#but somebody 10 or 15 years older than me may well have had one

[greaseonmymouth]

The last time I held a check in my hands was in the 90s when my mum let me hand it to the cashier to pay for our groceries, until the next time I held one in my hands - a few months ago when an American customer mailed me a check to pay for an order even though we’d sent them a digital invoice with our bank details on. I dropped the check off with accounts receivable for them to deal with because fuck that, just pay the invoice the way we instructed you to???

Checks have not been widely used in Denmark for decades and some ten years ago the National bank shut down checks entirely. You can’t pay with checks there anymore, banks don’t issue check books in the first place, and nowhere can accept them for payment. The only exception to this is international checks specifically because the United States is behind the times and still use them, and some companies obv trade with American companies.

I now live in the UK and I don’t get the impression checks are common here; there was only one person on the finance team who knew how to handle the American check I’d dropped off with them.

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[ironlime]

60 Years After

So somebody in the tumblrverse posted about their headcannon in which Ned Coats was Sam Vimes' kid having traveled through time. I am a fan of this. It explains a lot. So when I read it back in... April? I then sat down and wrote up this little fanfic thing. And assumed that I could not only get it posted today, but also edit it so that it's not filled with so many of my own headcannons. And is closer to the original material. But L-Space is my job, and it really does do crazy things to time (and space.) On top of that I was really hoping I could post this to that original headcannon post but... I can't find it. So, OP, if you come across this... Well, I'm sorry. I'm more sorry to Sir Terry (GNU), though.

Quick note: my friends and I have found it easier to call Vimes' kid "Wee Sam" than "Young Sam" because "Young Sam" is one of the names (along with Vimesy and Lance Constable Vimes) that Vimes calls his younger self and... yeah. We find it confusing when nerding out about a single series with two different characters called 'Young Sam'. So we Feegle it up. Even though I wouldn't be surprised if 'Wee Sam' is actually a bit taller than his dad.

~ ~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

“What happened just then, Sarge? You blurred.” Wee Sam said, while he thought Oh so that’s what that looks like.

“You only get one question, Ned,” The man who would be his father looked a little seasick, and Wee Sam knew exactly how he felt. “Now, let’s show Snapcase where the line’s drawn, shall we? Let’s finish it--”

To the majority of people there that day, Sergeant-At-Arms John Keel stood, turned towards the enemy, and charged. To two people, Commander Sam Vimes ran towards Carcer, ready to drag him kicking and screaming into the past. Or the future. Depending on who you asked.

That was what gave Wee Sam his frame of reference, actually. He remembered hearing stories about Carcer, about how his dad had arrested the bastard the day Wee Sam was born. But was this actually May 25th for his dad? Was this weeks before the arrest? Hours? He couldn’t ask. Not yet.

“Glad to see you’ve joined us and are getting along with the Sarge, Coats.” Fred Colon said, touching him on the shoulder as they ran towards the fight.

“Yeah, Fred.” Oh, Fred. Fred Colon had died a few years ago, happy and surrounded by great-grandchildren. But here and now he was young and actually capable of running. And he was running towards the fray.

Sweeper had told Wee Sam to stay away from the center of the fight, and to try not to actually kill anybody, so he stayed on the edge near the unconscious Lance-Constable Sam Vimes who had been hidden by his older, more cynical self. Three men in a battle with the same name, and two of them were the same person. Good thing Wee Sam was the only one who had to really keep track of which of them was where. He certainly didn’t trust anybody else to.

So he fought, in a very curbed way, knocking his adversaries unconscious when he could and doing his best not to step on Nobby Nobbs, who was doing his best to very slowly inch away from the battle while simultaneously pretending to be a corpse. Over by the Watch House, Reg Shoe was doing a much better impersonation of a corpse, seeing as how he was one, but in a couple of hours he’d discover that it just didn’t work for him.

“You’re nicked, my ol’ chum.” It was probably because he had been listening for it, but his father’s whisper carried. Nobody else seemed to hear it, and nobody but Wee Sam turned in time to see the two men vanish. In the same instant, a single body appeared on the ground near where they had been. So, now that he had seen that through, there was one more…

A dark grey-green shadow passed by his shoulder, and his mind registered Uncle Havelock before adding the word Young.

Havelock Vetinari ran into the fight, cutting down Carcer’s men much more brazenly than the Assassin's Guild would like, a lilac bud between his teeth. Even in Wee Sam’s time, when Vetinari’s wardrobe consisted entirely of black and everything he did was in moderation, the Patrician indulged in a little drama on a regular basis.

He chose to have Commander Sam Vimes in his life, after all.

There was a sound to Wee Sam’s left, which he recognized though his mind didn’t associate any words with it. It was a sound any human would recognize, even those who first approached the Delta where the Ankh River met the Circle sea thousands of years ago. If Wee Sam had to find Morporkain words for it, and as a Vimes he did like to use his vocabulary, they were Confused, followed by Hurt followed by… wait for it… there it was. Anger.

Wee Sam could make that noise, though he rarely did. His father’s upbringing, on the other hand, had been considerably less balanced. The kid who was the source of the sound ran into the center of the fight, and Wee Sam deftly stepped out of his way while pushing an adversary in his way. The boy chopped down the Unmentionable with one graceful movement, and Wee Sam felt that he could safely say that he hadn’t been the one to kill the bastard. And nobody had been so foolish as to tell him to prevent his father from killing anybody.

Vetinari didn’t pause, but he did turn to look at this vengeful newcomer. Vetinari hadn’t been there when young Sam Vimes participated in the first part of the battle, and Wee Sam recognized the young assassin’s look of interest.

Tell me, Uncle Havelock, will you recognize him in 15 years? Or will you need to get him well and truly angry to realize you’ve found him?

Wee Sam knew this wasn’t the first time Havelock Vetinari saw Sam Vimes, but this was probably the first time he saw the potential. That he was more than just That Kid Who Follows Keel Everywhere. I bet you didn’t actually expect him to be so damned smart. His father still didn’t think of himself as intelligent. It was infuriating, especially when he and his father were having a disagreement. A drawn out, decade-long, disagreement.

Young Sam Vimes sent a lot of the Unmentionables running, and Wee Sam cut down any of them which could be seen as ‘coming towards him with a drawn weapon’. Since they were escaping a fight, that was anyone who came within reach not wearing a lilac.

Time travel really can get to a man. He thought, feeling a little cold. There would be no arrests here, just death and fleeing and at the end of the day Sam Vimes, Havelock Vetinari, Fred Colon, Gaskin, and, less literally, Nobby Nobbs and Reg Shoe would all be left standing. That was all that mattered.

He saw Vetinari turn away from young Sam Vimes, who then spun, and for the briefest moment they had their backs to each other, and Wee Sam wished he had his paints. It was a gods awful place to paint, there was a reason battles were always ‘immortalized’ after the fact, but the color and everything was just perfect--

And then the color faded.

“You should have fallen by now.” Sweeper observed from behind him.

“I wanted to see them fight together.” Wee Sam admitted, not turning. He had a notebook on him, and a pencil, but he knew that even with Time paused he didn’t really have it. Not to sit down and do a proper preliminary sketch. He was just going to have to remember.

Vetinari had a stiletto, an assassin’s weapon used to kill up-close. Young Sam Vimes hadn’t learned to dual-wield yet, but he had good instincts for the sword. Wait until you discover the axe.

Sweeper sighed. “Fine, and now you’ve seen it. I’m going to put the time back on and you had better be prepared to drop.”

“Yes yes alright.” Wee Sam shifted slightly, so he could seriously inconvenience the man who he was blocking before he dropped.

“Oh and stop killing people.”

“I’m a Vimes. You knew that when you hired me.”

“Indeed.” Sweeper said, and it took Wee Sam a moment to realize it was an attempt at a Vetinari impression. Before Wee Sam could reply, the color came back, and his adversary frowned in confusion.

“Oi, you blurred!” The man cried.

“This just isn’t your day.” Wee Sam gave the man a wound which might heal, if somebody tended to it within the next 10 minutes, and then fell over in a needlessly complicated way, specifically so he wouldn’t hit Nobby Nobbs.

And when he landed, the boy was looking right at him, frowning. Damn, Nobby was always the brains of Colon & Nobbs.

“You ain’t injured.” The boy hissed at him.

“Try to pick my pockets and you’ll regret it.” Wee Sam whispered back. Of course he wouldn’t dream of hurting Nobby, but the kid didn’t know that. Besides, picking the contents of his pockets back would be a relaxing way to end the day.

Nobby was still frowning at him. “You got eyes like the Sarge...”

“Nobby, get out of here before you get stepped on.” Wee Sam growled in his best imitation of his father, the Sergeant, within the past three days. The kid’s eyes went wide, and he took off running. Wee Sam glanced over to where Vimes and Vetinari were taking care of the last of Carcer’s men, and the color faded once more.

“I hope you are pleased with yourself.” Sweeper said, which Wee Sam took to mean he could stand up and dust himself off.

“Young Vimes and Vetinari live to grow up and become two of the most powerful men in Ankh-Morpork history, Carcer went back to his time more or less accompanied by my my dad so the one can be arrested by the other, your rogue ‘Time Vigilantes’ have been sorted out, oh and I don’t cease to exist either. My work here is d--” He stopped, and watched as Q and some other Technical Monks lay down a man about the same age, size and coloring as Wee Sam. “Wait, so there really was a Ned Coats?”

Sweeper had walked off without him, and Wee Sam jogged to catch up. The old monk didn’t turn to look at him when they were side-by-side, but he did start talking. “Of course there was. He was also from Psudopolis and knew the real Keel.”

“How’d he die?”

“The Agony Aunts, on his first day here. He was the real reason the real Keel accepted a job in Ankh-Morpork. The real Ned Coats was not a good man.”

“Keel... left his home to track down a criminal…” Wee Sam slowed. “That’s what my dad did! As Keel! Only, it was Carcer he had to catch.”

“Time likes continuity.” Sweeper nodded, and thanked Wee Sam quietly for holding the door open as they entered the monastery. Once in the building, color returned, with motion and sounds and smells. They were back in the Present.

The walk through the building was in relative silence, the rumbling of the procrastinators keeping it from ever becoming truly quiet here. Wee Sam could sleep almost anywhere, but the rumbling reminded him of the steam engines back home and Susan’s offer to help him find a job in Sto Lat ‘if he really couldn’t stay in Ankh-Morpork’.

Not long after his parents first met his dad had gotten fired for a couple of days, and his mom had offered to get him a job working for Susan’s parents. Susan had been young then, and sometimes he wondered what kind of person she would have grown up to be with his dad as part of her household staff.

Of course, with his parents living in two different cities, he would have never been born.

His mother would have never left Ankh-Morpork.

Then again, his father had chosen not to leave. He had stayed on the case. He… sorted it out, more or less. He kept Vetinari from getting killed. Had he done that during the battle? Young Sam and Vetinari had been facing opposite directions, had Vimesy blocked any blows aimed at the future patrician?

There was the crunch of stones under his feet, and Wee Sam consciously acknowledged they had arrived at the Garden of Inner-City Tranquility. His eyes swept the space, falling on and acknowledging the Cigarette Pack of Air, the Cat Doings of Disharmony, the Sonkie of Organic Harmony, the Cabbage Stalks of Dim Comprehension, the Discarded Fish-And-Chip Wrapper of Infinity, the Beer Bottle of Pissing Off Sweeper, and….

“The Cigar of Capriciousness is still here.” Wee Sam said, stopping between the door and the bench Sweeper always went to. He tilted his head slightly. “Or… Another cigar. Same brand, same style, smoked the same amount, probably by the same man, at the same angle... but it’s wrapped just a little differently.”

“Is it? I’ve stopped noticing.”

“You haven’t noticed the cigar that’s been smouldering here for the past month?” Wee Sam turned to Sweeper in disbelief. “I understand not paying attention to the condoms and cat doings, but time passes in here!”

Sweeper shrugged. “There is always a cigar. Even if we get rid of it, a new one shows up. If the new one lands closer to the wall, the garden always pushes it to the center.”

“Always? Since, what, the dawn of time?”

“Oh no. Since the day you were born. Or thirty years before. It’s hard to say.” Sweeper was looking at him evenly, and Wee Sam suddenly realized his reaction was being gauged.

“My dad. But…” Wee Sam looked at the cigar. “He doesn’t smoke them anymore.”

“He does. On special occasions.”

“Like what?”

“Your birthday. And when he pays certain visits.”

“He talked you into not keeping me on?” His gaze moved swiftly from the old man to the cigar, and with purpose he stalked into the middle of the garden and brought his foot back, prepared to give the thing a swift kick.

“You did that just fine without his help.” Sweeper’s voice was quiet, but it froze Wee Sam where he stood. “Corporal, we both know you don’t want to do this.”

“The mission is over. Coats is dead. I’m not a corporal anymore.” His foot fell heavily, not coming into contact with the cigar but still sending a spray of stones ahead of them. He scowled as they came sliding back towards him, settling where they had been around his foot. “This job is the closest I’ve ever gotten to what I was made to do.”

“I realize that. I’m sorry.”

There was some silence as the last of the stones slid into place. The procrastinators here were small, used only for the bathrooms in the far right corner, even though the city’s sewer pipe system now meant that they were just inconveniencing themselves in exchange for saving very little money. Wee Sam had done the math.

“Did you tell Susan?” Wee Sam didn’t want to be the one to tell her, but he also didn’t want anybody else to explain that he had squandered this opportunity.

“No. That is your problem, my boy.”

“Good.” Wee Sam squatted down, getting a closer look at his father’s cigar. The smell brought him back to his childhood, and it was comforting if not at all healthy. His mother had never allowed them in the house, but his father smoked them all the time outside and in his office, so the scent clung to his uniform like… Well like Wee Sam had back then. “Please don’t hold… me... against her. She was just looking out for me. She does that. Wish I knew why.”

“She is aware of your potential.” Sweeper said, and Wee Sam was so surprised he looked over his shoulder at the old man. “You’re good at investigating and putting the pieces together. And, some day, you will once again make a very good cop.”

“Someplace other than Ankh-Morpork.” Wee Sam grunted, but the old man shrugged, and he asked, hopefully “In Ankh-Morpork but in the future?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“No, it’s for my father to say.” He glared at the cigar, and then pushed himself to a standing position.

“You know, I didn’t just take you on because Susan asked and there happened to be another Vimes-shaped opening.” Sweeper said as Wee Sam turned towards the door.

“No?”

“I wanted to get to know the man the Theives Guild deemed ‘too dangerous’ for membership.” Sweeper sounded amused, and Wee Sam turned to look at him.

“I keep killing people. Assassin's school graduate, and all.” Wee Sam reminded him, but Sweeper waved the comment away.

“We both know neither of those things are relevant to today’s theive’s guild.” Sweeper shook his head. “Your father is afraid of you becoming him; and, well, so is everyone else. Vimeses walk in and take control. Especially under Vetinari’s influence.”

“And how do you know what my father is afraid of?” Wee Sam asked, narrowing his eyes. He was choosing to ignore the comment about Vetinari’s influence because it was true. After 300 years of cops and / or drunks it took Havelock Vetinari telling his father ‘not’ to investigate three deaths to bring his family name back to the list of the city’s gentry.

“You should ask him.” Sweeper did not ignore the narrowed eyes, but he did meet them evenly. “What he’s afraid of.”

Wee Sam turned towards the door, intending to stalk out, then thought better of it and spun so he was completely facing the old man. “You know what? I think I will.”

Then he ran, took a leap to place one foot on the bench beside Sweeper and jumped so his hands easily grasped the top of the wall. His own momentum brought him sideways, and he hurtled over the top. There was an alley on the other side, and he landed lightly. He was exactly where he expected to be, of course, and took off at a run towards the Cemetery of Small Gods.

And slowed to a walk before he reached the gates. It would not do for him to be out of breath when he arrived at the graves.

Twilight was falling, so his dad would be there, but so would Uncle Havelock and maybe Reg Shoe. Wee Sam was less concerned about how Reg saw him, especially now that he had seen Reg alive, but as far as his family was concerned he wanted to take steps towards appearing dignified. Even though they had known him his whole life, and knew better.

Sure enough, he passed Reg first. The Zombie was carrying a long-handled shovel over his left shoulder, and nodded in acknowledgement. Wee Sam managed to nod back before they passed each other.

He had expected Reg to recognize him. Reg had never noticed him behind the barricade, his father never noticed him behind the barricade, but Wee Sam had been playing Ned Coats for a full month before Sam Vimes had shown up as John Keel. Maybe Reg had never noticed that his father was Keel? How did Zombie memories work, anyway? Their brains certainly weren’t making new pathways… Did vampyre brains make new pathways?

This train of thought kept him pretty well occupied, along with the question of how he could politely go about getting some answers, when he noticed Uncle Havelock and his ‘cane’ striding silently towards him. A simple nod wouldn’t do.

“Good evening, Uncle Havelock.” Wee Sam called, since his mother had drummed into his head that you always greeted your superiors first. Admittedly, this sometimes meant that he approached his uncle with a question about what he would call the color of the sunset above a specific building at that exact moment, or if there was a poison which exploded in a particularly satisfactory fashion, but the patrician never complained. Nor did he complain if Wee Sam wandered in his office and started talking about alternative methods for coding clax messages or an unusual bird he had noticed riding the thermals above the University. And, thank gods, Havelock Vetinari knew that a formal greeting from Wee Sam Vimes meant that he didn’t want to talk.

“Happy Birthday, Wee Sam.” His uncle replied, “I trust you’ll be on time for dinner?”

Oh. That was a reminder. And a warning. “Thank you. Yes, we won’t be long.”

“Good. See you then.” The Patrician nodded, and then passed him.

“Yes.” Wee Sam muttered, and then reached for his pocket watch. When he pulled it out, he saw the time was all wrong and swore quietly. Well, from the graves he would be able to see the Tower of Art, and set his watch to the present. The battle of the lilac boys had been in the mid-morning, and it was most definitely not a quarter to noon.

John Keel’s grave marker was wood, and though it had been replaced often it had never been strong enough to support the weight of an average-sized man. Reg’s, on the other hand, was granite, and he apparently didn’t mind that Commander Sam Vimes leaned against it more and more every year.

Wee Sam didn’t make any noise, he never made any noise, but he could never sneak around his father. Commander Sam Vimes turned his head ever so slightly, and Wee Sam tooka good look at him.

Oh gods, he was so old. When had that happened? True, the last time he had seen his father he must have been about 50, but before that Wee Sam had spent three decades watching his father age and yet… It had never struck him so hard. He never could quite reconcile his memories of young Sam Vimes, that kid who had joined The Watch for three square meals a day and a little extra cash for his family. But he hadn’t thought his father had changed so much.

The old man looked him up and down. “How’d the battle go? After I left?”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly, and looked down at his outfit. He had forgotten to change into the clothes he had left at the monastery. This outfit was a uniform the Monks had given him, so he wouldn’t have the problems ‘accidental’ time travelers experienced with their clothes and meals and things staying in the time they came from. He even still had his lilac, somehow, even though that had come from the past.

“Don’t you remember?” You kicked ass.

His father shook his head. “I remember the original timeline, when Keel died at the barricade. I was pretty sure Coats wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he was, either.”

“I guess Vetinari showed up?” His father smirked. “Had a lilac in his teeth and everything?”

“I thought you didn’t remember it.” Wee Sam frowned.

“I don’t, but he tells me about it sometimes. I think he’s waiting for me to remember, or maybe now he’s wondering why I don’t.”

“Because time travel is a mess.” Wee Sam turned away from his father and looked across the city. He could see his family’s house from here.

“So Sweeper explained it to you?” The interest in his voice was practically tactile.

“No, but I had to run around for a month foiling somebody who had been sent to kill Havelock Vetinari. And it gave me time to wonder.”

“Why it was different the first time around?”

Wee Sam shook his head. “Would I have survived being born if you didn’t go back and meet Lawn?”

There was absolute silence between them, until Commander Sam Vimes quietly swore.

“Sweeper told me you have to think of things as one event in front of another, which is fine, except if you hadn’t gone back in time you wouldn’t have known Lawn was competent. You had heard of him, sure, but he would have never crossed your mind.”

“So we owe your existence to the damn time monks?” There was an angry edge to his father’s voice, but Wee Sam already knew his father was protective as hell. That was how he had gotten into this mess. Sort of.

“No. As far as I can tell, we owe it to some modern young idiots who thought they could go back and kill Vetinari. Time tries to fix things, and so you were sent back in time, to meet Lawn and Carcer went with you and killed Keel so there was a place for you to be and when you were done my life got saved and the monks were able to send me back to save Vetinari’s life and… Time is what it should be. Go us.” There was something about owing his life to terrorists that made him feel sarcastic.

“For all we know Vetinari or Rosie Palm might have recommended Lawn.” His father pointed out, which wasn’t a bad alternative. But it wasn’t what had happened, and there wasn’t really anybody they could ask. At least, nobody who they could ask who would give them a meaningful answer. They both knew Vetinari was a capable doctor, but apparently neither of them could imagine Vetinari getting involved in a problematic birth when there were other competent people around to do it.

More silence. Wee Sam noticed the time on the Tower of Art, and pulled his watch back out. If they were going to avoid talking about the massive argument they had that morning, he may as well take the time to re-set his watch.

“There was the sound of dice.” His father said so quietly that it didn’t initially register.

“Hm?” Wee Sam pushed the pin in, and watched with satisfaction as his watch and the tower struck the time at the exact same minute.

“Before the Library got struck by lightning. There was the sound of dice. Were the people who wanted to kill Havelock associated with a specific god?”

“I… Don’t know. They didn’t say anything about one.” He shut the watch, and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Havelock’ meant his dad was worried. “But there was a thunderstorm, right? Was the sound of dice rolling at the exact moment as the thunder?’

“Yes.”

“Io!” They both said it at the same moment, and Wee Sam felt his heart fall to his stomach. The self-proclaimed King of the Gods had been trying to subjugate their family for a long time. The only reason he had eased up lately was because Wee Sam had trained with the witches in Lancre. And so, to a lesser extent, had his father. It made them harder targets. But Io was still The Thunder God because he had murdered all the others. And then there was the question of who he would be forced to answer to. And how. Neither of the Vimes men had an axe sharp enough for that.

“Damn, why didn’t I realize that?” His father asked the night at large.

“The gods are always playing games. And besides, you had no reason to think Io was responsible for… Well he’s probably not responsible for the Dragon Incident, at least. Or the Goblin Incident.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been operating under the assumption that he was involved in that Dam Slam.” He was rubbing his thumb thoughtfully over the inside of his left wrist, where the Mark of the Summoning Dark had been. When Wee Sam was 8 it had changed, to a symbol generally called the Guarding Dark by anyone who cared to reference it. His father never talked about either Mark, but Wee Sam didn’t blame him. The Marks were indicative of 7 year period which did a number on his view of magic, and his identity.

Speaking of.

“I haven’t told Susan yet, but the monks kicked me out.” He tapped his toe against the grass, bringing it down as softly as he could so it wouldn’t damage the grass. Leggy would be so mad if he damaged his precious ‘terf’.

“Do you want to be a Monk?” His father asked quietly.

“No, I want to be a Watchman.” He whispered. Today was his 30th birthday, though technically he was a month older than that. He felt so much older than that. “But you’re apparently so terrified of me getting myself hurt that you’ve been doing Every Damned Thing you can think of to get between me and that and so I went ahead and tried to join almost any guild in the city and quite a few refused me and I’ve been kicked out of Each. And. Every. One. which would take me and now the only thing I can think of is taking Susan up on her offer to put in a good word for me with the Sto Lat Watch unless you’re going to step in and mess that up too and I wish you would knock it the hells off because as much as I love mum and her dragons I cannot spend the rest of my life working at the damn dragon sanctuary so--”

“Corporal.” His father’s voice was conversational, and somebody who had spent less time listening for the Commander’s voice probably wouldn’t have heard it.

“I’m not finished! Will you--” Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “Is that why you made me a Corporal? You couldn’t have recognized me. I hadn’t been born yet!”

“I recognized potential. And I was right, though you didn’t have as much control as I originally thought. Was all that sparring really necessary?”

“You’ve been standing between me and what I’ve been made to do!”

“And how would 50 year old me have known that?”

“It was easier to fight… him… than you.” Wee Sam grumbled, then realized he was starting to dig up the sod with his toe. Feeling bad about the grass, he brought his toe down in the other direction, to flatten it back down.

“Easier? I kicked your ass. I’d probably have a harder time of it now.”

“I never wondered if I should hold back.” Wee Sam admitted.

“Ah.” The 80 year old nodded. “I know that feeling. I’ve often wondered what it would be like if Vetinari and I had a proper fight when we were young.”

“You could sell tickets and solve all the city’s financial problems.” Wee Sam shifted his gaze to his father. “Actually you probably still could--”

“No. Your mother would have a conniption.”

“Oh right. Yeah, she would. Shame.”

“Do I want to know who you think would win?”

“No.”

“Your faith in me is staggering.”

“Well I figure either it would be a draw or he’d kick your--”

“Yes I understood your answer to my question, thank you.” But he was smiling ever so slightly.

And then the city’s clocks started chiming 9 in the evening. His father pushed himself slowly to his feet, and Wee Sam offered his arm. Cheery had offered to get his father an axe to use as a cane, but Commander Vimes would not hear of it. He did touch Wee Sam’s arm briefly, but once he was standing straight he let go, and the pair of them headed towards the exit.

They didn’t bother to try talking until the clocks had stopped, about five minutes after Wee Sam’s watch struck the hour.

“Did those people who tried to kill young Vetinari have any friends who stayed in our time?”

“I believe so.” They were walking slowly, and Wee Sam waited a full block before he added. “You want me to turn all my information over to anyone in particular?”

“I’m not afraid of you getting hurt.” It didn’t seem like a related response, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. “I mean, of course I am, but that’s not why I’ve been saying no.”

“Really?”

“I don't want people treating you like a target for their hate for me. If you could join the way Carrot or Angua or Cheery did, that would be fine. But it’s gotten so big since they joined up.”

“Ah.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“I don’t think it would be any better if you joined anywhere else within the Clacks network.”

“Which is pretty much the whole world at this point.”

“And there’s all this scrying now.”

“Which doesn’t need towers.”

His father glared at him, but didn’t tell him to knock it off. “So I suspect your joining a Watch anywhere would ultimately be just as risky.”

“Which is your reasoning for why I shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat.”

“No, my reasoning for why you shouldn’t bother with Sto Lat is that we pay better and have the best medical benefits on the Sto Plains.”

Wee Sam stopped abruptly. “What.”

“You survived the Watch I started out in. As far as I’m concerned, you can handle today’s watch.” The old man stopped and looked back at him. “You’re going to be the oldest cadet though. Because I’m not going to let you jump straight to Corporal. We’re not at war.”

“Right. Yeah. That’s fine.”

“We’re going to be late if you don’t get moving.”

“Right.” Wee Sam managed to keep himself from skipping, so the pent up energy became a jog to his father’s side. They walked in silence, Wee Sam’s mind racing as he wondered if there was some way for him to accidentally mess this up.

“You should give your mother two week’s notice though. It’s only fair.”

“You didn’t run this by her first?” Wee Sam turned to him, shocked.

“Oh we’ve been talking about this for years.” The unspoken word ‘decades’ hung in the air between them. “Her, Vetinari, Carrot, Angua, Cheery--”

“Cheery?”

“She and Igor think you should be in forensics. I mean, it’s your choice of course-- after you pass the tests.”

“Forensics would be great.” He agreed, and thought about how fun it could be to put his Medical and Alchemical and Assassin training to something useful for once. Which reminded him “You know, there is a smouldering cigar in the center of The Garden of Inner City Tranquility at the Monastery.”

“Yeah, it hit me after you left. I had called you ‘sunshine’ during our fight, and Vetinari basically asked how you were handling turning 30, and seeing him standing there with the lilac pinned to his shirt it hit me.” He paused for a moment. “He wore it in the original timeline too, you know. I wish I had asked, but we didn’t get along as well then.”

Wee Sam felt his mouth tug into a half-smile. For his father and the patrician, ‘getting along as well’ involved an increased number of arguments. Also, he remembered ‘Keel’ using that ironic term of endearment during their spar. “You realized I was Ned Coats.”

“So I… walked as fast as I could… to the Monastery and… knocked on the damned door… And threatened to make one hell of a scene if Sweeper didn’t let me in.”

“So of course he did.”

“Of course.”

“And he took you to the garden. And… you told him what you worked out?”

“Actually I just told him that if anything happened to you I was holding him personally responsible. I knew Ned Coats died. I just didn’t know if he died the way John Keel died. I hadn’t stayed long enough to find out.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked if my holding him responsible was more or less lethal than Susan Sto Helit holding him responsible.”

Wee Sam laughed. “Sweeper hasn’t met mum.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” His father chuckled quietly. “Anyway, Susan will be at dinner so you can tell her all about how the monks kicked you out with an audience. Your mother will find it interesting, I’m sure.”

“Does mum know about you going back...”

“Oh yes. Vetinari can’t keep a secret from her.” And neither could her husband.

“Will there be anybody at the dinner who doesn’t know?”

“Hm, no. I don’t think so. You were the only one who wasn’t in a position to make conversation then, and while Susan wasn’t involved in my adventure as far as I can tell…”

“But with Susan who knows. In any case, I think I’ll wait until we can get some privacy.”

“Suit yourself, but be warned. Everyone knows I told you I was ok with you joining the Watch. They’ll make a big deal about it. You know how they are.”

Wee Sam looked up at the big, brightly-lit, house as they waited for his dad to fully get his breath back. “I’ll try to be strong.”

Commander Sam Vimes snorted. Wee Sam opened the door, held it while his father entered the house, and followed right behind him.

[mystic-sanctuary]

A (Hopefully) Helpful Guide to Syskids

A very quick disclaimer here: This is based on my own experiences as a Caretaker with the kids we have had and currently have within our own system. Some of, or even many of these things may not hold true for other systems.

Written by; Bronya (Admin, Archivist, Caretaker)

[GUIDE BELOW THE CUT.] [WARNING: VERY VERY LONG.]

Topics covered below;

Some Miscellaneous Basics

Getting to know your SysKid

Caring for your SysKid

Caring for your SysKid - Headspace Specifics

Navigating SysKids and Trauma

Okay, with that out of the way! Dealing with SysKids can be challenging, just like dealing with outside children, though with a few extra challenges because these children are in a system and that can make just about anything challenging at times!

Each SysKid can bring their own unique challenges, so there's no real "every SysKid can be handled like [x]" type situation here. The very first step to learning how to care for your SysKid(s), however, is to get to know them!

Their interests, their dislikes, and for lack of better phrasing, their maturity level. Do not expect your SysKids to always be 100% like their age group. Remember, they have a much older brain now, so for example, your 4 year old SysKid may have a wider understanding of things than, say, a bodily 4 year old might. That doesn't mean they won't still react to those things like a 4 year old would, though! Another 4 year old SysKid, however, may be a lot more similar to a bodily 4 year old. There's no way to tell for sure until you interact with and get to know them!

Our system is both Polyfragmented and Gateway, which means I have seen many SysKids come and go, and we currently have quite a few as well!

Some of them behave more like their age group than others, some seem to fluctuate between an age group (for example, one of them is in the 4-6 range). Some SysKids are nonverbal or some form of altverbal.

Unless otherwise specified by your SysKid, it's absolutely okay to treat your SysKid like an outside kid- as long as you aren't rude or patronizing about it. Yes, I know, "why would I be that way to a kid", but unfortunately I've seen this happen.

Syskids also have their own various boundaries and capabilities. We have a few SysKids who are able and allowed to front alone, provided we are at home.

This isn't plausible for everybody, of course, due to various personal situations the system may have at home, and not all SysKids are able to front on their own anyway.

There are also systems who cannot control their switches which can lead to a SysKid in front alone, and to all of you, you are not a bad person for ""letting this happen"", it isn't your fault if you can't control your switches. Tips for you& include leaving notes for your SysKid if need be (we have a personal discord server we often use for this, for example, which has exclusively us in it), or letting close, trusted friends know about the SysKid in advance so they can help if they're able and needed.

In the case of the two SysKids we allow to front on their own, we know they are responsible/"mature" enough to follow the rules we've set for them without needing to be reminded/regularly enforced/etc.

These rules are pretty basic and by large focused entirely upon their safety: Who they can and can't talk to, discord servers they can and can't talk in, websites we know are safe for them vs websites we aren't sure about or know have inappropriate ads on them that occasionally manage to worm their way past our adblockers.

We also make sure they know, at all times, SysMates they can pull to front or call for help when or if they need it. For us, this includes myself, the Protectors, and a few others who are either Caretakers or have good parental or caretaker-y inclinations. This is something that, while they've both teasingly told us we don't have to keep reminding them of, we often keep reminding them of before or while they front.

"So, how do I get to know my SysKid(s)?"

Find out what they're interested in and spend time with them! Spending time with SysKids is very important, in my experiences. This may include playing with them in headspace, depending on your systems headspace situation, or even watching movies with them while fronting together!

Some SysKids may be shy- they may open up more as they get comfortable around you, but they also might not! If your SysKid is shy, you may need to approach them with more caution and gentleness than other SysKids might require. Some SysKids may not adjust as quickly as others to their new surroundings, either.

Think of... Getting a new pet, for example. They don't know you, your home is new to them, and that can scare them. You have to get them to warm up to you slowly; no rushed movements and soft attempts to initiate play times, etc.

Running with this same analogy, some new pets don't have a problem with any of that, and are in fact just excited to see all their new surroundings and meet all the new people around them!

SysKids have as much variation! For explanation on why I went with this analogy, I know a lot of folks do not have experience with children outside of Systems, for any number of reasons (not having younger siblings, never babysitting for others, etc.) and getting a new SysKid can be just as unique and even as challenging an experience as getting a new pet!

"How can I care for my SysKid?"

One SysKid can have a different set of needs than another, so the answer to this question can vary quite heavily. However, a few examples I can give are:

1. Spending time with them! This can range from coloring together to watching a movie with them! If you live with another system who has SysKids or live with somebody who is comfortable interacting with SysKids, you could even arrange playdates with them.

2. Giving them snacks or treats while they're in front, or even in headspace if your headspace functionality allows for this. Everybody's headspace is different, and some don't have a headspace at all, so this may not be possible outside of front and that's okay!

3. Like the above, depending on your systems headspace situation, this one may not be possible outside of front. However, this one also depends on your SysKid! Some SysKids can get grumpy after a little while without sleep. If you have multiple SysKids, this can get a bit challenging because you'll be trying to arrange multiple naps at once- not everybody is going to want to lay down at the same time.

4. Depending on your systems communication and the verbality of your SysKid (we have a kid who can only say one word, for example), you can also ask your Kiddo what they need or would like to do.

Obviously with this one, you may have to use your own judgement. We've all been kids at one time or another, and SysKids are often no exception to the "wanting to do things they see 'big kids' doing" mindset.

And of course, as with any SysMate, do not force your SysKid out of their comfort zone. This can be damaging to any SysMate (and your relationship with them), so of course it can be just as much if not more so with SysKids. If it's a situation where it's something the body needs that the SysKid is uncomfortable doing and your fronting situation allows you to: do it yourself or have another SysMate do it unless your SysKid has expressed wanting to become more comfortable with whatever it is.

For example, several of our SysKids are uncomfortable with things like going to the bathroom! That can seem like a weird, simple thing they "should be able to do", but keep in mind they are a child and your body isn't. That's a big difference! We are typically able to do fairly fluid switches, so we are able to switch the SysKid out of the "Main Seat" so to speak to do this for them, or "with" them if they've said they want to be more comfortable with it.

"What about in headspace? Do I need to watch them all the time? When should I check on them? Etc."

For me personally, I'm usually with most of our SysKids a good portion of the time. Of course, some of them have other SysMates they'd rather be with most of the time or spend time with sometimes, and that's okay too!

We usually try to keep an older SysMate with all our SysKids, but depending on your headspace, this might not be absolutely necessary.

For us, our headspace is not only incredibly large (an entire world in it's own right, at this point), but dangerous. Even a lot of older SysMates use the buddy system when traveling outside the main city just in case they run into more dangers at once than expected.

If your headspace is safe enough for your SysKid to be alone, it's still a good idea to check in on them! How often you should check on them probably depends on your SysKid's age and how they behave! For example, particularly chaotic SysKids may need to be checked in on more than SysKids who aren't quite so chaotic, just to make sure they aren't getting themselves into any trouble.

If your SysKid is usually fairly loud and there's a period of silence, that'd be a good time to check on them! If your SysKid is usually pretty quiet, you may need to use your own judgement for when to check on them! For example, you might be anxious about leaving them alone if they're pretty quiet, so maybe you'll feel more comfortable checking on them every 5-10 minutes or so.

And of course, if you hear them getting angry or crying, etc. that would definitely be a good time to check on them! Chances are they tripped while playing, can't get a toy to do what they want it to/can't figure out how to get it to do what they want to, or even messed up something they were drawing or coloring.

Personally, when I'm leaving our SysKids momentarily unsupervised for any number of reasons, I check on them anywhere from every 5-15 minutes, varying depending on amount of noise they're making and what kind of noises they're making, but it's important to keep in mind that I'm watching several SysKids at any given time!

To help myself stay organized, and because we have an entire city so this was a plausible option for me, I run a sort of kindergarten-daycare type thing within headspace! All our SysKids have an older SysMate they live with, and not all of them need or are interested in keeping up with any sort of solid education within headspace, so it more or less functions as both!

It's also possible your SysKid might not want to be left alone at all, maybe just at first while they adjust or even indefinitely, and that's okay too! A lot of kids don't like being left by themselves. In this situation, having them hang around another SysMate they like would be a good idea if you aren't sure who to put your SysKid with in this case.

In any case, if you are checking in on your SysKid, it's important to remember that you're not just making sure they're okay! Seeing you check in on them, whether you say this or not, reminds them that you're there for them and to help them/to care for them.

It's also important to remember that your SysKid might try to convince you to sit and color or play with them for a while during one of these check-ins! If you have the time to sit with them for even just a few minutes, I recommend it! It might not seem like much, but in my experience it often means a lot to them and can strengthen your bond with them.

"How do I navigate SysKids and Trauma?"

This can be challenging. Whether it's your systems own traumas, the SysKid getting stuck in front with somebody in a bad state of mind (it happens! front can be finnicky and disagreeable at times, even for those of us who can usually control their switches), your SysKid having ExoTraumas of their own, or even your SysKid being a Trauma Holder!

An important thing to remember in these situations is that, despite the trauma, your SysKid is still a kid! They may not fully understand the trauma they're experiencing (or witnessing). It can be hard to explain things to them if they're asking about it, and you may not even feel comfortable explaining it to them. In this case, it's absolutely okay to try and boil it down in a way a kid might understand- like adults often try to do with bodily kids.

Obviously, Trauma can be likely to stress your SysKid out pretty heavily. Like with older SysMates, coping skills will be helpful for them. Because this is a kid, these coping skills may be pretty different. It can include giving them their comfort item if they have one (for example, a favorite blanket or doll), playing their favorite movie and watching it with them, holding them while they're scared or upset, and comforting them (I usually go with soft "shh" noises and "it's okay", while reminding them that I'm here for them and they aren't alone. Also, just listening to them the same way you would a friend! They may not make as much sense in some cases, but they appreciate having an ear just as much!)

In the case of systems with trauma, avoiding putting your SysKid in situations you know triggers the rest of you because of that trauma as best you can is a good idea!

For a personal example, due to one of our own traumas, we are very Hydrophobic. Things like Showers and Baths are nearly impossible for us most days, and we never get out of them without anxiety attacks or bad dissociation. So even the SysKids who have said they "don't mind" taking a shower or bath through the body do not get to do this.

Some days we have a hard time even drinking water, so on those days we either make sure whatever we're drinking isn't water when the SysKid/s front, or we don't let them front that day.

Again, we are usually fairly in control of our switches, so this works for us, but things may be more complicated to navigate for other systems depending on the nature of their trauma/s and fronting capabilities.

Since that is not our situation, I will not try to make assumptions for how you can navigate your situation if this is how things are for you- given more information, I could certainly try to give you advice, however this is a random tumblr post, and I almost definitely do not know most of those reading this!

Ending notes!

For now this is all I really have, though I can always edit or reblog with more at a later date if need be! If you read this far and have any questions or comments, you're welcome to leave a message on this post, send us a DM, or drop an ask in our inbox! We have Anon turned on as well, for anybody who gets anxious about asks that are off-anon, etc.

[nordleuchten]

what were other friends that Lafayette made during his time in the continental army (others than hamilton and laurens)?

and also, did he pick up some/many fights with others ('cause of diferent opinions or smth) while he was in america? thank youu

Hello Anon,

sorry that it took me so long to answer you, I somewhat misplaced my draft and things went downhill from there. Thank you for our great question though. La Fayette made many other friends beside Laurens, Hamilton, Jefferson and Washington, but many of them are often overlocked. (I copied parts of a previous post that also dealt with La Fayette’s friends, so please be not surprised if some passages may sound familiar.)

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak. Some of the lesser-known friendships that he struck up during his time in America were with James McHenry, James Monroe, Henry Laurens, Nathanael Greene and Baron von Steuben for example.

James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours

Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s into Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing].

Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reasons. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circles during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir

I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours

Lafayette

(I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance.)

Another friend was Henry Laurens. Laurens was the father of John Laurens and the president of the Continental Congress for some time. He and La Fayette first started corresponding when La Fayette was recovering from his gunshot wound. He wrote Laurens on December, 1777:

I am indeed very importune to wraÏt so long a letter. You'l find me very troublesome, and I make haste to put an end to it by the short assurance of the eternal friendship I am with - Dear Sir Your most obedient servant

(La Fayette had a moment of self-realisation right here.)

Another very dear and very close friend of La Fayette’s was Nathanael Greene. There is a letter from La Fayette to Greene from November 10, 1780 that perfectly captures his feelings. La Fayette wrote:

My dear friend (…)For My friends, My dear Sir, I have No different feelings from those which I experience for Myself. I therefore feel for you, as I would do on My own account was I the Commander of the Southern Army. (…) But Whatever Might be hereafter the Case, Whatever Bad chance (and in our profession chance is Some thing) a Malignant fortune Might throw in Your Way, Be Certain, My dear Sir, that My friendship as well as My esteem for you are founded upon Such a Bazis As Cannot be shak' d By Any Run of Good or ill luck which May subject You to the praise or to the Blame of Common opinions. In all Cases, My Good friend, I am heartly willing to have My fate united to Yours, and By this junction of Stars to have My little share in Any thing Good or Bad that May happen to the troops Under your Command. I Beg you will present My Best Compliments to Your family and Most affectionately have the honor to be Yours forever

Lafayette

In the same letter to Greene, La Fayette also described his feeling for Henry Lee, a member of the prominent Lee family and someone La Fayette met through the army. He wrote Greene:

As I am Sure that My friend Lee will apply for being attach'd to me, I Beg leave to Support the Motion of that officer whom I Love, and on whom I Greatly Confide Both for Advice and execution.

The Baron von Steuben (what a legend) was also counted among La Fayette’s friend. The two of them spend a lot of time together during the Campaign in Virginia. La Fayette wrote to von Steuben on July 16, 1780:

I received, my dear baron, the letter you had the kindness to write me, and I am infinitely appreciative of the token of friendship you give me. (…) The confidence I have always had in your friendship and the new proof of it that you have just so graciously given me, my dear baron, assure me that you will be willing to make efforts and use your influence and authority to get first-rate men. (…) In a word, my dear baron, I put my interests in your hands and, counting on your friendship, I am utterly at ease. (…)I hope I do not need to assure you of my tender affection

This list is by no means exclusively but I think these were the most important friendships for La Fayette. Others friend that could be mentioned was Joseph Reed, William Heath and William Carmichael … now on to the “picking fights part”. No, La Fayette was nobody to pick fights. That was simply not his style. There were disagreements of course, mostly over military and army matters, but these could either be dissolved or La Fayette acknowledged that he was for the most part the more junior and inexperienced person in the disagreement. He was however somebody who was not afraid of letting his opinion be known.

There are for example Generals Gates and Conway, two officers who were involved in what was called the “Conway-Cabal”. There is a bit of a discussion nowadays about the true extent and nature of the “Conway-Cabal” but for people back then, for people like La Fayette, it was a very serious affair. Previously he had been on quite friendly terms with both Generals, even trying to form a deeper friendship with Gates, but after the “Cabal”, their relationships soured. La Fayette wrote the following about Conway in a letter to Henry Laurens on January 26, 1778:

Amongs All the men who could be sent under me Mr. Connway is the most disagreable to me and the most prejudiciable to the cause. I Confess you that love and friendship have alwals been my duties. This last sentiment I feel to the most perfect degree for General Washington. How can I support the society of a man who has spocken of my friend in the most insolent and abusive terms, who has done, and does every day all his power to ruin him, who tries to spend the fire in every part of the army and the country?

La Fayette also manged to almost get into a duel while in America - but not with an American but an Englishman. The British had sent a peace commission to America to probe the possibility of a peace treaty. One of the people they send, Lord Carlisle, insulted France in an open document. La Fayette felt offended on behalf of France and challenged Carlisle to a duel in late September of 1778 - Carlisle refused. The Marquis noted of the event in his memoirs:

In a public letter, signed Carlisle, the French nation was taxed with a perfidy too universally acknowledged to require any new proof. With the effervescence of youth and patriotism, M. de Lafayette seized this opportunity of opposing the commission; and the first impulse of M. d'Estaing was to approve of his conduct. A haughty challenge was sent from head - quarters to Lord Carlisle: the answer was an ill - explained refusal, and the impetuosity of M. de Lafayette was attended with a good result, whilst the prudence of the president was ridiculed in every public paper.

Roughly two decades later he wrote in his mauskripts:

Lord Carlisle refused, -- and he was right.

I hope that I could answer your question and I hope that you have/had a fantastic day!

[adultswim2021]

Ephemera Week (2002)

Mission Hill (originally aired on WB, 1999-2000)

Mission Hill was a perfectly good animated series from former Simpsons show-runners Bill Oakley and Josh Weinstein. It was a sitcom about cool young people in a cool young people city. Andy French is an aspiring cartoonist, intended to be a Matt Groening type who would (over the course of many many seasons) eventually find success and get his own super-successful animated series called THE SIMPSONS: SEASONS 1-8.

The premise of the show was that Andy’s parents retire and sell the childhood home, displacing his nerdy high-school aged younger brother Kevin. Kevin moves in with Andy and learns how to be a cool city style guy, you know, the kind that’s always “walkin here!” and sucking off Bob Balaban in the men’s room and whatnot.

The show is at least better than the bad seasons of the Simpsons, and has a cool alt-comics style that suits the show really well. Not to damn it with faint praise, it’s a good show. There are a handful of GREAT episodes and plenty of strong jokes. There's news of a revival in the works focusing on Gus and Wally, the older gay couple in the show. It's supposed to take place in the same era the show originally aired in, which is just great.

Like Baby Blues and Home Movies before it, I did catch this show randomly on it's network of origin. I saw one or two of the final episodes to air on WB. I liked it! I was glad to see it get revived for a run on Adult Swim. I've wanted more episodes ever since.

I don't think the show is available for streaming anywhere, which is too bad. It came out on DVD with special features. That DVD set was reissued on DVD-R without special features, so... buyer? be wary. There's also a number of music replacements that ruin some of the scenes. At one point I had a bootleg set where somebody took the DVD video and replaced the audio with the as-broadcast version of of the show. Good luck finding it.

Here's an episode guide showing their debuts on Adult Swim. Bold episodes were originally unaired, making their debut on the channel. Also note: episodes had an innocuous title and a spicier in-house title in parentheses. It’s real Police Squad! shit.

12AM Monday Morning:

May 20: Pilot (or The Douchebag Aspect) May 27: Andy Joins the PTA (or Great Sexpectations) June 3: Kevin's Problem (or Porno for Pyro) June 10: Andy vs. The Real World (or The Big-Ass Viacom Lawsuit) June 17: Andy and Kevin Make a Friend (or One Bang for Two Brothers) June 24: Andy Gets a Promotion (or How to Get Head in Business Without Really Trying) July 1: Kevin vs. the SAT (or Nocturnal Admissions) July 8: Unemployment Part 1 (or Brother's Big Boner) July 15: Unemployment Part 2 (or Theory of the Leisure Ass) July 22: Kevin Finds Love (or Hot for Weirdie) July 29: Stories of Hope and Forgiveness (or Day of the Jackass)

11PM Sunday Night:

August 4: Happy Birthday, Kevin (or Happy Birthday, Douchebag) August 11: Plan 9 from Mission Hill (or I Married a Gay Man from Outer Space)

ALSO NOTE: There are about five episodes that were in early-stages of production and if you poke around you can find scripts for these episodes ( here as of this writing). A full animatic and table read for “Crap Gets In Your Eyes” exists if you search for it. 

MAIL BAG

London Arbuckle ASKS! or, states! sorry I’m writing this lead-in without having read the whole message yet.

Another confusing Baffler Meal thing: the deleted cold open that's on the DVD. It gets called back to in the actual episode ("Between two steamed buns", "Nine dollars!? For what?") and provides crucial context, BUT it also gets contradicted in the actual episode (SG sells out for "one serious speaker" instead of owing a restaurant money). Also I remember all the ads for this episode used a clip from the cold open! It always kinda bothered me that they cut it but boys (matt & dave) will be boys!

I do think the cold open is nice and I always make a point to watch it with the episode. In my mind they are as essential as watching that boring Terry Gilliam short before Meaning of Life. The next step is pointlessly editing them together using Nero. Yeah, that’s the ticket

Here’s ANONYMOUS, baby!

It's summertime and we are talking about Adult Swim and I gotta ask when's the last time you've been to a pool. Have you ever in your adult life enjoyed the benefits of an adult swim. Tell us just how much you like splash around. Yes, that would be quite illuminating I'm sure (rolleyes).

Man, when was the last time I went into a pool? It’s been literally years. I think the last time I swam I did a bad job. I am definitely am getting “bad job” vibes off my hazy memories. Man, my memories used to be precious. Damn!

do you think theyll ever work with george lowe again in any major capacity or do you think he's just bad news.

I was about to say “isn’t he on American Dad” based on him name-checking American Dad as one of his many credits but I just looked it up and he was only in one episode. Damn. Somebody give George work he seems nice.

beakman's world, anyone? The wild and wacky world of Paul Zaloom? Hmm? Anyone?

lol you wish...

Baby Blues really was my everything back in the early 2000s, it may not have head the punk rock cred you clearly seem to crave it was a soothing balm for myself as a new father in a scary world (9/11 and all that, terrible stuff).

you raise a good point, that you’re a huge dork “with child” and I’m cool and laughed at 9/11 because it was funny to me, actually

Just read your Baby Blues "take down" and I gotta say: In the immortal words of Mike Francesca, "You're a fool. ho-kay? A total fool."

Uh huh. Yeah okay. Mike Francesca hordes pot bellied pigs in his apartment and lives in filth. He stinks, and so do youd

Baby Blue is like every animation nerd's wet dream. What if they made the rugrats with only the parents part. And here it is. Be careful what you wish for, chunky.

Yeah and it’s too bad because judging from the previous mail bags my audience is primarily made up of BABIES.

[kevkesblog]

Translation: Julian Brandt Interview for “11 Freunde” (June 18, 2020)

Attention: long post! Julian talks about overblown salaries in football, why he even stays at two-star hotels, why he thinks football should not be dramaticly reformed and why you won’t see him in Gucci clothing & more.

Julian Brandt, what do you miss the most at the moment?

Ju:     Just going outside and sitting in a café with some friends. Enjoying a bit more freedom. But I think many people have the same wishes right now.

Yet, the break because of the Corona pandemic seem to have lifted you. You were involved in all four goals during the 4-0 win against Schalke.

Ju:     I would still have preferred it, without the break. I mean it’s like this: sometimes you need just a few days to arrive at a place, sometimes it takes months. Feeling well in a city, a club and with my teammates is important. I’m a football player that needs a comfortable environment.

How was it for you at BVB in the beginning?

Ju:     There were definitely no fireworks at the beginning. But honestly, I kind of expected to need more time. I think thats normal after five and a half years at Bayer Leverkusen. It was a great time there, but in the end it was a comfort zone for me. I switched to BVB because I wanted to do something new.

And because Marco Reus asked you.

Ju:     Many people were in favour of me going to Dortmund. Even my mother wore yellow pullovers astonishingly often, during the time before my transfer happend. And Marco asked me at the national team, that’s true. I felt honored, but I saw a chance playing for a team which plays competitively for the title until the end of the season and is represented in the Champions League regularly, those were the main reasons for my transfer.

What else is different in Dortmund than in Leverkusen?

Ju:     Dortmund is bigger in almost every regard. Even the stadium is enormous and it becomes even more imposing with people in it. Building such a stadium somewhere is one thing. Brining it to live however like in Dortmund – that’s an art in and of itself. You don’t get that very often in Europe. Leverkusen – and I have to be honest here – has never been on my radar for me as a boy. But it’s the perfect club if you want to develop as a young player. I already suspected this after I talked to Rudi Völler for the first time.

I was told, you said „Rudi Völler has honest eyes“ to your father afterwards.

Ju:     He has a sincere attitude. I would have believed everything he said. And his promises became reality. We were playing attractive and successful football. And you don’t get so much pressure as a young player from the outside. The media landscape for example is much smaller in Leverkusen than elsewhere.

Do you miss the fans in the stadium in Dortmund?

Ju:     I was never that guy who was aware of stuff that happend on the stands. But after the game against Inter Mailand, where we were behind 0-2 before the break and won 3-2 in the end – I recognized how important football is for the people here and how much they were willing to support us. It was so honest, authentic and direct. One of the best games thus far.

Before that Michael Rummenigge critized you as „C-youth player“. That was after the Inter game where you scored as well. Was that a key moment?

Ju:     Everybody can voice their opinions that’s totally fine for me. I’m not a person who jumps on it.  And I wasn’t really satisfied with my game as well. Perhaps the 2-1 win against Gladbach a few days before was a turning point. Not only, because I scored twice, but rather because I was able to play on the ten for the first time. After that my game became better.

You said in the beginning of your time at BVB „Peter Bosz liked the risk. We don’t really have that here in Dortmund“. Did the way you play now changed?

Ju:     We play nice football under Lucien Favre. He likes an offensive tactic. Adding that, we score alot of goals. But Peter Bosz was a special coach in that regard because we played a modern version of football with a high amount of ball possesion – often over 80 percent. And we not only wanted to keep the ball all the time, while playing until our opponent gets tired like it’s the case with tiki-taka football. We were always on the attack. At BVB we put more emphasis on the defensive at the beginning. It was a change for me, since I wanted to have the ball and not running behind him all the time.

Is football an elegant game?

Ju:     My room as child was full of „Bravo“-magazine posters with offensive players. Nedved, Robinho, Del Piero and the best among the best: Ronaldinho. I liked it whenever players carry their street football skills to the pitch. Whenever somebody is looking for something spectacular. I want to gamble and not just act in a rigid system.

Doesn’t modern tactics prevent something like this?

Ju:     You are basically being funneled at youth football academies with: receive the ball, passing, receiving, passing. There a strict requirements you have to follow. But I think good teams need self-confident players, saying „No, I won’t fit in, but I rather go into a one-on-one situation“. We have such guys in our national team. Leroy Sané or Timo Werner. Kai Havertz is a player who has a street football mentality too. Often it looks very easy, but it’s not. It just passed over into blood.

You are wearing the jersey number 10 at the national team. Like you also wore at Leverkusen. Does that do something with you?

Ju:     I feel lighter in some sense. Perhaps because I know that you have to earn the number ten. Not like in the past, but I do think it has a certain meaning yes.

We heard you don’t like to talk about your strengths. Why?

Ju:     I think, it looks like I’m a show off. I have enough self-confidence already.

Yet you do know that you can shoot really good. Who taught you?

Ju:     Many things happened because I just tried. I even knew as a ten-year old boy: if I want to become a great football player I have to be able to shoot well with both feet. So, for weeks I shoot with my left foot on our lawn. Shot, flank, pass. It helped a lot. I met Federico Palacios during my youth time in Wolfsburg. He taught me insane techniques. I had a phase were I was obsessively training my first contact: not trying to stop the ball between the lines, but rather take the ball without defender nor midfielder getting the ball instead.

What are your weaknesses?

Ju:     My headers. But I’m currently working on it and I often score. At least without opponent (laughs). Some people say I can work more on my defensive work. And yes, there is some truth to it, even after I already worked on it for quite some time. The thing is: I’m not an aggressive person, its not who I am. But of course, I understand whenever coaches say I need to have a certain minimum amount of aggressive behavior on the pitch.

Do you have a career plan?

Ju:     No, everything I do, I do spontaneously.

But everything you do looks so reasonable: youth football for your home club. Training at a football academy in Wolfsburg. Professional debut at Bayer Leverkusen, your transfer to BVB a year ago…

Ju:     Honestly: I could not have imagined going to VfL Wolfsburg as well at the beginning. Why should a boy do this, when he basically grew up just a 20 minute bike ride away from the Weser stadium in Bremen and was standing in the fan curve in his youth?

Because Werder [Bremen] overlooked you?

Ju:     That’s not true. I even got invited to a try-out training. But then I looked at some other academies. I wasn’t only looking at VfL Wolfsburg. For example I looked at FC St. Pauli as well. Yet, I had the best feeling with Wolfsburg.

Why?

Especially during the ages 15 to 18 a lot is happening: you grow, your muscle mass is increasing, you slowly get to play with the professionals. On the other hand, many doors are opening. Your friends go partying for example. I liked being on a football academy for two and a half years. You couldn’t leave the campus after 11 o’clock in the evening. Apart from that we were very successful and won the German a-youth championship. But I can still remember how perplexed my parents were at the breakfast table, back when I told them about my decision to join Wolfsburg.

You are being called the “Anti-Star” of the business quite often. Does that do something with you?

Ju:     Many people seem to think it’s probably because I have no tattoos and my father is my agent. But to be honest: there are some football player clichées I fit in. I like fast cars. I like playing playstation and I have 40 pairs of shoes in my closet. I just try not to pretend to be someone else. I wouldn’t look good in a Gucci-pullover.

Others like to call you “premature”. You were allowed to train with the professionals at the age of 15 in Wolfsburg. How did you do that?

Ju:     That was insane and unreal. I was riding my bike to the training ground one day and the assistant coach Bernd Hollerbach took me to his side and said: “Introduce yourself to the coach”. So, I went into his office. “Hello Mr. Magath, I’m Julian from the under-17 team.” Of course, I was suspecting he already knew me otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten an invitation. But he was just staring at the television. After a while – it felt like an eternity – he looked at me, didn’t say a word, total silence and then he turned away. And then I was sneaking out of the room.

Magath wanted to test you?

Ju:     I was unsettled a bit, but I wasn’t thinking about it anymore on the pitch. It doesn’t matter who is on your side, or whether your opponent is twenty years older than you and who your father is.

Did you nutmeg someone?

Ju:     I would have been beaten for that. On the other hand: the pain fades away, the nutmeg stays (laughs). I remember I unintentionally shoot a ball into Marvin Hitz’s face.

How many agents were lining up at your doorstep at the time?

Ju:     I stopped counting it after a while. I don’t think all agents are bad but I don’t need one at the moment. I have my father. He may not be Mino Raiola with thousands of contacts all over the world. But he doesn’t need them.

Nevertheless: this son-father-constellation also has it’s potential conflicts…

Ju:     Our family sticks together – we are very harmonic and strong. I can’t remember a time where we were had an argument. I lived together with my brother in Cologne. I also have a connection with my father because of football. He used to play for the first team at SC Borgfeld – which was also my first club. I still remember: we went into the clubhouse whenever the Champions League was on. It was the best day of the week.

Now it’s about big business. Do you know your own worth?

Ju:     It was downgraded since the outbreak of the pandemic. I read that on so some sites.

But it’s still 40 million euros. What does such a number do with you?

Ju:     I can handle that because I can manage those numbers quite well. There is a lot money floating around in football. And I know its not easy to comprehend it with normal standards anymore. We live in our own bubble in that regard. The salaries in football are in no relation to what normal people earn – even with football being the greatest sport on earth. But why is that the case? Because sponsors are flushing so unbelievable high amounts of money into football. I think it’s important not to make the sport a luxury item. It has to stay affordable. In the stadium as well as in front of the TV.

Explain to us: why does a professional football player negotiate whether he should get 10 or 11 million euros per year?

Ju:     It shows how greedy people can be sometimes. But that’s not football specific. It’s as unfair as the richest one percent of the world’s population owning more than half of the world’s wealth, right?

Could this crisis perhaps be a chance in order for football to calm down?

Ju:     Perhaps in the short term. For the next one or two years. If any. I can’t imagine a player like Mbappé being sold next year for 80 million euros. Someone will always pay those insane sums of money.

How do you ground yourself?

Ju:     Through my family and friends. Many are studying or doing an apprenticeship. It’s never about money when we talk, I just like having a great time with them. We don’t need a luxury vacation. But one time: we went to Mallorca for four or five days just as we qualified for the Champions League with Bayer Leverkusen. We stayed at a normal two-star-hotel, one room with a bed and a bathroom – that was it. We went to the beach and relaxed.

Has there never been a situation where a friend or family member had to take you back to the ground?

Ju:     No. I can’t remember that I ever reacted arrogant or snooty. Or a situation where I thought: “Wow. That’s not who you are”. I’m fully aware of my very privileged life. In short: my greatest worry is whether we will win or loose on the weekends. It’s important to be thankful and to remind yourself what you got every once in a while.

Why do you have to remind yourself stuff like that all the time?

Ju:     In order for it never to become normal. I know cheese costs about 69 cents at the grocery store and a different one costs 1,29 euros. But if a tool or device breaks down I sometimes just buy myself a new one. Whereas in the past I would have repaired it by myself.

But is football still the same game you fell in love with as a kid?

Ju:     Absolutely. The game itself hasn’t really changed much. Okay, we have the goal line technology – which I support. And we got the video assistant referee, were people can argue. I abstain in that question. Once in a while, new ideas are being floated: like reducing the playtime to 60 minutes, new tournaments, elite leagues – I think it’s all bullshit. Keep football like it is. The way we learned it. With all its faults and tricky aspects. Even if something goes wrong.

Like during the World Cup 2018. Did you know that you could be the first DFB-team leaving the tournament after the group stage?

Ju:     At some point he heard of it. It doesn’t really look good on your vita but it happened. Perhaps we needed this in order for something new to emerge. You have to remember: other great football nations also failed in similar ways. Italy, Spain or France all crashed out of the group stage after they won the World Cup.

Did the photo with Mesut Özil and Erdogan brought some unrest into the team?

Ju:     The fact that almost all reporting was revolving around that topic was irritating sometimes. Don’t get me wrong: I think its important for the media to cover political topics extensively and with background stories. But I remember after the game against Sweden – after we barely won because of Toni Kroos free kick: shortly after the game you get asked whether the poor performance during the first 75 minutes were due to the photo – and you thinking: why don’t we talk about the game? Mesut became the poster boy for the disappointing World Cup. That’s nonsense. We all played shitty.

During the Confed-Cup the year before, many young players were in the team. At the World Cup the established players came back. Did Löw put his trust into the wrong players in Russia?

Ju:     You can come to that conclusion afterwards, but you don’t know it in advance. I could fully understand Low though. He was loyal and in some cases he felt some gratitude. He couldn’t and he didn’t want to replace a World Cup winner from 2014 with a young player. The way we were defeated at the World Cup was not foreseeable. Because we also played great football between 2014 and 2018.

The team made it to the semifinals at the EURO 2016 and you became second with the Olympic football team in Rio.

Ju:     A great experience with a team that was just thrown together. A contribution of Horst Hrubesch.

What makes him special?

Ju:     He is just great, the guy! He’s from a different generation which you can tell with a lot of things around him. Once he wanted to show me how to shot from the side. I almost tore my muscle fiber doing it. But he manages it very well forming a team with young players. He’s a very free coach and very direct. He always called me lazy (laughs). And he has a very nice and dry sense of humor.

An example?

Ju:     Me and the Bender-twins were sitting together shortly before the semifinal against Nigeria. He came up and said: “Guys, losing today doesn’t make any sense anymore.” A funny sentence, but also true if you think about it.

Julian Brandt, you made over 200 Bundesliga games, played Champions League and participated in one World Cup. You just turned 24. Do you even still have time to suck it all in and enjoy it?

Ju:     Football is quick. I can still remember coming to Leverkusen – as if it was yesterday: my first game for the under 23 team against Essen. My Bundesliga debut against Schalke a week later. That was a little more than six years ago already. Crazy. Veteran players always say: “Enjoy it, because quickly your career will be over.” But how should you enjoy it? A game every four or five days. New photos, new events. You don’t have an awful lot of time to let everything sink in for a moment. I usually do that on new years eve. On a friend’s balcony. I even get sentimental then.

[crimefightingspiderguy]

a new recruit

Part I to the series, i want you to want me. 

Summary: Peter, May and (Y/N) get an unexpected surprise. 

Warnings: I guess swearing? Maybe spoilers for Captain America: Civil War, but like who hasn’t seen that bad boy lol? 

Pairings: Peter Parker x best friend!reader 

Word count: 2,491

A/N: This is my first series for Peter Parker so come along on this new adventure with me lol. I’m going to be doing something similar to my best friend to the throne series, but with the Spider-Man universe, and throwing some fun surprises in it hopefully. 

“So, I was thinking, for the Spanish project we could make a cultural food to do a sort of “bring the culture to life” aspect. Plus if the rest of our project totally bombs, maybe we can win the teacher over with sweet desserts, I heard he has a bit of a sweet tooth.” You sent a grin over to Peter, who reciprocated. 

“Sounds like a plan to me, but you might have to help me bake because I don’t think May would care for me burning our kitchen down again.” He chuckled, and as you were about to say a clever roast, something caught your eye. You and Peter had been walking back to his apartment so he could ask May permission to stay the weekend at your place and get some clothes if he could. You stop in your tracks, a confused look on your face. Peter turns and looks at you concerned.

“Who’s car is that?” You sped up to get closer and look at the fanciest car you’d ever seen in person. “Holy shit… I think this is Tony Starks!” You grin at it, reading the STARK license plate.

“What? No! What would Tony Stark be doing in Queens, and in my apartment building for that matter?” Peter came to stand next to you to see the plate, and his jaw dropped a little.

“Let’s go in and see if we bump into him!” You push him excitedly, “What if we got to meet THE Iron Man! How cool!”

You were practically bouncing on your toes as you waited in the elevator, you had no luck seeing him on the ground floor, but maybe there was still a chance. You and Peter got off when the doors opened, and to your dismay, Tony was nowhere to be seen. 

“(Y/N), I really don’t think Tony Stark would just be wandering around our apartment building. It might just be a super fan or something, or maybe he’s taking a stroll” Peter gave you a teasing look, and you punched his arm.

“Fine but if we see the news later saying that Tony Stark was going around giving out wads of cash to random civilians, you’ll be biting your tongue.” You joke, realizing that Peter’s probably right and there’s no real reason for the Tony Stark to be in Queens, especially in this building. Peter smirked at you as he unlocked his front door and walked in, heading towards the kitchen table to set his stuff down.

“Hey, Aunt May! There’s this crazy car parked out front!” Peter said, back turned as he set his backpack down.

“Peter…” You stare at THE Tony Stark sitting on Peter’s couch across from May, you smack his arm repeatedly until he finally turns around to see what you want.

“Gosh (Y/N), what’s…” Peter saw him and paused.

“Oh, Mr. Parker,” Tony said, smirking as if he had an inside joke going with everyone else in the room. 

 “Hey! What’re you… Um... I’m-I’m Peter. This is (Y/N).” Peter said, pointing at you, who still had your hand on his shoulder, not really being able to move. You softly smiled and brought yourself together, and slightly and awkwardly waved at him.

“Tony.” He pointed at himself. 

“Wh-What are you doing here?” Peter stumbled to ask.

“It’s about time we met,” Tony said like it was obvious why he was casually sitting with May and eating cookies. “You’ve been getting my emails right?” 

May gave Peter a shocked and confused look, a look that says why didn’t you tell me. Tony gave Peter a look that said, play along man. You didn’t fail to notice either, and suddenly all eyes were on Peter as you looked at him suspiciously. Surely Peter, your best friend of 15 years would have mentioned to you if he had been emailing THE Tony Stark. Wouldn’t he?

“Yeah, yeah. Right. Regarding the…”

“You didn’t even tell me about the grant.” May jumped in.

“Yeah about the grant.” Peter played along but was clearly just as lost as you were. 

“The September Foundation” Tony jumped in. You racked your brain, trying to remember if Peter ever mentioned anything about a grant, but nothing came up. “Remember when you applied.”

“Yeah…” You could read Peter like an open book, and you knew as soon as he put his hands in his front pockets and leaned on his tip-toes, that he was lying. 

“Well, I approved. So now, we’re in business.” Tony shot him yet another look that told him to play along, as May got excited. 

“But you didn’t tell me anything? What’s up with that?” She questioned Peter.

“Yeah Peter, what’s with the secrets?” You asked, and he looked between you and May, at a loss for words.

“Well, I just… I wasn’t sure if I’d get it. Thought I’d keep it a surprise if I did.” Peter pulled out of know where and shot you a look that told you he honestly had no idea what was going on either. “Anyway, what did I apply for?” 

“That’s what I’m here to hash out,” Tony said, finally explaining why he was here. “It’s so hard for me to believe that she’s somebody’s aunt,” Tony said, making aunt May blush.

“Yeah, well we come in all shapes and sizes, ya know.” You snorted at this, but quickly tried to cover it as a sneeze, Peter shot you a grin. 

“These walnut date cookies are exceptional,” Tony said, going back to flattering May. 

“Let me just stop you there.” Peter joined back in. “Does this grant got like money involved or whatever? No?” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty well funded,” Tony said. 

“Wow”.

“Well, look who you’re talking to,” Tony smirked, and you could see the excitement on Peter’s face. Even if Tony had the wrong kid, you knew Peter wouldn’t pass up the chance to get a grant for school, or even to work under a genius like Tony. “Can I get five minutes with him?” Tony asks May. 

“Sure.” She smiles at him. Tony gets up and has Peter show him to his room.

“This is so crazy!” You whisper yell to May as soon as you hear the lock turn to Peter’s room. 

“I know! I really hope everything works out for him. A grant from Mr. Stark would probably be enough to set him up for college.” She grinned at you then at the door where she just saw Tony with Peter. 

“It’s kind of weird that he didn’t tell either of us though, right?” You have known May your entire life. Honestly, you hadn’t had any siblings so when Peter moved in with May and Ben, and you remained close with him, she became more of an older sister to you. Peter’s parents had died when he was young, but May had been around enough that she had met you at some birthday parties and play dates, and she made it a priority to keep you and Peter together so he had some constant in his life in a time of chaos and change. You had grown up with Peter and had May to thank for that. Your parents had been close with Peter’s and when they died, May reached out to your parents and made sure they exchanged information at the funeral, agreeing Peter needed someone to make him feel normal in such a strange time. That was you, and the two of you had been inseparable since. You shared everything with each other. You were each other’s rocks and were together through thick and thin. When your mom had died you were about 10, it happened a couple years before uncle Ben had died, so he had helped your father through the transition. Peter helped you, and aunt May took you under your wing, helping you grow in ways that you need a mother for. She helped you with your first period, with puberty, she took you bra shopping, she helped you with all the things you felt too awkward to bring to your dad who had been left just as clueless as you.

“I would’ve at least have expected you to know. He tells you everything.” May said, holding up the cookie plate to you offering you one. You took one and bit it, immediately spitting it into your hand. 

“No offense May, but… this is raw.” You chuckled as May realized that Tony was being polite as she broke a cookie in half, as it crumbled to pieces. She shook her head and smirked at you, placing the cookies in the trash bin. 

“So how was school?” She asked you as she washed off the plate and put it on their dish drying rack. 

“It was okay. Got a B+ on my chemistry quiz, not my best work, but that damn kid in front of me wouldn’t stop clicking his pen.” You shook your head angrily thinking of that day. “Oh, sorry that I didn’t ask before coming over, by the way. Peter and I have a Spanish project together and he was supposed to be asking you permission to stay the weekend at mine.” 

“(Y/N), you know you don’t have to ask to come over, and Peter doesn’t need my approval to go over to your house. I trust you guys not to get yourselves killed.” She chuckled, drying her hands on a towel, and leaning back on the stove.

“See that’s just foolish on your part.” You pointed at her accusingly. She threw the towel at you, and as it hit you in the head you acted like it was a rock or something, holding where it hit and groaning. You fell to the ground “I’ve been hit!!” You gasp dramatically. 

“Oh get up solider, it was a flesh wound at most.” May shook her head chuckling at you. 

Tony walks out then and nods at May, “It was a pleasure.” He turns back to face Peter in the doorway and points at him, “I’ll be in touch.” He heads towards the door, stopping when he sees you lying on the ground. “(Y/N).” He nods his head, with a confused look. You quickly scramble up and smile at him. When he shuts the door behind him, you and May turn to look at Peter expectantly. 

“(Y/N), can you come here.” 

“Oh come on Peter, you can tell us both…” You point between you and May.

“Now.” Peter’s voice was solid. Unwavering. More intense than you’d ever heard it. You look between him and May but don’t question him, because clearly, something is wrong.

Peter quickly shuts and locks the door behind you as you scramble into his room. You sit on his bed, waiting for him to tell you what’s going on. He paces back and forth, tossing stuff into a duffle bag quickly.

“If you’re worried about aunt May letting you stay the weekend at mine, she already said she doesn’t care.” 

“Good, because I’m not going to your house, but I need her to believe I am.” This caught you off guard.

“What do you mean you’re not coming over? We have our project to work on.” 

“I’m going with Mr. Stark somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you. But I need you to trust me and lie to Aunt May.” You got up and grabbed Peter by his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks. 

“No. You tell me what’s going on right now Peter Parker, or I won’t tell May shit.” 

“I can’t, it’s too dangerous.” Peter pushed past you and kept grabbing clothes and shoes. 

“Bullshit.” Peter stopped, straightened up, and looked at you seriously.

“Please (Y/N), don’t make me tell you.” 

“If it’s too dangerous for me to even know, then it’s definitely too dangerous for you to go and do.” 

“Just, trust me, please.” 

“Peter, I couldn’t trust you more, but the thing is, in order for me to trust you I have to know what the hell is going on.” 

“I’m Spider-Man.” You laugh, maybe a little too loud.

“This is serious Peter. Are you in trouble or something?” 

“I’m being serious. I’m Spider-Man” He pulled his suit out and showed you. “I’m going with Mr. Stark to Germany to stop Captain America from breaking some law.” 

“You’re going to Germany!?” You whisper shout. “To fight THE Captain America?!” 

“And I’m Spider-Man.” Peter nodded, amused at your reaction being greater to everything besides him being a superhero. 

“Yeah, that too!” You chuckle. “I knew you were being weird recently. Ditching our weekly movie nights more than you ever have in our entire lives.” 

“I can catch you up on everything when I get back, but Mr. Stark is waiting for me right now in his car. So will you help me?” You mull it over. 

“Yes,” you nod hesitantly, “but I want you texting me updates every chance you get! I don’t wanna tell May we’re fine baking Spanish treats and two days later your shipped home in a coffin from Germany.” Peter gulps at the thought. You pull him in for the tightest hug you think you’ve ever given him. “Please be safe. I can’t lose you.” You whisper into his shoulder. 

“I’ll be back before you can even say, “what an idiot that Peter Parker” in Spanish.” He chuckled and rubbed your back.

You pulled away and rolled your eyes at him, “Well if that’s what we’re basing our time frame on, take your time. I won’t be getting that phrase down for at least a month.” You leaned in and did something you’ve never done before, kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, and go for the legs on Cap, his shield doesn’t cover that region.” Peter held his cheek and smiled,

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Hey May, we really gotta get going on that Spanish project,” Peter says as he leaves his room and heads over to her to kiss her cheek goodbye. “I’ll tell you all about everything Tony said when we finalize the details when his people email me this weekend. He didn’t tell me much other than that.” She nodded her head, looking a little flustered at how quickly he was heading towards the door. You knew it would be suspicious if you didn’t say goodbye, so before you left with Peter you gave May a quick hug and then caught up with Peter. 

“Okay, so I just go home and work on the project as normal, then I’ll send you some pictures to send to May so it looks believable that you’re there. Remember, update me every minute you’re not kicking ass.” 

“I will. I owe you big!” Peter said as he got into Tony’s car and drove off.

“Yeah, you do.” You smiled and shook your head, heading towards the train station. 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged throughout the series. I hope you enjoyed!

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[betterbe-ravenclaw]

A HPHM character profile - Naomi Kinnley

Naomi has been being developed for a good while now, and I know that my version of events will clash with that of others (over love interest, profession, interests, family etc) so I really hope that won't be a problem. It's taken a long time for me to post this because I'm extremely nervous but hopefully Naomi and I can fit into the community!

(This wonderful profile template is by @hogwartsmysterystory and made introducing Naomi so much easier than it could have been, so thank you!)

Also the artwork is by me. Still practicing humans.

Identity:

Name: Naomi Justine kinnley

Gender: Female

Age: 15 (in game currently, I guess her age technically changes with each scenario as necessary)

Date of Birth: 27th April 1973

Species: Human

Blood Status: Half-Blood

Sexuality: straight (or heterosexual, they both mean the same thing right?)

Ethnicity: English, Welsh, French

Nationality: English

Residence: The Kinnley Household, #.17 Turley Avenue, Norwich, Norfolk, England

MBPT: ISFP - the adventurer

The Mage:

1st wand: cedar, dragon heartstring core, slightly springy, 11 ½ inches

“...‘you will never fool the cedar carrier,’ and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them”

“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner.”

2nd wand: willow, phoenix feather core, reasonably supple, 12 ¼ inch

“Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it. While many confident customers insist on trying a willow wand (attracted by their handsome appearance and well-founded reputation for enabling advanced, non-verbal magic) my willow wands have consistently selected those of greatest potential, rather than those who feel they have little to learn...”

“This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike.”

Animagus: N/A

Misc magical abilities: Apparition and Disapparition

Boggart form: missing a chance to save somebody special to her (usually Rowan, her brother or Murphy) because she was preoccupied with something novel and insignificant. Knowing she should have and could have been there and would have been able to help - but wasn’t. (Shows up as herself with her back to the incident, not noticing when her loved one calls out for help)

Riddikulus form: in being preoccupied with said novel activity, she misses her loved one(s) not being murdered, but instead making silly faces 0r acting clownish behind her back, a bit like in a pantomime.

Amortentia (their smell): home baked bread, a wildflower field, crisp new parchment, baled hay, plums from her grandparents’ orchard and vanilla.

Amortentia (what they smell): mown grass, cinnamon, old books, home baked cookies, polished leather, lavender laundry detergent and the sea.

Patronus: leopardess

Strong

Graceful

Quiet

Independent

Protective

Patronus memory: sitting at the attic window with her brother early on christmas morning as a child, drinking hot chocolate with those tiny muggle marshmallows and munching on their mother’s cookies that they weren't supposed to have until the afternoon. Talking and playing wizards chess, exploding snap and their dad's old Muggle board games, watching the sunrise and being together.

Mirror of erised:

during hogwarts - reliving her patronus memory every christmas as tradition goes. Still having Jacob shake her awake at ridiculous o’clock and take her upstairs to the window where he’d set up their blanket instead of waking up of her own accord and sitting alone until the sunrise.

As an adult - hosting dinner at the house she shares with her husband and children for all her close friends and family. All of them. Those who are gone would be there too for a night of good food and good company where the children would run around playing and Naomi would get a warm feeling of belonging in her heart.

specialized/favourite spell:

Pretego - she never wants anyone she loves to come to harm, especially after rowans passing.

Expecto Patronum - beautiful, peaceful and protective. Useful and stunning all at the same time. A thing of comfort and joy.

Avis - she’s calmed around animals and birds. Just for fun.

Ferula & episkey - similar to protego, to help those who come to harm and keep them from pain as much as possible.

Lumos - simple and useful. It was one of the first things she learnt at Hogwarts and feels nostalgic.

Appearance:

Faceclaim: Willa Holland (just imagine she has freckles.)

Game appearance:

Height: 5’6” (170.7cm)

Weight: 151lbs (68.5kg)

Physique: Slim

Eye colour: hazel, quite green in places

Hair colour: dark brown, looks ginger in the sun, loosely curly

Skin tone: medium, somewhere in between olive and pale.

Body modifications: she has one piercing in each earlobe that she got aged 10. She mainly just wears studs.

Scarring: nothing major, she has a few little scars from mundane accidents like cutting her knee on a rock but that's about it.

Inventory: wand, quill, ink, chapstick, hair ties, a hairbrush, prefect badge, scrap parchment, glasses, glasses case, half finished bag of sherbet lemons, unopened packet of every flavour beans and a leather notebook with unlimited pages for notes on everything

Fashion: Naomi likes to pair denim bottoms (jeans or shorts or sometimes a skirt if she's in the mood) with a t-shirt - she likes the ones with different coloured sleeves and also ones with words on the front. She'll also wear denim jackets and leggings and knitted sweaters and sometimes summer dresses and skirts. She mostly likes comfortable stuff. If it feels good on her body and she's comfortable in it she'll wear it.

Allegiances:

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Affiliations / organisations: the circle of Khanna, the order of the phoenix, the ministry of magic, the department of magical law enforcement - auror division

Professions:

Age 11-18 : Hogwarts student

Age 18-21 : Trainee Auror, part of the ministry of magic's department of magical law enforcement Auror training programme

Age 21-25 : Junior Auror, department of magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 25 - 28 : unemployed, having taken a break from work to focus on the family after the war

Age 28 - 40 : Senior Auror, department of Magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 40 - 46 : Head Auror, department of Magical law enforcement - Auror devison

Age 46 - 48 : Assistant manager at Cathy's Bakes (her mother in law's bakery)

Age 48 - Retirement : manager at Cathy's Bakes

Hogwarts info:

Class proficiencies:

Astronomy - E

Charms - O

Defence against the dark arts - O

Flying - O

Herbology - A

History of magic - E

Potions - O

Transfiguration - O

Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures - O

Arithmancy - E

Divination - A

Quidditch: Chaser from 2nd year onwards

Extra curricular: Quidditch, Dueling Club, prefect

Favourite professors: Flitwick, McGonagall, Kettleburn

Least favourite professors: Binns, Trelawney, Rakepick

Relationships:

Brother: Jacob William Kinnley

born 5th October, 1964

Goes by J

Ravenclaw

About 8 years older than Naomi

Curly brown hair, green eyes, really tall, stubble

Kind-hearted, witty, humorous and strong, though short tempered and more reserved after his disappearance

Was always Naomi's favourite sibling Because he was similar to her and actually had time for her. They were very close growing up, pushing Naomi to try and find him. She wanted that back.

Misc siblings: Cynthia Eleanor Kinnley

Born 16th January 1968

Goes by Cindy

Gryffindor

About 5 years older than Naomi

Straight black hair, hazel eyes, tall, attractive

Outgoing, kind, reckless and charming. She and Naomi fought more and weren't as close as Naomi and Jacob.

Ran off to study magical creatures in Africa after Jacob's disappearance to escape her troubles.

Independent magizoologist, works with a small team on less explored species

Father: Anthony Kinnley

Born 7th March 1942

Muggleborn

Ravenclaw

Curly dark brown hair, green eyes, tall, stubble

Kind-hearted, protective, quiet, calm and stronger than he looks. Was able to keep himself together following Jacobs disappearance, if only for the sake of his wife and daughters.

Works for the ministry of magic, department of international magical cooperation

Mother: Eleanor Kinnley née Campbell

Born 18th May 1942

Pureblood

Hufflepuff

Straight black hair, hazel eyes, short, curvy, beautiful

Used to be jolly, humorous and charming, though is mentally unstable after Jacob disappeared. Depressed and not like she used to be, particularly around holidays.

Currently unemployed, hardly leaves the house. Previously a nurse at St. Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries

Grandparents: Marigold Kinnley (née West), William Kinnley, Justine Campbell (née Bordeaux), Henry Campbelll (Deceased)

Misc family members: Simon Kinnley (Uncle), Timothy Kinnley (uncle), Flora Kinnley (née Brown, Aunt), Laura Peters (née Kinnley, Aunt), Robert Peters (Uncle), Geraldine Campbell (Great Aunt), Delia Peters (Cousin), Felicity Peters (Cousin), Liam Peters (cousin) , Marcus Kinnley (cousin), Cathleen McNully (Mother-in-law)

Love interest:

Barnaby Lee (Briefly - 4th year)

Attended the celestial ball together

Barnaby broke it off after a few weeks wanting to be just friends

Naomi had much the same feelings

Murphy McNully (Briefly -5th year)

Dated in secret for about a month and a half

Broke it off because they didn't see eye to eye in their relationship.

Ended with an argument

Charlie Weasley (Briefly - 5th year)

Flirted shameless for weeks

Went on about four dates before Naomi realised she didn't feel right with him and stopped the relationship before too much happened

Murphy McNully (5th year onwards - Spouse)

Got back together in undisclosed circumstances after Naomi and Charlie agreed to be just friends

Spent a year doing long distance after Murphy graduated (him being in the year above her)

Moved in together after Naomi graduated

Eventually Married before having five children.

Children:

Marigold Rowan McNully,

born 28th June, 1993

Goes by Goldie

Ravenclaw

Golden child

Lives up to her namesakes dream of becoming hogwarts' youngest ever professor (Transfiguration)

Cathleen Penelope McNully,

born 1st February, 1995

Likes to be called Kitty or Kit

Gryffindor

Bit of a troublemaker

Professional beater and quidditch star before taking over at the bakery for a 3rd generation

Anthony Jacob McNully,

born 2nd December 1998

Has the nickname Tony

Ravenclaw

Bisexual

Qualified healer working with underprivileged wizarding communities

Eleanor Nymphadora McNully,

born 13th August 2002

Everyone calls her Nelly

Hufflepuff

Daddy's girl through and through

Follows in her father's footsteps becoming a professional quidditch commentator

Henry Charles McNully,

born 30th April 2006

Ravenclaw

Bit of a mummy's boy

A surprise baby

An Auror like his mother

Best friends:

Rival: Merula Snyde, Erika Rath

(school) - Rowan Kahnna, Nymphadora Tonks, Tulip Karasu, Charlie Weasley, Skye Parkin, Penny Haywood, Murphy McNully.

Enemy: Patricia Rakepick

Dormmates: Rowan Kahnna, Tulip Karasu, Badeea Ali

Pets:

Toby

Chocolate brown cocker spaniel

Lives at her home with her parents

Miranda

Birman Cat

Accompanies Naomi to Hogwarts

Maurice

Black horse with a balze (white mark on face)

Lives at her grandparents farm

Closest canon friends: Rowan, Penny, Murphy, Skye, Charlie, Tonks, Tulip, Bill, Andre, Barnaby, Orion, Badeea

Closest MC friends:

Ravenna Glynn (@chronic-clinomania )

Calista Slater (@i-am-not-cursed )

Naomi's always willing to make new friends, even if it takes her a while to pluck up the courage to approach somebody. Maybe message me if you want your MC to be friends?

Background / history:

Pre-Hogwarts:

Naomi was born at 7:13am on the 27th of April 1973 (a week late) as the third and youngest child to Eleanor and Anthony Kinnley.

Her childhood is happy. She gets along with both parents and both siblings (though she and Cindy clash more than her and Jacob) and has a pretty normal home life - save for the magic part.

Jacob began attending Hogwarts when Naomi was only 3 years old, And Cynthia when she was 6, making for a good amount of quiet time which Naomi was very fond of.

As soon as Naomi was able to read and write fluently - about aged 6 - she would exchange letters with both her siblings. She and Jacob wrote to each other more often, as they were the closest of the siblings.

She attended a Muggle primary school like her siblings, though only ever made a couple of friends and wasn't too upset to lose contact with them when she left for hogwarts.

Though the first wizarding war was taking place throughout her childhood, Naomi's family had never been a large target or very involved in the war effort - her parents had decided to put safety above all else, therefore neglecting to join the order of the phoenix and keeping themselves to themselves as much as possible.

Naomi was 8, nearing 9, when Jacob went missing in 1981. Old enough to understand and make her own judgements of the situation. She was immediately distraught though found it hard to accept that her beloved big brother would just leave her and spent over a year writing to him to find out where he had gone, without a single reply. In the end, just before she left for Hogwarts, Naomi decided that she'd do whatever it took to find her brother, her stubbornness taking over.

In Hogwarts:

Of course, the events of Hogwarts mystery happen during this time, though other points include the following

After being sorted into Ravenclaw house, Naomi quickly becomes very close friends with Rowan Khanna. After their initial meeting in Diagon alley, Naomi feels comfortable enough to talk freely with the girl and by the time Christmas rolls around she can firmly say that Rowan is her best friend.

Naomi is obviously a competent and talented student in many areas. A lot of teachers take a shine to her as she's focused and a hard worker. Therefore, she's often asked to perform demonstrations and to assist other students.

In her second year, Naomi became the newest chaser on the Ravenclaw quidditch team. To this day, she is grateful to Penny for pushing her to try out because quidditch helped her become the person she is today and introduced her to some of her closest friends and, of course, her now-husband.

Naomi spends a lot of time at the quidditch pitch, In the quidditch stands, in the three broomsticks, by the black lake and, after accidentally stumbling upon it in her 6th year with Tonks, Tulip and Charlie, the room of requirement. After Christmas of 5th year, Naomi also spends a good amount of time in the kitchens, practicing her new hobby of baking.

She and her dorm-mates often stock up on sweets from honeydukes and chose a night to stay up talking and eating until the morning. At some point, they started inviting other girl friends into the dorm for the night (starting after tonks unsuccessfully tried to sneak in behind tulip.)

Post Hogwarts:

Having been unsure about what her career would be all throughout school, Naomi decided to join Tonks in the auror training programme. She deduces that this job would be a good fit for her, and ends up really enjoying it.

Murphy proposes to her 3 years after the initial start of their relationship

They're married not long after, with Penny as Maid of Honour and Orion as best man. Naomi had both her father and brother give her away.

She and Murphy end up living near his mother in a previously abandoned house just outside his home town. It's pretty secluded so they can practice magic without worrying.

By 1995, Naomi and Murphy had had their first two children - Marigold and Cathleen - just as the second wizarding war was beginning.

The second wizarding war:

Both Naomi and Murphy join the order of the phoenix, her auror training coming in handy and him being focused on strategies (what else?). She has many missions, including surveillance and combat.

In joining the order of the phoenix, Naomi gets a chance to meet the golden trio. Harry, Ron and Hermione immediately seem more than capable, and Naomi makes sure she takes the time to let them know she's willing to help them out however she can.

In early 1998, Naomi falls pregnant for a third time, though decides that she won't tell anyone until she has to, trying not to add stress to the already scary times.

During the battle of Hogwarts, Naomi had very close encounters with Bellatrix LeStrange and Augustus Rookwood - both of whom came rather close to finishing her off. Fortunately, her auror training, dueling club experience and protect-don't-harm nature came through, and she managed to stun both death eaters before they took her life.

Naomi was there to witness Tonks' death. That moment was haunting and still shows up in her nightmares from time to time. She was also in the vicinity when Fred Weasley was killed.

Throughout the entire war, Naomi did not use an unforgivable curse once - something she's proud of as she often wanted to murder those death eaters who took her friends.

Post second wizarding war:

Murphy and Naomi both Survive the war, and Naomi took a break from work after the war to recover from the trauma and focus on herself and her family.

When she finally goes back to work, she is able to get to know Harry Potter and Ron Weasley a lot better and they end up becoming good family friends (along with the rest of the weasley family.)

She remains an Auror until the age of 46 (become head auror during this time) before resigning and taking over from her mother in law at the bakery. It's a very much welcomed change of pace (although Naomi is always willing to lend a hand on the odd auror mission at the request of Harry.)

Naomi often invites a large gathering of friends and family over for celebrations - notable occasions include New year's, her children's birthdays and the anniversary of both Rowan's death and the battle of Hogwarts. There's always a lot of food (usually prepared with the help of Cathy and Molly Weasley) and good times.

Home life is wonderful, She and Murphy have a very happy marriage and spend their lives together with their children, and then later their grandchildren.

Personality:

Protective - Naomi is very keen on the defensive way of doing things. She doesn't like to cause harm to anybody unless she can't see any alternative way out of a situation. Along with this, although she is usually pretty quiet and reserved, Naomi will never stand by whilst somebody (especially a friend) is struggling or in trouble. It's one of the few circumstances where Naomi will actually put herself into the action voluntarily.

Creative - Naomi is good at thinking on the spot. She can come up with solutions to a problem when all other possible solutions fall through by thinking outside the box.

Loyal - Naomi hasn't always found it easy to make friends, she's shy and gets very nervous talking to new people, but once she's made friends with somebody Naomi is always going to be there. She's always willing to take on their problems and help in whatever way she can, and makes sure that her friends know how grateful she is to have them and that she's always there when they need her.

Empathetic - Naomi is very good at understanding the feelings of others and knowing exactly what to say to make people calm down and feel better. She can put herself in people's shoes and also acts as the peacekeeper in many arguments as she can .

Easily Stressed - Naomi is an overthinker, she starts to panic when things start to go wrong and gets very stressed. The smallest thing can make her frustrated or worried, and though she can usually hide these feelings in the day, they always come out at night or at any time if they're strong enough. She finds it very hard to let go and let bad things happen.

Stubborn - Naomi isn't likely to back down from many things without a fight. She doesn't like to be wrong, accept too much help or admit she's made a mistake, just as she hates to lose an argument. She always makes sure to be as calm and polite as possible if she has different feelings, but sometimes she can't help but raise her voice.

Naomi is also pretty patient, indecisive, quiet, a good listener, generous and naturally intelligent among other things.

Miscellaneous:

As a baby, Naomi has thick, long, curly hair and was rather chubby, though by the time she reached 7, her curls loosened and her baby fat was no longer a problem. She still had very long hair though.

She goes by Mia to her friends, and Nomi, love and Mia to Murphy. She's also the only person other than his mother who's allowed to call Murphy by his first name or Murph, and also calls him darling, McNully and button (the nickname button has a backstory that I may or may not disclose at some point. She only calls him that when she's teasing him though.)

She was very nearly a hatstall between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff - and she ended up dictating the final decision. Naomi knows she would have been fine in either house now, but at the time, Ravenclaw seemed like the only option because Rowan had just been sorted into it, and it had been the house of her brother.

Although Naomi has glasses, she can usually see just fine without them, and doesn't bother wearing them outside of class.

She's a fiddler a doodler and a nail biter. All happen when she's nervous and/or bored. She'll work her nails down as much as she can and will pick up and play around with just about anything. She's also very prone to drawing and writinh all over her wrists - lists, memos, ideas, harmless pictures of golden snitches and nifflers and Murphy.

Naomi can both ride and drive horses and enjoys it rather a lot. She learnt on her Muggle grandparents' farm where she spent most of her summer holidays as a child and Hogwarts student.

Naomi and Murphy's mother Cathleen, or Cathy, are very good friends. They get along incredibly well and Naomi now comes to Cathy more than her own mother for advice. They spend a lot of time discussing Murphy and other things - often baking in the meantime (Cathy introduced her to baking and Naomi even ends up taking over her bakery business.)

Naomi was one of the few people allowed to attend Tonks and Remus' Wedding, and likes to keep in touch with Teddy Lupin after his parents death (relatively easy as he's good friends with her son Anthony and her Daughter Eleanor.)

She can't decide if her favourite colour is Yellow or blue. They've been her top two since forever but she's never been quite sure which is better.

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,354 Warnings: Spoilers and I’d consider checking them. Characters: Roman, Patton Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Power Angst

Chapter 20

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

   “I’m so glad Mr. Hartley could find your brother and put us on the approved visitor list. It sounds like he had to pull a lot of strings to do it,” Patton flashed a smile quickly to Roman before looking back at the road. Roman fidgeted lightly with his hands and watched the road for a moment. He was still worried and was tired as shit for having to wake up early to drive out there for the visiting hours. Well, it was only a little early for the Sanders house but Roman still was the worst at sleeping. Especially when he knew he was going to finally see his brother the next day.

   “Thanks again for being willing to drive me out,” Roman mumbled and curled into his jacket a bit. “You really don’t think he’ll be mad at me for not calling and stuff?” Roman asked nervously, glancing at Patton. Patton kept his eyes on the road.

   “I think if you explain what happened he’ll probably understand,” Patton said plainly. That didn’t particularly inspire confidence in Roman. He side-eyed Patton for a moment, but Patton added nothing else.

   “Hm, I’m hearing a maybe,” Roman said seriously, tugging at his seat belt to shift it away from his cracked rib again.

   “Well, I can’t see everything, kiddo,” Patton smiled knowingly for someone saying he didn’t know. “But he’s your brother, and that didn’t go away with distance,” Roman hummed, not really agreeing or disagreeing. He wanted to believe Remus wouldn’t hate him. He just also had a ‘wildly miscalibrated’ sense of whether or not people hate him, according to Thomas. But even if his sense is off, it was a loud one and he didn’t know how to ignore it. Roman yawned and leaned back the seat a little, watching the road again.

   “I know this is early for you. I can put the radio on classical or something and you can take a nap. The weekend visiting hours are offensively short and early,” Patton muttered bitterly. “You should be able to visit your kids and siblings all day on the weekend, not between 8 and 10 am. Who do they think they are? The state prison has better visiting hours!” Patton started ranting in frustration.

   “I’m a 15-year-old felon, I can’t answer these questions,” Roman rubbed his head. It kind of hurt from Pat’s rambling. Or the lack of sleep. Or the knowledge there will be guards there. Or the roiling fear in him that Remus hated him now, and that he had every right to as someone in juvie while Roman had such a nice place to stay. Maybe there were lots of reasons his head could hurt.

   “You’re not a felon, kiddo,” Patton furrowed his eyebrows, looking miffed. Roman just crossed his arms lightly and raised his eyebrow. “Well, not a convicted felon, anyway,” Patton trailed off slightly. “Let’s not bring up the whole drug trafficking thing at the JDC,” Patton chuckled nervously, shooting a look at Roman.

   “Yeah, I definitely tell everybody about my crimes,” Roman’s tone was dripping with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. “Thomas says I thought I was dead. That’s basically the only circumstance I ever planned to tell anyone,” Roman huffed angrily, though it was entirely at himself for letting it slip. He really didn’t like anybody knowing about it. Though Virgil was chill about it. At least that was something. Patton and Thomas, on the other hand? Roman wasn’t sure they had chill anymore.

   “I suppose we should avoid panic attacks, then,” Patton said, sounding concerned and tapping his steering wheel with his fingers as he steered.

   “Sure, I’ll turn off the panic switch,” Roman flipped his hand and mimed toggling a switch sarcastically. He looked out the passenger window, gripping his seatbelt in his hands both as something grounding but to keep it off his ribs again.

   “Young man, I understand you’re scared and tired, but maybe turn down the sarcasm a notch,” Patton said seriously. Roman huffed indignantly, but sighed and dropped his arms after a moment.

   “Sorry,” Roman mumbled and fiddled with his jeans.

   “I don’t think marijuana charges should be a thing in the first place, by the way. I don’t think that in a just world you’d be a felon,” Patton said, consolingly. Roman winced and looked to Patton for a moment, deciding if he should correct him or not.

   “You like honesty, right?” Roman sighed, looking over to Patton nervously. He may as well get this over with.

   “Yes, I do! But I don’t like the sound of that question. Not in the context of this conversation, anyway,” Patton said nervously and gripped the steering wheel as if to brace himself.

   “I guess because it’s hard to picture a teenager dealing anything harder than weed, or something? But there’s a reason I said drugs. It was just weed… at first. It… didn’t stay that way. Expenses went up. And it went from some very nice engineers who grew it outside of town to real mafia-type drug suppliers. That’s how the whole having guns pointed at me thing happened. We were kind of in over our heads, honestly. I was just making deliveries to white guys in flip-flops who’d tip well if I did magic tricks for them, other than visiting the engineers. It wasn’t that bad,” Roman swallowed. “Then it got worse, and I had to carry a gun just to protect myself and… it just wasn’t good. I’d still be a felon in a more just world,” Roman confessed quietly.

   “You didn’t have to use the gun, did you, kiddo?” Patton asked, sounding deeply troubled and gripping the steering wheel enough to make his knuckles pale.

   Roman held himself and swallowed heavily. “Can we not talk about this?” Roman mumbled, hating to have to remember this part. Hating himself for ever having to do it. Roman gripped his seatbelt again, unable to deal and trying to focus on literally anything else. Like the texture of the seat-belt strap and how it was weirdly sharp feeling or the signs through the window.

   “I think we might need to,” Patton said carefully, but he was clearly holding back something by the expression on his face.

   “First shot’s a warning shot. Second shot was to the legs,” Roman muttered. “That’s… that’s all I’m willing to say about it,” Roman said weakly, trying his damnedest not to remember.

   “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re seeing a psychiatrist,” Patton swallowed. “I’m impressed at how strong you are to carry this guilt for so long, champ. At least you never intended to hurt anybody, right?” Patton said as evenly as Roman assumed as he could manage. He didn’t sound so sure that Roman never wanted to, though, and Roman felt like a dirtbag for it.

   “No, I didn’t wake up thinking ‘I’m going to shoot some guy today’,” Roman said sarcastically. “I already know I’m not a good person. You don’t have to try to make excuses for me,” He added weakly and stared at his feet as the seatbelt cut into his hands from twisting it so tightly.

   “Good and bad are a lot more complex than that. I know this stuff makes me uncomfortable, but your choices now are what matter. Not your choices when you had nothing but ultimatums in your life. It doesn’t sound like you wanted to make those choices, either,” Patton said thoughtfully, sounding resolute despite the shakiness in his voice.

   “Learning to shoot a gun was cool,” Roman supplied weakly. There were things he liked that he knew he shouldn’t have. He enjoyed learning new stuff. He liked people cheering when he did sleight-of-hand tricks. He liked having enough money to buy his own clothes and pick what he ate and buy his own things. He liked some of the stoners. They were funny. He even liked Jet. “Jet’s a d-bag in high-pressure situations, but he was pretty chill most of the time. We hung out often, even though he’s years older than me. I didn’t hate all of it,” Roman admitted, loosening up on the seatbelt a bit.

   Jet was the only person who knew, other than repeat customer stoners. But even they didn’t know it was Roman. There was one who invited him in to play Assassin’s Creed and Mortal Kombat, who saw him without the mask. Not that Roman would admit to playing those to Patton. Roman was certain that guy was just lonely and enjoyed talking to someone and probably thought Roman was older than he was. He was nice either way. He even let Roman stay with him one night to avoid a bad situation at home. There were plenty of things Roman liked about it that he knew he shouldn’t have.

   “Finding joy when you’re in a terrible situation is okay and also doesn’t make you a bad person. It still just means you were trying to survive,” Patton reminded him. “You could have turned out much worse if you didn’t find ways to be happy with access to a gun and drugs. Well, you could have turned out much worse with any of those factors,” Patton said, sounding kind of strangely impressed.

   “Yeah, I hope Jet’s okay,” Roman admitted quietly and looked back out the passenger window again.

   “I hope he found a home that helped him out, too. But I am still proud of you for turning out so… okay, despite everything,” Patton offered, sounding genuinely pleased. Was that supposed to make sense?

   “You and Thomas have done nothing but say I’m not okay since I got here,” Roman scoffed as he objected and rolled his eyes.

   “Well, we had to re-evaluate where the bar was with new information. You’re okay, in a sense, for somebody in the situations you’ve been in… seeing as you don’t have a drug habit and are, well, you’re here. You still have to see the psychiatrist, though. You’re not okay in another sense,” Patton said resolutely.

   “That’s so confusing,” Roman groaned and gestured in frustration. “Mr. Hartley said there’s no way to stop the state from having access to my medical records,” Roman pouted angrily. “You know I don’t want that.”

   “We’re going to figure out the problems as they come. But Thomas and I aren’t equipped to help you. We will continue to be there for you and happy to assist, but you have lots of things that you need professional help to break down and rebuild into something healthier and more sustainable. For one, Thomas is really freaked out about you scratching at yourself when you panic. We don’t know how to stop that, and you can’t keep living life like that. It’s not safe or healthy,” Patton said firmly with a glance towards Roman.

   “I can just wear gloves all the time like a movie villain,” Roman rolled his eyes. Patton was letting him leave them off for now, but they were in Roman’s pocket in case Patton changed his mind.

   “Roman, it’s a temporary solution that you clearly don’t enjoy,” Patton said, shaking his head.

   “I don’t like the reminder,” Roman sighed. “And I’m not wearing them at school. I’d get harassed non-stop,” Roman grumbled. “What if I pull a Virgil and refuse to see the psychiatrist?” Roman said hopefully, but it came out more aggressively than intended.

   “We’re signing up Virgil for to talk to a psychiatrist online. We realize now that it’s dangerous to keep waiting for you two to want it for yourselves. Just because Virgil hasn’t had non-car related panic attacks we’ve seen doesn’t mean he’s not quietly at-risk while he sits alone in his room. He has trouble connecting to people, and we realize that it’s more dangerous to let go unchecked than we thought. We thought it just meant he couldn’t be around cars. We didn’t know there was a whole slew of other things that might be making his life harder,” Patton explained and used that serious parent tone.

   “Thomas said that he had nine out of the fifteen things the ER doctor mentioned, and that’s without him talking to us. It will take some time to get him to talk to somebody, so setting up appointments now, even if doesn’t respond in earnest right away, is better than putting it off and it takes even longer. You boys might even need to be on some medications,” Patton said, sounding sympathetic despite the fact they were forcing this on him.

   “I don’t want to go on meds,” Roman said angrily, refusing to meet his eyes and watching the rearview mirror.

   “I’m on anti-depressants and Thomas is on anti-anxiety medications. There’s no shame in it. They seem scary at first, and they can be when you’re adjusting to them, but they’re there to improve your life and make it easier. It’s just like I have to take an allergy pill every day to treat cats. I could just suffer through the stuffy nose and watery eyes, but I don’t have to,” Patton admitted.

   “Why in the world did you become a vet if you’re allergic to cats?” Roman asked incredulously.

   “They’re just so fluffy! It’s not a severe allergy,” Patton cooed. “But seriously kiddo, kinda hoping to die quietly isn’t healthy. It might mean you have a chemical imbalance and need medical intervention so you don’t take risks since you don’t care if you live or die,” Patton said more seriously, looking sad.

   “I care if I live,” Roman drawled defensively. “I wouldn’t have done anything I did to protect myself in the past if I didn’t care if I lived or not,” Roman spat bitterly, not able to even look at Patton.

   “But you think things would be easier if you didn’t have to live anymore, right? That it would be nice if you just didn’t wake up one day? Maybe a coma sounds nice? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you died in a freak accident?” Patton insinuated and Roman bit his tongue with a frustrated exhale through his nose. “I told you kiddo, I’m on anti-depressants. I’m not in your exact same boat, but I do know a little about what you’re going through. You’re very high energy for somebody with depression, but I’m not a people doctor and there’s probably more going on than we see. Which is another excellent reason to get you properly diagnosed. So we can get you the right tools to cope and recovery for everything we know and don’t know you have,” Roman hated that this all started to make sense. He still didn’t want to do any of it. The thought terrified him. But he wished it didn’t make sense, still.

   “You kinda get it, right? Is it… is it normal to still believe I’m okay and don’t need help?” Roman asked quietly.

   “I think anybody who gets shut down when they ask for help long enough will eventually convince themselves they’re okay and fine on their own just to cope. But I also think both you and I know you’re not okay on some level and your brain’s just trying to play catch up with that fact since you’ve had to be ‘okay’ for so long,” Patton suggested kindly, but it still kind of hurt to hear. Roman curled in on himself slightly. Another thing he wished didn’t make sense.

   “Try to sit up straight, Roman, your rib needs room to heal. I know it feels counter-intuitive when you feel vulnerable,” Roman wanted to object to being vulnerable, but he tried to straighten out, anyway. Maybe he was feeling vulnerable and not bitter. It sort of seemed like he’d have to re-learn some feelings from the ground up because he was doing them wrong.

   “So, we’re almost there. Do you want to discuss what you will say to him to explain what happened?” Patton suggested genially. Roman considered it before shaking his head slowly.

   “No, I’m not the best at following plans or even saying the things I mean to say. There’s not much of a point to that,” Roman sighed. “I’m just going to… try,” Roman said, kind of wishing he had something better to say. Or some way to convince Remus to forgive him. Or something better to give him. Just… he wished for lots of things.

   “That’s all we can do sometimes,” Patton said brightly. It was weird how he could flip his moods like that. Roman still felt kind of off from their conversation. Maybe Patton was just good at hiding things. “Sorry that I accidentally kept you up instead of letting you nap on the way over,” Patton apologized.

   “I’m probably too nervous about seeing Remus again to have taken a nap either way. I keep thinking I’m not going to recognize him for some reason. Or he won’t recognize me. But that doesn’t make any sense. And it’s not the only completely unreasonable thing going through my head,” Roman admitted sheepishly.

   “It’s not unreasonable that he’d look different, kiddo, it’s been 4 years,” Patton said softly.

   “What are you talking about?” Roman asked incredulously, looking to Patton and furrowing his eyebrows.

   “Four years is a long time! You’ve both done lots of growing, I’m sure,” Patton possibly attempted to explain. What the hell was he talking about? Holy shit, did Patton not know? Oh, he had to see Patton’s face when he found out. Roman wasn’t saying a damn thing.

   “Still. I just don’t think I would have rested well,” Roman said dismissively. He at least had something to look forward to. Remus used to love this kind of thing, too, so maybe Remus would laugh, and that would be worth it.

   “All right, we need to leave our personal effects in the car according to the website. Put your phone, keys, and wallet in the glove box if you have any of them,” Patton said. Roman shifted slightly to extract his stuff while Patton pulled into the parking lot. Roman closed his things into the glove box and looked around the lot. God, this place was… depressing. It’s a giant concrete box, and it feels… wrong. Haunted, maybe. Just bad. Patton slipped his phone in the glove box and locked it before they both got out of the car.

   Patton had to show his ID, and it took a bit of arguing, but they managed to find him and Roman on the approved visitor list after about 10 minutes. It was ridiculous that Roman wasn’t allowed to see his own brother under normal circumstances. Patton was right about that. They don’t have parents for Roman to come in with. Getting Patton and Roman on the approved list was probably the social worker equivalent of an act of god. Roman would have to thank him properly when he saw him next month. Maybe Patton would let him bake him cookies or something. Roman waited on one of the few chairs in the lobby until they were finally able to go through x-ray and security. They weren’t allowed to bring much to him, but Patton brought a bag of chocolates for Remus, which was nice.

   The security guard brought them to a weird steel and concrete cafeteria-looking room, where they picked a table and were told to wait while they fetched Remus. Roman’s foot started tapping, and that hurt like a mother fuck, so he managed to move his nervous energy to drum on the table with his fingers. Patton tolerated the noise and offered him a soft smile every time he looked nervously to Patton as they waited. This part made Roman so restless it physically hurt. The guards made him nervous enough, but seeing his brother for the first time in 4 years was a whole new level. He fought to keep himself as level as he could with the sheer joy from the knowledge that at least, after all this time, he’d finally get to see Remus again.

Personal Taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno @the-sympathetic-villain @croftersjam15  @ollyollyoxinfree

the taglist repository:

High school:  @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra  @potatsanderssides

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Roman-Centric:  @smileyzs  @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd

Fostering AU:  @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll

literally everything sanders sides:  @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun  @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven  @ananonsplace

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 22 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter:  Paul and Gene’s date continues, with romantic rowboating and taunts by small children.

It was pretty outside, warm and sunny, with a slight breeze wafting through. Nature had always been a novelty at best for Gene; he’d been stuck on enough tour buses through rural two-lane highways and woodsy areas to be spooked by anything that wasn’t curated. Still, Central Park was a refreshing contrast to the cloistered, dingily glitzy feel of CBGB and Studio 54.

It wasn’t quite tourist season—as if New York had a tourist season anymore—and right at spring finals for the college kids. The only ones really out, for the most part, seemed to be natives. Mothers with their schoolkids, retirees getting some sun, that kind of thing. So Gene had slight misgivings about going out unmasked in the park, but Paul just tossed him his sunglasses again and dug out a wide-brimmed sunhat from the trunk for himself.

“But nobody’s going to recognize you,” Gene protested. Paul winced.

“I know. But I like the hat.”

It turned out Paul had enough change left for parking and a rowboat. Gene had fully expected Paul to toss him both oars, but Paul seemed keen on propelling the boat himself, despite his griping.

“I can’t believe they didn’t have one with the pedals,” he groused.

“Have you ever done this before?”

“It can’t be that hard.” Paul’s look of concentration made Gene tempted to smile. Why Paul was trying to impress him, he didn’t exactly know. He’d watched from a wry distance as Paul had attempted to win over girlfriend after girlfriend. He’d try to be cultured. He’d try to be romantic. He invested more in the girls he was serious about than had ever seemed to pay out for him, and he hung onto those girls until they yanked him off like a tick. God, Paul had even kept trying to make a go again with the girl who’d fucked Joe Namath behind his back. He was funny about it all, really. Once he had somebody, he didn’t want to give them up.

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re doing it backwards.”

“This is how they did it in the gondolas, right?”

“You’re not in a gondola.” It was hard not to laugh. Paul was rowing determinedly, moving the oars in the same direction he was facing, like he thought he was swimming. “You’ve got to go the other way with them.”

“Like this?”

“Yeah. There you go.”

There weren’t many people out on the lake in rowboats and paddleboats, but Gene still caught sight of the occasional glance his way. He didn’t think they knew who he was; they were just judging him for sitting back while Paul did all the work. Paul’s cheeks were going slightly red, even though he was slowly getting hang of it, oars starting to lap the water instead of just shoving into it like a pair of spoons. The brim of his sunhat kept flipping up whenever a good breeze started up on the water.

“And on your right,” Paul said, in as dry an imitation of a tour guide as he could manage, “we’ve got… some trees. And on your left is another dock.”

“No kidding.”

“I can keep going. We’re coming up on what’s known as a bridge…”

“Five-star narration there, Paul.”

Paul laughed.

“Hey, I dunno any poetry to woo you with. Wait, maybe…” Paul scrunched up his face as he kept rowing towards the bridge. It looked deserted, for now. “‘In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue.’”

“Well, it’s not exactly Keats…” Gene crooked a smile.

“It’s twelve years of education. Your tax dollars at work.”

“It should’ve been sixteen.”

“Do I have your heart yet?” Before Gene could answer, Paul shifted the oars back into the boat, maneuvering forward for a kiss as the boat floated beneath the bridge.

--

After, they strode out, arm in arm, sharing a cotton candy cone. Well. Gene was eating most of it. Paul was letting him. Sappy as hell, maybe. No, definitely. Then they walked over to where the Alice in Wonderland sculptures were, the same ones that’d been there ever since Gene could remember. The kids, let loose from school, were climbing all over the whole gang.

“Don’t look now. We may have to fight them over the carousel later.”

“Oh, I think we can take them.” Paul leaned over and half-bit, half-licked another bit of cotton candy off the cone.

“I don’t know, Paul. They might be from a tough neighborhood like Brooklyn.” Gene’s attempt at Peter’s accent was as bad as always, but he said it straight-faced enough that Paul laughed. “The six-year-olds might have shivs in their belt loops.”

“Their mothers, definitely.” Paul pushed some of his hair over his shoulder with his free hand. “I don’t think I went here more than two or three times when I was their age.”

“Their mothers’?”

“Their kids, c’mon.”

“I didn’t, either,” Gene admitted. “It was too far off from Queens.”

“Yeah, but—I lived in Manhattan when I was real little, y’know. That’s when we came to the park. I remember…” Paul trailed, getting another bite, “I remember Julia dropping her ice-cream and crying about it. Then my dad said we’d just have to share, so I dropped mine out of spite—”

“And wasted the whole thing? Did you hate her that much?”

“She wouldn’t have let me eat any of it. And I knew it.” Paul shrugged. “Julia’s nuts. She was nuts even then.”

“You’re hard on her.”

“I’ve got a right to be.”

Gene didn’t know enough about Julia to really argue that. He’d seen her maybe six or seven times in all the time he’d known Paul. Sometimes he’d gotten the impression that Paul was scared of her, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Think you share any better now?”

Paul laughed.

“Nah. Not really.” But he tilted what was left of the cotton candy cone towards Gene’s face again. Gene leaned in and bit off a large cloud of pink sugar. “You got off lucky, being an only child. The king never got dethroned.”

“Isn’t Julia older than you? You’re the one that dethroned her.”

Paul shrugged.

“Well, my parents wanted a boy, so they gave it another shot…” Paul trailed dryly. “See how well that’s worked out for them.”

“This isn’t permanent.” The statement didn’t feel right. Didn’t have quite the same ring as we’ll get you fixed had. But Paul just tore away another piece of cotton candy.

“That’s not what I meant.” He seemed to hesitate a little, taking a different, awkward tack. “I always wondered what only children did all day. That sounds stupid. But I… up until she was in junior high, Julia was always around, and…”

“I did the same things any other kid would. Just by myself.” Gene’s gaze traveled absently to the retirees sitting on park benches. One old lady was tossing popcorn at pigeons like alms. “Once I got to America, I read a lot of comic books, watched a lot of T.V.”

“Did you go to the movies much?”

“Not very much. I saw The Ten Commandments and Pinocchio.”

“Everybody saw The Ten Commandments.”

“They don’t make epics like that anymore.”

“No. T.V. killed movies.” Paul was sucking the sugar off his fingers as they kept walking. Not a new habit on his part, probably not even something he was doing with any real intent, but it was utterly destroying Gene’s focus. “Do you really like Pinocchio? Or do you just say that for the kids?”

“No, I really do like it.” Gene paused. “Why are you asking?”

“Because I never did before.” Paul pinched off another chunk of cotton candy, popping it in his own mouth before Gene could teasingly reach for it himself. “Eight years and I never even asked you your favorite movie. I bet half your groupies could do better than that.”

God. Meeting Carol must have really screwed Paul up. Had him thinking that those “100 Facts About KISS” articles actually meant something. Thinking that attraction ever had much to do with facts and figures. Or maybe Paul was trying to reach beyond that, somehow, feel him out in a way he never had before. Gene wasn’t sure.

“I never asked you yours, either.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Really?”

“Really. I couldn’t honestly tell you my favorite of anything.” Paul looked a little bothered by his own admission, the expression on his face sort of like what Gene had seen yesterday morning, when he’d talked about dressing up for Studio 54. When he’d talked about wanting to belong. But then Paul started plowing through again, that look vanishing. “What’d you like Pinocchio for, anyway? Please don’t tell me you had a crush on the Blue Fairy.”

“No, she didn’t have tits.” Gene considered the rest of the question for longer than he needed to. But Paul seemed to be hanging on for an answer. “Pinocchio’s a success story.”

“A success story,” Paul repeated.

“Yeah. He wants to be a real boy, he works hard, and he gets his wish. He gets everything he ever wanted. It meant a lot to me.”

He almost said more, almost starting going into depth with it. About how he wanted to do a cover of “When You Wish Upon a Star” on his solo album, if they ever got to do them. About how Jiminy Cricket seemed to almost speak to him. The magic was still so real to him somehow, intoxicating, inevitable. His whole life since coming to America hadn’t proved him wrong. He’d gotten everything he ever wished for; he really had. Almost everything. Gene started to clear his throat, try to articulate it, but Paul’s expression had gone from intent to distant in just a few seconds.

“Oh.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Paul shrugged, pushing the rest of the cone into Gene’s hand. “My back hurts. I should’ve let you row.”

“Want me to rub it?”

“No. I know exactly where your hands are gonna go.”

Gene finished off the cotton candy and tossed the cone into a nearby trashcan. They were nearly at the entrance for the carousel, anyway. Paul let go of his arm to dig around again in his own wallet, coming up with enough change for them both to join the handfuls of kids climbing onto the ride. More quizzical looks from the kids and even the parents, but Gene didn’t think he was getting recognized, at least not until he started for the carousel horse next to Paul’s, a large chestnut-colored one with a heavily festooned, red and green saddle. Gene hadn’t even climbed on properly when a kid, maybe six or seven, pointed at him.

“You’re too big.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re too big. You’re gonna break it.”

Paul was covering his mouth with his hand, clearly trying not to laugh, but then the little boy pointed at him, too.

“Your girlfriend is, too!” He said it with the confidence and indignation that only a grammar school kid could manage, a grammar school kid that still thought girls had cooties. Gene snorted. Paul looked slightly less amused than before.

“What do we need to do?” Gene asked, focusing all his attention on the kid. A year of student teaching, a year of actual teaching, all culminating into trying to discuss a pocket change carousel ride with a six-year-old. The little boy seemed vaguely surprised, then pleased, that Gene was giving him the time of day, puffing out his chest and pursing his lips in serious consideration.

“You gotta ride those.” His chubby finger waggled at the chariots. Next to him, Paul came within half an inch of mumbling a curse.

“Gene, c’mon, we’re not getting off the—”

Gene raised his hand, cutting off Paul. The ride hadn’t yet started, if only due to a few mothers with toddlers that were still trying to maneuver them both onto the horses.

“I think he’s got a point. We’ve tempted fate already.”

“What?”

“Well, I really shouldn’t be out in the daylight.”

Paul blinked, but didn’t say anything, looking wary. Gene smiled, turning to the little kid as he slowly slid his sunglasses off, exposing nothing but the whites of his eyes. His tongue lolled and waggled out like a dying fish on a hook.

“Y-you’re a vampire!”

The kid fled the carousel, screaming his head off. Gene rolled his eyes forward again and put back on the sunglasses, before he mounted the horse next to Paul’s. The carousel operator, somehow unfazed, started the ride a second or two later. Except for the creaks of the machinery and the tinny piped-in music, everything had gone dead silent. The kids on horses near enough were craning their necks for a look at the undead monster sharing the carousel. Gene was about to start obliging them with more leering and tongue-sticking when his gaze went to Paul again.

Shit. If he’d been pissed-off about the whole deal at CBGB, he had to at least be annoyed at Gene getting the attention of a whole carousel full of little kids in the park. But, looking at him, listening to him, Gene was surprised. Paul was actually laughing quietly.

“What is it?”

Paul shook his head. He was grinning.

“I was just thinking. All that effort to stay on these things, and your pony doesn’t even go up and down.” He leaned over, nudging Gene’s arm lightly with his fist, his other hand still grasping the pole. “You’re a mess, you know that?”

“So are you.”

[fairymadnessyeah]

Birthday Boys

Summary: A Modern setting AU for the Todoroki´s birthday boys. It’s basically a reunion fic, so enjoy.

Part 1 of 4 (For now)

Next part next Saturday.

P.s : Happy Birthday Shouto

Warning: Mentions of past abuse and street violence

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“We have the chips, nee-san” A stoic looking teenager said as he entered the place carring a plastic bag. A smaller greenette behind him carring three bags and two other teenagers with presents, too. “And Iida and Uraraka are here”

“Welcome!” Fuyumi said, taking the bags from his brother and the green kid.

This may have been an ordinary thing for anybody. But not for this family.

Before their fathers arrest, life for the Todoroki family was a nightmare. They had no normalcy. Birthdays were never celebrated, Shouto wasn’t allowed to interact with his sibblings and their mother had snapped and had to be interned to a hospital for the sake of her menyal health. And Touya…

Well, they didn’t like to think about it.

But now, they were a family, that could have friends over and celebrate their birthdays together and however they saw fit, without worring over what would happen to their mother or baby brother if Enji found out.

When their father was finally out of the picture, Fuyumi, being the older sibbling (not eldest, she wasn’t the eldest) inherited all of Enji´s money and possesions. From the state to his boxing trophies. She sold the state and bought a nice apartment near her job, Natsuo’s collegue and Shouto High school. She basically lived alone since Natsuo had a roomate on campus, Shouto had the dorms in UA and their mother wasn’t ready to live utside the hospital.

But, now that Enji was gone, Natsuo came by more often and their mother had recoverred enought to go outside without trembling. Although, to Fuyumi, the best part was that Shouto came every Friday night and stayed until Monday morning when he had to go to school.

Every weekend felt like a dream. Because they were all together. Well… almost.

Little by little the guest started to arrive. There weren’t many people over, Shouto’s class, two other friends and Midoriya’s mom and stepdad. They couldn’t not invite them.

It was thanks to them that they were able to be were they are now. Who would have thought that the adopted son of their old man’s rival, would have been the start of their salvation?

Before the dorm sistem was applied at UA, the green kid, Izuku Midoriya did everything he could to help Shouto when he learned about their father. He would help him feel included, explain everything he didn’t understand, he even kept him in his house for a month during break. That was when Mrs Inko and Mr Yagi learned about their situacion. And when Mrs Midoriya helped Fuyumi get over her fear of her dad to report him.

The process was rather quick. Even if their father was a famous and respected boxing champion, there was too much evidence against him. He was locked down in November.

The party was going expectacularly. They weren’t allowed to make too much noise because of their mom, but Shouto’s classmates were heaven sent. They didn’t make a mess and even included their mother in activities. Even the explosive blonde that, according to Shouto, knows more cuss words than mentally possible, was calmingly explaining to their mom how to beat his classmates in Mario Kart.

“Fuyumi,” Mrs Inko called her from the living room. “the front desk called, they said somebody is at the entrance and that they need to speak with you.”

“Oh, it’s probably another guest, could you watch over the food?”

“Yes, dear”

She took her keys and headed to the elevator. When she reached the front desk, she noticed a… tired looking guy wearing a black hooding and pants playing with his phone and sitting on the floor. He didn’t look up from the screen until she asked him if he was the one that asked for her.

The man (could she called him that? the guy was so skinny that if he wasn’t malnurished, he was probably a really tall teenager) stood up and put his hands in his hoody’s pocket. “My name is Shigaraki Tomura, I think I know your brother?”

“Do you?” She didn’t remember him. If he was in Shouto’s class, she would have seen him at least once.

“Is this him?” The stranger took his wallet off his back pocket and showed her a picture.

It was her brother. But not Shouto or Natsuo.

It was spikey, messed up hair that he refused to brush. Hard edges that had been bruised more times than she could count. Turquoise eyes that burned with rage that increased after every training section with dad.

There were things that could have throw her off. Like the piercings, the black hair, the arms completly covered in ink.

But that was him.

He was looking at the camera confused with a steaming mug in his hand.

That was Touya. Her big brother. The eldest sibbling. Their missing piece.

Suddenly, she couldn’t talk. She had so many question but none of them, not even one wanted to come out. Her eyes were getting watery, but she could barelly notice with her feelings and doubts swarming in her head.

She took a deep breath to try to calm herself. She couldn’t scare off the only lead in 10 years of Touya off.

“How did you get that picture?” She finally asked, her voice shakey and almost breaking.

The guy, Shigaraki, closed his wallet and sighted. “We live together. He goes by Dabi now though. I thought you might want to see him again” He took out a card of his wallet and took a pen from the receptionist. He scribbled something down and offered it to her. “My number is in it. If I don’t answer, call the bar and ask for Kurogiri. He will give me any message you leave.”

She took the card carefully without looking at it. As if she did, she would wake up and this would be a dream.

“I should warn you though” He continued “He hasn´t been in the best… company for a while. Hope I hear from you”. With that, Shimura turned and left, leaving Fuyumi alone in the lobby.

She could still feel the rought paper of the card against her palm. She headed back to the elevator in automatic. Not that it mattered. Very little things mattered right now. The only thing that was now on her mind was that Touya wasn’t dead.

And it wasn’t delusional hope, this was real. She saw proof. She had proof. Finally looking down, she read the card.

Black Mist Bar xxxx-xxxx

Shigaraki T. xxx-xx-xxx-xx

The last part was written down with a messy scribble but it was there. Solid proof that Touya was alive and that they could see him again. Feeling tears fall out of her eyes, she put the card in her back pocket and headed out of the elevator to her apartment. She rubbed the tears off with her sleeve, minding her glasses and entered as if her world hadn’t been turn upside down.

The place was still filled with laughter and joy. The kids were all still playing Mario Kart but were searching for other games to play in a shelf, Rei was speaking with Natsuo and Mr Toshinori and Mrs Midoriya was leaving food in their coffee table for the kids.

Once the party finished and all of Shouto´s friend left, Fuyumi drove their mother to the hospital. She thought about telling her about the news, but decided not to. The last time they told her mother news about him, was when he ran away. She didn’t react well and they had to sedate her so she wouldn’t hurt herself.

Besides, the only thing she knew was that this random guy Sigaraki, thought that maybe his roommate was their long lost brother. Giving her mother the news that his first son that is presummed dead might be alive to then tell her that it wasn’t him or a ruse seemed cruel. And her mother was making an excellent progress, today was an milestone for her. She spent almost five hour with more that 20 people with loud noises without having an relapse. She even smiled and made a new friend with Mrs Inko.

She couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

When she arrived back home, Natsuo and Shouto were cleaning up. They were both talking animatedly about all the gifts Shouto had received. They looked so happy.

‘Should I tell them?’ Fuyumi questioned. She didn’t have to worry about their reaction, not like with her mom. But Natsuo had already lost all hope of finding Touya, considered him the dead 4 years ago, and Shouto bearly knew him. Even if they both had been through the same (Why their father decided to beat his eldest and younger child was something they never learnt), Shouto was 5 when Touya ran away at 15.

“Nee-san?” Shouto called her, staring at her worried, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course” She tried to lie to them. But apparently it didn’t work because her two brothers shared a look and then turned back to her.

“Fuyu, what’s wrong?” Natsuo asked as he came near her.

Fuyumi sighted and told them about what happened. Shouto, with his never-changing poker face, didn’t have much of reaction, but Natsuo…. He couldn’t belive it, wouldn´t belive it.

“Fuyumi, are you stupid?” Natsuo asked angry “You beleave this…. random guy that shows up out of nowhere saying that our dead brother has been alive ALL THIS TIME, just because he showed you a picture of somebody that looks like him that could of been edited? Fuyu, that guy is obviously lying to get you alone to kidnap you or kill you or worse!”

“You think I don´t know thats a posibility!?” She answered, insulted by her brother´s words. “I’m not saying that I’m going to do whatever he wants just because he might know something about Touya. But this is the only lead we had in 10 years. What if this is him? What if he wants to come back to us?”

“Then he would have come years ago! I know you miss him, I do too! But he is GONE, OKAY!? He isn’t coming back!” Natsuo wiped his leaking eyes and took some plates to the kitchen.

As she listened the water running of the sink, she sighted and sat down on the couch.  Shouto sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Fuyumi returned the gesture by hugging him.

“What was the guys name?” Shouto asked quietly as to not break the moment.

Fuyumi took a deep breath and let go off him to reach for the card with the two numbers. “Shigaraki Tomura” She told him handing him the card. Shouto took it and stared at it quietly.

Dinner was… quiet. The fight still fresh made it eternal and once they finished their soba, all three sibblings were happy to leave the table. Shouto went to his room and Natsuo to the other bedroom while Fuyumi cleaned. A couple of minutes later, Natsuo came out with his bags packed.

“Natsuo, it’s late. You shouldn’t go out at this hour.” Fuyumi told him, already expecting this reaction to their argument.

“Don’t worry, I’m careful” He told her. ‘Unlike you’

“Nee-san,” In that moment, Shouto came out of his room with his laptop. “Is this the guy from today?” Turning the device so the screen faced her, Fuyumi saw it had a Youtube Channel filled with video games with Shigaraki’s face on the bottom corner.

“Yeah thats him” The three surrounded the computer and Shouto pressed on one of the videos.

“Hello and welcome back to this hell-hole We are playing Kindergarden this day. The game that recreates childhood perfectly; with cheating whores, bullys with daddy issues and getting shot on the head. Today, I’m gonna try to kill everyone of my classmates. Let’s start the blood bath…”

“Okay, so he is real.” Natsuo paused the video, “That doesn’t mean he knows Touya”

Fuyumi went back to his channel and looking at his bio, she noticed a name. Opening another tab and logging into her Instagram, she searched for @.Dabi.Inferno.. The user had his page full of different body parts covered in beautiful and complicated drawings and designs. And for the profile picture there was a photograph of a man in front of a shop with a blue neon sign that read ‘Inferno’

That man was Touya. Just like it looked in the picture Shigaraki showed Fuyumi. Black hair, tattoos, piercings, blue eyes like dad. The only difference was that here he was using different clothes and he was smirking.

They stayed in silence for a while. Just, taking everything in. Their feelings a mess. One hopeful that their family would be complete again, the other in denial to not get hurt again and the last excited that he could meet the mistery that was Touya.

“When do I call him?”

———————————————————————————————————–

Getting out of the bus, Shigaraki started his walk back home. Even if he should, he wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. He didn’t need to, having lived in this side of town for most of his life. But he should. He wasn’t lying when he told the Todoroki girl about Dabi’s “company”.

Yeah, they changed. Him, Dabi and the rest. But the last time somebody tried to rob them was yesterday. Emphasis on the try, since Dabi found him and then proceeded to beat the crap out of the guy. And then Spinner and Twice joined.

It’s not like he lied to the girl. He just… left out the details.

It wasn’t their fault that life decided to screw them in the most royal and epic way. Besides, they all turned their life around. Magne and Toga run that hair salon, Spinner and Mustard were helping Stain with his gun-range and shop, Kurogiri was able to keep the bar and even give Compress and Twice a job. Even Hawks, that joined later and then couldn’t leave, had his own gig.

Yeah, they were…. broken. But if you left out all their trauma and violent coping mechanism, they were pretty normal. Were they?

Without realising it, Tomura got to their little base. The apartment building, the Detnerat clothing store, Inferno’s tattoo parlour, Killer Queen salon, Stainhaul gun range and shop and Black Mist bar, all connected by a parking lot where Giran practically worked. To an outsider it wouldn't seem so bad. Just a couple of people trying to get by.

They weren’t that bad.

He spent so much time trying to do this nice thing for Dabi that it was starting to mess with him if he didn’t realise he already got home. The last thing he needed was for Dabi to find out. That would…complicate things.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t have reached’

Did he go against Dabi’s back searching for his family who he keep tabs on but never really approached? Maybe. But he had to repay him somehow. He was the last one out of his repaying-and-thanking-for-staying-by-my-side list.

Magne was given a new set of make up. Toga and Mustard received a High school degree. Kurogiri was called ‘dad’ (he had never seen the guy so happy, so it was worth it, even if he smiled and hugged him like a fool for weeks). Spinner was given a new game console. He spent an entire day with Twice doing whatever the guy wanted. He watched Compress’ magic show. And he even admitted to Stain that he found his logic and anarchy ideals intriging.

But Dabi’s had to be special. He knew he had to do something extraordinary for him. He couldn’t just give him something. Not after everything that happened and everything he did for him.

So if Dabi wanted to be a coward and not take a shot with his family that (judging by the reaction he got) wanted him in his life, then fine. He would take the shot for him. He would take the blame for whatever happened. Dabi deserved it.

Not that he would tell him that. Ever.

He went to the back of the shop and climbed up the fire escape to enter his place. The shop was closed and he was too spent to open it and lock it again. Hearing movement in the kitchen, he went there and found the reason for his exhaustion cooking.

“What are we having?” He asked him as he sat in the dinning table.

“Cold Soba” Dabi responded and turned to look at him. “Where’d you go today?”

“Out. I needed to clear my head” Tomura lied.

“Are you okay?” Dabi asked as he came closer and held his neck to check on it.

“Yeah. It wasn’t that bad” He told him, leaning into his touch.

They had a nice and calm dinner in the couch, watching an old anime. Once everything was put away and clean they return to the couch to keep watching. With his head in Dabi’s shoulder and Dabi’s hand around him, Tomura noticed a foul yet familiar smell and started sniffing the other guy clothes. Sighting, he moved out of the embrace and covered himself with a blanket.

“Go take a shower, you reak of smoke” He told him.

Dabi huffed and paused the show. “You aren’t watching it without me” He told him as he stood up and started taking off his clothes in his way to the bathroom.

Tomura took out his phone and checked his channel. His new video was up and his cult was already commenting on it. He refused to say he had fans, so he had a cult. A cult of 5K people that loved his ‘chaotic energy’. But cult either way.

His phone rang with an unknown number.

“What do you want?”

“Hi… It’s me, Todoroki Fuyumi… We would like to meet up with Touya. When is he free?”

“I…We are going to an American Grill next Saturday. You can meet us there.”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you. Thank you so much for this. Could you text us the address and time?”

“Sure. See ya soon”

‘Holy Crap, she actually called’ Tomura thought as he heard the bathroom door open and saw Dabi come out. While only wearing a towel, Dabi laid down next to Tomura again. ‘God, I hope this turns out alright’

[the-walking-daryl]

The Walking Winchester Chapter 8

Summary: The reader gets trapped along with Carol and Maggie causing Daryl to panic and them both to realize things between the two aren’t as friendly as they think. 

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Violence 

AN: Yay, first post of the new year. Im hoping to update more than I did and have a bunch more new and interesting stuff for you guys.

“We've got a Carol and a Maggie. Now I'm thinking that's something you want to chat about,” the women says through the walkie talkie. 

From where we are standing the three of you can see the rest of your group off in the distance. Daryl is pacing rather quickly while the others attempt to survey their surroundings. No one was prepared for this. There wasn’t supposed to be any casualties, especially not people so important to the group. 

You were already plotting a way to get Carol and Maggie safe when the women spoke into the walkie again, “Now, we're gonna work this out right now, - and it's going to go our way.”

The other end is momentarily silent as Daryl and Glenn raise the lone survivor of the attack, “You can see we have one of yours. We'll trade.”

The women hesitates for a minute, almost like she was debating the idea before she answers, “I'm listening.”

“First I want to talk to Maggie, Carol, and Y/N. I wanna make sure they're all right.”

It’s that that the women turns to us with a steely expression, “I'm gonna put you on. You say you're fine, I'll know if you try anything else.”

She holds the walkie up to Carol first, “Rick, it's Carol.- I'm-- I'm fine, but--”

Scoffing she pulls the walkie away and turns to Maggie, “Now you.”

“Rick, it's Maggie. We’re all okay,” she replies shortly as we share a knowing look.

When the women turns to me I don’t even bother mentioning my name, I instantly begin speaking, “We'll figure this out Rick, I got this,” 

“Shut up,” the women snaps before speaking to Rick herself, “You have your proof. Let's talk.”

“This is the deal right here. Let 'em go, you can have your guy back and you all live.”

“Three for one, that's not much of a trade,” she scoffs.

“You don't have another choice or you would've done something about it already,” Rick replies and even through the static of the walkie you could tell this really wasn’t a negotiation, either way Rick was getting the three of you back.

“We have to get him back,” the only man of the group speaks up in a urgent tone.

“Primo can take care of himself,” the red head speaks, almost like she was the one in charge.

“He can patch me up,” the man almost yells now, “I need him, thanks to that bitch.”

His glare is focused on Carol at this point as he continues to speak, “You lost your balls, Paula. You should've shot her in the head so they could hear her die.”

As the group begins to bicker amongst themselves you begin to come up with a plan in your head. You nearly had it figured out too when the static of the walkie and Rick’s voice pulls you back again.

“Look, I know you're talking it over. It's a fair trade,” he says before pausing, “Just come out, we do this, we all walk away.”

The woman with a gun held at the three of you looks at the others in the group and remarks, “Smug prick. He must think we're stupid.”

“Yeah, but that's a good thing,” Paula, the red head, replies studying your group. 

“Do we have a deal?” Rick asks impatiently over the walkie. 

“I'll get back to you.” 

As she finishes speaking the women guarding the three of you tucks her gun away and walks behind you unexpectedly pulling your jacket so that it blocks your line of sight.

“Move! ” you hear the leader order as hands begin to jostle the three of you. 

As they were leading you three they kept your faces covered, simply telling you when to turn until Paula called out, “Wait.”

You hear a car door open and all three of you are shoved inside. Once the doors close again Paula speaks into the walkie, “Omega, omega, Saviors down. Go to Gamma, code "fire.”

When the only response she gets are static hisses she decides to continue, “Alpha channel is not clear. We follow the protocol.”

‘There are more of them?’ You think to yourself as static sounds through once again.

“Where the hell are you guys?” 

After a few minutes a man answers, “Out west of the--” the man begins before his voice is replaced by a static hissing once again, “15 mi-- on-- way.”

“We're headed to the break point. Switch to Theta channel, same code. If I'm not there, toggle to Alpha, listen in.”

“Copy that.”

“I hate this damn place,” you hear one of the other women says as a door creaks open and you’re lead into a building.

They may have moved you guys from where you originally were, but they forgot to make sure your eyes were covered enough. The whole ride you tracked where you were going from what you could see under the bottom of your jacket as well as listening to their conversation. Even if the group couldn’t find the three of you, you were going to get Maggie and Carol to safety.

“Get on the ground,” Paula orders as a door closes behind you guys and the jackets are removed from your face..

“You there. You, over there. And finally you, over on that side of the room,” Paula orders duct Taping your feet and hands as she does.

As she continues to talk along with the rest of your group you let your eyes scan the room as if your just surveying your surroundings, when in reality you’re doing so much more. You’re slowly plotting a way out with all the information they were so stupidly giving you.

Only your plan was cut short by the sound of Carol hyperventilating. As Carol begins to pant heavily both you and Maggie try to gain her attention as best you can with gags in your mouths. As Maggie switches her attention to our captures instead you continue to call for Carol. 

The muffled scream finally caught your attention when Paula and the older of the other two women walk up and rip your gags off

“What?” Paula asks annoyed. 

“She's hyperventilating. Somebody needs to take her gag off.” 

Walking away from you and towards Carol the older women finally speaks, “She's a nervous little bird, ain't she?”

As she pulls the gag from Carol’s mouth the third woman walks up with a gun and cocks it, “Look at you. Bitch, how did you make it this far?”

As the words leave the woman’s mouth his blood begins to boil. As the women begin to taunt Carol she doesn’t reply, she simply catches her breath until finally she can’t stay silent, “It doesn't matter what happens to me. Just don't hurt Maggie, don't hurt the baby.”

“Yeah, right,” Donnie, scoffs, “She got a bun in the oven, she doesn't look it.”

“I'm only two months, I think,” Maggie speaks up.

“You're some kind of stupid, getting knocked up at a time like this,” the Paula states as you go back to planning an escape. 

“Leave her alone!” you hear Maggie scream pulling you from your thoughts.

 Looking up you see Donnie with Maggie by the hair until Carol attempts to kick his legs out from under him. It is then that he turns his sights on Carol and you instantly jump into action taking him down as fast as you can with no access to your hands and feet.

As soon as the man is down Paula turns to the brunette with a gun, “Take her out. See if she knows anything,” she says gesturing towards Maggie. 

Some time later the walkie begins to produce a static hiss once again before Rick’s voice cuts through, “Have you thought about it? Talk to me.”

“You weren't listening,” Paula replies annoyed, “I said I'd contact you.”

“Would it make a difference if I said I was sorry about that? 

“What do you think?” 

Rick pauses momentarily, “I think we're gonna make the trade, so tell me where.”

“We haven't agreed to that.”

“You will.”

“You know what? I'm not so sure,” she retorts, “We'd be taking most of the risk, not getting much in the way of a reward.”

“The other option won't work out for you,” Rick threatens. 

“We'll take our chances,” Paula states ending the conversation. 

“You don't have to do this,” Carol sighs speaking up, “You don't have to fight.”

“Your people killed all of my people. Of course we gotta fight.”

“We didn't want to.”

“But you did. So tell me why.”

“Your people ambushed my people on the road, tried to take everything we had. They were gonna kill them.”

“Well, damn,” the older woman, Molly, chimes in, “So now we know what happened to T's group. Those idiots. Probably put on a big show.”

“Okay, fair play. You were just defending yourselves,” Paula declares, “But, see, your people killed them on the road, right? Blew them to pieces. So, why not stop?”

“They said they were working for Negan,” Carol argues.

“And what do you think you know about Negan?” the women asks. 

“I know he sounded like a maniac and we were scared. We had to stop him.”

“Sweetie, sweetie. We are all Negan,” Molly says with a laugh.

“What do you mean?” Carol questions as you chime in.

“What does that mean?” 

Neither womens answers you so Carol takes it upon herself to keep the conversation going. You can tell she know exactly what she is doing so you let her continue while you start with faze one of your own plan. As you continue cutting the duct tape that is wrapped around your hands when Paula speaks into the walkie, “Asshole, are you there?”

“I'm here,” Rick replies almost instantly his voice rings clearly through the speaker without any static..

“We've thought about it and we want to make the trade.”

“That's good.”

“There's a large field with a sign that says "God is dead" about two miles down I-66. Good visibility in all directions.

“We'll meet you there. 10 minutes?” 

“10 minutes,” Paula confirms before pulling the walkie away and looking at Molly, “Mm-mm. Now, that was too easy.”

“Maybe they're just itching to get their people back,” Molly argues.

“No, there was no static. There should've been static. They're close. They're probably already here. We were careful, but there were tracks.- There had to be,” Paula says as she begins to pase.

“They killed everybody back home. They have the weapons. They know what they're doing. They're probably waiting to kill us as soon as we walk out those doors.”

“That's what we'd do,” Molly interjects.

“No. You have to listen to me, please. Rick is a man of his word. He wouldn't put us at risk to attack,” Carol argues.

“Then he's just as stupid as you are,” she states before switching frequencies, “What's your ETA?”

“A few minutes away, - but the car is running on fumes,” the man replies.

“We have gas. We'll fill you up and then we move. Radio when you're back in the perimeter.”

As the two leave the room your hands bust free from the tape and you make quick work on your ankles as well. Once you are done you make your way over to Carol who you realized was doing the same thing already.

“Are you okay?” you ask her worriedly.

“I have to be.”

“They've spread out, but I think we can make it past them,” Maggie says rushing into the room.

“We have to try,” Carol states seriously.

“We can't leave them alive though,” you try to reason with the two women in front of you.

“No, we should just go.”

“Carol, we have to finish this,” you state seriously looking at Maggie for support.

“We have to,” Maggie nods in agreement.

As we all come to an agreement the man on the floor begins to rasp, “He was already dead, he's turning. We should go,” Maggie says rushing towards the door.

“We need a gun,” you remind her before she can leave. Looking around the roo for a minute she motions to the broken pendant you used to cut yourself free, “Give me that.”

Just as you pass her the pendant Molly makes her way back towards the room, “Where are ya, Magnolia? I wanna bloody up that nice--,” she doesn’t get to finish her sentence since Maggie slits her throat and snatches her gun.

“Let's go.”

As we walk past some walkers in the hallway Carol looks to Maggie and explains, “They're using them to keep us in and keep the others out.”

“Come on, we have to find 'em,” Maggie replies before gunshots alert us of Paula’s location.

“Just run,” the red head says.

“Shoot her,” Maggie demands not taking her eyes off Paula.

“Go on, do it. You've killed Donnie, you've killed Molly. Your people have destroyed my home.”

“Get outta here,” Carol says in attempt to spare the woman.

“Carol,” Maggie urges

“You have no idea. The things I've done, what I've given up, what I had to do,” Paula continues.

“Just run.”

“Carol, shoot her already,” Maggie demands.

“Go ahead. I've already lost everything.”

Paula lets out a grunts as the bullet hits her and Carol simply states, “I told you to run.”

Paula and Maggie realize then that Carol isn’t the one holding the gun anymore, you are.

As Carol and Maggie are busy with Paula the male’s voice speaks through the walkie again, “Paula, we're approaching the perimeter. - Are we a go? - Do you copy?” 

The static on the other end stops and you pick up the walkie and begin imitating Paula, “Meet us on the kill floor.”

“I think I might have killed 18 people. I should've killed Donnie, in the woods. I had a clear shot. I didn't miss. None of this would've happened if I had just killed him,” Carol says quietly and with one look in her direction you can’t help but feel bad

“Don't think about it,” Maggie tries to reason.

“I can't stop.”

“We're almost done,” you assure her before setting off to finish the plan you already have in mind. As the group of me that Paula called made their way into the room you told them to go into you dropped a lit match on the floor lighting the whole room ablaze. Swinging the door shut behind them you make sure there is no way for them to get out before making your walk towards the exits of the building. 

“Maggie,” Glenn sighs in relief when you open the door and are greeted with the sight of your group. 

“You okay? We got your trail.” he asks before pausing to sniff the air, “You start a fire?”

 “That was me,” you reply hesitantly, “I did what I had to.”

When Daryl hears your confession he releases Carol and makes his way to you, “You good?” 

“No.”

“Come here,” Daryl says beckong you to him with open arms.

As you settle into his embrace you can’t help but let your emotions take over, “They're dead. They're all dead, the ones that took us. They're all dead.”

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks softly allowing a hand to run through your hair.

With a firm shake of your head a silent sob rips itself through your body, “It's okay.”

Rick turns his attention to their hostage now that his group is safe, “Your friends are dead. No one's coming for ya so you might as well talk.”

“Let him burn,” Maggie says with a glare towards the man.

“I'm gonna ask you one last time how'd you get the bike?” Rick demands 

“We found it.”

“Like hell you did,” Daryl all but growls.

“Was Negan in that building last night or was he here?” Rick asks switching questions.

“Both,” the man says confusing the group more.

It is then that you decide to chime in, “There is more of them Rick, and they all go by Negan.”

Forever Tags

@mrstellerwinston @phasma-trash @moonchild1507 @just-afann @babypink224221 @his-paradox @strangewhovian-blog

Daryl Dixon

@nikki082489 @fuzzy-panda @hells-mistress @leather-mommy @apocalypse-haven @melancolizando-o @kathieycarrerarosshley @dovies666 @raven-black102 @marjoriey @jodiereedus22  @xxboesefrauxx @hp-hogwartsexpress @characterobsessed @sourwolf-sterek32 @dietothemusic @hurricane-abigail @adventurous-blob

The Walking Winchester 

@namelesslosers  @sexyvixen7 @nikki082489 @hana-song137 @sourwolf-sterek32 @scarletpines @fuzzy-panda @charlottie2998 @Noots4Jesus @nsggmc @raven-black102 @futuristicallygeneralballoon @darylandhiscrossbow @anomiatartle  @pockerfacechick @darxetta18 @seninjakitey @adventurous-blob

[shiftyskip]

Eugene E. Jackson

Eugene E. Jackson

The real Eugene E. Jackson:

Eugene Edward Jackson was born July 29, 1922 to Mabel and Edward Jackson in Pennsylvania. His mother was 17 at the time of his birth. His father was around 25. They had gotten married the year before when Mabel was 16.

He had an older sister Dorothy, who was 2 years older than him. He would later have a younger brother, Robert H., and sister, Elizabeth. He also had a brother William, who died as an infant in 1929. Even later, his mother must have remarried (for she undergoes a name change and has a step son). In total, Jackson had 10 siblings.I don’t know when his mother remarried. According to a genealogy website, Mabel and Edward had six children, out of the ten related to his mother. This must be adding Frances and Margaret. (Also could’ve been William)

Not much is known about his childhood. I can only give what a news article talking to his sister Margaret. Here is some quotes from the article, “She remembers Eugene and his brother, Robert, walking up the hill from their home in Valley Camp to the one-room schoolhouse in the Valley Heights section of New Kensington. They’d walk home for lunch and then back up the hill to school afterward. The boys liked to play ball at a large field near the railroad tracks in Valley Camp, Adams said. “They used to play a lot in the evening, kick the stick or whatever, and sometimes they would build a fire and roast potatoes,” she said. “It was a fun time for them.””

The article also quoted his brother Robert. It states: “Robert Jackson, 92, of Upper Burrell couldn’t say why Eugene wanted to be a paratrooper but noted his brother was adventurous. He swam several times across the Allegheny River with its dangerous currents. “He always was a daredevil,” he said.”

What I can tell you is that Jackson enlisted on October 7, 1940 in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He was 18 at the time of his enlistment, contradictory to the fact that Band of Brothers states in the show that he enlisted at the age of 16 by lying about his age. I have no idea where half of that comes from, but Jackson was born in 1922, making him two years under 20 when 1940 comes around.

According to Winters, Heffron, and Ambrose, Jackson joined Easy Company late in the action. Jackson had joined Easy as a replacement before the Holland jump. But according to his serial number for the Army and the Easy Company roster, Donald Malarkey’s story is accurate. 

Don Malarkey states in his book, Easy Company Soldier, that Eugene Jackson had been seriously wounded in Normandy. Jackson got hurt by a large fragment from mortar to the head. He lost half his ear and had a 6-inch gash in his head. Before they went to Holland, he returned to Easy Company, ready to go again. He showed up for duty, still in his bandages. Compton (possibly Winters, Malarkey cannot remember) said that Jackson was not ready for duty yet and sent him back to the hospital. The hospital took him back, let him recover more, and Jackson returned again before they could jump. 

Jackson jumped into Holland with the rest of Easy. Although he survived the Battle of the Bulge, he is improperly marked on the Belgium memorial for those died in the Foy and Bastogne. This is pictured below, where he is marked to have died in December of 1944 which is not accurate. He’s listed along with Skip Muck, Penkala, Hoobler, and others, all of which died during this time. His name remains here, inaccurately, because it is the only Easy Company memorial to have his name. 

Jackson is considered the final combat death of Easy Company. He died due to his wounds on February, 15 1945 in Haguenau, France. 

His death is portrayed in Band of Brothers, in which Webster narrates the episode. Webster, however, was not there. Forrest Guth was. 

Forrest did not see what happened to Jackson, but he did not remember the grenade being thrown into the building first. This was what was shown to happen in the movie and in Winter’s plans. He assumed Mercier did throw one. He didn’t see what grenade shrapnel hit Jackson, if it was German or his own, but he states that everyone knew Jackson was dying as they dragged him and the prisoners back to Easy. He died before he could be evacuated to a hospital. 

Malarkey remembers Jackson’s death like this: “Eugene Jackson got hammered by the wooden handle of a potato masher. Poor Jackson. He’s the guy who’d taken a large fragment from a mortar in the side of his head in Normandy, then shown up before the Holland jump as if nothing had happened. Now, he was fighting for what little life was left in him. They’d dragged him across the river, into our headquarters house, but everybody in the room knew he wasn’t going to make it. And he didn’t. He kept calling over and over for his “mama” to help him. He died as they tried to get him to a military hospital. Of shock- that’s what I heard. He was only nineteen, among those soldiers so anxious to get in that he’d lied about his age back when he was sixteen.” 

Clancy Lyall states in his book: “Sadly we also lost two of our guys over there. One of them was Eugene Jackson, whom I mentioned before. He got hit by shrapnel from a grenade during one of the patrols over the river. A German, who was on the first floor of the outpost, dropped it on him just as they wanted to take that building. This patrol was led by Sergeant Kenneth Mercier. In the TV series they show it was Jackson’s own grenade that exploded in his face but that’s not true. Eugene died of his wounds before they could bring him to an aid-station....”

In Ambrose’s version, it states: “Mercier continued toward his target, eight men following him. When he got close enough to the German outpost, he fired a rifle grenade into the cellar window. As it exploded, the men rushed the building and threw hand grenades into the cellar. As those grenades exploded, Mercier led the men into the cellar, so close behind the blast that Pvt. Eugene Jackson, a replacement who had joined up in Holland, was hit in the face and head by fragments of shrapnel...As the explosions outside increased, Private Jackson, who had been wounded on the patrol, began screaming, “Kill me! Kill me! Somebody kill me! I can’t stand it, Christ I can’t stand it. Kill me, for God’s sake kill me!” His face was covered with blood from a grenade fragment that had pierced his skill and lodged in his brain...Jackson continued to call out. “Kill me! Kill me! I want Mercier! Where is Mercier?” He was sobbing. Mercier went to him and held his hand. “That’s O.K., buddy, that’s O.K. You’ll be all right.” Someone stuck a morphine Syrette in Jackson’s arm. He was by then so crazed with pain he had to be held down on the bunk. Roe arrived with another medic and a stretcher. As they carried the patient back toward the aid station, Mercier walked beside the stretcher, holding Jackson’s hand. Jackson died before reaching the aid station.” (Band of Brothers, 239)

He was 5 months short of turning 23 when he died, making him 22 when he died. Stephen Ambrose, however, quotes Webster. “”He wasn’t twenty years old,” Webster wrote. “He hadn’t begun to live. Shrieking and moaning, he gave up his life on a stretcher.” However, according to his birthdate, he would’ve been over 20. He also would have been around the same age as Webster, who was born in 1922 as well, around a month before Jackson. 

Below is Jackson’s funeral service pamphlet: 

He is buried in Greenwood Memorial Park in New Kensington, PA. 

According to an article written by Jodi Weigand, published on May 29, 2016 (just past 71 year anniversary of his memorial service), “Robert Jackson was a soldier in Italy when his older brother died. Eugene was buried in a military cemetery in France until his body could be returned to the U.S. three years later.“It was a sad day,” he said of his brother’s funeral in May 1948.The family has a tradition of keeping mementos and photos. Eugene’s fill the dining room table at Robert Jackson’s home.They have 11 of the badges and medals he received, including the Bronze Star and Purple Heart. Also included are his Army jacket and hats, rifle score book and soldier’s handbook. The family kept the dozens of letters he wrote from overseas. They also have photos taken while he was in the service and several childhood photos and drawings.While the Jackson family is proud of Eugene’s service, they want others’ service and sacrifice to be recognized as well.Jackson’s nephew, Barry Jackson, 66, of Upper Burrell said: “Our family wishes to convey to any man or woman who has served their country in any capacity that they all belong to a Band of Brothers.” 

May Jackson be remembered and his life celebrated by those who served in the Band of Brothers. Currahee.

[noablke]

Noah Liam Blake

hey, is that [ PENN BADGLEY ] in san amore? of course not, it’s just [ NOAH BLAKE ]. [ HE/HIM ] is/are [ 30 ] years old, identifies as [  MALE ] and has been a resident here for [ 2 YEARS ]. they keep themselves busy as a/an [ BARTENDER ]. though they may come across as [ + CHARISMATIC  ] and [ + METICULOUS  ], don’t be fooled too easily as they can also be [ - RECKLESS ] and [ - WITHDRAWN ]. i wonder what trouble they’re going to bring.

ok hi ya’ll i’m jess and are you ready 4 the ride of your life! i jk, noah is actually normal compared to how i used to write ..* looks off into the distance* ... a long time ago 

Age: Dirty 30

Birthday: January 12th, 1990

Place of Birth: Whitehall, Michigan

Hometown: Detroit, Michigan

Left handed

Sign: Capricorn

Ok so basics: straight male, vegan, loves popcorn

Parents:

Leanne Hall and Richard Blake

Mom died during child birth due to complications and sepsis

Father raised him till about the age of 5 then surrendered guardianship over to Leanne’s mother and father - due to admitting to being a young unfit parent and wanted the best for him

Father ended up getting married to his step mom when he was 10 and he now has two younger siblings.

Noah and his dad have an ok relationship... could be better tbh 

grandfather doug is his bff 5ever tbh

AGE AND MAJOR EVENTS THAT SHAPED NOAH:

5 Years of age

started school in Detroit when he moved to be with his grandparents

7 years of age

started showing signs of compulsiveness and agitation towards little things

8 years of age

diagnosed with bipolar disorder at an early age after months and months of evaluations, which wasn’t a surprise, his mother suffered heavily from it and was actually diagnosed at an early age

11-12 years of age

joined baseball to help with manic episodes and it helped manage it

14-15 years of age

manic depression started kicking in harder

16 years of age

discovered smoking cigarettes and marijuana, met his longtime girlfriend emily sullivan, quit baseball :( 

16 1/2 years of age

attempted suicide twice, failed, has a long scar on his right wrist up to his forearm

17 years of age

became a heavier cigarette smoker, his “pops” (his grandpa) helped him buy cigarettes till he was of age, his grandfather is a smoker as well and is not proud he developed this habit, but as long as it helps him control himself he supports him

18 years of age

barely graduated high school, and decided college wasn’t his thing so he continued to stay in the work force as a waiter at a small diner

19 years of age

Emily and him moved into a studio apartment together in downtown Detroit. They end up having a small wedding when they find out Emily is expecting.

20 years of age

They lost the baby at 25 weeks. Her name was going to be piper. Emily made bad decisions during her pregnancy which resulted in this. Noah’s depression got worse because he knew he could of prevented her from hurting their child. He started to draw himself away from emily which only led her to finally leave him because she could not deal with his mental state anymore. 

21-22 years of age

Noah decided to live back with his grandparents to clear his head since his grandmother found out she was sick. He ended up taking night classes at a community college. Everything was starting to look up. He saw a weekly therapist, and was stable on new medications. He signed papers to divorce emily from the stupid decision he was when they were teens. She was doing well the last time he spoke to her. She ran off with an older male.

23-24 years of age

Noah decided to live with his father for about a year in Vermont. His father remarried and ended up having two children. His father and him started to rebuild their relationship. Richard made Noah his apprentice at his bar. Working at the bar really seemed to help him focus.

25 years of age

Noah found himself back in Detroit. His grandmother passed away. Noah attempted suicide again and this time he almost succeeded. Spent almost two months in he was actually “safe” to be released.

26-27 years of age

Officially got a diagnosis of bipolar 2 disorder with more of manic depression than mania. Slowed down on smoking, he’s more of a social smoker now. Started living a more healthier life style to give him more energy. Dated a girl  for about a year (18 months). She had a vegan diet which inspired him to try it as well. It ended up sticking and he found that he was a lot more energetic. She just shed so much light in his cloudy life. They had to go their separate ways. They both wanted different things for the future. Mutual breakup. No hatred between them.

28 years of age

made his way out of Michigan finally after finding a new job as a few time bartender in a small town called san amore

29-30 years of age

still in town, his depression has stabilized, and things are better. He’s finally happy he can actually live his life~ (maybe >:) i jk )

Wanted connections

drinking buddy/town homie 

fwb because those are fun ok

a usual who comes into the bar and like they have a cute friendship

his therapist lmao

somebody who actually finds out he’s actually very not ok :)

that one person who he’s happy to feed these vegan cookies he likes to make (yes omg he cooks what a cupcake)

gym buddy

childhood bestfriend

maybe his cute vegan ex idk

I love plots and I love feels so come @ me ok

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. what was the last fruit you ate?:  A banana quite awhile ago. 

2. how many blades are on your razor?:  2.

3. do you ever take surveys from websites other than xanga?:  I loved getting them from Xanga back in the day, but when that died I got them from here and sometimes LiveJournal.

4. have you ever wanted to be a dentist?:  Nooo. The dentist is very anxiety-inducing for me, I certainly wouldn’t want to be one. I also don’t want to be all up in people’s mouths. I couldn’t be in any medical profession because I’m too squeamish. I just couldn’t do it.

5. other than family, who was the last male you spoke to in person?:  It would have to be doctor when I saw him back in May, but that wasn’t technically in person because it was a Skype visit. That’s as close as it gets cause I haven’t talked to or seen anyone outside my family in awhile.

6. who were your last five received calls from?:  My mom and dad.

7. name a band that starts and ends with the same letter:  Dave Matthews Band.

8. what was the last thing you spread on toast?:  I just put butter.

9. where does your mom work?:  Walgreen’s. 

10. where was your first job?: I haven’t had a job.

11. does your cell phone have a charm hanging from it?:  No. It doesn’t have the spot for that like the older models did.

12. what color was the last thing you drank?:  A light brown (it’s a Starbucks Doubleshot coffee energy drink)

13. what do you normally order from a chinese restaurant?:  Chow mien, potstickers, egg rolls, and crab rangoon. 

14. what kinds of make up do you wear?:  I haven’t worn makeup in like 3 years now, but when I did my go-to makeup routine was just eyeliner and mascara and maybe a tinted balm. Sometimes if I felt like it I’d do the full thing--foundation, concealer, bronzer, blush, and lipstick.

15. what are you normally doing on a thursday morning?:  Sleeping.

16. does your living room have carpet or hardwood floor?:  Neither, it has tile.

17. are you wearing earrings right now?:  Nope.

18. what was the last game you played online?:  I don’t play any online games.

19. how many apps do you have on myspace?: 

20. do you leave your christmas lights up all year?:  The Christmas decorations in my room have been up since Christmas 2018. :X

21. does it bother you when people say “my bad”?:  No. I say it sometimes.

22. what color is your lotion?:  White.

23. have you ever broken a bone?: Yes.

24. do you have something with your school’s name on it?  Yeah, I have my class shirts from high school and college shirts and hoodies.

25. where did you get your theme from?: I searched the theme tag on here.

26. which one of your friends would make the best roommate?:  I don’t have any friends. I live with my family; though, and I’m perfectly happy with that.

27. how old were you when you first learned how to read?:  My mom read to me all the time, as well as my aunt who babysat me quite a bit, so I started learning pretty early on.

28. do you have a favorite cup or mug? if so, describe it:  It’s blue and has Peter Pan and the gang on it and they’re flying. The inside of it is yellow.

29. who was on top the last time you had sex?: Virgin.

30. what color was the last blanket you used?: Rose gold.

31. what kind of car do you drive? if you don’t have a car, what is your dream car?:  I don’t have one.

32. what color is your deodorant? [not the container, but the actual deodorant]:   It’s white.

33. do you have a secret ambition?:  No. I haven’t felt very ambitious at all the past few years. :/

34. how many megapixels is your camera?:  I use my iPhone XR for a camera, so whatever megapixels that is.

35. have you ever wanted a pet chinchilla?:  No.

36. what was the last thing you spilled?:  Some water.

37. has gum ever gotten stuck in your hair?:  Once when I was a kid. I took a nap with it still in my mouth on accident.

38. where were you going the last time you were on a plane? Los Angeles. 

39. do you know anybody who has a color for a last name?:  I know someone whose maiden name is a color.

40. what was the last piece of clothing you borrowed from somebody?:  I don’t borrow clothes from anybody else - I only wear my own.  <<<

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future Part 5/? - Too Late Part 6/? - The Mystery of the Missing Time Machine Part 7/? - Underway Part 8/? - The Sierra Bunker Part 9/? - Cross-Country Part 10/? - The Pit Part 11/? - Calls for Help Part 12/? - Campout and Reunion Part 13/? - Apocalypse Bunker Part 14/? - Terrible Truths Part 15/? - Library Crystals Part 16/? - The Stark Gallery

They landed at LaGuardia, where they had a quick (and expensive) lunch, and visited a kiosk to get Peggy and Howard a second set of cell phones before catching a train into the city.  Peggy’s impression of twenty-first century London had been of the city she remembered but somehow more so, bigger and brighter and busier than ever before.  Manhattan was, if anything, an even more extreme example.  The streets were teeming with cars, dogs, and people.  New, shiny buildings stood side-by-side with ones nearly a hundred years old.  And like the familiar buildings in London, it hadn’t aged particularly well.  Plaster was peeling and pavement was cracked, as if the entire island were crumbling away under the weight of all this human activity.

In the midst of all that, it was a bit unbalancing to find that the Fifth Avenue façade of Howard’s old mansion hadn’t changed a bit.  It looked exactly as it had during the brief time Peggy and Angie had lived there – a mix of Georgian and Neoclassical architecture that probably looked refined to anybody who didn’t know the difference between the two.  The magnolia trees had grown but they’d been lovingly pruned, and there were different flowers in the garden but the beds were in the same place.  It looked as if Peggy could move right back in.

Except, of course, for the giant banner advertising a new exhibit of Jackson Pollock, and the massive queue of people waiting to get in.  Those were very definitely new.

“That’s a hell of a thing to see,” Howard muttered, as they got in line.  “A hundred people just waiting to get into your house.”

“Are you telling me that’s never happened before?” Peggy asked, skeptical.

“Those were reporters,” Howard told her.  “Not members of the public.”

Peggy looked at the crowd of people waiting, and then at Toulouse herself, with blue and green locks falling out from under her knitted cap.  It would be silly to keep Toulouse and Kevin out when all these other civilians were coming in, and Toulouse herself looked determined.  Peggy had a feeling if she told her no, there’d be a fight.

“Not now,” she decided, “but this is just a scouting-out trip.  Once we have a plan for what to do next, we may ask you to leave.”  They probably wouldn’t have to worry about anything more dangerous than security guards, but Peggy wasn’t going to take that for granted.  HYDRA might be able to find this place, too.  They might even have followed them here.

“Let me know if I can help,” said Toulouse firmly.

While the main façade faced Fifth Avenue, the actual entrance to the mansion was on East Seventieth Street.  Toulouse paid admission for four and then stepped into the main foyer, where Peggy discovered that Toulouse had not been joking about the interior having been preserved with its original décor.  Even the wallpaper was, while not exactly what she remembered, certainly a very close replica.  The coat check and small gift shop were on the right, and on the wall across from them was a large framed photograph of a family posing in the portico.

“Son of a bitch,” Howard said under his breath, and walked towards it.

The photo was in colour, and printed very large – nearly three feet tall, which rendered the image a little grainy up close.  Even so, there was no mistaking the identity of the largest figure.  It could only possibly be Howard himself.

Peggy came closer, too, to see how her friend had changed over the years.  He definitely looked older, thinner, and more tired.  His mustache was a little bushier and his hair had gone gray, and he looked more deathly serious than she could ever remember seeing him.  Standing on his right and smiling gently was an attractive blonde woman, at least twenty years younger than he.  Her hair fell long around her shoulders and she was dressed in a dark skirt suit and pearls.  Between the adults was a little boy, three or four years old.  He had a mop of dark hair and serious brown eyes, and looked stiff and uncomfortable in his little suit and tie.

There was a brass plaque below the picture.  It said, Howard, Maria, and Anthony Stark, September 1973.

“So that’s them, eh?” Howard murmured.

“So it is,” Peggy agreed.

It was a strange thing to see, she thought.  Toulouse had mentioned that Howard would get married, but here was the proof, staring back at them across forty years.  His wife, Maria, was very much Howard’s type – a petite blonde with a pretty face and a charming smile.  Peggy wondered what was different about this one.  What had made Howard decided that out of all those little blondes, this was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?

Howard must have been thinking the same thing.  “I wonder what she was like,” he said.  “I wonder where I met her.”

“It might say on your Wikipedia article,” Toulouse suggested from behind him.

“Yeah,” Howard said distantly, and Peggy could tell that he wasn’t going to look.  He didn’t want to know.  Why would he?  Who wanted to know that here was the love of their lives, forever beyond their reach?

Peggy knew that feeling all too well.  It still came over her every so often, usually in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep.  She’d told herself again and again that she was over Steve, that she couldn’t dwell on what might have been – she’d told Jason that, and it had been good advice for him as it was for her, but there was a part of her heart that just wasn’t willing to take it.  Daniel had asked Peggy if she still loved him and she’d had to say yes, she always would.  She knew better than to let it interfere with the rest of her life and relationships, but she was very much still in love with Steve Rogers.

Kevin and Toulouse were hanging back now, not wanting to interrupt.  Peggy herself was of two minds about it.  If they stayed here staring for two long, somebody might wonder why, but Howard was having to contemplate an entire life he could never live.  A wife he would never meet, a son he would never hug… he would need time to cope with that.  Peggy hoped they had that time.

Finally, Howard tore himself away, with honest pain in his face that he couldn’t quite hide by forcing himself to smile.  “Okay,” he said.  “The vault entrance will be in the library.”

“Wasn’t it in the music room?” asked Peggy with a frown.  Howard had used the library.  The music room was only there because fancy houses were supposed to have one.

“It was, but when I decided to hide it better I planned to move the door,” he explained.  “If I got on with that, it’ll be in the library.”

The music room was circular, and was now used as an exhibit of antique instruments, including an eighteenth-century cello and a white-lacquered grand piano.  They looked like the sort of things Howard would collect just because rich people were supposed to collect things.  A doorway from there led into the library, which was where most of the crowd was.  Not only was it home to several rare books, but the featured exhibit of three paintings by Pollock were hanging on the far wall.  These were not particularly impressive as far as Peggy could tell.  They all looked like they’d been made by simply throwing paint at a canvas.

Howard took no interest in the art at all.  He turned immediately to the right, where the library shared a wall with the music room – the fact that the latter was round left a wedge-shaped space between them.  A large Indian rug was hung there, with a plastic panel in front of it so that people couldn’t touch.

“Is this the place?” Peggy asked.  Based on her memory of the music room entrance, it did seem right.

“Should be,” Howard said.  “Looks like they re-wallpapered, or maybe I did that.  Either way, hides the entrance completely.  If I can just find the seam in the plaster…” he reached to touch the wall.

“Sir,” a security guard stepped forward.  “You’re not allowed to touch that.”

Howard looked at the man and began drawing himself up to his full height, and a horrible mental picture flashed through Peggy’s head.  He’d forgotten the situation, and was about to tell the guard that he could touch whatever he wanted in his own house.  She grabbed his arm to drag him away.

“There’s a sign right there, Honey,” she said, in an American accent.  “I know it’d look nice in your study, but I’m sure it’s not for sale.  Right?”  She smiled at the guard.

“That’s correct, Ma’am,” the guard told her.

Howard deflated as he remembered where and when they were.  “Yeah, okay.  Sorry,” he said.

There was a little café in the museum courtyard.  The food there was even more shockingly expensive than at the airport, but they ordered some coffee with steamed milk and some Danish pastries, and sat down to talk about their next move.  Howard continued to be uncharacteristically quiet.  The fact that this house no longer belonged to him was apparently as difficult for him as knowing he would never meet the woman in the photograph.

“I suppose we could always come up through the sewers, like the last people who robbed that vault,” Peggy observed.

Howard shook his head.  “I filled in the hole and reinforced it.  It’d take a bomb to get it out again.  We’ll just chip off the plaster and go in through the door.”

“And how do we get back into the house after closing?” Peggy wanted to know.  She didn’t doubt Howard knew how to do it, she only wanted to remind him that he hadn’t told her.

“Why would we leave?”  Howard started to smile again.  “You really think I built myself a house with only one secret room?”

“Oh, of course.”  Peggy shook her head.  “How very silly of me!”

“How can I help?” asked Toulouse.

The humour melted out of the conversation as Peggy and Howard exchanged a glance.  Neither of them wanted Toulouse getting hurt, and the chances of them triggering some kind of alarm while doing this were very good.  A technology that could create those multi-use mobile phones could do all kinds of things with surveillance.

“You can wait outside,” Peggy decided, “and let us know if the police are coming.”

Toulouse sighed.  “That’s what I figured you’d say.”

“You’ve already been a great help,” Peggy assured her.  “We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

“I know,” said Toulouse.  She had a spoon in her hand, and was playing with the foam on her coffee, piling it up in to a mound that slowly collapsed again.  “Daddy would agree with you.  He’s all about paying to save the world, but he never goes to any of these places himself.  I guess he’s afraid he’ll end up like Junior.”

Peggy had slept through the part of the conversation on the plane when Toulouse had said how her brother died.  She wondered now if it might be important, but Toulouse didn’t look as if she wanted to talk about it and Peggy didn’t want to sound like she was prying.  “Well, perhaps that’s a very good reason,” she said.

“I agree with them, for what that’s worth,” said Kevin.  “I’m just sticking around to make sure somebody’s trying to avoid Yellowstone blowing up under me.  I don’t actually want to have to fight a supervillain if I don’t have to.”

“Daddy isn’t a supervillain!” Toulouse protested.

“He kind of is,” said Kevin.  “I mean, he wants to set off a volcano on purpose.  That’s some top-tier supervillainy.”

“He is not a supervillain,” Toulouse told him.  “Supervillains are like… are like Loki, or Ultron.  They’ve got powers and stuff.  Daddy isn’t a supervillain.  I figure there’s got to be a reason why him and Cass are mixed up in this,” she went on.  Now she was gesturing with the spoon, rather than scooping foam.  “Maybe somebody’s using them.  Remember I said Daddy did the investigation when HYDRA was exposed in the UK?  Maybe somebody promised him something and he didn’t realize it was going to lead to this!  I wish I’d been able to say something to Cass.”

Peggy wondered if she ought to be worried.  It was possible that Toulouse was right, and if she told her father and brother what was going on, they’d put a stop to it.  It was also possible, however, that she was dead wrong, and that trying to say anything to them would be a disaster.  They needed more information before they could let her try.  Before she could say anything, though, Howard spoke.

“Actually, Toulouse, Kevin, I’ve got a really important job for you two.  We are going to need a distraction.”

The staircase to the second floor was between the foyer and the fountain court  There was a security guard posted there to intervene if anybody decided to duck under the rope.  Across from the staircase was a little marble table displaying an intricate silver-plated wine cooler.  Toulouse and Kevin passed by this, and Toulouse hitched her purse up her shoulder and knocked the cooler over.

“Oh my god!  I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, and went to pick it up.

“No, don’t touch it, you’ll get fingerprints on it!” Kevin told her.  He stuck out his foot to stop her, and bumped the thing again.

“Both of you get away from that!” the horrified guard exclaimed.  He went to move them away from it, and with his back turned, Peggy and Howard slipped up the red-carpeted stairs.

“That poor cooler,” Peggy remarked.

“Eh, it’s not even real Sheffield plate,” Howard said, unconcerned.

At the top of the steps was a little room where another guard was supposed to be watching a bank of television screens that showed various views of the house.  Peggy and Howard outside the door were quite clearly visible on one of them, but the guard in question was reading a comic book and not paying the slightest attention.  As they tiptoed by, Peggy noticed what was hanging on the wall next to the shelves of screens.

“Is that one of those paintings from California?” she asked.

Howard glanced over his shoulder at the portrait.  “I dated an artist there,” he said.  “She told me I was her muse.  That’s when I knew I had to leave her – I couldn’t take being anybody’s muse.  Too much pressure.”

“Mmm,” said Peggy.  “We’re lucky the staff didn’t recognize you, if they have to look at that all day.”  Then again, perhaps they had, and just dismissed it as a coincidence.

“I wonder what happened to the ones she did of me nude,” Howard said.

“If she had any sense, she burned them.”