#/delete time lapses

[windmaedchen-oceanhorn]

My contest entry for the AFK Journey Creation Fest. It took me some time, not only to come up with the idea, but also to execute it. Thankfully I had unexpected spare time on hand to juggle between endulging in Cyran daydreams and this. xD

Yolena. <3

[naomistares]

posting last comic's timelapse before i delete the file 😭 took me 26 hours total and 34k strokes

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 162

OKAY I THINK ITS DONE!! i guess thats the thing with painting tho you can kind of go at it forever if you want

time lapse under the cut!! cw for flashing

[st5lker]

agree with everything yall are saying btw but i would like to remind everyone to double triple check the people youre reblogging from even if theyre correct

[gazumirei]

Time-lapse

this was originally on tiktok but it got copyrighted so I'm posting it here for fun

I let my demons activate and drew my own bb dogday lmao

Alt

[iimplicitt]

KEEP YOUR EYES ON ME BOY | CL16

charles leclerc x girlfriend! character

wanrings/an: mentions of an eating disorder, bullying, depression, angst, fluff, hea, monaco gp 2024 win

requests open

wc: 3.9k

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Stress wore at the edges of her body. She could feel it, every ache of muscle and her bones felt dry. It all felt wrong. Her skin not fitting right and she was tired. Always tired.

Sighing, she rubbed tiredly at her eyes before she started to get ready. It was a race weekend, in Monaco at that, so the tension and excitement was bubbling in the air. Palpable. Nearly tasting of champagne given that’s all anyone seemed to be drinking.

As she did her makeup in the bathroom, her eyes kept dancing to the bedroom reflected behind her. Taking in the sleeping form of her boyfriend wrapped in white linen sheets. She always woke up earlier than him. Sleep wasn’t something that came often, she was always restless. She also liked to get ready before he woke up, get all dolled up so he would call her pretty first thing in the morning. She liked keeping him satisfied.

Being the girlfriend of a Formula One driver meant she always had to look her best. At least that’s what it felt like.

She was terrified of him leaving. His eyes wandering. So many of the other girls were models. Drop dead gorgeous. She was just trying to keep up.

Charles’ body rose and fell gently, his brown hair a mess on the pillow case. Looking peaceful as he slept.

She knew how much this weekend meant to him. His home race, right on the streets he grew up on. She had wanted to give him the space. No distractions. She’d stay in their apartment and watch on tv. Let him have his moment. Not admitting to herself or him that she was really just scared. Scared of the photographers and fans who seemed to hate that she existed. Scared of feeling insecure of all the other girls in the paddock.

Fake it till you make it is what she had tried to tell herself. But the moment her and Charles went public all the comments got to her. The criticism. She wasn’t pretty enough for him. She was a gold digger. She was too young. She was using him to further her own career. She was a lapse in his judgement. She was a whore.

She wanted to delete all her socials but Charles had talked her out of it. “It’s just noise,” he would say, like it was so easy. Plus, she didn’t have much of a choice. Having a good social media presence came with the territory of dating him.

To manage it, every once and a while she’d post a random photo dump of her travels and then turn off her notifications. Out of sight, out of mind. But she knew those comments were there. The hate pages. Lingering in the back of her mind every time she looked at herself in the mirror. Chewing on ice to stay skinny enough. Not just for them or Charles, but her own happiness.

She just wanted to be enough.

She felt guilty sometimes. It’s not like Charles had necessarily done anything to shovel these worries into her. She was just insecure, she knew that. But sometimes it felt like she loved him and he loved the vanity of it all. The image. They looked good together on paper. A young couple, rich, lavish, traveling the world. She sometimes felt like a status quo. A status. His favourite toy he liked to play with. Driver’s always got more attention when they were seeing someone.

Doubts on top of doubts.

She felt like an ungrateful bitch. But she was greedy. She wanted all of him, all of his attention. Hating that she had to share him with the world.

She didn’t know why her heart felt like this. Charles gave her every piece of him that he could. He was a public figure, had been for years. Long before he even knew she existed. She respected that, she did. But he lived life in the fast lane and she was terrified of getting left behind. Of him finding someone better around the corner. She wouldn’t blame him, if there was another girl out there who looked like heaven on earth and had all the self confidence in the world she’d leap at the opportunity.

Stress was the last thing he needed, so she kept her sadness to herself. Smiling warmly every time he looked at her. Making sure she gave him support in all that he did. Cheering him on, trying to make him feel on top of the world even if he had a bad day.

“Ma chérie?” His tired voice called out, rough with sleep and she turned, watching him rub at his eyes before sitting up on his elbows.

His smile was lazy, sleep still clinging to the edges of his features. Always so handsome.

She knew she was the luckiest girl alive.

He held his arm out, “C’mere.” His voice was soft but carried over the apartment easily, the early morning sun dancing over his tan skin through the window.

Her feet padded across the floor, her heart beating in her throat. She didn’t know why she always felt nervous around him. Always on her toes. She didn’t want to mess this up.

Charles’ arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close and his body warmth melted into her, calming her lungs. Touching him always seemed to ease her a bit. Reminding her he was human, like the rest of the world.

His head rested against her sternum as he held her close, sighing into her. She took to running her nails gently through his hair, which seemed to help him whenever he was anxious. Something she had originally never thought possible. Charles gave the impression of someone who could easily carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. But as they got to know each other more she realised how good he was at hiding. Putting up a front because he knew eyes were watching.

The press wasn’t kind to the drivers if they showed any strain. Saying they were losing their edge. They weren’t fit to race. That they should get over it and stop complaining. That men shouldn’t even have such ailments. Grow up.

His other arm snaked around her waist as he looked up at her, resting his chin against her and she took in the flecks of gold in his pretty eyes. “I think we got carried away last night.” His tone was light, teasing. His dimples showed slightly in his cheeks and she held his face in her hands. A blush bleeding into her own.

“I think you got carried away, you know I can’t say no to you.”

He shrugged, “you looked pretty naked on the balcony.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help it as anxiety clawed up her throat. Tickling like a spider who wanted to pry its way out. Worried that there were tabloids going viral, that they had been caught and she was being called a list of synonyms for the word slut. That she was ruining his reputation. His career. That she was sabotaging his home race.

As if reading her thoughts, Charles tugged her onto the bed and she laid down in the space between his legs, her back resting against his chest. He kissed the side of her head. “No one saw us. Trust me, if they had my phone would be blowing up right now.”

She supposed that was true, but what they had done was too risky. Regardless, she didn’t want to worry him. This was his weekend. She’d sugar coat anything for him, be who he needed her to be.

“Are you ready for today?”

They had their first practice sessions yesterday and it had gone well, though she stayed behind. Today was quali and she knew how much he wanted this. What it would mean for him. What it would mean for Monaco to have one of their own on pole.

His fingers dusted over her shoulder, down her arm to her hand before he twined his fingers with hers. “I want you to be there. Today and tomorrow.”

She held her breath for a moment, debating on how to respond. “This is your weekend I don’t–”

“Hey,” he lightly took hold of her chin and tilted her head back so they could look at one another. “I want you there with me. Forget about everyone else, it’s just you and me.”

She didn’t know why but she felt like crying. Sadness was weird that way, taking hold of every nerve even when one should be happy. He was always so reassuring yet her brain would still trip over itself on an invisible problem.

Smiling, she felt stiff all over. Wrong. An imposter. “Okay.”

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

Her nails tapped a rhythm into the table, hyper aware of how she was sitting and what she looked like. Was she breathing normally? Did it look too forced, too quick, too shallow? Was her outfit okay? She wore one Charles had bought her a few weeks ago, delighted in the way he smiled at her when she walked out of the bathroom in it.

She liked it when she made the right choice.

When cameras flashed she tried not to flinch. The worst part was always when she walked into the paddock. It didn’t matter if she was alone or with Charles. Though if he was with her she usually idled back a few paces, letting him have the limelight and smile as people walked up to him for photos or autographs. This weekend he was the main point of interest, the Prince of Monaco in his own regard.

She smiled all the while, lightly to give the impression of being casual. It was just another day yet she also needed to look grateful. It was complicated, trying to win people over. She wasn’t allowed to look entitled but she also needed to fit in.

When Charles grabbed onto her waist to kiss her a quick goodbye before disappearing into Ferrari’s garage, panic seized her. She couldn’t breathe. But she kept smiling.

Rebecca had given her some advice; never let them see you break.

She still felt like she had to walk carefully around Carlos’ girlfriend. She was sweet and understanding, knowing how stressful it all was. But she couldn’t help it, she always wanted to appease those around her, desperately wanting to be liked. It was intimidating, being surrounded by models. Rebecca was also older than her, more experienced so she handled it with an air of grace that seemed impossible.

She heard another flicker of a camera lens, snapping her out of it and her eyes slated to the side, noticing a photographer taking pictures of people. Her stomach churned uneasily, her curiosity itching to glance at her phone but she knew better.

Watching them drive always made her nervous, that’s partly why she preferred staying home. In the safe haven of privacy. She tried to always be poised, giving support when appropriate. Trying not to over do it.

Yet when she watched Charles land on pole, her along with the rest of those in Ferrari’s paddock club shot up out of their chairs. Yelling and chanting, hands in the air. She was beaming. It was only a stepping stone for tomorrow, but she knew he must’ve been over the moon.

Someone then tapped her on the shoulder. She didn’t notice at first, still clapping and grinning as Charlotte pulled her into a quick hug. The tap came again, more pressure this time and she turned around, her eyes flicking across the room before they landed on a woman who must’ve been around her age.

“Yes?”

The woman smiled, looking kind enough and she held a notepad in her hand. “So sorry to bother you, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. Could you step just outside for a moment. On the balcony?”

She hesitated, realising this was probably a reporter of some kind. Not seeing why they wanted to talk to her, but Charles did just get pole so she assumed it was because of that. Maybe she just wanted a quote from his supportive partner. Besides, the balcony was right there.

So she smiled, ever the people pleaser. “Okay.”

Following her out between the crowd, the warm salt air greeted her skin, mingled with the faint smell of petrol. Her eyes danced back through the window, hoping she wouldn’t miss his post-quali interview.

“So,” the woman leaned slightly on the railing and looked down at her notes. “First, I just wanted to ask your thoughts about Charles getting pole.”

“Oh, wonderful. I’m so happy for him.”

The woman continued to stare at her and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to add more. Wringing her hands nervously she cleared her throat. “Winning this race has always been a dream of his.”

“Obviously.”

She blinked at the tone shift. It wasn’t obvious, but she still picked up on it. Did she say something wrong? “Um, is that all? I should really–”

“You aren’t often seen at races. Why not go more often, given you should be supporting him? Or does he not want you there because you don’t know anything about racing?”

Her ears began to ring, pressure slowly building behind her eyes. She lightly shook her head, “I’m sorry what–”

“You two have been dating for a few years now but there’s still no ring,” the woman made a point to stare at her bare ring finger. “Then again, he doesn’t seem the marrying type. With his promiscuous past love life and all, do you think you’re a bench warmer to him?”

“No, I– I’m sorry but what paper were you with again?” She could feel her heart beat in her finger tips. The sun suddenly felt too bright, too close.

“Your dress is stunning, how much was it? I know you love coming off as relatable online so it’s affordable right?”

“Charles–”

“Bought it for you? Right. How much else does he buy you? I’m sure you’re aware of the allegations.”

She could barely hear her. Comments were bad enough, but having someone say it to her face was suffocating. It felt like the floor was moving, swaying beneath her feet. The roof sinking lower and lower yet not moving at all. It was too hot and she felt light headed.

“What about your diet? Many believe you're suffering from an eating disorder yet you promote yourself at all these restaurants. Do you realise how damaging that is to girls who look up to you?”

She felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. Yanking the breath out of her lungs with greedy hands. God, she felt like she was about to pass out. She didn’t know what she said next. Didn’t know how she replied. Didn’t know how she got away.

No memory of making her way to Charles’ drivers room. She just wanted to get away. She knew she shouldn’t have come, though she supposed it didn’t matter. People thought that way about her regardless if she heard it in person. Her head was spinning, guilt clawing at her. What was she doing? She had been so selfish, all these awful things were making him look bad and she was just letting it happen?

Tears were hot as they ran down her cheeks, her hands tried scraping them away but her skin felt too rough. It’s not like it helped, she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe, her lungs tripping over themselves as they tried to catch up. She didn’t know where to go. The room was too big yet too small and she slid to the floor against the foot of the small cushioned bench in the room.

What was she doing here? Why her? Charles could have anyone he wanted. She didn’t understand what the point of her was.

She didn’t hear the door open, didn’t hear him mutter her name with concern lacing his tone. She didn’t even realise he was there till he lightly touched her arm and she flinched away from him.

Everything was falling apart. He wasn’t supposed to see her like this. He never saw her cry. She was supposed to be happy. Grateful all the time.

She choked out apologies, turning away from him to try to wipe her tears away but nothing was working.

His hands sought her out again, this time she didn’t fight it as he pulled her into his hold. He was on his knees, cradling her to him and he held her head against his chest, shaking with sobs she tried to silence.

“Parle moi mon amour,” he said softly into her hair, tone slightly pleading.

She was awful. This is the last thing he needed.

Shaking her head, she tried to pull away from him but he tightened his hold on her, kissing her gently on top of her head. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she managed to get out. “I’m sorry this isn’t–”

“Hey, don’t apologise.” He leaned back, gently cupping her face in one hand and his brows furrowed when he took in her red glossy eyes. “What happened?”

She leaned into his hand, embarrassed. “This woman… just, nothing I’m overreacting.”

Charles went tense but his thumb gently wiped away another tear that slipped out. “Who?” His tone was off, she hadn’t heard him sound like that before. Slightly cold. Angry.

“It’s nothing. You don’t need this right now and–”

“Who? What did she say to you?”

“What they always say.” Her voice shook. She was tired. Of it all. She had been teetering on the edge of a knife for months now, she just wished she hadn’t fallen off now of all days.

Charles held her tighter, sighing slightly but she could tell he was angry.

She squeezed her eyes shut, “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have come today.”

“I told you I want you here–”

“You aren’t even able to celebrate pole. You’re in here consoling your girlfriend who’s a mess.”

“I don’t need to celebrate until tomorrow. And this isn’t a burden, you aren’t. Someone made you cry and I’m going to hit them with my car.”

She couldn’t help it as a laugh left her. “Yeah, right.” Nonetheless she sunk into him further, the tears finally calming down. She didn’t realise how much she needed this, to be held by him. She'd gone through most of their relationship putting her emotions on the backburner. Too afraid to screw things up. She should’ve known better, Charles wasn’t the type to just drop people when it got inconvenient.

Sighing, she finally looked up at him again. He was always so beautiful. Heaven on earth in the form of a human. “I don’t know who she was. Some woman pulled me aside with a note pad and she just started saying and asking all these things that really got to me. The same stuff that they all say, I know it’s nothing new but hearing it said was a lot to take in all of the sudden.”

Charles clenched his jaw, his tongue running along the side of his cheek as he looked away from her. His eyes suddenly became darker than usual. “Was she a reporter?”

“I mean I assume so.”

“Did she have a press pass?”

“I don’t know, she had a lanyard. She was in the paddock, I just assumed. I…” she bit at her own cheek. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked back to hers, softening a bit at the edges. “Please, stop apologising.”

Charles stood up, taking hold of her hands to guide her along with him. Never letting go of her and she didn’t think she could express how grateful she was for him. He always knew what to do.

“I’ll fix this.”

She shook her head, her eyes feeling dry and puffy. “There’s nothing to fix, I know people will always talk.”

“Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

She smiled slightly, lifting up one of his hands to kiss his knuckles. “Just keep your eyes on me and win that race tomorrow. You deserve it, Charles.” He deserved everything he wanted and more, she just wished she could provide that for him.

But she was only human. She knew there’d be times to come where they made each other mad, annoyed, sick of each other. She’d fight it though, fight for him. She hoped he felt the same.

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑

She was still crying, for a whole list of other happier reasons, when Charles walked up to her soaked in champagne and beaming. He set his first place trophy down and wrapped her in a hug, not being able to help it as he picked her up and spun her around.

“Thank you for being here,” he mumbled into her hair.

Setting her down, her arms were looped around his neck and she toyed with the wet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m so happy for you. You should’ve seen us, I thought your mother was going to faint.”

Charles laughed, shaking his head and catching her mouth in a kiss, his arms tight around her waist. The fact that they were surrounded by hundreds of people and cameras didn’t even cross her mind. She didn’t care.

It was just them, no one else mattered.

Her eyes danced to the side as they began walking towards the pier for further celebration when she spotted her. She froze slightly, her hold on Charles’ hand tightening and he pulled them to a stop.

His brows creased as he looked down at her, “what?’

“That’s her, the woman.”

She blinked a few times, taking in how normal she looked yet she was capable of being cruel for no reason.

Charles turned to follow where she was looking. The moment his eyes landed on her, his jaw clenched. “You’re fucking kidding.”

“What?”

He had that tone again, the one rough around the edges that she rarely heard him use.

“She’s not with any paper or the press, she has a VIP pass.”

“So?” Looking at him, Charles gave the impression of someone ready to rip a head off a neck. “It’s fine. Let’s go celebrate, I’m over it.”

He gave her hand a squeeze and turned to her. “That means she was invited. Unbelievable they let people like that in here.”

“Charles–”

“I’ll be back.”

Before she could argue he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead and handed her his trophy, turning sharply on his heels and made a beeline for the rude woman.

She held her breath as she held the trophy, watching in both admiration and worry as he stalked up to her. Clearly pissed off and she watched as the woman’s eyes widened as she realised Charles was looking right at her.

They were too far away so she wasn’t able to hear what he was saying, but she was pretty sure he was quietly yelling at her given the way the woman flinched back, her own eyes dancing past Charles' shoulders to look at her. It didn’t last long though, Charles stepped to the side to block her vision, lowering his head more and a few seconds later the woman practically ran off with her tail between her legs.

Charles turned, still aggravated but gave her a reassuring smile as he neared her. Taking the trophy from her arms and placing a hand on her waist.

“Let’s go.”

He offered no explanation and she didn’t ask. All she did was smile when he kissed the top of her head again.

tag-list: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @ashbone @c8lap1nto @taasgirl @stopeatread @dying-inside-but-its-classy

[bluebellowl]

I would like… to observe your work. The way you draw anatomy and proportions makes it very easy for me to learn from. I am wondering if this is fine. I understand if it is not desirable. Best regards!

Hi! soooo observing my work is maybe a bit difficult, as in calls and stuff, unless we're on a Discord server hanging with people and I happen to feel like streaming, which is very rare, but it happens.

But I work in Procreate, so I've got time lapses of my work,  if I don't delete them.

I now spent the evening making the latest full-length time-lapse of Robo Emmet into a YouTube video for y'all to enjoy.

[orphiclovers]

I'm thinking about a canon adjacent au here okay hear me out. what if pre-scenarios hsy actually thought/knew she had DID?

with the blank spots of memory and lapses of time and tiredness and weakness etc hsy started to worry she had a brain tumor or something. went to a doctor & all the scans came back clear so she was directed to a psychologist instead. she learns of DID and is kind of excited to meet this apparently other person living her life (she's maybe 20 yo atp) yet her hopes are shattered bc her alter is apparently the most. uncomunicative bastard in the world. ignored all her sticky notes saying hi, all attempts at journaling or deligating tasks or following appointments on the shared calendar or working together on anything. radio silence from them, except for throwing the notes in the trash so she knows they saw them.

hsy is annoyed. the therapist suggests they don't feel safe or secure enough to talk yet and hsy begrudgingly accepts that.

its not like the other hsy is actually putting them in danger, as far as she can tell, they spent all their time on the computer doing who knows what (browsing data is always deleted after)

their body was literally collapsing under the weight of stress though, so even if the other her wouldn't help, hsy had to start managing this shit somehow. she's forced to be the responsible one and plan her day around the other her. has to take care of things like cooking and cleaning and eating and bathing in her own limited time awake, on top of things like friends and events and of course writing for work. has to choose to rest sometimes when she wanted to go out because of the other her.

she resents the other hsy for this at first - this is one of the things she spent a long time working out in therapy (among other issues besides the DID. apparently her childhood had fucked her up more than she realized) the therapist suggested the alter may not speak directly, but they're still communicating through their actions - to try to understand them and what they might be feeling. hsy does, even though she didn't want to.

the other hsy didn't seem to have any friends or leave the house, they didn't feed themselves or drink water on their own - hsy often woke up ravenous and thirsty and they were paranoid- han sooyoung found knives under her mattress once.

hsy knew these things, they were annoying, but looked at them in a new light now. for her to act like this, her other half must be damaged and cautious - the therapist had expected it, says these conditions don't develop on their own. it was a sobering thought. hsy can deal with a couple of inconveniences if it means she can stay the carefree and extraverted person she is, not miserable and lonely like the other her. maybe that's selfish but she deserves to be selfish sometimes doesn't she?

in the beginning, she tried to force the other hsy to come out - they spent a lot of time on the pc, so she took a weekend and went to the countryside, hiked to a camping spot and set up. she had her phone but no internet and wanted to see what the other her would do.

she woke up at midnight, dirty and sweaty, muscles screaming, in the closest bus stop with her phone at 2%. she could still feel the panic and adrenaline in her trembling arms, the way she had ran here. it scared her, she didn't try to force the issue again.

as for 1863, when young hsy tried to talk to her through notes she thought "oh shit oh fuck" but then realized its not like she can get kicked out (probably?) so decided to ignore her until she gave up. she tries not to interfere with her life more than necessary.

one time she woke up in a shrinks office, freaked out, threatened to stab the therapist and fled out the door. in her defense, she hadn't talked to a real life person in a month and really hadn't expected this. (for young hsy this was actually a breakthrough in therapy. she was very excited, gave her weeks of material to work on. after apologizing profusely.)

I just love this dynamic of twitchy, very maladjusted survivor who cares about very few things in life and herself is not on that list, and the exasperated young writer who wants to enjoy her life but has to deal with bullshit at home. frustrated, but at the same time curious and sad for the other her.

How this ends is. han sooyoung wakes up at the train station, looks around, and sighs with exasperation. the other her must have left her somewhere again. there is an odd hollowness in her chest that she writes it off and then the apocalypse happens.

hsy gets the avatar skill and wryly thinks its like it was made for her. she had always wanted to talk to the other her and now after so long she finally got the chance. she creates her, sees her for the first time- older than herself, skin tight around the eyes and a hard twist to her mouth like she hadn't ever smiled. shoulders hunched, she's got a confused, lost look in her eyes.

hsy says "hey, calm down, it's okay- well. things are crazy right now but you're mostly safe, I can explain."

the other her looks at her own palms, drags them up her forhead to clutch her hair, shaking her head and groaning. she stumbles away. "what have you done?"

hsy's throat feels strangled. "I- wanted to talk to you. what- what's wrong?"

the other her doesn't answer, looking blank, and then she bolts. hsy shouts and gives chase but eventually loses her, panting for breath and holding her knees in the street. "Fucking damn it!"

canon proceeds as usual. epilogue happens and hsy remembers everything, or more accurately, the other her comes back but this time without the walls dividing them. hsy feels complete for the first time in her life, and the hollowness she felt the day the scenarios started is gone.

post epilogue domestic bliss ensues where they actually get to know each other and talk openly about their experiences, after so many years.

[milkfordragons]

Do you have an analysis or thoughts about why Will pulled them off the cliff at the end? I love the contrast of him saying "it's beautiful" and embracing Hannibal, just to immediately throw them off the edge after.

The Fall: A Complete Analysis of Both Scenarios. Death or Rebirth? I don't think Will truly pushed them off, though there are two versions of that finale that resonate with me.

In a previous episode, Will tells Jack and Alana that Dolarhyde wouldn't kill himself to stop his killings, stating, "how could he be sure that what's inside of him would die too?" Throughout season three B, we see recurring references to suicide—lines that hint at Will's own internal struggle. One of the final scenes has Hannibal telling Francis, while looking at Will, "suicide is the enemy," just moments after Francis says, "suicide is a sad way to go." (on the script). These lines subtly discourage Will from following that path. Hannibal is aware of Will's thoughts, and when Will admits he's "not sure he can save himself," there’s a long, unspoken moment between them. It's close to this silence that Hannibal delivers the line about the greatest love of man being to lay down his life for a friend. He wasn’t referring to Will, but to himself, this is before his declaration, "my compassion for you is inconvenient, Will." Hannibal knew what Will was planning and, in a way, he supported it.

In one version, the post-credit scenes is the deleted mind palace sequence, and Will dies while Hannibal survives. This is symbolized by Will’s face being unscarred, and the scene conveys an almost spiritual connection between them. Though this would’ve been an intriguing direction, the official ending is the scene with Bedelia, which confirms both Will and Hannibal are alive. The script contains a time lapse, with Jack searching the chapel for someone, implying that at least one of them survived. It’s been confirmed in interviews that they both made it. The final scene, though ambiguous, doesn’t suggest a literal fall off the cliff but rather a metaphorical one. Bryan Fuller himself described this as a "metaphorical fall." Given Will’s state of mind throughout season three, especially with his hallucinations, I believe the fall represents his internal collapse. He loved Hannibal so much that he couldn’t live without him, yet couldn’t let him go either. He tried to free them both from this cycle of destruction, but it wasn’t real. If we had seen a continuation, I imagine it would’ve revealed Will waking from a dream where they were merging underwater, then realizing the fall was symbolic. He'd be lying in a bed, recovering from blood loss, and understanding that what seemed like death wasn’t actually the end.

But if we interpret the ending as their deaths, I believe Will's decision stems from his deep depression, which had plagued him since his time in prison, a point Hugh mentioned in interviews. Will had been carrying an unbearable weight: his desire for Hannibal and what that represented: a craving for violence. He couldn’t reconcile that with his guilt over what happened to Molly, and he believed ending his life was the only way to stop the cycle of harm. However, Will’s possessiveness would prevent him from leaving Hannibal behind. But I still don’t think Will "pulled them off", either. Instead, I think they had an unspoken pact to go down together. Their connection had been communicated silently for a long time. The altar in Hannibal’s mind palace at the end mirrors Francis’ shrine burning, signaling a kind of funeral. Both men, regardless of how Hannibal viewed his actions, were ready to sacrifice everything. Hannibal's willingness to face death was evident in his actions, refusing the insanity plea that would have led to his retrial and probable death sentence. He’d been reckless with his life, perhaps due to the rejection he felt after experiencing love with Will. Will, too, was on the brink of a breakdown by the end of season three. He knew he couldn’t survive without Hannibal, and he understood that death might be the only way for them to truly rest together. Will was so tired. He just wanted to rest with his soulmate.

In that deleted scene, they did rest, peacefully, together. And that’s all Will truly wanted: to be with Hannibal at peace, even if that meant in death.

[terramythos]

It's 2030, windows 12 has just launched. Everything has been forced to cloud storage you have to pay a $15/month subscription for and have a working high speed internet connection to use. There is no native functionality to access local files. You are required to watch an unskippable 2 minute ad every time you access or close a program. A mandatory webcam is on at all times, which pauses the ad if you aren't paying complete attention to it. If your monthly subscription lapses all of your files are deleted forever unless you pay Microsoft an additional $300 restoration fee within a month. By turning on the OS you automatically sign a waiver which forfeits your right to sue Microsoft or pursue criminal damages for the next 1000 years. Within 2 months of release it is discovered that Windows 12 installations somehow cause 5% of GPUs to explode into deadly shrapnel, killing dozens and maiming hundreds

[irondad-creator-awards]

And The Finalists Are... Part 1

The 2024 Story Finalists Are Now All Bookmarked And Added To The Collection - Or Permission Requested.

Best Multi-Chapter

A Sky Full Of Stars By Olliecollie

Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things By Evienyx

Dark Matter By Mysterycyclone

Get Off My Lawn, Or I'll Turn The Hose On You By Bergen

Leap Of Faith (Catch Me If You Can) By Erinwantstowrite

Best One-Shot

How To Get Banned From Monaco (Again) By Niniblack

King Of The Interns By Isadancurtisproduction

Moonstruck By Jaworley

One More Time By Bluesweatshirt

The Shoe Shining Business Is Booming By Bergen

Best Drabble

Christmas With You By Badass_Bookworm

Peter Parker Needs A Hug By Happyaspie

They Happen Because Of You By Diamondshard143

Walk To The Parkperseus By Phoenix_Black61

Best Plot Twist

Dark Matter By Mysterycyclone

The Hoax By Happyaspie

Occupational Hazard By Bergen

Delete That Footage By Iron_Spider

Identity Saga By Kitcat992

Best Biodad

All I've Waited For (Where You Belonged) By Jaworley

For We Are Bound By Symmetry By Kingdomfaraway

I Believe I'm Lacking Some Context By Bergen

Men Of Iron By Spdrmain

The Moon And Stars (And Gummy Worms Where They Shouldn’t Be) By Jaworley

Best Worlds Colliding

4.2 And Running In Circles (Don’t Give Up Kid, I’m Here) By Jaworley

Heir Of Stark Industries By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

King Of The Interns By Isadancurtisproduction

Peter Parker Would Like It On Record That He Didn't Know About The Google Doc Robin07

Peter’s Tony By Mswinifredquale

Potluck By Mswinifredquale

Best Hurt/Comfort

If You Find That You Feel Lost, I'll Be Your Ticket Back By Kingdomfaraway

Peter Begins : The Lost Episode By Peterparkersbff

Take All Your Chances While You Can By Theregularwriter

To Be Built Back Up Again By Fotibrit

Tony Stark Is Humandetective_Sarcasm

Best Homeless

Leap Of Faith (Catch Me If You Can) By Erinwantstowrite

Dark Matter By Mysterycyclone

Hierarchy Of Needs By Bergen

Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things By Evienyx

Occupational Hazard By Bergen

Best Adoption

Hierarchy Of Needs By Bergen

Fostering Hope By Happyaspie

7 Times Peter Starts To Realize He Has A Family + The One Time He Knows He Does Jaworley

100 Hours (Community Service Is For The Turtles) By Orphanaccount

But Don't Give Up (Just Hold On Tight) By Olliecollie

Best Fix-It

A Lapse In Memory By Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Broken Mirrors And Fragile Things By Evienyx

The Fifth Stage Of Grief By Bergen

Tis The Damn Season (For A Christmas Miracle) By Peacockgirl

Try, Try Again By Mak5258

Best 5+1

5 Times Peter’s Metabolism Screwed Him Over By For_The_Night

7 Times Peter Starts To Realize He Has A Family + 1 Time He Knows He Does By Jaworley

Make Yourself At Home By Happyaspie

The Iron Dad Protocol By Peacockgirl

What Means The Most By Mswinifredquale

NOTE: Sorry for the split posts. Tumblr wouldn't let us post as one.

[insomniac-void]

Ignore that one low quality frame of Bernard I accidentally deleted that frame and I had to use my time lapse to use it 🥲 I didn't want to redraw it 😑

[hungermakesmonsters]

Love, Sick Love

Chapter Ten

Plot summary : Working at one of the shadier bars in Brooklyn, you have one rule; don’t mess around with the patrons. Most of them are criminals, dangerous. None more so than Billy Russo, but Billy believes that rules are made to be broken. Especially your rule. One lapse in judgement is all it takes for Billy to decide that you’re his, and he’s never been the sort of man to take rejection well.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Mentions of child abuse. All chapters will deal with dark and smutty themes, including but not limited to stalking. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : 5.9k

A/N : 😅😅😅

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE

Master List

Chapter Ten

You knew from the moment Billy left that there was nothing stopping you from going into the bathroom and removing your cum-stained panties. But you didn’t. In fact it only crossed your mind as a fleeting thought, not because you were scared Billy might find out and certainly not because you felt like you had to obey him, but for some other third, more nebulous reason.

As uncomfortable as you were, as much as you hated it, some part of you... enjoyed it.

It was that same strange and conflicting mix of emotions that you’d felt the morning after sleeping with him; that feeling that you weren’t supposed to enjoy rough sex as much as you had. Shame. That was it. You felt ashamed, but every time you thought about your panties, you remembered the way you’d felt, bent over the table and at his mercy. You remembered how good it had felt.

So, you didn’t remove your panties and you didn’t think twice about slipping into the bathroom after closing while Jenna emptied the cash register. 

It took you a couple of minutes to work up the nerve to stand in front of the mirror and pull up your skirt to snap a picture, though it took you a lot less time to grip your phone in such a way that you could flip him off in the process. When it was done and sent, you deleted the photo from your phone and, once again, found yourself glad that you still had Billy’s number blocked.

That feeling of conflict, of knowing how you should feel versus how you did feel, followed you home and had your stomach tying itself in knots when you thought about his other demand.

At first you told yourself that you wouldn’t call him, slipping out of your clothes and straight under a hot shower, but the longer you were left to think about, the more your stomach seemed to coil itself in knots. 

Did you want him to show up? Did you want to finish what you’d started with him earlier? 

No.

Yes.

Fuck.

Finally, you settled on calling him - but you were only going to allow it to ring three times before you hung up. If Billy missed the call, that was his own fault.

Unfortunately, he answered on the second ring, as if he’d been sat there all night, just waiting for your call.

“Hey,” he said, and you could almost hear his smile in his voice, “you get home safe?”

“Yeah,” you answered, wanting to keep things short and sweet.

“You’re late.”

There wasn’t any accusation of malice to it, it was just a statement of fact; the bar had closed almost an hour ago and you only lived a few blocks away.

“I needed to take a shower.”

“Yeah, I guess you did,” Billy said.

You were grateful that he held back his laughter, but you didn’t know what to do with the silence that followed.

“How was your night?” He asked.

“Really? That’s really the game you want to play?” You said, unable to stop the irritation from filing your tone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This - getting me to phone you, feeding your ego, thinking you can make me do whatever you want. I -”

“That’s not why I asked you to call.” He interrupted.

“You didn’t ask, Billy. You told me to. You threatened me.”

There was another few seconds of silence and then you heard a sigh from him.

“Fine, whatever, but that’s not why I wanted you to call me.”

“Then why?” You asked, barely biting back a sigh of your own.

“I wanted to know that you got home safe.” 

Your heart stuttered in your chest, that strange feeling of butterflies taking flight in your stomach again, but you did your best to tamp it down. You were confused. More than that, you were still angry with him, even if you couldn’t quite pinpoint the reasons anymore. 

Because he kept pushing, kept taking you by surprise.

Because one minute he was sweet and gentle, and the next minute he left you wanting to strangle him.

“Why?”

“I told you. Because I care about you.”

The comment caused the feeling in your stomach to get worse.

“How can you care about me? You hardly know me...”

In the moment of silence that followed, you steeled yourself for whatever argument he’d try to make, hoping that you could finally take some control of the situation. 

“I’m trying to get to know you, kitten, but you’re not exactly making it easy,” he said. You remained silent, so Billy decided to push the matter. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

You let out a forced and particularly loud sigh, sinking back on your bed and staring up at the ceiling, not sure what you could tell him or if you even wanted to tell him anything at all. He’d been right earlier when he’d said you didn’t like honesty - you didn’t like anything that let people get too close.

The longer the silence dragged on, you knew you had to say something.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you felt the need to talk just to fill the silence and placate Billy, or if it was because you felt shitty for refusing to answer when he was making such an effort to get to know a little more about you.

You took a breath, not sure what you wanted to say until words started to pour from your mouth. And, by the time you realised what you were doing, it was too late to stop yourself.

“When I was twelve, my dad died. My mom had no money and there were debt collectors just waiting to take everything away, so she took my and my siblings back to her family home in Virginia.” You took a breath, stomach churning. “Her family was loaded but my mom had been cut off and taken out of the will for marrying my dad.”

Billy remained silent, as if he was hanging on your every word, so you continued.

“Our grandfather was a cruel old bastard - or so our mom told us. Her plan was to win him round, but she couldn’t do that with kids in tow. So, her and our grandmother hid us in the attic. It was only supposed to be for a couple of days while she fixed things with her father, but... we ended up stuck up there for three years, never allowed to leave the attic until we eventually managed to run away.”

You hated yourself as you finished speaking and, this time, allowed the silence to hang in the air. Billy let it linger for almost a minute before speaking again.

“Nice try, kitten, but that’s the plot to Flowers in the Attic.”

The worst part was that he didn’t even sound angry about catching you in another obvious lie. He just sounded resigned, almost hurt.

“You’ve read Flowers in the Attic?” You weren’t sure why that was the question you chose to ask. 

The feeling in your stomach continued to get worse, as if some part of you felt bad about lying to him and pushing him away. The worst part was you weren’t even sure why you did it, why you couldn’t just offer him some watered down version of your past, something that was true but only to a comfortable extent.

“What can I say? I’m a man of hidden depths.”

“Yeah?” You asked, doubling down on your course of action. “They have a lot of VC Andrews in the prison library.

“No, I came across a copy on base in Afghanistan,” he answered, pausing for a beat before; “... have you just been assuming I was an ex-con all this time?”

“Wouldn’t exactly be the only one to drink at Sam’s,” you offered, feeling a little silly at your assumptions. Military made more sense, though you supposed you’d only given fleeting consideration to him being an ex-con as yet another reason not to get close to him.

Again there was a silence and, then, another soft sigh.

“Why do you do that?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Lie like that?” When you didn’t answer he continued. “What is it about your past that has you so scared?”

“I’m not scared,” you said automatically, like a reflex kicking in. You weren’t weak. You weren’t going to let him think you were weak.

“Then why have the go-bag?”

You felt a chill run through your body when you thought about the backpack nestled in your wardrobe. You still hated that he’d seen it, that he understood what it was.

“It’s in case I need to get away from my stalker who spent weeks breaking into my apartment without my knowledge,” you answered coldly. 

“Cute, but I know it’s been there longer than that.”

He didn’t elaborate and you didn’t ask him to explain, already knowing you wouldn’t like any answer that he had to give you.

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you,” he said softly after a few moments of quiet.

“I don’t need protecting, Billy. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” He asked and you were sure his lips were pulling into a smirk on the other end of the call.

“I could kill someone if I had to.”

“Really?” His tone shifted and that hint of playfulness that you were used to started to creep back in.

“I’ve killed before,” you said casually, leaving him to guess if it was just another one of your lies.

“Did he deserve it?” Billy asked, not seeming at all bothered that you might potentially be a murderer.

“Who said it was a he?” 

“Educated guess. So, did he deserve it?”

“Yes.” 

“Did he hurt you?” 

You heard the sharpness slipping back into his voice as he asked the question.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m glad he’s dead. I’m just sorry I wasn’t the one to do it.”

Your mouth felt dry and you could feel your heart pounding harder in your chest, practically knocking against your ribs. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a response like that.

Again, there was a pregnant pause while you tried to think of what to say.

“Is it really that black and white for you?” You asked.

“No one who hurts you should ever get away with it,” he said, quickly adding; “but you don’t have to worry about that now. You’ve got me for that.

“Right...” you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. Honestly, you should have expected that answer from him.

“You never asked how I hurt my hand,” Billy said, seemingly changing the subject.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, taking the time to wonder if he was trying to set you up and walk you into a trap.

“How did you hurt your hand?” You finally, reluctantly, asked.

“I paid a visit to the guy that spiked your drink.”

It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, and a part of you worried that Billy could hear the way your heart was racing through the phone. Even though it had only been two days since it had happened, you didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about what had almost happened.

And, now, you didn’t want to think about what Billy might have done to protect you.

“Is he -” you started to ask, words coming out as little more than a whisper.

You weren’t even entirely sure what you were asking and, worryingly, you weren’t sure what you wanted his answer to be. It was hard to care too much about the fate of someone who’d spiked your drink, someone who might have done it to other women before you and planned to do it to other women after you. He didn’t deserve any sympathy. 

But that didn’t mean you wanted Billy to be hurting people in your name.

“He’s still alive,” Billy answered. “He might be eating through a tube for a while and, if he’s lucky, he might walk again, but I don’t think he’s ever going to think about messing with someone’s drink again.” There was a hint of laughter in his voice that sent a shiver down his spine and, when you didn’t respond immediately, Billy asked; “you okay, kitten?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he answered. “Besides, I couldn’t let him keep doing that to people. He needed to be stopped.”

There was that edge in his voice again, a pain that you were certain he didn’t realise gave so much away. Maybe it didn’t around other people, but to you it was a punch to your gut, a feeling of like recognising like.

“Someone hurt you,” you said softly. Again. 

All Billy offered was a grunt.

Another lull in the conversation had you rolling onto your side and letting out a sigh, the phone still clutched tightly to your ear - though when you’d started holding the phone like that, you honestly couldn’t say. Despite how you’d felt when you’d dialled his number, there was no part of you that wanted to hang up now.

Later you might blame it on exhaustion or loneliness, but right then, all you wanted to do was keep talking.

But Billy wasn’t saying anything and that left it to you to fill the void.

“When I was nine my mom started dating her dealer,” you offered quietly. “She moved us into his place. He used almost as much as my mom did, and when he was wasted...”

You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat, forcing you to stop.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Billy finally said.

“You said you wanted to know me.”

“I do, but not if it hurts you.”

Again, the butterflies took flight in your stomach, and the feeling was enough to prompt you to continue, to finally share a piece of you that was real.

“He was violent. With my mom and with me,” you continued, hearing the way Billy’s breath caught through the phone. “Then, one day, my mom went out and didn’t come back. She just upped and left me with him. About a week later, he got wasted and I... I hid from him in the basement.”

Billy didn’t say a word, you couldn’t even hear him breathing, but you could picture the look on his face; that expression of barely contained rage.

“When I refused to come out, he locked the door from the outside, and left me down there.” At some point your voice had turned quiet, almost like you were whispering a secret to Billy, something that you needed him to guard with his life. And, somehow, you knew that he would. “I was trapped down there in the dark and cold... with the spiders...”

You heard a sharp inhale.

“There was this sweet old lady across the street... if she hadn’t called social services, they never would have found me...”

“How long?” Billy dared to ask, though you knew that wasn’t really the question that he wanted to ask you.

“Four days,” you answered. “Felt like longer.”

You expected more questions, pity - or one of those perfunctory I’m sorry’s that those kinds of events tended to garner. Instead you were met with nothing but another gentle sigh.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for telling me. It means a lot to me.”

Despite being on the phone, your response was to nod, pressing your head further against your pillow.

“I should let you sleep,” Billy continued. “It’s getting late.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll sleep soon.” He said and you were almost disappointed that he didn’t offer to come see you (though that thought was definitely one you’d chalk up exhaustion). “Goodnight, kitten.”

“Goodnight, Billy.”

And, like that, the line went dead.

For the longest time after the end of the call you stared at your phone, some part of you expecting it to light up with a message or for him to call back, even though you knew you still had him blocked.

It was strange, you felt somehow lighter for having been honest with him, even if what you had told him had only been scratching the surface.

Falling asleep, you felt like things had finally reached a turning point.

But you had no idea just how right you’d turn out to be.

The next evening you arrived at the bar to find it mostly empty, save for a well dressed woman sitting at the bar, talking to Jenna. The suit she wore screamed law enforcement and the subtle look that Jenna flashed you confirmed it.

It wasn’t often that cops dared set foot in Sam’s, and it definitely explained why the place was so empty. But you and Jenna had dealt with this sort of situation before, and you knew exactly what to say. Or what no to say, as the case may be.

You took your time ditching your coat in the back before stepping out to start your shift and getting a proper look at her.

The moment her eyes lifted to meet yours and she cast you something of a forced smile, you changed your mind. Definitely not a cop. Her clothes alone looked like they were worth more than you made in a year. And she was - well, stunning was the first word to come to mind. 

“Agent Madani, Homeland Security,” she said, flashing you her ID before placing it in her pocket again.

You offered your name. Just your first name.

“What can we help you with?” You dared to ask, ignoring the roiling sensation in your stomach.

“Yeah, no offence, but having a cop sat at the bar isn’t exactly good for business,” Jenna added.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said, lifting her phone from the bar and bringing up a photograph. “Have you seen this man? His name is Billy Russo. There have been reports placing him in the area.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked at the photo; it was him, but it wasn’t. Those dark eyes were unmistakable but his hair... his face. The man in the photo was every bit as beautiful as you’d assumed Billy used to be when you’d first gotten a good look at him.

Without the scars he had been perfect but, somehow, you found you preferred your Billy more. There was something about the eyes; the man in the picture looked soulless, but your Billy... his eyes gave away so much.

Despite your shock, your face remained neutral.

You spared Jenna a glance and then shrugged. “I don’t think I’ve seen him in here, but we get a lot of people passing through.”

“Yeah,” Jenna agreed, taking a closer look at the phone. “Though I’d remember serving someone that hot. What did he do? Looks like one of those Wall Street guys...”

“He’s wanted in relation to several murders,” Madani stated,  and you damn near threw up in your mouth.

“Several murders? Is he a serial killer or something?” Jenna asked, keeping Madani’s attention away from you while you regained your poker face.

“No, not as such...” she shook her head, dropping her phone back into her pocket and placing a business card on the bar. “But if he comes in -”

“Is he dangerous?” You asked before she could finish.

“Extremely.”

“If we see him, we’ll be sure to call,” Jenna was quick to answer.

There were more words exchanged and you simply nodded along, feeling like you were spiralling into some dark abyss that you might never escape from. The Homeland agent kept glancing between you and Jenna but, if she noticed you were freaking out, she didn’t say anything.

Once she was gone, neither you nor Jenna spoke for at least a minute.

“Fuck,” Jenna said, “you don’t think -”

“No,” the word tumbled out of your mouth before you could even stop to think about it. “No, it - I mean... she must be wrong. He couldn’t...”

“Wow, not like you to jump to his defence.”

You tried to ignore the smirk on her lips, instead focusing on the way your heart was pounding in your chest. 

It felt wrong, though you couldn’t place your finger on why. You’d always assumed that Billy was dangerous, that he could hurt people if he wanted to - hell, he’d put someone in the hospital for spiking your drink - but murder? Murders, plural?

“It’s just... you don’t think he’s -”

“A serial killer? I doubt it... unless he’s really good at hiding how much of a psycho he is,” Jenna answered.

Ah. That was it. Billy was good at hiding it, at pretending to be some sweet and charming guy to everyone while simultaneously stalking you.

“But, look... maybe you should stay away from him until we know for sure?” She carried on, and you nodded.

Jenna was talking, saying something, and you barely even realised you were stepping back.

“I... I need to -”

You didn’t even finish the thought before heading into the back and pulling out your phone, calling Billy. As it rang, you steeled yourself for him to answer and for all the questions to start pouring out. Part of you felt betrayed, lied to, while another part just couldn’t accept anything that Madani had tried to tell you.

It felt like you were falling, like you’d been hanging off the side of a cliff for so long, looking for something stable to cling to. The last few days had made you dare to think that maybe Billy could be that for you. But, now, the rockface was crumbling beneath your hands and you were falling.

“Kitten?” 

His voice was a dry rasp, like he’d just woken up, and just hearing him again had your heart pounding painfully in your chest.

“You - you can’t come to the bar anymore, Billy. It’s not safe for anyone and I just think -”

“What? Kitten, slow -”

“There was a Homeland Agent at the bar. She was looking for you,” you tried to explain, word fast and frantic, almost running into one another. “She said you killed people, Billy. She’s looking for you, and we can’t -”

“Hey-hey, take a breath.”

You did as you were told but it didn’t help. Your heart continued to pound wildly in your chest while you struggled between what you thought you knew about Billy and what the Homeland Agent had told you.

Was he capable of murder?

Yes.

There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that Billy could and would kill someone if he had reason to. That alone should have been enough to make you end the call, enough to go home, grab your bag and leave the city. But, really, were you in any position to judge him?

“Tell me what happened,” Billy said, breaking through your racing thoughts.

There wasn’t much to tell really, just that the Homeland Agent had been there and she’d told you and Jenna that Billy was a killer, that he was dangerous. But you also made sure to tell him that you and Jenna hadn’t said a word - though you had no idea why that piece of information felt so important to share.

Then came the pregnant pause, the silence that you couldn’t stand.

“Did you do it? Was she telling the truth?” You asked in little more than a whisper, not sure you even wanted an answer.

“I...” he trailed off into an uncomfortable sigh, “I don’t know. I still don’t remember.”

You nodded, at a loss for what to say.

“I wish I could tell you that it wasn’t me or that I had a good reason but I don’t remember,” he continued. “Fuck. I wish I remembered, just so I knew, just so...”

“I... I think you should stay away from me, Billy.”

“Kitten...”

You’d lost count of how many times you’d told him to stay away, how many times you’d told him to leave you alone but this was the only time you’d heard him sound so broken about it, like your words had finally hit home. Just hearing the pain in your voice had you wanting to take it all back, but you knew that you couldn’t.

“Even if you didn’t do it, I... I can’t have cops - or Homeland Agents - sniffing around,” you said, and there was no hiding the way your own voice seemed to want to break and betray you.

Billy paused and you dared to hope that he was actually thinking about what you’d just said, thinking about how he could ruin your life if he persisted. 

“I can’t,” he said softly, “please... don’t ask me to give you up.”

“You said you wanted to keep me safe. You being around me, bringing law enforcement to the bar - that puts me in danger.”

Silence fell again and you heard Billy take a ragged inhale and it reminded you of the panic attack that you’d witnessed him having, and it made your heart ache all the more.

“I can’t,” he said again. “I won’t. I’m sorry, kitten. I won’t let any of it come back on you, but I can’t let you go.”

“Billy -”

The line went dead.

He’d hung up on you.

You felt sick and you spent the rest of the night feeling like your stomach was twisting and tying itself in knots. Of course, Jenna noticed and tried to talk to you about it, tried to help convince you that it was probably for the best if you didn’t see him again until everything blew over. If it ever blew over. But all you could think about was Billy and how he’d sounded on the phone.

Jenna tried to convince you not to worry and that, one way or another, the truth was bound to come out.

There were so many questions and thoughts, but no answers to be found. If he didn’t remember, was he even the same person who’d done it? Was it fair to blame him for things he couldn’t remember? Were you in any position to judge him? Is that why he’d been hurt so badly by a man who’d been his best friend?

Each question only brought with it more uncertainty, and you had no way of knowing what was true and what wasn’t. All you knew was Billy, the person he was when he was with you.

Jenna offered to let you stay with her that night but you turned her down, not wanting to spend the night being scrutinised every time you mind wandered to Billy and the chaos you’d invited into your life.

No, you just wanted to go home and crawl into bed, hoping that in the morning everything would be back to normal.

Some time around four a knock at the door startled you awake.

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, staring at the door, your heart beating a mile a minute. For a second you expected the door to be knocked off its hinges and for armed cops to swarm your apartment.

The second knock had you tensing, ready to grab your go-bag and make a break for it down the fire escape.

But then you heard him.

“Kitten, it’s me.”

It didn’t exactly make you feel any better that Billy was at your door at four in the morning, but you still let out a sigh of relief. You kept the chain on the door as you opened it and heard him sigh.

“Let me in, kitten.” It wasn’t quite a demand but you already knew that saying no wouldn’t end well.

“It’s four in the morning,” you said, not moving. “What do you want, Billy?”

“I want to see you.”

“Well, now you’ve seen me,” you answered back.

“Just let me in before I kick the door down and disturb all your neighbours,” he said. As firm as his demand was, he sounded tired but, given the time of night, you didn’t think much of it.

It wasn’t just an idle threat, you knew him better than that now, and you couldn’t risk your neighbours calling the cops. So, with a frustrated huff, you took the chain off the door and took a few steps back, making sure there was plenty of space between you and him.  

His movements were slow, closing the door and locking it behind him. He looked tired, exhausted, and it was almost enough to spark a hint of sympathy inside you. 

Billy immediately took a step towards you, unhappy with the space you’d created, his eyes taking in the sight of you and the light blue satin slip you were wearing.

“Christ,” he muttered, “you’re gonna drive me crazy, kitten.”

“What do you want, Billy?” You asked again, folding your arms in an attempt to cover the way your nipples were poking through the silken fabric. “I told you... you need to stay away from me.”

“I can’t. I needed to see you.”

“It’s four in the morning. What could you possibly want to see me for?”

“I -” there was a noticeable hesitation, something you’d never really seen from him before, “- I want to stay the night. With you.”

“No,” you answered flatly. “No, I’ve told you, I don’t want -”

“Just to sleep,” he interrupted before you could complete your rejection of him. “I just want to sleep next to you.”

“Billy, they think you’re a murderer,” you said, hugging yourself all the tighter. 

“I don’t remember,” he told you, equal parts frustration and pain. “I don’t know what I did or why I might’ve done it. All I know is that I’d never hurt you.”

You didn’t say anything. There was nothing you could say. There was no figuring out the truth of the matter and, if there was one thing you did believe, it was that Billy wouldn’t lie to you and he’d never hurt you.

“Please,” he tried again, “I’m... I’m so tired, kitten. If I knew about any of it, I’d tell you. But it’s all still jumbled up. And I - I don’t even know if I’m that person anymore. This - me, now - I’ve never been like this before. That Agent, Madani, I think we used to sleep together... she used to visit me in the hospital, used to taunt me every single day... I don’t know why.”

The more he spoke, the more confused things became, but Billy made no attempt to move any closer to you.

“I just want to sleep,” he said again.

Common sense told you to say no, to stick to your guns and tell him to leave but, seeing the state of him, the thought of turning him away made your chest ache regardless of all the uncertainty surrounding him. Without a word, you sighed and turned back towards your bedroom, crawling back into bed and pulling the covers up over your face.

You heard him slowly follow after, heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor before you felt the mattress dip behind you. Billy waited a moment before shifting closer, pressing himself against your back and draping his arm over you. He let out a soft sigh as he buried his face against the back of your neck.

He felt warm against you, cosy - though you tried to ignore it as best you could.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked quietly, half-hoping he wouldn’t answer.

“I just wanted to see you.”

“No, I mean why are you doing any of this?” The million dollar question. “Why me? Why are you dragging me into this shit, Billy?”

“Because you’ve been stuck in my head since the first time I saw you,” he told you, his fingers softly tracing patterns on your stomach through your slip. “Every time I close my eyes, I think about that night in this bed with you. You’re under my skin, you haunt me.”

“It wasn’t that mind blowing,” you muttered.

“Right,” Billy grumbled, sounding half-asleep already “‘cause you still want to pretend that I’m the only one that enjoyed it...”

“Why would I lie?” You answered back, not willing to give him the last word.

“‘cause you’re scared of admitting that you like the way I touch you,” he answered. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause you’re scared of admitting that you might actually like me.”

“I don’t like you. All you’re doing is making my life more difficult,” you huffed. “I must be fucking crazy to have you in my bed like this, not knowing if you’re some psychotic killer...”

You didn’t expect him to pull away, to roll on to his back behind you and let out a sigh. More than that, you didn’t expect to feel the loss of his embrace so acutely.

Had you managed to hurt your stalker’s feelings?

And why did it bother you if you had?

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you tried to ignore the feeling of awkwardness that was starting to gnaw at you, closing your eyes and trying to fall asleep. But you couldn’t. Not when you knew he was right there, not when you didn’t know what was running through his mind.

You weren’t even sure what was running through your own head anymore. It was almost enough to make you laugh at how ridiculous the whole thing was; you had a man who was wanted for murder in your bed but, still, you felt safe with him, comfortable in a way you hadn’t for a long time, despite what your protests might have suggested.

And he was right. You were scared that some part of you liked him - that some part of you still liked him, even after everything you’d learned.

It was all such a fucking mess and you had no idea how to deal with any of it.

But, now there was something, some feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt so wrong but, at the same time, it felt like it was the only thing in your life that made any sense. 

Cautiously, you rolled over, your heart skipping a beat at the way the heel of his palm was pressed against his eye. It was another headache. He’d come to be with you because he was in pain, because he’d needed comfort and, for whatever reason, you were the only person he thought he could find it with.

Everything you knew about him seemed to twist and alter, leaving you more confused than ever. 

Without a word, you got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, running a washcloth under the cold water before returning to him.

Billy hadn’t moved, he didn’t even look at you as you climbed back into bed beside him. His eyes didn’t open again until he felt you press the cold cloth to his brow. A relieved breath slipped from his lips but, the moment he looked like he was going to say something, you silenced him.

“Don’t say a word.”

Defiance flashed across his face, but exhaustion quickly overtook it. His eyes shut and you continued to gently press the cloth against his forehead, trying to soothe him, watching as the tension slowly seemed to leave him and he fell asleep. 

Once you were certain he was asleep, you laid back down beside him, curling into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, not sure what the morning would bring.

End Note : 😅 this is slowly starting to move towards the endgame now, I think there's about four chapters left? Maybe five depending on how I decide to do the ending.

As always your comments/likes/reblogs/asks/general screaming is always cherished and appreciated. I hope you all have an amazing weekend!

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters! If tagging doesn't work for some reason (aka Tumblr being dumb) I post most Fridays around 7:30 gmt (and on AO3 at some point in the hours after).

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[wookieejamcrew]

Hey do you want to make a post going more in-depth about the similarities/differences between the Grand Inquisitor's and Barriss's Inquisifits and what can be extrapolated from that thematically (you know you do) (this is bait)

well :) if you INSIST

let's start off by briefly establishing the relationship between these two (or more appropriately one lack thereof): the grand inquisitor is implied, and confirmed by word-of-god, to be one of the temple guards present during the temple bombing trial, an event which aided in his descent to the dark side. barriss's speech spoke to doubts he already harbored about the order, and her own criticisms of the order confirmed a very particular bias of his about the jedi, one antithetical to the intention of barriss's speech which spoke to a collective disregard for the tenants of jedi order, namely that "fighting for dark-side" had warped the core of their belief system. we've been shown that every one of the grand inquisitor's choices has been made in selfishness, not selflessness. his many resentments and grievances are rooted in personal dissatisfaction and inadequacy with himself, that the jedi order did not balm his hurt is what led to his ultimate repudiation of it. barriss's resentments and grievances are rooted in a deep love for the jedi order that raised, loved, and respected her. they both felt betrayed by the order's misrepresentation of itself, but the grand inquisitor wrongly attributed barriss's feelings of betrayal to his.

now with that groundwork laid, let's talk about the threads! working top-down: the moment barriss defeats dante, her inquisitor helmet is presented to her. it was forged for her before she landed the killing blow. she had no say in its creation. the grand inquisitor is this coven's proud leader; he is responsible for his flock and fortress, and he chose this for her.

a replica, a replicated lapse in self-indulgence, a moment in time where barriss lets her darker impulses, her anger and her hatred, have their say. its design is slightly adjusted to better fit barriss and the inquisitorius' aesthetic, and in there is the implication she is wanted by this empire, she is an asset to this same regime she warned the republic of. we know she regrets the acts of violence she committed under duress as evidenced by both the remorseful expression she shoots ahsoka and by this deleted scene where she explicitly apologizes to her. but the grand inquisitor does not want her moving past this moment. it's a deep well of emotional turmoil that the dark side is eager to drink from. he wants her stewing in it, and 'it' taking the shape of a mode of sensory deprivation is a very happy coincidence! the dark side is at once a state of stasis and parasitism; it successfully feeds off of isolation and hyperfixation, oftentimes from a particularly traumatic event. barriss is forced to become the face of the darkest, most regrettable moment in her life, one where she becomes the betrayer. it reopens wounds which remind her she can operate as both aggressor and aggrieved. it strips her of a voice, modifies her speech, while also working as effective blinkers (blinders/tacks like those used on animals to limit their discernment). the former perpetually-masked temple guard is well acquainted with this hell and assuming the role of traitor! we'll get into his projection in a moment.

after barriss is given her 'gift', we hard cut to her now in full regalia. it's very in medias res; she seems to be in conversation with the grand inquisitor before the rest of the inquisitorius' fledgling brothers and sisters enter the scene. whatever might have been said is left up to our imagination, but judging by both of their expressions, i imagine it was a threat veiled in niceties, much like her 'gift'.

to understand how the grand inquisitor implements fashion mirroring (projection by any other name!) here, you should first have a keen familiarity with the visual language of the inquisitorius' aesthetic sensibilities so to properly pick apart what differentiates barriss's uniform from the rest of the herd's. unifying elements of inquisitors' uniforms are the use of black, grays, and reds, as well as a liberal application of plate-adjacent armour, and some ribbing which likely allows for better mobility.

here we have mommy dearest doing his capital best to suit up his mini-she. most notable are the silhouette's pauldrons and the piece of armour that is something between chest plate and gorget (his gorget has been readapted to be more pronounced/realistic since its inception in rebels and appearance in owk). minor details like the boots and imitation vambraces are also of note, but what i prefer to focus on is the how and why. there is a deliberate likeness, but it's as if hers had its edges sanded down. making her appear less threatening invites predation. it's not enough that she has proven herself capable of murdering her competition, she must remain in a state of hypervigilance around her brothers and sisters. this parasite has a varied palate! fear is a nice little amouse-bouche to rage. the grand inquisitor wants her skills in the dark-side ever-honed and improved upon if she's to be a testament to not just his teachings, but him. see, barriss does not exist to him as a person. since the trial, she has existed conceptually and amorphously to him as an extension of himself and his own issues with the order, but they do not share the same sentiments regarding the order's issues. their dynamic, in truth, more closely resembles that of a narcissistic parent and their child. the child apprentice exists simultaneously to placate his wounded ego, and to fill a void left by (self-imposed) loneliness. i find it a very appropriate representation of this brand of narcissism, to have their authentic relationship be expressed through the medium of costume; it's external, but rarely superficial, it's an assignment, and it's imposed, but unveils so much about both characters' true natures.

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

We Must Know, How Did it End?

“It was tricky, really. Writing songs that come from a place of pain isn’t usually my thing,” Sirius says, plastering a polite smile onto his face. “It’s difficult to describe a feeling that’s so… overwhelming.” 

Peter smiles back, and Sirius can see the empathy etched across his face. 

“Okay, I think we have time for some audience questions,” Pete says, turning to the audience. Sirius follows his gaze to a crew member handing a mic over to a young woman. 

“Hi, uh, hi. I was just wondering if your album is based on your recent breakup? With Remus?” 

His name alone makes the blood freeze in Sirius’ veins. The fan isn’t wrong, his album is essentially all about Remus. It doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering at the mention of Remus. It brings memories that he’s been trying to write out of his system back to the front of his mind. They bring a lump into his throat, and he has to blink harshly to fight back any semblance of a visceral reaction. 

Thankfully, Peter steps in. 

“You know what? Let’s move on. Anyone else?” 

In spite of a few grumblings, the microphone travels further, landing with another fan. 

“Hey. I was just wondering if you ever think that Remus dated you for the fame? I mean, his follower count has doubled since you two-” 

“No, I don’t think that,” Sirius cuts in sharply. Apparently, his need to defend Remus is stronger than his hurt at their breakup. Peter is opening his mouth to speak, probably to move on again, but Sirius isn’t ready to move on. “Of course I don’t think that. Remus’ talent speaks for itself. He doesn’t need me to be his way to break out in the dance world. We might not be together anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is still one of the most genuine people I have ever met. Honestly, his kindness is indescribable. Everything I said while we were together was true. That relationship was the realest thing I’ve ever had, okay? Us breaking up doesn’t diminish that.” 

The whole studio has lapsed into silence, and Sirius is really regretting the way he went about that now. Even Peter’s watching him in shock. Eventually, he seems to remember his own job, clearing his throat and breaking out into a smile. 

“Okay! It’s about time for us to move on…” 

Sirius is pretty sure that he’s been in a trance for the past hour. He doesn’t even remember the trip back to his house. All he knows is that he’s been scrolling through his tagged posts as his manager, Benjy, shouts at him over the phone. 

“This is, without a doubt, the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done!” 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Sirius grumbles under his breath. Unfortunately, Benjy has the ears of a fucking hawk. 

“If you weren’t a public figure, and I wasn’t your fucking PR Manager, I would think it was sweet, Sirius! However, calling your relationship with Remus the realest thing you’ve ever had?! That gives tabloids every opportunity under the sun to call you obsessive!”

“Yeah, well, it needed to be said,” Sirius says decisively. He’s not wrong. In what world could anyone ever see Remus as anything less than kind? Yeah, they haven’t seen the way Remus would hold Sirius through his panic attacks, say the dumbest things just to watch him smile, or the dance. The one Remus dedicated to him. The one Sirius really should delete from his camera roll. 

“God, Sirius, you’re so lucky that I actually like you.” Benjy interrupts his train of thought, thankfully, letting out a groan as Sirius refreshes Instagram for the fifteenth time. “However, now you need to lay low until people forget that this happened.” 

“What? That I defended him? Just because he’s my ex doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to say anything nice about him!” 

“Yes it does. You can’t say anything too bad, or anything too nice. You have to be neutral. Peter was about to gloss past the question, anyway!” Sirius rolls his eyes, grateful that Benjy can’t see him as he goes scrolling again. He’s being called obsessive in countless different ways by news outlets, people who hate him, and people who have decided that his and Remus’ breakup means that it’s time to take sides. As he looks through them, he’s barely even pausing. 

Until he reaches a post with Remus’ face at the front of it. 

As much as he knows that he shouldn’t, he wants to watch it. He’s spent a lot of time watching the videos he promised James that he’d deleted and crying, but those were videos Sirius had filmed himself. They were personal. He hasn’t interacted with anything that Remus has posted publicly. He doesn’t actually want to be a stalker. 

This feels… different. Mostly because this one has his name on it. 

‘REMUS LUPIN BREAKS SILENCE ABOUT EX BOYFRIEND SIRIUS BLACK:’ 

“Yeah, okay, Benjy, I’ll stay silent,” Sirius says quickly, zoning out. 

“Oh, really? Thanks. That was easy-” 

“Okay, bye.” He hangs up before Benjy can say anything else, immediately playing the video. 

It’s from one of Remus’ livestreams. His face is flushed a slight red, like it usually is after rehearsal, sitting on the floor in his studio. Sirius hates how endearing he finds it. He’s just talking, comments rolling in and the radio playing, when Sirius catches the message. It’s just another one calling him a stalker, but it stops Remus in his tracks. 

“Right, you all need to leave Sirius alone,” Remus says decisively. The way his name sits in Sirius’ mouth brings a lump into his throat all over again. He really needs to stop crying over Remus, it’s getting a little sad. Maybe he is obsessive. “He isn’t stalking me. I actually haven’t spoken to him at all. Listen, the- the breakup was amicable, okay? We don’t hate each other, and we really don’t need people taking sides. All he did was defend me, which he didn’t have to do. It was nice of him, yeah, but it doesn’t make him obsessive. He’s just being a good person, he can’t help that.” Sirius smiles to himself, face warming at the compliment. 

Okay, he is obsessed. 

Still, it’s so unbelievably Remus to be so willing to defend him. To immediately assume the best about Sirius. 

Just when Sirius expects the clip to end, a different song starts playing. He recognises it straight away. It’s one from his new album. 

‘ I told the moon about you… ’ 

Remus’ eyes widen at the words. At Sirius ’ words. He never has been any good at hiding the first thought that flits across his face. 

“Sorry, I’m, er… I’ve got to go. Thanks for- for watching, yeah,” Remus says hurriedly. 

That’s when the clip ends. 

For what feels like the thousandth time, Sirius wants to be in the same room as Remus, to have the privilege of finding out exactly what is going on in his head. He wants to press his thumb against the furrow in Remus’ brow and watch his face relax. Christ, he just wants to touch him, really. His forehead, his hand, his shoulders, his waist, anywhere . With a groan, he drops his head into his hands. He’s actually pathetic. James is the only one who’s allowed to hear about this, and Sirius is pretty sure he needs a stern talking to from him right about now. 

There’s a knock at his front door, which Sirius assumes is James. It’s like the man can read his mind. The knocking is a little… frantic, but James is bouncy, it’s not exactly out of the ordinary. 

He walks slowly over to the door, reaching out and pulling it open. 

The moment he catches a glimpse of the familiar amber eyes, every muscle in Sirius’ body freezes. 

Remus. 

He hasn’t seen him in three months. Not since he left Sirius’ house, got on a plane, and didn’t come back. Sirius has spent a countless number of minutes trying to recall every single detail about Remus, looking at photos of the two of them, wishing that he had spent more time etching every line, every freckle, into his brain. He thought he had, really, but he was right in his interview. Remus is indescribable. 

For a moment, they just look at each other, Remus’ mouth slightly ajar as though he hadn’t expected Sirius to open the door. He almost seems like he doesn’t know how he got there. 

Well, until Sirius speaks. 

“M- Remus? What- what are you…?” He trails off, watching the way Remus’ features set to something much more sure. 

“Sirius, I love you,” he says suddenly. They’re words Sirius never expected to hear coming from Remus again. “I’m still in love with you, and I’m tired of pretending that I haven’t regretted every single step that I’ve taken since I left here. I- God, Sirius, I think we made a mistake. I- I know what we said, what we agreed on. It was too difficult with our schedules, we were both being too distant, fighting over little things,” he lists everything like it’s pointless, as Sirius tries to get his brain to fucking wake up and work. “And I get it, Sirius. I really do get it, I understand, but I’d take thousands of fights over- over dishes, or hogging blankets, instead of having to do these months all over again. This is going to sound really sad, and really bloody pathetic, but I’ve watched the videos of you writing songs in my flat more time than I can fucking count since we broke up! You told the moon about me? I know that line. I’d know it anywhere. It’s the one right before I turned the camera off and kissed you. It just made me- I don’t know, I didn’t think hearing it like that would hurt so much.” He seems to be hit with a completely different emotion, some sense of regret, and it’s probably Sirius’ fault, since he doesn’t seem to be able to get his voice to work. He can sing night after night, go on countless talk shows, but apparently this is what it takes to render Sirius speechless. “I know I’m probably overstepping a boundary, and this is really fucking stupid of me, but I- I want to try again.” 

Yeah, the words really aren’t going to come out. He’s going to have to find some other way to tell Remus exactly how he feels. 

“If I didn’t say something I just know that I’d regret it for the rest of my life. So tell me to leave and I will. I’ll turn around and- and I’ll move country. You’ll never have to see me again-” 

He can’t say anything else, because Sirius is kissing him. 

He isn’t even sure when he made the decision to do it. It’s almost like a reflex, the first thing to come naturally to him. 

There’s not a second of regret that comes with it, though. 

Before he can even figure out where he got the idea to do that, Remus’ arms are around Sirius’ waist, pulling him closer and holding him secure, warm, safe . His lips are soft, so familiar that Sirius wants to cry. 

Actually, he is crying. 

Tears start rolling down his face as he pulls away to look at Remus. Thankfully, Remus is crying himself, and somehow also grinning like an idiot, which Sirius can genuinely say is the most beautiful sight he has ever had the privilege to behold. 

“Oh, my god, I love you, Remus. Moony, I love you so much,” he says quickly, hands reaching to cup Remus’ face. 

“So- you- do you want-?” 

“To start again? Pick up from where we left off? Anything, darling. Anything. I’ll take whatever you can give me, if it means I don’t have to try to move on. You’re not someone I can get over. I’ve tried, and I’m convinced that it’s fucking impossible,” Sirius says, making Remus laugh breathlessly and drag him back into a kiss. Not that Sirius is complaining. He would let Remus drag him anywhere. Remus is his everything. His world. 

Oh, my darling, how could I ever have let you go?

[mindofthemage]

Someone on Reddit was able to catch what I assume was an automatic post with a time-lapse for r/place that got deleted within minutes.

I don't think Reddits gonna be able to use r/place for promotions this time. The Instagram account only has the announcement. Nothing else. No time-lapse or pictures anywhere.

Also Admins removing the guillotine caught in 4k

I wonder why the admins didn't like that one.