#ozwick

[neonjawbone]

like a bad tumblr joke from a decade ago, im having a real guy facing left in the void renaissance

[postcardaday]

The cottage where John Wesley slept, Ozwick

[ozcarpin]

Torchwick and the Hermit

“................................”

“Petition to never speak of this again?”

[ozcarpin]

🚼 Torchwick & Oz, for the curious souls

send me a 🚼 and a ship I’ll use a doll-maker to design what I think a child between our two muses would look like

Ozwick

Name: Pumpkin

Gender: Nb

Personality: Will very calmly set you on fire (for toasting marshmallows of course)

Semblance: They say they don’t know, but they are a liar

Weapon: A face you can’t trust but will

Who they like better: Both

Who they take after more: Both are terrible influences

Personal Head canon: The most mischievous child you could ever misjudge. Everyone thinks they’re so sweet and chill but then they’ll just do the most unexpected things with that same look on their face. Ozpin tries to keep them away from actual villainy but if there’s one thing this child has learned from both their fathers its that laws are very bendy if you know how to phrase it. 

[montes-carpatus]

some post-”death” roman/ozpin angst

because this is how I cope.

“No, no!” Ozpin cried as the news echoed off the walls and the aching pieces of his heart. He was sore, he had barely survived. He found his way to Roman’s old quarters. Mostly abandoned but showed signs of a previous owner. He had went there many times before, during long unrestful nights.

He had never meant to become attached to a vile man. Never meant for one night to become a hundred. He forced a way into the empty cavity of his heart with knives and empty promises.

Promising that things could turn for the better, or worst.

He had only seen him a few days before in the early hours of the morning. His heart speeding up at the sight of him but never showed anything more than furrowed eyes and an armed cane. He never went to see him in prison, even when Ironwood left him messages that Roman would only talk to him. He denied ever knowing him on a personal level.

“Thought you would be happier to see me Ozzy,” he teased, pulling at his heartstrings. “C’mon, I know you missed me.”

Roman was never shy of taking the first step towards him, and Ozpin never pushed him away. He tasted like strong expensive tobacco, like he always did. Ozpin grabbed at his white coat to pull him closer, wanting to feel his form against his once again.

But no amount of coffee could wake him up from this nightmare. His breath was hitched as he sat on the familiar bed as the thought replayed in his head. He was in disbelief; in denial that such a thing could happen to him.

“He’s not dead, not Roman,” he mumbled to himself. He repeated it to himself over and over, hoping it would bring him coming through the door of the room. He sulked, head in his hands, trying to bring his breathing back to normal. He didn’t shed a single tear. He wouldn’t let anyone find out what was happening behind closed doors.

He laid on the bed; stared at the high ceiling as he calmed down. The pains of the battle leaving him wanting to rest, to sleep but he found no peace when anyone can be looking for him.