#The trials and tribulations of our poor boys

[thenixkat]

Which Side Are You On? (remix by Rebel Diaz, dead prez, Rakaa Iriscience)

Lyrics:

[Intro: Pete Seeger] Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on? Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on?

[Verse 1: G1] See before I draw the line, I gotta welcome you close To all the folks who knew Obama sold the people a hoax Gave the money to suckas while our community's still poor Withdrew the troops but started another war Colonized and terrorized and created an oil crisis So they could make a killin' on food and gas prices Prisons is fillin', they tryna lock up the future Militarize borders and control of computers While the stupid bumping music that ain't healthy for the shawties Povertize the schools and policeman in the hallways Can't be dormant, I've awoken, rise up, be ready Brought the family with us and we hold the machete

[Verse 2: M-1] Ridin' the fence, ridin' the fence Too many people be ridin' the fence Yeah you say you're ready for war but are you convinced? I'm not convinced If you're a writer, freedom fighter, crime exciter, then let's do this We can make one big united middle finger to the U.S Gimme the bravest and the truest, fuck the hippest and the coolest We're gonna spark this revolution and cross this off our to-do list Put your foot down if you look down on this criminal system Put your book down and get shook down like my niggas in prison Don't be condemning and condoning they actions in one sentence Now keep in mind, you decide Is you a patriot or a menace to society? So riot or sit by quietly But don't pull out your flag and try to say you gon' ride with me You flip-flopping like hip-hop, I don't get locked in that trick box Get got like Big and Pac, shit's got to stop "I am the people, not the pig," I repeat after Fred So please blow my brains out if I ever forget

[Verse 3: stic.man] I'm with the independent thinkers, I'm down with the movers and the shakers And the ex-Henny drinkers, the non-smokers The health advocates, the non-voters The young bloods in the hood trainin' like soldiers I'm on the side of the tracks with the hood gardens With the little child that don't color inside the margins I don't ride the fence, I cultivate my strength 'Cause if it ain't about power, it don't make sense I've been down with Boogie Down since BDP and Brown Pride And black power make RBG a OG An OG told me choose your battles wisely In the struggle, don't forget about your children and your wifey If you don't see me on the podium, preachin' it Every day, I hope my every action is teaching it 'Cause revolution is a process, it's not a speech or a panel Don't bite off more than you can handle

[Chorus: Pete Seeger & RodStarz] Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on? Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on? Chi City, Palastina, Venezuela Which side are you on, boy? Which side are you on? Which side are you on, boy? To South Bronx baby! Which side are you on?

[Verse 4: RodStarz] Ay, I still rock hard like slingshots in Palestina Con todos los estudiantes por educación gratuita I'm with workers uprising and the right to unionize We ain't crossed the border, so you better legalize I'm with la Penã del Bronx, I'm still with Victor Toro 'Cause gentrification is pollutin' my borough Sold bro never, South Bronx forever Decolonize the block, make your neighborhood better I ain't down with the rich, I'm more Richie Perez Don't talk to grand juries or cooperate with feds I'm with students, doctors, janitors, teachers We need living wages but they don't believe us Manida, Baretto, Spofford, Hunts Point My point, my hood I love, we join, forces Forming RDAC-BX Taking over buildings, Rebel Diaz for the children

[Verse 5: Rakaa Iriscience] Politics the sickness, streets express symptoms Caught up with a quickness, big business pimps 'em Scholars play the simpleton, fools play with wisdom Who will stand and fight back, who will play the victim? Trials and tribulations, here's your generations Stolen history and outsourced innovation Babel tower fell, tribes are at war The battle story not represented in the score The game's fixed, most of the faces and names switched Credit stolen for art, science, religion, language Technology, philosophy, and the strangest They paid in Haitian for the knowledge of the ancients Power in words, actions, guns swords Ain't Paris, Brown Berets, young lords, pick a side One sickness, one cure, one love One blood, one world, one war

[Chorus: Pete Seeger] Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on? Which side are you on?

[Outro: Pete Seeger] Come all of you good workers Good news to you I'll tell Of how the good ol' union Has come in here to dwell

[the-owl-tree]

Okay I would like to ramble rq bc you are the best one for calling out the series. But the MISOGYNY is going crazy. Let's talk abt our favorite boy crowfeather.

He learns his lesson.. OMG GUYS HES NOT MESSING UP AND DOING BAD SHIT ANYMORE.. LEADER RIGHT HERE

It's giving brambleclaw (we don't give him respect of bramblestar) but like how is it that once a male character suddenly "learns" he's perfect as a character and leader? And everyone is okay with it? Leafpool had her lesson learned FOREVER and no one accepted it and kept shaming her except for like 2 ppl. And Lizardstripe? How dare she not want kits? Wow what a monster for not wanting to make being a queen her whole personality. Let's make her "ambitious" bc an ambitious woman is a bad one. Like.... ??????? It confuses me sm bc I thought it was good for ppl to be ambitious? The problem is they labeled tigerclaw as "ambitious" and "bloodthirsty"(he is) so everyone associates "ambitious" with bad. But tigerheart is ambitious and he's a good guy(sorta not rlly). But she wasnt ever ambitious again after her kits left the nursery so like? So idk???

And squilf... oh squilf.. only known as brambleclaws mate. Like that's all she's written for I swear, promoting brambleclaw, fueling the feud between brambleclaw and ashfur, omg firestars daughter, like she has a personality sure, but not one that's used.

And how about Brooke? From the mountain tribe? She was well written sure, but after the whole trip and her and stonefur went back for help she wasn't relevant.. like at all. She was then known as the cat who married a clancat and saved the tribe but she wasn't appreciated like firestar after saving the clans. Like ik there's kind of a difference there but I mean cmon she still worked hard and didn't get a lot of recognition! I love her character but she lost any and all personality after the one arc. And half moon.... she was.. interesting. Ppl can interpret her character so many different ways but I think she was literally a book device to add drama and pain to jayfeather. They needed him to have a reason to be connected to the tribe so they invented a shecat to be his mate or wtv. I mean she had a personality but no purpose other than to fuel jayfeather and his angst.

HOLY CRAP THIS IS LONG IM SO SORRY DEER I GOT PASSIONATE😰

YOU'RE GOOD! Crowfeather my detested. Proof that an abusive father can not only blame his mate for shit she didn't do (no she did not turn Breezepelt against Crowfeather, go read Outcast PLEASE) and have it be held as canon for years until it's retconned in......the super edition where the abusive father has to have his hand held by onestar, nightcloud, heathertail, feathertail, AND ashfoot in order to learn that Wanting Your Son Dead is Actually Bad. In a fascinating turn of events, this was then taken as a compelling story by fans instead of the most blatant double standard I've ever fucking seen.

Crowfeather gets a promotion for learning that abusing his son might be icky, but Leafpool get humiliated, berated, and threatened to be thrown in cat hell for doing everything right for the children that StarClan manipulated her into having. Fun.

For Lizardstripe, well. Ambition is okay as long as it's not a woman who doesn't want to feel confined by the strict expectation that she have babies and also accepts that the father has zero obligation to help her and will face zero repercussions for doing Fuck All. But it's a-okay, Yellowfang's Secret assured, because Lizardstripe would be happier if she just mindlessly accepted the duty of every she-cat is to have babies and those that don't want that are abusive monsters.

squilf deserves an essay on what she's been trhough good LORD poor girly. it's what makes her compelling in many ways, the trials and tribulations she's been through, and stripping it would just make her lose a lot of her spark......but man is it frustrating to watch the authors endlessly fawn over bramblestar.

Brook and Half Moon I have no strong thoughts on. I think the document covering the anti-Indigenous writing in the series breaks down her issues way better than I can, and Half Moon and the original lake cats are like. very nothing characters to me lol wasted potential!

[spiritsoulandbody]

#DailyDevotion The Basis Upon Which We Pray

#DailyDevotion The Basis Upon Which We Pray Psalm 86 Listen, O LORD, and answer me, for I am miserable and poor. Listen and answer go together. If the LORD listens to your prayers, He also answers them. David wants the LORD to do both. The basis for his prayer is simply great. It is not because David is so wonderful or has done great things or has been such a good boy. The basis of his prayer is he is poor and miserable. This is probably a good place to start in our own prayers—humbly coming before God our Father. 2Protect me for I am one You love. My God, save Your servant who is trusting You. 3Have mercy on me, O Lord, because I call You all day long. Here David reminds the LORD of his relationship to God. As a descendant of Abraham, he is also a child of God. He is in a covenant relationship with the LORD. So he is one whom the LORD loves. David prays God would protect and save him based on this. God's love for David gives him faith to trust in the LORD. He cries all day long for the LORD to have mercy on him. No doubt, those Jews in the Gospels followed David's example as they cried out LORD Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us. When we are baptized and have faith in Jesus we too know the LORD loves us. We have the promise from Jesus that when we come to the Father in the name of Jesus, He loves us. We can seek His protection and salvation. In the Church service we cry out with David and those Gospel saints, “Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy.” Indeed this should be our cry throughout the day as we see our own weakness and troubles and as we see people around us in need of the LORD's mercy and kindness, i.e. when we police, firemen, and ambulances passing by with flashing lights. When we see them, we know someone is in need of the LORD's mercy. We see disasters on TV during the news and those affected by them. We cry out to the LORD to have mercy on them. Perhaps we just see someone down and out. We pray, “LORD have mercy on them,” particularly when we cannot be the mercy of God for them. 4Give Your servant joy, because I lift up my heart to You; David would like to have the joy of the LORD. He recognizes he is only the LORD's servant. We too are only the LORD's servants. Joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness happens and is fleeting depending on the circumstances. Joy in an inward abiding sense we are in possession of the LORD and He is in possession of us. It is an abiding sense that everything is going to be ok. In the midst of trials and tribulations is an abiding sense of well being because we belong to the LORD. This occurs when we lift up our hearts to the LORD. To lift up our hearts is to put our trust solely in the Father of lights. To lift up our hearts to the LORD is to believe through Jesus Christ's name we have access to boldly come into the throne-room of the Almighty and place our request before Him. It is to put our whole lives and everything concerning it into God's loving hands trusting He is going to take care of us. If we believe the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are truly God, then we place our hope in God's promises that He cares for us and will take care of us. We abandon our own machinations and trust in the love of God in Christ Jesus. Heavenly Father, we place ourselves, our families, and our lives in Your capable and loving hands. For the sake of You Son, Jesus Christ, have mercy upon us and give us joy and peace beyond all comprehension. In Jesus' name we pray. Amen. Read the full article

[realitybitesyouknowit]

Chapters: 13/13 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Tony Stark Characters: Harry Potter, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Pepper Potts, Phil Coulson Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs Summary:

Tony gains a soulmate not long after his tenth birthday. The name of Harry James Potter scrawled across his ribs.

Harry is born with a soulmark (he assumes) but by the time he can remember, the name has been seared from his skin by his loving relatives.

Will they ever find each other? What will they have to go through before they can find their other half?

[paperbagpetrichor]

If you do fem readers then is it okay for me to request Jotaro with a fem s/o who was around during the sdc era and acts very motherly towards Josuke and it just reminds him of how sweet she was to Kakyoin ? Like a really cute nostalgia fest where he ends up deciding he wants to marry her?

When the news first came from Morioh, both you and Jotaro had your reservations.  It had been years since the last time the two of you had faced a stand user.  It had been years since both of your lives were in imminent danger, years since you first fell in love, years since you’d been forced to hide around every corner, always bracing for a surprise ambush, years since you’d be left breathless at every other moment, cleaning your deep wounds and doing what you could to keep the group together, to keep going, to keep fighting.  It had been years since you’d both feared for one another’s lives.  Years since you’d lost your friends.  And if what you and Jotaro heard was correct, then the few years you both had been able to spend in each other’s company, recovering, hiding the memories that lay like scars across your hearts only for the sutures to burst open every now and then, trying to live as normal a life as you could, eventually getting used to the routine and thinking, for the first time in your lives, that maybe, just maybe, your trials and tribulations were finished, with only peace lying ahead, would be cut short.

“This isn’t our problem,” Jotaro had stated decisively upon seeing the sadness flood your face, “we don’t have to do anything.”

But with the declining health of his grandfather, and the thought that another innocent city was being plagued with such a curse, something deep within you steeled itself, deciding without so much as a moment of your input.  Putting Joseph through that hell again, especially in that condition, would just be cruel.  He carried the weight of the years past just as much as both you and Jotaro, if not more so for him blaming himself for causing the whole ordeal, he and his damned bloodline.  And Josuke.  More so than anything else, the thought of another innocent kid, still young and wide-eyed and hopeful, just trying to live a normal life in a city that was anything but, just like you and Jotaro and Kakyoin and everyone who’d been roused into action by Dio’s rude awakening...you couldn’t just let that happen.  You couldn’t doom someone else to the fates that you and your friends had suffered.  Not after it all. 

The resolve that had flashed in your eyes as you explained your side of the situation tugged at Jotaro’s heart.  With such a fervor in your voice, it was like you were telling him your destiny, what was necessary, not what should or shouldn’t happen, but what must.  When you spoke of the past, the way your eyes welled up with the beginning of tears forced him to close his eyes.  He wouldn’t have minded going by himself, in all honesty.  Of course, he’d hate having to be in all the chaos once more, and even more hate leaving you by yourself, but bringing you into it was another story.  

And thus the two of you arrived in Morioh.

When you first saw Josuke, you knew, without a doubt, that you had made the right choice.  Despite the awkward greeting and less than desirable circumstances in which it came about, with Jotaro explaining what was to come and what may lie ahead, you simply smiled, all of your fears temporarily melting away like background noise as you took him in.  Jotaro has played his part of the stoic informant, and, of course, left the younger boy confused and startled, so you stepped in, beginning, “Sorry about him.  He’s just trying to help.”  A small laugh escaped you at the deadpan glance your boyfriend cast your way.  “It’s nice to meet you, Josuke.  I’m [y/n] [l/n].”  A pause, and then, “I like your hairstyle.”

From then on it was very clear that he preferred you to Jotaro, or, for the matter, just about anyone else.

Even on day one, you had begun mentoring Josuke.  His stand wasn’t too similar to yours - if anything, tutoring by Jotaro would’ve made more sense - but your boyfriend often had his hands full, and, when he didn’t, simply ignored the other boy.  It was clear Josuke and his friends were in danger, but they were still young - if they were going to face anything even remotely similar to what you two had in the past, you’d ensure they weren’t going into this unaided.  The majority of your free time, when not spent on Jotaro, was devoted to helping plan the growth of the others, or else just keeping a watchful eye on them.  Somehow, they seemed a lot rowdier than most of the kids you’d known at that age...or maybe that was just years of peace and quiet having mellowed you out.

But you didn’t mind.  In fact, neither did the group, who quickly grew well-acquainted with you, frequently inviting you on their outings.  If anything you played chaperone.  Lookout.  But you were also the peace-keeper - settling spats every now and then, offering advice, trying to guide them as best as you could.  Whenever the group needed meet-ups, you were there, be it at a restaurant, after school, at the park, or even in someone’s home (or, in the case of you and Jotaro, your adjacent empty hotel room that your stand had managed to snag a key for).  You made sure that Josuke wasn’t attempting something ridiculous and tended to his own health (something he seemingly always forgot in the process of thinking of the others), Okuyasu always went home with a meal and extra support, and Koichi with your best wishes and temporary safety from Yukako.  Of course, some nights, especially those after stand battles, you’d join the sleepover every now and then, checking in on the group to make sure they weren’t staying up too late or getting involved in dangerous shenanigans.  If they ran out of snacks, you rushed to the rescue.  Didn’t feel like going out to eat?  Home-cooked meals, as best as the shoddy hotel kitchen would allow.  Waters always stocked the fridges free-of-charge, and, despite yourself, every now and then you’d slip in a few sodas.  They’d more than earned it.

Jotaro wasn’t oblivious, of course.  Your usual presence at his side dissipated into emptiness, and the sounds of the hotel doors being swung around signaled your coming and going, even in the middle of the night.  Whenever you went shopping you brought back far more than enough for the two of you.  The notes you’d leave on the counter should you be gone by the time he’d awake always explained where you were and a reminder, in your distinctive handwriting, with a small heart after it, to call you if something happened.  Some days you’d completely overwork yourself keeping up with your corral, and others, especially if a plan was set into motion, you’d spend sleepless and worried.

“They’re not your kids, you know,” Jotaro snorted lowly one night after being awoken by the sound of doors opening and closing, your light footfalls and the sudden disappearance of your blankets beside him in bed.  Looking harried and hassled, you’d run back and forth, until you seemingly finished and collapsed beside your boyfriend with a sigh.

You tilted your head and gave him a nod.  “I know,” you began slowly, catching your breath and resting your head atop his shoulder, which you found much more preferable than any pillow, “but don’t they remind you of back then…?” 

The softness in your eyes, illuminated solely by the starlight sneaking in through the thin, drawn curtains, framed your set face, eyebrows gently tilted downwards as though you were trying your best to hide a sort of nostalgia but some still managed to seep through.  Gentle curves on your frame pressed against him, and for a moment he averted his gaze, reliving the same moments that you undoubtedly were.  Back then, you’d been...well, equally as sweet.  Not a day had gone by without your love and care poured into the actions you took for all of the Crusaders, especially shared among the younger of the group.  How easily you’d managed to fit in with Kakyoin and eventually even Jotaro himself.  When you’d chosen to stay behind with Kakyoin in the hospital after his eye injuries, at least for the first few days, insisting that you’d be alright but that someone needed to look out for him - that he wasn’t going to go through those times alone, that nobody would be alone.  How you’d always stayed up, pensive, on watch for enemies for far longer shifts than any of the others, insisting you were fine even as your eyelids drooped and the stress manifested itself on your face.  

That same look that was there now, and had been ever since arriving in Morioh.

“So what was it this time?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving you a gentle squeeze, tethering the two of you to the present.  “Someone wet the bed?”

You flicked him and rolled your eyes, letting out an exasperated “Jotaro.”  Nevertheless, as you offered him a squeeze back, knowing all too well that the memories flashing throughout your mind were undoubtedly mirrored in his, you confessed, “Nightmare.”  For a moment he looked ready to speak but you cut him off.  “And you know...what I was thinking.  Thankfully, it wasn’t that.  Still, poor Josuke was really shaken up…”

It didn’t take much to replay the Death 13 scenario in Jotaro’s head, where you’d been the only one to believe Kakyoin from the get-go.  What you’d done back then - offering the shaken lilac-eyed boy your blankets and extra pillows, tending to the fire and making conversation to reassure him everything was alright, long into the early hours of the morning - was almost a carbon copy of your recent actions.  Jotaro let out a small sigh.  No matter how ridiculous he’d continually brush it off as, you genuinely cared for those kids.  Just like you’d cared for the Crusaders - for Kakyoin and himself.  

But now things were different.  You didn’t have to involve yourself with them.  Like he’d said a million times before, this wasn’t your fight, and you didn’t need to try to make it.  They would’ve been fine without you.  No, you chose to.  It was their fight, but in turn yours, and while they might’ve done alright without you, they wouldn’t have had anywhere near the same level of care and protection you provided them with.  The devotion you showed was like that of a family member.

Like you were their mother.

And what a wonderful real mother you’d make.  What a wonderful person you were, from the bottom of your heart and soul to the soft snores that had begun to escape you as you drifted off to sleep against your boyfriend, who merely shook his head at it all before giving you a ginger goodnight kiss, mulling over his own thoughts as he held you against him, in tune with the gentle rising and falling of your chest.

Never would he have imagined himself ever having you.  Not even a girlfriend, for that matter - after the displays of ‘affection’ he’d received during his school years, he’d lumped all of it together as nothing more than a cry of attention - but now he had you.  Never would he have imagined he’d hold you as you fell to sleep, almost ten years deep into your relationship.  Never would he have imagined he’d have a family.  A wife, and maybe someday, some children, his children.  Your children.

But now he had you.  And he was certain that he could have it now, sharing the rest of his life with the amazing woman he’d fallen in love with.

Never one for traditional romance - if it hadn’t been four in the morning, and you hadn’t been asleep, and he slipping into sleep’s grasp himself - he would’ve proposed right there and then. 

[p-artsypants]

Longest Night (43) Eating

Ao3 | FF.net

--

Bonus Scene from last Chapter:

Emilie reclined on the couch next to her husband. She had a glass of whiskey in her hand, her drink of choice. A silken robe covered her form as she rested against the plush cushions.

But she was not relaxed. Not in the slightest.

Gabriel had pulled up the Ladyblog on the smart TV and proceeded to go down the timeline of akumas. Thankfully, Alya had organized the blog to skip all the theories and fluff articles. Only the actions of the heroes and Hawkmoth were shown.

Emilie had scooted away from him when he said, “I was a terrorist.” But she stayed long enough to hear that none of his damage or casualties were permanent. And that he had some regret about his actions. He had been desperate to get her back, and admitted that he had crossed the line so many times.

So now he was admitting to all of his crimes. He was coming clean to her, so she could judge him fairly and for herself.

“I had no idea that Adrien was Chat Noir. I didn’t know until his identity was revealed.”

Emilie found this to be a lie, however, since he reached an Akuma in the timeline when he suspected Adrien to be Chat Noir.

Gorizilla, that was the name. The bodyguard Emilie had known forever was the poor victim. He had turned into a giant blue ape and had Adrien in his grasp.

And then...and then...

Emilie watched in horror as the Akuma dropped her son, her baby, off the side of the building.

“I had hoped that he would transform to save himself, but he very cleverly called my bluff—“

The glass of whiskey was now empty, as it’s contents were in his face.

Perhaps he had been too honest.

“My baby!! My precious little boy! My innocent sweet sunshine boy! You let him get thrown off of a roof on a hunch?!??”

“I wasn’t going to let him hit the bottom. Ladybug saved him.”

“WELL I’M GLAD SOMEONE WAS ON TOP OF IT!” She shouted. “I can’t believe you! Of all the low down, dirty, rotten, conniving tricks!”

“Emilie please—“

“I should throw you off the building and see how you like it!”

“Please calm down.”

“Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!” She found one of her heels she had kicked off earlier. “Gabriel Maurice Agreste! I’m going to murder you!”

He looked at her flatly. “We haven’t even gotten to the worst part.”

Emilie’s primal scream of rage made something click in his brain.

It was time to go.

--

To say that Tom, Sabine, and Gabriel were surprised would be an understatement.

There, standing at the top of the stairs, arm and arm, were Ladybug and Chat Noir. Not Adrien and Marinette, but the costumed heroes that everyone loved. With added hats and scarfs to protect from the December air.

Tom was the first to recover and gave them a disarming smile. “Hey kiddos! Where’s the fire?”

“No fire.” Said Ladybug. “Ice Cream.”

“Ice cream? In January?” Asked Gabriel. “If you want Ice Cream, you could have just asked.”

Ladybug shook her head. “Alya figured out where Andre’s Ice Cream cart is. We want to go.”

“Okay, well, we could drive you—“ started Sabine.

“No!” Ladybug shouted. “I need to get out of this house or I’m going to explode! I need to get away from the smothering! I need to feel the sun on my skin and the wind—“ she choked. “I need to get out there for just a little while.”

“Your suits will draw attention.” Gabriel said it as a thought to be considered, and not a warning.

“I know. But won’t it help? Isn’t everyone asking about us?”

Tom gave a little smile. “What’s the harm? Can you just text us when you get there?”

“I can do that.” Ladybug smiled.

Gabriel spoke up. “Did you make sure Adrien wanted to go?”

“It was his idea.” She said cooly.

“Well, I have been disarmed.” Gabriel shrugged. “Just please be careful.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.” Ladybug assured.

After they both left, Tom looked at his wife and Gabriel. “They amaze me. They are doing so well!”

“I agree. Especially Marinette,” said Gabriel. “For her to not be afraid to go out in their suits...”

“I think the suits are for strength.” Added Sabine. “For them to be able to walk that far, and for protection.”

“That makes sense.”

She frowned. “Actually, I think it’s the suits that are letting them do this well. I found them sleeping in them the other night.”

Tom winced. “That’s not a great sign.”

Gabriel screwed up his lips in thought.

—

Outside the mansion, Ladybug and Chat Noir descended the stairs and went out to the gate. It was at the point where the media no longer lingered outside the mansion. No one had gotten a glimpse of the heroes, and they weren’t likely to for a while still.

“Do you want to walk? Or take the roofs?”

“Walk. I’m still not strong enough for rooftops.”

“Okay. He’s not that far from here.”

They made their way, hand and hand, to the Ponts des arts.

As they walked, occasionally they were bugged by passerby. Mostly with handshakes and cheek kisses, occasional selfies. Thankfully, since it was January, there weren’t a lot of pedestrians.

Finally, they reached the bridge. Andre spotted them from the other side. “Ladybug! Chat Noir! Oh my favorite duo!”

Ladybug gave a soft smile to the man. “Hello Andre. One please.”

“Of course! On the house!” He prepared a cone, and started to scoop. “One scoop mint chip, for Chat Noir. One scoop cherry chip, for Ladybug, and one scoop cookies and creme, for true, pure love, riddled with trials and tribulations.” He stuck two spoons in the ice cream and handed it over. “Come see me whenever you like. You’re always welcome here!”

“Thank you. This looks delicious!”

It was unseasonably warm. Sitting on a bench looking out on the river, ice cream in hand, everything felt normal for a little while. A lovely ice cream date, something Marinette had always wanted to do with Adrien.

He let out a long sigh.

“Are you okay? Comfortable?”

“I’m fine.” He smiled at her. “My butt hurts a little, but I’ll survive.”

“We don’t have to stay long. We’ll just finish our ice cream.”

“No, you were right,” he breathed. “Just being outside for a while is nice.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “I can’t believe how much I missed this. It wasn’t that long but…”

“The sunlight.” Ladybug finished for him. “It’s nice. I can feel it.”

“And the wind. And hearing the birds. Hearing the water. It’s all nice.”

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Living in the moment with blank minds.

“Hey, you beat us!” Alya called as they approached.

“We decided to get out before school let out and everyone ruined our fun.” Said Ladybug.

Alya and Nino got their ice cream and joined them on the bench.

“So, how’s the dynamic duo today? Haven’t gotten to spend a lot of time with you since we both moved back home.”

“Well, we have sweethearts ice cream. Not much to complain about.”

“Anybody give you trouble on the way out?”

“A couple people wanted pictures, and to express sympathy. It wasn’t bad.”

“It helps that it’s not tourist season, and it’s a weekday.”

“I’m sure. What kind of ice cream did you get?”

“Neapolitan. Or as Andre now calls it, Ninopolitan. Just for us.”

“That’s adorable.”

“I’m not usually a fan of strawberry ice cream either, but Andre’s is so good.”

“His chocolate is amazing.” Added Nino. “I want him to make my wedding cake out of it.”

“What, you don’t want my dad’s better-than-crack chocolate cake?”

“Half and half!” He protested. “I shouldn’t have to choose!”

Chat Noir smiled broadly, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Oh, before I forget. Did Chloe tell you about the Mayor’s ball a few weeks out?”

Ladybug groaned. “Yeah. The supposed ‘Hero’s Ball’ in honor of Chat and I? No thanks.”

“It can’t be too bad. A chance to get all gussied up, eat good food, and mingle with rich people.”

“Old Marinette would be excited, but...”

“You’ve got to stop referring to yourself like that, girl. You’ve changed, but you’re not a totally different person.”

She laughed. “I’m not?”

“A lot different, but there’s plenty of things I recognize. Right now, you seem to be doing really well. Besides the hair cut, you can hardly tell.”

“That’s good then.” Said Ladybug. “As long as someone recognizes me.”

“Are you designing a dress for the ball?”

“Gabriel and I are collaborating.” She stated it so plainly, like she didn’t even care. “He found a design he liked in my sketchbook, and he’s altering it. Same for Adrien. He’s designing a dress for my mom from scratch.”

“Oh that’s cool!”

“Poor man, he’s trying so hard to be a good father, but he’s so awful at it.”

Chat Noir snorted.

“He doesn’t get points for trying?”

“No. Not when he’s being awful when it matters. I’ve been yelled at for talking for Adrien, since he still isn’t ready to speak. Gabriel is impatient and bossy. He’s plenty generous, but he lacks understanding.”

“And it’s easy to be generous when you’re rich.” Added Nino.

Chat nodded in agreement.

“How are you today, bro?” Nino asked.

Chat shrugged, and pointed to his ice cream with his spoon.

“Gotcha.”

As they say, all good things must come to an end. And the simple peaceful outing turned into chaos when one person shouted. “There they are! It’s Ladybug and Chat Noir!”

From both ends of the bridge, people came running. Calling out for attention. Swarming.

“We didn’t even get to finish our ice cream,” Ladybug lamented.

Chat Noir, however, trembled at the noise and shifted closer to her, Alya, and Nino.

Alya stood, allowing Nino to wrap a protective arm around both of the heroes.

“Back!” Alya shouted at the crowd, raising her hands. “Back, you animals!”

The mob heeded her commands and stopped just a few feet away.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir are not ready for visitors! They aren’t doing autographs, and they aren’t doing hugs! They’re just out for ice cream and sunshine! So be on your merry way please!”

“Ladybug!” A little girl cried out. She weaseled her way through the crowd and ran at them, ignoring Alya completely to crash into Ladybug’s legs and nearly crawl into her lap.

“Hey!” Alya shouted. “What did I just say?”

“I’m so so sorry!” A woman called, catching up with the girl. “She’s just so excited! She loves Ladybug!”

“It’s alright.” Ladybug assured, petting the girl’s head. “How are you Eva?”

The girl beamed. “You remembered my name!”

“Of course I do. I’d remember any akuma that took six hours to beat.”

The girl giggled. “Sorry not sorry!”

Ladybug lifted the girl so she could properly sit on her lap, while the rest of the crowd stood back and listened.

“How are things at home? Did they ever get better?”

Eva gave a little shrug. “Mommy and daddy ended up getting divorced. But now that they don’t live in the same house, they get along a lot better. Sometimes we have dinner together. It still hurts, but at least they don’t yell anymore!”

“I’m really glad to hear that. I’m sorry that they divorced. That’s never an easy thing to go through, but I’m glad things worked out.”

“What about you? Are you feeling better?”

Ladybug swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m…I’m doing alright. Somedays are better than others. Today we felt good enough to go out and get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream makes everything better!”

She smiled. “It sure does.”

“What about you, Chat Noir? How are you?”

He nodded with a smile.

“He said he’s good.” Provided Ladybug.

“Oh yeah, his voice hurts. That happened to me last year. I coughed and coughed and then I sounded like a frog. Do you sound like a frog when you talk?”

He shook his head.

“No? Well that’s good! Wouldn’t sound much like a cat if you croaked!” She reached up and petted Chat Noir’s head like a real cat.

He couldn’t help but purr.

“Oops, you found his soft spot.” Ladybug snickered.

Eva giggled and scratched him again. “What kind of ice cream did you get?”

“Mint chip, cherry chip, and cookies and creme.”

“Cookies and creme is my favorite! Did you like it?”

“I did! Though, I don’t think there’s any bad ice cream.”

“I do! My dad likes pistachio ice cream! Bleh!”

“Oh but pistachio is good!”

“No it’s not! It tastes like butt!”

Ladybug laughed. “Why don’t you ask your mom for some ice cream?”

“Oh hey yeah! That’s a great idea!”

The woman with Eva came closer. “Can I get a picture with you together?”

“Sure.”

“Mom! Get Chat in the picture too!”

Chat Noir leaned in, as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

A click, and Eva was scampering off of her lap. “It was nice seeing you Ladybug! I’m going to get ice cream now!”

Ladybug smiled at her. “I’m glad we could talk, Eva. That was nice. See you later.”

“Later!”

Ladybug let out a blissful sigh. The crowd was still surrounding them, waiting to be prompted.

“I’m kinda tired.” She announced. “What about you, kitty?”

Chat nodded and yawned.

“They’re going to go home now folks! Go on, get!” Alya shooed them away. “Sorry your outing was interrupted.”

“Mmm, actually, that wasn’t as bad as I was expecting.”

—

Adrien awoke from his nap feeling only a little groggy. He was down to one nap a day now, though it still usually lasted over an hour.

Marinette laid in his arms, her back pressed against his chest. It looked like she was awake as well, as she scrolled through her phone.

Adrien nuzzled closer, pressing a kiss behind her ear. “Whatcha reading?” He asked softly.

“Ladynoir FanFiction.”

He chuckled softly. “I thought you hated our FanFiction.”

“I did. But not so much anymore. Alya said a lot of authors on the blog are going back and editing their stories, so that our names and backgrounds are right. It’s kind of fun to see what people assume about us. The innocent things, like what our favorite Pokémon is and what flavors of ice cream we like.”

“Hmm.” Adrien hummed in her ear, savoring that perfect level of comfort. “What is your favorite Pokémon, my lady?”

“According to fics, it’s Ledyba.”

He scoffed.

“But I think I like Spheal. He’s a spherical seal. He’s a good boy.”

“He is a good boy.” Adrien said sleepily. “Wanna guess mine?”

“Is it Arcanine?”

“...yeah, it’s Arcanine.”

She giggled, turning her phone off and turning to face him. “I’m afraid you’re an open book to me.”

“Only to you.” He promised, kissing her swiftly.

There came a knock at the door.

“Adrien? Are you awake?” Gabriel’s voice came from the hall.

“He’s awake,” Marinette answered for him.

They adjusted themselves to be a little more presentable as Gabriel entered. He actually looked nervous, and excited? It was hard to tell on a man so stoic. He rubbed his hands together. “So, Adrien, we have a guest joining us for dinner tonight, and I thought you might want to see her first.” He beckoned the guest at the door.

Seeing Aunt Amilie, even after all this time, made his heart squeeze. She looked just like his mother, right down to the side ponytail.

Wait.

Was this some sort of joke? Amilie was in white, and her hair was tied on the other side, just the way his mother used to—

“Hi Hunny Bunny.” Her voice was so soft, so gentle. Tears gathered in her eyes as her hands raised up for him. “Look at how much you’ve grown!”

All of a sudden, he wasn’t in his bedroom. He was in that cold dark room, where they had been kept in crude cages. He was looking at the corpse with his mother’s face on it.

Then it morphed into everything wrong. Mouths for eyes, snakes for teeth, dripping fingers, as she just continued to smile at him. “It’s me, Adrien…I’m home.”

Adrien shook his head frantically, trying to shake the vision. But it wouldn’t leave. It was acid, wasn’t it? LSD? That’s what Dr. Boucher said was in his system. That hallucinations he had down in the catacombs would continue to haunt him. They were as unpredictable as they were vivid.

“Adrien honey?” Her voice was too sweet. It was wrong. Why was she here?

Adrien scrambled off the bed, placing himself opposite of the mattress from her, and he watched her with careful eyes.

“Adrien,” Gabriel tried. “It’s alright, your mother is home now. She’s back.”

Between the horrible visions and twisting thoughts, he had half a mind to take offense. She was back? She was fine all this time? Where was she? Why did she leave him alone? He couldn’t find any joy in the utter wrongness of it all. It made no sense, and it felt like some sick twisted joke.

His eyes wandered over to the windows on the other side of the room. His reflection was so small, so disgustingly thin and dirty, bloody, and pale. And her reflection…

It wasn’t his mother.

Gabriel nervously bit his thumb, waiting for Adrien’s reaction. So far, he just sat there, staring at her with impossibly wide eyes. Then he scrambled out of the sheets, his eyes never leaving her face. But there was no smile, no disbelief, no awe. Just shock and fear.

“Adrien, it’s alright. Your mother is home now. She’s back.”

Adrien quaked in his spot, shaking like a leaf, ready to burst. His listless eyes turned and caught sight of something in the window.

Gabriel never did know what his son saw, but whatever it was, it was horribly upsetting.

Terrible enough to rip that scream from his throat. Frightening enough make him flail his fists around, at him, at Marinette, and his own mother.

“Hunny bunny?” she asked once more, pleading with him.

It didn’t work. It only further exasperated Adrien, so that he shouted at her, like if he yelled loud enough she was disappear in a puff of smoke.

That’s when Gabriel conceded that his plan had failed epically. He grabbed Emilie’s wrist and pulled her from the room, as Adrien continued to scream after her.

Sabine caught her in a hug just outside the door. “It’s alright, dear.”

Emilie clung to her. “He doesn’t know me!”

“Of course he does,” Sabine soothed. “He’s just confused right now.”

Gabriel had made sure to close the door as they left, but it did nothing to suppress the noise from the room. The banging, the crashing, the clattering of books and trophies being flung off the shelves.

And Marinette’s rational voice trying to reach him.

“I hate her!” He yelled, like an arrow to Emilie’s heart. “She’s a liar! That’s all she’s ever been! I hate her! I hate her!”

Gabriel pressed a kiss to his wife’s head. “He doesn’t, he loves you so much.”

“Where did so go?! Why did she leave me alone with—with him?!” He voice broke off into ugly sobbing.

“Oh my baby boy,” Emilie wept. “My poor baby…”

“Well, I really hate to be the one that told you so…” Plagg spoke, phasing through the door.

“Don’t sound so smug.” Gabriel bit.

“I’m not. I swear I’m not.” His ears hung sadly. “But’s like I said. He doesn’t know where she’s been. To him, she ran away without a word, and she’s only coming back now? Because of what? The fact that he was tortured on screen?”

Emilie covered a mouth to hold back a sob.

“That’s not what happened, and you know it!” Gabriel yelled back.

“Of course I know! But he doesn’t! And you’re going to have to explain all of it to him.”

“What do you mean, ‘all of it’?”

Plagg looked at him levelly. “If you want Adrien to accept his mother, you’ve got to tell him about being Hawkmoth.”

Gabriel looked at the door. “Do you think he’s ready? Either of them are ready?” Plagg shrugged. “His world is rocked either way. I think you’ve got to decide which parent he needs more. Because the way I see it, he’ll reject the other. Maybe both of you.”

Emilie and Gabriel shared a very meaningful look.

Finally, Emilie hugged Sabine. “You’ll go comfort him, right? He needs a mom right now.”

“Of course dear.” Sabine opened the bedroom door slightly and crept inside. Emilie watched from the crack as she approached Marinette and Adrien, who were huddled together in a corner. It didn’t take any convincing for both of them to accept her embrace.

“I’ve missed so much.” Emilie whispered, teary-eyed.

Tom squeezed her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Gabriel sighed. “And hopefully, you won’t have to miss anything more. I’ll tell them tomorrow. Even if…even if Adrien hates me, he deserves my honesty. And…I haven’t been very good to him since this whole mess started. You’ll be better for him, I know.”

“Gabe…”

“It’s alright. I suppose this is my punishment. But as long as Adrien gets everything he needs, then it’s all worth it.”

[papermoonloveslucy]

GRAFIC LUCY

April 26, 1953

On April 26, 1953, Lucille Ball appeared on the cover of the Chicago Sunday Tribune’s Grafic Magazine.  Inside, the article is titled “Lucille and Desi. $8,000,000 TV Stars” by Hedda Hopper.  

The photo on the cover is very similar to one that also appeared on this 1954 issue of Dell’s “I Love Lucy” comics. It is likely the phots were taken at the same time during the same photo shoot. 

By HEDDA HOPPER 

LUCILLE BALL, and Desi Arnaz. in their wildest dreams during their upsies and downsies, never imagined that one day they - a couple of strolling players - would be signed to a two-and-a-half year television contract for $8,000,000.

That's a heap of cash in any man's language, and in American money it's like finding the Glory Hole gold mine or stubbing your toe in your own back yard and starting an oil gusher. For actors to sign that kind of contract it's a Disney fantasy come to life. 

Lucy has used a lot of gold dust in her hair, but she's certain now that Peter Pan came to life and covered her from head to toe with pixie dust. But, being Lucy, her one comment after signing the fabulous deal with her TV sponsors was: "It couldn't happen to a nicer pair of kids. I mean our two children, of course." 

And those kids are as famous as their ma and pa. All over America last January, second in news importance to Ike Eisenhower's inauguration, was the birth of Lucille Ball's baby boy. The interest in the big event was fantastic. Tho they've been kicking around Hollywood for a long time, Lucille and Desi have grown into an American Institution in two years via TV. They've received more than fifty awards; their names have become household words. 

I was In Washington for the in inauguration, when Desidero [sp] Arnaz was born.

I’d like to straighten out one point. Lucy didn't have her baby by caesarean to please her sponsors. The operation was necessary. She had her first child by the same process, and since the caesarean operation could be set for a definite date, the birth was worked into the script of the show. The writers took full advantage of it. Since the show deals with an average couple, the pre-natal period reflected that of millions who have, or were having, babies. And to make sure that nothing in poor taste crept in, the Amazes had a Catholic priest a Jewish rabbi, and a Protestant minister check each script.

Lucy wanted a boy, and her doctor told her she'd have one. "I didn't pay any attention to his prediction," says Lucy. "He told me my first baby would be a boy, too. So I had a girl." 

Their show sticks to real life situations and mirrors the trials, tribulations, and fun of marriages enjoyed by millions of average men and women. 

Desi credits the success of the show to that fact "Its an average love story with humor," he explains. "Audiences believe I'm in love with Lucy, and I am. Lucy ' could be a straight dramatic show. In fact, I think there's no really good comedy that couldn't be turned into drama. I believe the average man gets a kick out of Ricky (the name he uses on the show), because he somehow always manages to dominate the woman, tho the victory is not great. Women love Lucy since she gets by with things they'd like to do, but wouldn't dare try." 

A fan wrote Desi: "I used to think my wife was crazy. But after following Lucy, I'm convinced all women are that way, so I'm reconciled to my wife's behavior." 

Desi is proud of the fact that he and Lucy help many couples in distress. “Lucille and I used to fight a lot," says he. "Then we discovered a sense of humor about situations that came up at home. We learned to live together and like it just as Ricky and Lucy do on the show. In real life, we still have our differences, but we never go to bed without speaking. We may have a peeve between us, but one of us will always say, 'All right What are you mad about? ' That either settles It or starts a real battle, which gets the beef off our chests." 

I wanted to know how much Lucy and Ricky resembled the real life Amazes. 

"A lot"  Desi laughed. "For example, we can never agree on the temperature of our home. I like it hot Lucy wants it cold. We put that In the show. For television the characters have to be exaggerated for the sake of comedy. But sometimes situations come up at home that give our writers ideas. For instance, our baby. Writing him into the script was completely natural. We knew what happened to couples expecting a baby."  

“It was the first nine-months' pregnancy that lasted only seven weeks," said Lucy, meaning that the baby business was only on seven programs. 

“And neither of our writers, Madeline Pugh and Bob Carroll Jr., is married," said Desi. 

"But they know whereof they write," said Lucy. "Within three weeks after the baby was born, we received 20,000 letters, 2,000 telegrams, and hundreds of packages.” 

"How many products do you indorse?" [sp] I asked. 

"It's easier to tell you what we haven't indorsed, [sp]" said Lucy. "We haven't indorsed [sp] locomotives or aircraft. We have art office now on 5th Avenue in New York just to handle merchandising." 

I asked how much money they could keep from their $8,000,000 contract.

"About four dollars and fifty-five cents," said Desi. "In the dear old days before taxes we could have retired for life In one year. But the government needs money. We're not complaining. Lucy doesn't have much business sense anyway. When it comes time to pay taxes, she doesn't bother trying to get exemptions. She just says, 'Bring me the check, and I'll sign it.' 

"And you're still expanding instead of cutting down?" I asked. 

"Yes," said Desi. "I put in 10 hours daily at my office." 

"I don't bother with business," said Lucy.  “That's Desi's department." 

“We've got over a hundred people working for us now," said Desi. "We'll do 32 television films a year, and I'm getting a man to take over the business management so I can devote more time to the creative phase of our work. We. plan to produce other shows. Then there are pictures." 

"I'm happy you two are going to make 'The Long, Long Trailer,' " I said. 

"That," said Desi, "is a dream. I read the book and tried to buy it But I didn't have the money to compete with Metro. So Pandro Berman called me up and asked if Lucy and I would be interested in reading the script I told him sure, to send it over. And It was 'Long, Long Trailer.” 

"It's a honey," added Lucy. "I once lived with my family in a trailer. It was all right until we all got claustrophobia. That's bad enough when you get it alone, but when it hits a whole family at the same time whew!" 

"We can make pictures any time we like," said Desi "But we'll concentrate on television. But if either Lucy or I wants to do a movie, we can always pile up a backlog of TV films that will tide us over." 

"I'm not particularly interested in going back to movies," said Lucy. "TV is my dish. We don't see a script at least I don't until 10 o'clock Monday morning. On Tuesday, we read from 10 to 12, then lunch. After that we start shooting. The writers usually aren't even on the set If I don't understand something, either the producer, Jess Oppenheimer, or our director, Bill Asher, explains it to me. We work four days and rest three. You cant do that in picture-making.” 

"Incidentally, Desi's malapropisms aren't written into the script. The script is written in straight English. But If Desi butchers the King's English during a rehearsal, it stays in." 

"Bill Frawley and Vivian Vance are wonderful additions to your cast," I said.

"We were lucky to get them," said Lucy. "When Bill's name was mentioned, I almost dropped dead. He was a big star and we couldn't afford him. But somebody said it wouldn't hurt to try to get him. Remember this was two years ago; and everybody here was scoffing at TV. Nobody knew." 

People didn't know many things. For years I've watched Lucy's work and considered her one of our finest comediennes. She has versatility and great timing. But nobody gave her break. Tho he'd done several pictures, Hollywood just couldn't see Desi for dust. He had to make a living with his band, and this put him on the road for long periods. Result: "I Love Lucy." 

"When we got the idea for the show, people said audiences wouldn't accept us as husband-and-wife team," said Lucy. "They didn't think audiences would believe that a girl like me and a Cuban like Desi could be married. I remember telling you this, Hedda, and you yelled back, 'But for Pete's sake, you' are married!'". 

Because the Amazes finally decided to portray life as they found It regardless of how dizzy it was, they found their way of life, says Lucy. "If you have a hunch, back it," is Lucy's advice.

The headline of April 26, 1953. 

[louiserandom]

old friends and new companions

for: @greeneyedtrickster :3 the formatting for the ask reply got wonky so i’m reposting it like this :D Hope you like it :3

Rating: T

Pairing: Jiraiya/Tsunade

Summary: Jiraiya is reckless and a bit of an idiot.

Orochimaru, too, is reckless but by no means lacks intelligence.

Tsunade is just done. So done.

A/N: alternatively, the latest of the Bizarre Adventures of the Legendary Sannin :D I took so many creative liberties in this lol and I hope it turned out fine. Enjoy!

Read on AO3 or under the cut :3

“Care to explain why you didn’t wait for backup like we told you to?” Tsunade demands, bandaging the worst of Jiraiya’s wounds perhaps a little too harshly.

“He’s an idiot,” Orochimaru replies helpfully from where he’s lounging on the other side of the cave.

“Hey!”

“I know.” Tsunade sighs, iryo chakra pooling out of her hands onto Jiraiya’s other injuries.

“I’d have liked to see you face off against that monster, dumbass!” Jiraiya growls, trying to sit up from his makeshift sickbed, a deathbed not two minutes earlier, but Tsunade forcefully restrains him, hitting him lightly over the head for good measure.

“I will,” Orochimaru says sweetly, “and unlike some people, I’m not going to behave like a suicidal moron.”

Jiraiya huffs but holds back his explosive retort, conceding the fairly good point. Perhaps facing off a giant disgruntled leech with a Noh mask wasn’t the best idea when he was wounded and stranded in the outskirts of Sky Country.

“I knew you’d still be busy with that platoon and I was tired of lying in wait,” he grumbles his admittedly poor excuse, “and that creepy guy controlling that monster was right there! So I thought, why not? Two birds, one kunai.”

“Did you actually attack with just the one kunai?” Orochimaru asks, eyeing the many, many wounds Jiraiya is sporting.

Orochimaru dodges the shuriken his friend flings his way, smirking when Tsunade gives Jiraiya her signature glare, making him wilt. Both of them know too well the pain that befalls those who don’t heed Tsunade’s first warning before she gets annoyed enough to inflict punishment.

“Anyway,” Jiraiya says with a put-upon sigh, “the man’s dead. The beast is wounded but I have no idea how fast it heals. So that’s still half the job done for us.”

“Yes, us,” Tsunade says firmly. “We’ll face whatever that thing is together,” she emphasizes the word with a meaningful look at Orochimaru, “so I don’t have to bring anyone back from the brink of death again. That seriously pisses me off.”

Orochimaru blinks, feigning innocence. “What? Why are you looking at me?”

“Maybe I’m well aware I’m the only one on our team with an actual self-preservation instinct.”

“Questionable. But even if that’s true, I at least have more than a modicum of intelligence… unlike some people.”

And now it’s Orochimaru’s turn to withstand Tsunade’s death threat of a glare. As well as an unnecessarily complicated set of rude gestures from Jiraiya, presumably depicting the physical harm he plans to inflict on Orochimaru once he’s completely healed.  

Orochimaru rolls his eyes and presses his palm to his chest. “Fine. I promise not to go out to kill the monster by myself.”

Tsunade eyes him suspiciously, wondering if she should make him solemnly swear by his experiments. But, she supposes, there’s probably nothing in existence that Orochimaru holds sacred, so she simply nods and sends a quick prayer to the gods for patience, if nothing else.

She returns to the task at hand, touching up and cleaning the last of the injuries, now healed enough to become yet another set of scars adorning Jiraiya’s arms and chest, some of them crawling dangerously close to his heart. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, finally out of the sickening mental loop of fearing yet another loved one’s death. Jiraiya’s usual quips and one-liners help lighten the mood as she works, but just to be contrary, Tsunade doesn’t give him the courtesy of a smile.

“Here.” She cuts off Jiraiya’s ramblings that were just on the verge of straying into the perverted territory, offering him the medicine he so abhors taking. Predictably, his face twists in a grimace and he tries his best to keep himself from pouting, with little success. “Just a couple of hours of sleep, and your chakra will be replenished. Drink up.”

Jiraiya crosses his arms. “It tastes sour.”

“Oh?” Tsunade raises an eyebrow. “You know what else will taste sour? The disgusting, humiliating taste of defeat if you decide to do this the long way and we end up wasting so much time that the monster gets away from us. Again.”

Another fair point, Jiraiya supposes, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“Do I get a kiss from the beautiful lady for my heroism despite the many trials and tribulations?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows. “And what’s my grand prize once we get home victorious?”

Tsunade rolls her eyes. “The prize of one kiss, knucklehead, will be bestowed upon your brow only once you’ve proved you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Oh, come on!” Jiraiya whines, ignoring Orochimaru’s unnecessarily dramatic sigh as he promptly leaves the cavern muttering something about ‘keeping it the fucking bedroom.’

“You knew the consequences.”

“I didn’t! Tsuna, look, I underestimated the wound I got from the battle up north, yeah, fine—but if not for that, I would have won!”

“And once you see the lack of logic in that statement,” Tsunade says with a derisive look that’s very much uncalled for, “I’ll see about that kiss.”

“And the victory sex?” Jiraiya says, because being a little shit never fails to make Tsunade smile.

He’s not wrong. It’s a beautiful smile, despite the exasperation on her face. Her shoulders have finally relaxed, and her hands have stopped shaking, and that’s all Jiraiya needs for now.

“Stop bringing up sex to annoy Orochimaru,” Tsunade cuts the fun short. “And drink.”

Not masking his displeasure, Jiraiya downs the disgusting potion in one go, and instantly feels the familiar, debilitating drowsiness settling in. He groans. The world dulls, then sinks as he flops onto his back, everything blurring into a mesh of colorful blobs. He can only just make out Tsunade standing up from where she was kneeling in front of him to go somewhere out of sight—which is unacceptable, really.

“Hey,” Jiraiya tries, willing his eyes to stay open, “wait, don’t leave…”

“I’m not leaving, silly.”

Warm arms cradle his head and Jiraiya suddenly finds himself lying on Tsunade’s lap, her presence soft and comfortable, radiating warm, lively, calming energy he’s grown to love so, so much.

“Tell me again,” he whispers, snuggling up to her.

“I’m right here.” Jiraiya isn’t sure whether it’s his imagination or not when he feels the faint press of warm lips against his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mm,” he protests, “not what I wanna hear.”

A chuckle. A playful nudge. Jiraiya’s sure he’s grinning like an idiot, what with his eyes closed and his muscles relaxing steadily with each second.

“Maybe I’d like to hear it from you first,” Tsunade says.

“Hm. You know I love you,” Jiraiya says, barely holding on to consciousness as the dreamless chemical-induced sleep fights to drag him under.

“Well.” Another dream-like kiss, to his lips this time. “You know I love you too.”

It’s the last thing Jiraiya hears before he sleeps.

He awakens to the dawn light grazing his eyelids and gasps for breath as the adrenaline from that weird fucking potion rushes through his veins, making his heart beat at twice its normal rate.

Ugh, he thinks, at least my chakra’s back to normal.

Jiraiya sits up, stretching his arms and relaxing the muscles that yearn to hit something, happy to see all his injuries completely healed—thanks to the genius lying beside him.

He smiles as he watches Tsunade, completely relaxed for once, sleeping on her side with her hair undone and a slight smile curling her lips. This despite her own injuries that Jiraiya only now notices she didn’t bother to heal; minor cuts and bruises that she always dismisses because she cares too much about her best friend and lover to notice her own pains. And despite the battle-worn clothes, streaked with blood and grime, and singed in some places because apparently the Sky shinobi she and Orochimaru fought were uncannily skilled in Fire Release—bathed in the burgeoning sunlight, she looks beautiful.

He wishes sorely that he didn’t have to wake her up. But a few minutes is all they should be able to spare at this point.

“Oi, snake boy,” he calls to where Orochimaru is sitting near the entrance.

“Call me that one more time,” Orochimaru says, turning around to glare at him, “and I’ll feed you to one of my summons.”

“Yeah, yeah, same threat, different decade,” Jiraiya says, standing up and looking for the storage scroll with his change of clothes. “You ready to tackle that monster thing? You have that seal for tracking it down, right?”

“One you didn’t need apparently, because of your dumb luck,” Orochimaru says, tone tinged with irritation. “But actually,” he announces, standing up to face Jiraiya, “we’re not going anywhere.”

“Huh?”

Jiraiya tenses once the Shadow Clone before him dissipates and the real Orochimaru (hopefully) shunshins near the entrance.

“You left a clone to keep guard, you dumbass? What if—what if it…” It’s then that Jiraiya notices what—or who, he really is uncertain at this point—Orochimaru is holding in his arms. “Orochimaru, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

The scream has Tsunade awake and already forming hand signs before she realizes there’s no intruder.

Well.

Technically.

And Orochimaru, the bastard, acts like there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

“I would very much like both of you to calm—"

“Why the fuck do you have that monster in your arms, you godsdamned idiot?”

“Orochimaru,” Tsunade growls, angry enough that her chakra starts glowing, crackling in the air around her. “What, exactly, did you do that I explicitly asked you not to do?”

“I broke no promises, Tsunade, as I did not go out to try to kill the ‘monster’,” Orochimaru emphasizes the word with a pet of said monster’s head. Because Jiraiya’s pretty fucking sure that’s a miniature version of the slug-snake thing with the Noh mask he’d fought cuddling into Orochimaru’s hold like it wants to be there. “See, we never thought about befriending him. Talking him out of being Sky Country’s glorified weapon and letting him be an honorable asset for our village.”

“Asset?” Tsunade can feel the onset of one hell of a migraine.

“Him?” Jiraiya asks weakly.

“Yes.” Orochimaru smiles. “This is Zero-Tails. He hasn’t chosen a name for himself yet, but since I’ve officially adopted him, we’ll get to that shortly. Isn’t that right?” he all but coos over his new pet.

“Yes, master,” Zero-Tails answers, its mask shifting into an expression of pure innocence.

Its—his—voice is deep and far too evil sounding in Jiraiya’s opinion, and he will not fall for the innocent act, but for all his indignation, all he can manage is,

“Master?” Jiraiya is fairly sure he’s going to lose his mind with a best friend like his. “Orochimaru, why?”

Tsunade snarls and kicks the wall of the cave, making a big chunk of rock fall off and the whole part of the mountain they’re nestled in trembles dangerously.

“I need Grandpa’s fucking moonshine to deal with this,” she seethes, and Jiraiya couldn’t agree more.

Orochimaru simply keeps smiling and says, “Of course! We need to have a house-warming celebration for our new companion after all.”

[preraphaelitepunk]

Fictober19 Day 24: The Most Boring of Virtues

Prompt #24: Patience . . . is not something I’m known for.

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: Crowley, Aziraphale, cameos by Anathema and Newt

Rating: Teen (bit of swearing)

Warnings: None

On AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843936/chapters/50358566

“Why did I ever agree to this?” Crowley groaned and slumped even further in his chair.

Aziraphale just sipped his tea as if nothing was wrong. “Because it will be nice to see our human friends again, dear.”

“We’ve talked about that word, angel.”

“I wasn’t applying it to you, so it doesn’t count. Besides, I’m quite looking forward to seeing Anathema and Newt again.”

“A whole afternoon with Book Girl and a boy named after a slug. Lovely.”

“A newt isn’t a slug, darling. It’s a type of,” Aziraphale paused, brow furrowing slightly. “I believe it’s a marsupial.”

“Is it?’

“Not sure. You could look it up on your computer phone.”

“Bah! I’ve already been through the entire internet while we’ve been waiting for them. I’m sick of it. Where the, the Whatever are they?”

“There’s no need to be tetchy, my love. They probably ran into traffic or something. That does tend to happen when you don’t drive like a maniac.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at that. “I am an excellent driver. Not my fault if the other drivers are too slow and get in each others’ way. And I am not tetchy.”

“Of course not, dear. And they’re not very late, just a quarter of an hour or so.”

“A quarter of an hour we could have spent doing much more interesting things!”

Aziraphale chuckled. “And what much more interesting things would we be doing?”

“Dunno,” Crowley had to admit, adding defiantly, “but they’d be bloody fascinating things, angel. The fascinating-est. Instead we’re stuck here, waiting.”

“Poor darling. The trials and tribulations you go through.” Frankly, Aziraphale sounded more amused than sympathetic, which was annoying.

“If we had to see them, why couldn’t we have gone to Tadfield instead of them coming here? Then we’d at least be doing something.”

“They wanted to come here. Wanting to see London is hardly unusual, after all. Just have a little patience, my love.”

“Patience,” Crowley growled, “is not something I’m known for, angel.”

“Is that so?”

“Well known for not having patience, me. Patience is a virtue, and demons don’t do virtues.”

Soft, strong arms slipped around him from behind, “I could list quite a few of your virtues very easily. Including patience. You waited for me for six thousand years, after all.”

“’Sdifferent, angel.”

“Mmm?” How so?

Crowley wasn’t sure how to explain; wasn’t sure he could in words, not without nearly discorporating from exposing his raw soul like that, even to Aziraphale. Still, he tried: giving the angel what he wanted whenever possible was too deeply ingrained. “It wasn’t all or nothing back then, either us together this way or not seeing you at all. I could still see you, talk to you, take you to lunch. I still had something, a bit of you.”

He felt more than heard Aziraphale sigh. “When I wasn’t getting the wrong end of the stick and storming off, away from you. Did I ever apologize for how I acted? The holy water in St. James’s Park? The bandstand fight? All the other times?”

Crowley reached up and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, still pressed against his chest, over his heart. “No need. I understood. Still do.”

“Still, I acted abominably, and I am so very sorry, my dear. I should never have hurt you like that.”

“Doesn’t matter. You were trying to protect us.” Some of those fights had nearly shattered Crowley, but the past pain was irrelevant now. They were together, and that made everything worthwhile.

“Still, I went about it the wrong way, and I hurt you. I was wrong, so wrong, and I will never truly forgive myself.”

Crowley turned around, startled to see tears in his angel’s eyes. “Aziraphale, it’s all right! I understand, and it all worked out, okay? That’s the important thing.” Rising from the chair, he gently swiped his thumb across Aziraphale’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had spilled over.

“I was so cruel,” Aziraphale murmured.

“You were scared. Rightly so. You’ve always been the sensible one — and after seeing what’s become of Heaven, I have to say I don’t blame you for being scared. Gabriel is insane, and the others just follow after him like little rabid sheep.”

Aziraphale laughed damply and rested his forehead on Crowley’s shoulder. “Can you forgive me?”

“Already forgiven. Forgiven so long ago I can’t even remember you being not-forgiven. All right?”

“All right.” Aziraphale nestled closer in his arms. “Thank you. You really are far too good to me, my love.”

“Nah.” Crowley snapped a cold compress into existence. “Here, lean back a little. Your eyes will puff up if you don’t put this on them. Here, sit down.”

“Is that really necessary? I must look a fright if you think —”

“I just don’t want Book Girl and Marsupial Slug Boy to think I’ve been making you cry. Come on, angel.”

Obediently, Aziraphale sat and let Crowley drape the compress over his eyes and fuss over him. “Do you need a blanket, angel? Do you feel cold?”

“What I feel is preposterous,” Aziraphale grumbled, but it sounded more fond than irritated.

“Well, you are pretty preposterous, so that’s all right. My perfectly preposterous angel.”

At that point, the bell on the door jingled. “We’re here! So sorry we’re late,” Anathema called. Aziraphale whipped off the cold compress and vanished it, shooting a look how you nearly embarrassed me, you wily serpent look at Crowley. The demon just grinned.

Behind her, Newt waved a bottle of scotch. “But at least we brought presents.”

“Oh, Aberlour!” Crowley exclaimed, snatching the bottle and examining it. “Twelve years. Not bad, Marsupial Slug Boy.”

Newt’s brow furrowed. “Er, what?”

“Please don’t mind him, he’s in a mood,” Aziraphale said, hugging the newcomers. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“Same here. Oh, and before I forget,” Anathema rummaged in her sparkly tote bag and pulled out a paper sack. “The Them send their love, too.”

The fragrance wafting up from the sack was unmistakable, even from where Crowley was standing a few feet away. “Apples?”

“The very best, freshly stolen from R.P. Tyler’s orchard,” she said.

Crowley could see Aziraphale firmly deciding not to hear that last bit. “How delightful! Please give them our thanks, and our love.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Crowley stashed the bottle for later and started urging everyone back toward the door. “That’s great and all, but our reservation was at one and we’re fucking late.”

“I believe you’ll find that it’s been miraculously moved to one thirty,” Aziraphale said mildly as he was ushered outside. “Still, we must get a wiggle on.”

“Wiggle. I don’t wiggle,” Crowley grumbled. “Everyone into the Bentley, now!”

Settling into the back seat, Anathema said, “No wiggling? What about in your snake form?”

“Shut it, Book Girl. Everybody in? Right.” The Bentley’s engine roared to life.

“You may find it advisable to hang on,” Aziraphale murmured over his shoulder to the humans, but it was too late. Crowley couldn’t help but grin at the startled yelps from the back as he and his car lunged forward, finally able to fling themselves into action.

Patience was fine when the payoff was Aziraphale, but in general, it was far overrated.

[bowcrazy]

Tsurune Flower Analysis—Minato and Masaki

Minato

ニオイバンマツリ/Nioibanmatsuri (JPN)

This might’ve been the toughest in the bunch to research! It’s not a very common flower so it’s not listed on any of the English hanakotoba pages I looked at, which means I had to search in Japanese *sweats*. Nioibanmatsuri are small cluster flowers that bloom a deep purple/blue and then lighten until they become white. Their hanakotoba are 浮気な人 (unfaithful person/someone who fools around); 夢の名 (dream name), 幸運 (good fortune), and 熱心 (enthusiastic/fervent). Obviously, Minato isn’t an unfaithful person, but the phrase in context of the nioibanmatsuri refers to the speed at which the blossoms change color (as in, they can’t stay faithful to just one color). In regards to Minato, this could be a nod to his constant development throughout the story. Nothing in particular jumped out at me for what “dream name” could possibly mean, and “good fortune” probably doesn’t mean anything besides the hope that Minato and his team will continue to do well—especially since all the boys’ flowers seem to have an additional meaning of “good fortune”. “Enthusiastic” speaks for itself—Minato’s ardent love of kyuudou is one of the main points of Tsurune! Additionally, nioibanmatsuri are often seen as a signal that the rainy season is about to begin, which could nod to the trials and tribulations our poor protagonist always seems to go through.

Yesterday Today and Tomorrow (Western)

The flower itself seems rather obscure, so I wasn’t able to find an exact definition. The common English name for the flower, however, seems to hold some weight. “Yesterday, today, and tomorrow” are words/expressions used to describe time-related experiences—the past you can think back on, the future you can plan and envision for, but today is the only time you can actually take action.

Many of Minato’s present conflicts stem from traumatic events from the past, i.e. the accident that killed his mother and, more recently, his target panic. With the past also comes his relationships with Seiya, Shuu, and Ryouhei. At the start of the series, he defines himself by the past and shrinks from others and archery because of them. At the time, his future seemed rather hopeless too, since he believed that he would never be able to overcome his target panic. With Masa-san’s and his other friends’ encouragement and support, however, Minato was able to start actively trying to improve his archery skills in order to get rid of his target panic. Another thing to note is that Minato was also able to move on from his mother’s death and compete in archery once more because of Seiya’s encouragement in middle school. By being continuously proactive “today,” Minato can leave “yesterday” behind and do something more “tomorrow.”

Masaki

ネリネ/Nerine (JPN)

Here we have yet another puzzle of a flower; at first glance you could definitely think it’s your typical red lily, if not for the fact that lilies typically don’t grow in clusters on a single stalk and the stalks are typically leafy. After a lot of trial and error (and reference from a jp tweet) the diamond lily, or nerine (particularly the ‘nerine afterglow’ hybrid of the species) has shown to be a rather fitting candidate. But enough plant talk; we’re here for the hanakotoba.

Upon checking through a few sources, hanakotoba doesn’t differentiate them and only has a general catch-all set of meanings for nerines. These being: ‘I look forward to the day I meet you again’, ‘endurance’(‘patience’/’perseverance’), ‘brilliant’, and ‘a sheltered child’ (it actually says daughter but for the sake of it being Masa-san let’s say child) with some sources adding ‘happy memories’, ‘radiance’, and ‘a lovely smile’. Before I get to it, I’ll just quickly take out ‘sheltered child’ as that doesn’t feel quite true for Masa-san, while ‘a lovely smile’ seems to speak for itself.  

For someone like Masa-san who we know dearly admired his late grandfather, the meaning of ‘happy memories’ (though they became a touch bittersweet once he’d developed his hayake and became estranged from him) would connect rather well. He speaks highly of his grandfather in both the novel and anime despite Masa-san saying that he was ‘discarded as someone who didn’t follow instructions’ by him. In the anime’s last episode and in the prologue of the first book (though he’s yet to be explicitly named as such in the novel), we also see Masa-san (along with Minato and his mother) as a middle schooler watching —enthralled— as his grandfather was competing, the memory clearly something fond that strengthened his passion for kyuudou. We can also consider his new memories with Minato and the rest of Kazemai as something this would relate to since it, in a way, is his new beginning. I would connect ‘I look forward to the day I meet you again’ to his grandfather as well, but in a more metaphorical sense, as we can tell Masa-san is somehow reconnecting with him by way of returning to kyuudou to better understand him and himself.

‘Endurance’ speaks for itself considering his long struggle against his hayake and his efforts in finding suitable methods to remedy it. ‘Radiance’ and ‘brilliant’ could likely be attributed to the beauty of his shooting form as well as his natural talent in kyuudou.

Nerine (Western)

Nerine don’t have specific Western meanings, so for the purpose of this post we’re using red lilies. Red lilies symbolize purity, majesty, wealth, honor, purity of heart, innocence, pride, regal bearing, high-souled aspirations, a lofty spirit, rebirth, motherhood, passion, love, beauty of youth, amiability, fertility, femininity, unity, and transience. The majority of the definitions described are for the flower in general, but “passion” and “love,” especially the former, are tied to red.

Masa-san does come off as “regal” and with “majesty” whenever he actually shoots. “Motherhood” can possibly stem from the fact that Masa-san becomes a parent-like figure, or at the very least a sort of guardian to Minato in the absence of his mother, and father by extension because Minato’s dad is noted to be often busy with work. “Purity,” “honor,” “innocence,” and “beauty of youth” can refer to the fact that Minato was able to overcome his target panic at Yata no Mori/in Masa-san’s presence because we all know those words don’t describe Masa-san. “Rebirth” could refer to Masa-san’s love for kyuudou, as he had fallen out of love for it and was going to quit before he decided to become Kazemai’s coach. “A lofty spirit” and “high-souled aspirations” may refer to the fact that Masa-san is quite the admired figure/idol in both the archery world and to his students at Kazemai, or possibly how he wishes to surpass his grandfather. “Amiability,” “pride,” and “honor” can be tied to his character traits. “Unity” may refer to how the Kazemai archery team was able to connect to each other well under his advice. “Transience” could refer to Minato’s initial belief that Masa-san would only be in his life for a short period of time.

sources below the cut

Minato (JPN) 1, 2, 3

Masaki (JPN) 1, 2, 3

Masaki (Western) 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

[swindlersstole]

For the kisses prompt lumineric 7 or 17 if it's ok?

hell YES it is absolutely ok

two quick disclaimers, I did pick 7 because that one came to me first… but the catch is it DID turn into an FF9 au (because if I like a ship I’m gonna make a 9 au out of it, it’s just the Cosmic Bear Order). specifically I’m going off of the ending of 9, so it might help to watch the ending first if you don’t already know how it goes (I started it off at the 18:10 mark on the video)

I’m gonna take a crack at 17 though when I figure out something aside from “get caught in rain” I promise you that at least

~

7. Slowly, while everyone is watching

It’s been a long time, Nova thinks, since he last saw a play.

His musings don’t go unnoticed. Once Hendrik and Krystalinda have announced themselves, salutes and all, they don’t waste any time in coming closer to the throne, and to his side. It’s rather comforting that Hendrik is all the more familiar with him now, though Nova doubts he’ll ever be as casual as Krystalinda, who places a hand on his shoulder without much thought. “Are you alright, dear boy?”

“Yes. I’m alright.” And he is, all things considered. “The theatre ship should be arriving any minute now.” Nova smiles. “I can’t wait to see everyone again.”

“And you’re sure about this, Your Majesty?” Hendrik has gotten better, but Nova supposes he couldn’t expect him to forgo all his knightly training. He would expect no less from the captain of the guard. “No one would think ill of you, should you need more time.”

But Nova shakes his head, wizened and serene. “No. If I keep pushing it aside, then I’ll never be ready.” He pauses a moment, to brush his hair back behind his ear. He’s been letting it grow out since then, brown tresses now only ghosting over his shoulders. “I have to let go of the past.”

Before Hendrik can speak again, the roaring sound of propellers cuts the conversation short. Above the castle balcony hangs the Salty Stallion, preparing to dock amidst the growing crowd, eager to see the upcoming show. Everyone in Dundrasil could do with some excitement. Everyone could do with some new, happy memories.

Nova looks up to the ship. Sylvando is at the bow, waving down at him with a grin so wide it could be seen from the heavens. He returns the gesture with gusto.

It won’t ever be the same, Nova thinks, his heart still heavy but healing every day, but I have to move on. Just like he taught me.

~

It is unsurprising, what the play chosen for tonight was going to be.

Nova isn’t sure what else he thought Sylvando would have organized, back when this whole event was scheduled. “It’s your favorite play, darling,” he had said, “and to be fair, we never did finish the show proper for your birthday. As far as I’m concerned, we owe our king this one!”

Nova had wanted to argue, but Sylvando is always insistent, and there was little point in fighting him. And when Sylvando steps out onto the stage front, he’s beaming with that same enthusiasm he had in the weeks prior. 

It sets Nova’s heart at ease. Some things don’t change, he supposes.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Sylvando begins, “Tonight’s performance is a story that takes place long, long ago. Our heroine, Princess Serenica, is torn from her lover, Erdwin. She attempts to flee the castle, only to be captured by her father, King Morcant. Tonight’s story begins when Erdwin and Serenica decide to run away together.”

Sylvando begins to step back at the light dims, flourishing his exit with a bow. 

“And now, Your Royal Majesty, King Nova; Lord Hendrik; Lady Krystalinda…”

He rises up, both arms extended, and the crowd begins to cheer.

“…noble ladies and lords, and our rooftop viewers! The Soldiers of Smile proudly present–’I Want To Be Your Canary’!”

~

The play proceeds as expected, and Nova cannot express how happy he is to see Serena in the lead.

He supposes it’s not that surprising–she’s much more soft and sweet than her sister, better suited for such a bespoken role–but from the start of their travels, she was complacent in letting Veronica take center stage. Serena came into her own right through trials and error and tribulation, her voice stronger than ever before, and Nova is so proud to call her his friend.

“Erdwin?” She calls from the stage’s castle wall, coming down to the center stage to meet a man coming from the right. He’s cloaked, heavily so, and Nova can’t discern anything about him, but he’s seen the Soldiers of Smile before, and he knows it can only be Faris under the cloak.

“Sweet Erdwin,” Serena lets herself fall into Faris’ arms, and he cradles her head against his chest, “I fear I love thee more than I should!”

“Princess…” Faris speaks now, his voice more powerful than Nova recalls, but he thinks he has Sylvando to thank for that, “Wilt thou be happy, married to a lowly peasant such as I?”

“Prithee, call me ‘princess’ no more!” Serena lifted herself from Faris’ chest. “Erdwin, wilt thou truly cherish me, the king’s only daughter? Or is such a desire too dear to wish for?!”

Her excitement seems to be getting the better of her; Nova can see the way her lips curl for miles, even as she speaks such serious, sad words, “After our nuptials, shall I become no more than a puppet? A mindless puppet–never to laugh, never to cry?”

Her head shakes, and Serena turns her face to the sky. “I wish to live my life under the sky. At times, I shall laugh, and at other times, cry. For no life is more insincere, than that lived as a masquerade.”

Faris laughs, and raises a hand from Serena’s shoulder to her cheek, drawing her face back to him. “Such consideration thou hast given it! But worry not!”

He draws Serena back into his arms, so soft, so eager. “Cast aside thy trappings of royalty, and I shall swaddle thee in a gown of pure love. Never again will I part from thee–pray, my love! Make me thy canary, to keep forever in the cage of your bosom.”

Nova hears the swoons from the audience below loud as day, as they both part once again. 

“Let us embark on the first ship tomorrow,” Faris continues, “before dawn can can tell of our elopement.”

“All my fortunes at thy feet, I lay,” Serena answers, “and I shall follow thee throughout the world!”

Faris begins to tread backward, to leave the stage once more, and he holds Serena’s hand as long as he can. “No cloud, no squall, shall hinder us!”

He releases her reluctantly, reaching for her even as he departs, leaving Serena alone on stage once more.

“O, love is the sweetest joy, and the wildest woe.” Serena falls to her knees, hands clutching at her heart. “All I wish… is to be by my sweet Erdwin’s side.”

She speaks wistfully, longing in her voice, and it’s strange, because suddenly, Nova truly understands those words now. And it stings all the more now, because he knows how this play ends.

On stage left, crouched behind the backdrop of stars, the wheels of this tragic tale have already begun to spin–but what Nova isn’t expecting is that Faris is the one to turn them.

“Fie!” He curses, and now Nova can’t even imagine why he thought he was playing Erdwin, “It shall be war again unless this marriage is stopped. Ne’er will I let their plan come to fruition.”

He stands from his hiding spot, and comes to center stage alongside Serena. He bows. “Good day to ye, Highness.”

Serena, rising from the ground, curtsies, cautiously. “Good day…”

“Wist thee of Erdwin?”

“Erdwin?!” She crosses the gap between them without a second thought, “What news dost thou bring?”

“This!”

Faris reels back his fist, and sends it down into Serena’s stomach. It isn’t a real strike, clearly, but the chorus of gasps from the audience make it seem all the more lifelike. And as Serena cries out and crumples into Faris’ arms, the stage goes dark, leaving Nova with far more questions than he’d anticipated.

~

When the lights come back on, they shine on Sylvando, who strides on stage every bit of the imposing king he’s meant to portray. “Where is she?!” He shouts. “Where has mine only daughter gone?!”

It doesn’t surprise Nova–even if the theatre troupe is a front, Sylvando has always taken that front very seriously–but it is strange to see such a jovial man so serious. He must be enjoying himself tonight, Nova thinks.

Faris enters the stage once more, descending from the staircase, and Sylvando turns to greet him. “Faris, good man! Hast thou seen Serenica?”

When Faris reaches the stage, he bows assuredly. “Worry not, Majesty. I shall make sure Serenica marries Prince Drustan. Be thou at ease.”

“At ease, sayest thou?” Sylvando retorts, “How can I rest, not knowing she is safe? Could it be…” He eyes Faris with a glare, “thou hast betrayed me?”

“By my troth, sir,” Faris asserts, “I betrayed none other than poor Erdwin!”

“Thou had the gall to betray thy dearest friend.” Sylvando snorts, and steps closer to Faris. “Would thou not betray me as swiftly?”

Faris takes a step back, panic beginning to fill his eyes. “Stay thy hand, I merely…”

But Sylvando does not stay his hand. He draws his sword, and strikes Faris down. Even knowing that it is fake, Nova cannot help but wince at the sight, as do many others in the audience below.

As Sylvando walks away from Faris’ crumpled from, Faris cries out with his last breath, “I merely sought a lasting peace between two kingdoms!”

Jade and Veronica arrive from both sides of the stage; Veronica’s hair has been hidden away into her hat, Nova notes, most likely to separate her from her sister.

“The traitor is dead!”

“O, cruel fate!”

But Sylvando does not give them the time to talk, and addresses them with a wave of his hand. “You two–quickly, find Serenica and bring her to me!”

Each girl addresses him with a bow–”Yes, Your Majesty.”–and are off just as quickly as they came.

“Wretched daughter!” Alone once more, save for Faris playing dead on the floor, Sylvando turns to the audience as the stage turns black again. “How dare she disobey her father’s wishes!”

~

When the stage lights again, the play is in it’s final scene. 

Or at least, so Nova believes it to be. He knows this play so well, reading it cover to cover endlessly over the course of his life, but this scene, with the painted sky of two moons and the encroaching dawn, are unfamiliar to him. Erdwin–who he can only assume now is being played by Dave, because Nova can think of no one else–awaits on stage, alone, for Serenica. 

Sylvando, it seems, has taken artistic liberty, which isn’t uncommon for a play so old. Nova supposes he understands the excitement now.

“The time for our departure is long past.” Erdwin speaks. “Where is Serenica?”

As fate would have it, from stage left comes Dave, and now Nova is finally out of options for who the leading man is. Perhaps it’s someone new, he thinks, someone he hasn’t met yet in the time since their journey ended.

“Erdwin!” shouts Dave, “The ship soon embarks! Board ye this boat alone, and peace could come to both kingdoms, as Faris so said.”

Erdwin says nothing, and Dave implores again, “Speak, Erdwin!”

“…she told me should could not live without me.” 

The melancholy, performative as it is, is still almost too much to bear, even if Nova does not know the words this time. Erdwin turns his back to the crowd, to face the painted sky; shadows of birds now dance along the coming sun. 

“So, the sun is our enemy, too. The eastern sky grows bright. Will we not spread our wings, as yonder birds in joyous flight?”

“Hark, Erdwin!” Dave pleads, beginning to run off stage. “They cannot wait any longer! The ship departs!”

But Erdwin does not move, now alone, gaze trained to the birds above him. “Could she… have betrayed me?” He begins a pace across the stage, desperation in his every move. “Nay, ne’er would my love speak false–I must have faith! She shall appear, if I only believe! As the sun lends me no ear, I pray instead to the twin moons!”

His stance now strong once more, Erdwin turns to face the painted moons, arms raised in prayer. “I beseech thee, wondrous moonlight–grant me my only wish!”

He lowers himself to the ground, and for a moment, Nova thinks he is preparing to beg. But then, Erdwin’s hand grabs at the bottom of his cloak, and tears it up and away from him–and when the first thing Nova sees of this man is a blue tail, he all but jumps to his feet.

Erik throws the cloak away from him, chest heaving, face grinning, hand outstretched to the throne. “Bring my beloved Eleven to me!”

~

Everything else after that is a blur.

Nova stands on the balcony dumbfounded for what feels like eons, but when he finally registers that yes, he isn’t dreaming, and yes, Erik is alive, and yes, Erik is waiting for him, he dashes to the doors, and if not for Hendrik and Krystalinda holding their arms out to block the way, he would have barreled through them without stopping.

Nova does skid to a stop, though, and is prepared to command and plead his way through–but the two push the doors open for him without a word.

He looks to Hendrik, who smiles, and nods. He looks to Krystalinda, who chuckles, and bows at the door. He wonders if they knew all along, and then decides that he doesn’t really care.

Nova gasps out a hushed, “Thank you”, and runs once again, down the spiral staircase, tripping on the last stair but refusing to fall. The guards at the front door jump away when he charges ahead, and he pushes through into the crowd below.

The sudden burst of sunlight is blinding, and Nova finds himself bumping into a man before pushing through, past noblemen and women and all sorts, none of whom are prepared to see their king stumbling through the crowd as fast as he can. 

And the crowd only begins to part for him when cries of his presence begin to rise and carry like a wave, and by that point, the goal is in sight. Erik is stepping down from the stage waiting to greet him, and when he sees Erik run a hand through his hair with a shy grin, Nova throws his crown off his head onto the ground, and all but leaps into Erik’s open arms.

He almost knocks Erik off his feet. Serves him right, a part of Nova thinks, for leaving him alone like that for so long, but the rest of him is too caught up with the feeling of Erik’s arms wrapped around his waist, tight as can be, spinning him in circles before finally setting Nova down. And when Nova looks at Erik in the eyes once more, he realizes that it’s through his own tears and held back sobs.

He brings his hands to cup Erik’s face, and Erik gives him an apologetic look. He puts a hand between them, and wipes away a tear from Nova’s cheek with his finger.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Erik says, or at least, he might have said it, because Nova had pulled Erik’s lips against his own before he even had time to think about it.

There was so much that could be said, so much that had to be said still. Everything they all saw and felt that day Erik parted from them. Nova had thought he’d said them all on that fateful goodbye, but as he kissed Erik, and Erik squeezed his waist and kissed him tenfold in return, he realizes that he’d still been holding back. Nova always knew he had been, he supposes, but it a gentle lie like that had been helping him along to heal. He would have faced the full truth, one day, when the past was truly behind him.

The past is behind him now. Behind all of them. And in its place, a brighter future Nova couldn’t have dared to dream of.

There is still so much he wanted to say, and could only say between desperate lips and hushed voices, but Erik pulls Nova away from him, and knocks their foreheads together. In the distance, Nova can hear the cheers of the kingdom, and their companions, but he’s far too lost in Erik to give them much thought.

Nova’s arms against his shoulders, Erik shrugs, and smiles. And Nova falls into Erik’s arms, his head on his shoulder, and fist pounding against his chest. He only stops when he feels Erik’s hand slide up his back, and when Erik lays his head against his, and presses a kiss to his ear, Nova begins to cry without relent.

[amidst-wonderland]

“Nova Scotia.”

Michael x Nora (Finally, some fluff!)

September 9th 1929.

“Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play.” – Yesterday, the Beatles.

   “They’ll never forgive us, will they?”

   Nora lightly snorted, her face falling into the crook of Michael’s neck as she carelessly dropped the swaying the bottle of red wine in her hand over the rug, the liquid being too heavy for the intoxicated state then spilled across the rug, Both too exhausted to care as he indulged in his first cigarette of the day – his ex-mother-in-law had beaten the habit and banned it in her presence.

   “Would you?”

   “Forgave mum, didn’t I?”

   She shook her head. “That’s no the same ‘hing.”

   Michael pursed his lips, enjoying the comfort, warmth and sheer ecstasy of the redhead being back in his arms for the first time in years. It was like being simply a teenager again, back on his eighteenth birthday giggling to one-another as they stumbled over the cobbles throughout Small Health. Both himself and Nora had suffered some injuries that night, on the vacant street and once they’d finally clobbered inside. Nora still wore the ageing burn from the butt of his cigarette, just above where her wedding ring used to rest.

   Sadly, their first drunken encounter seemed to be his only memory of true bliss between them, no toddlers parading around the house in the starkers whilst clients visited them leaving blistering hear-rates, no financial burdens and not a single meddling Shelby in slight, sticking their arse in it for him. Not until Esme began inviting Nora round for dinner but he should probably have thanked her for that one.

   Though, he was struggling to see her point, in how his own children experienced anything vastly different to he himself when he was their age – particularly Rosie. There was little evidence to debate that his trials and tribulations with abandonment was anything any less scarring. The only aspect he could consider, is that George and Rosie where – and still are – children. Rosie’s five and George isn’t far off seven but still, their innocence remains, they’ve gotten both their parents back and are sound asleep in a loving environment.

   “Rosie’s started talking in ‘er sleep; greetin an shite tae.” She sighs, “telt me nuthin’. Bit George’s got a big gob so, ah’ll squeeze sumthin’ oot eventually.” 

   Michael tosses a loose strand of hair out of Nora’s face as she shifts in his arms, scrounging for some heat. Despite the similarities in both name and distant culture, Nova Scotia really gave Glasgow a run for it’s money in this dire temperature. In a discontent response, Nora starts muttering in incomprehensible Scots, something about how cold it was – obviously – though, usually he could keep up with her. Which came in handy in the recent uprising of the Billy Boys, or as Nora knows them: her neighbours.

   Nora idyllically closed her eyes, resting her head back on Michael’s chest feeling his breathing as she moves with each inhale and exhale from every drag, though begins tirelessly murmuring to herself. “Ma poor wee lassie.”

   “What have we done?”

   “Ruined my ma’s perfectly good carpet? Nearly burnt doon the hoose? Chucked aw the snow by accident-“

   He rolls his eyes, “-I, meant us, Nora.”

   “We,” she pauses, letting the multitude of answers float around her conscious before grabbing one. “We, destroyed the lives of our weans... and each-other.” Nora glances off to the table, opposite his gaze she could feel crawling at her own internal guilt. “I shouldnae have stayed. I thought taking them hame meant a fresh start, new school tae gee them a proper chance tae grow, at their own pace. A year, before the church got tae them.”

   Nora swallows before continuing, “Efter it was all over – y’know with Changretta – I saw an opening, so ah took it. Got on the first train back to Glasgow and never tunred back. Two weeks later, ma brother found a letter thit had been delivered tae ma da’s pub from John Shelby.”

   “What was it?”

   “Rings. Esme sent me his rings, she’d heard through bletherin’ thit ah’d left you lot and she knew ah probably didnae have a lot of cash.” She stares up at him for a moment, smiling sofly. “Didnae have the heart tae sell mine, too feart ah widnae get it back.”

   “You did the right thing. Tommy played everyone.”

   “We never exactly fought for it. It was for them; it was always them.”

   “Maybe we just weren’t ready? For us.”

   “Are we ever going to be ready?”

[ladyshiranui]

Hi, I’d like to request a match-up with the Shinsengumi please? I’m an INFP and often very talkative, outspoken, fun and sarcastic. However, I tend to overanalyze and doubt myself a lot. I love spending time with my friends but prefer a cozy evening with a good talk, laughter and a movie over a big party. Cuddling is my love language, but overly flirty ways make me feel very uncomfortable. My core values are independence and friendship and my greatest passions are stories and writing. Thank you!

I match you with…

Toudou Heisuke! 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

The “talkative, outspoken, fun and sarcastic” nature you refer yourself to possess is very much like our very own ball of sunshine. Beyond his happy exterior, however, is a confused child. Disowned by his birth family, not quite understanding where he belongs or who he is as a person, he would absolutely doubt himself. Little in his life has been rock solid– his family, his alliance, even his sanity after he drinks the Water of Life for the sake of keeping himself alive. The poor boy would only ever want affirmation that his decisions are the right ones. 

Heisuke is, more often than not, surrounded with company. Whether it’s one of his closer friends, Harada or Nagakura, or in a larger group of his fellow comrades down at the Red Lights, there’s always someone close by. Sometimes he likes to rave, blowing the roof off the place, but he’ll absolutely appreciate the quiet moments with a bestie or significant other. 

If you’ve noticed, you see in all three of the ‘idiot trio’, Heisuke, Harada and Nagakura, all like to have a break from each other. When they all feel the need to spill their feelings and inner conflicts of recently passed events, all three will have their alone time, or spend time with Chizuru, AKA the MC, the spirit of the player, rather than altogether.

Cuddling would be one of Heisuke’s, if not top, favourite things to do in the world. Physical touch, and I believe words of affirmation, would be his love languages, as he would respond to these displays of affection the most. At times, he might seem overly enthusiastic to cuddle, but other times, as he would be someone who doubts himself, he may become a little standoffish. 

He might fear that he’s not sure if he deserves this too-good dream coming true– having someone by his side, having someone to love and to hold– and may seclude from intimacy every now and again, as though to prepare himself for the worst so he wouldn’t have to feel the abandonment so strongly. In summary, I think Heisuke would have an approach to love language very similarly to yourself.

To be independent would be one of Heisuke’s biggest values, I think. Between being rejected by his birth family, leaving the Shinsengumi with Itou, suffering the repercussions of becoming a Fury, and coping with the feeling of being betrayed by Sanan and having to be the one to end his life, surely he’d come to the conclusion that trust is a very delicate thing, and that being able to rely on yourself is one of the most important traits a person should have.

Heisuke would love story telling. He gets to gesticulate wildly, use all kinds of emotions to reciprocate his experiences, or perhaps made-up adventures of fantastical tales, how would he not enjoy a good story or two? If he had the ability, I think Heisuke would love keeping a journal. Having so many emotions stir within him, his mind trying to work everything out while drawing energy from his own will, I think writing words on a page, any kind of words, not mattering if they make sense or not, would be a nice release for him. After all the sorts of trials and tribulations he would’ve been through, he would know that many kinds of words have power behind them, and he’d get to write all of them down in a book for his safe-keeping.

Your runners up were Harada Sanosuke and Nagakura Shinpachi! 

[comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog]

Mike Makowski

Welcome to the gang, Count Fagula. Mike has been accepted! You know what to do.

Name/Alias: Sympathy

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 21

Join Our Discord: n/a

Timezone: Pacific Standard

Activity: 8/10

Triggers: n/a

Password: Jimmy can fast pass my ass

Character that you’re applying for: Mike Makowski

Favourite ships for your character: Anything with chemistry.

in character info

Full name: Michael Eleonore Adams-Makowski

Birthday: March 20th

Sexuality, gender, pronouns: Bi curious. Biological male. He/him pronouns.

Age and grade: 19

Appearance: Standing in at 5’8”, Mike is your painfully average teenage boy in terms of physique and stature. He’s tall and skinny; there’s really not much to look at if we’re being honest. He has stormy blue/grey eyes and long black hair that reaches down to his butt that he dyes frequently. His regular attire is almost always dark— dark shirt, dark pants, and such, though unlike other dark groups, he enjoys a variety of colors to compliment his outfit. A few of his favorite colors include green, red, and purple, but he’ll dabble in other parts of the spectrum. Do not trust this man to be able to dress properly. Please. He almost always grabs the first things he can get his fingers on from his closet and wears it, even if it doesn’t go together.

Personality: Despite being a creature of the night, he isn’t broody and dark as the media portrays. Mike is a kind-hearted boy; clingy, yet caring towards his friends. He’s very defensive over his interests and hobbies, not being one to hesitate in defending himself. He likes using big words in his day to day speech and will go out of his way to do research on various dialects if only to make himself sound more appealing. Anger isn’t something he can express well, usually dissolving into tears and running from challenges. Mike likes to think he can be tough, but the facade easily slips once he can no longer hold the reins which is, unfortunately, a lot of the time.

History:  After his mother died during birth complications and his father abandoning him thereafter, Michael was placed into foster care at the start of his life and it was really all he had ever known for those first few years. He went in and out of the care of several families before finding a small but loving family in a one Erik Adams. When Michael turned eight, they moved to South Park and settled down in time for Mike to start the third grade. He lived happily, living a relatively normal life until he discovered his interest in Vampires. This interest would grow rapidly and by the time he hit fifth grade, he took the alias of “Vampir” and started what would be the beginnings of South Park’s Vampire Society. He made friends, expanded his circle of Vampires, and was at the peak of his happiness.

Middle School and High School wasn’t much of a change. Michael worked hard to keep his grades up and found another interest in cosmetology- more specifically, hair styling. He did a lot of self-experimentation, and occasionally would ask his friends for help if he needed it. He’s currently working two jobs; he’s a hairdresser at the town’s salon and works the night shift at McDonalds, saving up to get into a good college to pursue his dream of opening his own salon.

Life had been going well until the end of his senior year. Mike had only recently turned nineteen and was excited to graduate. Things were going smoothly until he was ambushed by a few strangers while on his way home from his night shift. Blinded and bound, he was dragged away into a remote part of the forest. Much of the encounter was a blur. All he can remember is being offered “the opportunity of a lifetime”, and then waking up in his bed hours later, seemingly unharmed save for the needle like pain in his neck. It wasn’t long before he found that he had been turned into a vampire and at first, he was ecstatic. The fangs and slight pointed ears were cool and he couldn’t resist showing off. But he found all too quickly the trials and tribulations that came with the “gift” and is currently learning to live his life to the best of his abilities while he deals with the effects of vampirism.

Sample paragraph: (copy pasted this from the old form. Does not reflect my current Mike. Pls spare me)

Raising pets takes a lot of hard work. Raising four of them in a tiny motorhome took a lot more work, but Mike managed and was happy, and that was really all that mattered to him just before his own pet’s happiness. Working at a reptile store had its perks— he saved a lot on food and heat lamps and anything he could use to keep everyone content. At least for a short time. Having so many pets was usually met with the occasional fight or trip to the veterinarian. Lucky for the vampire, today was rather quiet and calm.

Mike was in his trailer, lounged delicately on the couch, focused on perfecting his eyeshadow. He didn’t seem to mind the prodding claws or cold skin of his pets as they crawled every which way. Narcissa was his oldest— a bearded dragon, large and happily perched on his knee. She had been the first pet he had gotten, having purchased her from the very store he worked at currently. She’d been so tiny at the time— just a baby. It was crazy how much she had grown in only a few months. His Leopard Gecko, Roswell, was side eyeing Dracula, a Crested, from the armrest. Those two had been impulse buys from a Petco. They never got along great, but it was better than living life in a pet store, he thinks. Damien the gopher snake was curled loosely around his shoulders. Mike had rescued the poor guy after a Hawk had dropped him. The amount to repair the damages had been quite the blow to his account but earning a new set of friends made it all worthwhile.

Headcanons: - Dyes his hair a lot. Usually goes for a new color every few months.

- It’s illegal to own bats so he opts for snakes. He owns two of them.

- Pure virgin. Nobody wants to smash this disaster.

Anything else: n/a

[ezilyamuzed]

Baby

Summary: Who better to give a the Tale of the Winchester’s than the one who has been there through it all?

Warnings: SPN spoilers. Language. A little angsty/fluffy I guess- I don’t know how really to define it.

A/N: This is for @ain-t-bovvered 800 Follower “Tales of a Winchester” challenge. She said that it could be from anyone, and I chose the one that many of us have fallen in love with throughout the years. This is her side of the story. No pairing and includes the last 13 years. 

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human & don’t do the beta thing. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!   

*gifs/photos are not mine-obtained from google*

Most of you have already heard the tale of Sam and Dean. The two wayward sons of John Winchester, carrying on with their family’s legacy: Saving people, hunting things. The family business, as Dean likes to call it. Well, I am here to tell you my side of the journey on the road so far. Let me start by introducing myself to you now, I’m Baby.

Now I know this may seem strange to some, an old and worn down car illustrating to you what it is really like alongside the brothers, but as a wise man once said, “Family don’t end in blood”. From their beginnings I have watched them grow, only to become the men they had been destined to be. Through all the trials and tribulations they prevailed, as I watched in the distance awaiting for them to come back to me. To come home. There are endless stories that i could tell, but first, let’s go back a little further to my beginning.

April 24th, 1967 was the day that I rolled through a small town assembly line, unknowing and ready for the adventures to come that would define my purpose within the world. Sal Moriarti was the first family I had known. Although he wasn’t perfect, he trusted me to carry on his purpose he had found in life. Providing bibles to the poor to “get folks right for judgement day” as he would say. He was a good man.

After Sal had died, I found myself once again alone, awaiting my next adventure. Rainbow Motors, a small used car lot in Lawrence, Kansas in 1973 was when I met John. A young, love stricken Marine hoping to find the perfect vehicle for his intended bride. After a little encouragement, from a face I would not see again for many years, he picked me to be apart of his family.

Mary had been a little reluctant with me at first, but it didn’t take long for her to welcome me with the same love that John had shown me. The two of them would sit together, closely on my leather clad seats, holding each other’s hands for hours as I took them wherever they wanted to go. Allowing the wind to blow through their hair, as they exchanged loving smiles. Those are the days I still hold dearly within my memory. They did this for many years, while sometimes even slipping towards the smooth leather of my backseat, holding onto one another through the night. That is where their love for each other would truly come alive, and where Dean’s story really began.

Dean. The freckled faced little boy that was full of mischief, adventure, while also exhibiting a sense of wonder and amazement to the world around him as he stared through my windows. I watched him grow, from a wide-eyed infant, as I carefully welcomed him home from the hospital, to the man you know today. Loudly singing along, off key to the radio with his parents, he would always smile. I wish I could have never let that smile fade, but that was out of my control.

Sam had been born just a few years later. The curious little Winchester, who often would be seen in later years with his face buried in another book while his father and Dean prepared for their next adventure. Although Mary was gone, I could see a lot of her in him. His bright smile and tender care for others let me know that she was still here.

I remember John sitting on my hood that fateful night, clenching his two sons close to his heart while watching the life he knew disappear within the flames. John did what he could for them, but he had been broken after she was taken. That was when I was given my new purpose, as their stories continued. I was no longer just a car to them. I was home. I would shelter and protect them as the tread on my tires wore thin with every mile traveled.

Now being the home of two rambunctious boys, they were bound to add their own marks on me. The little green army man that Sam had decided to place in my ashtray, is still there to this day, reminding my of my little soldier. Dean, being the silly boy that he was, added his own touch of legos within my vents, that still do this day will rattle as the heat from my engine warms them on the cold nights. Then there is my favorite part, the initials carved within my body by the two boys I had already loved so much. They placed their mark on me forever, and forever it will remain.

There have been years of heartache, often moving from one sad ending to another, but there has been laughter as well. Like during the times when Sam and Dean allowed themselves to act like the silly children I had known, pulling pranks on each other often with some assistance from me. No matter what was happening in the world around them, I was there. Parked under the night sky for them to lay across my hood to just stare up at the stars, or to provide shelter when they had grown tired and weary.

Every twist and turn of the winding road brought us all closer together. They all instilled their most precious treasures with me, and a few other items that no other family car would have. But none of that is important right now. What is important is the journeys that have led us to here.

Some of the nights on the road so far would be peaceful, with the only sound heard was the purring of my engine moving swiftly throughout the night. There were others when I pushed myself with the help of one of the boys to get them out of danger, sometimes feeling the blood soak through my interior, only fueling me more to get them towards safety. Those nights were the scariest, but they always kept fighting. Never faltering in their quest to save the people they had met along the way. All while killing some evil son of a bitches and raising a little hell, I was there.

There had been times when I thought my story was going to end, as I struggled to protect them inside my four walls. Every time it would be Dean that would bring my back from the brink of death, leaving all my perfect imperfections in place because, as he said once, it was what made me beautiful. He was the one who was the first to affectionately name me Baby after John had handed him my keys, because the journey and the memories of Mary sitting next to him on the bench seat were just too hard to keep remembering. Since then it has been Dean, with a little help from Sam that has made sure that I was always taken care of. Always ready for the next fight.

It can become tiring, moving constantly from one side of country to another, often only stopping out of necessity before reaching our destination. When Dean had chosen to try the civilian life after Sam had fallen into the pit, trapping Lucifer with him, I knew it was for the best. I have to admit that for a little bit the sound of BBQ’s and him teaching little Ben how change a spark plug would make me smile, knowing that he was finally allowing his weary head to rest. But I missed my family. I missed the adventure.

I have to say that there was some jealousy that came from me when I saw Sam pull up in that newer model sports car when he returned. I may have enjoyed it a bit when Dean and I put on a little show, proving who was the fastest and sweetest car around. I knew that Sam would turn around again, once he remembered where his home was.

The months where I stood, parked away and hidden by that old worn tarp while the boys fled from those after them was the hardest. Not knowing if they were ever to return, brought ache throughout me as I felt the dust growing heavier upon me. When I saw Sam’s solemn face, I knew that Dean had been in trouble, but I never gave up hope that he would return back home.

Family is something you never give up on. While the Winchester’s have been mine, now for the last 45 years, there have been others that I include on that list. Old drunks, youthful rebellions, strong-willed women, mothering caretakers, prophets of the lord, as well as a few angels and demons have all been included. They are the epiphany of what family looks like, through all the laughter, anger and tears. I enjoyed knowing them all, and saddened as I drove most of them to their final resting places, laying down their weary heads to rest for the last time.

What is my life like now? Well we have all found our home along the road we have traveled. I sit resting and waiting for when the boys need me to go on another epic adventure together. I will never complain that the hours are rough as well as the road when we hit a few bumps because I am with them.

I am with my family. I am forever a Winchester. I am Baby.

Forever's:  @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @curly-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67 @dean-winchesters-bacon @jaylarkson @ladywinchester1967 @wildefire @hobby27

[abitterlifethroughcinema]

         #ABitterLifeThroughCinema’s WOKE! Film Reviews

     The Top Ten (+1) Best Movies of 2018 and where to find them!

                                                          by

                                           Lucas Avram Cavazos

+1…11. Overlord  Having its premiere at this year’s Sitges Int’l Film Fest, Overlord not only happened to be one of the fave films screened there this past festival, but this cinematic fantasy is an all-too-real and stark portrayal of a horror that actually occurred, and it deserves a nod from the Barcelona film critic family, so here it goes. Duly noted, I’d say. It starts with an insane aerial combat mission on the night of D-Day, one which goes awry and sees only a handful of paratroopers surviving the drop when enemy fire rains hell. They land in provincial France and the plot sets out to detail some of the inner workings of the Third Reich in reference to the insane, gruesome experiments done on captured Europeans and Jews. Those stories you’ve heard about turning these poor people into guinea pigs for super soldier intent using potent, injected serums…yeah, those? They’re true, if you believe the words of JJ Abrams. Are they as utterly brutal and horror/zombie film-like as displayed here? I sure as hell hope not. (now available On Demand and DVD)

10. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs There once was a film called O Brother Where Art Thou? While this is not its sequel, there is a sharp-witted vein to this film that could only be crafted and gifted to us by the Coen Brothers. What a hoot it is, even if it is a rather darkly-tinted hue of that hoot and humour. It is also one of their finest in years. Revolving around the singing cowpoke Buster Scruggs (Tim Blake Nelson) and five other tales brought to us with the commonly-threaded theme of death in often brutally funny ways, this film is a fine return to oddball form from two of the finest sibling directors of all time. Starring Liam Neeson, James Franco, Zoe Kazan, even Tyne Daly and so many in its vignettes, and that acting star power fuses this Western comedy into new territory for the brothers. Their previous works set in the west always seemed to be re-hashing works of years gone by but here, with their usage of almost comic-book-like details and witty banter make this much more enjoyable than their other historical works like O Bother and their remake of True Grit. Best western in absolute years! (available on Netflix or VOD)

9. Eighth Grade This poignant little film, which should have been wide-released everywhere the world over, is given fierce and bittersweet star power by Elsie Fisher, protagonist and student at the heart of this film. Comedian Bo Turnham has brought us the quintessential coming-of-tweenage story and along with Fisher, everyone in this film is so perfectly placed in their roles, especially Josh Hamilton as her dad, who deserves some nominations for this film but is unlikely to get any. Telling the story of 13-year old Kayla, we the audience get a sneak-peek into the minds and lives of today’s young adults. From her simple YouTube videos made to encourage other young kids to her obvious desire to fit in with older kids to her insecurity with boys, this film paints a stark reality that too many have lived through and this little indie film deserves aplomb from anywhere it can get it! (now available On Demand and DVD)

8. A Star is Born I skipped the critics’ screening of this film for the mere fact that I couldn’t bear to see if the acting and plot lines were another torrid take on a much-redone film. Even into the holiday season, I had not yet seen it and then when I did, I certainly took back any reservations. Bradley Cooper’s update of the film starring himself and Lady Gaga is just about as good as everyone said it was, and that was beyond refreshing to note post-viewing. In many ways, I feel that Cooper is likely revealing a few things about himself with the guise of “it’s a movie” being a nice cover; in some ways, he gives us what I believe are hints of his covert life, and it’s with Gaga’s turn as Ally that we really see him shine beyond the shtick of his character, country-rocker Jackson Maine. In a tad corny-tad, gripping way that takes hold the moment you see Gaga, let’s be frank and real, this film goes on to detail a Diet Coke version of the grim realities that often detail too many a tale of celebrity in Hollywood. Without revealing too many details of the film’s plot and denouement, we are looking at a necessary conversation about alcoholism, drug addiction and fame (plus a lack of ’NO’ men/women in many relationships) that needs to addressed for all ages. Well done, Mr. Cooper Goes to the Oscars. (At select screens, On Demand & DVD)

7. El Angel Incidentally, this may be the first time in a rather long time that I say something good about Argentinian men, so do take note. Telling the true story of fresh-faced boy killer Carlos Robledo Puch, played to Oscar-worthy perfection by newcomer Lorenzo Ferro, the masterful detail to which director Luis Ortega has crafted this arthouse meets dramedy-thriller is astounding and easily touches heights set by dePalma and even, dare I say it, Scorcese. We follow young Carlitos Puch, who is just nearing the edge of seventeen, as takes up with a rough and tough family of his devilishly attractive school chum Ramon, played by the spirited Chino Darin, son of Ricardo Darin. But as Carlitos comes to find out, his street crimes can easily be paved to real ones and his sadistic tendencies suddenly yet gradually paint a picture of someone who is in part desperate for attention and tacceptance and in part a fairly smart, well-to-do young adult. He parlays his sociopathy at pubescence into psychopathy with time, and this film will likely be, but should definitely not be, forgotten come awards and Best Of lists time.(available On Demand and DVD)

6. Black Panther As Oscar season comes to a head, it is worth talking about one of the most striking films that you’ll see for a while. Black Panther is that good, not only because of its genre but also because of its message: that seeking freedom through recreating systems of oppression will only extend the ill-treatment and broken nature we find ourselves in nowadays. Set in the fictional African nation of Wakanda, protagonist King T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman) brings us the first real black superhero from the Marvel universe. With a cast including Lupita Nyong’o, Angela Bassett, Forest Whitaker and Michael B Jordan, the acting is beyond impressive. What is even more amazing, however, is how the plot power-plays many elements of our world’s current political climate. (now available On Demand and DVD)

5. Chappaquiddick Another film which is nothing short of striking in its relevance to the current political situation in the USA. Senator Ted Kennedy was the only remaining Kennedy that I was familiar with throughout my adolescence and early adulthood. Jason Clarke as the Massachusetts senator is astounding, as is the cut of his jib and chin, although the accent was a tad weak, to be ever sincere. This is a complete revelation on the many details that were only gingerly touched upon during the course of the week following the death which this movie is detailing . As the facts are laid out in the film, it astounds me that the American people continued to vote and elect Kennedy for decades after. This is a study on arrogance, class and governmental ambiguity. And if that was the case with liberals in the Sixties, how much more so with conservatives in this digital age? My favourite film of last year’s BCN Film Festival. (now available On Demand and DVD)

4. Private Life Good Lawd this is such a heartwarming/breaking story with the finest elements of believable comedy and situational realism that define the art of the classic Gen X film from the 90s to now. May we never forget that it was Gen, and even those a few years before them, who gave us the digiverse-Netflix-instant oatmeal www.orld in which we live today and when I see a very NYC film like this one, it makes it a true reality check. Being the age that one should be married with kids, I watched Kathryn Hahn as Rachel absolutely slay the silver screen and am eager to see if she picks up any more accolades throughout the current awards season. Simple plot…she’s in her early 40s and her hubby Rich (played by Paul Giamatti) is entering his late 40s and they are fully entrenched within the confines of every single way to conceive a baby. Following the couple through their trials and tribulations really get pushed up an ante when sort-of relative Sadie (the lovely Kayli Carter) decides she will be the surrogate mum for them as things get a tad pear-shaped. This could easily be dubbed a dreamed, for in effect, it is; what needs to be known is that this is also a morality tale for a new age. The old-fashioned ethics of yesteryear just do not apply anymore, at least not in big cities, and the less is more factor easily makes this one of the finest films released within the last year. (available on Netflix)

3. BlacKKKlansman Without a doubt, this is the finest work in all too many years by Spike Lee, and he takes no prisoners in letting you know that the spilled essence of blaxploitation all over this celluloid is to egg you into knowing that this story is 100% true…and crazy. The mere fact that David Duke is literally cheerleading for the current President of the United States should scare us all and wake those who are not. Watching actor John David Washington portray Ron Stallworth, the real-life cop who slyly infiltrated the inner workings of the Klu Klux Klan 40 years ago. After signing up for the Colorado Spring PD, he realises the lack of trust in the 98% Anglo-Saxon workforce, as he’s thrown into monitoring the goings-on of any Black Panther student situations. Eventually, he takes up with a guy on the force that he can dig called Flip and played to skilled excellence by the oddest of lookers Adam Driver. Basically, the plot follows the twosome, as they tag team the aforementioned white supremacist movement, Ron being the voice and Flip being the wingman as they start an investigation on grand wizard bastard himself David Duke, played to troubling perfection by Topher Grace, evoking all of the calmness and utter sociopathic tendencies of a man reviled by most yet revered by still too many. And watching this taut film and how it rolls through such a daunting story with comedic aplomb and vicious realness gives you goosebumps. That said, as the film gets toward its ending, is when Lee gives you the goods when he flashes to scenes from the crazy Charlottesville, Virginia, riots, AntiFa protesting and subsequent death of Heather Heyer, may she rest in peace. God Save the World…and Amerikkka.

2. Fahrenheit 11/9  Premiering a few weeks ago here in Spain at very select cinema screens across the country, this is the first documentary in some time by Michael Moore that could play across an international landscape and should be required viewing on any critic’s or person’s list. The titular oddity refers to the day after we all woke up across the world in shock and awe that Donald J Trump had won the Presidency of the USA. Even if this is not Morre’s best film to date, it is undoubtedly the one that holds the viewers’ feet to the fire and calls for them to fight the nasty funk of this administration. But, it’s when he takes it back to his roots, to Flint, Michigan, and ends up involving all local and state politics, that we start to see the more sinister undertakings happening amongst conservative parties, ideals and societies. When you add in the fact of the Parkland High School shooting and the way Moore later fuses footage of Hitler and his minions and followers with a rally speech made by the current occupant of the White House, it becomes all too obvious that things are exactly as we think they are (A HOT MESS!) and we have very little recourse rather than claiming truth. (now available On Demand and DVD)

1. ROMA There are tender moments of realism that are permitted to happen with the rise of instant cinema on VOD and direct-to-home films, and it has been a pleasure to see that sites like Netflix and Amazon and Canal+ have truly added to the foray in which great celluloid can be brought to the masses. Case in point comes the finest piece of dramatic celluloid that graced the silver screen in the last year. Being a Mexican whose father is a naturalised citizen of the US and a mother who is Chicana from the US, like myself and my siblings, the sentimentality ran deep with this film. One of the differences I experienced was the fact that we were the only Mexican-American family in a stately US country club…and we had an entire childhood spent with loving housekeepers, which is what this film inherently is honouring and depicting, using the backdrop of Alfonso Cuarón’s take on growing up in 70s-upper middle class Mexico City in the neighbourhood of Roma. Depicting the life of the house assistant Cleo (first-time performer Yalitza Aparicio in a J.Hud moment, frankly) and the family of Sr. Antonio (Fernando Grediaga), a doctor in the Mexican capital, what Cuarón has called his most personal film to date, is also a B&W modern tale in the vein of Gone with the Wind, and the fact that he centres around a privileged Mexican family is poignant for several reasons: it not only takes a focus away from how Donald bloody Trump has painted Mexicans, in general, to the world, but it also highlights a very human element to how many classes of society function and live there in the frontier regions of North America and, more importantly, EVERYWHERE…easily put, this is a sweet, oft-times simple, oft-times brutal story on humanity. What binds so many critics together on this film’s merits is that fact that Alfonso Cuarón has crafted the past year’s most enigmatic movie, leaving us to make our own answers to what happens to Lady Cleo, her best mate Teresa, and this beautiful family. Absolutely and quietly stunning! (available on Netflix and selects screens across the country)