#the miracle man set i did was on the same day in august

[california-112]

I just watched thirty-six hours of Bernard Shaw and Bobbie Batista, I'm about ready to kill somebody too.

David Duchovny as Fox Mulder in The X-Files S03E23 'Wetwired'

[adthedarkcowboy]

Fallen Muriel AU(renewed version):Part one

Authors Notes: After getting better at writing by writing a book I’m working on, I’ve decided to renew this AU. I’ll be trying to get an account on Ao3, but for now, it’ll be on Tumblr for all of you to see first.

(Old) Fallen Muriel AU here!

Crowley sat in his car, with his plants in the back. He tried to keep himself sober enough so he could miracle enough water on them by setting an alarm twice a day. They kept him company-or at least tried to-, having no resentment towards their god for tormenting them all these years. The plants reminded him way too much of humans-the ones that followed her endlessly no matter how much she hurt them. After the flood, they still loved her. After allowing the guard of her garden’s eastern gate to be-almost-executed, he still loved her. Crowley wondered just how much the other humans-the satanists and atheists of earth-angered her. But then he thought if they truly did anger, wouldn’t she have done something? People sin all the time without confessing to a priest, Crowley should know. He’d see someone drunk on the streets, barely able to walk,some married man cheating on his wife with a prostitute or a woman betting all of her money at a casino, and see those same three in parks or in cars. If she truly was made at the humans for sinning or not believing in her, the Almighty would’ve done something about it. But yet again she gave humans no warning that she would wipe each and every single one of them out and make them pay even if they were innocent children.

“What exactly are you planning,hmm?” Crowley stared at the empty night sky, as if God was right there. He wished he was drunker. “Not just with the humans, but with everything. Your plan was to make angels and demons fight, yeah? Wipe everything and everyone from earth and have the battle here, but that was almost five years ago,and you’ve made no attempt to do that again.” He straightened himself and chuckled. “What? Me and him really scare you that bad? You’re god!Your little principality and the serpent of Eden-your ex-star maker-have a little rebellious moment against you, and you do nothing?! ‘All mighty’ yet you haven’t been in a conversation with any of your angels in several millennia!” There was no one around Muriel’s Book-Shop besides him and the Bentley to hear him yelling.“…..Ya’ know, a conversation would’ve been nice. Better than being told to take a hike by your speaker, The Metatron. That’s sort of childish, isn’t it? Having someone speak for you. Your really childish, ya’ know that?” He held the ‘e’ in really for a minute.

Now that he was hearing himself talk perfectly, he figured he was just tipsy and not actually drunk. He didn’t remember the last time he drank any type of wine. That was what he drank with Aziraphale. He tried to convince himself he was truly over Aziraphale, considering it’d been months. The last time he saw him, the air was much warmer than it was now, so Crowley had stayed in his car for most of the time from December to February. Maybe once it got warmer he’d visit Muriel again. It was like walking through a snow storm just to get to the door, and he’d have to wait for their approval for him to cross the barrier.

His alarm went off on his phone and he flipped it up from the seat across from him. As he went to press the stop button and schedule another alarm, he saw the time.3:59.

He tried to leave the plants with Muriel some time in August and sleep for a few millennia, but found that he had some form of insomnia that he thought only humans could get. It didn’t make him feel tired during the day, but sleep was like floating in space again, feeling numb and weightless. Sleep made him think about nothing. Not Aziraphale or the fact the almighty was a childish prick. Without any sleep he felt to many things and when he was drunk his head hurt afterwards. So he constantly felt to many things and it overwhelmed him. He wanted to cry but he begged his eyes to not do that. Anything but that. His eyes began to betray him, so he tilted his head down to the floor so they wouldn’t hit his face. Forgetting to open his legs so they’d fall directly to the floor, his holy water tears stung his thighs, going through his black jeans.The holy water wasn’t as strong, being a demons tears, so they didn’t sizzle his skin off, but instead burned. It’s like drizzling hot water on your skin. He didn’t care. He let the tears fall , just so he could have the chance of not feeling anything.

Once he finally stopped crying he opened his eyes and stared at his legs. There were several little pink circular scars, some small, some big, some creating lines down his legs as the holy water dripped off. His pants were torn up like some poked holes through them. He sighed, putting his head on the wheel. He needed to sleep for more than a millennia. The world,his world, was too much for him to handle at this moment. He’d have drank the rest of the holy water already if Muriel hadn’t taken in it. Probably for some sort of investigation they were doing. Snapping his fingers, the holes closed, and the holes in his pants were sewn back to normal, but the small little scars remained.

Sighing again, Crowley began to put the Bentley into drive, but it wouldn’t start.

“Oh come on, I’m barely drunk!”

The car didn’t comply with his wishes and just stayed put. Crowley was about to yell again until a disposable demon spawned out side of the Bentley, just waiting for the car door to be opened. The serpent, getting tired-and fairly disturbed- by a random demon staring idly and blankly into his window, grabbed his glasses and stepped out.

“What?”

“There’s a random fallen angel asking for you. It won’t tell us its name, or anything. Could be a spy from heaven won’t stop asking for-“

“Name doesn’t really matter now that they’re fallen, does it?” Crowley his back leaned on the Bentley for support against the fatigue and alcohol.

“…well….no, I suppose not. Think you know it?” The disposable demon teleported them both to hell. Crowley followed, swaying his non-existent hips as he walked down the dirty, crowded corridor. Hell was dingy as….well, hell. The screams of the damned could be heard,as well as the barks of hell hounds,waiting to be let out into the world. Demons and sinners alike crowded a single door, some even trying to pick the lock, but failing helplessly. Others tried scratching at the door with their claws. A demon working in the damnation department had to step in and take a pair of sinners with gunshot wounds back to their rightful area. The crowd caught his attention-or rather the familiar red hair of a demon caught his attention- and he began moving through the crowd towards the long haired ginger demon.

He grabbed Crowley’s shoulder.“You and that little angel pet of yours made a complete fool of me in 1941!”

The serpent didn’t look back at whoever had mentioned Aziraphale. “1941….oh! You’re…..”

The demon only got more furious. “Furfur!We’ve worked together for several millennia! We even worked on the same stars once!” The random, somewhat familiar, demon followed as Eric and Crowley pushed through the crowd, several demons swearing and clawing at them, so much so that the two had to fight not to be scratched or hit.

The mention of stars twisted the knife in Crowley’s everlasting wound. “Which-Oh,go take a swan dive off into boiling sulphur again!-which ones, exactly?”

The unknown demon gasped. “We worked on two whole constellations! How can you not-“ His voice instantly faded when a sinner in a cassock caught a hold of him and began to attempt some sort of ransom,demanding to be sent to heaven, calling himself a man of the lord.

“Eric-that’s it right?You’re name,I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Okay,good-very important thing to remember- do you know him? His voice is ringing some bells but not loud enough.”

Eric instantly caught to what he meant, admittedly and impressively quicker than any other demon or supernatural entity for that matter. “I don’t actually know..I think I remember Dagon talking about him once. Hey! We need to get through, move it!” The demon he yelled at, grabbed him quickly and shoved him into a hell hounds cell. Crowley winced as he screamed, and the demon just snarled at the staring serpent.

Morphing into a snake, Crowley slithered through the crowd of humanoid shaped things,narrowly avoiding some attempts to stomp him and into the room through a bullet hole at the bottom. The room was surprisingly bright and empty, yet so full of rusted filing cabinets that Crowley didn’t recognize. Morphing into a humanoid form, he looked around the room, hearing buzzing from the overhead lights. Dust particles flew around as Crowley slowly walked through the room. The silence was deafeningly loud, so much so Crowley began to actually breathe so he could hear something other than thoughts, smelling mold and moss and other organisms,but the only sounds were produced by him and the lights.

It didn’t take long for him to find a door and the slight smell of boiling sulphur burned his nose. The smell was too familiar to make him draw back, but it wasn’t pleasant and he stopped breathing. He opened the door and saw…more filing cabinets…

“Oh,come on! I don’t have time for this!” He quickly began to turn back, and had his hand on the handle before he heard a familiar voice.

“Mr. Crowley? Is that you?”

He didn’t want to turn around. He wanted to just go with his thoughts that told him he was hearing things and move on with his life, but he couldn’t;he cared too much to just leave. He cared more than he’d like to admit, so he turned slowly.

“Oh good…” Muriel stood there, with their usual clothes stained black, as well as their wings,he assumed…but he couldn’t see them. He brushed it off, thinking they had them hidden. He remembered being ashamed of his wings and his eyes at first too. “….Wait…where’s Mr- i mean the Supreme Archangel?….Mr Crowley…?”

Crowley couldn’t move, all he could do was stand there, staring widely. On their left shoulder were bandages that wrapped on their arm and across their chest. Their eyes,filled with confusion, shock and hope, striped of almost all innocence, made the knife in his chest go deeper. He felt dizzy, like he was the one who just fell, and stumbled into a filing cabinet.

“Mr Crowley! Are you okay-“

He put a hand up,signaling them to stop, and got up even if he barely had the ability to stand up right. His sunglasses were now in his hand,and he just stared at Muriel-or whatever new name they’d want to pick for themselves-with watery, serpentine eyes.

Muriel’s eyes,that resembled those of a pigeon, went wide. “Your….” They looked to the ground,thinking. “Eyes! Yes, that’s right! Your eyes are leaking! Is that a demon thing? I never saw that happen much in Heaven, so it must be a demon thing.”

Muriel continued talking, and Crowley let them. They seemed happy, like they never fell. Did they fall? Where are their wings? Are they hiding them because they hurt, or did something happen to them? His mind raced with questions that he could ask later. He was going to ask them later, when this euphoric rush they felt was over. When they could focus on what happened and any questions he had. But for now, he let them talk and talk and talk as demons continued clawing and screaming at the door, then it connected that a demon had scratched them and they were the explanation for the bandages. Crowley would deal with them later, so for now a simple miracle to help drown out the sound would suffice.

“Oh. That’s much better now. You can hear me. We’re in hell, right? Is that why they were screaming? They shouted some….things….but not all demons are bad. I’m not bad…I don’t think…you’re not bad, because you’re friends with Supreme Archangel Aziraphale. I saw you two put your faces together through the window, is that a human thing?”

Crowley didn’t know how to respond. He blinked, tried to talk and failed, finally resorting to a simple nod. His answer was the truth, it was a human thing, but in that instance, in the time Muriel was referencing, it didn’t feel like one. People kiss for love. Crowley’s kiss was for …..also love, but it didn’t feel like it. He felt angry about it. How could Aziraphale not see that it was love, when it most clearly was?

….

The stress Heaven gave its new archangel was making him frantic. They’d been planning to bestow a child to a virgin, and Aziraphale had to go down and tell her. Aziraphale didn’t know how to handle any of that, he wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t made for that! The original Archangels were made to handle such responsibilities, not principalities that managed to get to the top! What was he to say exactly? Oh, sorry to bother you in the middle of the night miss, please don’t call the authorities. I’m here to tell you that you’re pregnant with the lords child, isn’t that such good news! There truly was no way to casually say something like that. It wasn’t like the old times. Women today had a choice, and what if she doesn’t want to have a child? What then? Aziraphale wasn’t going to force her to have a child. He knew how painful and risky and traumatic it could be for the mother and the child. There were too many things to think about, all of which was pinned on him.

“But,people today aren’t like Mary and Joseph were.”

“There has to be someone who wants to parent the Second Coming,Aziraphale. Why would you not want to?!” Micheal responded.

“But there’s so many risks and dangers! The mother and the child could die, or have complications!”

“Then we’ll make sure that doesn’t happen!….Just go down there and tell her! It’s not that hard Aziraphale.”

Uriel and Micheal both treated him like he was still just the principality guarding the eastern gate of Eden. Aziraphale wanted to protest, but thought it’d be good to go a day in advance so she could get a full nights rest before the news-

“It’s not going like last time.” The Metatron was suddenly beside Aziraphale’s desk.

“….what?” Micheal said.

“It’s not going like last time. We actually have the Second Coming here with us, and we’re going to send it to earth as an adult human.”

“What, why?” Aziraphale looked at the Metatron.

“The humans were too reckless with the last one, so it’d be best to keep it here for the time being.”

Aziraphale, Micheal and Uriel sat there puzzled. Yes, the humans were reckless with Jesus, crucifying him, but that didn’t mean anything. Him dying was beneficial to the humans, wasn’t it? So why not do it again?

“And….the almighty said to do it this way?” Uriel asked, confused.

“Yes.”

Aziraphale put his hands together and put them to his mouth, his elbows on his desk. There was a weight off of his shoulders, but why would they do it differently?

“-and we’ll teach it how to properly judge humanity by looking at what they’ve done. And ,Aziraphale?”

He snapped out of thought quickly. “Yes?”

“If you could educate the child on what’s defined as worthy of heaven or hell, that’d be better for us all.” Micheal couldn’t help but scoff at the Metatron.

Aziraphale sighed and got up. “I’ll do it. One moment, I’ll be right back.”

He needed to get away from everything. It was too much and began to give him a headache. He approached the giant globe and hesitated for a second. “You’re Supreme Archangel, act like it.” Micheal had told him a few days ago. She was right. He did need to act like it.

He touched the area on the globe that was the right spot. It must be late at night there by now, so no one would care if he randomly teleported there, right?

Before Uriel could stop him and say something, Aziraphale quickly teleported to Earth, directly outside of his bookshop.

[madrigaljail]

In-Laws Apocrypha

AUGUST 2023 EDIT: The scene is canon now as the fifth chapter of the same boy you’ve always known, so for the correct version look there!

Sooo before Turn of the Hourglass A Prophet In His Own Land started being posted I was struggling with a scene of twenty-year-old disaster Bruno giving Jose Guzman a vision, because I couldn’t stop writing it. And because I was writing backwards the next scene would have been the 20th anniversary of the Miracle (which ended up being WAY different when it finally got written), and then there was going to be more El Brujo Loco nonsense probably into infinity. It was quickly hijacking the story and I had to drastically course-correct but I didn’t want to lose all that work, so I did the logical thing and posted the vision scene under the title ‘intermezzo’ for instant gratification/to get it out of my system. When I finally got around to posting chapter 1 of Prophet I decided I had STILL screwed up, deleted ‘intermezzo’, and decided EBL would get his own fic. 

A zillion words and a bunch of plot development later the original no longer works and needs a rewrite, but I’m still fond of chunks of it, so I’m popping it here for posterity. Behold the original unfiltered dumpster fire when he’s pretty much at the end of his rope, in ~1800 words:

~*~

The fact that Bruno did not like being surprised should not have been…well, surprising, given his Gift. But by age twenty he’d twisted that bit of trivia into a mythology that he literally could not be surprised. His sisters and few remaining friends rolled their eyes at this notion, but for the rest of the Encanto it was one more spooky facet to add to the stories of el brujo loco.

It gave him more material to work with, let him test his improvisational skills any time he got unexpected news or shocking events came to pass. He’d respond with a cryptic, knowing smile, waggle his fingers, lift his eyebrows, and declare that he knew this would come to pass. His not-acting hobby of being something of a social voyeur helped with this, keeping the real surprises to a minimum.

(Around this time Félix took to sneaking up on him with intent to startle, just to knock him off his insufferable pedestal.)

So when he rolled out of his hammock one…time of day to discover Doña Mercedes’ oldest son  Jose Guzmán sitting patiently outside his vision cave it was only an artful heartbeat before his lips curved into a feral grin.

“Ah, there you are, poca Señor Guzmán,” Bruno said with a bow, arms spread wide.  “I’ve been expecting you.”

Jose, brow slightly furrowed, watched his performance with an expression annoyingly close to pity. “I’ve been waiting an hour. Good evening, Señor Madrigal.” The title momentarily paused Bruno in the act of reaching for a bottle, but he covered it by changing his mind and snagging the last arepa from the basket Pepa had brought up…sometime. There were teeny tiny bites already taken out of it. “I have an important decision to make, and I’m sorry but I need to trouble you for a vision.”

“Trouble me?” Bruno repeated, took a bite of the arepa, grimaced, and grabbed the bottle as well. “My dear old friend, it’s not trouble, my Gift is freely given to support the Encanto and strengthen our community.”

Ah, no, that sounded a bit too much like Mamá. He popped the cork with his thumb and cast around for a glass. Finding none worth using - and having decided to lay his hopeless degenerate act on a bit thick - he took a long pull directly from the bottle.

It was more vinegar than wine. He hoped the dim light kept his watering eyes from notice. 

“Then I thank you for your generosity, señor,” Jose said with a  gracious nod and got to his feet. No, yes, Bruno realized that look in the older man’s eyes was definitely pity and it rankled him. “Do you…ah, need some time to prepare?”

He could only imagine the state he was in and hoped it was like the mural and not- well, no, he actually didn’t care. Probably. Bruno waved off Jose’s concerns(?), set down the bottle and the arepa, and wandered over to remove his ceremonial ruana from its hook. His nose wrinkled as he burrowed into it. It needed to be laundered. He’d thought that the last two times he’d put it on as well.

The door to the cave proper was flung open and Bruno bowed again with a flourish of fringe, gesturing inside. “Your future awaits, Señor Guzmán.”

Jose inclined his head and stepped inside while Bruno followed after, stifling a yawn and instructing the other man to sit within the circle. He gathered the herbs, grimaced when he only found half the salt he’d like, then kicked together the five little sand piles before adding leaves.

“Now, I can do this blind, of course,” he said and settled down across from Jose, fumbling around for his matches. “But if you’ve got a specific query…I’ll need to hear it.”

Jose nodded and watched him fail to light one match, a second, and then he reached out and took the box from Bruno’s hands, igniting the third on the first attempt before handing it back carefully. “I understand.”

Bruno gave him a look which he hoped was more contemptuous than petulant and set about lighting small fires. Possibility wafted around him, the familiar tug toward what should be unknown, unknowable, and he finally shed all his pretenses. He’d debase himself, mock the miracle, embrace the scorn of others because it all made more sense than to let it hurt him. No prophet is welcome in his own land, after all, so it all had to be the joke he treated it as.

Right up until Time surged through him and made his eyes blaze like foxfire, until his hands stretched before him in entreaty because more than anything else he longed to See. 

The wind whipped around them, and Jose’s hands slid into his own. “What do you wish to know?”

“When I leave the Encanto, will you come with me?”

Bruno gawped and tried to pull away but it was too late, the sand swirled up and Time swallowed him whole.

Short answer: no. Jose will trek through the mountains alone, meet missionaries in the first town he comes across, and go to Medellín, to the monastery, and he will supplicate himself before his brothers, and spend his life contemplating the words and actions of God. And Bruno…

The church ravaged by a storm. Julieta smiling and handing him a small bundle. Casita at sunset. A pair of rats nestled in his hands. Doors glowing with untapped potential. The familiar feel of a tambourine in his hand, his own laughter. A view of the dining room; from the perspective he must be standing behind his mother, indistinct faces are lining a much longer table. Riding on horseback through the forest-

The vision tore back to Jose at the end, him alone in a monk’s cell with hands folded in prayer, and that was what got put to glass.

Bruno snatched the plate from the air as the sand collapsed around them, panting for breath. He shook his head.

“I stay, you go,” he muttered and offered the panel to the other man. “You…you get to seek out your brothers and- and Jose what the fuck was that?” He never intentionally looked into his own future, he’s much too much of a coward for that, and having part of a vision of it  accidentally teased out of him had him rattled.  “Why would you ask that? How could you even think I’d leave here?”

Jose finished studying the panel, set it aside, and reached out to grip Bruno’s shoulders. “Because I hoped you would, because staying here, doing this, is killing you.”

“Oh for-” Bruno surged to his feet and started pacing, laughing. Ah, he hadn’t heard that concern for what felt like ages. “My good dear señor, Time is killing me, is killing you, is killing us all!” He spun in place with his arms in the air, a parody of a pirouette. He pointed at Jose, his smile a snarl. “That- that is what no one understands. None of us can control it, no one among us can change it, sand falls, clocks tick, why bother to fight it?”

Slowly, Jose got to his feet until he was looking down at him - to Bruno it felt like everyone looked down at him - and then he sighed, sadly.

“Because there are more things in heaven and earth, Bruno, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” He folded his hands before him and looked around the cave like it was a holy sanctuary. Finally his eyes met Bruno’s again and he shook his head. “And because you’re not the masterful actor you think you are. If you care so little, why put so much effort into making sure everyone knows it?”

There would have been a denial if the afterimages of peaceful, mundane moments to come weren’t still floating in his mind, taking him off-script. Though… “Speaking of acting,” he snapped and this time jabbed Jose in the chest. “Since when do you have any concerns about my well-being? D’you know what my earliest memory is?”

“Which one?” Jose drawled, and that gracious pity finally slid into familiar irritation.

Bruno ignored the question and held up his left hand. “You and your little brother holding my hand in a fire ant’s nest, telling me to stop crying because my sister would be able to make the pain stop!”

“Lo siento, lo siento, I’ve said it dozens of times before and I’ll pray for forgiveness for that and all the other awful things I did as a child for the rest of my life.” That, that was sincere. “Jesucristo, Bruno, people grow up, they change. You can’t live like this forever.”

“Watch me,” Bruno muttered and stepped back, turning to kick the evidence of the ritual away. “Ah, no, that’s right: you won’t. You’re leaving. Here.” 

He stooped to pick up the vision plate and handed it over with a final bow. “Go on, get out. Get thee to a monastery. And show this to your mother, I can picture the look on her face and it’s priceless.”

Jose did as he was told and pushed the vision cave’s door open, then paused on the other side as he came to a decision of his own. “Señor Madrigal, if you want to call yourself the man of this house, you’d do well to start acting like it.”

Bruno cackled. “Oh, Señor Guzmán, you sound just like-”

Wait.

I’ve been waiting an hour.

Who would have let him in? Who would have spoken to him about getting a vision? Who would know he didn’t look into his own future? Who would know how to manipulate a question so that he’d be forced to?

He turned and ran through the door, past Jose, picking up speed as he passed those tortured images of himself in stone. 

“Casita! The quick way!”

Bruno hit the ledge and leaped, ruana billowing behind him and Jose crying out in shock, then a makeshift swing flew toward him and he grasped the rope in his hands, feet planted on the wooden plank, and he spiraled downward. The post-vision headache was starting to pound but it was nothing compared to the roaring fury in his ears, the burn against his palms when the swing came to a sudden stop and he let himself tumble into the sand.

Dimly, he noted that the trip took a little longer than expected. More stairs, then. Good.

He picked himself up, brushed himself off, and stalked toward his door.

“Where’s Mamá?”

[silvials]

Books and Heirs

In which Auguste travels to Akielos for his little brother’s wedding.

Auguste was going to be late for Laurent’s wedding, and that was unacceptable.

A logical part of him knew they would wait for him and even postpone the wedding if necessary. After all, this was a historical union between Akielos and Vere, and both kings had to be present to witness it, but when the Captain of the ship told him it was not safe to set sail today, Auguste was almost tempted to race to Akielos on horseback. By some miracle, the storm clouds that had been brewing in the horizon soon dissipated, and they were able to depart later that afternoon.

They arrived at Ios on the day of the wedding itself, which was a lot later than Auguste had planned, but it no longer mattered. He still had a few hours left to spend with Laurent before the ceremony formally began, and he was determined to make the most out of it.

Damianos was the one who welcomed him at the palace steps because Akielons apparently believed it was bad luck for couples to see each other before their wedding. He clasped Auguste’s shoulder in greeting, and Auguste simply congratulated him on his upcoming nuptials without adding any obscure threats. He used to do that a lot, much to Laurent’s chagrin, but now he knew Damen well enough to know he would never break his little brother’s heart.

There were Akielon dignitaries who were eager to speak with him when he entered the palace, but Auguste waved them off politely and told them he wanted to rest after a long journey. He was shown to his own chambers first, but Damen came back to accompany him to Laurent’s rooms before leaving again to start his own preparations for the wedding.

When Auguste entered the room, he found Laurent sitting in front of a vanity, flanked by servants who were fussing over his appearance. Laurent didn’t seem aware of Auguste’s presence. His back was to the door, and the flurry of activity around him disguised the sound of new footsteps. Auguste crept quietly across the room and gestured for the servants to give him more space. Then he sprang up behind Laurent and held him in place so he could ruffle his hair.

“Auguste!” Laurent gasped between fits of laughter. He tried to reach out to tickle Auguste, but when that proved to be ineffective, he twisted in his chair and tackled Auguste into an embrace. They both collapsed onto the floor in an ungainly heap, while the servants watched them in bewilderment. They must have made quite a sight, the King of Vere and the soon-to-be King of Akielos rolling around the floor, giggling like children.

“I thought you had forgotten about me already,” Laurent said once they both clamed down a bit.

“Of course not,” Auguste said, indignant. “I was going to come here on horseback if I had to.”

“I hope you didn’t exhaust any of the horses.”

“Aren’t you at least flattered to know that I would do anything for you?”

Laurent turned to fix him with a glare, and Auguste rolled his eyes in response.

“Calm down, the horses are fine. They are being spoiled at the palace as per usual.”

“Good,” Laurent said and picked himself off the floor. Then he held out a hand to help Auguste to his feet, all while teasing him about old age.

“You wound me, brother,” Auguste grumbled. His joints chose the perfect moment to creak, which only made Laurent laugh harder.

The servants moved towards them once they were both standing, presumably to resume their preparations, but Auguste waved them away. He wasn’t quite ready to let go of his brother yet, so he held Laurent at arm’s length and simply looked at him. It’s been over two months since they last saw each other. Laurent’s hair was longer now, and there seemed to be a permanent blush adorning his cheeks, but other than that, he was still the same. And yet there was something different about him that Auguste couldn’t quite place.

It took him a while to realize it was his own perception that had changed. He no longer saw Laurent as a little brother, but as a young man about to get married. Auguste couldn’t help the tears that began to pool behind his eyes.

“Auguste,” Laurent said, exasperated. “If you cry, I will kick you out.”

“You’re getting married before me,” Auguste pointed out. “What happened to me having heirs and you reading books?”

Laurent shrugged. “I won’t be having heirs anytime soon, and I’ll still have my books. Perhaps you should take this as a sign and learn how to flirt properly. Damen and I could help—”

“Alright, enough of that,” Auguste cut him off. He had witnessed enough shameless flirting from them to last a lifetime. “You should be getting dressed already.”

Laurent’s wedding garment was made of ivory and gold. It brought out the startling shade of blue in his eyes and lent an ethereal glow to his silhouette. He was beautiful and resplendent, no longer his brother’s shadow, and Auguste was glad that people were finally going to see Laurent the way he was meant to be seen.

When Laurent was finally laced into his clothes, Auguste dismissed the servants and decided to add the finishing touches himself. He placed a circlet on Laurent’s head and pinned a golden lion brooch to his collar, then he guided Laurent in front of a floor-length mirror.

Laurent had never been one for extravagant events, but he looked happy now, excited even. It was something Auguste thought he would never see. He always lamented the fact that his brother was probably destined for an arranged marriage, so he silently thanked whichever stars were responsible for allowing Damen and Laurent to cross paths and fall in love.

“Are you ready?” Auguste asked.

Laurent said nothing and simply stared blankly at their reflections. For a moment, Auguste worried that he might be having second thoughts. “What’s wrong?”

Much to his surprise, Laurent flung himself into his arms. Auguste was taken aback by the sudden embrace, but he hugged his brother back just as tightly. He thought he felt a dampness soaking into his collar, and he couldn’t help but comment on it. “Are you crying, brother? It looks like you’ll have to kick yourself out.”

“Shut up,” Laurent said, still clinging to him. “I just realized I’m going to miss you even though you’re so annoying.”

Auguste laughed. “I’m going to miss you too,” he said. “Be sure to visit me at least once a month or else I’ll sell all your horses.”

Laurent gave him a playful shove. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You better not force my hand then.”

“Fine,” Laurent said with a put-upon sigh, but he was smiling again.

“Come on,” Auguste held out his hand, and Laurent took it, following behind his brother as always. This time though, they weren’t shirking their duties to go riding, nor were they sneaking out of the palace for a late-night adventure.  It was a bittersweet realization, but right now, Auguste was just glad that Laurent found someone who loved him as much as he did.

[samnyangie]

Since people liked rsl interview on dps, I’d like to share one of my favourite interview by him. I think it’s one of those rare interview where he wasn’t joking around that much but discuss acting quite seriously haha

So enjoy:DD

(Credit)

____________________________

1990 New York Times

Young Actor's Life Has the Makings of a Movie

by Lynn Mautner

New York Times

May 20, 1990

It would make a good movie. A 15-year-old sophomore at Ridgewood High School is playing the Artful Dodger in the musical ''Oliver'' with the school's theater group, New Players, when he is discovered by a casting agency secretary and whisked off to Broadway and the movies.

That's exactly what happened to Robert Sean Leonard, now 21, and a star of the 1989 film ''Dead Poets Society,'' which received an Oscar for best original screenplay.

''My mother took me to New Players' summer performances when I was 10,'' he said, ''and I loved the camaraderie of people, rehearsing and singing. I began spending more time there, painting signs and moving furniture, and soon became an element of the company, with small roles in 'The Miracle Worker,' 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,' 'Barnum.' ''

Starting as an understudy for three roles at the New York Public Theater (he never got on stage), Mr. Leonard amassed credits that include ''The Beach House'' with George Grizzard for the Circle Repertory Theater, television movies, ''Brighton Beach Memoirs'' and ''Breaking the Code'' on Broadway, plays at the West Bank Cafe on 42d Street and the recent ''When She Danced'' at Playwrights Horizons.

He has just completed a part as Paul Newman's and Joanne Woodward's son in the movie ''Mr. and Mrs. Bridge,'' filmed in Kansas City, to be released in August. ''I age from a 15-year-old Eagle Scout to 22, coming home from World War II with a mustache,'' Mr. Leonard said.

Mr. Leonard, who received a general equivalency diploma when he was 17, lives in New York City and attends Fordham University between performances. Soon to return from the Cannes Film Festival with his fellow actors in ''Dead Poets,'' he is next scheduled to go into rehearsal for the film ''Married to It,'' a romantic comedy.

Q. Do you remember when you decided on an acting career?

A. I never decided to pursue an acting career. It just has happened. I still think it's going to stop and I'll have to get a real job soon, but I'm afraid to question it because if I do, it will disappear.

Q. How do you think your theater experience in high school has helped you?

A. It was a great teaching experience that prepared me in a lot of ways. We did 10 shows in 10 weeks, so there was no time to think about method. It was running for the stage, hoping you'll make it in time for your entrance. In Steven Soderbergh's new book of his diaries when directing the film ''Sex, Lies and Videotape,'' he said that on a film set there should always be a chain of command, but never a chain of respect.

At New Players, those three to four years, everyone was given the same respect. You had to, because you'd be the lead one week and painting sets the next. That's a luxury that is not available in New York, unfortunately, because of the unions. You're an actor and that's it.

Q. Have you taken any acting lessons? Do you recommend them for others?

A. I've taken two classes - a video acting class to help me get from stage to film, with Marty Winkler, currently my manager, and an acting class at H. B. Studios.

Acting classes are tricky. It's like asking someone in therapy if they'd recommend going to a psychiatrist. For some people it's great; for some it's not necessary; for some it's harmful. The best way to learn acting is just to do it.

There's a danger to the classroom, because it's safe, and you can get addicted to it. The clique of people are there, and you might tend to remain with them and never go out on your own. So it can give you the safety net which can eventually strip away your courage to go out and really try. On the other hand, you can get a wonderful teacher who brings out the best in you and gives you the courage to go out and dazzle everybody.

Q. You went from high school to Off Broadway. What were your feelings and fears during your first professional performance?

A. The first time I performed in New York - in ''Sally's Gone, She Left Her Name'' - I played Michael Learned's son. I think I was too young. I wasn't even aware of reasons to be afraid. I was just there for the fun of it. Fresh out of New Players, I knew it to be fun. I've never worried about lines. In ''Brighton Beach'' I should have been tense, because it was Broadway. I was nervous, but not racked - more excited.

Q. What do you enjoy most about acting?

A. The people, and opportunities to learn, to travel, both physically and emotionally. To look at people other than myself and try to figure out what makes them tick.

Olivier said you never play a villain; you play a man considered to be a villain; that you have to justify everything he does first; you have to know that what you are doing is right and find a way to make it right - even murder.

I just played a conceited piano player in ''When She Danced,'' and I had to figure out what would make a person be conceited and make that O.K. with me. I learned where conceit comes from - from confidence and talent.

Worst thing you can do is play someone and judge him at the same time, saying: ''Here I am. I am so conceited.'' First you have to understand why you're that way so that people interpret you as conceited.

Q. Do you consider acting an escape?

A. I don't look at performing as escaping, as really becoming another person and leaving my problems for two hours, so I don't have to deal with me, because I don't become another person. I work, so that when I am working, in a way it is me at my best. I'm not leaving myself; in fact, I'm more focused on myself than ever. I don't become that person, but I fully understand him, fully explore him, as to why he does what he does and justify it.

You can't play a fool to play Bottom, who's the opposite of fool in Shakespeare's ''Midsummer Night's Dream.'' What makes people fools is that they're completely confident in what they're doing. They don't think they're fools; they think they're right on track, which makes them so funny and makes them look like fools.

Q. Who influenced you the most?

A. I have not had one person or experience that stands out that's a turning point. Every step in acting relies heavily on the one before. Everything I've learned colors everything I have known before, and suddenly changes it.

I have learned a little bit from everyone I have known, whether about acting itself, or living and working as an actor. Like a good detective novel, for every clue that is solved, two more appear. Every time I learn something, it opens two other doors. In ''Dead Poets,'' the rooftop scene, where I throw the desk set off, was improvised. Are instincts then a part of acting?

Q. Are there desirable qualities to have as an actor?

A. Concentration, perseverence, lack of inhibitions. There's no room for self-consciousness on stage. Also, there is an element in acting that is not fair. Whatever talent is, part of it can be learned and part can't. There are people that audiences like to watch or don't. In Soderbergh's book, he says that talent plus perseverance will equal luck. But I don't know what talent is; it is beyond definition.

Q. Do you learn by watching other films and plays? Your own? Other people?

A. Sometimes I watch for directing; sometimes for performing. There are lines in ''Dead Poets'' I would do differently, if given the chance. For example, Todd said: ''You talk and people listen to you, Neil. I am not like that.'' I answer, ''Don't you think you could be?'' I think I could have made it clearer. I don't get much from observing strangers, because although I see what they do, I don't know where they're coming from.

Q. What are the main differences between stage and film work?

A. I feel that as an actor, you should start in theater, to learn the process of creating a character, in rehearsal. Film is an arena for people who already know that, because on the set they expect you to know the character inside out.

Film work is harder, because this tangible part has to happen in your head before filming takes place. And it's more solitary. You create your character alone, without the give-and-take of other actors.

Q. What tips would you give young, aspiring actors?

A. Read plays aloud with friends at home; do any work you can do in high school. Hang out with jocks, leatherheads, and see what makes them work. Don't be a theater rat and only talk to actors. Read a lot. You really have to feel it; really want it; then take it. Don't take no for an answer. Seize the day.

___________________________

There’s another one I really want to share as well, I’ll bring it with me at some point:))

[dialovers-translations]

Diabolik Twitter ー Reiji Sakamaki [2020 Compilation]

–> This post includes all tweets posted on the official Rejet Twitter account for Reiji Sakamaki (@DialoverReijiS) in 2020.

Shuu l Ayato l Kanato l Laito l Subaru l Ruki l Kou l Yuma l Azusa l Carla l Shin l Kino

February 14, 2020 (Valentine’s Day)

> This year, once again, I’m making chocolates after Kanato has come begging to me in tears.

> Time after time…Why do I have to do such a thing?”

> Oh well, it’s fine. Now that I’ve made the promise, I should hurry up and get started on it. I might as well challenge myself this year and make some chocolate lollies.

> Takoyaki has nothing to do with it. (@Ayato)

March 14, 2020 (White Day)

> I received some sweets from Kanato, miracles do happen after all.

> I wonder if he’s returning the favor of Valentine’s Day. I’m surprised he has this side to him.

> It’s a rare occasion, so I’ll give them a taste. I’ll hand them out to the other brothers as well.

> Could I have a minute?

> Oh dear, your expression became tense as soon as you saw me. I reached out to you, wanting to thank you for the chocolates from the other day, but did you think I was going to scold you, perhaps?

> Of course, there is plenty I want to tell you. However, that is only because I feel so strongly for you.

> Simply put, there might be times where I accidentally end up doting on you a little too much. It is embarrassing to admit, but that is just how much I love you.

April 1, 2020 (April Fools)

> For God’s sake, that man...He simply cannot act without having to show off.

> I’m talking about the eldest son of the Mukami family. He made a big deal out of it and even published a public announcement, believing their own lies are the most humorous. Showing off how cooperative his younger brothers are. 

> Simply ridiculous. 

> [Only today] We shall be hosting a haunted house at our manor. It is called ‘The Sakamaki House of Horrors’. The demons living at this manor shall try and lure you into a dark world of fear. Please do not hesitate to take on the challenge. For more information, click the link below. --> dialover.net. #SakamakiHouseofHorrors #AprilFools

> Please be cautious when setting foot inside the kitchen. One, two...You might hear the sound of someone counting plates. When you listen till the very end...Fufu, what comes next is a secret. #AprilFools

April 28, 2020

> The fact that a mere servant such as yourself dares trouble me is simply unacceptable.

> How could you nod off in the middle of your studies? It seems like you need to be punished. 

April 29, 2020

> I wish you would at least keep quiet during the commute to school.

May 5, 2020

> Just as Subaru informed me, illegal footage of us is going around. 

> Let us deal with it at once. I simply cannot look past being exposed in such a fashion.

> However, before that.

> It seems like Ayato and the others have been pulling all sorts of mischief behind my back. I shall take care of that first.

May 27, 2020

> Oh dear? What seems to be the matter? Can no longer stand? Your punishment is not over yet.

> I shall give you the same stimulus as before. It seems like you simply do not comprehend unless I teach it directly to your body after all.

> Although, I am doubtful how effective it will be on someone like you, who can find joy not only in pleasure, but in pain as well. 

> What a shameless woman you are.

> You should feel ashamed of yourself. I shall not let you go, until you fix that attitude, understood?

Juy 7, 2020 (Tanabata)

> I pray that one day, we will have less bills for reparation costs to pay. #TanabataWishes

July 20, 2020

> Who is the one who swapped Kanato’s glasses with my own?

> Good grief. What a ridiculous prank.

August 29, 2020 (Birthday)

> Are you satisfied with today? Well, I can tell just by looking at your face. Good grief, how come you seem to be enjoying it more than me every year? Seems like you are in need of a punishment to teach you some composure? Fufu, let us go to my room then. Even though my birthday has ended, I shall not let you leave my side.

October 14, 2020

> Shuu, when are you finally going to wake up? (@Shuu)

> Good grief. Fine, be late for school then if that’s what you wish.

October 20, 2020 (DL x Mayla Classic)

> Do you have a minute?

> On today’s grocery run, I came across something which might suit you at an accessory store which happened to catch my attention. Us brothers shall gift it to you.

> Yes, us brothers. I decided to purchase it after sharing a photograph with the others and asking for everyone’s opinion. Will you accept it?

> I am glad to hear that. Well then, please come and get it yourself.

> Why of course. Who said we would spoil you that much? I placed it in the room where I have frequently punished you, so please go ahead.

> Now where could that be, I wonder?

October 31, 2020 (Halloween)

> You truly have a particular fondness for holidays, no? Well, this is nothing new, so I shall be so generous to keep you company. Well then, between my baked sweets and these fangs, which one do you prefer?

November 20, 2020

> Seems like we’re actually in for a peaceful day for once.

> I shall make use of this opportunity to enjoy a cup of this high-quality tea I purchased the other day.

> I suppose I shall pour her a cup later as well.

December 18, 2020

> You broke the plate because your hand cramped from the cold? Did you truly believe I would fall for such an obvious excuse? Seems like I will have to teach you a thing or two about how to handle silverware...However, before that, show me whether you’ve hurt yourself or not. Come on, your hand.

December 19, 2020

> I suppose it doesn’t hurt to take a small break on the way back from shopping every now and then. For our beverages...How about this drink? The deep blue color is very alluring, and I am especially curious about the spicy aftertaste it is said to provide. Seeing as you still like to cause me trouble, I’d dare argue a little ‘kick’* is exactly what you need at times.

-> Literally he says that he needs to give you ‘the whip’ every now and then. However, ‘muchi’ is also a way to refer to punishment in general in Japanese, coming from the idom ‘ame to muchi’ which is the Japanese equivalent of ‘carrot and stick’. 

December 24, 2020 (Christmas)

> Merry Christmas. May I assist you in preparing the dinner? I assume it is uncommon for me to make such an offer, but I figured that today, it would be nice if we could do something together.

[whumpingcrow]

Pt. 13 "Scarier Than a Haunted House"

CW: alcohol/drugs (explicit), party setting, Halloween setting, PTSD themes, injury mention, past whump descriptions, panic attack, random assault, EXPLICIT NONCON (18+ definitely suggested), blood/injury description, tics/tourrettes, self injury mention, discussion of noncon (let me know if I missed anything!)

Elias couldn't seem to get drunk enough to drown out the shitty dread in his stomach. He kept throwing back drinks and sneaking outside to smoke, and yet he found himself slumped over on the couch, watching everyone around him be happy. Even Tyson was enjoying himself. Elias felt absolutely horrible for being jealous of them, for being bitter that they were having fun and he wasn’t. He wished he could crawl into a hole where no one could see him and bash his own brains in just so that he could get rid of all the dreadful thoughts that were only more painful now with the addition of alcohol. He was dizzy and his body was heavy and he didn’t remember getting drunk being this...upsetting. With August, drinking meant all of his pain, fear, and confusion was too foggy to really feel, with August he could drink until he was numb. But now, as he looked through the crowd of giggling, costume-wearing partygoers, he felt positively miserable. Overwhelmed by it all, he stood up and staggered down the hallway until he found a bedroom. It was quiet in there, no one was in it, so he walked in and closed the door, sitting on the edge of the bed. As he sat and tried to calm himself down, he looked around at the pictures hung on the wall, particularly the ones of Allen and Leo's wedding. They looked so happy together, both beaming at only each other, like the camera wasn’t there. They were like that in person, too, Elias would sometimes catch them looking at each other and he could just tell that, as long as they held eye contact, they were the only two people in the entire world. Again, he felt an unreasonable bitterness burn in his chest over it. He knew he wasn't going to be that happy, not after everything that happened. He wouldn't allow himself to be. Hell, he couldn't even carry a conversation without August’s monologue in the back of his mind, telling him he didn't deserve to speak, he was supposed to shut up and look pretty. Any day now, he kept reminding himself, Tyson wouldn’t be able to handle his contempt anymore and he would kick Elias to the curb.

He flinched when the door opened, jumping up to his feet and swaying where he stood. He immediately felt like he would be in trouble for running off to hide or maybe for having a few too many drinks, the nerves made him pull the sleeves of his borrowed jacket over his hands. The man that opened the door didn’t hesitate before waltzing in, closing the door behind him. He had on a simple white mask, one that only covered the top half of his face. It wasn’t even a scary costume, but when it was matched with his eerie silence and vaguely threatening demeanor, it made Elias’s stomach churn in anxiety.

"Uh...do you want me to leave?” He offered, more than ok with going back out into the suffocatingly happy party if it meant getting out of that room. “I can leave, I just-" he froze when the man started to move closer, each stride long and menacing. Elias felt like he was going to pass out, his limbs were numb. He couldn't speak, even though he wanted to ask who this guy was, why the fuck he was being so creepy. He felt his hands on his wrists, and he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing. "Ple-please stop."

The man stayed silent as he pushed Elias down onto the floor, kicking him hard in the side. Then he dropped down to his level and pinned his arms down, even though he was so trained by August that he hadn't even tried to fight back yet. He wasn't crying, just gasping in pained, horrified breaths. He didn’t understand, this stranger was hurting him and the music right outside was so loud and he could hear people laughing and talking still and he was so disoriented from the alcohol already he couldn’t think anything except “why is this happening why is this happening why is this happening why why why?!” He cried out when a fist landed against his face with a crack, instantly feeling blood pouring out of his nose. After the initial fuzziness of the pain wore off, he felt a cold hand slip under his shirt and begin to undo his pants, and he really began to panic at that.

"No! No, please don't, please stop it, please!" He begged, struggling against the strangers grip. He sobbed as his jeans were pulled down to his ankles, and not even seconds later he was screaming in pain as the masked stranger began pushing into him. Even as he fought against it, he could hear August telling him, "it doesn't matter if you want it or not, you aren't important enough to decide. Your wants don't matter." The pain and fear made him sick to his stomach, he could distantly hear his own screams, like he was outside of the room with everyone else, enjoying the party. He wished, more than anything in that moment, that he had stayed miserable out there instead of trying to find somewhere quiet.

Seconds later, the man pulled off of him, kicking him once again, this time in the face, watching as he choked on more blood. Elias, through his panicked sobbing, saw the unmistakable flash of a camera. Once again, he tried to think of a reason for all of this, tried to make sense of the agony. And then, all of his questioning came to a halt when the man peered down at him, looking rather disgusted, and said: “August sends his love.”

Elias’s blood ran cold, the hysteric crying faltered for a moment as he processed what the man said, then it came back a hundred times worse. August knew where he was, he was going to make sure Elias was hurting even in his absence.

After the man left, Elias stayed, a bleeding lump on the floor, for a few minutes, until he stopped weeping and was just crying pathetically, then he grabbed onto the bed to stand up. His legs were shaky and weak, he felt light headed, and when he looked down the front of his shirt was covered in blood. It was a miracle he didn’t fall over again once he was standing, all of this mixed with the dizziness of his drunken stupor made him incredibly unsteady. He pulled his pants back on and leaned against the wall until he wasn't crying at all anymore. Even then, he was scared to leave the room and have anyone see him this messy, but he was even more terrified of being in there alone for someone else, or the same person, to find him.

As he walked through the party, he could feel everyone staring at him. They were disgusted in him, he knew it. He was a dirty, used up piece of meat, he wasn't meant to be walking around everyone as if he was a person like them. He felt like he was wearing his filth right where everyone could see it. Part of him wanted to run back into the bedroom, crawl under the bed, never come out, never look at or talk to be around anyone ever again.

"Holy fuck, Elias, what happened to you?!" Someone gasped. He looked up to see Leo standing in front of him, and Elias jumped when he grabbed his shoulder. He was frowning down at him, probably because he was so revolting and was getting his gross blood all over his nice house.

"Whe....where's Ty?" He asked. His voice was small and broken, so weak from fear. Leo stared at him for a second longer, then started to guide him to the couch to sit down.

"Here, you sit, I'll go get him-"

"No!" Elias pleaded, grabbing onto Leo's shirt desperately. "Ple-please don't leave me alone. Please, Leo." It wasn’t that he really trusted Leo, not yet, but he was the only one around at that second, and Elias wanted to believe that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. He wished Leo was with him minutes ago.

"Ok, ok." Leo's voice was so soothing, so level, as he wrapped his arm loosely around Elias's waist to help him walk. "Did someone do this to you?"

Elias couldn't answer, he didn't want to speak at all because admitting it happened was admitting that August knew where he was, and if he admitted that it made it all that much more real. Leo didn't push him after that, just led him the rest of the way to the backyard. He was patient when Elias stumbled, he simply waited for him to steady himself before he kept walking.

Tyson was sitting around a fire pit with Allen and someone else who looked a lot like Leo, probably a brother, and he hardly noticed when Elias and Leo approached him. He probably didn’t even notice that Elias was gone in the first place. When they got close enough for him to notice though, Tyson jumped to his feet with a horrified gasp. Elias squeezed his eyes shut and clutched onto Leo at the quick movement.

"What the fuck happened?!" He shouted. Leo shifted Elias carefully into his arms, and Elias whined at how tight he was grabbing him. He covered his face with his hands, trembling all over, trying not to cry again. Tyson didn't allow him to hide away, grabbing his wrists so he could see his face. Elias couldn’t even look at him, he could already hear from his voice that he was angry, and if Elias had to see anger on the face of the only person who cared about him, the person he had somehow convinced to love him, he just knew he would crumble. "Who the fuck did this to you?!"

Elias shook his head, trying to pull his arms away from him. He couldn't speak, it felt like there was barbed wire around his throat, and Tyson was so mad at him. It was probably because he could see the grime and filth all over him from the man who touched him. At the thought, he started to cry again, struggling hard to try and get out of his grasp. That only made Tyson more upset with him, insisting that he told him who did this, that he stopped fighting him, until someone else was grabbing Elias, pulling him out of Tyson’s tight hold.

He looked up to see Leo grabbing Ty's shoulders, talking to him to calm him down. Elias forced himself to look Tyson over, he saw his brow set in a tight frown, he saw his hands balling into fists over and over, his shoulders were high and tense. He looked furious, and Elias hated himself for making someone as patient and caring as Tyson angry. He looked away, saw that Allen was leading him away slowly. He collapsed against him, sobbing weakly in his arms. "He's m-mad at m-me!" He wailed. He couldn’t breathe again, his chest hurt from trying to pull air into his panic-ridden lungs.

"No, Elias. I promise he isn't. I promise. He's mad at whoever hurt you." Allen rubbed his shoulders softly to calm him down, hugging him close. "Give him a second to cool off. You didn't do anything wrong."

Allen sat him down in one of the chairs in front of the fire pit, then sat next to him. Elias instantly pulled his knees up to his chest, hiding his bloody face from everyone. He felt Allens hands on him every now and then, trying to comfort him, but he wasn't listening to anything he was saying. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his legs, and it was really the only thing he was able to focus on. He stretched his fingertips out, just slightly, and tried to think of only how the heat of the fire soaked into his skin. The crying came to a slow stop after that. Another few minutes passed and then he felt a different pair of hands on him, gentle and trying to coax him to look up.

"Eli, angel? Do you want to go home now?" Tyson's voice was careful, shaking slightly as he tried to stay calm. Elias stayed still for a few moments longer, and Tyson timidly ran his finger tips against his hairline. "Elias?"

Finally, Elias took a shivering breath and came out of his shell, wiping his tears. He looked up at Tyson and gave him a hesitant nod, allowing him to help him to his feet. He hissed at the sudden, but familiar, pain that spread through his stomach and hips when he stood, grabbing onto Tyson's arm as he tried not to fall over.

"Can you walk, love?" Tyson pulled him close as he spoke, holding him steady. Elias shook his head, then let out a pitiful whine when Tyson scooped him up carefully and held him close to his chest.

Tyson was silent in the car, he just kept glancing over at Elias and then back at the road as he was driving. He didn't know what he could say, if Elias wasn't going to tell him what happened there was nothing else he felt like he could ask. Touching him wasn’t really an option, since he was jumpy enough already and the very last thing Tyson needed was to make Elias more scared of him than he already was. He had heard Elias sobbing in Allen’s arms when he’d been pulled away, insisting that Tyson was mad at him, and it made him feel like a monster. After hearing how horrified Elias was when he said that, Tyson promised himself that he would never make him feel like that again. Right now, Elias was in a world of suffering and anxiety and Tyson had to be safe for him.

Elias stared at his hands the entire ride home, he didn't speak either, he knew that if he even took a breath the wrong way he would shatter like glass all over again. He had blood on his hands, and he tried hard to rub it away, but it seemed like every time he got one spot off he saw another. It was useless, he would never be clean. Or safe. He was destined to be filthy and afraid his entire life, it felt like. He wished that he had stayed dead. He felt awful for wishing that.

Neither of them moved when they were parked, sitting in the thick silence, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Tyson pulled the keys out of the ignition as slowly as he possibly could so he wouldn’t frighten him. Just as he reached for the door handle, thought, Elias spoke.

"I don’t even know who he was," he was whispering, "I was just trying to get away from all the noise for a minute and he...he came in and...he didn't even say anything, he just - he just started...God damnit!" He sobbed, hitting the dashboard in his anger and despair. "Why can't it all just f-fucking stop!? What the fuck!"

Tyson reached out to rub his back, to try and comfort him, only to have his hand pushed away. "Eli, I-"

"Please don't touch me," he rasped out, rubbing his eyes, "please, please just don't touch me right now."

"Ok. Ok, I won't." He paused, listening to Elias's sniffles and shuddery breaths. "What...what did he do?"

"I was gonna leave but then he beat the shit out of me. And then he...then I was on the floor and he..." He trailed off, wrapping his arms around himself. When he spoke again, his voice was crushingly quiet, broken up through his tears. "He raped me, Tyson. He raped me and then h-he took pictures of me."

"Oh God," Tyson breathed, sick to his stomach as soon as the words left his mouth, "oh, Elias."

At that, Elias threw himself out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He was limping as he made his way to the front door, waiting for Tyson to come and unlock it. Trying to keep himself upright, he pressed himself against the wall, closing his eyes tightly. He heard the keys in the door, then he looked up to see Tyson holding the door open for him. "Thank you," he whispered as he shuffled past him. He sunk down to the couch, pulling a pillow close to his chest. His head was pounding suddenly, and could hardly keep his eyes open.

"Is it ok if I help you clean off the blood, Eli?" Tyson asked carefully. Elias could only reply with a weak nod, titling his head back in exhaustion. After a few seconds he felt the couch sink down next to him, and he forced himself to sit up and look up at Tyson. It was a silly detail, but he noticed Tyson was still wearing his devil horns, and despite everything, he chuckled a little and reached up to pull them off.

Tyson grinned half-heartedly, taking Elias's face gently into his hand and wiping as soft as he could at the dried blood. Elias closed his eyes again, reaching up to hold Tyson's wrist to hold himself steady. The room was spinning when he closed his eyes, he was worried he would fall over if Tyson were to let go of him. He leaned against his touch, thankful for the tenderness of it all, a sharp contrast to the violence he had to endure before.

"M'sorry I didn’t tell you right away," he sighed, leaning closer, "I should’ve come straight to you. I should've told you right away that he uh...he said uh..." he seemed to freeze up at that, his face twitching into a frown and his bottom lip trembling just a little. He couldn't finish what he was saying, instead opting for leaning into Tyson's tender hands a little harder.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, angel. I should be apologizing, you were hurt and I reacted very poorly." As he spoke, he inspected Elias's injuries, he noticed one of his teeth was chipped horribly, the bridge of his nose was swollen, and reddish bruises were already forming under his eyes. He was just starting to heal, now he had a whole new set of injuries to deal with. Guilt was eating Tyson alive as he looked over all the bumps and bruises; he should have been there for Elias, he should have never let him wander off alone. They shouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place, why did he think Elias was ready for that? Once all the blood was gone, he set the towel aside and ran his thumb softly over his cheek. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Elias opened his eyes to look at him, lost in thought for a second. "Um...yeah, he kicked me in the ribs."

"Is it ok if I take a look? Make sure you're alright?"

Maybe it was because he was still drunk, or because he was probably concussed, or because he was still in the people pleasing, trained headspace from the pain, but he nodded eagerly and started to pull at his hoodie. Tyson had to help him get it off, and Elias leaned back as he prodded gently around his ribcage. He hummed at the warmth of his hands and closed his eyes, reaching for his arm again.

Elias’s reaction prompted Tyson to ask “does it hurt?”, frowning when Elias only shrugged. He looked relaxed suddenly, his face was almost serene. Tyson didn't know how drunk he was with how upset he'd been earlier, but he could tell now by the way he couldn't stay upright and couldn't even answer a simple yes or no question. But him passing out from the booze was the least of his worries, so he let him rest his eyes for a just a second as he made sure the damage wasn't too detrimental. Even though he didn't mean to, Tyson scanned over all of his other injuries, upset at the condition of the cuts on him. They weren't healing, and it seemed like he had more on his arm. Those ones were reddened and raised, fresh caked blood around them. Tyson grabbed his arm, inspecting it closer. "Elias...are these ones new? Did you do that to yourself?"

Elias shrugged again, turning his head away as he tried to pull his arm back. "I was being awful. I deserved it."

"Eli..." he began disdainfully, but Elias's face twisted into a depressed frown, so he decided to drop it for the moment, to let Elias relax as much as he could. So he stood up, dragging his hands over Elias’s thighs gently. When Elias looked up at him, it was with that same doe-eyed, ‘my-earth-will-shatter-if-you-say-something-mean’ stare that he always looked at Tyson with, but this time it was with even more fear than usual.

"I think you have a concussion,” he mumbled, “so I'm gonna go get you some medicine.” A huge wave of relief hit Tyson when Elias seemed to relax, his shoulders dropping to a more relaxed position and his gaze softened. “Don't fall asleep, ok?"

Elias chuckled sarcastically and nodded. "No problem."

The next morning Elias woke up with a pounding headache and a heavy soreness all over, and before he opened his eyes he thought he was back with August. Despite the pain that made him want to never move again, he shot up out of bed, looking around in a panic as he tried to find some familiarity.

"Woah, hey, hey," Tyson said from his spot on the bed, sitting up and looking at him. Elias swiveled around to look at him, shoulders rising and falling rapidly. "You ok?"

Elias huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I thought...I thought I was at August's." It was hard to get the words out, felt like they were made of glass as he forced them off of his tongue. Tyson held his hand out to him, so he crawled back into bed and allowed him to pull him into his arms. He wasn't wearing a shirt, he must've never put it back on after Tyson undressed him to examine him the night before, and he was glad Tyson was holding him close so he didn't have to see him.

"Why'd you think that?"

"I guess I'm just...I'm only used to waking up hurting this much with him." He nestled closer, sighing as Tyson stroked his back gently.

"I have some pain killers if you want some. Or we can smoke." He looked at Elias as he pulled away from him, reaching up to hold his face. "You're so beautiful."

Elias blushed and shook his head. "Shut up, I'm all fucked up. I look like I got hit by a bus."

Tyson propped himself up slightly and leaned closer, until their lips brushed gently together. Tyson heard Elias's breathing stifle as he melted against Tyson's hand. "You're absolutely gorgeous," he breathed, grinning at the way Elias reached up to touch his neck gently, "and I am absolutely in love with you."

"Really?" Elias muttered. "Even...even after last night?" His voice was broken and timid, afraid of the answer. He couldn't even remember the night before, really, it was all coming back to him one drunken memory at a time, he was still putting the pieces back together. Something horrible had happened, the man, the room, the blood. He sort of remembered a flash, but he couldn't even tell if that was real or if his mind just added it in because it was so often accompanied by that specific brand of pain. Whatever happened, he came to the conclusion, he could only feel this grimy and filthy and hurting this bad if he had done something heinous, and how in the hell could Tyson tell him he was in love with him now?

"Baby, nothing that happened last night was your fault. It didn't change a thing, ok? I love you. And I will never stop loving you."

"Oh, Ty," he breathed, "never is a big commitment..."

Tyson chuckled softly and kissed him finally, feeling a bit of relief when Elias pressed closer and held onto him eagerly. He was expecting him to be upset and put off at any affection, and yet he seemed like he needed it more than Tyson did. He climbed into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck as he kissed him hard.

"Tyson," he whimpered, turning his mouth to Tyson's throat, "I l-love you, Ty." He was breathless, even though Tyson was hardly doing anything, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how easily he would come undone if he pushed him just a little farther.

"What's got you all hot and bothered?" He joked, tipping his head back a bit.

"I want you to show me how it's supposed to be," Elias whined, "I wanna stop thinking about it."

"Baby, just relax for a second." He grabbed his shoulders gently and pushed him away. Elias looked down at his lap, shame and guilt dripping off of him. Tyson felt horrible, Elias shouldn't have to feel guilty for asking to have sex with his boyfriend, Tyson shouldn't have to worry that giving him what he wants is going to damage him more. None of this should be happening, it is all incredibly wrong and Tyson felt a lump in his throat because he just couldn't fucking fix it. "Please...allow yourself to heal."

"That's stupid," he whispered back, "I'm not going to heal, Tyson. You're making me wait for something that's not going to come."

"That's not true-"

"You don't know what it's like. You don't know how it feels to have to walk around knowing that the last person who got that close to you only did it to hurt you. You don't know how it feels to have that much violence as your only idea of what it's like. You don't get it, because even when I'm close to you, I can still hear his voice and- fuck!-and feel his hands and...you don't get it, Ty, I need that to be- fuck-ing prick!- to be over, I have to feel something else besides that fucking pig all over me." He choked back the tears in his eyes, still not looking up at him. Tyson was silent, and Elias got off of him and stood up. "Just fucking forget it. Nevermind."

He stood in front of the closet, trying to find a big enough shirt that he could hide under, and then he felt Tyson's hands on his hips gently. He sighed, already annoyed at whatever dumb, much too sweet apology he was going to make, but instead Tyson began to kiss against the back of his neck gently.

"I just don't want to hurt you, angel," he whispered against his skin, stepping forward until he was pressed close against him. His bare chest was flush against Elias's back, and the direct skin contact made him positively melt, sinking right into his arms like he wanted to be nowhere else the rest of his life. Tyson slid his hands forward, keeping them against his stomach, high above the waist band of his shorts, where the touch was safe. "I don't want to make you feel how August made you feel."

Elias tilted his head back to rest on his shoulder, cueing Tyson to begin to kiss his neck gently again. Slowly, centimetres at a time, his hands dipped down to his pelvis. "Ty..."

"I need to know that you'll stop me if it's too much. Will you?" He felt Elias nod slowly, weakly, against him, and he dropped his hands down further, until Elias let out a pleased gasp. He kept his eyes open, staring down in wonder at Tyson's smooth, dark complexion against his own pale and battered skin. The pleasantly astonished whines he started letting out were not his own, he couldn't even control them. Tyson was touching him, Tyson had his hands on him and he was just as gentle as ever, Tyson wasn't too disgusted in him to touch him! Tears were stinging his eyes suddenly, he was so so grateful and relieved that he couldn't help but cry just a little. He closed his eyes so Tyson wouldn't see and think that the tears were bad.

"Is this ok, Eli?" He mumbled, so careful and genuinely wanting to know, not just asking to fill the space but because he really gave a shit.

"It's...I-I..." He couldn't stammer any more words out, and wanted to crumble when Tyson pulled his hands off of him and turned him around. He kept his eyes closed, his face turned down. "Tyson."

"What, Elias?" Now he was laughing softly, amused with how speechless and flustered he was already, loving how quickly he went from shouting profanities by accident to being almost silent. But then Elias shook his head, still not speaking, and Tyson took his face in his hand and forced him to look up at him. His smug grin dropped from his face as soon as he saw the pools of tears in Elias's eyes, and he flinched away like he was hurting him, eyeing him up and down in a panic. "What's wrong? Did I do something...are you-"

"I'm o-ok!" Elias insisted, voice eager and watery in the most desperate way. He stepped forward, grabbing Tyson's arms gently to try and really convince him. "Really, Ty! I pr-promise I'm alright, I...pl..please Ty..." He realized Tyson wasn't touching him still, still staring at him like he was too broken to try and touch, like Elias would cut him open if he grabbed him again, and he burst into tears. "No, Tyson! Come on Ty, plea-please, please touch...Oh, God, Tyson, please!!"

Tyson's eyes were wide as Elias grew more hysterical, he was watching Elias shatter, crumble to pieces right in front of him, and still he wasn't touching him. Elias didn't know if he understood how god damn painful that was. He could hear himself sobbing, really, truly, sobbing, could feel his own ragged breathing. His hands were tight around Tyson's arms, shaking in desperation, and he forced himself to let go when he realized just how hard he was squeezing. Everything was muddled and faraway, like he was hiding in the closet and listening to this all unfold, like he wasn't supposed to be there, like he was eavesdropping. He wanted to stop eavesdropping, this was nothing he wanted to be apart of. It was like this at the party, too, like he was passing just outside the door and heard himself through the walls.

At the memory, he stumbled back until his shoulders hit the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. His chest was tight with panic, he was choking on the sobs over his desperate breathing. He remembered, now, he remembered everything.

"Eli," Tyson called, only now stepping forward with arms extended toward him, offering touch, but it was too late. He was spooked, wouldn't even open his eyes to look at him now. "Elias, please calm down, angel, I'm sorry-"

"He found me, Tyson!" Elias wailed, hands covering his eyes like the risk of accidentally opening them and seeing things again wasn't one he was willing to take. "Don't...Don't let him...I can't go back, I can't!"

Tyson thought maybe he was having another flashback, maybe he was just paranoid and on edge from the night before, and rightfully so, too. So he simply grabbed him tightly and lowered them both to the ground. Elias was rigid, but not defiant, when Tyson hugged him closely against his chest, just tight enough that it wouldn't hurt, and he allowed it when Tyson began to rock him back and forth. He didn't stop crying though, trying his best to continue on his horrified rambling about being found, about not wanting to go back, and Tyson let him. He piped up occasionally with "I know...I've got you...It's ok, Eli, you're safe...I know...You're ok, Elias, I promise."

Eventually, Elias quieted himself down to tiny whimpers and sniffles, trembling against Tyson. It took him a minute to realize that he was out of his hysterics, and when he did he felt the shock slip away, he loosened his grip gradually from around Elias's shoulders. He had to take in a few of his own shaking breaths to recover from the panic.

The room was silent, the air foggy and heavy with residual dread. Tyson caught sight of the clock, he realized they had woken up only minutes ago, neither of them were even dressed yet, it was too early to even want to be awake yet, he was hungover, Elias was broken, Tyson was clueless-

There was a knock at the door. Tyson guessed that it must be Allen or Leo, they mentioned they would come check on him as they left the night before. If it was them, they had impeccable timing, Tyson could really use the help right then. He asked Elias in a whisper if it's ok for him to let them in, saying that they're worried about him, and of course Elias agreed. Elias stayed put on the floor as Tyson pulled off of him and staggered to his feet. Tyson looked at him for a long time, even though his eyes wouldn't leave the floor, he knew it. Before he turned on his heel to leave, he set his palm on Elias's head gently, stroking his thumb through his unruly bed-head hair, and whispered, "I love you, Eli. I'm sorry."

[yinyangswings]

I’ve been working on this for awhile now, and finally it’s complete!! I wanted to draw my ideas, so I did. Anyhoo, here it is. It’s a little wordy so you can read more under the line

August Falke 

I know August begins traveling with MC at the end of his route, but eventually I see him having like...three kids.

2 boys, 1 girl

The boys were born during their travels. The girl was born while visiting the Falke family, and she was born early.

That scares the crap out of August because he had taken the boys out exploring to give their mother some relaxing time, so MC’s water broke and he wasn’t there. 

Thankfully, Asta is there and helps out while Heloise runs to find August.

That little girl has August and her brothers wrapped around her finger 

All three of the kids love horses. August doesn’t see a problem in teaching them how to ride horses when they’re young. MC is a little more hesitant especially with their daughter when she’s younger.

Their oldest son takes great pride in looking after their siblings. He’s protective of his little brother and sister. August is immensely proud of him.

Nyx and Wyndsor are impromptu babysitters sometimes. Nyx is a little more strict than Wyndsor but is absolutely smitten with them.

On the road they are ambushed, and the kids are separated from their parents. Wyndsor and Nyx are thankfully with them, and the horses watch over them until August and MC locate them again. 

The oldest boy as well as their daughter are interested in becoming knights. The youngest son is actually interested in following his grandparents shoes and becoming an inn-keeper.

Saerys 

He has four kids; one boy, identical twin girls, and another little girl.

The oldest is nearly identical to his father and surprisingly shares Saerys’s eye colors. The girls are little copies of their mother. Their youngest girl is a mix between her parents.

The boy is very responsible and mature and is protective of his parents and siblings. One of the girl’s is very shy and quiet, while the other is very energetic, and adventurous. The youngest is very sweet and innocent.

Saerys cries when he holds all of them the first time. He had never thought he would have this or any of them for that matter.

They all have demon variant names. Some of them are a little more human like because of MC, but they all are demon-related names.

Saerys is incredibly protective of them, and when they were young, rarely let any of them out of his sight. MC would tease him a little bit, but understands his reasons

The girls are Saerys’s little shadows. Their oldest son is a mama’s boy, though he denies it all the time. The youngest girl is also totally a mama’s girl and clings to her whenever she can.

All four are snatched by slavers who can see a hefty profit out of several half-demons. Which is true...granted they did not account for nearly the entire group chasing after them. They’re greeted by two enraged and worried parents, several elves, nearly an army of humans, some of the demons from the village, and a whole lot more.

The kidnappers are lucky to be alive after all of that.

They love exploring and want to travel like their father and mother, though right now are content with remaining in the village.

Altea Bellerose 

They adopt a little girl who has magic abilities. She is deaf as well, which is the main reason her parents abandoned her. She survived on the streets.

They find her abandoned in an alleyway, trying to get some food, accidentally surprising her. She lashes out with her magic out of instinct, though Altea easily deflects it. The child promptly collapses and the two women nurse her back to health. 

When they find out she’s deaf, they start learning/teaching her sign language. 

There is initially some trouble as the girl doesn’t completely understand why MC and Altea are being so protective of her, and she keeps expecting to get hurt or get into trouble because of her magic. Gradually the girl starts to warm up to them.

MC sees Helena quite a lot in the girl, a comparison that bothers Altea.

Altea’s parents aren’t exactly happy to meet her the first time, but they’re a little more receptive to her in comparison to when they first met MC.

Lional absolutely adores his little niece and is quick to try and learn sign language to talk to her. They become little partners in crime and tend to raid the kitchens for snacks 

Her parents find out about her abilities and trick MC and Altea into thinking she managed to get lost several years ago and that they had been looking for her. Reluctantly, the two let her go home, though she’s incredibly upset about it.

She is very rebellious to her parents, refusing to use her magic for them, and the mother finally snaps and then promptly sells off to a slave trader.

When Altea and MC find this out, all hell breaks loose and the parents learn it’s not wise to trick a wizard. They nearly tear down the kingdom looking for her and when they do find her, scare the pants off of the trader into giving her back. Altea is the angriest of the two and wants to do far worse than just scaring him

They nurse her back to health (the slave trader was pushing her into using her magic till exhaustion)

They officially adopt her and Altea begins to teach her magic.

Reiner Wolfson 

They have one girl who has dark hair like her mother (though if the sun hits it right, they can see her father’s red hair) and her father’s eye color

That little girl is Reiner’s world and MC cannot help but laugh whenever she sees Reiner with their daughter, because that man is so protective of her.

She’s a very gentle, kind girl who is always trying to help. She does tend to explore which gives her parents heart attacks, but she loves her parents a lot. 

She loves listening as well as learning the piano with her father. When she was a baby, there were many nights that if neither MC or Reiner could calm her down, him playing the piano would make her settle incredibly quickly

When she gets a little older, some nobles comment on how much she looks like the Witch Queen and she would be a danger. She overhears and, not exactly understanding, asks Reiner and MC if she’s going to become the Witch Queen. That goes as well as expected.

Ryland is so happy about the kid and he’s super protective over her. She follows him and Solaria around when she’s not with her parents. 

She is kidnapped by a woman whose daughter was killed during the war. Due to the girl looking similar to her daughter, she kidnaps the girl in the hopes of raising her. The girl manages to escape and hides in the forest where she meets a mysterious man who keeps her calm until she’s found by MC

She later tells MC that the man looked like Reiner, leading MC to believe it might have been Aldric’s spirit looking over his niece.

Sometimes MC wonders if Reiner’s family would have liked her, and Reiner is quick to say they would have adored the both of them. 

Iseul Idreis 

We already know of Iris, but I see them having at least two more. The middle child is a boy, while the youngest is non-binary.

Iris is very energetic and a bit of a troublemaker. Their son is a bit more reserved and quiet while the youngest is extremely loud and boisterous, but also hard-headed and has no qualms with arguing with their siblings.

The boy looks the most like MC, even though his ears are pointed, they aren’t as prominently elf looking as his siblings and father.

Iris and their sibling tend to tease him about it, not realizing at first how much it upsets him.

The youngest is closest to Iraia and constantly follows her around. Their son is close to his grandfather and grandmother, and enjoys being with them. 

Iris likes to explore with her youngest sibling. Her brother tends to stay at home with his mother.

He’s a Mama’s boy.

One day the comments about their son’s looks prove too much for him and he runs away after having an argument with Iris.

They can’t find him for a while, much to MC, Iseul, and their family’s panic. 

It’s late at night when Iseul and MC find him curled up in a tree. The parents have a conversation with their son, and learn about his insecurities about his ears and not looking ‘elf’ enough

Iseul and MC comfort him and tell him that there will always be people who will be cruel to him. But there will also be those who care for him, his family being a prime example. Even his siblings.

After the incident, Iris and their sibling try to curtail the teasing, knowing now how much it bothers him. 

They visit Chicago a lot and the kids enjoy exploring the city and want to see more of that world eventually. Something MC is happy to do.

Helena Klein    

They have one son, who they name Alain. He is conceived via in-vitro fertilization. Helena’s egg is inseminated and MC carries him.

He looks like a mini-Helena

Both MC and Helena are protective of him, though Helena is much more than MC.

All Helena can see is her childhood and she doesn’t want her son to feel the same way.

Living in Chicago has its own set of problems that the mother’s have to deal with, mainly people not seeing one or the other women as the boy’s mother. It drives Helena mad, and annoys MC quite a lot.

Every milestone is a miracle to Helena, who didn’t think this would ever happen in her life.

She didn’t think she would be allowed to be this happy.

They tell him the story of how they met. Whether or not he’ll continue to believe it when he gets older will remain unknown, but he loves thinking about how his Mommy’s met in such a fantasy way

Helena has many nightmares of her child being taken from her or hurt, or something going wrong and him hating her. MC has to comfort her a lot and their son comforts her just as much.

He gets lost one time while out with his mothers. Helena is frantic in trying to find him. When they do, she refuses to let him go for quite awhile.

That is Helena’s baby boy...and nothing is going to take that away from her.

Alain Richter 

They have two little girls that Alain just adores. Their oldest daughter takes after her mother, while the youngest takes after her father in looks.

After their second daughter, MC asks hesitantly if he’s disappointed that he hasn’t had a son. Alain looks stunned and quickly tells MC that he’s happy with his two daughters

And he is. Those two little girls are his life and he is protective over them. He rarely lets them out of his sight, terrified that someone would try and take his daughters, either for revenge or just because they're precious and beautiful.

He has nightmares a lot when they’re younger. That they’re going to die or be taken away from him because of what he’s done in the past. That he doesn’t deserve to be happy. 

When their first daughter is born, any sound has him running to check on her and he rarely lets her out of his sight when she starts walking. He’s calmed a little by the time their second daughter is born, but only a little

He generally doesn’t like them out of his sight, something MC understands, though she is quick to tell him that they’ll need to spread their wings and leave the nest eventually. Which he agrees...albeit it is very reluctantly.

Both of them love horses, and Nyx is very much spoiled by those two girls. Alain jokes that she loves those girls more than him now.

He’s probably not wrong

Some of Lennox’s cult members ambush Alain and the girls while they are out, taking the girls in the hopes of reviving the WQ through the eldest. Alain is captured as well and is beaten quite severely as he tries to protect his daughters.

Cue MC arriving, incredibly pissed off that her husband and children are kidnapped. It doesn’t get any better when she sees the state of her husband and her two petrified daughters.

It’s the first time in a long time that she felt the closest to being like the WQ. 

When her husband and children are back and safe is when she finally relaxes and she curls up to them, relieved that they are safe.

They also swear to always be there for their children and make sure they don’t fall into evil and darkness like the WQ.

Both MC and Alain make a promise to themselves if either of the kids have magic to make sure they’re trained and that they are loved.

[lawrenceop]

HOMILY for the Solemnity of St Dominic

Isaiah 52:7-10; Ps 95; 2 Tim 4:1-8; Matt 5:13-19

St Dominic was not really noted for healing miracles during his lifetime, unless, of course, one considers raising the dead to fall under this category – this he did at least once, and in fact it was this miracle, witnessed by many people and told to the Pope that would lead to his canonisation in 1234, only thirteen years after his death in 1221. As you know, this year we mark the 800th anniversary of St Dominic’s death, which has been termed his dies natalis, his birthday into heavenly glory. A Dominican brother, who had been prior of Brescia and later Bishop of that city, reports that on the 6th of August in 1221 he saw a vision of a Dominican friar being taken up into heaven by Our Lord and Our Lady, and when he was summoned to Bologna later that day he realised it was Dominic whom he had seen being received into heavenly glory.

And then after his death the healing miracles multiplied. Many were drawn to St Dominic’s tomb in Bologna but this disturbed the brethren’s prayers, and they remained typically sceptical until a bishop got them to move St Dominic’s body to a more accessible shrine in 1233. On that occasion, which is commemorated with a feast day on the 24th of May, a sweet aroma came from his body which was found to be incorrupt, and the healing miracles continued so that the Shrine had to be enlarged and special chapel built for the relics of St Dominic, set apart from the choir where the brethren prayed.

For Dominic was making good his deathbed promise to be of more help to his brethren than he had been in his lifetime, interceding for them from heaven and healing many people. Hence, the responsory we have been singing every day of our St Dominic Novena, the 'O spem miram' reminds us that our father Dominic did “shine illustrious by so many miracles, wrought in the bodies of the sick.”

But then the 'O spem miram' makes a challenging request of our holy father Dominic for the able-bodied friars, and indeed, for all of us. We sang: "Bring us the help of Christ to heal our sick souls”. How is a soul, which is immaterial and non-bodily made sick? What does it mean to speak of spiritual sickness? When I first encountered this phrase in this antiphon it made me uncomfortable, and I would try to soften the translation of this phrase. Certainly, the original Latin phrase refers to the unhealthiness of our moribus, our moral lives, our moral actions and choices. Nevertheless, the term “sick souls”, I think, is trying to point to the interior disposition, the movement of the will, our desiring that needs healing.

Many of us are all too familiar with the struggle to do what is right, even what we know in our minds to be correct and just and true. And yet, as even St Paul says: “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do.” (Rom 7:19) Our sins, therefore, speak truthfully about our true desires, our motivations. The motto of the Dominican Order is Veritas, truth, and so there is something salutary about allowing our sins to tell us the truth about who we are, and what we truly love. For then we can bring this truth about ourselves – our sinful selves with all our weaknesses, follies, and crooked desires – to God the Divine Healer. Only when we stand in truth before God as sinners then, without fear of recrimination or rejection or harsh judgement, we can begin to be healed of our wrong desires, our acquired bad habits and evil ways, so that our true self can be revealed. But our sins only tell part of the story, which is that our actions are sinful because our desires have missed the mark. However, our true self is what God has called us to be: “You are the light of the world” says the Lord. So “let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” What we do, therefore, reflects who we love, and indeed whose we are. Those of us who call St Dominic our father should therefore reflect him in his compassion, holiness, and love for Truth. And all of us who have been baptised into Christ are thus called to change, to be healed of our sinful ways; we’re called to desire rightly so that we will shine; so that we become more truly, more authentically the children of a God who is Love. For Christ is the Light of the World, and God is Love. So we have been called to shine with the light of our good works, our loving deeds.

This song, the O spem miram is, therefore, a prayer for continual reform, for the grace of being more authentically converted to Christ, of becoming more like St Dominic who was called the “light of the Church”. This idea of on-going conversion and reform, of moving closer to Christ animates today's Gospel. And the bar is set high – the commandments will not be relaxed – so that we will continue to turn to God for mercy and seek his grace. We call this 800th anniversary a Jubilee, and in the Bible a Jubilee is a time of liberation, of forgiving debts, and setting people free. So, for this time to be a true jubilee, we pray that we’ll be set free of our sins, that we will have the grace of repentance, and that there can be a genuine lasting change in our lives, our families, our communities. The plenary indulgence that is granted by the Pope today is yet another sign that at the heart of the celebration of St Dominic’s dies natalis is the divine act of being liberated from the bondage and burden of our sins.

The problem is that we often think that we don’t need to change; that we should be left just the way we are. We don’t have sick souls, indeed, we’re not sick at all – this is what I used to think! But because God is love, so he challenges us to become better. Because God is love, so he wants to heal us of our wounds that drive us to sin, which is a kind of self-harm. And because God is love, so he provides us with his strength, his grace, his divine life especially in the Sacraments of the Church that will restore us to health and well-being. This is what St Dominic perceived, and he spent his life steadfastly teaching, patiently preaching, and bravely doing penance for the salvation of sinners. In Latin, the word translated as ‘salvation’ is salus which also means well-being, health. Therefore, it is fitting that we ask St Dominic, the Doctor veritatis to bring us Christ’s grace to heal us in body and in soul. For Christ became our Divine Physician, assuming a human body and soul precisely in order to heal us, to save us, both body and soul.

So St Thomas Aquinas says: “Christ assumed a human nature [in order] to repair the fall of man”, showing us by his life and example, “by what he did and suffered that men should consider temporal goods or [temporary sufferings in this life] as nothing, lest a disordered love" for earthly things should hold us back from loving God and placing our hope of happiness in God alone. And then, "because not only good conduct and avoiding sins is necessary for salvation, but also the knowledge of truth so as to avoid error”, so Christ revealed divine truth about salvation to Mankind. St Dominic, therefore, was concerned for both a good and healthy moral life, and also a well-formed intellect with a healthy love for the Truth. All who knew him testified to his joy because he enjoyed this health of body and soul, and he wanted this same joy and health for us Dominicans, and we want this for you, the people we serve in our parishes and ministries. For this is the Order's mission which St Dominic left us: "preaching and the salvation of souls”.

Therefore, on this festal day, all of us are invited to turn together to St Dominic our father, and we ask him today to be useful to us now, as he said he’d be; to send help from heaven that will heal us spiritually as well as bodily, and so to bring us the lasting joy of the Holy Spirit. Hence we have sung these past nine days: "Fulfill, O holy father Dominic, what you have promised, and aid us by your prayers”. Thus we pray: Bring us, kind father Dominic, the grace of Christ that converts, reforms, and heals our lives, our communities, this parish, and our families and homes. Amen.

[saintslipsarchive]

QUESTION: what is the closest thing to divinity?

i.

a soon-to-be grandfather places a hand on the swollen turn of a soon-to-be mother’s stomach, feeling the curves and pointed edges of a spine all the way down to her navel. “you can feel the lad’s backbone already,” royce says with a grin. “he’ll be a strong one, i can tell.”

aurelie only sighs, leaning back on the cushions of the chaise. “he’s tortured me this entire pregnancy. stars above, why would any woman want to be pregnant?”

a soon-to-be father laughs, the kind only a doting husband would have for his most dearest wife. “because creating life is the closest to godhood any of us shall be,” julian answers, brushing a golden curl behind her ear. “because you are a queen and we must have an heir, and you are glowing brighter than stardust.”

“i don’t feel very close to godhood, right now,” aurelie says. “only sore.”

“there’s nothing like holding your son in your arms.” royce pats julian’s shoulder. “he is my pride, my joy, and my legacy. from the day you and your brother were born, you gave me purpose.”

“did you truly think so highly of us, father?” julian asks, wry smile on his lips. “i remember many times when you told us you’d sell us in a heartbeat if we didn’t behave like the princes we were.”

“it’s easier to praise you now that you’ve grown into a man,” royce teases. “a noble man, worthy of being king. i know this little prince will be as well.”

ii.

julian lays aurelie on her back, his hand sliding from her heart to the base of her stomach. long, thick white marks cover her where she once held their son, once held other children who never lived to fruition, and julian can see it as nothing but beautiful. magical. even goddesses have scars, battle worn and unruly. aurelie is no different. he presses his lips to her skin.

“i ask a gift from you,” julian says, kissing his way slowly up her body.

“i would give you anything,” the promise spills forth like rosewater.

“i saw a shooting star today.” his lips touch the underside of amelie’s jaw. “i want another child.”

“the act of creation certainly thrills you.” she giggles like summer, opening up like a morning glory. “what if we lose this one as well? it pains us both…”

“i’ve dreamt it, my love. a little boy and girl, beautiful, honorable, and kind. i want to meet this daughter i’ve dreamt of. she looks so beautiful, just like her mother. i truly believe it.. they will continue the work that i’ve begun, opening solelle to the rest of the galaxy.”

“and so they will.”

iii.

“hold on to me.” aurelie’s grip is weak, and undulates by the second. this is too early, but the medical droids insist. otherwise they shall both be lost. “don’t let go.”

august is only a boy waiting outside, legs kicking on the chair next to a council member who wouldn’t know what to say to a boy who’s mother dies, so he prays that she lives. he’ll meet his littler sister sooner than he thought, and that’s exciting. how many times did he sing for her while she floated in their mother’s womb? he is eager to see this little girl, whom it is his responsibility to protect.

there’s more blood than either of them ever seen, and both little girl and woman are barely breathing by the end. this is the only place a goddess can perish, dancing too close to divinity. julian cradles the girl in the bed beside the woman. both are silent. aurelie’s seams have come undone and the little glimmer of stardust in his arms struggles to breath, let alone cry. she’s taken by the medical droid and julian wants to shout no! she needs me!

but he doesn’t.

and it’s by some miracle neither girl nor woman leave him, not yet.

ANSWER: it comes at a cost.

i.

roses bloom brighter in her presence.

SHE: little, blonde, named after a grandmother who cried the first time she saw her. breathing is difficult when she gets worked up, her droids used to carry a pail for her to either pile blossoms in or lose what little snacks she ate in.

some said she wouldn’t live a year, then that she wouldn’t live three. five years come and go, and serena is still small, still weak — but she is growing. and she is alive, against every expectation she is alive.

a legacy lives deep within his bones.

HE: a man grown at only a tender age, duty and honor set deep into his veins. ichor must flow there, not the blood of the normal man. tall, blond, and autumn at its most beautiful and dormant. he knows what kind of road lies ahead — hardship, hard work.

he is a boy of summer, no matter how hard he tries to force winter into himself.

HE: smiles at her, and only her.

SHE: is braver when he is there.

he is a prince. she is a princess.

and they are julian’s life.

ii.

aurelie can’t function the same. he’s gone too often, coruscant is so far away — she covets their children, keeps them in the palace and holds them close. only august ever sleeps in his own bed anymore; serena shares the largest, canopied one with her mother.

(august stays up all night reading, learning, studying the force that aurelie wishes serena would swallow then spit up. ignore it, she tells her. i can’t, serena always cries. i want to know what it is!)

he is too old to be owned, so he does it for her. lets her practice feeling his thoughts, lets her guess what he’s wanting (it’s always the same thing; make their father proud). august watches her float a rose, shaking and her forehead scrunched, across a small space into his fingers.

“mama said i need to stop,” serena says. “but i hear them. the voices, and the visions. i think it’s calling for me.”

“the only person calling for you is me,” august replies, hand brushing her pale gold hair from her crown to the tips of her curls. what visions are from the force, and what voices are created from her own mind?

“your voice is the loudest.” his little sister giggles, tiny bells chiming in the air.

iii.

the end of story is like this: you pay a price for godhood. you pay for the life you create.

julian’s blood seeps into the streets of coruscant, the holo jagged and serena’s screams piercing. people crowd but no one helps. aurelie falls from her tower of stone; did she fall, or did she step into the unending abyss?

[stranger-who-writes-fiction]

Ya know what these self-indulgent Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow posts need? Self-indulgent banner art, that’s what.

Spoilers for issue #4!

Let’s start this off right with CREATOR CREDITS. Issue 4 of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow is titled “Restraint, Endurance, and Passion.” Written by Tom King, Art by Bilquis Evely, Colors by Matheus Lopes, Letters by Clayton Cowles, and Edited by Brittany Holzherr. (w/ Assist. Editor: Bixie Mathieu & Senior Editor Mike Cotton)

THE STORY: 

Right, so this? This issue? Best one yet.

Also the bleakest of the bunch thus far; even though we don’t always see the brutality of the space pirates that Kara and Ruthye are following, there’s...the suggestion of it. The aftermath. And how Kara responds to it.

Okay, getting a little ahead of myself. BASIC PLOT SUMMARY: Ruthye and Kara continue their pursuit of Krem, who has taken up with Barbond’s Brigands.

The Brigands basically just. Murder and terrorize people, for profit.

Each planet they visit brings new horrors, as well as people who need Supergirl’s help.

And help she does.

KARA-CTERIZATION:

I yell a lot about the art on this book, and have, in fact, openly admitted that I’m primarily here for Evely and Lopes.

Well, that wily son-of-a-gun King went and wrote some of the best ‘Super’ stuff I’ve ever read and dang it, dang it, now I gotta yell about the words too. XD

Specifically, I wanna yell (in a good way!) about some words that occur towards the very end of the book.

Kara and Ruthye have Seen Some Things; things like genocide and mass grave sites and horrible violence, and upon reaching a planet where peaceful monks were slaughtered, Kara’s had enough, and needs to leave because if she screams, she’ll destroy what little is left of the monks’ monastery.

Here’s the text in full, because my gosh. It’s so good:

“What I write next I write based on my observations in those long-ago days at the side of the greatest warrior in the history of this august reality we all call home. It is important to note that my assertions do not rely on anything Supergirl said. It was not a subject we ever discussed or even approached, but nonetheless I believe it to be as true as the turning of worlds. You see, what is not well understood about the daughter of Krypton is that her power was not one of action but one of restraint, endurance, and passion. She did not choose to fire a beam from her eyes, or have breath of ice, or run faster than a speeding bullet. Or any of her other well-documented miracles. No, she held back her heat vision to look you in the face. She warmed her breath to converse with you. She slowed herself to walk by your side. Ever moment of every day, she suppressed the forces churning inside of her. All of the energy of a dead world that strained against her many barriers, eternally demanded to be released. I believe this effort hurt her. I believe she lived her life in pain. But I reiterate again, for I think it important enough to repeat--These beliefs are based on my time at her side, watching her as she moved through strife and sorrow. If you were to have asked her, I have little doubt she would have claimed that such as assertion was absurd. She would say she felt fine and well and then she’d as you if you needed any help.”

A long chunk of words, I know (this comic is DENSE!) but like. This is it. This is one of the defining attributes of the Supers--all that raw power at their disposal and they choose to help people, to be kind, to suppress that power for the benefit and safety of others.

HNNNNNNNG.

Hope, Help, and Compassion for All.

Whole lotta folks claimed at the outset of this book that King did not understand Kara, that he was a bad fit. And that may be so, I suppose--there’s a whole other discussion about like. The violence and swearing and ‘does that belong in a Supergirl book?’ But the characterization? Getting that Kara and Clark are just good people? 

King gets it. He got it in Superman: Up in the Sky and he gets it here, in Woman of Tomorrow.

Other things King gets! Kara is stubborn! Kara is passionate! Kara is going to fix things, even if the effort of doing so hurts her, physically, emotionally, and mentally!

(Fuuuuuuun fact for the crowd saying that Woman of Tomorrow is vastly superior to the CW show: TV Kara is ALSO all of those things! King isn’t pulling this stuff out of thin air. It’s almost like...gosh. I don’t know! Both the show and Tom King are pulling from the character’s comic history, or something!!!! HOW NOVEL.) 

Like, seriously. There’s a lot of overlap. Stop pitting Karas against each other!

Anyways!

I promised art, so here is art!

Oh, right, forgot to mention, Kara literally THROWS HERSELF INTO THE SUN to express her grief and anger, so as to not cause that unnecessary destruction. She gives new meaning to the phrase: Set yourself on fire to keep someone else warm. 

More art yelling: GOTTDAMN, the way Evely draws Kara just colliding with the surface of the sun and then the way Kara’s hair like...becomes the flames...

I am FEELING FEELINGS. HOW DARE.

Also, props to King and Cowles; King for deciding to have that initial scream, Cowles for the way the letters burst forth from the point of impact on the sun, and then back to King who decided that it would just be...devastating silent screaming from Kara, for the remainder of the scene. 

Back to the characterization, I just wanted to highlight something I mentioned...earlier on, I think? In these posts? But haven’t brought up recently, and that is how this book has not once brought up Zor-El, and I think Superman only got a quick mention in issue 2.

Honestly, I think that’s gotta be some kind of record.

It’s so refreshing. Not because I think there should never be mentions of Clark, or anything--I love that boy--but because so much of modern Supergirl comic drama is mined from the same like, angsting over her place compared to Clark, or her crazy sometimes-a-supervillain dad. 

There is no Clark and Kara drama here, no manufactured friction, because it’s just. A cool Supergirl story! 

Gonna keep going, but let’s do it with some more...

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTT!!!!

Once again, Mat Lopes is all over the dang place with his palettes, it’s marvelous.

Each new planet gives Evely the opportunity to go hog wild on the worldbuilding and design, and similarly! Each new locale is an opportunity for Lopes to set the tone with colors. Like, here, towards the beginning of the book, we’ve got a planet bathed in this warm, pale yellow/orange light. 

(Quick note: “Sure, yeah, I get it. We all have our duties. And it’s mine as a neighbor to do what I can to help you with yours. Please.” A+ Kara content. We love to see it. And then locating the remains of the alien’s daughter, so that they can go visit the grave site and have some emotional closure???? It’s just. So. Touching.)

Anyways, back to colors.

Like!!!! LOOK AT THAT JUMP. From the soft, almost pastoral feel of the delicate oranges and yellows to HARD GREEN, PINK, AND PURPLE. (Difficult colors to pull off in print, I might add.) 

(This is also an interesting scene, character-wise, because I think it helps re-contextualize some earlier stuff with Kara. Like, I’m mostly thinking that incident on the bus, where she was swearing at the passengers as the space dragon was about to destroy them. Here, we see Kara kind of...goad this alien woman into releasing her pent up emotions by yelling at her/getting her to fight, and you can clearly see at the end of it that Kara did not mean the things she said, because check this out:

She goes and gives her a hug once the woman is able to finally cry.

It’s not ‘Kara is being mean, Kara is swearing at her’, it’s, ‘Kara has an unorthodox solution to a problem, and she’s gonna FIX that problem, NO MATTER WHAT.’

Circling back to the bus thing--again, that could be an instance of ‘unorthodox approach to a weird situation that Kara is going to handle because lives are at stake.’)

But also, DIG THAT KIRBY KRACKLE, BAY-BEEEEE!

And a little Strange Adventures easter egg! The Pykkts! 

(I think those guys are unique to the Black Label series, rather than deep Adam Strange lore, but don’t quote me on that.)

Moving on to YET ANOTHER PALETTE, one I’ve dubbed, ‘Treasure Planet Purple/Grey’

Love Ruthye’s snoozing against the door, waiting for Kara.

Also, just as striking as the colors of the environment, are the colors used on Kara. 

If you compare this page with the previous one, Kara’s eyes are a paler shade of blue, and the red-rimmed look on her eyes here is not as intense as the red-rimmed look we saw back in issue one, when she was confronting Krem. 

All of which to say! There’s a pale, haunted quality to both the linework and the colors. Like. We know Kara has Seen Some Things. But she’s shoving all that stuff down to protect Ruthye, to save Krypto, and to stop these monsters, and you get all of that WITH COLORS AND LINES ON A PAGE.

I love it, I love it so much.

OTHER BOOKS WISH THEY HAD THIS LEVEL OF CHARACTER ACTING, I TELL YA! THEY WISH THEY HAD THIS BEAUTIFUL ALCHEMY OF INKER, COLORIST, AND WRITER WORKING IN SUCH TIGHT TANDEM!

Ahem. XD

Alright, last bit of art, lest I just. Post the whole issue in here. (Which I’m honestly always tempted to do but Strong Feelings about Piracy hold me back.)

JUST HECKIN’ LOOK AT THAT BLUE, MAN. JUST LOOK AT IT. S’BEAUTIFUL.

And more stunning character acting from Evely. Like. Bottom middle panel. The expression, the tilt of her head and the shadows on her eyes...

*insert silent flailing here*

Oh, also, KRYPTO LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVESSSS (for now). 

I’m never right about these things, so I’m glad the one time I’ve correctly read a thing is when it involves Krypto not, ya know. Being dead. XD

Also absolutely love that Kara’s instinct is to send Ruthye home to protect her--once more leaning into that whole, ‘I’m going to protect you, even at great cost to myself’, though of course we know that she can’t send her home, not here, not now, just halfway through our journey. 

ERRRRRRGH, so mad we’re not getting twelve issues of this! CURSE YOU, POOR SUPERGIRL TRADE SALES! CURSE YOOOOOOU!

That said, King’s pacing? Has been phenomenal. I feel like Strange Adventures and even Mr. Miracle kinda...I’m not gonna say dragged, that’s not quite right. But it is more build up, I guess. Takes a while to get to the payoff.

Here, I think King is pushing things steadily along as he doesn’t have the benefit of an additional four issues, so he has to get to the point, so to speak. Keeps everything moving.

SOME FINAL, MISC. STUFF:

I’ve sort of glossed over the darker stuff from this issue, and I just wanna note that like. This is a book that features a bad guy getting stoned (in the death sentence way, not the drug way) on panel. Like. I can’t recommend this to children.

I can’t even really recommend it to some other Supergirl fans, because I know that the King elements will be too off-putting. 

It never feels like the book is going too far, though. At least in like an...exploitative way? If that makes sense?

The violence is handled with discretion, I guess is what I’m trying to convey. This could very easily tip over into like, gross shock factor territory, if not handled well, but I think the creative team pulls it off.

...Still wouldn’t hand this book to kids, though. XD

As mentioned, we’re halfway through this series! Can’t wait to see where it goes--every time I think I have this book figured out, it surprises me. So, like. Bring on the Dinosaur planet! With no sunlight! I wanna see how Lopes handles THAT. XD

(But Oh, OooooOOooh, we gotta wait until NOVEMBER.)

(Hhhnnnnng!)

(Then again, maybe that’s good; we’ve got the TV show in the meantime, and then once it ends we can pick right up with new Supergirl content just a few weeks later.)

(...Aw. Made myself a little sad, thinking about the TV show coming to an end.)

:C

So as not to end on that sad note, here once again is tiny, smushed Kara:

Give ‘em the ol razzle dazzle.

[naivesilver]

@bewilderedmoth​ FINE. Fine. Since today is a Monday and therefore a day much more suited for a vitriolic commentary on terrible insects, I shall fulfill your request and the anon’s. I’m warning everyone in the premises, though -  this is a “no fucks given” list, so it may get ugly at any time. Also, as usual, this is only for things that I’ve already watched, so if you know of some cricket horror and don’t see it mentioned, assume I’ve yet to get to that specific adaptation.

Alright then! To the barricades!

1) Disney’s Pinocchio (1940)

The first of his genre. Look at this asshole - he’s literally the last creature I’d entrust my child to. The fact Pinocchio had to spend his first couple days of life with this guy shadowing his every step is mind-boggling, and it’s made even worse by the fact that the Blue Fairy put him in charge of another man’s kid, as though she had the right to make that choice.

(I won’t fall for the desire of dunking on the Fairy more, as this is a Cricket list, but believe me, the temptation is there. It always is.)

As Disney sidekicks go, he’s one of the worst. He’s not funny, and despite having literally ONE job he manages to fail spectacularly at it. He’s snappish at Pinocchio, he abandons his charge about two hours into the new day, he spends a much longer time flirting with female-presenting inanimate objects/animals/supernatural beings than doing any actual childrearing. He should have been forgotten the instant the movie left the theaters, but instead Disney made him one of his main mascots, giving him the role of storyteller or ghost or whatever the fuck they need him to do at the time. So not only is he single-handedly responsible for every other entry in this list, I keep finding him everywhere I turn my eyes to. A knock-off version of his Ghost of Christmas Past self was in the new Ducktales, too, so my friend freenklin (who already has had to endure many of my complaints) received some VERY disappointed scream-texts as I was liveblogging my watch.

Just...no. Get him out of my sight.

(Also Ewan McGregor is bound to voice him in the live action and like??? Excuse me??? Are we supposed to not make Obi Wan jokes??? Will he abandon his young padawan Pinocchio to the evil Strombolitroopers???)

2) Pinocchio and the Emperor of the Night (1987)

This movie is at the bottom of my Pinocchio adaptation ranking, and boy, does it deserve the dishonor. The story is a weird mixture of adaptation and sequel, approximately a tenth of the characters actually appear in the book, and I can’t forgive them for ruining what could have been the coolest concept ever (Pinocchio as a pawn in a fight of good vs evil) into this disgrace of a cartoon.

As for the Cricket, in this case he’s not even a cricket. He’s a glowworm, and he’s a goddamn puppet too, to whom the Fairy gave life. I wonder, is the entirety of her job just...transforming people’s creations into sentient beings so that they can lead others to a honest life? Tell me, ma’am, do you want to breathe life into my disappointing Powerpoint presentations too, so that they might bully me into graduating?

Anyway, if you’re wondering what purpose Gee Willikers (sigh) serves, the answer is NONE. Pinocchio gets rid of him at least twice (good for him) and as easily as drinking a glass of water, he’s a burden to the (admittedly cooler) additional characters, like the aviator bee, and not only is he ugly as fuck, but also so annoying every time he gets a chance to speak that it’s a miracle he wasn’t cut out in post-production.

In short, disgusting. If he entered my home I’d swat him with a flycatcher until he leaves.

3) Pinocchio (2009)

This is essentially Disney’s Jiminy Cricket, but female, anthropomorphic, and with a passion for books instead of pretty ladies or ladies-adjacent objects. Mind you, a sapphic Cricket would perhaps have saved more than one adaptation, this one included, but I’m glad they skipped that part altogether. This miniseries has enough issues as it is.

I’m sorry, she’s just too annoying. Luciana Littizzetto can be funny, but in small doses, otherwise her jokes start to become repetitive. Two hours straight - and yes, it’s that much, because SOMEONE decided to follow Disney’s footsteps a little too well - are too long even for the strongest of hearts. Plus, none of the characters’ costumes are very flattering, accurate or well-made (except for Lampwick 💖), but hers just might take the cake. It looks like a mixture between a teenager’s first attempt at steampunk fashion and a Mardi Gras costume lifted from the discarded items’ bin at a cheap store. Takes you out of the fantasy more than anything else.

4) Roberto Benigni’s Pinocchio (2002)

I’ve talked at length of the weirdness of this movie, but all in all it’s a pretty accurate transposition of the story, from the dialogue to the scenery.

Except for him.

The Cricket in this case does appear in the scenes belonging to him, but ALSO in a long and extremely useless sequence where he tries to find Pinocchio in the Land of Toys and gets kicked around by literally everyone present. Don’t get me wrong, that’s something I would have liked to do as well, but it was totally unnecessary, and it gave nothing to the overall story. This movie still holds the record as the most expensive Italian movie ever made, so wouldn’t it have been better for everybody to  skip that part entirely? Not only it would have saved them some money, but also it would have saved me from seeing this guy for an additional fifteen minutes on my screen.

Still, pretty tame compared to some of the others. Could have been worse.

5) Once Upon A Time (2011)

I debated long and hard before making this choice, and I’m not putting him in with a light heart, but before you come at me with pitchforks, please listen.

I like Archie, okay! He’s a fun character, the human side of his backstory was great and gave him a lot of depth and inner turmoil, and the concept of Jiminy Cricket being a therapist is amazing and hilarious. But he’s kind of a shit therapist, whose actions aren’t always what you’d expect from someone who’s supposed to be a conscience and a guide. And despite the show giving us the impression that he and Pinocchio had the same adventures as in the Disney movie (which doesn’t exactly endear him to me - if it wasn’t for his later character development he’d already be Lil Nas X-ing his way down to the bottom of my list), he and August never interacted on screen after the First Curse broke. Not once. And if there’s someone who needs therapy and support, that’s August Wayne Booth.

Yes, I did say at some point that I’d like to fix this in a fic. I’ll write it when I don’t have like eight projects on my table at the same time.

Finally, two scenes settled the matter for me: one, him pontificating at Snow about her trying to do everything on her own, without even pretending to help her set up the stroller she was struggling with at that very moment. I work with kids every day, I know exactly what she’s going through. Shut your mouth and open the damn stroller, Archie.

And two...That one fucking scene where he’s jumping out of Snow White’s cleavage. Honestly, what the fuck??? I wouldn’t even have remembered it if Libby hadn’t reminded me, so I suppose my brain tried to remove the traumatic memory before it caused any further damage, but it exists, and I’m still wondering why. What exactly was the deal with the writers, when they made that choice? I want a glass of what they were having, because by God, does it sound like a trip-inducing cocktail.

Aaaand we’re done! Remember, this is all part of my personal opinion, and I’m not to be taken seriously even on the best of days. Plus, my favorite cricket-esque character, aside from the book-accurate ones, is Gina from Piccolino no Bouken, who is a duck, a sassy little bastard and no closer to Collodi’s canon than any of these fuckers. So yes, when it comes to choices dictated by the heart, I am an hypocrite. Au revoir!

[writingsfromhome]

A June Love Story: Epilogue

Part 1 / Part 2

June. Present.

My bladder presses on me as I watch the lift move like a snail to the 17th floor.

“Come on, hurry,” I mutter, moving from foot to foot.

I don’t even wait for the doors to fully open before I squeeze past, open the door to my flat and rush to the toilet. The relief is immediate, my mind clearing of the fog it got in when I had to go really urgently. I couldn’t wait to regain control of my bladder again, and not have to pee every half hour!

When I step out into the hall, my boyfriend stands on the opposite end with his hands raised asking what was going on. He must have closed the door behind me.

“Sorry,” I blush. I imagine I looked like a tornado rushing in and locking myself away. “Baby’s fighting my body these days trying to get out.”

He walks over slowly, his eyes on my big bump. When he reaches me, his large hands wrap around the sides and finally, his eyes meet mine. I remember the first time I looked into those green eyes, I couldn’t have guessed the rollercoaster the last seven years would’ve been.

“Due date’s next week,” he licks his lip, sometimes it seemed like he was more nervous than I. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

“Him?” I cross my arms on my chest. “When did we decide it was a him?”

“Well Jack put his bets on a girl so naturally I had to put them on a boy and-“

“Are you guys putting bets on unborn children again?” I scold him. Jess and I had already forbade them from doing it after she told me they’d done it for Lucas and April.

“Babe,” his hands move from the bump to behind me, wrapping them securely around my waist even though the bump meant I was still a foot away from him. “Harry Styles Jr. is going to be the most beautiful boy the world’s ever seen, and we’ll be £250 richer.”

“Harry,” I hold his face in my hands. “Stop placing bets on our baby! It’s not like you even bloody need the money!”

“I know! I know.” He laughs, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “It’s not about the money though, it’s about winning against Jack.”

I close my eyes, I didn’t have the time for Harry and Jack’s games. If the last few years taught me anything, it was that I couldn’t hold onto every disagreement. “Just help me to the couch, I’m exhausted from standing here arguing about this.”

“As you wish,” Harry guides me down the hall to the living room with its amazing view of London below. It was almost a year since I moved in but the view never got old. I stretch my legs out and Harry picks them up to sit under. He stretches his arm along the back of the sofa and picks up the remote.

“Did you want me to put anything on while I start on dinner?”

“Wow that sounds nice. I would’ve gotten pregnant a lot earlier if I knew I would get this sort of treatment,” I tease. Harry raises his eyebrows, caught off guard by my joke and I lean forward to whisper, “Hey love, have I just made you...speechless?”

“You did not,” Harry finally speaks. “You can’t use my own line on me like that!”

“And you expect me to follow your rules?” I ask, pretend shocked.

“Obviously,” Harry lays my legs back on the cushion and crouches over me. “I’ll make you regret disobeying my rules.”

“I’m carrying your baby,” I use the only line that he’s unable to find a comeback for ever since my bump went from cute to enormous.

“Not for long,” he whispers, a devilish grin on his face. He leans down the rest of the way and kisses me so I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer, wanting him all over me but he stays cautious as usual.

“The baby,” he takes his hands off of me and moves away nervously. I don’t know why he thought kissing me could crush the baby or something.

“The baby is okay! Come back and kiss me!”

Harry shakes his head, “Not taking any chances.” I sigh as he leaves me unsatisfied with a kiss on my cheek but as he walks to the kitchen he spins around, “As soon as I can though, I’ll knock you up all over again. don’t worry love.”

I tip my head back and laugh, I can’t help it. Harry’s mind was a thing of it’s own: one second it was serious and contemplative, the next it was tender and thoughtful, and the next just downright dirty. I could hardly keep up.

But later, as we tuck into dinner, I have to stop and admire him for a moment. We had a dinner many years ago when Harry had refused to come back to my place. That felt like so long ago, so did all the years I wasted with Nate, the years he was in his own wrong relationship with Alyssa. The years we spent not talking—I regret those the most.

But a miracle happened last summer, while I did my Great American Friend Tour, Harry was in LA at the same time as me. We’d met up the night before I was meant to go home and something about finding each other so many thousands of miles away just erased so much baggage we were carrying along with us. The trip I’d taken had cleared my mind too, making me realise I had to go for what I wanted. We decided then life was too short and if fate brought us together in LA like that, we owed it to ourselves to go on a proper date. To finish the love story that started seven years ago in June.

I hadn’t flown back home the next morning like I was supposed to. Instead, I finished his tour with him in August and we came back home together. He proposed to me one morning while we had breakfast. A simple ring with a simple question. And even though we were technically dating for only two months, the amount of history we had was worth decades. We were married a month later, rushed only because I’d found out I was pregnant. The joy on Harry’s face when I’d told him was brighter than anything; his stage personality a dim spark compared to it.

I didn’t know why it took so long for us to find each other and settle, Jack says we were under a six year curse but I think life got messy sometimes and we slipped and got caught up in it all. At the end of the day, literally, I came home to a man who loved me and who I loved so much.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Harry asks, interrupting my internal monologue.

“Can a wife not admire her husband?” I ask.

“Not when he’s shoving chicken parm into his face like I am,” Harry shoves another bite into his mouth which makes me laugh and sets him off choking.

“You’ve proven your point,” I push some water towards him. “Nothing to admire, just a man choking on his chicken parm.”

As he downs his water and tries to say something only to choke again, I secretly take it back. I could stll admire him, goofiness and all.

I help him clear his airways and he teases me about what I’d said. I tease him back and thus begins our evening banter, ended only as we settle in for bed.

“I don’t know if you know,” Harry says seriously, as we lay facing each other in bed. “But I love you infinity times 6.”

“Only 6?” I ask, knowing where this was going.

“For each year I couldn’t tell you how much I loved you.”

“And now?” I ask, snuggling under my covers as sleep blankets me and Harry’s hand weighs comfortably on my side.

“I get to show you everyday.” Harry whispers.

I feel him kiss my forehead and whisper I love you just as I finally drift off to sleep, warm, happy, and blissfully complete. Our love story may have started out rocky, but we turned out okay in the end.

[hughiecampbelle]

Inheritance (Shelby!Reader × Peaky Blinders Oneshot)

Character/s: Arthur, Thomas, John, Ada, Finn

Word Count: 1,393

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: I'm feeling insecure about writing and when I do, the only thing that helps is to write, even if it's god awful lol. I started with the first paragraph, just writing whatever, and it turned into this. I had plans for a completely different fandom/fic tonight, which I hope to post sometime this week. I'm sure this frustration will pass, it's just hard to get through. I feel like a mess with everything. I know its probably just the stress of school, and family, and August coming so soon. June lasted years, but July was gone in a second. Still trying to wind down from the panic I've gotten myself into. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @eylins :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You want to believe you're different from them. That your words, your writing, your work is anymore extraordinary, that somehow the thoughts in your head have not been repeated through history, stamped from one cracked skull to the next. You want to believe your eyes have seen something more, something hidden, that the trees deeply rooted, there long before your birth, and around after you're gone, have not witnessed the same blue birds or soft, summer storms. You think, for an instance, that there us a separation in what makes you you and them them. That the loneliness in your gut, the screams and cries gurgling in your throat, that this pain layered beneath every cell in your body somehow draws a line between you and them. Making you human where they are not. Giving you feeling where they lack. You hoped, and prayed, by some miracle, that whatever it was that created you wasn't in anyone else. Foolish and young, too naive for your own good. Where they bled you bruised. Where you collapsed they stood like stone. You could stare down the same Devil and see two fraternal beings, both wearing a wicked smile.

The funny thing is, you were more like them than you could ever tell.

Passed down from generation to generation, kept warm and safe cupped into two hands. The anger. Dangerous, bloody, boiling. Pricking beneath your skin like bees, tinging, numbing the sharp things that tore through it. It made your gums bleed, hateful words like knives sling your mouth up through and through. A sickening, twisted laughter bubbling, bursting out of you before you have half a mind to stop it. It made you cold, invincible, scowling at the earth beneath your feet and the sky above, somewhere in the middle this god everyone turns to in their time of need. He never showed up for you, though, instead hiding. From you, and from Arthur. The fire in your veins, swollen by gasoline blood and matches for breakfast. Your big brother caught fire with the slightest annoyance. Cagey, unyielding, a force that tore through him until he let it all out. A corrosive being stripping him of skin and bone, making man into monster. You too had been subjected to stares and glares, deemed more weapon than person. A hazard, too dangerous to be around. One more thing you had to watch out for, the bitterness in that Shelby blood.

That anger seething, turning in on itself. Imploding. Not wanting to hurt others, you hurt yourself. Bit the bad end of a barrel, a bullet sitting on your tongue, the broken bits of a bottle. You liked the way you felt when the only thing standing between you and that dark abyss of an end was yourself. That sense of control, of power, came too few times. A high you tried took chase as much as you could in this big messed up world. Hold these standards of yourself on your shoulders only took be crushed beneath them. Falling into a pit of all the things you bottled up and kissed goodbye, setting each jar on the shelf with its own special label. Grief. Guilt. Greed. Building up walls around you, a tomb to crumble in, afraid to let the rest of the world there were feelings beneath your cold complexion. Tommy always had a way of locking things up and never letting them see the light of day. Learning from the best, you guessed. Let them see your pain, your weakness, and it would be used against you. Weaponized. You couldn't survive another loss.

Boarded up, an abandoned home needing someone to crawl in and make it their own. Tidy up the place, see the potential you had beneath those rotten floors and broken bricks, chipped paint and peeling wood. A want, a need, an ache to be wanted, to be loved and accepted. John never could stand on his own, never wanting to face a bed half empty. Tripping over himself, falling too easy for the next set of wandering eyes and slim legs. He loved like no one else. And you did, too. Unrequited. Given the slightest bit of acceptance, lead into another persons word by free drinks and shameless flirting. You wanted to find the one, your other half, the same way he had, once believing the only way he could ever feel whole was with someone by his side. There was someone out there for everyone, there had to be. You weren't sure how much longer you could live so alone. Part of you wanted to think it was a lie, something you'd grow out of eventually, but John never seemed to, and you'd followed that path too far to turn back.

One day, you hoped, despite the anger, the walls, someone would find you, and love you regardless. You hoped for a lot of things. For the rain to stop and the clouds to clear. For the fog of your thoughts to disappear. For this life to be a little easier for everyone. Forgiving, motherly, nurturing, it's sharp edges dulled. To one day find your way out of all this, start fresh, start new, the potential of a freshly healed scar. Your sister had a way of whispering things in your ear, feeding into these delusions. She too wanted something more from what she saw everyday. Lost in a dream world she crested for herself. Often it was the only thing that kept you going, kept you upright. Eyes burning, sobs choking, too fragile for this world, you wanted to crawl inside the one you made from scratch and never leave. Ada told stories, too young to tell the difference between reality and imagination, her spirits high, embedding itself within your bones. The Shelby's were nothing without their dreams, their drive, their want for a perfect world just out of reach.

Without dreams, there was only dread. Fear of the future, the past, the footsteps you'd one day have to follow because that's what was expected of you. Stand tall, gun in hand, vertebrae stacked atop one another. There was no looking down, no flinching. If you weren't the best you weren't anyone. Turn a blind eye to the bad, to the meek, step on anyone who ever got in your way. Placed on a pedestal with broken knees. The baby, the one you helped raise, from cradle to grave. Never seen a second war, thrust into the one your brothers brought home. You both were. The lurch in your belly at the thought of so much red on your hands, of grief being associated with your name. You couldn't bear the thought of taking another soul from this world. Finn jumped at the pop of a gun, cringing at the cries of others. They could get used to it. Desensitized to it. But the both of you? This was new, and scary, and you were sure the softness they'd lost too long ago still lived inside you. The guilt they forgot chewed you alive, haunting your dreams. They could do as they pleased, but you couldn't. You refused to be as destructive as the rest of your siblings.

As much as you wanted to keep your distance, make some definition between you and them, there was too much of them inside you. Their faces staring back at you in the mirror. The sorrow, the hurt, the hate, the ups and downs of a life like yours, like theirs, there was no escaping it. You could run, but you could never hide. Like a shadow, it clung to your soles, dragged across the cobblestone. Escape however you wanted, however you pleased, there was only one thing all of you had in common: no matter how much you tried, no matter how hard you talked yourself into denial, that Shelby blood was a particular kind poison only the worst would become accustomed to. Try as you might, the thoughts, the feelings, all of it would follow you. Stepping on your heels. Breaking down you'd doors. It would bleed when you did, and dream with you, and hide deep within the cage of your ribs when you were too ashamed to admit it. You were of them. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much you prayed you were different.

[ghibli-collector]

Hayao Miyazaki's Next Film Is 15% Complete After 3.5 Years

Ghibli founder directs 1 minute of animation per month on Kimi-tachi wa Dō Ikiru ka

Studio Ghibli producer Toshio Suzuki reported that Hayao Miyazaki's next feature film, Kimi-tachi wa Dō Ikiru ka (How Do You Live?), was about 15% complete at the end of October, after three and a half years of production. Suzuki spoke with actor Takeru Satoh (live-action Rurouni Kenshin films' title character) during Satoh's studio visit to interview Miyazaki. Satoh's interview aired on NHK General on Tuesday during the Tokyo Miracle Dai-3-Shū: Saikyō Shōhin Anime (Tokyo Miracle III: Anime, The Most Powerful Commodity) documentary special.

Suzuki explained that Miyazaki in the past would be able to direct seven to 10 minutes of animation per month, and they had scheduled for five minutes of animation per month or about one hour per year on Kimi-tachi wa Dō Ikiru ka. However, Miyazaki is now directing about one minute of animation per month.

Miyazaki emphasized to Satoh that he really did want to retire after completing The Wind Rises in 2013, but the 78-year-old director added that he could not help but return to animating again.

Suzuki had stated in a Bungei Shunjū magazine essay published in March that Miyazaki is working on Kimi-tachi wa Dō Ikiru ka without a deadline to complete it. Suzuki said, "With the production of this new film, we're experimenting with having no established deadline. I'm looking forward to how that comes through in the work." Suzuki indicated that Studio Ghibli's works normally have set production schedules. In an earlier television special that revealed the film project, Miyazaki presented a proposed schedule for finishing the film by 2019, but Suzuki indicated that the studio is no longer following that plan.

Suzuki added that Miyazaki is a person who is not interested in money. Also, Suzuki believes Miyazaki is effectively unable to truly retire because having nothing to do and living as an ordinary retiree would bother him. Suzuki believes Miyazaki feels most at home in continuing to work on film production.

Suzuki acknowledged that some have labeled Miyazaki's upcoming film as his last. However, Suzuki said, "I don't believe it. As long as he lives, [Miyazaki] will probably continue to make films." Because of that, Suzuki said he is asking Miyazaki, "Just please don't make a second retirement announcement."

Suzuki said in August 2018 that he thought the new film will open in "about three or four years." Suzuki also noted that the film had been in production for two years, and that the studio was doing things in the film that it could not do before.

Miyazaki himself had stated in October 2017 that he would need three or four years to complete his action-adventure fantasy film. Miyazaki derived the film's title from writer Genzaburō Yoshino's 1937 masterpiece of the same name (pictured left). He added that this book is a story that has great meaning to the protagonist of his film. Yoshino's book centers around a man named Koperu and his uncle, and through Koperu's spiritual growth, it discusses how to live as human beings.

Suzuki reported in April 2017 that Miyazaki had been drawing the storyboards for the project since July 2016. However, Suzuki said at the time that Miyazaki had only drawn 20 minutes of storyboards so far.

In the Owaranai Hito Miyazaki Hayao (Never-Ending Man: Hayao Miyazaki) special that aired in November 2016, Miyazaki reported that he wanted to return to making an anime feature film after his "Kemushi no Boro" short for the Ghibli Museum (which debuted in March 2018). According to the special, Miyazaki was not satisfied with doing just the CG short, and he presented a project proposal for a feature-length film in August 2016. Despite not officially receiving a green-light for the feature film at the time, Miyazaki decided to start animation work on the project anyway.

Source: Tokyo Miracle Dai-3-Shū: Saikyō Shōhin Anime special

[just-things-things]

Peter Stark was kidnapped on a warm summer day when he was six years old. In Miami, he had been swimming with his father in their backyard when his father heard a crash come from the house. The man recalled this day in his mind many times. Sometimes, he wonders if everything was made-up, if his mind was forcing him to believe something completely different. He wonders if he told his son where he was going, “I’ll be right back Pete.”

His son grinned back at him, always such a trusting boy. Reaching the patio door, Tony listened to eerie silence. It made his veins run cold, activating the Iron Man wrist, he kicked open the door. As soon as it opened, a racoon scurried away, scaring the living daylights out of him, and causing him to shoot a rocket, shattering the glass door.

Tony sighed in relief; he’d have JARVIS check over the footage later to see how the rodent got in. He took his time getting back outside, especially now that he knew there was no real threat and that his boy was always extra careful. He decided to put together their lunches and grab extra juice boxes.

Emerging from the house, he called, “Pete! Come eat!” Beginning to pick up the scattered glass, he heard footsteps running toward him. About to scold the boy to watch out for the glass, he was shocked when it was R-2 charging him instead. Peter had insisted on getting a dog, despite Tony’s allergy for them. He truly would do anything to make him happy, “Peter, c’mon, I know you’re hungry!”

With no response, he stepped over the glass and began his trek to the pool area, his pace quickening the longer the silence remained. With the area in sight, Peter was nowhere to be found. Tony rushed over, glancing inside the water to make sure Peter hadn’t fallen in.

Checking behind the trees and crevasses in his yard, the man called for his son, “Peter! Peter, where are you?” His yelling became more frantic by the second, “Peter, this isn’t a game! Come out right now!”

Tony had checked the entirety of the backyard, still missing a response. Rushing into the house, screaming the boy’s name, his thoughts ran wild. Sure, Peter was a small kid. He just hadn’t found him yet. And kids loved to play hide and seek, of course they did. Peter was here. He was safe.

“JARVIS,” he barked, mentally cursing. Peter would have scolded him for that, “Where’s Peter?”

The cool, British accent made him even more irritated, “It seems Master Peter is not located within the house.” After Tony shoved another door out of his way, the AI suggested, “Mister Stark, would you like me to enable the outer drones?”

“Yes!” Tony was seething, opening the front door, he watched as a drone took off from the roof. He had the best technology in the country, if not the best in the world. JARVIS would find him. Maybe Peter had just found a hole big enough in the gate to fit through.

Two hours and twelve minutes later, SHIELD would arrive at his house. Three hours and fifty-six minutes later, Peter Stark would be pronounced missing. His face would be broadcasted across national television for days, his name covering all the newspapers.

Pepper and Rhodey would later find him at a SHIELD compound, demanding Fury to set up a missing persons unit within the organization. He held tightly to R-2’s leash, nose running and eyes watering, but god damn it, his kid was missing and nothing else mattered more than that.

Fury agreed to help the man find his child, under the circumstances that he wouldn’t get involved with their work. After negotiation, Tony allowed this if he could look on his own without interfering with their work.

Rhodey and Pepper escorted him back to Stark tower, deciding it was the best if their friend stayed away from the crime scene. They stayed for an extra two more weeks making sure Tony got at least six hours of sleep and enough food in him.

They wanted to find their nephew as badly as Tony did, but they knew it would be a lost cause if he was only working on half a mind.

One year later, Peter’s missing persons case was closed. After the police stopped looking, SHIELD also went down. Tony offered to pay them as much they needed to keep the unit up and running, but Fury had broken it down to the barest essentials, even if it left Tony feeling defeated, “Stark. There’s no footage, no witnesses, and no clues or hints. It would take a miracle to find him. SHIELD doesn’t have time for miracles, he’s a lost cause.”

Tony got in a couple punches before a guard restrained him. Getting back to the tower was easy, and his fury only caused him to search harder. He wanted to prove Fury wrong. His son wasn’t just a lost cause. Peter, now seven, was still out there, he knew it. Maybe a father’s instinct some would call it. He was alive, Tony just had to find him.

-----------

On August 10, Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey began a new tradition. Peter would be eight years old now. Together, they’ll design the missing boy a room at Stark tower. It’s right across from his own, the door decorated with Star War’s ships and droids.

When inside, they’re encountered with dark blue walls with custom painted Star War’s characters on them. His bed sheets and comforter has a galaxy design coating it. The rest of the room is outlined by white shelves covered in Knick Knacks. His walk-in closet is refreshed with new clothes trending in children magazines. Tony hopes he got the right size.

To complete the second half of the tradition, the trio hopelessly tries to bake a cake, (It’s mostly Pepper baking while Rhodey and him read off the directions.) Then, after everything has cooled off, they’ll go sit on Peter’s carpeted floor and eat the cake. R-2 will curl up on the bed and one slice will be left on the balcony until the birds find it.

Tony knows Peter’s coming home soon. It’s only a matter of time.

-----------

The tradition continues for three years with no problems. It’s not until the day before his boy’s birthday that Fury calls Iron Man and War Machine for a mission. Tony goes off on Cap when he tries to defend the man, of course, Rodgers might not know the full story, but he has no right to say, “The good of the people is more important than your personal interests, Stark. No matter what it is can wait, we have a job to do.”

If it weren’t for Rhodey, they probably would have spent more time getting “America’s righteous man” to a med bay than on the mission.

Nonetheless, they both make it back to the tower in time for cake on the floor. Tony decides he’ll have to redecorate Peter’s room tomorrow.

-----------

When Peter turn’s thirteen, his room is moved to the Avenger’s Compound where Tony is now residing. This time, only him and Pepper are decorating the boy’s room. Rhodey was pulled away for a mission in the Air Force.

The walls are now colored a forest green, accented by yellow and brown markings. Tony wonders if Peter would like it like this or prefer to switch the places of the desk and the bed. That’s ok, he’ll tell Tony when he gets home. He knows Peter is coming home this year.

Pepper and Tony eat the cake in silence, the only noise is R-2’s steady breathing.

-----------

During the next birthday, Tony spends it alone. He’s forced to buy a store-bought cake after he almost makes the oven explode. He makes sure to buy the best one he can find, a three-tiered vanilla cake decorated with chocolate swirls.

In the end, it’s not the same. He wonders if Peter savor the taste, leaving a comically large piece of cake on the windowsill.

-----------

The week before Peter’s fifteenth birthday, they’re forced to put R-2 to sleep when she is unexpectedly diagnosed with cancer. When the day does come, Tony’s alone again in Peter’s room. It’s unchanged, and the cake is starting to make him sick.

Now, there’s no dog resting on his leg, no best friend across from him and sharing the cake, or hope. Tony realizes one thing, Peter’s never coming home. He wonders if his boy is still alive, if his son is in another country.

Maybe someone else rescued him, maybe he doesn’t remember Tony at all, maybe he’s living with an entirely different family.

Tony wishes for one thing as he blows out the birthday candles:

“Please, be happy.”

-----------

You made it this far, come check me out on ao3 @justpeterparkerthings !