kept circling around himself, trying desperately not to confront the obvious answer. (His name, his real name on his lips, again casting aside the safety of Dynamo and Bulkhead.) He glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, seeing his gaze averted, gloved hand just barely tracing the edge where his newly-minted battle prosthetic attached to the stump of his right arm.

He needed an answer. (Deserved one.)

“...well, you would’ve done the same for me.”

The truth of it lingered in the space between his words, and he was terrified Davey would catch on. Because yes, Davey would have done the same for him, but because, Buck suspected, he would do the same for anyone - far, far too kind; too adverse to death for someone in his line of work. But Buck - Buck would not do the same for anyone. For Dynamo-- for Davey, only for Davey-- he would. He would, he had, he would again.

(Because Davey was whip-smart and funny and kind and beautiful and he was all those things to him, of all people. And god help him, he was a sad, grouchy, lonely old man and apparently someone treating him like a regular-ass person, like someone to chat and banter and plot with, was all it took for him to start falling head over fuckin’ heels.)

The rest of the drive back was silent, and in some deep, horrible, cold part of Buck’s gut, he was certain Davey had heard the words between his words.

And now here they were. They’d pulled the car into the hideout, Davey had mumbled out something about doing a bit of cleanup in the workshop before turning in, Buck had nodded and mumbled something about washing up so the shower’d be free when he came downstairs, and now here he was discovering Davey still hadn’t come down. (Avoiding him. Had to be, right? He wouldn’t blame him. Hell, maybe he’d grabbed his stuff while Buck was in the bathroom and ran out for good.)

He managed about five minutes of awkwardly milling about the hideout, valiantly trying to convince himself he’d flip channels on the TV or get out something for dinner, before finally succumbing to morbid curiosity and slipping upstairs to see if Davey was still working in the shop. (Making up excuses, trying not to acknowledge the inevitable. Maybe he was just engrossed in some task or another. Maybe he needed help with cleaning up and hadn’t thought to bug him about it. Maybe he sat down for a minute and fell asleep in the backseat of the car. Anything that wasn’t “running off without a word because Buck got way too close to him for people in their line of work”.)

He wasn’t there when Buck got upstairs, and for a moment his heart sank into his stomach, but then he noticed the golden sunset-light filtering in around the corner - the garage door was open. Davey was just in the entryway, just out of sight, Buck rationalized. (He left the door open when he ran off, the more realistic part of him countered. All contradictions in his head right now, both desperately trying to protect his fragile heart and steeling himself for the inevitable reality of the heartbreak.)

He rounded the corner.

Davey was there.

He was there (he was there, he really didn’t run off), back to him, not yet noticing Buck had walked in. Watching the sunset, it looked like, orange-and-gold light spilling across his sharp shoulders and thick curls. He’d removed most of his work gear - the massive prosthetic, the helmet, the goggles, the gloves - leaving him slim and exposed compared to the imposing figure he cut on the job. (Exposed both metaphorically - though Buck knew better, anyone else would see him like this and think he was fairly vulnerable to attack without all his gadgets and armor - and literally, overalls hanging loosely by a single strap in a way that made Buck fight not to ogle.)

It was a quieter, softer moment than Buck expected to find. For a moment, he wondered if he ought to slip quietly back where he came, leaving Davey to his private contemplation. But, at the same time, he had already trespassed, and it felt wrong to keep that fact to himself, too - reluctant, he cleared his throat, trying to hit that careful, contradictory midpoint of gentle yet forceful; enough to alert to his presence without making it seem as if he was demanding Davey’s attention.

(Dynamo. Dynamo. Dynamo. He was slipping, he kept slipping, and it was getting more and more dangerous every time. Harder and harder to pull back.)

Davey-- Dynamo turned, sharp, eyes wide, hair bouncing in its ponytail with the force. (God, he was beautiful. Objectively. Purely objectively. Big eyes, thick lashes, the way he worried at his thin lips with his gap-teeth.) At a loss of what else to do, Buck forced a grin and waved; Dynamo responded in turn. (Warmth in his eyes, but tightness in his smile. The heavy, anxious feeling from the drive returned to Buck’s gut in earnest.)

“Hey,” Dynamo started, tone light. (Yet forced; Buck knew how he spoke well enough at this point to tell - and god, god, what a sign of the danger he’d put them both in, knowing him well enough to recognize that subtle tell.) “Sorry, I didn’t realize that, uh, y’know-- time-- I-I’m just watching the sunset.”

“Cool,” Buck replied, feeling somehow even more socially inept than normal. “Cool. I can, uh--” He gestured behind him, back to the door; trying desperately to communicate he’d leave Dynamo to his privacy if need be. (To reflect, to escape, whatever. Maybe both. Maybe reflecting on how much he clearly needed to get the hell outta there.)

“No!” His voice cracked with the suddenness of the exclamation, sending Buck’s brows skyward - that he’d never heard before. Davey-- Dynamo seemed embarrassed by the outburst on his part, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, gaze averted. “I mean-- nah, you don’t have to, you can, uh--” And he trailed off, gesturing dumbly to the empty space beside him, an unspoken invitation.

An invitation Buck, by all accounts, should have refused without hesitation.

…he didn’t, of course. Fuck, of course he didn’t. No, instead he shuffled awkwardly up to the empty space beside him, hands in his pockets, balled tight into fists. (He had the good sense to at least leave a polite gap between them, of course. Room for the Holy Spirit, he quipped to himself, trying desperately to lighten the mood in his own mind. He conjured an image of a cartoonish high school dance chaperone, screeching and shoving balloons between dancers’ bodies to force the distance. The thought only cheered him a minute before detouring into grim memories of his own high school dances, spent watching awkwardly from the sidelines, mooning over handsome young men who barely even knew his name. Multiple decades on and he still wasn’t too different from that pathetic kid. Fuck.)

Get back on track. Hands in his pockets, staring out at the (actually quite beautiful, damn) sunset, Dynamo beside him at a polite distance, doing the same. A variation on their side-by-side silence in the car before, but now with barriers removed - their expression-obscuring goggles, Buck’s imposing jacket, Dynamo’s massive prosthetic. Two men off the clock, without their armor, without defenses. (And he hated it, he hated how easy it was, how those walls just came down around Davey without him even thinking about it. This was rule fucking one of the villain lifestyle, not putting yourself in positions where you’re vulnerable around others. You never knew who might be just desperate enough to sell you out.)

(...Even if he was increasingly certain, in some part of his anxious mind, that Davey would never dream of doing so.)

“...You wouldn’t happen to have any cigarettes, would you?” Dynamo suddenly asked, finally breaking the silence. The question came so out of left field Buck couldn’t help but turn his head to stare, finding Dynamo’s gaze locked on the scenery ahead, left hand fidgeting subtly with the outer lining of his pocket.

It took a second for Buck to even process the actual, y’know, words of the question. “...no, I don’t,” he finally replied. (Even if he wanted to smoke, frankly - which he didn’t - his chronic asthma decidedly wouldn’t appreciate it, and asthma attacks were one of those little things his super-durability didn’t prevent. It chilled him how he had to actively stop himself from freely sharing that sensitive, this-could-actually-kill-me information with Davey.) “...you smoke?”

“No, I quit years ago.” A quick, practiced reply. Automatic, in many ways.

“...then why did you--”

“I don’t know.” A quick, barked laugh, no humor behind it. “Just get the craving when I’m nervous, I guess.”

The easy honesty of his words stuck in Buck’s throat, choking down any response he might have been planning. (Too honest, too honest. Was he like this with everyone? Or… did he dare imagine this kind of trust was only for him?) He should have dropped it, he needed to drop it for both their sakes, but unfortunately, his brain was still reeling and he instead responded with a quiet, “You’re nervous?”

A pause. Too far. Davey’s-- Dynamo’s expression was tight. “Maybe,” he replied, quiet. Honest. Too, too honest, fuck.

Buck’s gut twisted and flipped, instinct of shut this down shut this down you’re in danger fighting heartily with a desperate, primal need to return the openness he’d been shown. “...is it… am I…?”

“No. Yes? No.” A heavy exhale, Davey’s hand coming up to scratch at his face, fingers nearly catching at the edge of his now-healed scar. “It’s not you. Exactly. It’s not your fault. Fuck.”

The silence settled back in for a long moment. Buck’s heart was pounding in his chest far too hard for him to dare try and say a word. Davey, for his part, continued to look out into the distance, shoulders tense, hand having come to rest with two fingers on his chin. (Now that he’d asked about it, Buck looked at the gesture and could practically see Davey holding an imaginary cigarette between his fingers. Must have been a long-held habit before he quit, the muscle-memory burned in subconsciously.)

Finally, Davey-- Dynamo broke the silence again with a heavy, shaky sigh. Something in his expression Buck couldn’t quite read. “Listen. I-- I think I gotta say some stuff. I don’t know exactly what I’m gonna say. But I think I gotta talk it out anyway. So if you could, like-- I dunno. Just listen until I feel like I’m done, I guess? That cool?”

His heart was beating so hard, it felt like he was going to throw it up. This was bad. This was bad. He needed to stop this, put up the safe and comfortable barriers between them again. Before it was too late.

Instead, he choked out, “go for it,” because he was an idiot.

The way Davey’s posture instantly relaxed sent him spiraling - forgetting his self-flagellation in the gut response of I did that I made him feel less nervous, followed immediately by a vicious reversal, because that’s all it takes huh you’re so lonely and pathetic that all it takes is a guy kind of half-grinning at you for you to fall all over yourself - until Davey starting to speak snapped him back to the moment.

“I’ve just… been thinking about today,” he began. “And like-- more than that. But, today specifically. The heist and all. It was just… it went well. I mean, you know. You were there! You saw how well we worked together. And it… look, I’m just gonna say it. That was the most fun I’ve had doin’ one of these jobs, like, ever. And maybe I’m reading into it, but… it maybe kinda seemed like you were enjoying it, too?

“It all just… it got me thinking. About that, and livin’ here while I healed up - which, by the way, also has been the most fun I’ve had since I, y’know, started being Dynamo - and just, everything to do with all that, and I… well… you’re not gonna like this.” He chuckled as he said it, mirthless, raising a cigarette-less hand to his mouth seemingly without realizing. “But I… I think. There might be something to… us keeping up with this. Like, working together. Full time. Full-on villain partnership. And I know that’s like-- we’re not supposed to do that. Safety-wise and all. How risky it is for us both. But I-- god, this is gonna sound stupid. But I… trust you. I do.

“I mean--” He gestured emphatically to the stump of his right arm, the haphazard stitchwork Buck had done with shaking hands, kneeling over him on the garage floor all those weeks ago. “If you really wanted me out of the picture, I feel like you had plenty of opportunity and kinda fumbled the bag with it, you know? And I-- I dunno. I hope I’ve made it clear I don’t wanna do nothin’ to hurt you, either. Or that I… can make that clear, you know? Do whatever you need to believe it. But the point is, I-- I like workin’ with you. I think we do good work together. I think we could keep doin’ good work together. And I… want to. Do that.” A heavy breath, a sharp exhale, rolling his shoulders like there’d been a physical heft to what he’d been saying. “Hoo!! God, really wish I had that cigarette right now. But, uh, yeah, that. I think that’s all. For now. Maybe. Yeah. Uh, yeah. Your turn, then. Thoughts, feedback, whatever. Go for it.”

His eyes were bright, his face split into a grin, but Buck -- he-- maybe he was reading into it too much. Maybe. But he could feel the anxiety rolling off Davey as he spoke, a mirror of his own. The words between words. Asking, practically begging for his approval the same way Buck kept longing for his.

His throat felt dry. He couldn’t speak, even if he wanted to, thoughts rolling frantic and aimless in his mind like marbles in a glass spiral. Words turning themselves over and over as his heart pounded and his stomach did enough backflips that it probably oughta qualify for the next Olympics.

We do good work together.

I trust you.

I want to.

Thoughts rolling themselves around in his mind. The dangerous pull, on the precipice of something he knew he couldn’t come back from. Exposed and armor-less here in the setting sun, nothing but the Holy Spirit and this question between them.

It was getting harder and harder to pull back to the boundary.

He had to. He knew he had to.

(Why?)

(He just had to.)

(...but why?)

Inhale. Exhale. Staring out into the sunset, filling the conversation with golden light. A warmth to counteract the anxious chill spreading from his gut as his mind worked itself into overdrive. He felt like he could choke on his own tongue, heavy with words he didn’t know how to speak. (Was afraid to speak.)

“...everything you’re saying is true,” he finally choked out. Almost without realizing it. It felt like he was watching someone else say it, just a little bit beside him.

Davey responded with a subtle, automatic grin and visible brightness in his eyes. It felt like it was putting his heart in a fucking vice. “Yeah?”

“I’m not finished,” he added quickly. Davey went still, went quiet in response. Automatically giving him the same space to ramble that Buck had given him. (Too much, too much, you’re in danger, what are you even going to say here, pull it back pull it back pull it back.) “Everything… everything you’re saying. Including that we’re not supposed to do this. And that it’s risky. Hell, risky doesn’t even begin to cover it; like--”

He felt sick. Panic welling up in his gut from all too many directions. (Shut it down, shut it down, before he notices, before he figures you out, you’re supposed to be the Invincible Fucking Bulkhead here--) “You. You do understand who I am, right? I’m Buck Armstrong. My family--” Bile in his throat, breathing tight; even to Davey, he couldn’t bring himself to reflect on his life before Bulkhead. Bring it back. Different approach. “No matter what I do - whether I’m stealing classified materials or a carton of eggs from the corner store, there’s gonna be a massive target on my back ‘cause of-- where I come from. And if you start associating with me full-time? Publicly? That target’s gonna be on your back too. And you--” His voice was breaking. Swallow it down, swallow it down, don’t let him notice. “...You can’t bounce back from it like I can.”

(There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood. There had been so much blood and it had been his fault, Davey jumped in because he’d already figured out Buck was weak, that he wasn’t as unkillable as he tried to make everyone believe, and he’d known and he jumped in the way and saved his life and look what he’d gotten for his trouble bloody and shaking and heaving in the dirt there had been so much so much he could see the bone he didn’t know what to do he just couldn’t let him die there for him he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t not like that not for him not for him)

“...I mean. Yeah?”

The sheer casual-ness of Davey’s response snapped Buck out of what probably would’ve been a full-blown meltdown otherwise. He snapped his gaze over; Davey was staring back with the kind of mild dumbfoundedness one might get saying hey little-known fact, did you know water is wet. “Buck, I know who you are,” he continued, still utterly blasé about it. “This isn’t my first day in town, ya know. I’ve known about The Invincible Bulkhead since way before you and I started crossing paths.” (He winked at that, and Buck felt his panic coming from a completely different avenue now. God fucking damn it why’d he have to be hot.) “Point is, I’m not, like… stupid. I know your life is dangerous. I’m not saying all this, like, ignorant of that. I just…”

Now he hesitated, averting his gaze, moving to scratch the back of his neck again. Buck’s heart pounded in his throat. “I. I guess what I’m saying is that, it’d be worth it. For me. Like, ‘benefits outweigh the risks’ kind of situation. I mean, honestly, I’m gonna be living on the edge no matter what in this line of work, might as well have fun with it. So, uh. Guess what I’m saying is. If the only opposition you have to the idea is that I’m gonna be putting myself at risk without realizing it, you can toss that right on out. I know what I’m doing. You’re-- this is. Worth that risk.”

(The stumble of you’re felt dangerously deliberate. All at once he screamed in terror at it and clutched it close like a token.)

…was that his only opposition? If-- if Davey really was going into this knowing all the risks, wanted to go through with it anyway-- well, he was a grown-ass man, you know? And a smart one at that. (Smarter than Buck, it felt like, in more ways than one. He was constantly finding new ways to be impressed by this guy.) Did he… was there anything else, besides the whole well THEY say we’re not supposed to do shit like this, no I don’t know who THEY are either, which… all told, held increasingly little weight to him as the conversation went on. Was there anything, anything at all, that could convince him to stop this?

…

…oh, god, there was one thing.

There was one.

His whole body felt cold. His heart pounded so hard and so fast that it looped back around to being intangible to him, too quick to notice. Oh, god. Oh god. The one thing. The one thing that could take this sudden dream come true and throw it right back in the trash where it ought to be.

It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to Davey, to not put it out there, to not say it. To invite him into this partnership and have him inevitably figure it out down the line, be ambushed by it. It wouldn’t be fair to him. It wouldn’t be fair.

He had to say it.

He would give anything not to say it.

But oh, god, it wouldn’t be fair.

(Davey, stupid beautiful Davey, lit at all his most gorgeous angles by the golden light of the setting sun, watching him out of the corner of his eye, surely waiting for an answer. Davey, who he wanted so selfishly to keep here with him.)

He was at the edge of the cliff now. Teetering on the precipice. There was no going back if he did this.

But it wouldn’t be fair if he didn’t.

“...There’s one thing.” He felt like he was watching himself speak from a distance, words slow and heavy and cold on his tongue. He didn’t dare turn to look at Davey. Eyes trained on a suddenly-very-interesting point on the far horizon like it could get him out of this self-dug pit.

“...Yeah?”

“One thing,” he repeated. His whole body felt cold. God, Davey could probably see him sweating, even from the arm’s length away he was standing. He’d be lucky if he didn’t throw up in front of him by the end of this conversation. “If-- if we’re really going to seriously consider this. I have to tell you. It wouldn’t be fair not to tell you.”

“All right.” A long, long pause, tangibly so. Oh, god. His gut was so tight and cold it felt like he might shit blocks of ice, and then probably just keel over entirely to avoid engaging in this conversation further.. “...are… are you going to…?”

“Trying,” he choked out. Davey went quiet immediately. (Giving the space, waiting for him to be finished speaking. Fuck. Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t do this. Maybe he could just walk it back, pretend he was joking, ignore this whole conversation and just go back to the way things were this morning, before the stupid heist that had made everything go so complicated. But--) “It wouldn’t be fair. If I didn’t. Say this to you now. If I let you, like-- stay here and start working with me and uproot your whole life and didn’t tell you this and let you-- let you opt out.” (Because he would, surely he would, there was no way he would just let it go once he did.)

He went quiet again. Davey didn’t interject this time. Waiting for whatever he had to say.

(Couldn’t pull it back. He couldn’t pull it back again after this.)

His hands clenched white-knuckle at his sides. Sweat down the back of his neck. He had to say it. He had to. He had to. And then Davey would leave and he’d go back to his normal pathetic life and never see him again.

His mind, miles away as he finally forced his mouth open, idly noted that it’d probably been over twenty years since he last made himself say this out loud to another human being.

“...I’m. I’m gay.”

No response. Whether the polite space to continue or the cold silence of judgment, he couldn’t tell and he was scared to dwell too far on it. Forced himself on; no turning back now. “I’m-- gay and I. You. It’s. I-- I think you’re a v-very. Attractive man. And that’s--” he all but retched; suddenly the words were pouring out of him rapid-fire, like he just had to get them out of him no matter the cost-- “I’m not saying that cause I think you’re, like, obligated to be okay with that if you stay, I-I just know it’s not fair to have you like, living here without knowing that-- like most people wouldn’t be cool working with someone they know has a big stupid crush on them so like it’s no hard feelings I can pretend we never talked about this and you can just go and we can just wave from a distance when we run into each other during jobs and it’s fine it’s cool.”

And there it was.

Oh, god, and there it was.

The careful, safe boundary of Bulkhead and Dynamo was no more. Instead, Buck Armstrong, pathetic, lonely, middle-aged man with a big stupid gay crush, stood there sweating like a pig and watching the sunset on the horizon, waiting to hear sweet beautiful Davey turn on his heel and walk out of his life forever.

Davey laughed.

His head snapped around so fast he swore he could hear the vertebra crack. That-- much as that awful little voice in the back of his head wanted him to believe otherwise, he knew that wasn’t a mocking kind of laugh. No, no it was quick, breathy, high; the kind of laugh he’d heard from Davey as they drove away from the scene of the crime earlier; the kind you let out when you were so overjoyed and relieved that all you could do was laugh.

Davey was staring at him. Davey was smiling. Ear-to-ear, crinkling up the corners of his shining eyes, golden and glowing in the sunset light.

An entirely different kind of chill went up Buck’s spine.

“I was hoping--” Davey started, and then laughed again, drawing a hand back through his hair. “I mean-- you, you get the vibes, you know, but you don’t know if it’s just you reading into what you want to see or if it’s actually there--”

“You were hoping?” He repeated, quiet, dumb, cracking in the back of his throat. Did he hear that right? He couldn’t have, right? Or it was like, slang for something? He didn’t know slang. It was probably some kind of slang that didn’t mean anything remotely like it sounded like. That was the only thing that made sense here.

Davey barrelled on like he hadn’t even spoken. “I mean, all the banter when we ran into each other on jobs, right? And-- and I kept trying to tease it out, like, see how you reacted if I got kinda flirty, but I still wasn’t sure and what was I supposed to say, hey Buck thanks again for not letting me die alone in the dirt by the way do you like men. Like, come on--”

“What you wanted? Flirty?” Surely none of this meant what it sounded like it meant. Surely. Or maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he finally got so panicked he died, like a rabbit does. That would make sense. That would make sense. That was the only thing that would make sense.

Davey finally stopped speaking.

Buck froze.

Davey turned. Eyes on his. Boring right into him. And then he smiled, a different kind of smile, slow and warm and half-lidded in a way that instantly turned that icy chill in Buck’s gut into something molten-hot instead. The slight part of his lips around gap teeth; the crinkle in the corner of his brown eyes; the something something something undeniable in the way he looked at him.

He took a step forward. Buck remained frozen in the headlights of his gaze.

A hand, reaching out, slow, gentle - enough to pull away from if he wanted (like he ever fucking would) - fingers grazing across his knuckles and taking his hand. A slim, calloused thumb circling against his palm in a way he could only possibly describe as intimate, fingernail catching ever-so-slightly at the skin.

He stared down at their hands like it was something utterly alien. (Which-- might as well be. When was the last time he held hands with someone? Oh my god, was he so utterly lonely and pathetic that he was reacting like this to holding hands??) Moved his gaze back, heart pounding at that warm, warm look of his, straight down into his soul. He was so close, now, obliterating the Holy Ghost between them; that imaginary chaperone must be losing their ever-loving shit right now. He was certain Davey could feel his hummingbird-pounding heartbeat this close, smell the way he’d fear-sweat so badly during this conversation he already needed a second shower. (As it stood, he could already feel the slight rise-and-fall of Davey’s chest as he breathed, smell the detritus of the car and the dried-sweat stench of earlier exertion.)

They were back in the car after the heist again. Close, so close, passing the same breath between each other, close enough that Buck could easily just lurch forward and--

It had been a very, very long time since he’d done this. His nose bumped Davey’s, mustache catching awkwardly at his lip; Davey simply hummed a laugh into his mouth and tilted his head to better the angle. Fuck. His lips were thin and chapped; his teeth dragged across Buck’s lip and bumped momentarily into his own as they drew closer. (Maybe, he thought with uncharacteristic optimism, it’d been a while for Davey, too.)

One final half-step forward, the last of the gap gone. Buck’s massive barrel-chest awkwardly slotting against Davey’s sternum, his hand squeezing as they pulled together. He drew his other hand up to rest against the back of Davey’s neck without even thinking, feeling the baby-hairs at his hairline against his fingertips. Passing the same breath between each other, slow and warm and deliberate.

They pulled away too quickly. They pulled away after a million years. Buck’s eyes fluttered open, finding Davey smiling down barely inches away, cheeks dusted red, a terrifying adoration in his eyes, framed golden at the edges by the sunset-lighting in a way Buck was already scrambling to commit to memory.

It was all too much. He was going to-- fuck, start crying, or throw up, or both, and he frankly didn’t want to ruin this moment with either. So instead, burning beet-red, he ducked his face into Davey’s shoulder because it was the only place he had to hide. Davey - sweet, perfect Davey who just let him kiss him, what the fuck, that was real, right, that was real - just laughed again, light as anything, and he felt his face come to rest on top of his head, still toying with Buck’s hand in his grip.

“Take it there’s no further arguments, then?” He giggled. Buck could practically hear the wink in his voice, and it did nothing to calm him down.

“God. God. You really are serious about all of this.”

“Christ, Buck, yeah. What’s it gonna take to convince you I mean it? I could kiss ya some more, if you want. No opposition to that.”

“Fuck, man.” He couldn’t help but wheeze out a laugh himself, relief suddenly forcing itself out of him in waves. (Holding Davey like this felt really nice. Really nice. Wonder if he’d let him keep doing this.) “Fine. Yeah. Yeah. If you’re really so sure you wanna settle for dying in this shithole with me.”

“Don’t be silly! I’ll die outside this shithole with you. We’re infinitely more likely to beef it on the job.”

“God. Fair enough.” A slow inhale, head swimming with the smell of Davey. Dear god it all kept sinking in. “I know-- w-what I said still stands, you know, you don’t-- you’re not obligated to reciprocate or--”

“You think I’m feeling obligated? Christ, Buck,” Davey laughed again in reply, squeezing his hand tight. “You really haven’t been paying attention. I’ve been trying to goad you into making out with me practically since we met.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, see, that’s what I was hoping my flirting’d eventually lead to--”

“Christ alive, Davey--”

“Too much?” There wasn’t the slightest hint of repentance in his tone.

“You’re the worst.”

“You like it.”

“...I do.”

Another sweet, slow laugh; Buck felt Davey press another kiss to the top of his head and thought he might spontaneously combust. “Well, I like you too. You wanna head upstairs about it? I need a shower.”

“Mhm. Yeah. Yeah. Sure. Go ahead. Just… I need a second.”

“All good.” A long pause, a warm silence. Davey’s thumb still stroking circles into his palm. “...uh. One thing. If you mean you wanna stay down here another minute while I head up, I, uh. You gotta actually let go of me.”

He blinked. Somehow he’d gotten so wrapped up in holding Davey, he’d forgotten he was doing the holding. “Oh. Oh, uh-- right. Yeah. Right. Sorry.”

His bastard traitor of a body did not release his hold on Davey.

Lucky for him, Davey responded to the clear freeze-up with a good-natured chuckle, finally releasing Buck’s hand to trace up his arm and wrap around his shoulders, holding him in return. “Or, y’know. We could just both take a second. Go up together when you’re ready.”

“I-- th. Y. Yeah. Yeah.” His burning cheeks had spread to a slow warmth all through his body, tingling at every nerve, lit up with the long-forgotten ecstasy of human contact. He moved his own freed hand to the small of Davey’s back, settling against him, for a moment forgetting all his usual terror of vulnerability. Somehow, somehow, against all logic, against all odds, he felt safe here.

Bulkhead and Dynamo disappeared, up on the shelf with all their gadgets and armor. Buck and Davey remained, holding each other close, breathing the same breath back and forth, illuminated in the golden light of sunset.

[Image ID: A digital illustration of Puzz's OCs, Buck (a middle-aged, barrel-chested white man with balding red hair, a large nose and a bushy mustache, wearing a green turtleneck, kahki pants and brown boots) and Davey (a middle-aged, lanky black man with amputated right arm, diagonal scar across his face, large ears, large eyes with long lashes, large eyebrows and curly dark-brown hair in a ponytail, wearing overalls with one strap down and pointy brown boots). They are hugging each other tightly, with Davey's back slightly facing the camera. Buck's face is buried in Davey's chest, blushing furiously, while Davey rests his head on top of Buck's, with a slight smile visible. There is golden light painted behind them and illuminating the edges of both their figures. End ID.]

[tarzinnia]

Surface Tension

This is for @littlewhispersofsolitude OTP Prompt: Kisses

"Kissing each other as tears well in their eyes because they're not sure if/when they'll see each other again. Wrapping their arms around each other, pulling them closer to feel every bit of them in case it's the last time they get to."

A/N: I hope I credited the prompt properly. Please correct me if I need to change how I did that.

Pairing: Peter Parker x OC or Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Angst maybe?

She was sitting on a small blue blanket near a tree; it wasn't their tree since this was Central Park. Their tree, where they usually shared lunch, was in a park in Queens, much closer to each of their apartments but she had asked to meet him here, near her office. She said she needed to finish this project before she left tomorrow but he knew it was to keep the moment impersonal somehow. Easier.

As if anything was easy.

As if anything was.

As if anything.

As if.

He didn't approach her. Not yet.

She hadn't started searching for him amongst the people dotted here and there like a painting by Seurat. People walking, lounging on the grass, tossing a frisbee.

She was motionless, however, her face turned slightly away. His eyes followed her gaze to a brown-haired young man and a slender woman each holding the hand of a small boy between them, lifting the child up every so often and swinging him, his bare arms taut while his little legs bicycled through the air.

He didn't care to examine the emotion that descended from his throat and twisted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart at the vignette displayed on the grassy lawn. Him watching her watching them. What could be. Whatever there is. Whatever...

As if.

Her raised arm indicated she had spotted him and he strolled over to the tree that wasn't theirs.

"Hi."

"Hi." She was smiling at him but her eyes were not. The word inscrutable came to mind but he didn't normally use fancy words like that.

"I bought sandwiches, I hope that's okay?" She gestured at the paper sack from a deli near her workplace and pulled two water bottles from her ever present tote with I read banned books emblazoned on the side. He gave her that tote last October, when they sat under their tree, its bare arms reaching up. Reaching out. As if.

He didn't want to sit near this tree. He didn't want to sit and catch the scent of her perfume. To sit and watch her delicate fingers brush her hair from her eyes as the breeze blew wisps about her face. To sit and see her wistful smile as she watched him eat. Reaching out with her fingers to brush a crumb off his cheek. As if.

They ate in silence. The words were knotted in the tangles and twists of a timeline that began at their tree and ended at the tree that wasn't theirs. They sat together, watching as the couple with the little boy tossed a kite in the air. Watching as it danced clear of the open arms of nearby trees, reaching for the sky. As if.

Him watching her watching them. Until she caught his eye and cleared her throat, and began to gather their empty wrappers and napkins, sweeping them into the tote. Inscrutable, he thought.

His hand closed around the pink bottle in his pocket and he slowly withdrew his hand, turning away slightly so she couldn't see as he set the bottle on the blanket and twisted off the lid. Two wands. After the very first time at their tree he added the second one just for her.

He turned toward her, drawing a wand out and lifting it to his lips so that the bubbles came around them like a cloud. Floating towards her, floating into open arms reaching towards his, floating towards the sky. As if.

"Peter." Her voice caught on his name. Her arms wrapping around him, holding him tightly while the bubbles floated around them and above them and vanished one by one.

She kissed him as if afraid the memories would vanish like bubbles. She kissed him as if their arms would forever be empty, she kissed him as if it were the easiest thing in the world to love him.

She kissed him as if she would never see him again.

As if.

"I'm coming back, Peter. I love you. You know that. I promise I'm coming back."

He looked at her face, no longer inscrutable; reaching out with love.

As if it were a kite, his heart lifted toward the sky. As if.

END