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#been putting off finishing this one-page comic for months because backgrounds

archandshri · 4 months

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9th feb '24 - [arch] characters, interactions and emotion - making a mini webcomic

Gahhhh Shri this has been an absolutely crazy couple of weeks!!!! Hope you are doing well :)) First of all, WOW! You have a lot of goals, and I’m sure you’ll get them done! I’ve worked a lot on my graphic design during the process of making Winter Wellbeing. If you wanna see a blog post dedicated just to that, I can do so! It would be cool to compare notes on the approaches we take for graphic layouts. If you wanna share your knowledge of camera skills when you build that up that would be awesome 😭😭

It’s been a tough few weeks, art wise. I have been reflecting on my process, motivations to create, the ego and all the baggage that’s lumped into the creative process for me. It turns out there’s a lot. I took some space from my illustration practise (literally for a weekend!) and began to realise how dysfunctional it is. I’ve been writing a lot about that so there may be a larger piece of writing coming about that at some point (no promises!!)

But for now, let's talk about little successes!

I’ve been playing with some characters for a while but I’d hit a bit of a block with the plot. I realised the expectation of having a finished project of high quality soon is unrealistic, and an unhealthy expectation to put on myself. I rarely give myself time to play with concepts for a long time and let the characters, plot and interactions evolve naturally. Maybe this in part came from sticking to the short university module turnaround. I noticed that that short turnaround was causing a lot of block, so I have decided to bench it as a comic for now and focus on using it as a playground - falling in love with the characters, creating stories and drawing them for fun. Maybe years down the line I’ll make them into a comic - we shall see!

I *tried* to do hourly comics day this year and it didn’t quite work for me. I think I made 3 comics? And then got distracted with a bigger project that ended up taking a week or so to complete. Let’s have a look at it, shall we?

[you can find the full version here]

First of all, it’s based on an unfinished fanfiction I started a couple of months ago, which was mostly bad, but there was one nice scene that I liked and wanted to expand on. I started by having a look at the script I wrote and thumbnailing on the iPad. I’m away from home at the mo and usually would prefer to do most of my artwork traditionally, but because I don’t have access to a scanner, the whole process was digital this time. A lot of the pages got scrapped because the dialogue wasn’t necessary, and I’m not drawing pages that aren’t necessary.

some more development screenshots

I thought a lot about posing during the process, acting the scenes out in my mind and sometimes physically, really understanding the emotions of the characters, why they’re saying what they’re saying, their tone and how to convey that though their body language and expression (i find grian really annoying normally [affectionate] but I want this grian to step on me).

Pearl was hard with this because she’s quite erratic and unpredictable in this series, so I wanted her to switch from raw explodey anger to playful jabs at Grian. I’m hoping this comes across as somewhat insane, rather than tonally off and inconsistent. I did super enjoy drawing her and her explosive nature though, especially in comparison to Grian’s coldness.

I played with levels and monotone colour too - I’m not working with multiple colours much at the moment so I’m able to focus on things like values composition, characters and backgrounds. My skills limit the kind of stories I can tell currently, so I’m working to improve those foundations. Maybe when I’m back in the riso studio I can play with colours a little more.

Colours - despite the simple pallete it gets a bit nerdy here.I stuck to specific flat percentages for most of it - Pearl’s hair and Grians jumper are 60%, Grian’s hair and Pearl’s cloak are 20%. Then I added a 14% layer for shadows, using a ahrd blend eraser tool for highlights, making the images quite dark. I fill a layer with texture from Forystr’s riso brush for procreate, and turn it into a 40% opacity colour dodge layer. This gives it some much needed texture and makes the lighting feel low and nighttimecore. It also pushes the values to look really nice - I tend to be too scared to push them by myself.

I tried a few different colour layers to get a *vibe* but settled on a low percentage riso blue in a colour layer. All layers besides the riso blue are in a riso black, colour picked from a riso colour pallete. I learnt these tools - using percentages to get good values - from working with risograph. I really recommend having a look at these techniques and doing some monotone work. It's really improved by character designs, page layouts and compositions.

That's all from me today, though I have had MANY other thoughts over the past two weeks about creating, but perhaps we'll dive into them another time. If you (or anyone else) has any questions, hit me up with a reblog or an ask and I will get right to it. Lovely to hear from you! Hope your art is going great too :)) Arch :)

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lilybug-02 · 2 years

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Happy One Year Anniversary to The Chara Timeline!!!

(I did it I finally made a front cover!!!)

It’s insane to me that it’s been a year since I started this comic. So much has happened these past 12 months, it feels unreal. And the most crazy part to me is that I’m still making it right now. Never thought I’d stay with a project this long. But that’s the magic of art 💖

Comic Talk Down Below!

Anyways, since it’s the one year anniversary, I thought I might share some fun facts and tidbits of my experience!

As an introduction, if you don’t already know, I started this as more of a one off thing, hoping to finish it in maybe 2 or 3 parts (oh how naïve I was). Surprisingly though, I had no intention to mention Chara in my first comic at all. Instead, the human’s name was supposed to be an anagram of Chara: Racha (as a cute nod to Undertale). I decided against it last minute, because it was too subtle and the thought of Chara being in college made me smile… I guess it did for many of you too.

(Can you imagine if I went with that name tho. None of this would be happening!)

After I posted it, I got such a positive response. And so many questions? I was truly bamboozled! And it made me realize how much I wanted to continue the story. So I kept drawing. And now look at me a year later, Over 70 pages done with even a comic dub to boot?! Crazy!!

It’s truly an honor to have such a following for this comic. I’ve always looked up to comic artists and their willingness to put years into projects, but I never imagined that would be me now. I’ve put insane amounts of time into this thing, I mean I’ve been juggling it with full time college, I truly don’t know how I’m functioning. But I’ve gotten so much better at art and I’ve grown as a person because of it :)

Sorry if this was a long talk it’s just really cool to make such an expansive comic for the Toby Fox games I like. Really special ❤️.

Anyways here’s a fun look into how I draw for the comic. Sketches, line art, backgrounds, and coloring (plus shading/lighting)❤️

It’s fun seeing the difference in the progress!

Man I really gotta start a KoFi or BuyMeACoffee Start up lmaoo

I might be submitting some more behind the scenes or scrapped ideas if I feel like it! There’s a ton!

Maybe I should do a drawing stream sometime soon!…that might be really fun. ❤️💕

#deltarune chara timeline #bread #deltarune #happy anniversary #art #my art #comic progression #the player #ct q&a #undertale #deltarune au #sketches #chara #kris #asriel

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peridyke · 2 years

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i like your artstyle for your lapis fancomic. it's dynamic and cute and i see in it an economy that i admire and find appealing! i'm thinking of what you said about studying good page composition and showing how it affected your work, and i'm pretty curious about your thought process on artstyle. how did you approach developing the look? were there considerations unique to doing a comic vs illustration?

Hi! This is a really cool question and I’ve been giving my answer a lot of thought as this is something I think about a lot when I work on comics, especially when I compare how I work now to how I worked when I first started out on making them.

My first thought whenever I’m developing the look I want a comic to have is efficiency, and that’s been a really tough lesson for me to learn and one I’m probably gonna keep learning as long as I’m making comics. If you’re coming to comics from an illustration background, it’s tempting to want your comic to be a work of art with intricate backgrounds and rendering. In my case, my first comic that I made ages 19-23 had a “simplified” style that I thought I could reasonably keep up for potentially thousands of pages.

In the end, after 4 years of work I only finished 35.

This is a bit of an extreme example, and for clarity’s sake my schedule was extremely off and on, but it was one of the most humbling and educational art experiences I’ve had. I’ve learned to try and be as realistic with myself as I can when I’m working on a comic page or developing my vision for the look of a comic. The most important thing to know about comics, in my opinion, is that the visuals in them are secondary to the story and content. A finished comic with a simple or crude art style is ultimately a more enjoyable work than an unfinished comic with pages that took days to finish rendering. Sometimes people are going to go back and examine the visuals of your pages and appreciate your effort, but your readers are primarily reading for the story and are going to finish looking at the visuals in as much time as it takes for them to read the dialog.

As an example, this is a page from my first comic Hellscape vs my recent page mock-up I did for my Steven Universe comic I’m currently writing.

As you can see, although the style is still what I would consider to be “rough”, I put a lot of attention to detail into my backgrounds for the Hellscape page, and while the final product looks nice it took me multiple months to finish. In comparison, my Steven Universe comic page took me 14 hours of work to reach 100% completion, and while 14 hours is still obviously a ton of time to spend on a drawing it’s nothing compared to the amount of time I would sink into rendering my old Hellscape pages. When working on my Steven Universe comic page my primary time sink was posing and perspective, and things like details and shading were kept to a minimum as I prioritized keeping my characters readable and my panels dynamic. I did some gradients and minor blending on background details like the ocean, but especially during the coloring phase I tried to make sure I was keeping a tight leash on myself for how much time I was spending on details.

As I continue to make comic pages I hope to find more and more ways to make things efficient for myself. Time is ultimately my greatest adversary as I need to keep in mind that I cannot afford to work at a rate that would leave me taking literal decades to finish my work. That’s been something I’ve been grappling with in regards to my lapis comic specifically, as it’s my most ambitious comic project I’ve planned after I stopped work on Hellscape. I’m trying to be realistic with myself and my ambitions as I plan how I want my comic to look and how long each segment of it will be, and because of that I’ve been really cautious about doing anything that I feel is jumping the gun so to speak. I’m currently making sure I have my script 100% complete before I start serious work on pages so that my only concern as I work on them is the art and composition, and importantly I’m going to be working on the entire comic as a whole and not releasing pages gradually in a webcomic format. Learning how unproductive and stressful making pages one at a time to 100% completion slowly and gradually was for me back when I was making Hellscape was a huge wake up call and after talking to a comic artist who I respect about how they tackle their projects I’ve majorly restructured how I go about breaking projects down in a way I really hope will result in a more efficient workflow for me.

Every project I do is a massive learning experience and making comics has taught me so, so much about art and my personal limitations. I’ve really had to rewire my brain to become a more efficient cartoonist and I imagine the more experienced I get the better I will be at finishing projects and making work that I’m proud of. Anyways, I’m sorry that this reply took so long for me to finish and I hope it answered your question! This kind of stuff is something I think about a lot and it was honestly hard for me to pin down all my thoughts. I really really appreciate your interest in my art and comics, it truly means the world to me <3

#txt #asks #thank you so much for this ask it was so cool…I feel like there’s so much other stuff I could say but I gotta stop for now #lest this take even longer lol #also the spacing for this post is weird on my ipad I hope it looks normal when I post it

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ikroah · 3 years

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Whiskey river, take my mind, don't let her memory torture me. Whiskey river, don't run dry, you're all I got, take care of me. —“Whiskey River,” Shotgun Willie (1973)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #15 - Vegas Outskirts

Collaborative Issue! Guest Colorist: @malpaislegate / @socksual-innuendos

Archive Links

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Read IKROAH on Archive of Our Own

Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

MAN that’s gotta hurt!! Volume 2 kicks off with a bang, literally if you count the gunshot and honorifically if you count Socks’ knockout color job on this issue. Look at those lovingly rendered bullet wounds!! Muah!!!

It’s been a relief having a month off from the comic as I handled a bunch of other things but there’s a lot to look forward to in Volume 2, as you can probably tell from that very forboding fist clench at the end there. Will Agnes and Cass get the revenge they’re looking for? Can they make it big in Vegas? Will it keep right on a-hurtin’? Find out next ish as Cass leads Agnes to meet the first of their new “friends.”

Original Pencils:

The pencils for this issue are like an autopsy report of all the things that can go wrong with your art if you don’t plan ahead and pay attention. Listen, friend, to my tale of woe, and learn from my mistakes so they don’t become yours!

First, you can see a lot of places where there’s floating objects, empty backgrounds, and incomplete heads. Part of this is because I always intended to just copy and paste repeated elements across each panel instead of drawing them multiple times, but other times I was forced to just because of my lack of planning. The top three panels on page two, for example, required me to draw the background I’d use for them on a separate page.

Second, you can probably tell that I actually had to flip the two raiders around in the final lineart because I forgot to keep the hands their were holding their guns in consistent—and since I couldn’t flip the middle panel on the second page without ruining the composition, I decided to flip all of their other appearances so that they’d be lefties. I doubt you even can seamlessly wield those particular guns left-handed.

Third, the size of the cart that Agnes and Cass are kneeling behind changes CONSTANTLY and is dramatically oversized from the third page onward. After inking these pages, it took a lot of work to correct the inks and shrink that cart in each panel, but fortunately it came out looking good.

And finally, I completely redrew the second panel on the fifth page because it wasn’t until I had already handed he pages off to my colorist that I realized having a second profile shot of Cass so soon after a first one was just...redundant and lazy-looking. So I went back to my sketchbook and whipped up a much more unique, striking angle (I also just wasn’t satisfied with the quality of my art on that panel, so I’m very glad I redrew it). But again, my failure to plan ahead bit me in the ass and my redraw attempt wound up taking up a lot more space than I thought it would, so after inking it I had to basically surgically remove it from the other inks.

I’ll be honest with you folks: part of the reason that I work in such simple, thick, high-contrast lineart is because it’s very easy to make corrections and adjustments with stuff you could technically color in Microsoft Paint.

Transcript:

EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE MOJAVE, morning. AGNES SANDS and ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY stand over the wreckage of a caravan, scattered over a dirt road.

CASS: Hell.

EXT. SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE MOJAVE, midday. Looking over a second wrecked caravan, at the bottom of a ditch.

CASS: Fuck.

EXT. PRE-WAR HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF VEGAS, mid-afternoon. AGNES and CASS survey a third wrecked caravan.

CASS: Shit. The proof is in the pudding. Or the pile of ash, rather. These attacks were done with Van Graff guns for Crimson Caravan caps. I'm sure of it.

As CASS explains her theory to AGNES, a short distance from the caravan two RAIDERS peer at the two of them from inside a barn at a ruined farmstead. They have snake-bite tattoos on the sides of their shaved heads and are holding rifles.

CASS: The scorchmarks and residue in the wreckages? That's energy weapon shit. Plasma and laser. Silver Rush special. Not like it'd be the Brotherhood. And Crimson Caravan must have bankrolled this fucked-up little hunting trip themselves.

The RAIDERS move out from the barn, sneaking up on two passers-by who’ve stopped at the caravan wreckage.

CASS: That explains why they bought me out...they needed the last loose end to saddle up back west with a tidy sum.

(NOTE: *Agnes delivered it and Cass signed it in IKROAH #7—Lou.)

CASS: It's a racket, Agnes: torch the local competition and it's win-win for both the f—

SFX: KRAK

A gunshot rips out from one of the RAIDERS’ rifles and sears across CASS’ shoulder.

CASS (gasping): —uckers.

CASS slumps down beneath the overturned caravan wagon on the road, clutching her shot shoulder.

CASS: —Aaggghghhhhhhh.

AGNES: Cass! Are you—

CASS: Fuck! Agnes, get down you moron!

AGNES ducks behind the cover of the wooden caravan wagon just as another gunshot splinters the top lip of it.

SFX: DTHWAK!

The RAIDERS advance on CASS and AGNES’ position, firing at them from off the road.

SFX: KRAK

AGNES leans over the top of the wagon with her pistol, returning fire.

SFX: BTAK BTAK BTAK

AGNES lands a shot right in one of the RAIDERS’ guts, and she drops her weapon and falls down.

SFX: SPLUT

CASS, leaning out the side of the wagon, takes as careful of aim as she can with her shotgun by holding it with her good arm. Trembling, she fires, connecting with the other RAIDER.

SFX: KBLAM

The would-have-been RAIDERS are dead.

AGNES: ...were those the Van Graffs?

CASS: No. Just some vultures.

CASS leans back behind cover to sit against the bottom of the overturned wagon again, wincing from her shoulder injury.

CASS: Ugghhn.

AGNES (slipping off duffel bag): Cass, your shoulder—

CASS: Yeah, it's been shot. I'm pretty fucking aware.

AGNES (unzipping bag): Quick, can you take your shirt off—

CASS: What!?

AGNES: —so I can dress the wound, Cass!

CASS: Oh! Good! So you weren't coming onto me on what remains of Griffin Wares Caravan.

CASS starts removing her shirt while AGNES produces a bottle of something from her duffel bag, and dampens a rag with its contents.

CASS: And since when are you a fucking field medic, anyway?

AGNES: 2269. NCR Certified.

CASS: What?

AGES: Yeah. I've been one kind of doctor or another since I was six.

CASS: What?

AGNES: Now hold still, this is antiseptic.

CASS: Since you were six!? I...shit, wait, hang on, Agnes—

AGNES pressess the rag onto CASS’ shoulder wound, and CASS winces instinctively. But, confusingly, there isn’t any pain.

CASS: ...isn't this supposed to sting like hell?

AGNES: No, not really. It's an acetic acid solution. Vinegar, basically.

AGNES begins cleaning the wound with the rag.

CASS: I thought you put alcohol on wounds to clean them.

AGNES: That's...a common misconception. It's good for tools, maybe, but too strong for skin. And it can complicate healing if you apply it directly.

CASS: So you're telling me, all my years, I've been wasting good whiskey only making my boo-boos worse?

AGNES: I mean...it's better than nothing in a pinch, but...

CASS: Well, then. Thanks for the lecture, doc. Can you just pass the whiskey anyway? Shoulder still hurts like hell regar—

AGNES hands her the whiskey bottle. She’d already gotten it out.

CASS: —dless. Oh. Thanks.

AGNES unspools a roll of bandages in her hands, then begins wrapping it over CASS’ shoulder and across her chest..

AGNES: So. It's a relatively minor wound, more of a deep graze than a real gunshot.

CASS: You'd know all about real gunshots, huh?

AGNES (unfazed): Uh-huh. I can suture it if necessary, but for now, these bandages will be fine. Just hold still. How do you feel?

CASS: I feel fucking pissed, Agnes!

AGNES recoils, taken aback slightly.

CASS: As I was saying before I got shot in the shoulder—which, however "minor" the wound, is real fucking close to my head, Agnes—this wasn't some random attack. These caravans, my caravan, got hit by the Van Graffs and Crimson Caravan. It ain't just some tragedy anymore. Now I've got names. Places. Faces.

AGNES resumes bandaging CASS.

CASS: I told you—ow! Don't pinch my tit, dammit—

AGNES: I said hold still.

CASS: —I told you, when you told me about this guy who shot you...when I let you drag me out of that fucking outpost...and when we went to Boulder City...that I would do the exact same thing in your shoes. Now, it is the exact same thing. This fucker shoots your eye out, these fuckers ash my caravan...these same fuckers I sold my own goddamn name to on a piece of paper. I mean...what else are we doing out here, Agnes? Getting shot at by Khans and Raiders just for kicks? Are we just fucking around?

AGNES finishes bandaging CASS, then leans back, pensive.

AGNES: No...no, I really guess we’re not.

CASS: That's what I thought. Your friend in Vegas can wait. Help me get mine, and we can get that shitheel together, and that's a prom—

CASS raises her arm to shake her fist as she speaks, straining her shoulder injury.

CASS: —mmmmmmghhhh. Ooww, oww, oww, oww...

CASS grabs her shoulder in pain while AGNES looks off in the distance and stands up. She looks out towards the horizon—towards VEGAS, and the pre-war casinos and hotels that still gleam and glitter in blinding sunlight.

Her fist clenches. Her brow furrows. Her body tenses, all over, staring at that city, that place.

The caravan wreckage remains alone on the highway, brahmin bones long picked clean by scavengers.

AGNES SANDS IN: IT KEEPS RIGHT ON A HURTIN’

VOLUME 2: MAKE IT BIG IN VEGAS

#fallout new vegas #fallout #courier six #rose of sharon cassidy #volume 02 #15 #ikroah archive

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book-o-scams · 3 years

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'Sorry Wrong Ed' Alternate Ending Storyboard Sequence

Check out Al Kang's Ed, Edd n Eddy portfolio!

Al Kang worked on the show during seasons 3-4 and had roles on the storyboard and prop teams apparently. (IMDb says he was credited as Al Choi at the time, but it also says he worked on season 1 episodes, which doesn't line up with the timeline he mentioned.. anyway.)

I discovered his portfolio a few months ago after seeing fandom discussion of the alternate 'Sorry Wrong Ed' ending. I was pleasantly surprised to find a few other treats as well! But yes, I even sorta liked what I learned about 'Sorry Wrong Ed' in the process... (I threw in a little analysis comparing the two endings at the bottom)

I noticed Al seemed to mix up the order on these, so I thought I'd try my best to figure out the right order. This was the most confusing one for me to try and figure out the order of since almost all 8 pages were out of order. I think I finally figured out what's going on in the original ending.

So this alternate ending starts at an unknown point with Eddy flat on the ground, presumably injured, picking himself back up. At this point in the final cut of the episode, Eddy has just been squashed by a tree, but this seems more like a different injury, and he's not even retaining his injuries from the truck scene... The scenes with Jonny and Plank from the final cut of the episode seem to not exist at all here, Jonny and Plank don't appear in this sequence.

Anyway, Eddy picks himself up in the middle of an on-going scene, sees Jimmy drop a coin in a jar for Ed, who has inexplicably turned the cursed phone into a scam on his own. Edd is glaring at the off-screen kids, who have somehow learned about this phone and are excited to kill Eddy with it.

Eddy: "Jimmy! No!"

Jimmy answers the phone: "Hello?"

Ed: "HA HA HA"

Edd: "You people don't seriously believe--"

Then we sync up with gags that did happen in the ending of Sorry Wrong Ed, with context that makes its tone a little more sadistic than random. Jimmy's paid phonecall drops the sandbox on Eddy.

This page has the most skeletal dialogue...

Kev: "Yes." (I think he's meant to be fist pumping because Eddy got hurt, more of a "Yes!")

Jimmy: "BAD LUCK EDDY PHONE." (this dialogue must have been a placeholder)

Edd: "HA HA" (sarcastic ha-ha or did Al mean to write "Ed" for this?)

Jimmy seems to offer the phone to Edd.

We sync up again with Edd's denial from the final cut of this episode, except now it actually makes sense that he's so one-track-minded, because there are people actively arguing with him and keeping him disengaged from the victim.

Edd: "There must be a cargo plane overfilled with playground supplies..."

Sarah interrupts him.

RING RING

Sarah: "Oh, that's for me."

Eddy at this point holds Ed responsible, as he should, and starts running to stop Ed or Sarah. Ed offers no explanation for his betrayal.

Eddy: "Ed! What are you doing!?"

Sarah: "Hello?"

Sarah's paid phonecall summons the hippos, the most random moment in the final cut of the episode. Note how both of these slapstick gags were storyboarded on the same generic background, seems like the lane or an empty lot, but clearly a different location than Eddy's front yard from the aired ending.

And that's all we have to go off of!

I'll put my updated opinions below the cut, but suffice it to say, I like the episode a little better now! Knowing what the ending was going to be and trying to figure out the choices that led to the ending we got, I feel more appreciative that it didn't end up a lost episode or something and less annoyed that it was 11 minutes of one joke.

I know I have a reputation for not finding slapstick funny and disliking this episode, but violence was never my only issue. Lots of episodes have lackluster slapstick that I just let wash over me. My point that never gets as much focus is that this episode never felt FINISHED to begin with. It's just a slapstick vacuum with no ending and no point, and it used to be frustrating to me not knowing for sure if my hunch was right or not that it felt like the episode just wasn't working and they had to cobble it together from the scenes that almost worked.

I am surprised to say I like the episode more now that I know that is pretty close to the truth. Judging from this peek into the episode's development, this episode seems to have reached Danny Antonucci's and/or Wootie's (the episode's lead board artist) limit for being mean-spirited with the characters without a reason. I'll still probably avoid rewatching it, but knowing the episode has no ending specifically because it's been trimmed to bare bones is somehow reassuring.

The most obvious flaw to this original ending is the lack of motivation for Ed's or the kids' actions. The kids presumably still weren't in the rest of the episode, so there's really no reason for them to be here other than reiterating the same idea from 'Your Ed Here' and 'The Good Ole Ed' that the neighborhood kids are always looking for a reason to gang up on Eddy, something that isn't really true of those characters in earlier seasons.

I think I can imagine how, on paper (in the writers' outline), this episode sounded funnier. Trying to imagine this ending as part of the whole episode, I think the script's idea of the final joke is that Ed is not satisfied with ending the tests at the point where they tried to return the phone to Rolf. I think Ed converts the curse-testing process to a scam at that point, building off of how Ed already wasn't processing Eddy's safety in anything so far, and is probably more focused on proving to Edd that curses are real (as Ed was previously in league with Evil Tim). The addition of Ed running his own tests and the kids arguing Eddy's point against Edd's while Eddy's busy, does sound more like a complete manic cartoon boiling point than the way the finished episode just petered out with Edd as the sole antagonist. But unfortunately, in visual execution, suddenly piling in so many aggressive characters and so much random violence at once, would only really result in it petering out at a higher volume.

Meanwhile Edd's characterization is made much more structurally sound in the original ending. He's annoyed FOR Eddy's sake, and the only reason he's not actively helping Eddy is because like 3 other characters were supposed to be arguing with him while this was happening. It seems extremely apparent to me that the cuts made to this ending were for the sake of mitigating Ed's reputation in the fandom, as well as the kids', and I think it's really unfortunate that Edd's characterization was the cost for salvaging everyone else's. I'm glad I already considered his behavior in 'Sorry Wrong Ed' non-canon, because now it feels like the reason the aired ending is so out-of-character is just because Edd is basically arguing with the ghost of the original scene. I formally forgive 'Sorry Wrong Ed'. Production turnarounds are tough and AKA did their best to not turn this into another forgotten 'Special Ed' episode that simply wasn't working.

I think ditching the original ending was ultimately the right call. It was not an exemplary episode, but I can admit it's less out of place to have a pure "vacuum of violence" story than it would've been to essentially give the kids a supernatural revenge plot like this. That would've been really weird to have to accept-- Eddy definitely wouldn't want to be friends with anyone at the end of the movie if THIS was their past. Changing it to an unaware Jonny and a questionably aware Plank being responsible, indeed, was a vibe that landed much more like standard EEnE fare. It was weird enough that the kids all saw Santa in JJJ, can you imagine if they all knew curses were real AND participated in attacking a neighbor with one??

If there was a silver lining for me the first time I saw this episode, it was that none of the kids were directly involved in Eddy's suffering. It made the questionable reality of the cursed device slightly more acceptable that only the Eds and Rolf know about the curse. If this ending had happened, I would've reacted the same, but I would've rejected its continuity even more than I do now, because it would just feel like they animated one of the DC Comics (where the kids can blow the Eds up with fireworks at the end or the Eds can randomly be crushed under an avalanche of anvils)-- the art could end up gorgeous but the characterizations don't exactly land as real human beings, the balance this show strives for typically.

And I think that's all I wanted to say! In the end, I found myself liking 'Sorry Wrong Ed' slightly more than I used to, all thanks to this glimpse into how the animation production system morphs the outcome of a cartoon. Thanks so much to Al Kang, for sharing your art and this insight into the industry! I don't know whether he did both the gesture drawings and the revised art, but judging from his other boards I think the cleaned up art is his, and I liked seeing the poses that almost were!

#ed edd n eddy #sorry wrong ed #al kang #storyboard #concept art #alternate ending #deleted ending #alternate sequence #analysis

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bluesky-thewebcomic · 3 years

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Final thoughts from Elvenwhovian

So here we are at the end. The last panel. There were a lot of times that I thought I wouldn’t make it to this point. It’s been an incredible and long journey, and finishing a project like this is satisfying beyond words. I know that many of you were not here from the start, so I just wanted to share the story of how this 930 panel monster of a project came to be and thank a few people who helped along the way.

Really it all started in March of 2014. My roommate had taken a trip to New Zealand to visit family and I was having a pity party at home alone (It’s always been a dream of mine to go to New Zealand). I was window shopping online on Thinkgeek (RIP Thinkgeek) and I was seeing all this merch for a game called Portal. This led me to Steam, which led to finishing the first Portal in about a day, then Portal2 in about 2 weeks.

Of course this led me to begin looking up fan art which led me to discover the fanfiction “Blue Sky”. I read the whole thing in about 4 days. I was so engrossed in the story, I ate, slept, went to work, and read Blue Sky and nothing else. I vividly remember sitting at my kitchen table, ipad in hand, as I read the last lines of the story. I sat back, let out a long breath and said, “Wow. That was one of the best stories I’ve ever read.”

The fan art came next. Being relatively new to tumblr, I was used to getting 3-6 notes on a post. Suddenly, people were coming out of the woodwork liking and reblogging. My mind was blown and it made me want to make more fan art. Then I met @starry-nightengale who became one of my best friends on this site. We fangirled over “Blue Sky” and Portal over the next year which led to us co-writing “The Trial of the Bow” trilogy, a medieval/fairytale retelling of Portal, Portal 2, Blue Sky, and Portal Stories: Mel.

It was on Labor day weekend of 2015 when my internet went down inexplicably. My roommate who had the internet in her name was out of town yet again and I conceded that I would have to wait until she got back to get the issue resolved. The Trial of the Bow Trilogy was finished and I had just co-written with @the-royal-sketchbook a Half-life Medival/fairytale fanfic “The Legend of the Freeman.” However, my passion for Half-life was not as strong as it was for Blue Sky and I longed to do something else involving Wheatley, Chell, and the citizens of Eaden.

Most of the people that I encouraged to read Blue Sky did not have the time to invest into a novel length book. I longed to create something more accessible. A comic book/graphic novel of the story had been in the back of my mind for a long time, but when the desire rose up in me, the thought of “but you would have to do backgrounds and you suck at backgrounds” reared its ugly head.

But on that Labor day weekend, a thought occurred to me. “What if I did it as a comic? Very loose and simple. Something that I could do for fun without any heavy commitment.” So that weekend, I did a quick pencil drawing of the scene when Wheatley and Chell argue from Chapter 5. I threw some color on it and put it on tumblr and it got a great response. Then I did the scene when Chell transfers Wheatley into the hardlight avatar from Chapter 3. Another great response. It was simple and loose but people seemed to like it. I asked Starry what she thought about doing the whole story in such a way. If memory serves, she was for it but warned me not to get too far ahead of myself. If I did this, it would be a huge project and would take a lot of planning and forethought. BTW, good advice Starry ;)

After completing all of Chapter 1, I made the announcement, created the page, and the Blue Sky Web comic was born.

One of the things that helps me to recharge each week is drawing/working on art on Sunday afternoons. In the past, I had struggled to find things to work on, but no more. Sunday was now Blue Sky Comic day. I would post 2 panels and create 4 more. If I had extra time on holidays or days off I would get extra done. This system allowed me to consistently add to the project without feeling rushed or overwhelmed. I was able to get ahead so that I could take breaks for holidays, trips, computer problems, and eventually planning my wedding and getting married. The Blue Sky Web Comic became a constant in my life. Whenever I needed to decompress and just draw or color in panels, it was there.

In late summer of 2019, my Father was diagnosed with cancer. If any of you have walked through cancer with someone, you know how difficult and painful it can be. My husband and I took a trip to see my parents about once a month for the next 8 months. The drive was fairly long and was the perfect opportunity to work on what I called “pencil work” for the comic (sketching out the layout of each panel, a process that took the most concentration and time). Working on the comic helped to keep my mind off of things. Each time we visited my Dad his condition declined and being able to focus on something like the “pencil work” helped to make the trips better.

In spring of 2020, right before the COVID-19 lockdown, my Father passed away. It was right before that final trip that I finished the “Pencil work”. By then I had also made a lot of headway on the comic itself, with only a few chapters left to ink and color. I remember reading stories and blogs about how people made it through difficult times by focusing on a hobby, tv show, book, or music; not living in denial of the bad things, but just having something to help them take a break from it all. That was what the Blue Sky Comic was for me in those final days and I will always cherish how it was one of the things that helped me to make it through that difficult period in my life.

With the COVID-19 lockdown, I had some extra time to work on the comic and by late spring of 2020, I finished the last panel. It still kind of blows my mind. From 2015 to 2020 was how long it took to complete.

____________

To the 2000+ followers and those who replied, liked, reblogged, and sent messages, your words helped me to keep going when I wondered if it was worth it. Your kind thoughts helped me to know that this story is still enjoyed by people and Portal fans alike.

To @starry-nightengale, thank you for your advice at the beginning and your support and friendship along the way. Here’s to many more ^w^

And to @wafflebloggies, thank you for writing Blue Sky. It may seem overdramatic, but when I found this fic back in 2014, I was in a dark place and your story helped me hold onto the light. Even years later when faced with new trials, it helped me to focus on what was ahead. I truly believe that this story resonates with so many people because it taps into the most simple and profound truth: the most powerful love is selfless. And selfless love can conquer any difficulty. Also your support of the comic over the years made me smile with delight. I’m so glad you liked it :)

So that’s the story. I plan to do more audiobooks of the rest of the Trial of the Bow trilogy, but after that I’m going to be taking a nice long break from Blue Sky and Portal. I have a personal passion project that I am in the initial stages on. It's another web comic that I actually couldn’t have even considered doing if not for the experience I gained over the past 5 years. I’ll have updates on my personal tumblr for that project and the audiobooks, but for this page, The Blue Sky Web comic, this will be one of my final posts (aside from responding to any messages from you guys). Thank you all again for following. What an incredible journey this has been! This fandom is so amazing and I love you all. Take care and God bless. - Elvy

#blue sky portal #thanks again #it's been a wild ride #:'3

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sailorspazz · 3 years

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10 Dance Vol. 6 Special Edition overview

Volume 6 of the 10 Dance manga was released in Japan on March 18th, 2021. As with volumes 4 and 5, there are both regular and special editions available. In this post, I will provide an overview of the release, including observations on changes that were made to the chapters compared to how they were printed in the magazine, plus summaries and select scans of content from the special edition booklet.

It is often the case that when chapters come out in the manga magazines, they aren't always fully polished, and since I became highly familiar with this run of chapters from the summaries I made, several things immediately jumped out at me as I went through the book. First of all, though chapter 29 was split into two parts and released in subsequent months in the magazine, these two halves were combined into one chapter, with no indication they had ever been separate. I assume that they were always intended to be one chapter, but since the full chapter was not completed before the deadline (and it was a month when 10 Dance was being given the cover image, so not possible to delay its release), it was simply split over two months instead.

For visual changes, the most common alteration was scenes that originally had little or no screentone having it added in:

There were also some instances of either slight panel redraws, or complete replacements with new panels. None of these were from particularly important scenes, so it could just be Inouesatoh or someone on her team didn't like the look of the original panels and wanted to change them. The following example has a bit of both, with Suzuki in the upper left corner being replaced, and his eyes being redrawn in the lower panel:

Personally, the most amusing addition I noticed was when Max was thinking about throwing a party. Originally, we didn't see what he was envisioning, but in the volume, an addition has been made in the background: the New Year's piece Inouesatoh drew with sexy men dressed as cows, except now they're bunnies!

As for dialogue, it appeared to be almost the same in both versions throughout. Some minor exceptions include a spot I found where the dialogue was put in a different order, swapping Sugiki’s lines between this panel and his first line on the following page (in addition to another altered panel example):

As well as in this shot of Suzuki describing how they tug at the thread that connects them through their dance. Whereas before it put the word “dance” next to the part about tugging on the thread to specify what was meant by that, it was deleted in the volume. And while it was originally described as “affirming that we’re connected”, this was also tweaked a bit to be, “affirming our connection”.

There were a couple instances of character names being different from when they appeared earlier in the story. In this volume, two characters who were last mentioned back in volume 2 (Lucas Calvo, one of the champions at the table in Blackpool, and Deeks, who Ernie said hated Sugiki because he "stole" his girlfriend), either from typos or intentional changes, weren't the same as before. Lucas' last name was written with a 'g' sound (ガルボ) instead of a 'c' (カルボ), and this change carried over to the volume. On the other hand, Deeks' (ディクス) name got transposed as Disc (ディスク) in the magazine, but was fixed in the volume.

There was a typo that unfortunately made it through to the volume (but could perhaps be fixed in future printings). In chapter 34, when Norman is testing Suzuki's skills, he flashes back to Sugiki taking the national title from him several years earlier. The text in this scene, written in English, incorrectly states that Suzuki won the championship, rather than Sugiki.

The volume also includes the usual additions that are not present in the magazine, such as the under the cover flap comic, and Inouesatoh’s notes about each chapter.

The cover flap comic (which looks very much like a sketch, compared to previous ones that have had more complete art), features the Shinyas during a practice session earlier on in the series in December, where Suzuki complains that Sugiki’s Latin just isn’t sexy. Sugiki suggests that he can practice being sexy by wiggling his butt around to write a message in the air. Suzuki worries that if he starts writing out “love” or something, he’ll have to run away and escape. Sugiki gets started, and Suzuki calls out each letter that he can make out from his elegant butt bouncing. After figuring out he’s written “M-E-R-R-Y”, Suzuki guesses that he’s writing “Merry Christmas”. Sugiki gets mad that he said it aloud before he finished writing his message, and says he’s going to leave. Suzuki says, “Wait, I love you,” as narrative text says that this somehow turned into a love story in one panel.

And here are some tidbits I found interesting/amusing from the chapter notes:

She thinks readers who are fans of pecs will like Saichi.

She’s not sure if readers will love Max or hate him, but she personally likes him (sorry Sensei, I kinda hate him lol)

As of chapter 32, a portion of the art is now done digitally.

The epic “last dance” scene from 33 was something that she had planned since the beginning of the series, and it ended up being 8 times the cost for a typical chapter.

Special edition booklet:

The special edition comes with a 48 page hardcover booklet that includes a variety of different extras, divided into 8 sections called “heats”.

Heat 1 is a newly drawn, 12 page parody manga. Back in September 2020, Inouesatoh put out a request on Twitter for fans to send in their suggestions for an erotic side story. Putting the characters in a high school setting was the most requested scenario, so she chose this idea as the basis for the story. The title is “And All That Jazz” (the premise makes this somewhat confusing to summarize, so keep in mind that I’ll mostly be describing their actions based on the soul rather than the body, but will use quotation marks if it’s about other characters and who they think they’re addressing. It’ll all make sense, I promise...I think :P)

(The title page actually depicts the ending of the story, so I’ll come back to it later). It starts with Suzuki narrating his introduction, saying that he’s a transfer student to the Standard Academy. He really doesn’t get along with a guy named Sugiki, but for some reason, the two have now switched bodies with each other. Sugiki opens his shirt and inspects his new physique in front of other students, as Suzuki yells out asking what the hell he’s doing to his body. They look at themselves wearing each other’s expressions, Sugiki seeming surprised his mouth can gape open like that, and Suzuki wondering what happened to his body’s facial expression muscles. The bell rings and Sugiki heads off to class, as Suzuki is baffled that he can act so calm about this.

Sugiki perfectly reads a passage aloud in English class, something everyone (including the teacher, who looks like Norman) find unusual coming from “Suzuki”, as they wonder where his usual hearts are. Suzuki makes the decision to enjoy living as Sugiki for a bit, and is shown getting flirty with several girls. He notes that the more serious personality in his regular body is also strangely popular, though with a very different crowd.

A student named Alberko (Alberto in a girl’s uniform) shows up and says that “Sugiki” was supposed to have lunch with her(?) today. Suzuki says that he thought Alberko was going out with Dorou (a masculine alteration to Dolores’ name). Ernie and Suzuki watch as his harem falls apart with Alberko running amok. Ernie comments that both “Sugiki” and that transfer student have been acting weird all week, and he asks if something happened. Suzuki internally reflects back to one week earlier, when he was relaxing in bed in the infirmary. Sugiki comes in and accuses him of skipping class, and Suzuki tells him to mind his own business. He thought this would turn into one of their usual fights, but he can’t believe that actually happened instead...

After school, Sugiki asks Suzuki if they can go home together today. As they’re walking, Suzuki asks if Sugiki realizes what it was that made them switch places, and Sugiki says he does. Suzuki says that in that case, they know how they need to fix it, and they should go over to his house. Sugiki asks for clarification of whose house exactly he means by that.

As they start to get undressed, Suzuki says that he always thought his mom and sisters were annoying, but after a week apart he really misses them. Sugiki promises that he’ll make sure he can see them soon. Suzuki claims that he’ll be the one making Sugiki come, and Sugiki asks how he can talk like that when he was the one who looked like he was about to cry when Sugiki first touched him in the infirmary.

Sugiki peeks into Suzuki’s pants and wonders if he won’t get hard unless he touches him. Suzuki thinks it’d be weirder if he could get hard while looking at his own face, and wonders if Sugiki has AI in his crotch or something (Sugiki contends that it’s not his body). They fool around with each other until they finish, and Suzuki wonders why they didn’t change back yet. Sugiki suggests that maybe it needs to be just like the last time to count as a complete set, when they went at it until they fell off the bed, so both agree that they need to go for one more round. This then ties back to the title page, where they’ve finally managed to get back into their old bodies, but have now sprouted cat ears and tails.

Heat 2 of the booklet is 8 pages long, and contains short comics and illustrations that were not previously included in the volume releases. The comics include “How to 10 Dance”, a one-page comic with the Shinyas demonstrating the tango. Their privates end up touching, and Sugiki seems highly amused, gleefully asking Suzuki how it feels. Suzuki says that he was the one who got all bent out of shape over that back in volume 1, and tells him to lay off the sadist mode since they’re not dancing Latin right now. The second comic is “2nd Step”, and shows a glimpse of how the Shinyas were with each other after Suzuki gave the go-ahead for kissing. In fact, Sugiki ends up kissing him so much that Suzuki’s lips get sore and swollen. Sugiki then tries to kiss his neck as an alternative, but Suzuki’s not having it. The third comic depicts Suzuki’s first time in a public bath, where he realizes that Japanese people aren’t fully shaved everywhere like he is. Some of the old guys talk to him and slap their balls with their towels, and Suzuki, seeming a bit confused, gives his own balls a slap, too. After the comics are a selection of illustrations that were never used in the volumes, including this one from a Real 10 Dance event in 2018:

Heat 3 is 18 pages, and contains a variety of colored versions of both chapter covers and scenes from the manga, a couple of which I’ll share below:

Heat 4 includes 3 pages of insight from the professional dancers who consult for the manga, in which they explain the moves shown in specific panels.

Heat 5 is a single page look at Inouesatoh’s work space.

Heat 6 is 3 pages worth of advertisements that have been used to promote the series, including things like ads that were posted in subway stations:

Heat 7 is a single page look at the storyboard for chapter 1 of the manga.

Heat 8 is a single page showing the covers for foreign editions of the manga (Taiwanese, Korean, North American, and French).

Finally, there’s one last page with a thank you message from Inouesatoh, including an absolutely precious illustration of the Shinyas in happier times.

And that’s that! This really is an incredible release, and I’d definitely recommend picking up the special edition if you can. CD Japan offers direct international shipping, and I’ve also seen that Kinokuniya lists it as “available to order” currently (though they don’t appear to have stock on hand, so might take longer).

#10 dance #10dance

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dornish-queen · 4 years

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Pedro Pascal on Fame and ‘The Mandalorian’: ‘Can We Cut the S— and Talk About the Child?’

By Adam B. Vary

Photographs by Beau Grealy

At some point during this particular visit, Pascal needed to go to the bathroom, and his parents let him go by himself. “I didn’t really know how to read yet,” Pascal says with the same Cheshire grin that dazzled “Game of Thrones” fans during his run as the wily (and doomed) Oberyn Martel. “I did not find my way back to ‘Superman.'”

Instead, Pascal wandered into a different theater (he thinks it was showing the 1979 domestic drama “Kramer vs. Kramer,” but, again, he was 4). In his shock and bewilderment at being lost, he curled up into an open seat and fell asleep. When he woke up, the movie was over, the theater was empty, and his parents were standing over him. To his surprise, they seemed rather calm, but another detail sticks out even more.

“I know that they finished their movie,” he says, bending over in laughter. “My sister was trying to get a rise out of me by telling me, ‘This happened and that happened and then Superman did this and then, you know, the earthquake and spinning around the planet.'” In the face of such relentless sibling mockery, Pascal did the only logical thing: “I said, ‘All that happened in my movie too.'”

He had no way of knowing it at the time, of course, but some 40 years later, Pascal would in fact get the chance to star in a movie alongside a DC Comics superhero — not to mention battle Stormtroopers and, er, face off against the most formidable warrior in Westeros. After his breakout on “Game of Thrones,” he became an instant get-me-that-guy sensation, mostly as headstrong, taciturn men of action — from chasing drug traffickers in Colombia for three seasons on Netflix’s “Narcos” to squaring off against Denzel Washington in “The Equalizer 2.”

This year, though, Pascal finds himself poised for the kind of marquee career he’s spent a lifetime dreaming about. On Oct. 30, he’ll return for Season 2 as the title star of “The Mandalorian,” Lucasfilm’s light-speed hit “Star Wars” series for Disney Plus that earned 15 Emmy nominations, including best drama, in its first season. And then on Dec. 25 — COVID-19 depending — he’ll play the slippery comic book villain Maxwell Lord opposite Gal Gadot, Chris Pine and Kristen Wiig in “Wonder Woman 1984.”

The roles are at once wildly divergent and the best showcase yet for Pascal’s elastic talents. In “The Mandalorian,” he must hide his face — and, in some episodes, his whole body — in a performance that pushes minimalism and restraint to an almost ascetic ideal. In “Wonder Woman 1984,” by stark contrast, he is delivering the kind of big, broad bad-guy character that populated the 1980s popcorn spectaculars of his youth.

“I continually am so surprised when everybody pegs him as such a serious guy,” says “Wonder Woman 1984” director Patty Jenkins. “I have to say, Pedro is one of the most appealing people I have known. He instantly becomes someone that everybody invites over and you want to have around and you want to talk to.”

Talk with Pascal for just five minutes — even when he’s stuck in his car because he ran out of time running errands before his flight to make it to the set of a Nicolas Cage movie in Budapest — and you get an immediate sense of what Jenkins is talking about. Before our interview really starts, Pascal points out, via Zoom, that my dog is licking his nether regions in the background. “Don’t stop him!” he says with an almost naughty reproach. “Let him live his life!”

Over our three such conversations, it’s also clear that Pascal’s great good humor and charm have been at once ballast for a number of striking hardships, and a bulwark that makes his hard-won success a challenge for him to fully accept.

Before Pascal knew anything about “The Mandalorian,” its showrunner and executive producer Jon Favreau knew he wanted Pascal to star in it.

“He feels very much like a classic movie star in his charm and his delivery,” says Favreau. “And he’s somebody who takes his craft very seriously.” Favreau felt Pascal had the presence and skill essential to deliver a character — named Din Djarin, but mostly called Mando — who spends virtually every second of his time on screen wearing a helmet, part of the sacrosanct creed of the Mandalorian order.

Convincing any actor to hide their face for the run of a series can be as precarious as escaping a Sarlacc pit. To win Pascal over in their initial meeting, Favreau brought him behind the “Mandalorian” curtain, into a conference room papered with storyboards covering the arc of the first season. “When he walked in, it must have felt a little surreal,” Favreau says. “You know, most of your experiences as an actor, people are kicking the tires to see if it’s a good fit. But in this case, everything was locked and loaded.”

Needless to say, it worked. “I hope this doesn’t sound like me fashioning myself like I’m, you know, so smart, but I agreed to do this [show] because the impression I had when I had my first meeting was that this is the next big s—,” Pascal says with a laugh.

Favreau’s determination to cast Pascal, however, put the actor in a tricky situation: Pascal’s own commitments to make “Wonder Woman 1984” in London and to perform in a Broadway run of “King Lear” with Glenda Jackson barreled right into the production schedule for “The Mandalorian.” Some scenes on the show, and in at least one case a full episode, would need to lean on the anonymity of the title character more than anyone had quite planned, with two stunt performers — Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder — playing Mando on set and Pascal dubbing in the dialogue months later.

Pascal was already being asked to smother one of his best tools as an actor, extraordinarily uncommon for anyone shouldering the newest iteration of a global live-action franchise. (Imagine Robert Downey Jr. only playing Iron Man while wearing a mask — you can’t!) Now he had to hand over control of Mando’s body to other performers too. Some actors would have walked away. Pascal didn’t.

“If there were more than just a couple of pages of a one-on-one scene, I did feel uneasy about not, in some instances, being able to totally author that,” he says. “But it was so easy in such a sort of practical and unexciting way for it to be up to them. When you’re dealing with a franchise as large as this, you are such a passenger to however they’re going to carve it out. It’s just so specific. It’s ‘Star Wars.'” (For Season 2, Pascal says he was on the set far more, though he still sat out many of Mando’s stunts.)

“The Mandalorian” was indeed the next big s—, helping to catapult the launch of Disney Plus to 26.5 million subscribers in its first six weeks. With the “Star Wars” movies frozen in carbonite until 2023 (at least), I noted offhand that he’s now effectively the face of one of the biggest pop-culture franchises in the world. Pascal could barely suppress rolling his eyes.

“I mean, come on, there isn’t a face!” he says with a laugh that feels maybe a little forced. “If you want to say, ‘You’re the silhouette’ — which is also a team effort — then, yeah.” He pauses. “Can we just cut the s— and talk about the Child?”

Yes, of course, the Child — or, as the rest of the galaxy calls it, Baby Yoda. Pascal first saw the incandescently cute creature during his download of “Mandalorian” storyboards in that initial meeting with Favreau. “Literally, my eyes following left to right, up and down, and, boom, Baby Yoda close to the end of the first episode,” he says. “That was when I was like, ‘Oh, yep, that’s a winner!'”

Baby Yoda is undeniably the breakout star of “The Mandalorian,” inspiring infinite memes and apocryphal basketball game sightings. But the show wouldn’t work if audiences weren’t invested in Mando’s evolving emotional connection to the wee scene stealer, something Favreau says Pascal understood from the jump. “He’s tracking the arc of that relationship,” says the showrunner. “His insight has made us rethink moments over the course of the show.” (As with all things “Star Wars,” questions about specifics are deflected in deference to the all-powerful Galactic Order of Spoilers.)

Even if Pascal couldn’t always be inside Mando’s body, he never left the character’s head, always aware of how this orphaned bounty hunter who caroms from planet to planet would look askance at anything that felt too good (or too adorable) to be true.

“The transience is something that I’m incredibly familiar with, you know?” Pascal says. “Understanding the opportunity for complexity under all of the armor was not hard for me.”

When Pascal was 4 months old, his parents had to leave him and his sister with their aunt, so they could go into hiding to avoid capture during Pinochet’s crackdown against his opposition. After six months, they finally managed to climb the walls of the Venezuelan embassy during a shift change and claim asylum; from there, the family relocated, first to Denmark, then to San Antonio, where Pascal’s father got a job as a physician.

Pascal was too young to remember any of this, and for a healthy stretch of his childhood, his complicated Chilean heritage sat in parallel to his life in the U.S. — separate tracks, equally important, never quite intersecting. By the time Pascal was 8, his family was able to take regular trips back to Chile to visit with his 34 first cousins. But he doesn’t remember really talking about any of his time there all that much with his American friends.

“I remember at one point not even realizing that my parents had accents until a friend was like, ‘Why does your mom talk like that?'” Pascal says. “And I remember thinking, like what?”

Besides, he loved his life in San Antonio. His father took him and his sister to Spurs basketball games during the week if their homework was done. He hoodwinked his mother into letting him see “Poltergeist” at the local multiplex. He watched just about anything on cable; the HBO special of Whoopi Goldberg’s one-woman Broadway show knocked him flat. He remembers seeing Henry Thomas in “E.T.” and Christian Bale in “Empire of the Sun” and wishing ardently, urgently, I want to live those stories too.

Then his father got a job in Orange County, Calif. After Pascal finished the fifth grade, they moved there. It was a shock. “There were two really, really rough years,” he says. “A lot of bullying.”

His mother found him a nascent performing arts high school in the area, and Pascal burrowed even further into his obsessions, devouring any play or movie he could get his hands on. His senior year, a friend of his mother’s gave Pascal her ticket to a long two-part play running in downtown Los Angeles that her bad back couldn’t withstand. He got out of school early to drive there by himself. It was the pre-Broadway run of “Angels in America.”

“And it changed me,” he says with almost religious awe. “It changed me.”

After studying acting at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Pascal booked a succession of solid gigs, like MTV’s “Undressed” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” But the sudden death of his mother — who’d only just been permitted to move back to Chile a few years earlier — took the wind right from Pascal’s sails. He lost his agent, and his career stalled almost completely.

As a tribute to her, he decided to change his professional last name from Balmaceda, his father’s, to Pascal, his mother’s. “And also, because Americans had such a hard time pronouncing Balmaceda,” he says. “It was exhausting.”

Pascal even tried swapping out Pedro for Alexander (an homage to Ingmar Bergman’s “Fanny and Alexander,” one of the formative films of his youth). “I was willing to do absolutely anything to work more,” he says. “And that meant if people felt confused by who they were looking at in the casting room because his first name was Pedro, then I’ll change that. It didn’t work.”

It was a desperately lean time for Pascal. He booked an occasional “Law & Order” episode, but mostly he was pounding the pavement along with his other New York theater friends — like Oscar Isaac, who met Pascal doing an Off Broadway play. They became fast, lifelong friends, bonding over their shared passions and frustrations as actors.

“It’s gotten better, but at that point, it was so easy to be pigeonholed in very specific roles because we’re Latinos,” says Isaac. “It’s like, how many gang member roles am I going to be sent?” As with so many actors, the dream Pascal and Isaac shared to live the stories of their childhoods had been stripped down to its most basic utility. “The dream was to be able to pay rent,” says Isaac. “There wasn’t a strategy. We were just struggling. It was talking about how to do this thing that we both love but seems kind of insurmountable.”

As with so few actors, that dream was finally rekindled through sheer nerve and the luck of who you know, when another lifelong friend, actor Sarah Paulson, agreed to pass along Pascal’s audition for Oberyn Martell to her best friend Amanda Peet, who is married to “Game of Thrones” co-showrunner David Benioff.

“First of all, it was an iPhone selfie audition, which was unusual,” Benioff remembers over email. “And this wasn’t one of the new-fangled iPhones with the fancy cameras. It looked like s—; it was shot vertical; the whole thing was very amateurish. Except for the performance, which was intense and believable and just right.”

Before Pascal knew it, he found himself in Belfast, sitting inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep as one of the judges at Tyrion Lannister’s trial for the murder of King Joffrey. “I was between Charles Dance and Lena Headey, with a view of the entire f—ing set,” Pascal says, his eyes wide and astonished still at the memory. “I couldn’t believe I didn’t have an uncomfortable costume on. You know, I got to sit — and with this view.” He sighs. “It strangely aligned itself with the kind of thinking I was developing as a child that, at that point, I was convinced was not happening.”

And then it all started to happen.

In early 2018, while Pascal was in Hawaii preparing to make the Netflix thriller “Triple Frontier” — opposite his old friend Isaac — he got a call from the film’s producer Charles Roven, who told him Patty Jenkins wanted to meet with him in London to discuss a role in another film Roven was producing, “Wonder Woman 1984.”

“It was a f—ing offer,” Pascal says in an incredulous whisper. “I wasn’t really grasping that Patty wanted to talk to me about a part that I was going to play, not a part that I needed to get. I wasn’t able to totally accept that.”

Pascal had actually shot a TV pilot with Jenkins that wasn’t picked up, made right before his life-changing run on “Game of Thrones” aired. “I got to work with Patty for three days or something and then thought I’d never see her again,” he says. “I didn’t even know she remembered me from that.”

She did. “I worked with him, so I knew him,” she says. “I didn’t need him to prove anything for me. I just loved the idea of him, and I thought he would be kind of unexpected, because he doesn’t scream ‘villain.'”

In Jenkins’ vision, Max Lord — a longstanding DC Comics rogue who shares a particularly tangled history with Wonder Woman — is a slick, self-styled tycoon with a knack for manipulation and an undercurrent of genuine pathos. It was the kind of larger-than-life character Pascal had never been asked to tackle before, so he did something equally unorthodox: He transformed his script into a kind of pop-art scrapbook, filled with blown-up photocopies of Max Lord from the comic books that Pascal then manipulated through his lens on the character.

Even the few pages Pascal flashes to me over Zoom are quite revealing. One, featuring Max sporting a power suit and a smarmy grin, has several burned-out holes, including through the character’s eye. Another page features Max surrounded by text bubbles into which Pascal has written, over and over and over again in itty-bitty lettering, “You are a f—ing piece of s—.”

“I felt like I had wake myself up again in a big way,” he says. “This was just a practical way of, like, instead of going home tired and putting Netflix on, [I would] actually deal with this physical thing, doodle and think about it and run it.”

Jenkins is so bullish on Pascal’s performance that she thinks it could explode his career in the same way her 2003 film “Monster” forever changed how the industry saw Charlize Theron. “I would never cast him as just the stoic, quiet guy,” Jenkins says. “I almost think he’s unrecognizable from ‘Narcos’ to ‘Wonder Woman.’ Wouldn’t even know that was the same guy. But I think that may change.”

When people can see “Wonder Woman 1984” remains caught in the chaos the pandemic has wreaked on the industry; both Pascal and Jenkins are hopeful the Dec. 25 release date will stick, but neither is terribly sure it will. Perhaps it’s because of that uncertainty, perhaps it’s because he’s spent his life on the outside of a dream he’s now suddenly living, but Pascal does not share Jenkins’ optimism that his experience making “Wonder Woman 1984” will open doors to more opportunities like it.

“It will never happen again,” Pascal says, once more in that incredulous whisper. “It felt so special.”

After all he’s done in a few short years, why wouldn’t Pascal think more roles like this are on his horizon?

“I don’t know!” he finally says with a playful — and pointed — howl. “I’m protecting myself psychologically! It’s just all too good to be true! How dare I!”

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #variety magazine

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taliaquinn · 4 years

Text

Why Me!? Chapter 11

True Bee: I have been abandoned Betrayed UNLOVED

Maribug: I haven't even been gone for FIVE minutes, Didn’t Juleka confiscate your phone privileges?

True Bee: Right now she's occupied keeping the class from killing each other

Maribug: You should be helping her!!!

True Bee: I am, I'm giving the others the glare

True Bee: Wait Aurore and Kagami just stormed in

True Bee: ooooo now Kagami is yelling at Adrien

Maribug: Does she have her Saber? Please TELL ME SHE DOESNT!!

True Bee: Aww Aurore pulled her away before I could check :(

True Bee: Wait No, Now Aurore is yelling at Adrien

Maribug: Why the heck isn't Bustier doing anything!?

True Bee: Man I should’ve brought popcorn

True Bee: Oh Snap Mendeliev just walked in to pull Aurore and Chloe away

True Bee: Oop she’s glaring at Bustier and Alya now

True Bee: Lila is being Lila

True Bee: Not even 10 minutes and the class is already in Chaos without you

True Bee: Speaking of DUPAIN CHENG I EXPECT A MORE THOROUGH EXPLANATION!!

Maribug: Woman keep people from killing each other and I’ll Tell you soon

Maribug: Actually no keep the people we like safe, I Don't care about the rest

True Bee: Yes Ma'am

True Bee: KAGAMI HAD A SWORD I REPEAT KAGAMI HAD A SWORD

Maribug: Good Luck

True Bee: TRAITOR

Marinette felt bad she really did. But then again now the class wasn't her problem anymore and she felt joy. She prayed Chloe could keep the class together for a while. With a sigh, she walked up to her room to finish her packing. Her Maman was now busy calling Mr.Wayne to ask about the arrangements. Dick said that if Bruce wasn’t ready she could stay with him at Bludhaven in the meantime. Damian was texting her about the “rules”.

No mistreating his pets, Don’t try to become Graysons Favourite sibling “because that spot is already filled”. Don’t try to seperate Tim Drake from his Coffee, Cassandra Cain is dangerous but awesome and Jason’s Existence was to not be mentioned outside of the manor.

What was even that family? Seriously she knew that they all had interesting backgrounds but Wasn't Jason Todd murdered by an Arkham Crazy a few years ago? Seriously that family sounded like a perfect base for a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode. Huh maybe her secretly being a superhero won't be the strangest thing in the family.

Marinette quickly packed her sketchbook and made sure to put the horse miraculous box into her purse. Master Fu was updated to an extent that she was going to be out of the country, out of continent really, for a few weeks. Luckily she had Kalki to help with teleportation. She didn't have to panic about customs or anything. Mr.Wayne had a Private Plane. She’ll be flying over to Gotham with her parents and they'll be staying at a hotel for a few days. Get her “acclimated” to an American city and the customs. Paris will have to go without delicious sweets and treats for a few days.

Taking a final glance around the room Marinette was suddenly filled with a sense of homesickness. Didn't matter that she hadn't left,she didn’t even know when she'd come back. Sadly she had to leave some of her sewing and designing things. She had made sure to finish all of her commissions. However only a quick glance at her emails and her MDC website revealed that a lot of purchases and commission inquiries were being made. As soon as she gets to Gotham she will have to try a good fabric store and buy a new sewing machine and mannequin. She wasn’t a fool, she is definitely taking some of the expensive fabrics, Alexeis Fencing uniform was safely packed along with her saber.

With a final glance around she crawled down. And let the door shut with a final click.

Gotham City U.S.A 2:30 pm

“Sabine Sabine Sa- Of course, Marinette can stay with me for a bit longer. Yes yes, Dick already told me the basics about the situation. Are you sure you don’t want me to get involved? You really should get the police involved. I don’t like bullies or liars.” Bruce stated. Seriously Bruce was really tempted to fly over to Paris and press charges against those little demons. Heck, he wants to press charges against the foolish teacher and idiotic principle.

“Bruce calm down, trust me I will handle the school and the bullies, right now I want to get Marinette away from them” Sabine stated with a growing smirk. Oh, don’t mess with her. Bustier and Damocles are going down. However, she had to be a little patient and play the long game. She knew Marinette wanted to handle her classmates.

“Fine don’t worry about it, what are you two planning to do about school?” he asked, a bit concerned. Seriously another one of his kids was getting bullied and harassed.

Bruce was having flashbacks to the bullying and harassment Dick and Jason went through when they went to school. Dick dealt with months of being called things like gypsy trash, charity cases, and circus brat before he finally built up the courage and told Bruce. Jason on the other hand, Bruce found out really quickly about his bullying. Mostly because Jason would get into fights. Tim didn't deal with bullying that bad, sure he got called a nerd and orphan trash but Bruce handled that very quickly because by then he was an expert. Bruce wasn't willing to put Cassandra through school. No one dared bully Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

“We actually haven’t thought that far,” Sabine admitted sheepishly. “But we have the necessary paperwork prepared”

“Why not enroll her in Gotham Academy along with Damian?” Bruce suggested

“It's a private academy, the tuition is in the 30,000’s” Sabine suggested exasperatedly.

“You’re kidding right?”

“I’m just saying I don’t think Marinette would be comfortable with going to a school like that.”

“She went to school with a Model, The Mayor's Daughter, and a comic book artist”

“Bruce!”

“I’m just saying Gotham Academy has already been the school where all of my older kids have attended, plus it has the best security due to the fact that I funded it.” Yes, Bruce was an overprotective parent. Sue him.

With a sigh Sabine couldn’t help but give in she was also an overprotective parent. “Fine but You’ll be the one to deal with her freakout over the costs”

“Deal”

Orly Airport Paris, France 5:00 pm

With a quick hop, Marinette couldn’t help but gape at the private jet with the blaring WAYNE INDUSTRIES on the side. Once they were inside they made sure to get comfortable. It was going to be at least an 8-hour flight. Marinette took out her sketchbook and quickly sketched out a few new future designs. however, she took a quick glance at her parents and saw that her mother had dozed off on her father's shoulder. She quickly flipped a page that revealed a few ideas for an altered ladybug outfit. She needed a redesigned outfit. No more skin-tight suits or pigtails. She's doing a loose outfit and braids, being a superhero with loose hair was plain impractical.

Seriously there is a reason why all superheroes either have short hair or have their hair tied back. With a few final touches, she was done with the redesign, now all that was left was to show Tikki the new design. That's another worry for Marinette. Finding time to talk with Tikki was easy enough to do with her parents. They were bakers who had to wake up early so they usually went to sleep really quickly and early plus she was also an only child, which made it easy for Marinette to slip away for her Ladybug nightly adventures and talk with Tikki. How is she gonna manage that in a house filled with a bunch of people?

Marinette flipped to another page and decided to start sketching a new dress design. She’s curious about what type of colors she wants to use. Maybe Marinette should make it all black? No, too dark. Maybe a few touches of blue? Nah. Red? Nope, she has enough red clothing. Purple? Yuck. Red and Green? Nope, she doesn't want to look like a traffic light. Gold!! Black and gold would be perfect!! Cape? Wait no, Edna Mode the animated icon made a good point on why capes should be banned.

Taking a quick glance around she finally risked taking a peak on Tikki. Tikki was comfortable situated and munching on a bunch of sweets. Marinette softly closed the purse and decided that sleep was the perfect course of action. Wrapping her sweater around herself she allowed the warmth and darkness to overtake her.

Cesaire Apartment Paris, France 7:30pm

“Okay listen up gang since Marinette abruptly dropped out, it’s up to us to raise the money for the school dance and the end of the year field trip which is a few months away,” Alya said.

Lila was quick to point out how horrible and awful it was for Marinette to leave them with all the work.

Alya couldn’t help but notice that only a few people showed up to the meeting. Noticeably absent was Chloe, Juleka, Sabrina, Max (who said Markov needed a reboot or something) and Ivan. Alya couldn’t help but be concerned by the absences. They needed their help to get all the planning ready and everything.

Rose was squealing at a thought of being able to decide on planning the theme of the dance. “Oooohhhh I can’t wait for the dance, do you think Marinette would still make me a dress?” Rose asked while glancing around. Sudden realization seems to hit them all. This year they will most likely have to pay and buy their own dresses and suits. Marinette always made them their outfits and that was part of the reason that they became the talk of the school after a dance. They always looked stunning.

“Rose Marinette wouldn’t dare not make you a dress, you’re one of the sweetest girls in the school if she refuses to make you one then she is Heartless” Lila stated fervently. Oh, Lila was making sure to get her claws completely in the class, she didn’t have an obstacle anymore.

“Lilas right, Marinette would always help you no matter how mad she is at you.” Adrien chimed in. All of a sudden their phones started pinging. Adrien quickly took out his and gaped at what he was reading in the class group chat.

Sabrina has left the Chat

Ivan has left the Chat

Juleka has left the Chat

Max has left the Chat.

Chloe B: Max, Sabrina, Ivan, Juleka and I have made the collective decision to transfer to Ms. Mendelievs Class, Our Transfers were approved quickly, thanks to yours truly :)

Chloe B: Have fun figuring out how to pay for everything Your end of the school year class trip :) :) :)

Chloe B: Oh Marinette is no Longer doing free commissions, have fun with dress and suit shopping :) :) :) :) :))))

Chloe B: Toodles~ you will all haunt my nightmares for years to come

Chloe B has left the chat

A/N:

Hi guys, I don’t know what happened but suddenly theirs more of you :D. Thanks for taking a chance on me. Hope y’all like today's chapter. I wanted to quickly post for my insomniacs. Please Like,Reblog, comment and Follow :)

Taglist:

@damianette-is-life @amayakans @parallelparabox @miukiiu @valeks-princess @toodaloo-kangaroo

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #marinette deserves better #maribat #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #lila salt

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damfinofanfiction · 3 years

Text

Chapter 15: The Journal and Roscoe’s Wedding

Over the course of three days since she last saw Buster, Gail heard those knocks again, but this time it was a delivery man who brought her flowers. They were nicer than the ones she got before. On the note attached to the bouquet, she read the message; Dear Gail, it was I who’s the chump when I realized that I should’ve got you something when I came over. No matter, it’s not too late anyway. Wishing you the best of health and hope you had plenty of rest! - BK. Grabbing the vase and filling it with flowers, she smiled at his gesture. Then another day, Gail went out to the movie theater to see The Iron Mule, as Buster had recommended. She hadn't been in a cinema for a while because she was busy working in a background role and so much else was going on. When the short played, Gail recognized the featured locomotive, The Rocket Train, from Keaton's Our Hospitality. She thought it was likely due to Arbuckle's connections to his colleague. Seven minutes into the film, an Indian showed up in the frame to board one of the coaches. When Buster mentioned looking out for that character, Gail wondered he secretly took part as that Indian. She couldn't recognize him underneath the concealing makeup. When the train rolled without the engineer and most of the passengers, the Indian escaped by throwing a rope to the stake, when he made a landing and then performed a somersault when the rope caught up to him, Gail knew that was Buster from his past stunts. He confirmed it when he came over to check on her the next day.

“Yes, I was that Indian fellow for the stunts,” said the comedian, sitting beside Gail at her table. “And you know that Train was one of my films?”

“Right! Our Hospitality!” She chirped in. “I knew as soon as I saw it.” Gail was grateful that he called before to confirm another visit before lunch break is over. Sally had practice, so they wouldn’t worry about her barging in. She had put together cucumber sandwiches for him in thanks for comforting her.

“My team did a fine job building the Rocket that everybody thought it’s a real deal since it looked authentic,” he said taking a bite.

Gail poured herself the last of the milk for the day, “Did you ever think that you would be a film director?”

“Hell, I never saw myself stepping into the film 10 years ago.” He excused himself for using obscenity in her presence. She didn't mind. She drank the milk as he continued telling his story, “My pop never let us go to the flickers growing up. He thought they were a fad.” He continued, “William Randolph Hearst offered us to make a two-reeler based on the comic strip that ran on his papers, but Pop rejected the idea, saying that nobody would want to watch Three Keatons on a bedsheet for a dime. I ended up working with Roscoe some years before that Hearst bastard helped slander his name on the headlines.”

“Just too bad he’s reduced to making cheap comedies,” Gail sighed.

“He’ll get back on his feet. I’m sure of it,” Buster looked at her cast, then to her face, “What’ll happen to you once the cast is off?”

Gail could never be more excited to get the stiff plaster off her arm. Of course, she needed to expand her film experience once she was able to work again. “I could go out looking for background roles again,” she said. “I hope to hear from Mr. Sennett again.”

“I thought you quit working on shorts.”

She reminded him, “If he offered me a leading or supporting role, I will do so. I can always make time for features.”

While Buster was about to say something to her, he noticed something on her couch, “What’s this you got there?” He pointed to a larger book on the coffee table.

Appalled, Gail didn't realize that she left it there, “Oh, it’s nothing- it’s something, it’s not too important- for you.” she carried it with her arm. it then slipped off to the floor. Buster offered to help. The ticket stub was discarded to the floor she picked it up quickly, opened the album, and glued the stub back in its place.

“Ah it’s like a Scrapbook,” he said peeking onto the pages with Gail hiding them from him, “My mother made one of the articles from the time when we performed in vaudeville as The Three Keatons.”

“These are for my eyes only not yours.” She closed her journal and placed it under the table, “We never brought up your parents and siblings. How are they?”

He sat down beside her, “Everyone’s doing alright. Ma and the siblings live together. My brother Jingles works in real estate. My sister Louise is finishing another year of school.”

“What about your father?”

He sighed as he took a pause. He replied, “My Folks are separated.”

Gail gave him a sullen look, “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“They aren’t divorced, but it felt strange.” he turned away from her, “I didn’t want to talk about it.”

Gail understood right away that Buster was worried about his marriage. She knew he was an unfaithful husband since the end of last year. What she had learned since moving to Los Angeles is that divorce is common for celebrity couples. Buster loved Natalie, but he's unhappy with her and they’ll likely split up. She would tell him that he married the wrong woman and he shouldn't suffer, but instead, she picked up her journal and told him, bringing his attention back, "I wrote something about you."

Gail opened a nicely written page from her journal with Buster looking over her shoulder. The page said as it followed; Sure, Buster almost dresses like Chaplin’s tramp character. but what differs between him and Chaplin is that he didn’t need a greasepaint mustache or that certain make-up to make him more ridiculous. What he needed is his stone face. I’m sure he knew he could be funny on his own.

“This is nice,” Buster complimented, “You wrote it better than what I read from the critics.”

She smiled, “Oh, thank you.”

She patted him in the back, “I don't know what it's like to have parents split up. I imagine how difficult it must be for you. We don't have to talk about your parents unless you feel like it.”

“Gail,” He placed his hand onto her shoulder, “I still want you in my next film. Although it may not be the leading role you were hoping for, I will make sure your role is valued.”

“I was thinking of asking for a background role, guess you beat me to it!” She giggled, which made Buster smile as it was the first time she had ever laughed in front of him.

When Buster brushed his fingers to her cheek, the sight of his wristwatch enabled him to check it, “I gotta get back to my studio!” they stood up, Gail escorted him to the door as the comedian took one last bite of the cucumber sandwich, he thanked her as they shook hands. Keaton didn’t let it go after they stopped, “May I kiss your hand?”

Gail didn't hesitate when she accepted. Buster tugged her right hand by the fingers as he bowed to have his lips make contact with her hand for a bit before leaving her home in a hurry. Through the window, Gail watched him get into his car and drive off as she waved.

After cleaning the table, she sat down on her couch and turned to a page with a photo of Buster as a child and an old article about the Three Keatons which she had gotten from an old family friend. Gail’s eyes fell on the very hand Keaton planted a kiss on and had her hand to her lips, like if he kissed her.

*******************************

Buster didn’t bring up to Gail that Roscoe was getting married in worry that he might jinx it. His former mentor was going to marry Doris Deane almost two months ago. His first wife Minta filed for divorce in Paris as a result, the divorce was not legally binding for weeks according to French law. So it had to be postponed. The Wedding was held in the home of Deane’s mother. The altar was surrounded by flowers. Buster, appointed as the best man, stood beside Arbuckle as the judge officiated the ceremony. Keaton’s eyes went to Natalie, a matron of honor, holding a flower bouquet. It all made him think the last time the Tux wearing Keaton stood on the same altar as his wife was their wedding day. It was in Long Island, They were very much in love. Buster’s ankle was still recovering while he was standing next to Natalie was wearing a white chiffon dress, pure as she was. Right after the wedding, Natalie was congratulated by her friends and family while Keaton was trying to reach his bride, an incident that became the ending scene to Seven Chances. He then took her by the hand and they went into his car to head back to California. Buster regretted it for not including his parents, siblings, and close friends, including Roscoe. At least he got to be present for the time when his former mentor finally went into matrimony for the second time. Keaton grinned when the groom kissed his bride, having the best thing that happened to his friend since his career went downhill following the accusations for the rape that never happened. When it was time for the photographs to be taken the comedian frowned again to maintain his stone face reputation.

Following the ceremony, the guests retreated to a dinner party hosted by Natalie. there was mingling from guests such as Mr. and Mrs. Schenck, Dutch, Peg, and Mr. and Mrs. Lou Anger.

Buster poured himself a drink from the little table and went outside to clear himself from the crowd.

Keaton took a handful of sips when he heard the groom calling to him, “Here’s to the best man.”

Turning around, he grinned, "I would say the same to you, Chief." he brought another glass, not realizing he already took one, but Keaton grabbed it anyway.

he toasted to his pal, “I wish you and Doris a happy marriage.” At least happier than himself and Natalie.

They clinked the glasses together and drank. Arbuckle noticed his sudden down expression, “Are you thinking of that dame again?”

Buster had told him about Gail every time they met up. “I don’t know, maybe,” Buster said while looking at his drink. “I think she has a crush on me.”

Roscoe wasn’t surprised, “You have a likable face, they fall for you, and you take them to bed next thing.”

“Except we haven’t done anything, we’re just friends.” he had friends that were women, some of them he knew growing up. “Sure we enjoyed each other’s company with her being so compassionate to me. All Nate has done lately is treat me as a prize to show off her friends.” he sipped his glass again, “Still, I appreciated her for being a mother of my boys.”

“Do you like this actress?” he asked, having picked up the glass that buster finished.

“Yes, but I love my wife.” he swirled the liquor when playing around with it, “I already pissed her off a bunch of times. And Gail, she had been through a lot. I cannot be breaking any more hopes from her.”

“The last actress you were with took advantage and almost gave you a black eye.”

“I don’t think Gail would be the person who would hit anyone,” he said while shaking his head. “Besides, she only wanted to be my actress. Whatever happens, at least I had someone to lean on. Besides you Chief.”

“Come on Bus, the dinner is ready.” Roscoe went inside. Before joining him, Buster spotted the moon and imagined Gail’s face on it.

#busterkeaton #buster #buster keaton #buster keaton fandom #buster keaton fanfiction #actor rpf #silent comedy #buster fic

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musubiki · 4 years

Note

Hello!! I've followed you on twitter for a while for your pokemon stuff, but stayed for your cute ocs and art style! I really adore your comics, and I was wondering if it's okay to share some tips or tutorials on how you make them (panels/expression/dialogue)? Or maybe just your general process!! I also want to improve on drawing comics and you have been a big inspiration 💕

AAAA THANK U SO MUCH!!! 😭💖💖💖 IM JUS GONNA PUT SOME TIPS CUZ DOING A WHOLE TUTORIAL WOULD TAKE TOO MUCH TIME I THINK,,,these are just newbie tips cuz i dont rly know what im doing so far either 😭😭😭

- i always do the script for a comic first!!! and i usually wait a while between doing the script and actually drawing it since i usually end up changing/thinking up new ideas after a few days!!

- ive read that a good way to break panels is “one panel per emotion”!! so dont try to fit like 3 different emotions into one panel!! (BUT ive seen official mangas like GSNK bend that rule and they end up putting normal tone at the beginning of one panel and ending it with an angry tone without the characters face changing!! that also can work!!)

- i just put one tone over the whole page and set it to overlay. my stupid ass is too tired to give each hair/article of clothing a different tone (unless you wanna make ur character stand out a bit more, like all my characters right now are just gonna have normal toned hair but i wanna give taffy sandpaper toned hair)

- i try not to break up my script into pages, but instead i open a canvas, and make boxes according to how i picture it in my head!! before i used to pre-break the script into pages just to find out the pacing was weird/off and found its better to go back and forth between your script and your comic page so you can make boxes as you go if that makes sense????

- like sometimes you might wanna add an extra pause panel because one wasnt enough, or something like that, its better to just add it instead of having to go back and re-seperate your whole script again

- Clip studio has a lot of manga panel/page resources but i am too lazy to figure it all out so i just use the grid and put boxes how i want using the grid as a guide!!

- gotta decide which colors classify into which monochrome color 👁👁 mine is a little funky cuz obviously pastel pink is lighter than the orange of limes hair, yet limes hair is white in my comic and the pastel pink is a light gray..,,.,,just gotta work with your colors to make sure theres not too many similar grays right next to each other or else it gets confusing/hard to see 😭

- BIG TIP: if a panel is ugly, just accept it. dont spend 5+ hours trying to make it absolutely perfect cuz lemme tell you, you can draw a whole ass mona lisa of a panel and 90% of people will spend 2 seconds on it reading the dialouge and will just move on and forget about it cuz theyre trying to read the story. no one will notice or care it looks a little off (unless its one of those PAGE LONG panels AND/OR the pic is the main focus of the panel then yknow,,,,obviously u gotta make it nice. but if its just “i need a picture for this dialouge panel” dont worry too much. it ees what it ees.)

- figure out what process works best for you!! whether its “i sketch all my pages, then line all my pages, then color all my pages, etc” or “i do one whole page at a time and dont move on until its fully colored and texted up” or “i skip around depending on what panels i want to draw more” (me)!!!

- its a learning process!! for me too!!! im sure in a month or a year you’ll know a lot more about comic making if you make more comics!!! first page is gonna look bad anyway. just gotta power through pages like a steamboat and not look back at them and hopefully you’ll eventually get to a point where you can read your own comics without cringing (im not there yet shdhdjdjd)

- for me, making comics is just a continuous process of “this panel is ugly” and “i hope im conveying the right emotion” and “i hope the read understands this part”, and the whole time youre doing it just repeating “its fine, its fine, its fine,” over and over again until your comic is finished

- EDIT: ONE MORE!!!!!! you only need a minimum of one background panel per page just to remind the reader of the environment!!!! no need to have background on every panel!!! have some pattern/plain backgrounds too!!!

#sorry theres a lot that goes into my personal process so making a tutorial would take too long i think!! 😭😭#hope these kinda help!!!#god i worry so much about effectively communicating tcwg lore #its been in my head for so long i might forget to explain some things in the comic #yall just gonna have to roll with it and die with the questions like howls moving castle #i also always worry about the balance between magic and slice of life because this comic DOES involve a lot of magic but also a lot of NO MA #GIC episodes

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makeste · 4 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 270: Harry Potter Rules

Previously on BnHA: Present Mic punched Ujiko in the face! It was awesome. I’m thinking about getting a tattoo of it. Meanwhile Endeavor saved Mirko’s life by setting her on fire (reason #15 why I will never become a superhero), and Aizawa did some sexy Spider-Man poses for our viewing pleasure while fighting the rest of these Noumus which are still annoyingly refusing to die. Anyway but back to Present Mic, the undisputed MVP of this chapter. Because you see, in addition to the punching, he also used his Loud Voice attack (literally the actual attack name; Horikoshi will steal all of my jokes and leave me with nothing) to smash open Tomura’s Noumutank! Which I really thought was going to immediately lead to Everyone Dying, but apparently I was wrong! Anyways so yeah, right now Tomura’s just lying down all heart-stopped and not-breathing. Which seems very anticlimactic, BUT I JUST HAVE THE CRAZIEST FEELING that maybe, just maybe, the super powerful villain lad who just spent the last three arcs slowly upgrading his bad self just in time to wage war on the world as the story reaches its climax, might not actually be dead though.

Today on BnHA: DON’T MIND THAT OMINOUS ORGAN MUSIC PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND, IT’S NOTHING, IGNORE IT. Ahem. So first of all, as some of the bolder among us dared to speculate, Tomura is not, in fact, dead. He’s still very much kicking it with his nipple-less pecs and truffula tree hair, putzing around in his mental landscape filled with crumbled buildings and disembodied Theatrical Gesture Hands. For some reason he doesn’t have shoes or a shirt in his mental landscape, which was a very interesting choice on Horikoshi’s part, but we will speak no more of it. Anyway so to sum things up, Tomura’s family is all “TENKO WE LOVE YOU” and he’s all “oh hey” and then AFO fucking appears and he’s all “COME HERE MY BOY” which is exactly as creepy as you would expect, and for some fucking reason TOMURA ACTUALLY DOES COME HERE. And lol it turns out Ujiko gave him AFO. Like the quirk. Yes, that quirk. So long story short, Tomura is about to be possessed by AFO’s evil soul or some shit, and to put the cherry on top, fucking Deku out of fucking nowhere, MILES AWAY, is all “HE’S COMING.” Because of course he can sense it, because AFOFA IS REAL, AND FUCK ME THIS IS ALL HAPPENING TOO FAST, FUCK.

I know this chapter has been out since like 1pm, but I’m not getting to read it until 5 hours later because for once in my life I was trying to be responsible and actually get some work done on a Friday. I thought this might lead to less oh-god-I-still-have-to-get-that-done anxiety hovering over my weekend, but instead it just led to oh-god-I-have-to-get-the-chapter-recap-done anxiety hovering over my now! anyways so this might be a bit rushed lol

(ETA: yeah turns out this wasn’t exactly the kind of chapter you could just read quickly and get on with your life lmao. so, then!)

what a nice panel of Present Mic taking out the trash

you heard ‘em fellas. the doctor is secured. good job everyone we did it, manga over, congratulations. now to cut away to a two-page spread of Dark Shadow comically smothering Dabi’s flames with a giant stock pot lid, and that’ll be that! what a wonderful, extremely short and strangely underwhelming arc in which we haven’t even seen the actual main characters do anything yet. but I guess we don’t need them since the main bad guy is lying dead on the floor! everything is just so fucking dead and secured!! do you think if I keep repeating it enough Horikoshi will finally be like “okay geez I get it” and reveal his hand already

Mic is now ordering Ujiko to power down the Noumu, which again, I’m sure he will definitely do without a fuss since after all the good guys have clearly won the day

OH SHIT OH FUCK

rip X-Less. gonna just take a moment here to imprint your beautiful face onto my memory before it turns into a pile of ash. your face, I mean. not my memory. well my memory more or less already is a pile of ash but that’s neither here nor there ANYWAYS

:’)

what are these little sound effects. I think that’s supposed to be a buzzing noise?? anyways whatever it is PLEASE STOP IT, I AM NOT HAVING A NICE TIME SO STOP

ffff Horikoshi sure has done an excellent job of setting the mood in such a way that all of these panels of X-Less doing incredibly mild things are sending my stress levels through the roof. like is anyone else reading his lines more or less like “WELP, TIME FOR ME TO DIE, ANY SECOND NOW, WE’RE REALLY DOING THIS, THIS IS REALLY HAPPENING, HERE IT COMES”

(ETA: when is this poor sweet innocent man going to fucking die already.)

LET’S CUT BACK TO MIC ESCAPING THE IMMEDIATE VICINITY

I have the clearest mental image of Horikoshi standing by with a walkie talkie in one hand and one of those remote bomb detonation clicky switch thingies in the other, patiently waiting to receive the go-ahead once all of the important characters have gotten to safety

anyway so now Ujiko is talking again

no fear everyone this is just the beginning of his verbal noumu deactivation sequence. nothing to worry about. everything is fine

yes for some reason his code phrase to put all the noumus back to sleep involves going into rambling detail about his work researching quirk singularities and shit. it’s fine. it’s not a big deal. code phrases are just like that sometimes all right

just ignore the increasingly panicked look in Mic’s eye as he slowly realizes he was way too fucking keen to just leave the “dead” Tomura back there with his laser-eyed hero buddy. anyway so let’s continue learning all about the Quirk Illuminati or whatever the fuck

okay so... he faked his own death? 70 years ago, at age 50 or thereabouts? I mean, that’s interesting and all I guess. not saying I wouldn’t be thrilled to spend the rest of this chapter learning all about Ujiko’s boring evil life. I don’t need to say it because it’s implied on account of Ujiko sucks and is the worst. so yeah can we get a move on though

oh shit?!?

WHOSE NARRATION IS THAT IN THE BOXES TOMURA IS THAT YOU OH GOD OH GOD

also, comparing AFO’s smile to a buddha’s really sent an actual shudder of disgust down my spine for some reason lmao. I personally would have steered that comparison in a different area, maybe less to buddhas and more to Norman Bates from Psycho, but to each their own

oh shit wait up

okay but this is actually a pretty big revelation though, isn’t it? because it’s been hinted for a while now that AFO and Ujiko had some method of duplicating quirks (the fact that all the Noumu share the same regeneration quirk was the biggest clue, but there was also John-chan’s quirk, as well as Hood’s Muscular-esque quirk), but as far as I can recall, this is the first time we’ve had it confirmed. though to be fair I wasn’t joking when I said my memory really has been shit lately sob

anyway so for real though, can you really call it a BnHA chapter if you’re not spending a good chunk of it being hopelessly confused over the ownership of some ambiguous thought bubbles. WHO IS THIS. I do seriously feel like it’s Tomura, because he’s the wrathful one, but another hallmark of a typical BnHA chapter is me constantly questioning everything I know as I muddle my way through

(ETA: yeah I’m pretty sure it was him. still impressive how vague it is though! it could also potentially be Ujiko, Mic, or even Deku. hopefully Caleb’s translation on Sunday can shed some more light on this. though he wasn’t really helpful last time this happened lol.)

SOMEBODY PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

didn’t... you just... say that “preservation” was your quirk?? what do you mean that you wanted it?? CAN YOU JUST FINISH YOUR SENTENCES LIKE A NORMAL PERSON

anyway so here’s a summary of this chapter thus far

present mic: okay goodbye forever x-less

x-less: what a strange thing to say! :) also is it just me or is this machine fucking staring at me

present mic: turn the noumu off please

ujiko: seventy years ago... society... singularity... he’d be 120 years old now...

??: [REPULSIVE FEELING EW WHO’S TOUCHING ME]

ujiko: all for one has the smile of an angel...

??: [SON OF A BITCH I’M SO FUCKING WRATHFUL]

ujiko: my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk... preservation... the truth is... my quirk...

all caught up?? grand. also btw is anyone else super disturbed by the fact that Ujiko recognizes Mic as being “Kurogiri’s friend”, like holy shit though? how would he know that. I can’t think of any implications of this that aren’t super disturbing tbh

anyways back to -- LOL WHAT THE

Horikoshi Kouhei: [furiously scribbling notes to himself at 3am] BUT WHAT IF THE FOLDING CITY FROM “INCEPTION” HAD MORE GIANT HANDS

jesus christ. is this like some mental representation of what shit is currently like in Tomura’s mind? lots of crumbly destruction and traffic lights and the house his father built (isn’t it? I feel like it looks familiar), and SO MANY HANDS, HE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS

anyway so at this point it’s a coin toss whether or not anything in this fucking chapter is ever going to make any kind of fucking sense! but here I am voluntarily along for the ride while Gene Wilder sings that creepy boat song right in my ear!

DSFKLDSJ

ACCURATE REPRESENTATION OF SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN FLOATING IN A JAR FOR THREE MONTHS TBH. that is some luscious quarantine hair

SDFLKJSDLFKJSLKFDHLKSDJFLKJLKSDJL:FKJSDL:KJ

(ETA: that Tomura in the top left may be my new favorite panel. look at him. all he is is a nose and chin and ~*~HAIR~*~.)

HANAAAAAA AHHHHHH OH MY LORD OH MY LORD! OKAY I’M FINALLY PAYING ATTENTION NOW FOR REAL! NO MORE JOKES! EVERYBODY SHHHH!!!

FFFFFFFFFF

“LOOK AT ME I’M A MAIN CHARACTER I CAN HAVE STRANGE VISIONS AND TALK TO DEAD PEOPLE IN MY DREAMS, SOUND LIKE ANYBODY ELSE YOU KNOW?” TOMURA SHUT UP I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ANALYZE THIS SCENE THEMATICALLY RIGHT NOW I’M TOO BUSY BEING SAD ABOUT YOUR DEAD SISTER WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY CALCULATING THE ODDS OF THIS SOMEHOW BEING FORESHADOWING FOR HER NOT REALLY BEING DEAD. OH GOD, OH FUCK YOU GUYS, I’M FREAKING OUT

WHAT KIND OF YOUNGER BROTHER DOESN’T CALL HIS OLDER SISTER “NEECHAN” TOMURA WHAT KIND OF ANIME CHARACTER ARE YOU

AT THIS POINT HIS HAIR IS ITS OWN INDIVIDUAL CHARACTER WITH THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS WOW

HORIKOSHI PLEASE STOP SHAKING THIS CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE OF SIBLING FEELS SO VIGOROUSLY I AM SO TERRIBLY AFRAID OH GOD

“BY THE WAY TENKO I JUST HAVE TO SAY, YOUR MAN BOOBS ARE SERIOUSLY IMPRESSIVE AND YOU SHOULD BE VERY PROUD.” YES HANA I WAS JUST GOING TO SAY. HOW ASTUTE OF YOU TO POINT THAT OUT. BOY HAS BEEN HITTING THAT BOWFLEX

WTAF IS HIS HAIR THOUGH SERIOUSLY??!

IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS DIALOGUE BUBBLE ACTUALLY COMING FROM THE HAIR ITSELF. TOMURA. TOMURA BLINK TWICE IF YOU ARE IN DANGER

SJJKJSKJSW

TENKO IT’S ME YOUR GIANT MOM I’M BEHIND YOU HONEY TURN AROUND AND LOOK HELLO HI I LOVE YOU DO YOU STILL WANT TO BE A HERO

ffff why is he so pretty all the time lately

you are very handsome with your billowy hair and ken doll abs, you. sure are having a lot of trippy visions for a dead guy too there

HEY!!!!

WHO SAID YOU WERE ALLOWED -- DO YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST -- ffffffffff I need to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes fuck

okay well. but since it is getting late I guess we’ll just pack these feelings up real quick and put them inside a box and neatly label it “feelings I have about Tomura having a vision of his mom and immediately turning back into his innocent little boy self in said vision as soon as he sees her.” not too sure about the contents of this box yet but I will have to explore them thoroughly at a later date

oh hey it’s this asshole

“THAT WAS TWENTY YEARS AGO, DAD.” jesus Kotaro. get over it

and also guess what, if you go and get Tomura all riled up so he wakes up grumpy and disintegrates the first hapless guy he sees, I will hold you solely responsible for that poor man’s death. I’m just warning you now

oh my

I remember this conversation going a bit differently the last time, but hey

LOOOOOOL

HIGH FIVE. PUT ‘ER THERE

WHY WOULD YOU LOOK SO SURPRISED LOL DID YOU NOT JUST TURN TOWARDS HIM WITH A SINISTER MURDER FACE LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO. LIKE WTF DID YOU THINK WAS GONNA HAPPEN

OH NO OH SHIT

FUCK ME, GUESS IT WOULDN’T BE A DRAMATIC BNHA DREAM SEQUENCE IF THIS ASSHOLE DIDN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE AT SOME POINT OR OTHER NOW WOULD IT

-- HOLY SHIT?!

RECORD SCRATCH, FREEZE FRAME??

holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit. holy shit

holy shit. fuck

...okay so

is this implying that AFO has been Noumufied? but that doesn’t make any sense, does it? he already had multiple quirks. what other advantages could there be to him becoming a Noumu. well whatever I’m just typing out all of my thoughts real fast for the time being and I’ll try to make sense of them later

or is it because he sees Kurogiri as a father figure? and AFO also?

or is he using Kurogiri’s quirk????? IS HE SOMEHOW WARPING INTO TOMURA’S DREAMS

because that third one, to me, is what this panel most looks like? Tomura says he looks like Kuro, but he doesn’t though. Kuro has a very distinctive face which this is very much lacking. instead it looks to me much more like one of Kurogiri’s portals, with AFO’s buddhaesque smile sticking out. so yeah. I got nothin’. except, again, fuck

(ETA: yeah I obviously have more thoughts about this now, but we’ll get to those in a bit.)

...

.......

-- !!!!!!!!!!LKJLK!JLKJ

oh shit oh shit oh shit

OH SHIT

NO BABY NO DON’T DO IT

GASP

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AHHHH

I HAVE LIKE TEN THOUSAND THOUGHTS IN MY BRAIN RIGHT NOW YET SOMEHOW MY MIND IS ALSO STRANGELY BLANK?? I DON’T EVEN KNOW?? I’LL JUST KEEP READING

KOTARO ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP HIM OR ARE YOU PULLING HIM TOWARD AFO??

OH HE’S PUSHING HIM BACK!! OH SHIT IT’S A WHOLE FAMILY EFFORT

THEY’RE TRYING TO SAVE HIM AFO IS GOING TO TAKE HIM OVER AND THEY’RE TRYING TO PROTECT HIM OH GOD OH JESUS

BABY TENKO EYES OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE DEKU THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS DEKU FOR A MOMENT

NO TENKO!!!

FUCK -- DOES HE NOT CARE? HE ACTUALLY UNDERSTANDS WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN BUT HE DOESN’T CARE?? IS HE TRULY SO PROFOUNDLY MISERABLE THAT HE’D GO AHEAD AND ACCEPT THIS FATE WILLINGLY

NO SOUNDS. NO WORDS. YOU COULD HEAR A PIN DROP IN MY ROOM RIGHT NOW

except that I have the most incredible, chilling, disturbing, electrifying feeling that my mental soundtrack is about to start blaring AFO’s theme from the anime on full blast...!

LOOOOOL SOB OH FUCKK

THE MOST TERRIFYING, DRAMATIC KIP UP YOU’VE EVER SEEN IN YOUR LIFE!! THIS IS IT, IT’S BEEN REAL FRIENDS, THIS IS WHERE WE DIE

-- ARE YOU REALLY, TRULY, GENUINELY SHITTING ME RIGHT NOW

NOW OF ALL TIMES IS WHEN WE FINALLY CUT TO THE TRIO, I’M CAN’T, I’M FUCK

AND THAT’S THE END AHHHHH

holy shit holy shit holy shit. wow

okay so. I don’t really have any sort of neat and tidy way to wrap up this hot mess of a recap lol. so, just... have a whole mess of all of my stupid whirling thoughts

those first four pages really did nothing to brace me at all lol

okay, so. here’s my understanding of all this, I guess. basically we’re going full Harry Potter rules here. AFO horcruxed his quirk, and from the looks of it, a piece of his soul (perhaps even the main piece) along with it. he then passed it on to Ujiko to implant into Tomura

horcrux!AFO then wakes up, and takes over Tomura. so then my understanding is that he’s going to be possessed by him. and I also got the impression that he’s fully aware of that, but just doesn’t care at this point. he knew his family was trying to warn him, but he didn’t care. and that look in his eyes when he disintegrated them just seemed so fucking resigned to me, though. jesus

but now the more interesting thing! so we can liken Tomura to the resurrected Voldemort from book 5 and onward, reborn after transferring his power into a new vessel. which would go a long way toward explaining how AFO was able to sense what was happening from all the way in Tartarus; because if we liken it to Voldemort and his horcruxes, it would mean that he still has a connection to them (similar to the connection between Voldemort’s mind and Harry’s)

but so now comes the really interesting thing -- what does this then imply about the connection between AFO and Deku? because you’ll recall that AFO alluded to a similar mental connection back when Deku first activated SIXQUIRKS. and now we have Deku somehow being magically aware of AFO’s sudden resurgent presence in this chapter. but why?? if the reason AFO and Tomura share a psychic link is because of a shared quirk, why would Deku also be experiencing the same link? the answer is, he wouldn’t -- unless he, too, had the same shared quirk

in other words, I think All for One for All is fucking confirmed you guys. I can’t think of any explanation for this other than that OFA is also a horcrux quirk. a little piece of AFO broken off and embedded in his brother, and then passed along through the generations. and now residing within Deku

anyway. so that’s a hell of a lot to ponder lol. I guess we can at least be grateful for the fact that we’re not waiting two weeks for chapter 271 like Hori originally planned. can you fucking imagine. what a fucking asshole lol

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stry-someone-to-remember-you · 3 years

Text

Plan(ed) to Have Something Ready, By The Ball Drop &/or Tomorrow!!! If Everything Works out...

Hey Everyone,

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE!!!

Wow, this is the second message without any art added or anything... LOL... Seems odd really to do this without having something up by now... By the way, yes the current avatar pic is related to the comic as you’ll come see soon. It’s and early sketch so some kinks aren’t worked out in the current image. But it was the one I was ready to have when I made this blog so there was at least something...

So as you probably can see by this title, I do plan on having something posted... I just don’t know to what extent. Due to some family drama, and continually piling on work I wasn’t able to get my Christmas Pic out to you guys, which was just a static scene with a few of the characters to get us started here. But... well family got in the way, continually decorating till Christmas day... a lot of things going on, bickering (though we all love each other) it’s just... you know life. I fully expected this as well, which is why I promised something before New Years, but didn’t specify as to what.

I postponed that idea to be released today or tomorrow, after seeing how I was completely unable to get to the work by Christmas Eve. But, by the looks of the progress I made on it and my families continually need of me till we get some things done in this house (that always has something to be done in it... LOL, at least things are coming fairly together). So lets just say, I may not have anything out by tomorrow. But with hopes I want to have something out. So We’ll see. I could release early the character sketches. But I want to keep this blog clean as possible, so I feel releasing the character profiles, cards and blogs together prior to the Prologue, would fit better and keep this page having a cleaner look to it at the start.

Maybe even by midnight tomorrow PST I could have something... But that again depends. I need to clean stuff for the internet/cable guy and I’m seriously allergic to dust... So the next few days I may be in an almost sickly comatose state regardless of the precautions I take. If dust gets kicked into the air at all and isn’t properly vacuumed up, than I’m often sick for days... I feel like all I’ve been doing the whole month is cleaning or working story wise on this comic... Mostly cleaning if you ask me, but at least after Saturday things should be more relaxed and I can have a better work schedule planned out. So yeah, that’s my life...

But DIDNT’ WAN TO LEAVE YOU HANGING with this Negative Nancy Talk ;D ;P ;D lol....

I want to tell you what I have so far:

I have the Christmas Image at least with the basic building blocks to complete it. Like I’ve drawn where I want things, but not detailed anything... So that’s why it may be a day or so... Technically its a Happy Holidays and New Years piece, but with the Christmas Tree in it I have the habit of calling it such...

I may have plans to detail it a bit more then I plan on having the comic, but that also depends on things. I may just leave it in the same style and not fully decked out to make it easier to finish...

~Several Characters for the beginning have their final forms created. These are major characters that will be scene in the prologue. I’m just having to figure out out little things with background characters in some instances.

~The prologue is almost completely written out. I had a change of heart a week ago on some things and had to change it around, which is why the written format for the prologue isn’t complete as it initially was. I just felt some things didn’t fit, so I added and took away some things so it flows better and also works both fanfiction wise for the story, but easily mixes for the Ask AU... I also have at least the beginning portion of the Intro script written, the parts unaffected by the changes. However, parts of the intro will be written out, depending on the questions you ask the characters in this prologue so these portions I’m leaving open on purpose. It’s the plot driven portions I’m mentioning that I’ve changed slightly. ;) I have fun plans for the prologue. Remember this story has a clear direction I’m taking it with plot. But the Ask portion will be a part of it, I have such a fun way of Ask’s being tied into the plot driven story, and it will change depending on the context, person and setting which makes this really fun to plan out.

-With that said, here’s an early heads up, that for Ask Questions, I will allow any sort of asks, but if it has potential to spoil a part of the story, then I won’t answer it. Alongside this, I’ll allow Anon magic to a small degree. I won’t include Asks that like spoil something for a character, or tell the character where someone is, give away what someone else is doing to another character, etc... Unless it may fit the context, but generally I won’t use these types of asks. I will allow Anons to appear occasionally rather then just be unseen voices, as I have fun ways of incorporating Anons into the story that also works with different points in the plot. I will accept things like... say a dog or cat to appear for ex. amount of asks. I already know who they’ll be and have been planning out their designs, but I may draw the line at other animals (e.g. horses, fish, racoons, squirrels, lizards, etc.) Although, I do really love rabbits, I chose to make it concise to just two animals that if asked could appear. It’s not because I can’t draw them but I don’t want things getting out of hand. Types of anon magic I’m not going to use if put in the Ask portion, are things like giving people certain powers or items that may completely effect the tone or plot of the story, accept maybe if I did a non-canon AU to this au for fun one day. I will go more in depth in the general rules later. In no way is this to discourage anyone from asking such things. I may set reminders at times if I get to much of something. But, in general I’ll do what I can to make this a fun Ask blog all the same.

~The Larger Summary, I promised like a trailer would be in the comic form I have rendered the Script for, and have two slides so far drawn out, just not completed. (for the time I didn’t have around the Holidays compared to normally I actually surprised myself with this)

~The story itself is really coming together, I already have a starting and stopping point (which I had prior to this blog) as it will have several Acts and Arcs, some which have greatly changed and take on new depth since the point I started this blog. The themes and story in general are drawn out pretty well. I don’t have all the chapters I’d want fully written. As I have my plan, but I also want to get the prologue in first, just to see if there’s anything I should change with my concept. It’s just a precaution, something I’ve learned well when taking on something new. So I don’t have things that are written in stone and hard to change if the form I’m hoping to take doesn’t work out and needs to be retooled or something. But these are minor and shouldn’t change the overall scope and plot I’m taking this story on either.

~I’ve created several of the character bios, many in fact are already written in true Henry Stickmin fashion. But as I took inspiration to make this into a AU as well, I will possibly make both the bio cards and show a static shot of the characters alongside it or something... It’s an idea, but I want this to also be the easier comic. But, considering that I’ll always have a static shot I use as reference for any character I make, this is what makes this more realistic to occur as well. ~I’ve nearly drawn out all the characters for the intro portion. And already know how I’ll handle Anon’s in the story. In the Prologue itself, I’ll actually have you Anon’s being referenced as audience members in a conference of sorts. Think of it like those conferences when a new Apple or Microsoft product is first advertised as something new to the news conference, those big rotunda’s where someone's being interviewed and presenting the hot new item. Think of the opening to the prologue being something like this scenario. So the questions directed at the character in there, who... *cough* I will introduce later after I fully render both their character profile and have their character bio(s) fully done. Which considering how fun and easy it’s been to do this so far shouldn’t be to long now... Although to keep from getting questions to soon on them, I may hold off on posting the Characters and Bio’s till I have that Intro/Trailer completed... I’m still considering which to do first actually. But top on my list out of all of these is having my cover art for the top completed. That’s something I admit though I have the layout I have hardly started on and should focus on first.

~I’m also taking close looks at how to properly make the rules for this group. When I posts either the Character Bios, Holiday Pic, OR the Trailer Comic... Maye even just the cover art... Then I will try to have out an official Rules list. The one I have on the group posts is just general stuff... But I’m reconsidering some rules I already wrote... Basically keep things family friendly, be kind an courteous, nothing vulgar or disturbing.

I may change this from a PG-13 comic to maybe PG-15. I’ve realized recently, there are some points that some characters do swear... sometimes more then once. I’m not someone who talks with vulgarity myself, but I sure can write characters with it.... Let’s just say I’m going to see if in those scenes I might just bleep out words and see if the dialogue still comes through. But, I dunno... LUCKILY, we don’t have to worry about many of those scenes till way further into this comic. So lucky for either of us, this isn’t a major concern at the moment. And on the plus side it’s not the crudest words I could have chosen so... it may still work as a PG-13 work... I’ll make this decision soon as possible.

Another reason for the sudden change, came as I realized as the story goes, and even in early chapters there will be scenes where blood is shown and physical mortal danger and peril is experienced by the characters. I do have heavy theming sometimes, later on it may seem constantly about. As this story is heavily Drama/Mystery and some suspense based. As the story progresses it will become less Drama/Mystery and more based around the drama/suspense itself. This will obviously be some more intense scenes that showing less blood would allow me to make PG-13, however I also don’t want to undercut the certain tones using representations of a mortal wound would bring. I also want to look at things like these future scenes realistically. Which is why I’m mostly considering changing this story to a PG-15 or at least more certain I am. I just don’t want people shocked that I’m doing this. I don’t feel this story will be R, there was a time where I heavily considered it. But for once I decided no, I didn’t want that. I just didn’t want to open the door for scenes I didn’t intend to have in this story. There will be heavy themes that my have TW for some people. But I didn’t want some TW’s that having a R rated story could potentially have. I mean certain themes people are free to write fanfictions for, and depending on the content can make art for. But again this will be family friendly group... As You can see I’m considering more then a little here when it comes to the official rules. These details will be followed up on the official rules post.

~~~~~~

Now I apologize for the length.

The structure of this and the previous Authors Notes will probably fall under their own category for length. I’ll work to make sure posts in the future won’t be so long and hard to read. It is early morning for me when I woke to write this, and I found once much of the day passed that I still wanted to include the stuff I did into this update.

I have more to tell you, but I think this post has spurned the energy in me out. Anything that I missed in this post, I’ll try to remember to update in the next post (hopefully after I get some art on here). What I can’t do at the moment is promise dates right now till I’m more certain of schedule to work on this or can promise that my general allergies won’t cause me to delay this at all. But I can confirm that I should have several things coming out this next month, including the comic Prologue I hope. Depending on the traction the comic and fanfic gets, I may try to work on it quickly, or take my time with it. I may do a mix of both as my perfectionist self won’t let me just shoot something out without giving it my all first. I’m shushing that side slightly so this comic will be easier on me then the more detailed one I have planned. All the same, I’m planning to work on this one more at the moment till I can get an idea of my work flow. Sometimes the easiest route of work is better for planning, rather then diving head first into the deep end right away. You don’t learn to swim by jumping head first into the ocean. Piece of advice that it took years for me to learn myself ;). Anyways, I figured since I did promise something hopefully by today or tomorrow, I’d give you a formal update... Also... Well I can’t promise that updates won’t be like this in the future. I’ll try to keep them concise. But as people who know me, well have learned when it comes to personally talking I tend to write or talk out epistle. So... When I give updates, I may have lengthy ones... I’ll try my best to keep this side of me out of updates, if I can help it. Anyways Happy New Years Everyone!!! I hope everyone's Christmas and Holidays were extra special, despite the state of the world!!!

HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE AND DAY!!! Sincerely, <3 (Mod) Sweet Heart Blaze

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leepace71 · 4 years

Photo

When Pedro Pascal was roughly 4 years old, he and his family went to see the 1978 hit movie “Superman,” starring Christopher Reeve. Pascal’s young parents had come to live in San Antonio after fleeing their native Chile during the rise of dictator Augusto Pinochet in the mid-1970s. Taking Pascal and his older sister to the movies — sometimes more than once a week — had become a kind of family ritual, a way to soak up as much American pop culture as possible.At some point during this particular visit, Pascal needed to go to the bathroom, and his parents let him go by himself. “I didn’t really know how to read yet,” Pascal says with the same Cheshire grin that dazzled “Game of Thrones” fans during his run as the wily (and doomed) Oberyn Martel. “I did not find my way back to ‘Superman.'”

Before Pascal knew anything about “The Mandalorian,” its showrunner and executive producer Jon Favreau knew he wanted Pascal to star in it.

“The transience is something that I’m incredibly familiar with, you know?” Pascal says. “Understanding the opportunity for complexity under all of the armor was not hard for me.”

“I remember at one point not even realizing that my parents had accents until a friend was like, ‘Why does your mom talk like that?'” Pascal says. “And I remember thinking, like what?”

“And it changed me,” he says with almost religious awe. “It changed me.”

And then it all started to happen.

“It will never happen again,” Pascal says, once more in that incredulous whisper. “It felt so special.”

After all he’s done in a few short years, why wouldn’t Pascal think more roles like this are on his horizon?

“I don’t know!” he finally says with a playful — and pointed — howl. “I’m protecting myself psychologically! It’s just all too good to be true! How dare I!”

#pedro pascal #variety #interview

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ottelis · 4 years

Photo

"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi.

06—memory

tw: manic and depressive episodes, internalized homophobia, minor character death, major character death, suicidal thoughts, and a suicide attempt

december 25th, 1965

10:21

caen, france

Eliott wakes that Christmas morning feeling happier than he's felt in a long while. It wasn't that he was unhappy before, it was that he felt lighter now. But it is Christmas, a holiday he's always held close to his heart. He never received many gifts, but the few he received were always meaningful. He loved opening his presents and giving his parents as big of a hug as he can. Christmas was warmth, and love . It was seeing his mother's eyes light up when he opens his presents. It was hearing his father's soft, kind voice tell him about how they decided to pick that present out for him, and all the things he could do with it. It was the fire gently crackling in the fireplace. It was dinner at the Lallemants' house, sitting with Lucas and talking about the presents they got and what all happened that day. It was Lucas playing Christmas songs on his piano with everyone singing at the top of their lungs around him. It was going to sleep that night feeling perfectly content and full. It was closeness, intimacy, safety. It was joy .

Eliott makes his way down the stairs, already able to smell the pain au chocolat his mother is making. He smiles, breathing in the smell of warm pastry and bitter chocolate. He knows this will be the best Christmas he's had in a long while.

"Eliott, my boy," his father chuckles. "Merry Christmas!"

Eliott looks over and sees him placing the last of the presents under the Christmas tree. Eliott grins and bounds over to him, giving him a tight hug. "Merry Christmas, Papa."

His father laughs as he hugs him back. "Go tell your mother 'merry Christmas' now, son."

Eliott turns and goes to the kitchen, kissing his mother on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, Maman."

"Merry Christmas, Ellie," she returns, ruffling his hair. "You're awake just on time. Breakfast will be ready in just a second. Then we can open all our presents."

"Great!" Eliott beams, giving her another kiss on the cheek. He steps back as she pulls the pain au chocolat out of the oven, the pastry golden and steaming. He excitedly takes his place at the table, already piling food onto his plate. His father takes his place, too, chuckling as Eliott shovels food into his mouth.

"Slow down, Eliott, you'll choke," he cautions through his laughter. "We can't have you dying on Christmas day."

Eliott laughs, too, listening to his father and slowing down. He savors the way the pain au chocolat melts in his mouth, the way the freshly brewed coffee warms his belly, the way his parents talk to each other with so much love and care.

"I'm happy," he says, not quite blurting it out but not meaning to say it aloud.

His parents are silent for a moment, but then they both grin. He thinks he sees tears in his mother's eyes, tears of joy. He feels his father pat his hand on his shoulder, and his heart glows .

"We're happy, too, son," he replies, his voice ever soft and ever kind. "We're a happy family, aren't we?"

Eliott nods, smiling so wide his cheeks are aching. "We are."

They finish their breakfast in a comfortable, almost musical silence. Eliott feels content, almost like he's fuzzy at his edges, like he's bleeding into the world around him but it's welcoming him into its arms. Like he's fading into a background. Like he's living in a picture, but he knows every shade of every color, every shadow and its shape, every face and all its beauty. The world is beautiful, and he belongs in it. It could be his if he wanted it to be. He could bring everyone he loves along with him. His parents, Lucas. They could be in his picture with him and they could see the world the way he sees it. Wouldn't that be wonderful ?

Eliott's excitement only grows as they start opening presents. He picks up the gift he can recognize first; a crisp, clean sketchbook. He flips through the blank pages, imagining all the things he could fill it with. He could create a comic book and put all the drawings and dialogue in here, or do a series of portraits or landscapes. He loves new sketchbooks and all the possibilities they hold within them, only waiting to be seen and realized. He goes through it four or five times, listening to the pages shuffle against each other. He doesn't quite pay attention to the presents his parents are opening, but he knows his father got a new pair of pants for work and his mother got a new book that had come out recently. He waits patiently but excitedly for his next turn so he can open his other gift, the one he can't tell what it is just by looking at it.

Finally, it's his turn again, and he notices his parents giving each other a sly, almost ecstatic look. "What are these faces for?" he asks, chuckling.

"This is a really big present, honey," his mother replies, grinning at him. "Your father and I scrounged up just enough money for this one."

Eliott's eyes widen, and he looks back at his father to see if he'll give anything away. He just shrugs, stretching his hand out a little. "You won't know what it is until you open it."

Eliott grins, tearing open the wrapping paper and the small box inside of it. His mouth drops open.

"A camera?" he asks, awed. "Like Arthur has?"

Both his parents nod at him, smiling like he's never seen them smile before.

"But these are so expensive," Eliott continues, shaking his head. "You didn't have to spend so much money on me."

"You were just so excited when Arthur let you take some pictures with his camera," his father replies. "We knew we had to get you one."

Eliott grins, studying the buttons and gears on the camera. He studies the film canister it comes with, too, imagining the same things he imagined with his sketchbook. He looks back up at his parents, opening his arms. He pulls them both into a hug, saying "thank you" almost a million times. His heart is bursting .

He watches, grinning as his parents open their last present. His father tells his mother to go ahead and open hers with that same sly look he was giving Eliott. His mother smiles, confused, but takes off the wrapping paper and opening the box. Her hands immediately fly to her mouth.

"This is that dress I saw in that store window months ago," she gasps. "When did you buy this, Eduard?"

His father looks at her with so much love in his eyes as he replies, "The day after we saw it. I knew you'd look beautiful in it, and I saw how much you loved it."

Eliott looks and sees the dress. It's a light, powder blue that tucks into a royal blue, pleated skirt. It has a crisp, white collar with delicate flowers embroidered on it.

"Go put it on, Maman," he grins. "You'll look so pretty wearing it."

"I'm about to work on what we're bringing to dinner tonight," she dismisses, shaking her head. "I might get stains on it, and it's just so lovely."

"Just try it on, Noémie," his father replies. "You can change when you start cooking."

She smiles, looking back down at the dress. She looks back up, nodding. "Okay. I'll be right back." She takes the dress and runs up the stairs to his parents' room.

"Maman's going to look so beautiful," Eliott says, his heart bursting even more. He thinks it's bleeding into his voice.

"You should've seen her on our wedding day," his father replies, his voice wistful, reverent. "She hates wearing white, but she was a vision in it that day. I cried as soon as I saw her enter the chapel. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She is the most beautiful woman in the world."

Eliott grins as he listens to his father, close to tears himself. "I want to love somebody the way you love Maman. And I think I want someone to love me the way you love her, too."

"Someone will, my boy," his father reassures him. "We're all meant to love somebody, I think. Something like a soulmate."

"Are you and Maman soulmates?" he asks, his chest stirring at the thought of love being woven into every part of him.

"If you ask Maman, she'll tell you we're not," he sighs, still smiling. "But your mother isn't romantic like that. If you ask me , yes. A thousand times, yes."

"How did you know that?" he asks. "That she was your soulmate? That you loved her?"

"I always knew, Eliott," he answers almost immediately. Then he continues, thoughtful and warm. "I think it's a matter of when I recognized it, called it by its name. And I did that when I heard her sing one time at a choir concert when we were in school. You know she has a beautiful singing voice, but that night, there was this look in her eyes as she sang. Like she believed every word she was singing. Like she knew she had to sing because she had something to say and she believed it was important. Like she was in love with music and life itself. Then her eyes found me and she smiled and her voice was louder and clearer than it had been before. She was singing to me for the rest of the concert. And I've loved her ever since."

He hears the door to his parents' room open, then, and he hears his mother's footsteps. He sits up, his smile widening.

"Are you two ready?" she asks, her voice floating excitedly down the stairs.

"Yes!" they both reply, equally as excited.

She appears at the top of the stairs, her hair pulled up into a bun and her new dress fitting her perfectly. She twirls, the skirt of her dress rippling like the waves. A few strands of hair fall loose from her bun, framing her face. She grins, and it makes her glow.

Eliott's father stands up, rushing up the stairs to meet her and kiss her softly. Her arms drape over his shoulders as she kisses him back, and it reminds Eliott of the movies. A love that overcomes any obstacle that stands in their way, a love so powerful and yet so soft and tender. He grins, warmth filling his chest.

We are a happy family.

His parents walk back down the stairs, then his father opens his last present. It's a new watch, one that his mother says wasn't too expensive, but she remembered him complaining that the watch he has now isn't working as well as it used to. He studies it for a moment, its fairly cheap but shining band, the gilded lettering along its face. He latches it onto his wrist, promising to never take it off unless he absolutely has to.

It's well into the afternoon now, so his mother changes out of her new dress and starts working on the side dishes they'll be bringing to dinner at the Lallemants'. She sings an old song she used to listen to during the war, one that reminded her of his father when he was a soldier. Her voice floats all around the house like sunlight, the words she's singing promising to wait in perfect patience, in perfect love, for the man she loves. His father is watching TV, and occasionally staring at his new watch for a while. He smiles, his eyes following the second hand tick, tick, tick by. Then, he'll look up and chuckle at a joke in the show, then he'll look back down at his watch. Eliott has already begun sketching in his new sketchbook, drawing dresses he thinks his mother would look pretty in, ones that would make her smile, ones that made her look like she was an actress in a movie. He doesn't know a thing about designing dresses, but he knows what would make his mother happy. Eliott can't help but think that this was what he meant when he said Christmas is warmth and joy. He can't help but think he's the happiest he's ever been.

Soon, they're all getting dressed for dinner at the Lallemants', as well as the party they always hold afterwards. Eliott's wearing a heavy, almost itchy sweater, but he likes its greenish gray color, and he's worn it the past couple years. He supposes it's a bit of a tradition. His father wears his new pants and one of his newer shirts, and his mother once again considers wearing her new dresses, but decides it's better to be safe than sorry. She still wears a beautiful dress, though, a red one with long sleeves and a hem that nearly touches the floor. They all carry a small plate as they walk over to the Lallemants' talking and laughing and letting the biting winter air carry their voices a little farther than they can reach. Eliott's also cautiously carrying his new camera, ecstatic about showing it to Lucas. He really liked Arthur's camera, too, and Eliott figures it could be special if they both have pictures they've taken saved on film.

His father, the only one with a free hand, knocks on the door as they reach the Lallemants' front porch. Madame Lallemant answers, wearing a rich green button-up shirt and dark slacks. She smiles widely when she sees them, offering to take one of the plates from Eliott's mother. Lucas comes running up to the door, his eyes lighting up when he sees Eliott. Eliott feels his chest warm, feels himself become lighter.

"You're wearing that sweater again?" Lucas asks, chuckling. "I don't think it fits you anymore, mec ."

Eliott shrugs. "Tradition? Besides, you're one to talk. That sweater is new, but it's not as stylish as mine, I think."

Lucas looks down at his sweater, a gray knitted one. "What's wrong with my sweater?" he asks, almost pouting.

"I'm kidding, Lucas," Eliott chuckles, pulling him into a hug. "It's a nice sweater."

He feels Lucas tense a little bit, but he eases into the hug. "Thanks, Eliott."

"Of course," he replies, hugging Lucas a little tighter. He pulls away after a moment, grinning. "Hey, do you want to see my big present?" he asks excitedly, trying to hide his camera.

"Yeah!" Lucas grins, his smile wavering ever so slightly. But Eliott pretends he didn't notice it.

He shows off his camera, his eyes never leaving Lucas's face. His eyes widen, and his mouth drops open a little. He looks back up at Eliott, stammering and chuckling.

"A film camera?" he asks. "Like Arthur has? Don't these cost an arm and a leg?"

"Maman said they managed to get enough to buy one for me," Eliott replies, his words starting to run together a little bit. "I need to toy around with it a bit and figure out how it works, but once I do I can give you some pointers and you can take some pictures with it."

Lucas's eyes widen even more, his lips spreading into a grin. "Seriously? You'll let me?"

"Of course," Eliott shrugs, as if it were obvious. "You liked Arthur's camera, too, right?"

"Yeah," Lucas replies, nodding. His smile fades a little, and he looks up at Eliott again. "Can I see it?"

"Yeah, here," Eliott smiles, handing it over to him.

Lucas turns it over in his hands, his smile returning as he studies it. "It's so cool."

"I know, right?" Eliott replies. "I can't wait to start taking pictures with it."

"Me, too," Lucas grins, giving it back to him. "Don't let me break it, though."

Eliott shakes his head, laughing. "I think you should be more worried about me breaking it."

"Boys, we're eating!" Madame Lallemant calls, making them jump.

"Coming, Maman!" Lucas responds.

They enter the dining room, where a large, tempting array of food lay set on the table. At the center was a decadent turkey, surrounded by warm slices of bread and steaming plates of vegetables. Lucas and Eliott both look at each other, their eyes wide and stomachs beginning to rumble. Lucas looks away quickly, though, and Eliott thinks he saw his cheeks flushing. They quickly take their seats at the table.

"Eduard," Madame Lallemant says. "Could you say grace?"

"Of course," he smiles. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," everyone echoes, signing the Cross.

Lucas pulls his hand away rather quickly, and Eliott once again tries to pretend he doesn't notice. He starts picking at his potatoes, listening to the conversation going around the table. Madame Lallemant asks about his father's health, which has been much better recently. His mother asks Madame Lallemant how she's been doing as far as her mental health, and she says that she's been much better, too. His mother asks Lucas if he's shown him his new camera yet, and Lucas smiles politely and says that he's seen it. Lucas and Eliott both get asked about how their semester went, and Lucas has better things to report than Eliott does, but that's how it always was. Lucas was always smarter than Eliott.

Eliott tries to steal glances at Lucas, but he seems distracted, absentminded. Eliott's first thought is that he could be nervous about playing the piano later, but Lucas did that every year, and he was rarely nervous. Then he thought he could be having leftover nerves from exams, but Lucas is acting differently than he does when he's stressed about school. Lucas tends to ramble to himself when he's working through a math or science problem, but he's awfully quiet right now. Eliott feels the need to again pretend he doesn't notice Lucas's behavior, but he knows him too well not to notice every shift in his face or in his mood, even if it's only for a fraction of a second.

He nudges Lucas, who jumps a bit but then turns to look at him. " Ça va? " he mouths.

Lucas nods, giving him a fake smile.

Eliott raises his eyebrows in response, not believing him.

Lucas's smile drops, and he just shrugs. He tears his gaze away from Eliott, staring intently at his food. Eliott feels himself deflate.

Him and Lucas don't talk much throughout dinner, finishing their food long before their parents do. It goes by fairly quickly, though, and Madame Lallemant starts bringing out the bûche de Noël , like she makes every year. It looks wonderful, like it always does, and when Eliott looks over, Lucas is genuinely smiling. He maintains it mostly while they eat, and Eliott smiles, too, his heart slightly at ease now.

"Lucas," Madame Lallemant says as they finish eating. "Are you ready for your annual concert?"

Lucas perks up, a sense of anxiety almost radiating off of him. But he recovers and smiles, nodding. "I think so."

"Great!" she smiles back. "Let's all go to the piano, then."

Everyone rises from their seats and crosses the room to the piano, Lucas sitting at the bench and Eliott sitting next to him. Their parents stand off to the side, Eliott's father putting his arms around his mother and Madame Lallemant gazing lovingly at her son.

Lucas takes a deep breath, lets his hands hover over the keys for a moment, then he begins to play. Eliott recognizes the tune immediately: "O Holy Night." Then Lucas starts singing.

Lucas has always been a singer, but his voice sounds different . It's softer, warmer, gentle like a candle flame. It fills, it swells, it sweeps. Usually, everyone would sing along, but they're quiet; listening to every note, every change in inflection in his voice. He's never sounded more beautiful.

Eliott's eyes can't leave Lucas's face, his eyes. He's afraid he'll miss something there. He doesn't know what that something could be, but he feels like he can't miss it for the world.

Lucas's eyes are filled with melancholy , a longing . His lips tremble as he sings, as if they can't bear the weight of the words they want to say, but can't. But then, he takes a breath and his lips spread slowly into a content, peaceful smile. A blush starts bleeding into his cheeks, the tip of his ears. Lucas looks like a star is exploding within his chest, filling him with a thousand wishes and the fires of millennia. It coats his throat, his tongue, coming out sweetly, almost sickly. Eliott wonders what it feels like, tastes like for Lucas. It must be sweet for him, too, the way he's smiling and the way his eyes seem to yearn for more, but is no longer ashamed of it.

Lucas turns his head and looks at him, and he swears the world stops in its tracks. It's like when he would read books under his blanket, with time frozen and the earth silent, but Lucas is here now, too. It's like he somehow sneaked in through some veil, some barrier, and he's found Eliott. He was looking for him. And he found him. Eliott doesn't mind that he's here, either. He's not a character in a story he can take and mold and shape. He's someone he loves, someone he can't change, but someone he also trusts enough to help him keep the universe in perfect balance. Much like the melody Lucas is playing, much like the kindness that seems to drip from his fingers, Eliott knows his universe is safe in Lucas's hands.

Lucas doesn't look away. He lets his hands remember the shape of the melody, his tongue remember the waves of each note, but his eyes stay focused on Eliott. And Eliott can't quite look away. He feels a burning fill his chest. He wonders if his heart heard Lucas's crying out and offered to shoulder some of the burden. But as he lets it burn a bit, as he becomes familiar with its heat and the breathing of its flames, he knows there's only one possible name for this fire, this burning : love.

He remembers his father's story about his mother, how music filled the air—music nurtured by the lungs and hands of two of the most precious people in the universe. How two sets of eyes find each other and can't let go of each other. How the music shifts, how it finally sees a direction, how it finds something to exist for, to be beautiful for. How everything makes sense, how every twist and turn and knot the strings of fate took just to allow for this single, breathtaking moment. The moment love blooms, the moment its beholder finally sees its gorgeous petals, its sturdy, smooth stem, and suddenly remembers a seed being planted and watching it grow. For the briefest, deepest moment, Eliott's eyes have never been clearer, and his heart has never sung more from within its cage.

Love.

Eliott's breath pauses, realizing just like he is that from this moment on, it will never fade in and out of the air the way it did before. It has found its direction, its purpose, too. His breath now lives and dies for Lucas, sings and falls silent for his voice, his patience, his smile. It finally escapes his mouth, stumbling and shivering but with joy .

But Lucas looks away, and Eliott's breath peters out, cracked.

Lucas finishes the song, his voice and the plucking of the piano dying out like a hearth, warm and sighing. The blush leaves his face, and he breathes out the embers still left in his lungs. His fire has been snuffed, gently suffocated. The coals in Eliott's chest seem to burn brighter, hotter now that it seems to burn alone.

Eliott's parents and Madame Lallemant begin applauding loudly. Eliott joins in, clapping weakly and putting on a small, brave smile. Madame Lallemant traps her son in a tight, loving hug that Lucas seems to melt into.

"That was beautiful, baby," she coos, kissing his forehead. "I'm so proud of you."

"It's just the Christmas show, Maman," Lucas chuckles. "It wasn't anything that special."

"It was!" she beams, taking the words right out of Eliott's mouth. She pulls away, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You could've performed that on a big stage in front of the entire world and they all would've loved you."

Lucas shakes his head a little as he bows it, his eyes tracing the grain of the piano bench. He's bashful, glowing. He looks back up at Madame Lallemant, shrugging. "Thank you, Maman."

She gives him another kiss on the forehead, taking a step or two back once she sees that he's a little embarrassed. Eliott hears her apologize in the quietest voice, and he sees Lucas tense a little. He sees him shake his head, but he doesn't hear him say anything.

"That really was amazing, Lucas," Eliott's mother says, still clapping lightly. "You really outdid yourself this year."

"I guess I'd better start thinking about what I'll play next year soon," Lucas jokes, still tense.

"I'm sure that will be amazing, too," Eliott's father replies. "I can't wait to see it."

Lucas nods, turning to Eliott. He relaxes, just a little. "You're quiet, Eliott," he says. "What did you think?"

Eliott sees the clarity in Lucas's eyes, the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, the way he's wringing his hands. Eliott smiles, trying to put Lucas at ease. "You're surprising. I've known you all these years but you keep surprising me. That was gorgeous, Lucas."

Lucas's nervous smile changes into a shy yet sweet one. Eliott can tell he wants to smile wider, but he doesn't know why Lucas is trying to hold it back. He's beautiful when he smiles all wide and toothy. He's beautiful.

The fire crackles then roars in his chest, a new life breathing into the flames and helping them grow.

What is he supposed to do with them?

"Eliott?" Lucas says, his voice quiet, soft. It almost sends a shiver down Eliott's spine. " Ça va? "

Eliott nods, trying to muster the most genuine smile he could. Lucas's smile widens, and Eliott doesn't need to force the genuineness anymore. Lucas's hand, almost in slow motion, travels over to Eliott's shoulder. His fingers seem to hover, but then touch the fabric of Eliott's shoulder gently, as if they were afraid of what would happen if worlds collided. Lucas's hand becomes comfortable, welcome there, and his smile widens again.

The fire is eating Eliott from the inside out.

"Thank you so much again, Madeleine," Eliott's mother says, snapping both Lucas and Eliott out of their little bubble. "I think we're going to head home."

Eliott's smile falls, and Lucas's does, too. They share another look, one that Eliott is sure is filled with longing. He feels another scorch in his chest. They both stand up from the bench, giving each other a hug. Lucas lifts his chin so his head can rest on Eliott's shoulder. Eliott's fingers brush Lucas's hair, but he lets them stay there for a moment.

"Goodnight, Lucas," Eliott whispers, letting his eyes close for a moment.

"Goodnight, Eliott," Lucas whispers back, his voice soft and warm as ever. Eliott bites his lip to keep from grinning.

Lucas pulls away first, his hand lingering on Eliott's back for the briefest moment. Eliott pulls away, too, giving Lucas another sweet, genuine smile.

He sees his parents giving Madame Lallemant a hug out of the corner of his eyes. He walks over to her as they walk over to Lucas. She grins at him and holds out her arms. He grins back and hugs her.

"Thank you, Madame Lallemant," he tells her. "Everything was wonderful."

"Of course," she replies. "Merry Christmas, Eliott."

"Merry Christmas," he returns as he pulls away.

He glances over his shoulder and his eyes lock with Lucas's again. Lucas has the sweetest, smallest smile on his face as he looks down at the floor. Eliott can see the blush in his cheeks, even with his face turned down.

"Come on, Eliott," his father calls from the front door.

"Coming," he replies, bounding over to them. He swears he feels Lucas's gaze on his back, and he can't help but smile.

december 26th, 1965

03:00

caen, france

Eliott can't sleep. He can't sit still. He can't slow down. He can't think straight. He can't breathe. He's dizzy. He's anxious. He's bursting. He's exhausted. His vision is just out of focus. His heart is beating ever so slightly off rhythm. His hands are shaking. He picks apart the darkness, banishing it and filling it with all the extra thoughts he doesn't have room for in his head. He plays records so quietly he has to hang his head just above the vinyl to hear it, and it's even still too quiet over the scratching and carving of the needle. He's tried drinking tea but he doesn't quite taste it, only burning his tongue on it. He paces his room on his tiptoes, afraid of the floor crumbling beneath him if his heels ever touched the ground. His lips are pulled taut, and he can't quite tell if he's smiling or just holding back every ramble on the tip of his tongue. Everything is bleeding. His thoughts leak into his blood, his blood seeps just beneath his skin, his skin blends into the air. He's fading into the background again. Only this time, the picture he's been trapped in is unfamiliar. He's been developed onto film that was left in the sun too long, or was too old, or not right for the camera. He doesn't know what to do.

My new sketchbook, he thinks suddenly. I can start drawing in it.

He grabs it as well as his pencils and tears out the page with the dresses he drew on it, setting it aside. He stares at the new blank page in front of him, trying to decipher any single thought but they move along too quickly for him to make out anything they said. He's chasing his own tail, thousands of his own tails.

He exhales slowly, methodically, his eyes trailing over to the corner of his room where his lamp sits. He follows the trail of light as it spills onto the floor. He watches it mix like paint with the moonlight filtering through his window, creating a dreamy, purple hue. Then he sees the darkness creeping behind it, slowly inching forward. It attacks slowly. It bleeds.

Light and dark, he thinks again, his mind slowing down. Light can only reach so far. Darkness can only reach so far, too. What happens at the intersection? What happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment?

Eliott shifts closer to his lamp, to the light, his hand immediately sweeping over the page, leaving charcoal trails behind. He builds a bridge, each of its stones trying to break through the mortar and war with the others, trying to chip and crack away at each other. He paves a road, the dirt and the leaves lying on top of each other, litters of bodies and skeletons. He grows a forest, each tree with their own unique circumference, their own number of branches and leaves, their own height, their own love for their neighbors. He forms a night sky, dark and inky and suffocating. He authors an opera between the stars and the moon, songs where the lyrics and the melodies are familiar and the characters are beloved friends. He forges a bond between the self his hand creates more so than the self every grain of glass he's seen reflect back at him. He creates a world, at least a corner of it so far, but he knows something is missing.

What's missing? his brain asks him. Find it. Find it before it slips away. Find it before it gets bored of waiting for you. Find it before you lose it forever. Find it before your world becomes obsolete, before it becomes timeworn, before it's gone. Find it.

Eliott searches his drawing, his room. His eyes are moving too quickly for his brain to catch up now. He swears he feels his pupils enlarge.

Find it find it find it find it find it find it FIND IT!

He shakes his head violently, trying to knock the thoughts out of his skull. He starts tearing through his room. He rips after thousands of sheets of paper, throws his comforter and sheets off his bed, yanks all the books off his bookshelf, turns his lamp on and off until the constant shifting starts hurting his head and eyes. He can't move fast enough. He can't look hard enough. His heart isn't beating fast enough. His brain isn't thinking fast enough. The thing he's looking for is moving too quickly. It's too hard to see. It speaks in a language that Eliott can't understand. He can't find it. He can't find it . He can't breathe .

He shoves his window up to open it, sticking his head out and taking in gulps of the chilly, inky air. Maybe the thing he's looking for is out there somewhere. Maybe it's buried beneath the sand, or hidden in the seafoam, or seeking refuge in the moonlight.

Refuge. Moonlight. The fear of the dark. Lucas.

Eliott leans out of his window a little more, craning his head so he can see Lucas's house. Lucas always had a lamp on in his room, but when Eliott looks, the lamp is off but the main light to his room is on. He's awake.

Lucas's light can only reach so far. His darkness can only reach so far, too. Our light and darkness can only reach so far.

Eliott grabs his sketchbook from off his bed, trying his best to sit on his windowsill so the moonlight can guide his hand, so the light from Lucas's room can help him find the missing piece.

No. He is the missing piece.

Eliott turns to the next page, snatching scraps of pictures in his mind and pasting them onto his page. He's mostly just shading as darkly as he can, leaving a space in the middle for Lucas, the missing piece.

His brain still won't stop tripping over its own thoughts. His hand still shakes as he draws, smudging the charcoal. But he's beginning to smile. The pictures are becoming a cohesive story. A boy who's afraid of the light, and a boy who's afraid of the dark. Love is what happens at the intersection between dark and light. Love is what happens the moment they collide, at the place where they fragment. Light and dark can only reach so far, but love can reach father, and it can never fall short.

He fills his sketchbook in a few short yet dragging hours. There's scene after scene, opera after opera, bridge after bridge. Eliott starts becoming comfortable with the cool shadows of the dark. Lucas starts becoming comfortable with the warm pools of sunshine. Lucas and Eliott hold hands. They kiss. Their foreheads touch. The sun rises. They don't leave each other.

The urgency Eliott has felt all night is practically dripping from his sketchbook. It's obvious in the spots where Eliott pressed the graphite down on the page a little harder than he needed to. It was apparent from almost every single line, bowing and curving and staggering. He could see it in the way he drew their hair, a collection of assorted strands all pulling in different directions. He could feel it as he flips through the several pages where Lucas's lips are against his, watching every shift of their lips, their chins, their hands on each other's faces. This sketchbook, this story is urgency. The urge to get over fear, the urge to go after what your heart yearns for, the urge to touch and kiss and feel and love and be loved.

All Eliott can feel right now is want , anxiety, pins and needles, suspense. Even after filling his sketchbook. Even after drawing out such an elaborate and desperate fantasy, one that he never really considered before. His hand isn't even tired. None of these urges he feels has gone away. He doesn't know how to make them go away. He doesn't know if he's felt anything like this before. He doesn't remember himself ever feeling high as a kite and then suddenly needing to navigate massive gales and thunderstorms. He doesn't know if this is normal. He doesn't know if something is wrong. He just doesn't know.

He watches Lucas's room from his window, hoping it would calm him down. Lucas turned off his light and turned on his lamp a while ago, but the small flicker of light there in his window is comforting, almost. It's playing with the lightening sky, almost encouraging the sun to rise and share its light. Eliott wonders, too, if Lucas sees the light of his lamp appears in his dreams, maybe his nightmares, comforting him in sleep, too. The thought makes Eliott smile, and his anxiety eases just enough that he can watch the sunrise.

He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw it. He wishes he had another spot in his sketchbook to draw Lucas one more time.

january 9th, 1966

10:17

caen, france

"Eliott?" a voice says, gently beckoning Eliott from his dreams.

Eliott opens his eyes, and a familiar, soft face smiles at him, veiled in sunlight. Lucas . His eyelashes are long and almost blond in the light, his eyes even brighter and bluer than Eliott knows them to be. Even the side of Lucas's face that's shadowed is beautiful. His light still shines through, just enough to break through the darkness. He really is beautiful. Especially when he's soft like this, sweet and happy. But Eliott can't seem to smile as he studies the line of Lucas's nose, the curve of his lips. His heart can't seem to glow and beam like it usually does when Lucas is next to him.

"Are you okay?" Lucas asks, his face suddenly slacking with concern.

Eliott isn't sure. His body feels heavy—his eyelids, his chest, his limbs. His mind is foggy, too, almost lethargic. He doesn't feel sick, though. He doesn't feel like he has a fever, and his nose isn't congested. His stomach doesn't feel queasy, either. It's a little hard to breathe, but does that mean he's sick? He shrugs. "I don't know."

Lucas's brow furrows, and there's a knowing look in his eyes. "Do you want me to get your parents?"

Eliott doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't want to bother his parents when they might be busy, and he doesn't want to make Lucas get them for him. He decides to shake his head. "No, it's okay."

Lucas somehow seems even more worried now, his eyes frantically searching Eliott's face for something they can't find. "Are you sure you're okay, El? You're not sick, are you?"

"I don't think so," Eliott replies, trying to examine his own body.

"Try sitting up," Lucas suggests, standing up and sitting back down at the edge of his bed.

Eliott manages to, slowly but surely. He feels a little dizzy, but he shuts his eyes and regains his bearings.

"How are you feeling?" Lucas asks. "Just in general?"

"I'm exhausted," Eliott sighs. "I fell asleep before 9 o'clock last night, but I feel like I haven't slept a wink. And my head feels... Cloudy. Dark clouds. Storm clouds, but they haven't let their rain out yet. But it's weighing down my whole body. My arms and legs feel heavy. My chest feels empty, though, like everything inside it withered while I was asleep and there's just ashes left. I don't... I don't feel like myself, Lucas. I feel like I woke up in someone else's body."

Lucas is listening carefully, but he can't hide the worry on his face. He can't hide the way it steals a bit of the light in his eyes, or the way it strikes the smile off his face. Eliott could see it from a million miles away, from another universe, and he thinks seeing it could kill him every time, every place. He doesn't have much strength left to ask him what's wrong, so he can only feel the pain radiating off of Lucas, the pain that he caused.

"You're worried," Eliott manages to say, his voice flat.

"You worry about me all the time," Lucas replies, tearful. "I know you do. Isn't it my turn to worry about you?"

"Who said you needed to wait your turn?" Eliott asks. "Who said you couldn't worry about me?"

Lucas sighs, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact with Eliott. He shrugs as he replies, "I don't know."

Eliott reaches carefully and takes Lucas's hand. Lucas tenses, inhaling sharply, and his eyes flick quickly between Eliott's hand and Eliott's face. He doesn't squeeze Eliott's hand and he tenses even more when Eliott tries to. Eliott sighs, realizing he's crossed a line. He starts to pull his hand away, but Lucas tenses again. He quickly latches onto Eliott's hand, almost desperately.

"S-sorry," Lucas stammers, letting go of Eliott's hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Eliott replies, shaking his head. "You don't have to apologize."

Lucas shrugs again. He cradles his own hand in his other one, caressing his palm and his knuckles. He traps it in his other hand, holding and squeezing it tightly, as if caging it to keep it from lashing out, reaching for something it shouldn't. "I know," he mumbles unconvincingly.

"Lie with me, Lucas," Eliott suggests quietly, all of him hoping he's found the way to make Lucas smile again, make the worry melt off his face. "I'm sleepy. And nothing can happen to me if I'm asleep and you're next to me. You won't have to worry about me as much."

Eliott shifts closer to his wall, leaving space for Lucas to lie next to him. Lucas doesn't move, though. He stares at Eliott, incredulous, anxious. He sighs, squeezing his hand over the other again. He studies the empty space, that same longing charging him during his Christmas concert washing over his face. He glances at Eliott, his eyes flicking over every inch of his face. He has the faintest smile on his face as he nods once, lying down next to Eliott. He tries to keep an inch or two of distance between them, but Eliott doesn't mind. Lucas is warm, wide, and deep. His weight is comforting as it presses down on the other side of the mattress, reminding Eliott that he isn't alone.

"Thank you," Eliott says.

"You're welcome," Lucas returns, his voice soft, quiet.

Eliott falls asleep a moment later, falling into a complete, almost comforting darkness. He doesn't dream. He doesn't feel, for a moment. And when he wakes, the darkness lingers, tinting his vision and staining his muscles. It seems to darken when he realizes that the sun is setting, and that Lucas isn't weighing down the other side of his bed. His weary fingers brush against a piece of paper resting on his pillow. It has his name on it in Lucas's jagged cursive. He unfolds it slowly, taking a deep breath.

I'm sorry I had to leave. It was getting late, and I didn't want to wake you. And I'm sorry I couldn't say all this earlier. I didn't quite know how to. But as I watched you sleep and as I listened to my brain remind me of all the things that could go wrong, the words finally came to me.

Earlier, when you were talking about how you were feeling, all of it reminded me of Maman. And when she gets like that, she likes to sleep, too. That's why I'm worried. It makes me sound like a bad friend and a bad son, but I don't want you to be like her, Eliott. Every time she gets depressed she seems to lose another piece of herself and I slowly forget about my own mother. I've seen what the depression does to her, and I'm afraid those same things will happen to you. I don't want you to hurt like my Maman has. And I don't want one of the last few good things in my life to slip through my fingers. I don't want to lose you like I've been losing Maman. I don't want to lose everyone I love. Is that selfish of me?

Sorry. I'll let you sleep. Let me know if you need anything. I may not have the words, but I can be there. I'm sorry again that I had to leave. Sleep well, Eliott. I hope your dreams are sweet instead of dark and bitter. I hope this is just a random spell, and not some twisted sign of something much, much worse. I care about you. I know you know that, but I needed to say it, and I have a feeling you need to hear it. I'm sorry again. I'm so, so sorry.

Eliott must've read it a thousand times trying to process every word, trying to analyze the bigger picture. And every time he feels worse, his guilt opening its jaws and scraping its teeth against his skin. Every time, he keeps seeing the look on Lucas's face, the darkness in his eyes. Every time, he wishes he could throw off his blankets and run to Lucas's house, asking him if they can talk. But every time, he sinks further into his bed, melting into his sheets and being pinned down by his blankets.

He shuts his eyes, hoping for all the things Lucas is hoping for, and so, so much more.

april 11th, 1966

18:30

caen, france

Lucas watches helplessly as Eliott smiles and laughs so brightly he's convinced the sun isn't setting tonight, but retreating in defeat as it realizes that something brighter burns beneath it. Eliott is brighter than the sun—warmer, softer, closer. How beautiful the world could be if Eliott became the sun, and how miserable Lucas would feel at the same time. But then again, Lucas is still miserable when the sun is sitting right next to him, when the sun is so close he could only stretch his fingers and touch him. Then again, he'll be miserable no matter where the sun is around the world or within the universe. He's miserable because he's in love and he's afraid that he'll never not be. He's miserable because he doesn't know how much more of this he can take—the burning and the blushing, the serenity and the shame. He doesn't know if he can keep coming to the realization that his father was right all along without feeling like he could implode at any moment. He doesn't know if he can muster another prayer without feeling like the first sinner that God couldn't save. He doesn't know how much longer he can try to convince himself that Eliott could love him, too—that he would be willing to face any God-given punishment or hell itself and hold Lucas's hand all along the way. He doesn't know how much longer he can live like this.

"Lucas?" Eliott says, his voice pulling Lucas out of his thoughts and giving him a soft place to land. His face has fallen, drawn slightly taut with concern. "Are you okay? You seem a little distant."

Lucas nods, almost forgetting to smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just thinking."

Eliott's smile perks up again. "About?"

"A lot of things," Lucas decides to say, shrugging. He tries to chuckle, but it doesn't come out like he wanted it to. He looks down at his lap, avoiding eye contact with Eliott, but he can still feel his gaze on him.

"Your maman isn't getting bad again, is she?" Eliott asks carefully, his voice quiet.

"No," Lucas answers quickly. "No, she's doing okay right now."

"That's good, but," Eliott replies, sighing. "What's on your mind, then?"

Lucas bites his lip, and he can feel it trembling beneath his teeth. How could he ever say what he's been thinking? How could he ever admit any of that?

"Lucas," Eliott says again, placing his hand on Lucas's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know how to tell you," Lucas replies, trying to fight back the tears filling his eyes.

"Tell me what?" Eliott tries, gently, patiently.

Lucas takes a deep but shaky breath. He shakes his head, closing his eyes. "I can't tell you, Eliott."

"Lucas..." Eliott starts, but his voice trails off. Lucas hears him sigh deeply. "Why not?" he says then, with something in his voice that Lucas has never heard before. Fear?

Lucas doesn't know how to reply. He's afraid that if he starts talking he won't be able to stop until every word that's piled on his tongue and down his throat and in his chest has been set free. He thinks he tastes blood, poison in all those words, and he's afraid, too, that he'll vomit them up and be left with a bitter taste in his mouth. He can't see any scenario where he stays silent, though, and this realization makes more fear bloom in his stomach than anything else. He feels his chest tighten, his lungs squeeze, his heart constrict. His blood runs cold, his fingertips tingle, his head spins. Panic. All he feels is panic.

"Hey, Lucas," Eliott says, his voice much more concerned now. He gently moves Lucas to where he's facing him, and his touch feels like a burn, a scorch. Lucas hears a noise whimper out of his throat, something like a sob or a snivel. He feels like his throat is closing up.

"Lucas, look at me," Eliott says, lightly squeezing Lucas's shoulders. "Look at me."

Lucas musters another mite of courage and lifts his head, his eyes meeting Eliott's. He's spellbound for a moment, watching blue and green and gray mix and bleed into Lucas's favorite color. But there's something like a film over Eliott's eyes, probably concern and worry. Eliott always worries. Lucas has seen Eliott try to hide it sometimes, and he doesn't know if he would prefer if he hid it now or not. But after a moment, the concern melts away and Eliott's eyes soften, fill with kindness. It makes Lucas smile.

"There you go," Eliott smiles back. "I love it when you smile."

Lucas's smile widens, and the familiar blush colors his cheeks. There's that lingering sense of shame, of course, just beneath his skin and fingernails, but Eliott is stronger than it. His touch is stronger, his voice is stronger, he is stronger. Lucas just needs to focus on him, the feeling of his fingertips just barely digging into his skin, the feeling of their knees resting against each other. Maybe if he lets Eliott anchor him, he can stop choking and let all his words spill out. Maybe Eliott won't wiggle free and let himself be whisked away by the ever-changing tide. Maybe he'll stay. Maybe.

Lucas studies Eliott's eyes a moment or two longer, finding every spot where the color changed ever so slightly, finding every spot that shone a bit brighter, finding every perfection and imperfection. He can breathe again, and his words aren't as heavy. He breathes in and out slowly, the last breath he'll take before the long overdue truth he's hidden for so long will be known.

"I don't think I can fall in love with girls, Eliott," he finally, finally admits. "That's what's wrong. I think I've been falling in love with boys."

He pauses for a moment, watching Eliott's face carefully. Something lights in his eyes—hope? But his face doesn't change much besides a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He nods at Lucas, urging him to keep talking.

"It's a sin, I know, but," Lucas continues, almost choking on the word sin .

"It's not a sin," Eliott says firmly, shaking his head.

"It is," Lucas disagrees, his throat closing up. "The Bible says—"

"It's not , Lucas," Eliott interrupts, a fire in his eyes and on his tongue. "It's not . Do you hear me?"

"How do you know that?" Lucas asks, his chest tightening again. "We don't get to decide what's a sin and what's not a sin. Only God can."

"Because it doesn't make sense!" he almost laughs, incredulous. "And it isn't fair! Especially to you, Lucas! I don't remember you missing a single mass since we were kids. You can quote half the Bible from memory. You know the words to almost every song in the hymnal. You love God and anyone can see it in your eyes. Now all that is obsolete? Just because you like boys? How is that fair? How does that make God a just God? You're not a sinner, Lucas, not like some people at church want you to think you are."

"Then why do I feel like one?" Lucas blurts out, his words trembling. "I've prayed every night, Eliott. Every night. After hours of hearing memories of my father and the boys at school calling me a queer, or staring at my ceiling and watching myself fall in love with and marry a girl and having to hear my heart whisper how it could never want something like this, I would pray. And every time, I prayed that all these sinful feelings would just go away and I could be normal. That I could prove my father and everyone wrong. I couldn't be a queer. I couldn't . The night after Christmas last year I prayed that God would just kill me before I let myself give into temptation. That way I had a chance at getting into heaven. Do you understand that, Eliott? I asked God to kill me . Why would I do that if it wasn't a sin? Why would I ever lose sleep because I keep listening to the heart beating in my chest and hoping it was just off-rhythm somehow, that it could be fixed somehow? Because I thought it was just blind and can't tell a boy from a girl and that it would open its eyes someday and realize that it was looking in all the wrong places? Why would I do any of that if I didn't think it was wrong or that I would go to hell for it? Why?"

Eliott doesn't reply at first, and the silence is unbearable. Lucas is left to watch Eliott's face, left to scour for any trace of emotion. But his eyes are a little wider, and something like tears are shining in them. His mouth has shrunk to a thin line, and his lower lip is starting to stick out. He shakes his head once, looking off for a moment. Lucas hates the way he needs Eliott to look at him again, the way he needs Eliott to just say something . He hates the way he needs Eliott. He feels a tear roll down his cheek, and it's as cold as ice.

Eliott finally looks back at him, and his eyes follow his tear. He lifts his hand, his thumb carefully wiping it away. Slowly, the rest of his hand gently cradles Lucas's face. His hand is soft, warm, familiar. Lucas melts into the touch, leaning into Eliott's hand. His eyes close, and a heavy, relieved sigh escapes his body. Eliott's thumb is tracing Lucas's cheekbone now, and it's so gentle Lucas wonders if anything else in this world could ever hold him so softly, so lovingly. He doesn't want Eliott to stop touching him.

"You can't make it stop, can you?" Eliott asks quietly, placing his other hand on the other side of Lucas's face. "The falling in love?"

"No," Lucas shakes his head. "I can't."

"Well, God made us in His image, didn't He?" Eliott replies. "He made you, Lucas."

"Do you think He made me this way?" Lucas asks, toeing the fine line between hope and fear.

"He shaped you by hand," Eliott answers, his voice the kindest thing Lucas's ever heard. "He's the perfect potter. How could He ever make a mistake with you, Lucas?"

"But if He made me this way," Lucas says, leaning towards fear. "Why would He say that who I am is a sin?"

Eliott sighs, smiling sadly. "I don't know. But He made you, and He made people that are like you, too. He made me , too."

Lucas's eyes widen, his heart skipping a beat. "Wh-what do you mean, Eliott?"

"I've realized that my heart is a fickle thing," Eliott replies, smiling softly. "It can fall in love with anybody it wants to."

Lucas feels himself smile. "Even boys?"

Eliott nods, grinning. "Even boys."

Lucas's smile falters the slightest bit as a question comes to his mind. But he doesn't let it weigh him down. He lets it spill. " Can it fall in love with me?"

Eliott's smile softens, the faintest blush staining his cheeks. "It already has."

Lucas's heart doesn't skip a beat this time. It blooms, it flutters, it sighs. His heart doesn't feel wrong right now. It doesn't feel like a well of thick, black ink or a cold, unforgiving stone. Right now, it feels like a garden, the way Lucas has always imagined a heart should feel—rich soil to grow from, sweet fruits and hearty vegetables to taste, fragrant flowers to breathe in. Right now, Lucas hopes he can plant a seed in his new garden. He hopes he can nurture it. He hopes it'll inspire him to grow, too. He hopes this can become like the garden his heart is becoming. He hopes, he hopes, he hopes.

Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, their noses brushing tenderly against each other. Their lips are a breath apart. Lucas's never kissed anyone before. Let alone a boy. Let alone his best friend. But his heart finally says that the time is right, that the person is right. So—gingerly, delicately—he tilts his head and kisses Eliott.

There's no heat, no hunger. Only the slightest sense of trepidation—the way you cradle the one thing you've always wanted, or the way you sip your morning coffee or evening tea. The way you touch glass, diamonds, gold. It's the fear of the smallest destructions. It's a breath, a blink, a whisper, the ones you wouldn't miss for the world.

They ease ever so slightly deeper into each other, like the way you ease into a hot bath. The way you wade through the shallow end, the shore, before you trust the waves to hold you, to carry you. Everything is familiar, warm. They know each other better than they know themselves. There's no need to explore, to push and pull. It's like crawling into your bed at night and floating into sleep. It's like coming home. It's like breathing. Nothing has ever been easier. Nothing has ever been more beautiful. Nothing has ever felt more right than this moment.

Eliott mutters against Lucas's lips that he tastes like sleep. Lucas doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. He tells Eliott how he tastes like peace. Eliott doesn't know what he means, but he smiles. They keep kissing, every touch accentuated with a smile, with an almost giddy giggle. They keep kissing, letting the undefinable tastes they've discovered become familiar, become clear and plain. They keep kissing, the world around them stopping for a moment to admire the moment every turn, every revolution has led to. Lucas wishes the world could literally stop in its tracks. He wishes he could be trapped in this moment forever, with Eliott's lips on his and his strong yet elegant hands tangled in his hair. He wishes he could be trapped so he'll know he'll never have to recite a hypocrite's prayer another miserable night. But slowly, the world returns to normal, and time inches forward once again.

Lucas's only wish now is that there'll be countless more moments just like this one—moments where everything is love.

may 29th, 1966

02:01

caen, france

Lucas has held Eliott's hand the entire car ride to the hospital, and Eliott is surprised he hasn't snapped the poor boy's bones in half. But Lucas doesn't seem to wince or flinch. He just squeezes a little tighter when Eliott does and smooths his thumb across Eliott's knuckles. During a particularly dark part of the drive, Lucas kisses his knuckles, one by one. Eliott feels him whisper against the thin, white skin there, feels his lips and his breath. He doesn't know what Lucas said, but the warmth, the care is comforting through it all.

Honey, I need you to get Madeleine to take you to the hospital as soon as she can, okay? his mother's voice reminds him shakily, sending a chill down his spine. Papa... He's getting worse.

Eliott closes his eyes, resting his head on Lucas's shoulder. He lets the soft fabric of Lucas's shirt and his sweet, familiar scent drown out every fear creeping across his mind for a moment. He feels Lucas kiss the top of his head, and he says something else, something he can hear this time.

"Everything will be okay," he whispers, his voice quiet and kind. "And I'm here, mon amour . Always."

Eliott nods, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. He bites his lip, fights to keep more tears from falling. His father will be okay. He has to be. He always has been. It's worse this time, but that doesn't mean he won't get better. He has to get better.

But he knows that's not what Lucas means. Everything will be okay when the wounds start to heal, not when his father make a miraculous recovery and they'll get to go home a happy family once again. Everything will be okay when the grief subsides and Eliott learns to smile again, not when his father can breathe a litte easier once again. Everything will be okay after his father can finally rest, not after he survives tonight only to get sick again by the end of the year. That's what Lucas means, and that's what's bringing the tears to Eliott's eyes.

Suddenly, the car is drifting to a stop.

"Eliott," Lucas says, shaking him gently. "We're here."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees the hospital he's visited a thousand times. But like everything else, it's different this time. His father could be dying in there right now, or dead already. He shakes his head, all the tears he's been holding back suddenly spilling over.

"Eliott?" Lucas says again, his voice brimming with concern.

"I can't, Lucas," Eliott sobs. "I can't go in there."

Lucas squeezes Eliott's hand tighter, but he doesn't say a word. He sighs, and Eliott doesn't think he could ever forget the way his breath is shaking.

"I'll go get Noémie," Madame Lallemant says, unbuckling and opening her door. "Stay with him, Lucas."

As Madame Lallemant walks away, Lucas sighs. Eliott can feel the pity in his eyes as he studies him. But then he feels Lucas's hand lifting his chin. Their foreheads and noses rest against each other. Eliott is shaking, and he thinks Lucas is, too.

"Eliott, I know this is hard," Lucas begins, stumbling over his words. "But he needs to see you. And you need to see him. And your maman needs you right now, too."

"But what if he's already dead, Lucas?" Eliott chokes out. "What if I walk in there right now and I see Maman crying because he's gone and I was too late? What if I never had the chance to say goodbye? Or what if he is alive right now and I have to watch him die? What if I have to watch my papa die? What if he's awake when it happens and he has to feel it happening to him? What if he dies with his eyes open? What if I look at him and I have to see those eyes? What if Maman and I fall asleep and he doesn't, and then we wake up and he's gone? Or what if we all fall asleep and when we wake up he can't? What if I wake up and he's dead and I have to wake Maman up and tell her? What if I wake up to Maman telling me that he's gone?" He trails off, his whole body trembling with the force of his sobs. "Every possible scenario terrifies me , Lucas. How am I supposed to walk in there knowing that any of them could happen, but that it won't matter because no matter what he's going to die? How are we supposed to live without him? Without Papa?"

Lucas doesn't respond. Eliott hears him sniffing like he's crying. "I don't know," he finally replies. "But remember what I said? That I'm here. Always. We can just stay together right?"

"They won't let you in his room," Eliott shakes his head. "You and your maman will probably just be in the hallway. You can't be there when I need you most."

"Maybe…" Lucas stammers. "Maybe they can make an exception. Right?"

Eliott shakes his head again. "That's not how it works, Lucas."

"Then how can I be there like I promised?" Lucas asks, his voice raised and desperate. "How can I leave you alone like this?"

"You can be there as much as you can," Eliott replies, still trying to speak through his sobs, his hiccups. "You can hold my hand."

"People will see, Eliott," Lucas mumbles. "They'll know. And so will our parents."

"I don't care," Eliott croaks. "I don't care if they see or if they know. I want you here. I need you here."

Lucas pulls away ever so slightly, his gaze shifting to somewhere off in the distance. Softly, he agrees, "I know."

"Don't let me go, Lucas," Eliott pleads, gently turning Lucas's head back to him. "Please. Not until you need to."

Lucas pulls Eliott's hand down and kisses from his wrist up to his palm, his lips and cheeks wet against Eliott's skin with tears. "I won't," he whispers. "I love you, Eliott."

"I love you, too," Eliott returns, letting himself smile.

"Can I kiss you?" Lucas asks carefully, quietly.

Eliott answers by pulling Lucas closer, their lips slowly finding each other. The kiss is brief, soft, bitter like salt. It's a wave crashing on the shore, both of them breaking together.

Eliott pulls away. His lips part but no sob comes out. It's a sigh, but not quite of relief. "I'm ready," he says, nodding. "Just don't let go of my hand."

"I won't," Lucas shakes his head. "I promise."

Lucas leads Eliott out of the car, not letting go of his hand like he promised. And when his hand shakes, or when a stray sob makes him tremble, Lucas squeezes a little tighter and maintains the gentle, reassuring pressure. Eliott feels anchored , supported and carried as they make their way to the hospital entrance, step by step. He needs to hold onto it as long as he can. He needs to memorize every muscle, every curve of Lucas's hand. He can still have him, even when he's not there.

Eliott pauses as they reach the door, halting Lucas in his tracks. Lucas glances at him, concerned yet patient. "I'm here, Eliott," he says, squeezing Eliott's hand a little tighter. "It's okay."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. He keeps walking, and Lucas lets him lead.

Madame Lallemant and Eliott's mother enter the lobby as Eliott and Lucas do, and a flood of emotions fills Eliott's chest. His mother still has tears running down her cheeks, her eyes bloodshot and her face swollen. She grins when she sees him, but her body is overtaken with sobs. She runs up to him, and he lets go of Lucas's hand and envelops her in a hug. He starts crying again, too, burying his face in his mother's shoulder. They hold each other for a few minutes, relief and fear pulling them closer together.

"How is he?" Eliott asks as he pulls away, the smallest hope that a miracle has happened burning in his chest.

"He's only getting worse, honey," his mother replies, sniffling. "But he's here right now. And he's been asking for you."

Eliott nods, taking a deep breath. "I'll be right there, Maman, I just... I need a minute."

"Okay," she sighs, brushing the hair out of his face. "We'll be in his room."

Madame Lallemant gives Eliott's mother a brief hug, then leads her down the hallway. Eliott watches as they shrink, as they turn and enter what must be his father's room. He takes another deep breath, trying to compose himself. His father can't see him like this. He doesn't want his last memories of him to be the image of his son heartbroken and weeping. He tries to smile, but his lips are wobbling too much to stay steady and genuine. He feels something brushing against his hand, something familiar. He sighs in relief, latching onto Lucas's hand.

"Thank you," he chokes out, turning to face him. "I'm sorry I let go."

"It was your maman, Eliott," Lucas reassures, shaking his head. He takes Eliott's other hand, their fingers interlocking. "And you weren't the one who promised not to let go. I was."

Eliott nods, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the curves of the back of Lucas's hand. "I know."

"I'll hold your hand as we walk down the hallway," Lucas says. "When you're ready. Okay?"

"Okay," Eliott agrees. "Not just yet, though."

Lucas nods, giving him a sweet, patient smile. It falls, though, and Lucas's eyes turn down to the floor. He leans in, their foreheads touching. He's warm, but he's trembling. Eliott rubs his nose against Lucas's lightly, and he sees a ghost of a smile return to his lips. This smile doesn't last long either.

"How are you?" Eliott asks quietly, trying to ignore the pang of guilt that reminds him he should've asked before.

"He's been like a papa to me," Lucas answers, tearful. "He's been a better father than my own papa has, by leaps and bounds. I don't want him to die either, Eliott. And I can't stand seeing you like this either, but... But he's your papa, Eliott. Not mine. Your grief comes first. Not mine."

"You can be sad, too, Lucas," Eliott replies, squeezing Lucas's hands reassuringly. "It's okay."

Lucas nods, a few sobs ripping from his throat. "I'm sorry," he chokes out, letting go of his hands and pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry. This isn't fair. You deserve so much better than all this."

Eliott cries with him, their bodies trembling against each other. Eliott kisses the top of Lucas's head, smoothes his hand over his back. He feels Lucas clinging onto his shirt, the fabric bunching up in his hands. Eliott shakes his head then, replying, "Everything will be okay. Like you said. Right?"

"Yeah," he breathes slowly, sniffling. He kisses Eliott's shoulder, right near the dip of his collarbone. He repeats, "Everything will be okay."

They hold each other a moment longer, their tears drying and their breathing evening out. Eliott weaves his hand into Lucas's hair, gently pressing against his skull, hoping it would bring him just a mite of comfort. "I'm ready when you are," he whispers in his ear.

Lucas takes a deep breath. "Okay. I'm ready."

Their hands find each other again before they fully break the hug. They both squeeze, both cling and cherish. They begin their walk down the hallway, their strides matching and the echoes of their footsteps striking the floor harmonizing. With every step, they squeeze a little tighter, breathing becoming a little harder. They see Madame Lallemant standing outside the door, and they watch her get closer, her image becoming clearer. She must've heard them coming. She turns, smiling sadly when she sees them. Her eyes briefly flick down to their clasped hands, but she looks back up at them almost as quickly.

"He's been asking for you," she tells Eliott quietly.

Eliott nods, his heart sinking as he realizes that this is the moment Lucas will need to let go. He feels Lucas place his other hand on top of Eliott's, caging it in a warm, soft embrace. Lucas gives one last squeeze, then slowly lets go—palm by palm, knuckle by knuckle. There's the slightest moment where their fingertips barely latch onto each other, but the contact is broken both too slowly and too quickly. Eliott's hand feels so much colder , alone. He curls his fingers into a fist and relaxes slowly, letting the blood flow and the joints loosen. He looks over at Lucas, and he has that same sweet, patient smile on his face. A tear rolls down his cheek, but he quickly wipes it away.

"Thank you , Lucas," Eliott says, his voice clear but quiet.

"You're welcome," Lucas replies, his smile widening.

Eliott smiles back as much as he can. He takes the deepest breath he can, turning his head forward and walking into his father's room.

He stops just past the door, his heart nearly stopping at the sight.

His father is paler than he's ever seen him, paler than flour or milk. He's covered in sweat, his hair glued down to his scalp. His lips are blue, almost tinged with purple. His nails are blue, too, and even from where he's standing Eliott can tell that his hands are shaking. His chest trembles uncontrollably as it rises and falls, and his breathing is so shallow and hoarse it doesn't even sound human. His eyes are closed, but they open as Eliott enters. The color is muted, and they're bloodshot, and glazed with an almost milky, shiny film. His father smiles feebly when he sees him, lifting his hand and reaching for him.

"Ellie," he rasps, sitting up and then almost immediately falling into an intense coughing fit. The ventilator mask fogs up, almost hiding his father's lips. His mother quickly stands up, placing a hand on his shoulder and wiping his brow with a cloth. She tries to soothe him, but her voice is thin and choppy. She looks over her shoulder at Eliott, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.

Eliott is frozen, his blood running cold and everything inside of him telling him to run away. He's never seen his father like this. He thought he'd seen him on the verge of death before, but all those times are nothing compared to what he's seeing now. If he weren't moving and talking, he would look like the corpse he's apparently become. Eliott does everything he can to fight back his tears, fight against his fear. He slowly makes his way to the other side of his father's bed, taking his hand. It's freezing, clammy. Eliott flinches, praying that his father won't notice. He takes a deep breath, gathering his strength as he sits down.

"You're here," his father says, quieter this time. His smile is still weak.

"I'm here, Papa," Eliott replies, forcing a smile. "I'm here now."

"My boy..." he sighs, becoming tearful. "My little Ellie."

Eliott feels a tear roll down his cheek, but he keeps his smile on his face. "I'm here," he chokes out, squeezing his father's hand.

His father looks over at his mother then. "My darling Noémie."

His mother doesn't respond. She kisses his knuckles, the back of his hand. She opens it and holds it to her face. His father weakly, gently wipes away her tears.

"I love you both," his father mumbles, glancing between them. "So much."

"I love you, too, Papa," Eliott replies, his voice thick with tears.

"I love you, too, Eduard," his mother smiles.

"I miss you," his father continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Miss you already."

Eliott can't keep smiling anymore. He lets his sobs wash over him, lets them push him until he bends, burying his face in his father's bedsheets. He clings to his father's hand like a lifeline. But soon, this hand will never ruffle Eliott's hair again or pat him on his back or his shoulder. This hand will never cradle his mother's face again or help her with the clasp on her necklace or the buttons on her dress. Soon, this hand will grow even colder, and never hold anything again. This hand will soon forever lay on his father's chest, guarding his still, dead heart. This hand will soon wither until it's nothing but old, sick bones. Now is the last time Eliott will ever hold his father's hand while there was still blood running through it, while there was still a living brain to tell it to move and hold and love. Now is the last time Eliott will hold the hand that shaped him, that taught him that kindness and bravery are the same thing, that reminded him that life is the most precious gift that we receive. How can Eliott live without this hand? He holds it in both of his hands, holds it tighter, kisses every inch of it. He bathes it with his tears, washes it with the words he'll never get to say to him. Perhaps his father's bones will remember. Perhaps the memory will echo throughout the earth. Perhaps it'll reach his father somehow. Perhaps it'll reach up to heaven.

"You're a brave, strong boy, Eliott," his father says softly. "Know that you'll learn to miss me and smile at the same time."

Eliott lifts his head and looks up. His father is smiling, wider and a little stronger. He feels his mother place her hand on top of his. She smiles at him, too, ever kind and loving. Eliott smiles back, weakly but genuinely. "Thank you, Papa. Thank you, Maman. Thank you."

The night wears on, time passing gently by as they live in memory, their tongues spilling with echoes of laughter and singing. There's a haze in the room—a pleasant one. One perfumed with love and understanding and joy, stained with flushed faces and swelling hearts. They smile. They cry tears of mirth and joy. They don't let go of each other. They abandon the world outside and only focus on what matters in this moment: their happy family. Eduard, Noémie, and Eliott. Husband, wife, and child. Kindness, empathy, and joy. What more could they ever need? If you had asked Eliott only an hour ago, he would've said more time. But they don't need more time. If this is the time God has given them, why waste it then ask for more? If this is the time God has given them, He knows that it's all they need. He knows that this time that He's made is beautiful, perfect, sacred. God had given them sorrow and grief moments before, but He made way for joy and healing, too. They don't know what will happen once Eliott's father breathes his last breath, but that's time God has set for them in the future. God will protect Eduard Demaury. When it's time, He will take his hand and guide him home. Perhaps He will leave a blessing for Noémie and Eliott, one of comfort and peace. God is kind. God is loving. God will not abandon them. And that's why they have such joy .

As God prepares to take another one of His children in His arms, the Demaury family falls asleep together for the last time.

may 29th, 1966

06:43

caen, france

Outside Lucas's window, the waves hiss against the shore and retreat quickly back into the sea. They slide against each other, the sand clinging onto the water and the water squirming away, foaming in agony The wind is quiet today, suddenly aware of something else that has appeared in the air—a discordant note from a piano, or maybe a misstroke on a typewriter. The moon has faded from the sky for a moment, but the sun is having his turn. He seems to rise a little slower, as if he's afraid of bring this day to pass. He seems to be burning a little hotter, too, as if he were angry or in grief. He roars, rumbles, "This is the storm, this is the war, this is the burning heat. Brave through, my warriors. To be brave is to be lifeless, to be feeble. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be cruel all the while."

Inside Lucas's room, the only light is the rising sun filtering through his window. Its rays shine on clean, pristine pages filled with Eliott's drawings that he studies longingly, his heart heavy in his chest. He hated leaving him there at the hospital, but he thought his sketchbooks would make him feel better. Besides, his mother wanted to leave and get breakfast made and bring it back to the hospital. He left a note for him, too, so Eliott will know where he is and that they'll be back by seven, just in case. He just hopes nothing will happen until they get back. He doesn't want Eliott to be alone when it happens. He wants to be there to hold him, like Eliott did when Lucas's father left that one night. He hopes now, too, that he'll finally have the right words to say to him. Not like last night, not like when he visited Eliott when he couldn't leave his bed for two weeks. He has to be a good friend, a good boyfriend. Eliott needs him.

Outside, a tap on his window startles him from his thoughts. Eliott , he thinks. Monsieur Demaury.

He rushes over and opens his window, a summer breeze sweeping over them. Eliott is standing there, his eyes bleary with tears, his cheeks rosy from the heat, his hand hovered by his mouth with his nails between his teeth. He's trying to stay quiet, hold back the sobs. He's shivering.

Lucas helps Eliott through the window, making sure he lands softly onto the carpet. He takes Eliott's face in his hands, the question he already knows the answer to getting caught on his tongue. But once Lucas's skin meets Eliott's, all his sobs escape. He throws his arms around Lucas. With a trembling breath, with a hiccup, he confirms the answer Lucas had in his mind: "He's dead, Lucas."

Still, Lucas's heart drops to his feet. He holds Eliott as tightly as he can. He feels his tears soaking through his shirt, feels his body trembling with the force of his sobs. He feels tears of his own wet his cheeks. He doesn't say a word. He lets Eliott cry. He waits for Eliott, patiently, gently.

Once Eliott starts to calm down, Lucas slowly guides him to his bed, laying him down gently. He lies down next to him, pulling him close. Words start to spill out of Eliott's mouth before Lucas could find his own words, the right ones.

"I woke up when I heard something clatter," Eliott starts, his voice thin. "I look up, and I see a nurse staring at Papa. She dropped the clipboard with his chart on it. Then she started yelling for the doctor, asking for a crash cart. And then I looked at him and... His eyes were open, Lucas. There was no color in them. He was looking out the window. He was awake when it happened. He felt all of it. And I was so afraid of that, Lucas. We all fell asleep. I thought maybe he would die in his sleep but he didn't. He was awake. I think I screamed when I saw him. And I woke Maman up and I think she screamed, too. The nurse took our hands and led us out of the room as a bunch of people ran into the room. They shut the door behind them, but I could hear them yelling at each other. Then it got quiet. Then the door opened and the doctor told us that they did everything they could but he was dead. He said we could see him, so he took us inside—"

Eliott starts to crumble again, more rivers of tears streaming down his face. "I didn't recognize him. His skin was almost gray. And his lips were so blue. And his eyes were closed. And he was dead."

Lucas holds him tighter, his chest getting sore from holding back his tears.

"Papa's gone, Lucas," Eliott weeps, clinging to Lucas's shirt. "And he's not coming back. He's dead. After all those times he got sick and he got better he finally got too sick. The doctors finally couldn't save him. There were so many times where I thought he would die but then he didn't and I remember how happy I would be. But he's dead. He's really dead this time. We'll have to tell everyone that he's dead and have a funeral and sing his favorite hymns and I'll have to look at him lying in his coffin and then we'll have to bury him by pouring handfuls of dirt over him and say goodbye for what might be forever and—"

"Eliott," Lucas begs, his voice breaking. "It's okay. I'm here, like I promised."

Lucas feels completely helpless as he holds Eliott tighter, his words failing him once again and grief filling his chest. So, he promises him that everything will be okay. No matter how far time stretches away from him, no matter how many tears he sheds, no matter how much it feels like his world is crashing around his ears. He promises him that he's not alone. And a small part of Lucas hopes he isn't lying to him through his teeth.

june 4th, 1966

12:02

caen, france

Eliott's hand shakes, the smallest mites of dirt slipping through his fingers. He doesn't want to open his hand and let it all fall onto his father's coffin, reducing him to the dust that he came from. He doesn't want the dirt to keep piling up until his father is completely buried, never to be seen again in this life, on this earth. When he lets go of the dirt in his hand, he'll be letting go of his father. He's not ready to. But the minister is reciting the prayer much more quickly than Eliott hoped he would, the fateful words making their way to the tip of his tongue. So, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping it separates him enough from his body that his mind will take over.

"We commend to Almighty God our brother Eduard Demaury, and we commit his body to its resting place: earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."

Eliott opens his eyes, and he sees his hand open and empty, remnants of dust staining the palm of his hand. He sees the small handfuls spread across his father's coffin, the beginning of the end.

"The Lord bless him and keep him, the Lord make His face to shine upon him and be gracious to him, the Lord lift up His countenance upon him and give him peace."

There's a chorus of "amen"s, but Eliott's voice doesn't join it. They recite the Lord's Prayer, but Eliott keeps his silence. He only raises his voice to heaven as the congregation is invited to, as the minister prays over the people. But his voice is weak, broken. His words are nonsensical, desperate rambles. But they drown out the words of the prayers, another countless chorus of "amen"s. It keeps his head bowed, keeps his eyes downward so he doesn't have to see everyone looking at him with such pity. It keeps his eyes away from his mother. He thinks he could die if he looks into her wet eyes for more than a few seconds. He never thought he would see his mother in such pain. So, he keeps his head bowed, says his pointless, powerless prayer.

He doesn't sing "Lead, Kindly Light." All he can hear is his father singing this hymn in masses and around the house. He can hear his father's voice getting weaker, thinner as the years burn on in his memory. Now, he can't hear his father's voice singing his favorite hymn, and he doesn't know if he can sing it ever again without his father's voice supporting him. His mother doesn't sing, either, too consumed with her tears. He can hear Lucas's voice somewhere behind him, its warm timbre guiding Eliott along every word, every lilt of every note. The hymn seems to drag on. Somewhere, in the back of Eliott's mind, he hopes that the more than familiar melody is realizing that this is the first time his father won't sing it. He hopes that it's mourning, too; weeping and groaning as it tries to accept that it will never be the same again, that it's already changing at the hands of someone else, the hands they can't control.

Then, all at once, the song ends, and silence crashes over the cemetery and the congregation. Eliott hasn't cried a single tear today, but the deafening boom of it leaves him with a lump in his throat and an urge to bite down on the inside of his cheek. He knows that this is the first of many silences. This is the silence after the burial. There will be a silence after every birthday and every anniversary, a silence every time someone mentions his father's name, a silence every time Eliott tells someone he's just met that his father is dead. There will forever be a silence where his father once stood, silence where he once would've spoken and laughed. The weight of his father's absence, the weight of his father's coffin is something he could never forget. But there'll be people wanting to bear a bit of the weight themselves, and there'll be people that will try to fill all those silences. People sharing their own stories of losing their father, or rambling about how they could never even imagine what Eliott went through. People apologizing a thousand times for his loss. People offering him advice and telling him that they're for him if they need him. These silences will be filled with a million good intentions, and that's why Eliott knows that he can't bear hearing it.

This first silence fills quickly. The congregation says their last goodbyes to him and his mother, and most of their words don't quite reach his ears. His mother hugs most of them, so she doesn't cling to him as much as she has the whole funeral. He thinks that's why he hasn't cried yet. He's a rock right now, his mother's rock. But the weight of his mother is becoming too much for him to carry. He loves her with all of his heart, but that doesn't make him strong enough to show it. He loved his father with all his heart, but it wasn't strong enough to save him. So, he stands to the side, nodding vaguely at muddled voices, weakly shaking blurred hands.

His friends talk to him, too. Manon, Daphné, Alexia, Emma, and Imane all give him a tight, warm hug and give him sweet, genuine smiles. He believes them when they tell him he'll be okay. Basile hugs him so tightly he can't breathe, but he can hear Basile sniffling and see him try and hold back his tears. It's comforting. Arthur and Yann both linger a moment, asking him if he needed anything. He doesn't know how to answer, so he shrugs but thanks them for coming. They both pull him in for a tight hug. Sofiane and Idriss hold him for a while, too, whispering everything he needs to hear in his ear.

The last person he sees is Lucas, after everyone else has already left. He started crying as he played the first hymn during the mass, and Eliott can tell he hasn't really stopped since. He's trapping and squeezing his hand again, only this time he seems close to crushing it and shattering the bones. Eliott steps toward him, carefully placing his hands over Lucas's. He gently breaks them apart, taking them in his own. Lucas's hands are cold, shaking. Eliott wants to steady them, but he can only imagine how cold his own hands are, how much they're trembling. Thunder rumbles above them, the clouds darkening and shards of lightning bursting out of them. Their eyes meet. There are a thousand things hidden in Lucas's eyes—memories they share of Eliott's father, memories of the father he got but didn't deserve, memories of losing both of them so suddenly and when he was so young. And through all of that, what shines through in his eyes is pain, grief, and understanding .

The clouds break open, and so does Eliott, washing and cleansing the earth with rain and tears. He falls into Lucas's arms, heaving with his sobs. Lucas holds him tightly, carefully helping him to the ground as he crumbles. He gently rocks him, pulling him closer to his chest to shield him from the rain. All Eliott can hear is Lucas's heartbeat, strong and steady. All he can smell is the rain and the sea salt that always seems to linger on Lucas's skin. All he can feel is Lucas's arms around him, his lips on his forehead, his hairline, the top of his head. All his world consists of now is Lucas, and the world outside is a breath away, but Eliott can't quite breathe right now anyway. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his lungs all seem to be overflowing with tears, suffocating him more than it ever has before. At least he knows that if he drowns he'll rest in the safest place he knows. At least he knows Lucas will never let him go.

july 20th, 1966

06:00

caen, france

Lucas wakes from the first full night of sleep he's had in a month to someone kissing him. He startles a bit at first, but he opens his eyes and sees Eliott's face smiling at him the way he used to before his papa died. Lucas can't see Eliott's eyes they're so squinted, but he missed those crinkles by his eyes.

"Good morning, mon amour ," Eliott almost sings, rubbing their noses together.

"Morning, darling," Lucas hums, smiling back sleepily. He pulls Eliott close and kisses him, melts into him. He must've had tea before he left his house. The fragrant taste of it is staining his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It makes Lucas smile even more, warmth softening the edges that kept him and Eliott from becoming one person again. He could almost fall asleep again right here, with Eliott's fingers in his hair and on his neck, his lips against Eliott's, their heartbeats embracing each other. He almost does, but Eliott kisses him a little deeper, their noses smushing against each other. He chuckles, pulling away slightly. "You're feeling better?" he asks hopefully, breathlessly.

Eliott nods. "Things are going back to normal," he replies, his voice sweet and melodious. "I'm starting to feel like myself again."

Lucas grins, his heart warming and glowing in his chest. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm," Eliott beams, nodding. "What about you?"

Lucas kisses the tip of Eliott's nose, and somehow it makes him smile even wider. "If you're happy, I'm happy."

Eliott kisses him again, soft and sweet and gentle. Lucas missed kissing Eliott so much . He knows the time has never been right to kiss him like this again, but he's felt it starting to come again the past week or two. Eliott's been smiling more, talking more. He's started taking more pictures with his camera, reading books again, laughing at jokes on the TV again. He's been eating again. Not much, but more than he has before. Lucas's been waiting for the right moment for everything to return to normal, but he didn't need to try and see if the moment was right, because Eliott beat him to it. Eliott was the one who kissed him first, and Lucas can kiss him back without worrying about crossing a line.

"I have a big day planned for us today," Eliott says after a moment, sitting up.

"Oh, yeah?" Lucas smiles, sitting up, too.

"Well, 'planned' isn't the best word," Eliott admits, chuckling. "But I have some ideas. Like, we could have breakfast at the bakery and lunch at the bistro. Then run around town and go in all the shops and buy a bunch of stuff."

"I don't have any money, love," Lucas laughs, leaning his head on Eliott's shoulder.

"I'll buy you anything you want," Eliott promises, grinning.

"Promise?" Lucas challenges, raising his eyebrows.

"Promise," Eliott nods, giggling. He pulls Lucas close, and his face fits perfectly into the crook of his neck. He plants small kisses there, breathes in Eliott's smell, his skin. He closes his eyes, laughing along. Eliott pulls Lucas away so their eyes meet, taking his face in his hands. "Anything for my Lu," he grins.

Lucas goes to kiss Eliott one more time, but Eliott backs away, tousling Lucas's hair. "We have a long day ahead of us," he says. "We have to get started as soon as we can."

Lucas rolls his eyes, but he chuckles. "I'll go get ready." He gives Eliott a kiss on the cheek as he gets out of bed, and the blush on Eliott's cheeks makes him blush, too. The warmth, the fuzziness, carries him to the bathroom where he quickly brushes his teeth. His mother isn't awake as far as he knows as he walks back to his room, but he makes sure to remember to tell her where they'll be before they leave.

When he opens his door he sees Eliott lying in his bed on his stomach. He grins again when he sees Lucas, almost jumping up and bounding over to him.

"I was gone for a minute," Lucas giggles as Eliott rubs their noses together again.

"I missed you," Eliott shrugs, kissing him softly. He smiles, small yet content. "I like your toothpaste."

Lucas's brow furrows, but he chuckles fondly. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome?" Eliott replies teasingly, kissing Lucas's forehead. "Let's get you dressed so we can go."

"Okay," Lucas snickers. "Are we in a hurry?"

"The sun is only up for so long, mon amour ," Eliott reminds him. "It's rising right now, and I plan on staying under it as long as we can today."

Lucas's brow furrows again. "Okay."

"When the sun sets we can go back to your house, or maybe we can go to mine," Eliott suggests, taking Lucas's hands. "We can fall asleep in each other's arms tonight and wake up in the same place in the morning. Does that sound good?"

Lucas smiles, blush staining his cheeks a much deeper scarlet. "That sounds amazing."

Eliott tilts Lucas's chin and brings their lips together, Lucas melting once again. Eliott pulls away far too quickly, guiding Lucas towards his closet. Lucas pouts to try and distract him again, but Eliott starts looking through his shirts.

"You should wear this one," Eliott says, holding one up to Lucas.

"It's just a red t-shirt, Ellie," Lucas laughs. "I didn't even know you gave this one back to me however long ago."

"Yeah, but you could wear it with those blue shorts," Eliott replies, grabbing the shorts he's talking about. "It's simple, but you look amazing in anything."

Lucas wishes Eliott would stop making him blush. "Okay. I'll wear them."

He starts changing into the outfit and putting on his shoes, and Eliott's grin once he's finished makes his heart flutter. Lucas kisses him again, unable to resist the urge. "Ready to go, my love?" Lucas asks softly.

Eliott nods excitedly, almost bouncing.

"Let me tell Maman we're leaving first," Lucas smiles. "Meet me at the front door."

Eliott kisses him goodbye, walking out of Lucas's room.

Lucas makes his way to his mother's room, carefully opening her door. She's still asleep. He doesn't want to wake her, so he borrows a sheet of paper from a notebook she keeps by her bed.

Eliott and I are going to be out for the day. We should be back around dinnertime.

He scribbles a little heart beside it, leaving it on top of the notebook. He leaves her room as quietly as he can, closing the door behind him. He grins when he sees Eliott waiting patiently yet excitedly by the front door. Eliott opens it for him, bowing politely. "After you, mon amour ."

Lucas blushes again as he bows in return and goes out the door. Eliott leaves, too, then puts his arm around Lucas, pulling him a little closer. Lucas rests his head on Eliott's shoulder, kissing the spot where his collarbone is just barely exposed. He wants to get in one last display of affection before they go into town and have to hide again. He can't deny that it hurts that he can only love Eliott in the dark or behind closed doors, but he can't deny that they need to value and protect their safety as well.

"I'll race you down the street," Eliott proposes, snapping Lucas out of his reverie.

"Like when we were kids?" Lucas replies, grinning.

"Like when we were kids," Eliott echoes, nodding. "Are you up for a race?"

"You're on," Lucas confirms smugly.

"All right. The race starts now !" Eliott shouts, bolting down the street.

Lucas blinks, stumbling to a running start. "That's not fair! Cheater!" he yells with a laugh.

"Like when we were kids!" Eliott calls back over his shoulder. His laughter bounces off the boiling asphalt and fills the air, becoming the wind that shakes the trees and ruffles Lucas's hair. Lucas could listen to him laugh forever.

He gains speed, quickly whizzing past Eliott. Eliott always found a way to give himself the early advantage, but he was never as fast as Lucas. Eliott always made jokes about Lucas being tiny and "more aerodynamic", and they always made Lucas blush but laugh, too.

He hears his feet striking the asphalt, then hears Eliott's feet just after. Their footsteps have become echoes of each other. They've become something close to music. This morning, the world will wake up to this noise, and Lucas falters as he wonders if people will hear the same sweet music he's hearing. Their footsteps, Eliott's laughter, Lucas's own heartbeat drumming in his ears. There could never be a more beautiful piece of music, right?

Eliott starts to pull ahead again. "Will I finally beat Lucas Lallemant in a race?" he asks teasingly, out of breath.

Lucas shakes his head, smirking. "Not today." He calls on his last bit of stamina and surges ahead, letting his footfalls propel him forward and forward. He can just see the town in the distance, and just ahead of him is the old, weathered sign that they both designated as the finish line years ago. He slows to a jog as he approaches it, leaning against it and smiling smugly. Eliott isn't too far behind him, though, catching up a few seconds later.

"I was much closer that time," Eliott sighs, trying to catch his breath.

Lucas rolls his eyes. "Sure you were."

Eliott tries to respond, but he only huffs, slowly sitting himself down on the ground.

"Do we need a breather?" Lucas laughs, sitting down next to him.

Eliott nods, then lies down on his back. "Yes, please."

"You've lost your touch," Lucas points out teasingly, fixing the sweaty hair glued to Eliott's forehead.

"Shut up," Eliott chuckles, sighing. "Oh, what are we going to do when we get old?"

"Will we be racing down this street when we're 80 years old?" Lucas asks, chuckling softly.

"Maybe we will," Eliott shrugs. "Can't you see us growing old together, though?"

Lucas's heart warms as he considers the thought. He nods, his lips spreading into a grin. "I can."

"I don't think we'll be here, though," Eliott says, reaching to cradle Lucas's face. "We'll be living in Giverny. By Monet's gardens. We'll be secretly married. We'll have this cute, little cottage. We paint together all day and hold each other all night. Your hair will be white and it'll make your eyes look even bluer. You'll still be so beautiful and I'll wonder why you ever settled for someone like me. But we'll be happy. We will have spent almost every second of our lives together but we wouldn't have it any other way. Can't you see it, Lucas?"

There are tears in Lucas's eyes as he nods. "But I think you'll still be beautiful, too, my love. How could you ever not be? I mean, look at you!"

Eliott blushes, running his thumb over Lucas's cheekbone. Gently, he pulls Lucas down towards him. Lucas lets himself fall, closing the space between them with a sweet, passionate kiss. He can't stop smiling, and neither can Eliott. Their teeth knock against each other and Eliott accidentally bites Lucas's lip. He tries to apologize but he starts laughing, pulling Lucas close. The gentle tremble shaking Eliott's body as he giggles is comforting as it starts to ripple through Lucas, too. He can taste blood, but it doesn't matter. He's giggling, too, and it's hard to stop.

"I love you, Lulu," Eliott says through his laughter, almost wheezing.

"I love you, too, Ellie," Lucas returns, his laughter turning into a content sigh. "I love you, too."

july 20th, 1966

14:16

caen, france

Lucas misses holding Eliott's hand already, but more and more people are arriving in town, browsing the shops and eating at the restaurants. It's strangely busy for a Wednesday, but the weather today is much milder than it has been for the past couple of weeks. Nevertheless, the large crowd that only seems to keep growing is making Lucas more nervous than he wants to admit. He's not holding hands with Eliott or being affectionate towards him, but he still feels like people are staring at them, drawing conclusions. He knows he's being paranoid, but he can't deny the turning of his stomach or the racing of his heart.

But when he looks over at Eliott, he looks like he doesn't have a care in the world. He's scanning the crowd with a small smile on his face, and he has a bounce in his step that Lucas can't keep up with. Eliott has always been more easygoing than Lucas, but the fact that he doesn't seem worried at all is frankly confusing to Lucas. With all these people around them, who knows who might notice something, and who knows who might get confrontational or even violent?

"There's a lot of people here, Eliott," Lucas says, trying to give him a hint that he's uncomfortable. "Maybe we should go home."

"No, not yet," Eliott replies, looking over at Lucas. "There's one more shop I want you to see. They have these clothes that would look great on you. I just need to remember where it is."

"You don't know where it is?" Lucas asks, his worry starting to grow.

"I have a vague idea," Eliott reassures him, though the effort falls flat.

"Do you at least remember what it's called?" Lucas tries, starting to fidget. He clasps one hand over the other, squeezing tightly.

"I'll know it when I see it, Lucas," Eliott responds, chuckling. He points ahead of them at a corner. "I'm pretty sure it's just around there. Don't worry, mon amour."

"Don't call me that here," Lucas almost hisses, trying to keep his voice down. "There's too many people."

"It's okay, Lu," Eliott says again, emphasizing every syllable. "Everything's okay."

They turn the corner, and there seems to be significantly fewer people in this part of town. Lucas feels himself relax a little, let out a sigh of relief.

"See?" Eliott smiles. "Everything's okay."

"Everything's okay," Lucas repeats, nodding and managing a smile.

"I can see it!" Eliott grins, starting to jog down the street.

"Eliott, slow down!" Lucas calls after him, laughing.

Eliott stops by a shop halfway down the street, holding the door open. Lucas slows down, quickly trying to catch his breath. He smiles and nods at Eliott then enters the store. His mouth drops open as he sees displays of shirts with outrageous patterns and pants in colors Lucas never thought should be worn on people's bodies. He chuckles, looking back at Eliott over his shoulder. "I would look great in these?" he asks, waving his arm vaguely at the clothes.

"I know it's a little gaudy," Eliott shrugs, smiling almost bashfully. "But there's some things here I think you'll really like. Just give it a chance. It might surprise you."

Lucas sighs, nodding. "Okay. Lead the way, I guess."

Eliott grins, bounding over to the first rack of clothes he sees. He scans through them, occasionally looking up at Lucas then back down at a piece of clothing. The first thing he pulls out is a navy blue shirt with a red and green paisley pattern that makes Lucas bite his lip to keep from laughing. Eliott notices, though, tilting his head to the side.

"What's wrong with it?" Eliott asks, holding it up to Lucas's chest. "I think it would look really good on you. It's blue, so it'll make your eyes look even prettier."

"I'll have to try it on," Lucas shrugs, chuckling. He feels a blush burning in his cheeks. "We could have a little fashion show in my room when we get back."

Eliott's eyes light up, and his grin spreads even wider on his face. "I love that idea. So, you'll give it a shot?"

"I'll give it a shot," Lucas agrees, nodding.

Eliott jumps, his eyes sparkling and squinting. Lucas grins, too, his heart warming again. The old Eliott is coming back. He's standing in front of him, smiling so hard Lucas feels his own cheeks hurt. The old Eliott is coming back!

Eliott shows him several shirts and pants and shorts that he would never wear in a million years, but they all make Eliott smile, so Lucas agrees to them. He doesn't know when something else might happen to take his smile away. He wants that smile to stay on Eliott's face as long as it can, and if he can help it stay, he'll do whatever he can to do so.

"Lucas!" Eliott gasps, pulling two things off the rack. They're two blue and white striped two-piece sets, a button-up shirt and shorts. One looks like Lucas's size and one looks like Eliott's size. "We could match!" he proposes, grinning like an idiot while he waits for Lucas's response.

Lucas, unfortunately, is speechless. He lets out a laugh, shrugging. Dumbly, he replies, "I love it."

"Perfect!" Eliott almost squeals, adding them to the stack of clothes he's carrying in his other arm.

"Hey, Eliott," Lucas says, noticing him struggling with the weight. "We should probably go ahead and check out. I mean, do you even have the money for all this stuff?"

"Of course I do," Eliott replies, adjusting his stack. "I promised I'd buy you anything you wanted. And this is getting pretty heavy."

"Here, I'll take it," Lucas offers, giving Eliott a smile. Eliott smiles back at him, carefully placing the stack in his arms. Lucas stumbles a little, huffing. "Yeah, let's go."

Eliott giggles as he helps Lucas to the register, the clothes clattering loudly on the counter.

"So sorry," Lucas apologizes, breathless.

"Oh, don't worry," the cashier replies, whose nametag says 'Lucille.' She has short, brown hair and kind eyes, maybe only a year or two older than them. "I end up buying too many clothes here, too, and I work here," she adds with a smile. "So, I completely understand."

As she rings up their items, Lucas looks over and sees Eliott pulling out a large bundle of money from his pocket. His eyes widen as he sees him pull out 10 and 20 franc notes and hand them to Lucille.

"Here's your change," she smiles, placing notes and coins in his hand. "Thank you so much for shopping with us!"

Eliott waves her a quick goodbye as he takes their bag of clothes. Lucas waves goodbye, too, then rushes to catch back up with Eliott.

"Where'd you get all that money, Eliott?" he asks, trying to keep his voice down.

"Maman," Eliott replies a little too quickly.

"She has that much money lying around?" Lucas questions, his brow furrowing.

"We have a jar at home," Eliott answers, his words almost stumbling over each other. "We put money it to have just in case something happens. And I promised you I would buy you anything you wanted, so I took some money from it for today."

"Does your maman know?" he presses, hoping he'll get the answer he wants.

"Of course she does," Eliott confirms, shrugging. "I'll put whatever I have leftover back in the jar. Everything's okay. Right?"

Lucas nods, unconvinced. "Right."

"Good," Eliott nods. "Let's get home."

Lucas sighs as an uneasiness he can't ignore settles beneath his skin. Still, he walks beside Eliott. They walk down the same road they raced on this morning and countless times throughout the years. They don't talk very much, but Lucas keeps catching Eliott staring at him. He blushes, like always, but his unease gets worse every time.

"You're beautiful, Lucas," Eliott says at one point, smiling sweetly. "You know that?"

Lucas lets himself smile. "You tell me all the time," he chuckles, shrugging.

"I mean it," Eliott replies, his voice soft but confident. "You... You seemed a little upset so I thought I would tell you."

"I'm not upset," Lucas shakes his head, sighing. "All the money freaked me out I guess."

"You didn't think I stole it, did you?" Eliott asks quietly, his brow furrowed.

"No, no," Lucas answers quickly. "No, but... I wasn't really thinking anything, I... I don't know."

"No, it's okay, Lucas," Eliott dismisses, smiling weakly. "Just know that I didn't rob a bank or anything, okay?"

"I know," Lucas smiles back, nodding. Silence passes, and Lucas's smile widens as he has an idea to make Eliott smile a little wider, too. "Am I the most beautiful person you've ever seen?"

Lucas's plan works. Eliott chuckles, nodding. "Yes, Lucas. You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"More beautiful than Yann?" Lucas teases. "Arthur? Idriss? Sofiane?"

"Yes, Lucas," Eliott laughs. "More beautiful than Yann, Arthur, Idriss, and Sofiane."

"What about the girls?" Lucas presses, Eliott's smile widening even more.

"You're more beautiful than all of them, too," Eliott nods. "You're the man of my dreams."

Lucas feels his cheeks get red hot. "What was that?"

Eliott stops, holding Lucas's face in his hands. "You're the man of my dreams, Lucas Lallemant," he repeats, his voice spilling like honey.

Lucas kisses him as he says his name, his worry beginning to melt away. "You're pretty great, too, Eliott Demaury," Lucas smirks once they pull away.

Eliott rolls his eyes, putting his arm around Lucas. Lucas nuzzles his face into Eliott's neck, breathing him in as they walk down the last stretch of street before their houses.

"Maman isn't home," Lucas says as he looks up, noticing her car isn't in the driveway. "Maybe she's getting groceries."

"Do you wanna wait until she gets back to try on all your new clothes?" Eliott asks, gently shaking the bag from the store.

"I think so, actually," Lucas nods. "But we can try on our matching outfits if you want."

"Yes!" Eliott grins, nodding eagerly. He starts running down the driveway, dragging Lucas behind him. Lucas yelps at the yank on his arm, but dissolves into chuckles.

"Someone's excited," Lucas comments teasingly as they enter through the front door. His words are cut off as he's pushed against the wall and Eliott's lips are suddenly on his. He hears the bag crash onto the floor as he kisses Eliott back, weaving his hands into his hair. He giggles as they break for a moment. "Very excited," he breathes, grinning.

Eliott picks up the bag and Lucas takes his hand, guiding him to his room. He shuts the door behind them just in case, leaning against it and breathing out a content sigh. He looks over at Eliott, who's sitting on his bed, and their eyes meet. Eliott grins, his head tilting ever so slightly. Lucas grins back, walking over to him. He looks in the bag and pulls out their matching outfits, unable to hold back his laugh this time. It's adorable, really, and Lucas never thought he would buy matching outfits with his boyfriend, especially when his boyfriend ends up being his best friend.

Eliott laughs, too, grabbing his outfit from Lucas's hand. "We'll wear this on our wedding day."

Lucas smiles, remembering their conversation from this morning. "Will the wedding be in Giverny, too?"

Eliott nods vigorously. "It'll be at midnight, when the moon is all silvery on the water. It'll just be the two of us. And the officiant, of course."

Lucas sits by Eliott on the bed, starting to blush again. "Who'll officiate?" he asks, waiting to cling onto every word of Eliott's answer.

"For some reason, in my head, I see the girl at the register," Eliott replies, almost giggling. "Because if she didn't say anything when we bought these, I'm sure she won't mind marrying us. What was her name? Lucy?"

"Lucille, I think," Lucas corrects, then shrugs. "You were close, though."

"Lucille will officiate," Eliott nods, starting to fidget with stray strands of Lucas's hair. "I can see us kissing as husbands until the sun rises and people see us."

"What do they do?" Lucas asks, the thought starting to wipe the smile off of his face. "When they see us?"

"See, they get outrageously jealous because they know they'll never have a love like ours," Eliott answers, a shine Lucas doesn't recognize filling his eyes. "They'll never break into every parallel universe and fill all of them with their love like we do. So, they come at us with pitchforks and torches and chase after us, cursing our names and the love we have and spitting on us until we're soaking wet. But, we get away. We outrun them because we're so much stronger than them. They're sweating buckets and they can't quite catch their breaths, but we're fine. We barely broke a sweat and breathing is easier than it has been before. We look over our shoulders as we keep running, and we smile."

Lucas isn't sure how to respond. If Eliott's words were stumbling over each other before, they're bleeding into each other now. They're a thousand colors mixing until they form a brown, muddy puddle, until they're almost indecipherable as distinct sentences and thoughts. He's never really heard Eliott talk like this before. Like he would explode if he didn't get all his words out. He manages a smile, shrugging dumbly. "What do we do after that?" he asks weakly.

"We keep running," Eliott replies, as if it were obvious. "What if all those people start chasing us again? Are we supposed to wait there like sitting ducks, only running again when they're right on our tails? No. We keep running. We're holding each other's hands like we always do, and we push each other forward. If we run faster, we could move the whole earth until it's night again and we can hide like we did on our wedding night. We can't hide in the dark forever, but we have each other, and we'll have each other forever, and that's enough. That's more than enough. In fact, as we keep running every morning, and as we keep hiding every night, we don't need water and food to survive anymore. We just need each other. That's all we need to survive. That's all we need to keep our hearts beating. And we run faster and faster until every grain of soil in the world has kissed our feet, until we've traveled the whole world. Before we know it, the whole world is whispering about Lucas and Eliott. They call us something cheesy and cliched like the Fleet-footed Lovers or something, but we don't mind. They talk about how they want a love as powerful as ours. They go around looking for their other Fleet-footed Lover. People propose using those words. 'Will you be my Fleet-footed Lover?' The whole world will know about us, Lucas. And they won't care that we're two boys in love. We'll make all of them realize that the love between two boys is even more powerful than a love between a boy and a girl. We'll change the world, mon amour. We'll build a new one with our feet, with our clasped hands, and as people have babies and raise them, they'll tell them about the Creators. They'll talk about us. Lucas and Eliott. The Fleet-footed Lovers. We'll create a whole new world, and it'll ripple through all of our parallel universes. We will do this. We will."

Lucas almost doesn't recognize Eliott. Everything about him is wide. His grin, his too bright eyes, his hair pointing frantically in every direction. He's a hole, opening up and looking to swallow up whatever gets too close to him. He's gaping, yawning, his chest a cavern Lucas feels too anxious to traverse alone. His words, his illusions of grandeur were enough to send all the dissipated worry back into the pit of Lucas's stomach, but this face, this body in front of him makes it sink even further, nearly reaching his toes. Lucas feels his mouth go dry, feels his throat close up.

"Wh-what about our cottage?" he chokes out, taking Eliott's hand in his. "What about painting all day and holding each other all night? Can we not do that anymore? Are we too busy becoming these epic, legendary lovers?"

"No, we'll still do all those things, mon amour," Eliott smiles reassuringly, using his free hand to cradle Lucas's face. "Once we change the world. Once it's ours. We'll have our cottage. We'll have all our paintings and art supplies. We'll have our bed. We'll still only need each other to survive. In fact, we'll live. Live unlike anyone else has before. We'll be the first of many things, the fathers of many things. I know we will."

Lucas musters a smile, leaning into Eliott's touch and closing his eyes. He remembers all the time he used Eliott's touch to ground himself, only to realize now that he's trying to use his own touch to ground Eliott. He places his other hand on top of Eliott's, running his thumb over the back of his hand. He hears something inside him say, wherever you are, come back to me. His chest tightens at the idea of thinking such a thing, and the idea that right now the answer to his prayer is all he wants.

"Hey," Eliott says softly, Lucas opening his eyes slowly. "Maybe we can start by trying these outfits on?"

Lucas nods, barely widening his smile. He waits for Eliott to climb out of bed before doing the same. He watches him carefully, as much as he hates to admit it, noticing how all his muscles seem to be wrapped around a spring, how his feet seem to just know that they can fly so they try to help him take off. He noticed all these things before, but not in the way he does now. Maybe that should've been some sort of warning sign, a red flag. He takes a deep breath and gets off his bed, starting to take off his clothes. He notices Eliott is stripped down to his boxers and has his back turned, so he takes a step toward him.

"No, Lu, you can't look at me yet," Eliott says just over his shoulder. "Turn around and let me know when you're changed, okay?"

Lucas obeys, facing his window. "Okay." He takes off his shirt and shorts, trying to get changed as quickly as he can. He tries to watch the waves, though they're fairly distant from his window. They're calm, breathing slowly against the shore. He tries to match his breathing to theirs as he works up the courage to tell Eliott to turn around. In, out. In, out.

"Turn around," he manages to say, turning around himself.

Eliott's eyes light up even more as he laughs delightedly. "You look amazing, mon amour!" he grins, his eyes scanning his body. The outfit suits Eliott really well, too, but it doesn't make Lucas smile like it probably would have under different circumstances. Eliott takes a step forward and pulls Lucas close, kissing him.

Lucas tries not to seem hesitant as he kisses him back, muttering against his lips, "You look amazing, too, my love."

"Not as amazing as you," Eliott counters, deepening the kiss. Lucas stumbles a bit, but Eliott helps him regain his balance. Lucas opens his eyes, noticing that Eliott is looking out his window. "We should go swimming," Eliott smiles, looking over at Lucas. "The sun isn't going down anytime soon. We have time."

Lucas bites his lip, his worry turning his stomach. He doesn't think it's a good idea, though he can't explain why. He tries to think of some sort of excuse, hopefully one that will convince Eliott to stay here in his room. He shrugs, fidgets with the collar of Eliott's shirt. "I don't know," he starts, trying to make his lie as smooth and believable as possible. "It's been a long day, I'm pretty tired. I don't feel like swimming."

"Come on, Lucas," Eliott encourages, taking his face in his hands. "It's beautiful outside, and the sea is calm. It's a perfect day for swimming!"

"I don't know, Ellie," he replies, dumbly. "We can swim another day, can't we? We could go tomorrow. I'd rather stay here with you and kiss you and let you hold me."

"We'll do all that later, Lucas," Eliott shakes his head. "Remember what we agreed to? We'll relax when the sun goes down."

Lucas nods, but doesn't know how to respond. Eliott tilts his head so he's looking up at him.

"Would it make you feel better if I said we'll only stay out there for a few minutes?" Eliott asks, moving his hand to caress Lucas's cheek. "How about thirty minutes?"

Lucas sighs deeply, unconvinced but knowing that Eliott is persistent right now. He nods reluctantly, forcing a smile. "Okay."

Eliott grins, kissing Lucas again deeply. "Let's go!" he says once he pulls away. He takes Lucas's hand and leads him out of his room, out of his house, and down towards the beach. Occasionally, Eliott will look at Lucas over his shoulder, and every time Lucas loses another piece of recognition. Every time, it gets a little harder for Lucas to fake his smile. Every time, he feels a little more strongly that he needs to let go of Eliott's hand. Every time, his worry and his dread tighten his stomach and his chest, send bits of ice into his bloodstream. Every time, Lucas finds himself more and more lost in some strange cosmos.

As they reach the shore, Eliott sweeps Lucas off his feet, carrying him into the water as if he were his bride. Lucas starts panicking, but before he can find words to say, Eliott throws him in the water. He resurfaces quickly, spitting out water and trying to catch his breath. He hears Eliott laughing, and when his eyes clear, he sees him doubled over. A strange sense of betrayal fills him, a despondence. The waves gently lap against him trying to push him towards Eliott, but he feels frozen.

"Ça va, mon amour?" Eliott asks, his voice rising above the lull of the waves.

"Ça va?" Lucas replies, confusing Eliott.

"What do you mean?" he asks, tilting his head.

"Ça va?" Lucas repeats, taking a careful step towards Eliott.

"Ça va," Eliott answers, nodding. He chuckles, shrugging. "Why wouldn't I be well when I'm with you?"

"You're not yourself, my love," Lucas says quietly, afraid of Eliott's reply but unable to hold back his tongue.

"Of course I'm myself," Eliott shakes his head, scoffing. "Who else could I be?"

"I don't know," Lucas admits, shrugging helplessly. "You're different."

"Are you still upset about the money?" Eliott asks, his brow furrowed. "I told you, I—"

"It's not the money, Eliott," Lucas sighs, shaking his head. "Did you hear yourself in my room just now? Rambling about how we'll change the entire fabric of our world as we know it?

"We will, don't you think?" Eliott replies, taking Lucas's hands.

"By running until our feet bleed?" Lucas asks, his voice rising. "The world isn't ready to see us yet, and I'm not ready to run yet, either. Maybe at some point I will, but not now, my love."

"I never said we had to run now," Eliott shrugs, laughing. "I never said we had to get married in Giverny tomorrow. I never said you needed to rush and do something you're not ready for."

Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. He feels Eliott envelop him in his arms, feels his warm lips against his forehead. It doesn't ease his mind, nor his stomach or his chest. It doesn't do anything.

"I want to go home," Lucas whispers, suddenly on the verge of tears. "I want you to hold me like this in my bed."

"Okay," Eliott whispers back. "Before we go, can I kiss you?"

Lucas nods weakly, letting Eliott gently push him away while he waits for their lips to meet each other once again. Eliott kisses him, slowly and softly, just the way he needs it. It eases everything—just a little, but enough.

"I'll take you home now, mon amour," Eliott whispers, smiling against Lucas's lips.

"Merci," Lucas breathes, kissing Eliott quickly.

He feels Eliott take his hand and gently guide him forward. He keeps his eyes closed, tries to focus on the memory of Eliott's lips on his.

From behind him, he hears a wave, large and roaring. He opens his eyes then, looking over his shoulder. It's approaching them rapidly, growing taller and taller until it starts to tower over them. Lucas's heart nearly stops, and his feet are planted to the sand below. He feels Eliott's hand slip away from his, hears him stumble and ripple the water. Before Lucas can start running, the wave crashes over him, pulling him in all directions until he's too disoriented to swim back up. He sees wave after wave crash just above him, all of them merciless and pushing him further and further down.

Once, just once, there's a gap between the waves, and Lucas breaks through, finally breathing air. With the one gulp he gets, he cries Eliott's name.

Another wave crashes over him, and another, and another, forcing him down and under and down and under.

Lucas drowns.

july 20th, 1966

16:22

caen, france

Eliott stumbles forward, tripping on the muddy sand beneath him. He hears a wave crash behind him, and he feels it spray lightly against his back. He isn't holding Lucas's hand anymore. He whirls around, but Lucas is nowhere to be seen.

"Lucas!" he calls, panic edging into his voice. He scans the water, waiting for him to stand back up and return to the shore. But he doesn't.

"Eliott!"

Lucas's voice is strangled, desperate, a bloodcurdling cry. His hand is just visible as it reaches up into the air. His voice and his hand are drowned out by the sound of the waves; the crashing, the frothing. Lucas is drowned out by the waves, burying him and pushing him deeper and deeper into the water.

Eliott's heartbeat lurches to a stop as he stands there, helpless, waiting for Lucas to resurface. Wave after wave crashes by, growing and breathing and looming before him. He can't see Lucas anywhere.

"Lucas!" Eliott cries at the top of his lungs, swimming desperately towards where he last saw him. He beats back against the waves beating against him, his muscles becoming sore and salt filling his mouth and stinging his eyes. He spits out water, blinks it away, pushes past the burn exploding all over his body. One thought fills his mind, his heart.

I need to get to Lucas.

He keeps swimming, looking for Lucas, breaking through every wave that gets in his way.

Lucas's name fills him, becoming louder, stronger than all his aching muscles, his aching lungs.

I need to get to Lucas.

It feels like an eternity has passed when Eliott spots something in the water—a flash of golden skin, a wet mess of brown hair. Eliott's heart skips a beat, and he's filled with a new strength. He swims as hard and as quickly as he can, finally, finally reaching Lucas. He tries his best to tread water as he gathers Lucas in his arms. His eyes are closed, but Eliott doesn't have time to try and wake him up. He quickly positions Lucas on his back, trying his best to keep him secure.

He lets the waves push him forward, closer and closer to shore. He focuses on keeping his grip on Lucas, keeping them both afloat. He sighs in relief when he feels his feet touch the ocean floor, trudging through the muddy sand with trembling but desperate and hopeful legs. He keeps walking until the sand becomes dry, until the waves are just noises behind them.

Eliott falls to his knees, the exhaustion finally weighing on him. He repositions Lucas to where he's cradling him in his arms.

"Lucas? Lucas," Eliott stammers, breathless. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes."

Eliott doesn't think he heard him. His eyes stay closed. Eliott places a hand on Lucas's cheek, but he doesn't lean into his touch. He tries to push his hand gently against Lucas's face, but his head lolls to the other side. He runs his thumb down his cheekbone and along his jaw, and he can feel his cool skin growing colder by the second. Realization socks Eliott in the jaw. Familiarity lingers, spreading to all his limbs and traveling across every synapse in his brain.

"Lucas," Eliott tries again, unable to hide the fear bleeding into his voice. "Lucas, please. Can you hear me?"

Eliott rests his forehead against Lucas's, rubs their noses together, desperately kisses him. Still no response. Eliott shakes his head, pure panic flooding over him.

"No..." Eliott chokes out, his hand drifting down to Lucas's chest. It's not rising or falling, and despite all his searching, he can't find Lucas's heartbeat. He looks up at Lucas's face again, and he can see the color draining from it. He looks the same way his father did. Ghostly, almost not real. A shadow, a small flicker of light that's out of focus. "Not you. Not you, too. Not you. Not you. Not you, please."

Tears start running down his cheeks as he lays Lucas down on the sand. His brain turns off, and he feels as if he's watching himself press down on Lucas's chest with all his weight, watching himself breathe as much air into his lungs as he can. He begs Lucas to wake up and open his eyes and live , begs his lungs to open and empty and fill , begs his heart to stir and drum and beat . He begs the love of his life not to die, not to leave him, not to be lost to the waves. His desperation is stronger, growing out of his body and reaching out to anyone that could help him.

Another eternity passes by of Eliott nearly crushing Lucas's still, hollow chest, of Eliott feeling Lucas's cold, silent lips against his. There's been an ache pooling down his arms, and he can't ignore the strain anymore, nor the pangs in his lungs. As he goes to give Lucas more rescue breaths, his arms buckle and he collapses just on top of Lucas. He rests his forehead against his, exhausted. He exhales deeply, Lucas's name spilling out of his trembling mouth and falling on deaf ears. He takes Lucas's face in both of his hands and musters another mite of strength, giving him as many more rescue breaths as he can manage.

Eliott pulls away after he gives the last breath he possibly can, his eyes closing. There's only silence for a fraction of a moment, but it spreads and stretches itself out, looking to every other moment in time for direction, for answers. It searches and searches, its body swelling and close to bursting. As it takes its last breath, Eliott's heart whimpers, whispers to it, begging .

Please. Please let it be enough to save him.

Eliott's eyes fly open when he hears Lucas choking, coughing. He sits up, quickly turning Lucas onto his side. New rivers of tears stream down his face as he hears Lucas take labored gulps of breath, sees his chest rising and falling again. His heart swells as he hears Lucas breathing more easily, the hoarse, shallow breaths becoming deeper, fuller.

"Eliott..." Lucas mumbles after a moment, his voice weak.

A sob rips from Eliott's throat as he pulls Lucas close and clings to him. "I'm here, mon amour ," he whispers in his ear. He peppers his face with kisses, threads his fingers through his hair. " You're here," Eliott breathes, joy bubbling from his chest with a giddy giggle.

"I'm here," Lucas rasps. Eliott can feel him smiling feebly. He sighs, and his breath tingles down Eliott's neck. It's enough to make Eliott feel like he could explode from sheer relief. Lucas is breathing again. He can feel their chests breathing together, and he can just barely feel Lucas's heart murmuring there, too. It's slow, weak, but it's there. It'll gain strength every day. It'll heal. Maybe it'll love even more than it has before.

"I'm so happy you're here, mon amour ," Eliott sighs, kissing Lucas's forehead. "I'm so happy you're okay."

july 20th, 1966

23:32

caen, france

Eliott can't sit still as he sits outside Lucas's hospital room, waiting for the doctor to finish more tests. He hasn't seen him since they arrived at the hospital. They were separated almost immediately, Lucas being taken to a room to have his vitals taken and some initial tests being performed. Eliott was told to stay in the lobby, where someone placed a warm, soft blanket around him and a nurse kindly guided him as he recalled what happened to Lucas. It's been nearly seven hours, which another nurse told him is a potential turning point for drowning victims. They either stay stable because they were able to get adequate life support, or they start taking a turn for the worst. They won't let Eliott see him until they're sure that the former happens, or that they'll be able to get him stable if it's the latter.

As time has gone on, the relief and joy Eliott felt initially has faded. He may have been able to bring Lucas back, but now they're waiting helplessly for something to go wrong, desperately hoping for some miraculous recovery. Eliott can't stomach the thought that he might've brought Lucas back only for him to suffer even more for hours and reach the same fate he did before. Yet it still circles his mind, tangling on itself before it forms a knot that squeezes his brain tight.

Suddenly, the door opens and Eliott rises to his feet, anxiety blooming in his stomach. The doctor comes out, stopping in front of Eliott.

"He's stable," he reports. "We think you got to him sooner than you thought. We'll keep him here overnight, just in case, and we'll keep him on oxygen and fluids until he has his strength back up. He should be well enough to be released by tomorrow evening at the latest. I'm almost tempted to call this a miracle."

Eliott sighs in relief, nodding.

"Would you like to see him?" the doctor asks with an inviting smile. "He's been asking for you all night."

Eliott grins, his heart warming. "Yes, please," he laughs. "I can't thank you enough."

"There's no need," the doctor smiles. He claps his hand on Eliott's shoulder, then walks down the hallway.

Eliott takes a deep breath as he enters Lucas's room, unable to hold back his grin when he finally sees him.

Lucas has a ventilator mask on his face, but it can't hide his smile when he sees Eliott. He weakly holds out his hand, and Eliott bounds over to him, giving as good of a hug as he can.

"I was so worried," Eliott whispers, kissing Lucas's ear.

"I know," Lucas whispers back feebly. Then he says, a little louder, "Come here, Maman."

"No, it's okay," she replies. Eliott looks back and sees her in the corner. She's smiling but there's this deep sadness in her eyes, shining and dark. It strikes Eliott deep in his chest somehow, filling him with even more guilt than he had before. She nods, forcing a smile. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Maman," Lucas starts, his voice dying in his throat as she leaves the room.

"Does she know?" Lucas asks quietly after a moment.

"I didn't have the heart to tell her," Eliott replies. "But, earlier, they asked me about the bruises on your chest and your rib. So, they must've asked her, too."

Lucas sighs shakily, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I didn't know how to say it."

"It's okay," Lucas replies, shaking his head. "I'm... worried."

Eliott doesn't know what to say. He's frozen by his guilt, consumed by his anxiety. He watches Lucas, listens to him breathe. He looks at Eliott, then, his eyes bleary and unreadable.

"Lie with me, Eliott," he whispers, his voice strained. He holds out his hand weakly again, and Eliott feels tears filling his eyes. But, he carefully climbs into the bed with Lucas, resting his head on his chest. The fabric of his gown is warm but rough and thin, and Eliott can just barely see Lucas's bruises through it. They're a greenish brown, and the color creeps across his skin in thin lines, like veins.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Eliott asks, lifting his head a bit.

"No," Lucas mumbles. "Painkillers are working."

Eliott sighs in relief, setting his back down. He closes his eyes and listens closely, carefully Lucas's heartbeat is a little stronger, but still hard to hear. His breathing is slow, deep, still shaky. Eliott thinks he hears Lucas's blood humming through his veins, too. The more he listens, the more he remembers the way Lucas's chest used to sound, and the more he realizes Lucas shouldn't be here right now. He never should've made Lucas go to the beach with him. He should've let Lucas stay home because he was tired. Lucas's lungs should never have filled with seawater, and his eyes should never have closed, and his heart should never have stopped beating. It doesn't matter that Lucas is alive again. He never should've died in the first place. He never should've been a breath away from heaven.

The more he listens, the more he realizes that this is all his fault. He remembers over and over Lucas's hand slipping out of his grasp. The moment everything went wrong.

"Lucas," Eliott begins, taking a deep breath before he continues, gathering the courage he needs to ask the question and hear the answer. "What did dying feel like?"

Lucas doesn't reply at first. He inhales sharply, exhales shakily. His hand drifts lazily through Eliott's hair for a moment, tugging gently. "Awful," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Painful. Horrifying. Dark. All I could do... was think about you. And Maman. The last time I said I love you. The last time I said goodbye."

Eliott doesn't respond quickly, either. The guilt deepens, darkens.

"It would've killed Maman," Lucas continues, tears rolling down his cheeks. "It's killing her..." he trails off as he starts coughing, gasping for air.

Eliott sits up, panicked, pressing the ventilator mask against Lucas's face. "Breathe, Lucas, breathe," he begs. "Breathe, please."

Lucas squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe as slowly and deeply as he can. His chest starts to rise and fall much more steadily after a moment, but there are still tears rolling down his cheeks. Eliott wipes them away gently, fighting back his own tears.

"Maman," Lucas sniffles, his voice so hoarse Eliott doesn't recognize it.

"Don't talk, Lucas," Eliott says, trying to keep his voice steady and kind. "You'll strain yourself. You need to focus on breathing right now, okay? Just breathe. You're alive , Lucas. You're okay. Your maman will be okay. She loves you so much, Lucas. You're her baby boy, remember?"

Lucas nods, trying his best to smile.

"She has her baby boy back," Eliott continues, managing a smile. "She just has to deal with the fact that she almost lost you. She's grieving, right now. I'm grieving, too. But everything will be okay. You're getting better. You're getting stronger. You'll be good as new soon. We all need time to heal, you especially."

"I love you, Ellie," Lucas smiles weakly, gently caressing Eliott's cheek. His eyes start to droop. He mumbles quietly, "I'm tired."

"I love you, too, Lulu," Eliott returns, kissing the palm of Lucas's hand. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight," Lucas whispers, closing his eyes. Eliott moves Lucas's hand from his cheek and places it on his stomach. He rests his head on Lucas's chest again, listening to the weak trickle of his heartbeat. He waits until he feels Lucas's breaths even out. He looks up and sees Lucas's beautiful, sleeping face. Most of the color has returned, and his eyelids are fluttering ever so slightly. He's the most beautiful person Eliott's ever seen, and he's been able to call him his. But he held Lucas's hand and led him to his death, letting him go and leaving him to his own devices when the waves came. He let Lucas die. He breathed life into him again, but that didn't change the fact that his hand is the one that held Lucas by his throat and squeezed until his body went limp. It wasn't the water. It wasn't the waves. It was Eliott.

Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark.

My fault.

He needs to leave. He needs to go home. He'll call his Maman. Or maybe Madame Lallemant could take him home. He just needs to leave. He can't look at Lucas a minute longer without feeling like he could explode.

He carefully climbs out of Lucas's bed, but thankfully he doesn't stir. Before he leaves, he kisses Lucas's forehead. His lips linger for a moment, feeling warmth there, life . He smells the sea salt lingering in Lucas's hair, his skin, sighing as he pulls away. He gently cradles Lucas's face in his hand. Lucas smiles, but doesn't wake.

"I'm so sorry, mon amour ," Eliott whispers feebly, his voice thick with tears. "I'm so sorry."

july 22nd, 1966

04:09

caen, france

Everything is cold. The tears on Eliott's cheeks, the rough, wooden floor against his cheek, the air around him, the blood coursing through his veins. He can't even remember what warmth feels like. No, warmth feels like Lucas's touch, sounds like Lucas's voice, tastes like Lucas's lips. But he doesn't deserve warmth anymore. Lucas gave it to him so selflessly, so kindly, so tenderly. All Eliott has ever done is hurt him. He's the cold to Lucas's warmth, the ice to his fire. He's no good for him. He'll only hold Lucas back, keep him cool when he needs to burn bright and faithful.

They've been best friends their whole lives. They've loved each other their whole lives. Why is it just now that Eliott is realizing that everything could've been a mistake? Why is it only now that he's realizing that something was wrong between them, something that doomed them from the start?

You're not yourself, my love

"I'm not myself," Eliott mutters beneath his breath, singing along with the memory of Lucas's voice.

You're different

"I'm different."

Something's wrong. He'd taken the money from the jar without telling his mother that morning. He'd sneaked into her room and carefully taken it out, shoving it in his pocket and put the jar back. He'd lied to Lucas about it when he asked where he'd gotten the money. It was a half-truth, really, but the fact that he ever hid anything is wrong. The whole day, his heart beat so fast he couldn't keep up with it. He felt he had no other choice but to follow it. It told him to shower Lucas in love and attention and gifts. It told him that he feels good around Lucas so he should stay with him as long as he can. It was that same anxiety he felt at Christmas, but it fixated on Lucas because it eased whenever he was around. He should've known something was wrong, then, too. Falling in love with Lucas, filling a whole sketchbook with some romantic tale of them falling in love. The other day, he let himself ramble on about Giverny and running across the earth because that same anxiety was eating at him, so he entertained another fantasy. He keeps relying on figment, on Lucas, on what he considers safe, on what he holds dear.

Then there's the few times when he's been so fatigued and despondent he can barely lift his head from his pillow. That dreary day in January, that long and gray month after his father died. Lucas knew something was terribly wrong in January. Why didn't Eliott know, too, deep down? And anyone would've been depressed after losing a parent, but Eliott legitimately never thought he would be happy again. He didn't eat. He only slept, hoping he would have good dreams so he would have something to hold onto and hope for. He barely spoke a word. He didn't draw. He didn't read. He didn't take pictures. He barely breathed. He barely did anything besides exist and hope that he's wrong and he'll find the strength to smile again. Lucas had warned him depression would kill him slowly, softly, as if it were lulling him to some eternal sleep he secretly longs for. He didn't listen. He read the words on the page, but he didn't take them to heart like he should have. He neglected Lucas. He neglected his mother. He neglected himself. But somehow, the depression eased only to send him off the deep end again, only this time, he was flying instead of sinking. No, he wasn't flying. He was falling. He was falling until he hit the water again and started to drown again.

Is this a cycle his mind is starting to subject himself to? Something's wrong. Something's wrong. He can't deny it anymore, but he doesn't know how to acknowledge and address it, either. What do you do when you're suddenly aware that a poison is entering your system, that a virus is plaguing you and you know that you'll never be able to find the antidote, the cure? Let yourself die?

Eliott's tears begin to dry. He sits up slowly, his mind calming and centering itself on a single memory.

Awful. Painful. Horrifying. Dark.

Eliott gets on his feet, a sense of calm washing over him. He walks over to his desk, sitting at his chair and pulling out two sheets of paper and a pen.

His hand is surprisingly steady as he writes two letters, two apologies. The words come to him as easily as breathing, as easily as a trickle of water down a stream. He folds both sheets of paper neatly, nearly perfectly. He takes them and leaves his room.

He enters his mother's room quietly, where she's sleeping soundly, peacefully in her bed. He leaves a letter with her name on it on her bedside table.

"Goodnight, Maman," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks down the stairs, and they thankfully don't creak. The front door doesn't groan against its hinges, either.

The grass is soft and quiet beneath his feet as he walks to Lucas's house. The moon is fading, beginning to hide her face. The stars are blinking out.

He approaches Lucas's window, hoping he can open it from the outside. He can barely see Lucas sleeping in his bed in the corner. Ever so carefully, the window opens, and he leaves Lucas's letter on his window sill.

"Goodnight, mon amour," he whispers. "Sweet dreams."

He walks past the spot where the grass ends, down the white, pearly sand, stopping at the shore. The remnants of crashed waves lapping at his feet.

He takes a deep breath, and walks forward.

july 22nd, 1966

05:44

caen, france

Lucas wakes with a start, sharp pain erupting in his side as he sits up. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling slowly as he waits for the pain to pass. As he opens his eyes, he notices that his window is slightly open, and that there's a piece of paper resting there. He doesn't remember it being there before, and who would leave a letter on Lucas's window sill. Eliott? But Eliott knows that he can tap on Lucas's window if he needs him. A sense of dread he can't explain settles in his stomach, telling him to get out of bed and read the letter.

He takes another deep breath, bracing himself for the pain as he climbs out of bed. He manages to get to his window without much pain, but his dread intensifies with every step, morphing into unease then apprehension then anxiety.

He picks it up and sees his name written in Eliott's handwriting. His heart starts to race as he unfolds it, as he sees the calm, neat handwriting etched onto the paper. He begins to read, silently praying that he's worrying about nothing.

My dearest Lucas,

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were discharged from the hospital. Whenever I looked at you, all I could see was you when I pulled you to shore. I can't get your face out of my mind. All I can hear is your silence. And all I could think about was how this was all my fault. I could never express how much I regret everything that happened that day. I regret kissing you awake that morning and racing you down the street and buying you clothes and helping you brave the waves. I regret even waking up that morning. I should've just slept all day like I had been for a month, but for the first time since Papa died, I woke up and I wanted to face the day. And I wanted to face it with you. That was selfish of me. And you paid the price for it. You were completely innocent, mon amour , but you were the one that suffered.

I can't stop thinking about what you said at the hospital the other night, when I asked you what dying felt like. I can't imagine it. It's a pain so few people can say they've felt, but you can, Lucas. And that kills me. You shouldn't know what the most permanent thing that a person can go through is like. Not when you're so young. Not when you had so much light in your eyes. But you did, and that's my fault. No one can deny that. When I get to heaven and I'm judged, God will tell me that I let you die and I'll be condemned for that. I deserve it. I deserve every punishment available to me. I don't deserve your forgiveness, though I hope that someday I'll be able to receive it. Maybe in some other life, some other universe.

I've loved you my whole life and yet it wasn't enough to stop me from hurting you. I've hurt everyone close to us. Our Mamans, our friends, everyone. The weight of what I've done is wearing on all of you, when it should only be my burden to carry. So, I'm taking that burden away. I'm letting the waves swallow me up. I'll know what you went through. I'll understand. I'll die and I'll never hurt you again. You can heal. You can start to breathe easier again and your heartbeat will become familiar to you again. My life is a small price to pay for yours.

When you wake up, when you read this, I'll be sinking to the ocean floor. I'll be painting the ocean the same color as your eyes, and I'll be singing your name until it reaches the waves and they carry it, over and over until the ocean runs dry. I can't imagine doing anything else in my final moments.

I love you, Lucas. And thank you for loving me, too.

The letter flutters to the floor from Lucas's hand, its ruffling accompanying the fleeting of a thousand images in his mind. The weight of Eliott's body in his arms, the crack of his ribs as Lucas presses down on his chest, drops of water resting peacefully on his eyelashes, Lucas kissing him for the last time but his lips are cold and still, Madame Demaury screaming when she sees her son, Lucas's fingers hovering over piano keys at Eliott's funeral, a gravestone next to Monsieur Demaury's, thousands and thousands of flowers wilting there, thousands and thousands of tears dripping from Lucas's eyes.

Lucas throws open his window and climbs out, ignoring his screaming rib and running as fast as he can to the shore. He remembers his own words, the ones that inspired Eliott to take his own life. Pain. Panic. Darkness. Eliott doesn't deserve to feel what Lucas felt. No one does. No one should ever experience something so horrible Lucas believes that a just God could never have designed it for every last one of His children. Eliott deserves it the least. It's not his fault. He never could've known that the water would darken and tremble and scream. It's not his fault. It never could've been and it never will be.

Lucas should have told him when he had the chance. His voice was weak and it hurt to talk, but he could've told Eliott somehow. It's not your fault, my love, please don't ever think that any of this was your fault.

The sun is about to rise, and the world is stained a light, hazy blue. Lucas can see a shadow in the distance, just barely, walking into the water. It has to be Eliott. It has to mean that Lucas isn't too late. It has to mean that he can save Eliott back. Lucas tries to run faster, but his pain is becoming too great to ignore and push through.

"Eliott!" he cries, hoping he can hear him.

He's closer now, right on the edge where the sand is damp and crumbling. He can see Eliott, still walking forward. He can only see his head, and it's quickly disappearing. No. He can't be disappearing. He has to turn around and swim back. He has to come back to Lucas and Lucas has to hold him again. He can't drown. He can't die. He's just within Lucas's reach, but he's starting to slip through.

"ELIOTT!" Lucas screams, his voice echoing off the air, the water, the sky. His rib feels like it's shattered and he can't breathe anymore, but Eliott turns around . He starts running towards Lucas, letting the waves carry him forward until he's falling into his arms. Eliott's body shakes, his sobs come out in wheezes and hiccups, and Lucas holds him tightly, carefully guiding him away from the water.

"I'm so sorry," Eliott chokes out. "I'm so, so sorry."

Lucas doesn't think he can cry, even though his best friend was practically minutes away from death. He remembers all the tears Eliott cried when he woke up, all the kisses he left all over his face, how tightly he held him, but Lucas knows he can't react the same way. Something is stopping him, something that's stirring in his chest and closing his throat. Lucas feels himself begin to shake, too, so he holds Eliott a little tighter.

"You're safe now, my love," Lucas manages to say. "I'm here."

"Eliott?" Madame Demaury's voice calls out. Lucas looks over his shoulder and sees her running towards them. He must've woken her up when he called Eliott's name.

"Maman?" Eliott says quietly, pulling away. "Maman!"

Eliott starts running towards Madame Demaury, calling for her. Lucas watches him fall into her arms, watches her take his face in her hands and ask him what's wrong. She starts guiding him towards their car, leaving Lucas alone on the edge of the shore. That something he felt earlier starts swelling in his chest as he watches them drive away, and he finally has a name for it: anger . It's a boiling, a scorching, a burning in his throat and in his stomach.

Eliott just tried to kill himself. His only goodbye was a note that he left on Lucas's window. He thought his punishment for saving Lucas should be dying himself. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son. He thought he was committing some act of holy vengeance, divine justice. He thought taking himself away from all of them was the solution, the only solution that existed. He thought it was all his fault, but by killing himself, he would've shifted the blame to Lucas. He saved himself and he saved Lucas, but Lucas couldn't save Eliott. How could he ever consider letting Lucas live with that sort of guilt? How could he think he was lifting the weight off his shoulders when he would be adding his own dead weight instead? How could he be so selfish ? How could he lack such compassion, such love that they agreed that they shared? How could he leave Lucas in the dark, then thrust more of it on him? How could he leave so many words hanging in the air? Words that were said but never listened to, words that they can never say now? Words that Lucas wishes he could take back, words that he wishes he should've said more often. But it's too late. Eliott is gone. He doesn't know where Madame Demaury is taking Eliott, or what will happen to him now, but for Lucas, he's gone. Eliott left Lucas. It doesn't matter if he thought it was for the best, or if he thought he was doing it out of love and care for Lucas. His intentions didn't matter. His actions did. And he abandoned Lucas.

Maybe Lucas was always right. Him and Eliott were both born sinners, but they both had a chance to ignore their nature, to a live a pure and Christlike life. They both gave into their desires, listened to the voice chanting in their hearts and not the one whispering to their souls. They sinned, so they must be punished. Their worlds are imploding on themselves because God had warned them so many times about who they could be and what they could do, but they didn't listen. Maybe this is all a part of God's will. Maybe He's trying to keep them apart so they don't make the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe Lucas was supposed to die, but Eliott somehow managed to defy heaven and save him. Maybe God scrambled and decided Eliott needed to die, but Lucas has defied heaven now, too. Maybe whatever happens to them now is God's plan "C" and they don't need to meddle anymore. Maybe they need to let things be. Maybe Lucas is ready to let Eliott go.

Sunlight starts to peak from the horizon, golden and hazy. It's warm, soft, but it doesn't dampen his anger. He can't breathe. His chest feels like it's on fire. He swears he still feels Eliott's touch brushing against his skin, familiar but cold now. But he knows he feels guilt, knows that Eliott can never touch him that way again. Yet all his thoughts revolve around Eliott, and it makes him want to tear his brain out of his skull. Maybe that would be the only he could ever truly forget Eliott. He starts pulling on his hair, grinding his teeth. Hot, bitter tears pool in his eyes.

He rips open his throat, breaks open his chest, cracks open his skull and screams , his voice faltering as he crumbles to his knees.

#ttmc #hush bailey #my writing #my fic #skamfr #elu #skamfr fic #elu fic #it's here!!!!!#im sorry it took so long lol

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