Untitled

Paint the Line: The Queer Couple: Act 3

Act 3: Of Ping-Pong and Sex

Once upon a time, there were two young men who went to pin-pong school. They quickly because bitter rivals on the ping-pong table, but little did they know that fate had much more for them in store than simply fighting each other. In 1976, the United Nations Security Council issued an edict requiring that all foreign disputes must be settled by a game of table tennis, or pong-pong. Three years later, a group of Red Chinese terrorists numbering in the hundreds challenged the United States Table Tennis Team to a match… which the latter subsequently lost. The US Team paid for the loss with their lives. The terrorists demanded a team worthy to be their rivals, and thus the Secret Service was dispatched to find players who were good enough to beat the Chinese at their own game. They came back with hundreds of hardened college ping-pong players, the heads of which were the two rivals. The two young men quickly learned to settle their differences as the battle for the free world claimed both American and Chinese lives. Near the end, only two were left standing: the two rivals and the two strongest terrorists. Soon, only one terrorist was left standing. As the American brunet hero was about to strike the final blow, however, he collapsed from exhaustion and was forced to watch from the sidelines. That man’s name was Tycho Brahe. His fellow warrior, the raven-haired Jonathan Gabriel, was the only American left standing along with the leader of the insurgency, Zhang Feilong. Both fought valiantly, but in the end, Gabriel struck a ball that would penetrate Zhang’s skull and lead to his death. The threar from Chinese terrorists was no more. The two rivals had won. Rejecting every sort of honor from the government and the people of America, the two settled down to begin a new life together.

After they had settled down in Washington for three years, the two began to realize their homosexual feelings for one another. Unable to marry each other, they were forced to live their lives as fellow occupants of the same house.

However, fate was about to smile upon them once again. Their friend and employer, James Holkins, was persecuted by member of the Christian right for his homosexuality, and the two rivals-turned-loved quickly realized what must be done. They rallied up a gay mob from Seattle’s Capitol Hill district, and confronted the Christian rightists, driving the dread foes from their sight forever.

After this, Brahe and Gabriel are now ready to settle down and live out their lives as a happy homosexual couple. And yet, there is one thing they lack. One thing that is very important: true passion for one another.

***

Seattle, Washington

January 1983

I wake up to pictures of Gabe showing off his underwear-clad butt.

Just the start I need to a new day.

I’m not even being ironic here. I jack off to these photos every single time I wake up.

Gabe has pics of me showing off my underwear-clad butt in his room.

He’s assured me that he masturbates to them, too.

Ugh! There goes the semen.

Good thing I’m wearing briefs over my dick or these pictures would have been ruined.

We’re also used to semen stains on each other’s underwear. Just thought I’d throw that out there.

***

I always masturbate to pics of Tycho’s underwear-clad ass with my underwear covering up my dick.

Otherwise, the semen would ruin the photos.

Of course, we’re used to the sight of semen stains on each other’s underwear by now.

***

I get up, stretch and walk downstairs.

Now, what should I do today?

Should I go out side and jog?

No. I don’t feel like putting on more clothes.

Should I go to work?

Oh, that’s right. We have the day off today. Jim Holkins  at the pizza parlor has been so kind to us, he’s given us designated vacation days—something his father Mike never did for us.

Should I just play table tennis with Tycho?

Yeah, as soon as Tycho walks into the living room.

In fact, here he comes right now.

***

Classic Gabe. Always in the living room before I am, even though my bedroom’s on the same floor as the living room.

Paradox or sheer dumb luck?

I don’t know which of the two theories I like better.

Well, at any rate, he’s here, so we should just make the best of things.

“Hey, Tycho. Do you want to play ping-pong with me?” Gabe asks.

“Sure, why not?” I reply.

***

We always play table tennis before breakfast. Makes us all the more hungrier, I should say.

I should mention that we often bend the rules a bit. For example, we score when the server wins a point. Makes it all the more interesting, I should say.

It’s my turn to serve. Both serves fly past Tycho. Score: 2-0.

It’s Tycho’s turn now. With a look of grim determination on his face, he tries to make both serves fly past me, but I return one of them, missing the other. He misses one. Score: 3-1.

My turn. I make both serves fly past him again. Score: 5-1.

Tycho, a bit annoyed, tries to make the balls fly past me again, but this time, I return the both. He misses both times. Score: 7-1.

I make both the balls pass Tycho yet again. Score: 9-1.

Tycho is is bit upset, to say the least. He tries to score over me again, but they bounce back, missing him completely. Score: 11-1.

Victory: Gabe!

Another way we deviate from the official rules: we don’t usually do “best of three” or “best of five”. When one of us wins, it’s over.

Tycho attempts a smile as he congratulates me. It’s not very convincing, if I may say so myself.

***

Today, it’s Tycho’s turn to cook.

I always love his meals. Eggs and sausages with french toast for breakfast, grilled cheese with ham with a side dish of macaroni and cheese for lunch, and roasted chicken with french fries for dinner.

That’s what’s on today’s menu, anyway.

We like to mix things up a bit.

Last time Tycho cooked for me, I had steak for dinner. Steak! That’s one of my favorite meals, but we rarely have it, it’s so expensive nowadays.

Usually we have things like pork chops or chicken or hamburger casserole.

They’re cheaper, but they still taste good.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Tycho always puts his heart and soul into his culinary creations.

I like to think that if he ever entered a cooking contest, he’d win first place.

But Tycho’s not like that. He’s too modest.

“Here’s breakfast. Sorry that I couldn’t have made it any better,” Tycho says humbly as he passes me my plate.

I dig in, and, as always, it’s simply divine. That is, in my opinion.

Man, sometimes I wish I could cook as well as Tycho.

My cooking skills.. well, let’s just say the last time I cooked eggs, Tycho didn’t leave the downstairs bathroom for hours.

I usually fix easy things like cereal and milk.

They’re good, but not as great as hot breakfasts.

Tycho sees me finish my meal. He says” What, no tip?”

I nearly burst out laughing.

***

At least he laughs at my jokes.

It’s really disgusting, the way Gabe gushes about my meals.

They’re hardly worthy of being cooked by Julia Child, let alone being inducted into the Cuisine Hall of Fame!

Why, I bet I could shit into a pan and feed him that and he’d still call it a five-star meal.

In fact, I think I’ll do that one of these days.

Speaking of things that come out of a butt, why haven’t I got the chance to return the favor Gabe did for me when he came into my butthole on Christmas day?

He only said I would be “soon”, and I have no idea how soon” soon” might be.

He could be lying about letting me ejaculate into his anus for all I know.

Ah, well. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

***

I can tell Tycho’s anxious to come into my ass.

I mean, really. I can see it in his face.

I told him “soon”, and “soon” it shall be.

Perhaps even sooner than he might think.

I think I’ll play some games on the Atari for a while.

Maybe some Pac-Man, or Pitfall.

Most likely both.

***

“Hey, Gabe,” I say. “Could I play the Atari, when you’re done with it?”

“Sure,” Gabe says.

I watch his gaming prowess for quite a few minutes.

I ask myself: Could I be better than him at video games?

Finally, Gabe gives me the controller. “It;s all yours, pal.”

“Thanks,” I say, as I begin pressing buttons on the controller.

“Watch out for the pit! Gabe shouts.

“I am watching out for the pit!” I respond, breaking my concentration.

The next thing I know, Pitfall’s lost a life.

“You know, Gabe, if you would just let me play without interruptions, I’d like you a lot more,” I snap.

“OK, you’re the boss. My lips are sealed,” he replies, pretending to zip up his lips.

“Thank you,” I say, as I resume the game.

I try jumping over the pit again, and I succeed!

“Ha! You see that!?I gloat to Gabe. “I win, yay me!”

But when I look at the screen again, lo and behold, he’s gone!

“Ugh, these games are stupid anyway,” I rationalize. “I’m gonna go fix lunch.”

***

Well, I fix Gabe grilled cheese and noodles, and guess what he said to me?

“You are the greatest cook ever!”

Ugh. I sick and tired of his constant praise, even if he does honestly believe I’m the best.

“Why, yes, I am the world’s greatest cook! How did you guess?” I say to him.

Of course, he knows it’s sarcasm right away: “Nah. You’d never really say that in real life, you’re too humble.”

I groan and say, “I’m going to take a nap. You keep playing that Atari 2600 and winning at every game you own,” I say, hoping Gabe will catch my own praise for him.

He does: “Why, Tycho, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Yeah, well, you know now,” I say, as I enter the bedroom.

***

I wake up to the sounds of a synthesizer.

Gabe’s synthesizer.

I do the usual masturbating to Gabe’s butt, then I go upstairs and check on the man himself.

Well, he is getting better. Slowly.

“May I have a turn when you’re done with it?” I ask him.

“Sure”

A Few minutes later, he hands control of the keyboard to me.

I play “Heart and Soul” on it a few times.

Gabe then claps. “Bravo, Tycho!” You’re getting to be as good as me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I respond, and I go down to cook dinner.

***

As usual, Gabe gives me unrealistic praise for my meal—in this case, roasted chicken and french fries.

“Sweet ambrosia!” he says. “Truly a gift from the gods!”

When will that idiot ever learn to give constructive criticism?

My guess is he’ll start doing that when pigs fly, or when Hell freezes over.

One of the two.

“Hey, Tycho!” he says. “Do you want to play ping-pong again?”

“OK, fine,” I reply.

He’ll probably beat me again like his always does. doesn’t seem fair, does it?

Still, I have to admit, he can be quite persuasive.

***

I always beat Tycho at this game.

Except for this evening.

This evening will be different.

And I’ll give him what he’s wanted for quite some time.

***

This time, Gabe suggested that I go first.

That’s fine. Anything to help me win the game.

My turn: I serve two balls; he misses both. Score: 2-0.

His turn: He serves two balls; I bounce back one and miss the other. Score: 3-1.

My turn, I serve two balls; he misses both. Score: 5-1.

His turn: I hit both balls; he misses them when they bounce back. Score: 7-1.

My turn: He misses both balls. Score: 9-1.

I can’t believe it! Finally, I’m going to win a game against him! And to think that just lest September, we’d both gotten rusty with the game. He certainly became champion of this household in a hurry.

But my joy is tinged with a bit of suspicion. Is he losing on purpose? If so, why?

His turn: I bounce back both balls, he misses them. Final score: 11-1.

I finally won a game against Jonathan Gabriel! This makes me so happy I could just shake my booty everywhere.

In fact, I think I will.

And I do.

I wave my underwear-clad butt in his face. So much so, In fact, that he gets a boner.

“No! Not this time! I don’t want to come in him, at least not yet! Stay down, boy!” he says.

This puzzles me enough to make me stop my happy booty-dancing.

“Tycho, I have a request for you.”

“What is it?” I ask, even though I already have a  good idea what it is.

“Since you’ve defeated me, would you do me the honor of getting on the ping-pong table and coming into me?” he asks.

“Finally! My one true desire, granted after all these days!” I exclaim out loud. Kinda corny, I know. But still appropriate.

“Only for you, my sweet,” he says in an equally corny way.

We both smile at each other, then get onto the table.

I keep worrying that the table will break from our combined weight.

But Gabe doesn’t seem to mind.

As I stare at his butt, I feel a boner coming on, so I take off my underwear, and he takes off his,

I delicately insert my dick into his butthole.

You know what? I don’t really need any petroleum jelly. I can insert my penis into someone’s anus no problem.

He howls, both from pain and from excitement.

My dick hurts, too, but in a good way.

My heart starts beating faster and faster and faster until suddenly…

It happens.

I feel the sticky texture of semen in Gabe’s anus.

Breathing heavily, I pull out, and, sure enough, there’s semen in there.

But Gabe isn’t finished yet. He begins to look at me as if he wants to come into my butthole, and I let him insert his erection into there.

***

As I put my cock into Tycho’s ass, I put my finger up my hole and like the semen that’s now on my fingers.

Mmm… Tastes salty. Good!

I push harder and harder until I come in his ass myself.

The experience was painful, but pleasurable nonetheless!

As we both breathe heavily, Tycho puts his hand up his ass, collects some of the white stuff off his finger, and licks it.

***

Gabe’s semen is quite salty.

My heart, and his heart, I’m guessing, stop racing, and we both realize what has happened.

We have almost reached reached mutual homosexual nirvana: two gay men completely satisfying each others’ sexual needs.

There is only one thing left to do.

I stick Gabe’s dick into my mouth.

Oh, his semen! It tastes so good! So good!

He likes it. I can tell by the smile on his face.

Now it’s Gabe’s tuned to suck my dick.

He does.

I feel a wave of endorphins surging through my body as Gabe drinks from the seed on my loins.

Ah, yes! Ah, yes! This is true sexual nirvana!

Gabe finishes tasting my semen, and I feel so refreshed.

Yes, this is the ultimate sexual act, for such a rush coming from sex like this can never be achieved again by man or beast! If only I could take this moment and stretch it out so it lasts forever!

But alas, it cannot. For life must go on!

We must now live our lives with regret that no sexual act we commit from the point forward can ever achieve the same amount of perfection that this act has!

No, rather, this act can only be remembered and revisited by our fallible minds, which will no doubt dull the impact and significance of true nirvana!

…Ok, so I was exaggerating for a while there. But seriously, my and Gabe having sex on the ping-pong table is now the best moment of my life.

I wonder what Gabe thinks?

***

“Gabe?”

“Yeah, Tycho?” I answer.

”I think I’ve just experienced the best sex of my life.”

“Yeah, me, too, Tycho.”

“Let’s never forget this moment, OK, Gabe?”

“OK, Tycho.”

After we each go to our respective bathrooms—mine downstairs, and Gabe’s upstairs—to take a long, hot bath to wash off the semen, and also change our underwear, we rejoin ourselves in the living room and say a few final words for tonight.

“Gabe, that was a real good blowjob you gave me.”

“Yeah, and yours was a very good one, too.”

“And let’s not forget how you came into my butt, Gabe.”

“Yeah, well, it felt good for me too as did you coming into my ass.”

“Uh-huh. So, we really pleasured each other, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did, Tycho.”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to say, so… Good night, Gabe.”

“Same with me, so… “Good night, Tycho.”

And as I, Tycho Brahe, climb into my bed, I consider what has happened this day.

The moment when we had passionate sex with each other, I think, was the moment that I found out I truly loved Gabe.

***

As I, Jonathan Gabriel, climb into my upstairs bed, I consider this in my head:

The moment when we have pleasurable sec with each other must surely be the moment with I truly fell in love with Tycho.

***

And so we leave our two boys. Once rivals, now lovers, their relationship has blossomed into true passion for each other. What will happen to them next is a tale for the future, but for the moment, let it be known that they are now truly happy together.

THE END

Paint the Line: The Queer Couple: Act 2

Act 2: The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Seattle, Washington

December, 1982

Sure enough, the day after we told Michael Holkins, our boss at the pizza parlor, that we were gay, we read in the obituary that he died of a heart attack. His blond, skinny son, Jim, took over as manager, and he paid and treated us better than his dad did, even letting us have designated break times (3 pm to 3:15 PM, 4 to 4:15, 5 to 5:15, 6 to 6:15, 7 to 7:15, 8 to 8:15), during which time he served the customers himself. He even turned a blind eye to the kids using the old “quarter-on-a-string” trick, saying “boys will be boys”. At first me and Gabe were careful not to mention our homosexuality for fear that he might fire us, but when he came to us one day and came out of the closet himself, we decided to spill the beans, and we got ourselves a new ally in our crusade against homophobia!… OK, not exactly. But we did get a new gay friend.

Anyway, things are going great. We’ve got a neat job, n awesome gay friend in our new boss, and to top it all off a nice home of our own! What more could a gay couple in Seattle ask for?

Oh, yeah. Sex.

I can’t believe it’s been three months now and we still haven’t fucked each other. To be fair, though, we really don’t know how to have male-on-male sex with each other. We do know that putting one’s dick into his boyfriend’s butthole and/or mouth has something to do with it, but if one thought about it for a second, wouldn’t having someone else’s penis up one’s butt be uncomfortable, if not painful? And how does semen taste? Good or bad? See, neither of us have any context for the enjoyment of gay sex.

Well, that’s what I’m planning to change this Christmas. Me and Gabe are going to experiment with putting each other’s dicks up each other’s butts. And in each other’s mouths.

And I’m going to start tonight, just as soon as we check out from work at 9.

***

As we’re driving home from work, Tycho asks me a question.

“Gabe, have you thought about having gay sex?”

“What kind of question is that, Tycho? Of course I have! The problem is, neither of us knows how to have gay sex!”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that we’re going to experiment with gay sex after we get home.”

“What? I’m sorry, Tycho, but you’re going crazy! Your dick up my ass?”

“Yep.”

“I just don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it!”

“OK, fine. But if my ass starts hurting because of your dick, you’re gonna get a ping-pong paddle shoved right up your ass!”

“Yeah, yeah, fine, fine,” Tycho grumbles as we pull up to the driveway.

***

Later, after we’ve finished our microwave pizza, I say, “Are you ready, Gabe?”

“I’m still not sure about this,” Gabe whines.

“Come on, what have we got to lose? Sure, there’ll probably be some pain at first, but we’ll get used to it!”

“OK, OK! I’ll go first,” says Gabe as he strips down to his blue briefs and starts waving his butt at me.

I feel my dick getting hard as he shakes his butt. Eventually, I take off my clothes—even my black briefs—to reveal a raging boner.

“OK, Gabe, you can take off your underwear now.” I say.

Gabe does so, revealing his butt crack.

“OK, now, Here I go!” I exclaim as I walk toward him and plunge my penis into his butt…

***

I was hoping that having Tycho’s penis in my ass would somehow feel good.

However, it turned out to be the opposite.

I try not to scream as my asshole erupts in pain.

I wonder how things are on Tycho’s end…

***

Man, my dick’s really jammed tight in there! And it hurts so much!

I can hardly pull it out, let alone ejaculate in there!

But I keep trying. And trying. And trying.

But I don’t succeed in achieving an orgasm.

Finally, I manage to pull my cock out.

And boy, does it hurt! It’s like my penis is on fire!

I’m starting to think this whole “gay sex” thing was a big mistake.

***

Finally free of the obstruction, I try to sit on the floor, but it doesn’t work. My ass just hurts too much!

So I just lie on my stomach for a while, massaging my rear end.

“Well, that was… disappointing,” Tycho says.

“Disappointing my ass! You mean painful!” I quip back.

Tycho sighs. “You know, Gabe, maybe we aren’t cut out for this ‘gay sex’ thing after all.”

“There’s no ‘maybe’ about it, Tycho. I never want to have gay sex again!”

“Yeah, neither do I,” Tycho says.

But I see a wild gleam in his eyes, as if he’s planning to do the same thing again.

I hope he doesn’t.

“Well, good night, Gabe,” says Tycho, pulling up his underwear as he walks, wincing, to his bedroom.

“Good night, Tycho,” I say, pulling up mine, walking awkwardly to my upstairs room.

***

Well, I failed in having enjoyable gay sex with Gabe. Maybe having anal and/or oral sex is a lost cause after all?

No! I’m done with sex for today, but the next time we try having sex, I’ll have figured out a way to make it enjoyable for us both!

I swear it!

…And yet, something about the penis pain felt good. Maybe there’s more to gay sex than I think?

***

For a while, I sleep on my stomach.

I sigh. Gay sex is really overrated in my book.

If Tycho ever does this to me again, I’ll have to make good on my promise to insert a ping-pong paddle up his asshole!

This I swear!

…And yet, the ass pain did feel sort of good, in a way.

Am I becoming a masochist? Is part of gay sex deriving pleasure from pain?

Well, my ass feels better now. Time to switch sides.

***

I get up, stretch and yawn.

Today’s my turn to make breakfast. I know that Gabe’s favorite breakfast is eggs and sausages, so I make those.

The more I think about it, the more it occurs to me that there was pleasure to the pain.

Is BDSM the way to pleasurable gay sex?

Nah, better not try that. Gabe might have a latex allergy, for all I know.

The eggs are now done, but the sausages are not. I just let them cook for a little while longer.

After a few minutes, I say, “Hey, Gabe, breakfast is ready!”

The sausages are done, and I put them on the plate along with the eggs.

***

I hear Tycho calling me to breakfast.

This had better not be a trap to get me to have forced anal sex with him.

I walk downstairs and see the delicious breakfast right in front of me.

I quickly determine that this isn’t a trap after all.

I get the orange juice and pour it in a glass, then I get a fork and dig into the succulent meal Tycho cooked for me.

It’s delicious as always! Tycho Brahe should be inducted into the Gourmet Chef Hall of Fame!

No, really. If he were inducted there I would be so happy.

***

“So, uh, Gabe…” I begin while Gabe is finishing off his meal. “Sorry for not pleasuring you last night.”

“Oh, it’s really OK,” says Gabe. “To be quite honest, I think I enjoyed it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was felt kinda good, in a ‘good pain’ sort of way.”

“Glad to hear that,” I say. “Well, for me, it was kinda good, too.”

“Really?’

“Yes. I mean, it hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. Know what I mean?”

“I guess,” Gabe says. “So, uh, are you planning on doing it again tonight?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know yet,” I respond. But what I do know is that we’ve got a long way to go before we can fully understand how gay sex works.”

“I agree with you there, dude,” Gabe says.”So, uh, what do you want to do?”

“Go to the arcade at the pizza parlor, of course! I can’t wait to climb the tower to save the damsel-in-distress from the clutches of Donkey Kong.”

“I prefer eating power pellets as Pac-Man myself,” replies Gabe.

“You would,” I quip at him. “After all, you did scarf down that breakfast like Jughead.”

“Jughead’s just a comic character.”

“And who says you won’t be one someday?”

“The same person that’s going to shove a ping-pong paddle right up your ass if you don’t drive him to the pizza parlor.”

“OK, OK, let’s go.” I say, annoyed.

***

So we drive to the Holkins Pizza Parlor. It’s too early for work, of course, but we know Jim Holkins will let us in anyway because that’s how nice he is.

Or so we think. When we get there, Jim is there to greet us—with a sad expression on his face.

“What’s up, Jim? You look down in the dumps,” says Tycho.

“I’m sorry, Tycho, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to shut down this establishment,” says Jim.

“Why?” I ask. “You’re a really cool dude.”

“I don’t doubt that, but,” Jim says with tears in his eyes, “ever since I came out of the closet, there’s been a lot of complaints from the Christian right.”

“Why, that’s not fair,” I say. “Why should gays do treated any differently in American society?”

“Now, I appreciate your concern, Gabe,” Jim says, “but my hands are tied. I’m either going to have to shut this place down or else get dragged into the street and beaten for my sexual orientation. There’s nothing I can do.”

“But there is something we can do!” I exclaim triumphantly.

“You mean, protest the way I’m being treated by conservatives?” asks Jim.

“Of course! We won’t let our favorite establishment go down without a fight! Me and Tycho are going to rally up every gay man in Seattle and lead a protest against persecution of gays!”

“Do you really think it’ll work?” asks Jim.

“I believe so!” exclaims Tycho. “After all, how could we afford to lose the gift that keeps on giving, especially close to Christmas?”

“You are talking about the pizza parlor, right?” asks Jim.

“Of course! Gabe, you stay here and help Jim get some cardboard and spray paint to make placards with! I’ll rally up the gays in Capitol Hill!”

And with that, Tycho drives off in his gray Ford sedan.

“All right,” says Jim. “We’re going to the Home Depot to get some supplies. Now, we’ll need at least one can of spray paint and perhaps twenty pieces of cardboard.”

“OK,” I say, “Let’s go!” We go to Jim’s white Cadillac and drive to the Home Depot.

***

I run straight from the car to the garage.

I know there’s an old megaphone in here somewhere—just got to find it…

Ah-ha! Here it is!

I yell, “Testing! Testing!” into it to see if it still works.

It does.

I go back into the car with the megaphone and drive to the Capitol Hill district. Once there, I drive slowly and I shout into the microphone:

“Gays of Seattle! Lend me your ears and listen to me! One of our own has been persecuted by members of the Christian right! If we allow this to continue, who knows how many more gays might be targeted? We must organize a protest to show the Christian right of Seattle we mean business! Who’s with me?”

Almost immediately, a crowd of angry gays gathers around my car.

“OK, you’re kind of freaking me out here,” I say sheepishly. “but enough talk—let’s go!

Some of the gays are in cars, but others are on foot, so I have to drive as slowly as I can and still allow the gays to run right behind me. With an angry mob of gays behind me, I drive straight to the pizza parlor.

Those Christian homophobes won’t know what hit them!

***

“OK, we’ve got everything we need, right?” I ask Jim.

“I think so, yes,” he answers.

“Good,” I reply. I don’t tell him how bad I feel about lying to the Home Depot clerk, telling him the spray cans and the cardboard were for a construction project. I think Jim already knows my guilt.

As we’re finishing off with the placards, I see Tycho driving right towards us—with a crowd of angry gay people right behind him!

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of gays!” I exclaim.

“Why, there’s not enough placards for this mob!’ Jim exclaims.

Tycho says, “We’ll just have to make to with what we’ve got, OK? I’ll give out placards to twenty gays only. The rest of you can use your voices to make yourselves heard.”

The mob of gays voices their approval.

***

As darkness begins to fall on Seattle the crowd of gays watches—and waits.

“How many gays to we have here, Tycho?” asks Gabe.

“At least a hundred, twenty of them with placards,” I say.

“Oh, no! Here come the Christian conservatives!” exclaims Jim, pointing to a shapeless mass in the distance.

Sure enough, the mass reveals itself to be a group of bible-thumpers in Armani suits. Carrying lit torches, they walk towards the pizza parlor and stop, confronted by a group of angry gay people.

“What is the meaning of this nonsense?” asks the leader, an old bearded man in his 80’s.

“This isn’t nonsense, you bunch of homophobes! It a group of queers sticking up for their rights!” replies the tall, muscular leader of the gay mob.

“Gays? Sticking up for their rights? Ha!” scoffs the chief reverend. “As far as I’m concerned, you homosexuals are an abomination that must be wiped off the face of the Earth!”

“The only abomination here is homophobia! Just because some people have a different sexual orientation doesn’t make them evil! We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” says the gay leader.

“Oh, really? Well, I happen to have the power of the Lord God Almighty with me!” says the reverend.

“I’d like to see it,” the gay leader says, crossing his arms.

“And so you shall,” says the reverend.

And he then kneels on the ground and says, “Oh, Lord God, if you are truly here this day to pass judgment upon those who choose to lie with men, give me a sign!”

And there is silence.

“What did you expect the sign to be?” asks the gay leader.

“Wait… It’s coming… I can feel it…” the reverend utters.

“Here’s a sign for you!” Gabe says from the back of the crowd, giving the reverend the finger.

“How dare you mock me?” cries the reverend. “Lord God if you are with me today, smite these wretched demon at once!”

The gays have had enough. Tired of the old man, tired of Christian fundamentalists, and tired of persecution in general, they lash out against the preachers, who are too terrified to even throw the torches at the gays. The fundamentalists run away, cowering before the gays, never to be seen again.

Everyone cheers.

“Yeah, you preachers had better run!” Gabe says, dropping his pants and underwear and mooning the running fundamentalists.

“We did it! We saved the pizza parlor!” I exclaim.

“And it wouldn’t have been possible without you, Tycho,” says Jim to me.

“Ah, it was nothing,” I exclaim humbly.

Gabe comes up to me and says, “I know what you’re gonna get for Christmas.”

“Oh? What?” I ask.

“That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” Gabe replies.

And I indeed find out.

Gabe has just got me a new ping-pong table, along with new paddles for Christmas. Oh, and some  petroleum jelly for when we want to have anal sex.

“But that’s not even the best part,” Gabe promises me. “Now, closes your eyes.”

I do so. Gabe leads me somewhere.

“Now open them,” he says.

I do, and I discover that I’m in Gabe’s bedroom, with a pair of red-and-green Christmas briefs on his bed.

“You remembered!” I say. “Can put them on?

“Sure.”

I do so.

“Now show me your ass.”

I do so, and I see that Gabe’s pants are bulging. He takes the pants and underwear off and proceeds to ram his dick (which has been coated in petroleum jelly) into my butthole.

It feels so painful, yet at the same time it feels so good!

Gabe is panting heavily, saying, “Oh? You wait seen nothing yet!”

He rams his rick into my anus over and over and over again until…

“Argh!”

“What’s wrong, Gabe?” I ask, concerned.

“Oh, nothing. Just ejaculated,” he replies.

I stick my finget into my butthole, and take it out. Sure enough, I see semen.

“Well, it certainly seems that you’ve managed to come before I did,” I say. “I’m quite jealous, to be honest.”

“Oh, you’ll get your chance soon,” Gabe promises. “For now, let it be known that you’ve just gotten the true ‘gift that keeps on giving’.”

***

Let it be known that I, Jonathan Gabriel, have ejaculated into the rectum of one Tycho Brahe!

Thus, I have learned the truth of the pleasureful intercourse between men.

And, you, Tycho Brahe, you have earned the opportunity to pleasure me in turn soon.

Kinda corny there, but accurate, ain’t it?

End of Act 2

Paint the Line: The Queer Couple: Act 1

Act 1: Coming Out of the Closet

Seattle, Washington, September 1982

I find myself woken up by a cacophony of bleeps and bloops. It can only mean one thing: Gabe, my black-haired fellow occupant, is playing his synthesizer again.

Annoyed, I try to cover my ears with a pillow, but that proves useless. Eventually, I decide to head over to his room and tell him off again for disrupting the peace in this house.

Sure enough, when I open the door to his upstairs room, Gabe’s in nothing but orange briefs, banging on an expensive synthetic keyboard, knowing nothing about making good music.

“Trying to be the next Stevie Wonder, are we?” I quip sarcastically.

“Why, yes, Tycho! How did you guess?” Gabe answers, apparently oblivious to my sarcasm—that, or ignoring it entirely and coming back with a sarcastic reply of his own. Frankly, I’m not sure which possibility is the worse of the two.

“Maybe you should stop wasting money on unnecessary gadgets and doing something that really matters,” I say to him.

“Like what?” Gabe asks. As if he doesn’t know the answer to that question already.

“Table tennis,” I tell him anyway. “You know, ping-pong.”

“Nah, I’m not into that any more,” Gabe answers. “I just don’t think it’s a serious sport any more, that’s all. Besides, I prefer making music masterpieces anyway, something a bourgeois prick like you wouldn’t even understand.”

“’Beautiful music’, you say?” I reply. “Listen, I appreciate synthetic music as much as the next guy, but the way you’re playing it makes the aforementioned blind pop star—Stevie Wonder, if you’ve forgotten already—spin in his grave—” I think about what I just said for a moment. “Well, at least it would if he weren’t still alive. Anyway, I’m surprised you even know the word ‘bourgeois’, let alone how to say it or what it means.”

“That’s what dictionaries are for, my dear Brahe,” Gabe says proudly. Great. A few months out of college and already he’s becoming a total asshole. In fact, I think he was an asshole even before college.

“Well, it’s nearly 3 PM. We’d better get dressed if we’re going to head for work,” I remind Gabe.

Gabe sighs. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?” he whines as he opens his closet.

Privately, I take a glance at his underwear-clad butt as he rummages around for his uniform.

Those butt cheeks of his are so round and plush, I could just squeeze them.

In fact, I soon find myself doing just that.

As I marvel over how soft his booty is, he quickly swivels his head back.

He’s giving me that “what the fuck?” look again.

***

Seriously, what the fuck’s wrong with that brunet Tycho?

“Are you, like, gay or something?” I ask him.

“What? No!” he denies.

“I don’t know.” I reply. “You grabbing my ass is a pretty dead giveaway to me.”

“Well, maybe I just like groping guys’ rear ends every once in a while,” Tycho says. “You ever thought about that?”

“Hmm… I’ll let that excuse slide—for a little while,” I say. “But sooner or later, you’re going to have to ‘come out of the closet’.”

“Which closet? Yours or mine?” he says sarcastically.

“Ha-ha, very funny. Now please get out, I’m trying to dress here,” I say.

“Fine, fine,” he says, turning around and walking out the door.

I briefly turn my head back and, for no apparent reason, look at Tycho’s ass.

Well, what do you know? Looks like his rear end’s just as round and soft as mine apparently is.

Too bad it’s obscured by those blue briefs of his.

Wait, what am I saying? Am I turning gay along with Tycho?

I sure hope not. That would be an awkward thing to explain to my friends and family.

***

Gabe joins me in the gray Ford sedan.

“Ready to head out, dude?” he asks.

“Yep,” I reply.

I turn the ignition key, back up out of the driveway, and say good-bye to our quaint little blue two-story house.

We eventually find our way to the pizza parlor where we work the evening shift.

Taking orders from customers, serving food to them, and checking kids to see if they’re putting their quarters in properly I’ve heard that some kids drill a hole in one of their quarters, tie it to a string, tie the string to their fingers, drop the quarter into the machine, and pull it out after it goes in; I know we both do that when we play arcade games at the movie theater (not at the pizza parlor, lest our boss catch us)—isn’t exactly our idea of fun—neither is it Gabe’s—but hey, it’s a good enough job until we can get one that pays well.

It wasn’t always like this. Back in ‘76, the UN passed a resolution that basically said that all conflict between nation should be settled by a game of ping-pong. If one thinks about it, it sounds pretty silly, but hey, governments do some pretty silly stuff all the time—just look at Nixon and Watergate!

Anyway, in ‘79 some Red Chinese terrorists absolutely slaughtered the whole US Table Tennis Team, so the government had to assemble some college students—me and Gabe included—to show those commies just what “Made in America” really meant!

We were bitter rivals on the ping-pong table—still are, to an extent, but not necessarily on said table—but we settled out differences quickly and led the new US Table Tennis Team to victory—but not without some cost.

I remember when Gabe and the terrorist leader were the last men standing. Gabe gave that commie Chinese bastard a serve that hit him like a ton of bricks—literally!

We were hailed as heroes, but of course, we didn’t want the fame or glory. All we wanted was to live our lives in peace and quiet.

We retired from ping-pong and decided to finish college. For a while, we were greeted by shouts of admiration and respect, but the fame eventually wore off. Just as well. Everyone deserves their five minutes of fame, even if it’s fleeting.

After college, we applied for lots of jobs, but were rejected every time until we found that job at the pizza parlor. It pays well, and it has lots of awesome arcade games to boot!

Well, here we are. Better go in and file in our work cards for the evening.

***

“Reporting for duty, sir!”

“Knock it off, Gabe,” Tycho says.

“Hey, I’m just trying to inject a little oomph into our boring, miserable everyday lives!” I say.

“Quiet, both of you!” Mr. Holkins, our fat, bald boss yells. “Now, I expect you boys to be on your best behavior like always! That means no stealing quarters from the arcade machines, no eating from the customers’ plates, and not funny stuff in the bathrooms!”

“What funny stuff?” I say, pretending to be ignorant.

“Drop the sarcasm, Gabriel! Now you boys go out there and do your jobs!” He yells.

And we do.

We take orders, serve food, observe the kids closely to see if they’re doing the quarter-on-a-string trick, and all that boring stuff.

At 9 AM, the parlor closes for the night and we get our late pizza dinners and check out for the night. At least we won’t have to clean up the mess—the night janitor, Mr. Krahulik, can take care of that.

We get into the car and drive home.

Of course, the pieces of pizza have gotten cold by the time we arrive, but that’s OK, we usually microwave them.

As we’re eating, I decide to talk about what happened earlier that afternoon.

“Tycho, I’m your friend. You can tell me the truth,” I say. “Were you really thinking gay thoughts about me when you squeezed my ass earlier?”

Tycho opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it. He thinks hard for a long while. Eventually he says, “Yes.”

“Oh,” I say. I think about what I’m gonna say for a few seconds. Then, I say it. “To be honest, Tycho, I was thinking the same thoughts when I stared at your ass.”

“Wait. You stared at my ass?” Tycho asks.

“Well… yeah,” I admit.

“Huh.” Tycho thinks for a moment. “Guess that means we’re both turning gay.”

“I guess. Well, good night, Tycho,” I say as I go to the upstairs bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed.

“Good, night, Gabe,” he replies as he goes to the downstairs bathroom.

As I get ready for bed, I keep wondering, what if we really are gay?

I’d like to think that Tycho’s thinking the same thing.

***

I’m pretty sure Gabe’s thinking the same thing as I am.

Which is this: What if we really are gay?

Well, that’s another problem for another day, I think, as I strip down to my underwear, climb into my bed and go to sleep.

***

Well, I shouldn’t think about whether or not we’re gay any more tonight, I think as I climb into my bed. Tomorrow’s a whole other day.

I close my eyes and go to sleep.

Or at least try to, anyway.

***

I wake up at 1 AM to a different sort of synthetic sound: the same digital note being played over and over again. I go upstairs to make sure that it’s what I think it is, and sure enough, it’s Gabe, in white briefs this time, playing the same note over and over again on his synthesizer.

I go over to him and ask, “Gabe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Tycho,” says Gabe. “It’s just that, if I’m gay now, what will it mean for me? Will my family accept me for who I am? You’ve got to help me, Tycho!”

“Now, don’t get hysterical,” I reply. “I don’t know the answer to those questions myself, and I don’t think I even want to know. I just wish there was some way we could have prevented us from turning gay.”

“Maybe we were gay all along, and just didn’t realize it until now,” Gabe suggested.

“Yeah, that’s possible, Gabe.”

“Either way, what are we going to do? How will our families react? What about our boss? Our friends?” Gabe says, sobbing.

“I guess we’ll just cross that bridge when we get to it, Gabe. Right now, the important things is to not think about it, and go to sleep.”

“All right, Tycho. That sounds like a good idea,” sobs Gabe.

I can’t stand seeing my best friend cry, so I just say, “Good night,” to him and go back downstairs.

As I try to go back to sleep, I can’t help but think about our being gay and who it might affect our future.

I’m finding it just as hard to go to sleep as Gabe did, but I try anyway.

***

I wake up at about 10 AM. I just wonder if Gabe got to sleep.

Sure enough, when I go to his bedroom, there he is, sleeping like a log.

I have too many thoughts in my head to even think about going to work today, or even going to the aracde at the movie theater, so I phone Mr. Holkins and tell him that Gabe and I have caught a cold and can’t come to work today. Amazingly, he seems to buy it. That, or he thinks that it’ll be a welcome change of pace to not have annoying college graduates like us around.

Either way, I hang up the phone and watch Gabe just sleeping on his stomach because I just can’t find it in my heart to wake up such a cute sleeper.

I stare at his underwear-clad butt once again. This time, I stare at it for so long that I start to feel something growing in my red briefs. I peek into them to see what it is, and sure enough, I’m getting an erection.

It’s official: I’m gay for Jonathan Gabriel.

***

I get up, yawn and stretch, and turn my head to see Tycho staring at my ass. Then I look at the bulge in his underwear.

“Huh. You really are gay for me, Tycho Brahe.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder if I’ll get an erection just by staring at your ass, Tycho?”

“Let’s find out,” he says, as he turns around and displays his red briefs-clad ass.

I stare at it for a while, and then I feel something growing in my underwear.

I peek in there and, sure enough, it’s an erection.

“Are you gay for me, Jonathan Gabriel?”

“Yep. I’m totally gay for you, Tycho Brahe.”

And then we hug.

***

“Well, we’re officially a gay couple, Gabe. What are we gonna do first?”

“Maybe we could have sex right now?”

“No, Gabe. I think we’ll have to wait for a special occasion to have sex. Besides, we don’t know anything about gay sex anyway.”

“So, what do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we can phone all our friends and relatives and tell them we’re gay.”

“But won’t that be a bit sudden, Tycho? I mean, we’ve just barely come out of the closet as it is. How do we know if everybody—indeed, anybody—will accept us being gay?”

“There’s no sense in not trying, is there?”

“All right, Tycho. We’ll call everyone we know. If they can accept us, good for them, if they can’t too bad.”

“OK, Gabe. Who do you think we should call first?”

“Hmm… Wait! I know!…”

***

“Mr. Holkins?”

“Feeling better already, huh, Gabriel? I knew you two were lying, but I let you two stay home anyway, because you know what! You’re both fired for trying such a pathetic stunt like that!”

“What?! You can’t do a thing like that!Li Bedides, there’s something else I’ve got to tell you. Tycho and me are…”

“Well, what? Don’t be shy, tell me, you idiot!”

“We’re gay!”

The next thing I hear is a strangled cry and a loud thud.

“Congratulations, Gabe. You’ve just given our boss a heart attack.”

“Think he’s dead?”

“We’ll find out in the obituaries section tomorrow.”

***

“Hi, Mom.”

“Well, hello, Jonathan! How have you been?”

“Fine, fine. Listen, Mom. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What is it, Jonathan?”

“Well, we’ve just discovered that Tycho and I are… well, gay. And not in the happy way, either.”

“Well… I… I’m surprised, to say the least. I don’t know what to do. I’ll think about it, OK? In the meantime, why don’t you tell your father and see what he thinks?”

“OK, I will. Bye.”

“Bye.”

So I dial in the long-distance number to my dad, and wait for him to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Listen, I know you see me as a bit of a failure, so please don’t take this the wrong way. Dad, Me and Tycho are gay—as in queer!”

“What? Well, that just tears it! I have no son!”

“Well, go fuck yourself, Dad!”

I hang up and dial Mom.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Me again.”

“So, how did it go with your father?”

“Not so good. He disowned me.”

“Well, I’m just glad I divorced him.”

“Yeah.”

“Jonathan, I’ve thought this over, and, well, I guess I can accept you for who you are. In fact, I encourage it! I mean, it’s not like you chose to be gay.”

“You don’t think I chose to be gay?”

“No! In fact, I had a gay friend once in high school.  Best friend I ever knew. Of course,  the powers that be repressed his sexuality, and he couldn’t stand it, so he hanged himself.”

“That’s… awful, Mom.”

“I know! He couldn’t help it. That’s just the way he was born.”

“I can’t believe how intolerant ‘straight’ people can be about gays in this country.”

“Neither can I. But maybe you and your… boyfriend can change all that.”

“You mean, try to convince ‘straight’ people that being gay isn’t so bad?”

“Of course! I know it’ll be a hard road for you, but I know you can do it!”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

And with that, we both hang up.

Well, I guess I can wait to call my cousins until Tycho’s done with his parents on the other line.

***

Well, Gabe’s finished on the other line. Guess I’d better call my folks back in Montana.

I dial my mom’s number first.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. Me and Gabe are gay!”

“Gay? As in happy or queer?”

“Queer.”

“Well, you can just forget about me visiting you ever again!”

She hangs up, and I call my dad.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad. Me and Gabe are gay, as in queer!”

“What? Well, let me tell you one thing, mister! I do not have any tolerance for—”

I hang up.

Better call my cousins. Maybe they’ll accept me for who I am.

Uh-oh, Gabe’s calling his cousins. Guess I’d better wait.

***

Well, some of my cousins accepted my homosexuality, other rejected me, and the rest are apparently gay, too.

I guess Tycho’s gonna call his cousins now.

***

Well, the situation with my cousins seems to be the same as Gabe’s. Some accepting, some rejecting, some gay.

Guess I’ll have to wait to call my friends until Gabe’s done with his friends.

***

Well, my friends’ general reaction seems to be the same as my cousins. So accepting, some rejecting, some gay.

Now, it’s Tycho’s turn to call his friends.

***

Yep. Some accept, some reject, and some are gay.

Well, now we can both rest easy knowing that there are some people who accept us as gay.

***

“So, Gabe, now that we’ve told everyone we know, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know yet, Tycho. I mean, it’s not like we can get married or something.”

“True.”

“Well, Tycho, I guess we’ll just have to continue being two guys who happen to live in the same house as fellow occupants, marriage or no marriage.”

“Yeah. At least they’ll allow that, whether or not we are gay.”

“Yep.”

“Well, Gabe, what do you want to do? How about playing some ping-pong, for old times’ sake?”

“You mean, dig up that dusty ping-pong table and those old rackets from the basement?”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Gabe.”

“Well, Tycho. I’d love to, but I’m a bit rusty.”

“So am I, Gabe. Neither of us have played ping-pong for three years.”

“Well, we can certainly learn how to play ping-pong again, Tycho. Hey, how about I show you how to play the synthesizer?”

“Thanks, Gabe, but I think I can learn it on my own.”

“Well, if that’s OK with you, then fine.”

***

For the rest of the day, Gabe and I bond by doing activities. My favorite, ping-pong, goes first.

“Now, Gabe, according to the handbook, the first person to score eleven point within a two-point margin is the winner.”

“OK.”

“Now, each player gets two serves per turn. Oh, and you won’t have to worry about the vertical line unless you’re playing doubles.”

“OK.” 

I throw the ball in to the air and hit it—right into Tycho’s face!

“Ow!”

“Gee, I’m sorry, man!”

“No, Gabe, it’s all right. It’s still your turn.”

I hit it again, and this time, it misses Tycho completely.

“Nice shot, Gabe! Now, it’s my turn.”

Tycho hits two balls past me.

“I guess your defense needs a bit more work, Tycho.”

“Yes, it does.”

We both have a good laugh.

***

“You’re getting really good at playing the synth, Tycho!”

“Well, my strategy is to play by ear.”

“No fucking kidding! That’s been my strategy, too!”

“No wonder your music sounds so bad!”

“Hey, I can’t turn into a maestro overnight, can I?”

We both laugh together again.

***

“Well, Tycho, what say we hit the hay?”

“Good idea, Gabe!”

We both say good night to each other, and go to bed.

And as I, Jonathan Gabriel, drift off into Dreamland, I know that, no matter what happens, we will always be together in our hearts.

Little corny, I know. But nevertheless accurate.

***

I, Tycho Brahe, go to sleep with the following thought in mind:

Even if something should tear us apart, we will always be as one within our hearts and minds.

Yeah, I know, a bit corny. But it fits.

End of Act 1

Reblog. Click the image, and Enjoy.

askpinkamena:

omg

this game was banned in my school because people would just play it over and over again in the library 

motherfuckin thank you

(Source: twotruths-go, via lebuttsbutts)

askyellowninjakoopa:

sloppysnails:

bokunovriska:

hope4thebest43:

onceleringitup:

pepper-stepper:

once-lerfanservice:

uh, i was born in 1997..that counts right?

^ Yeha me too, I say it half counts. We are like the rejects of the generation, but yolo

hahaha 1993 biptches. Fun fun fun

…1998 count? .___. 

=3=;;;

ARE YOU GUYS SERIOUS

THOSE YEARS ARE INBETWEEN 1990-1999 RIGHT

YES THEY COUNT

anyone not born in these years are 12.9 years old and NEED A FUCKING XBOX

((‘95, smack in the middle. Love the sweet spot, because the N64 was released just over a year and a half later c:))

(Source: youjustinspiredme)

vagiqua:

Rule #1 of Tumblr:

you must reblog our creator whenever he comes up on your dash

(Source: luutopia, via dmansawesomeblog)

tobyaudax:

Dear Gohan,

Did you somehow posthumously inherit your Grampa Bardock’s psychic powers? How did you know what Vegeta and Nappa looked like before they came to Earth? Did they call Piccolo’s video phone and leave a nasty message for you? 

Best Wishes,

Your Ol’ Pal Tobias.

Because it’s a filler episode. Akira Toriyama had no part in this scene, and I’ll bet that it was taken out of Dragon Ball Z Kai.

(Source: miraigohan)

(via facts-i-just-made-up)

acid-eater:

Ganbare Goemon 2 (1988)

“1962”?! I thought Ganbare Goemon was set in a cartoony version of Japan’s Edo Period (1603-1868)?

latte-dah:

flabbergastedpigeon:

So I sketched my interpretation of Hylia from Skyward Sword because I’ve always imagined her to be some divine bird lady but the manga makes her look like a normal human which really bugged me GRAH.

this is amazing omfg

I love how you incorporated the bird/loftwing theme into her design. *-* It makes a whole lot of sense, when you really think about it. And I don’t know if this was intentional or not, but I really love how she’s kinda androgynous here? She’s not extremely feminine, but neither is she masculine. I just really, really like that. ♥

and YES I agree with you 100%, her design in the manga is… to put it bluntly, boring. I take Demise’s own words into consideration when I think of Hylia. He said it himself that Zelda being the human reincarnation of Hylia paled in comparison to “the magnificence of her previous form.”

i just wish himekawa had taken those words into consideration when they made the manga ;-; I expected something completely over the top and more creative and fantastical, but all I see is an older looking… Zelda? Or something? I don’t know. She’s just too human. :C But yes, i am very disappoint over that.

Well, the manga is non-canon anyway, so…

(via legendofzeldaseries)