#hat and a pipe... brilliant things

[the-girl-from-dres]

Right now I have long hair (for a guy at least, goes down to a little below the shoulders), but on one side of my family ALL the men go bald. I live in constant fear that I have inherited my father's balding

But I've been preparing. I collect hats, such that should the worst happen and I lose my hair, I am fully ready to go anywhere fully hatted and generally adopt a Dad Egbert aesthetic.

[codenamehazard]

.:New Poison Revealed:.

Chapter 28: New Poison Revealed

[TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF DEATH AND MONSTERS]

Hey guys! I just looked at the chapter number and holy hell I didn't expect that I would be at chapter 28 with the big 3-0 milestone peeking around the corner. It is still forever mind-boggling how all of this stared as a one-shot that I wasn't even planning on writing out.

And thanks to your support of my mad ramblings in fanfic form, that one-shot grew into something I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams. So, thank you all for reading.

A special thank you goes out to @rogueshadeaux. She has given me so much, her friendship, her encouragement, her mentorship, I dare say if it wasn't for her encouraging me to throw my metaphorical hat in the ring, chapter 1 would have never been written. She is also a brilliant writer and her story will grab you by the throat and chokeslam you into the ground with feels. Please give InFAMOUS: Erosion a read when you're done here.

Another thanks to Rogue for letting me borrow her twins.

Enough of my rambling, let's jump in!

---------

How much time has passed since I peeked on the two builders playing with legos? I have no idea, and at this moment I don’t give an iota of a damn as an infuriating sight dares to walk out of the Quiet Room and into my line of sight.

That fucking tin-can carrying Kestrel like she was some princess in a god-damn fairy tale. It’s gag-worthy.

My eye twitches and my blood seethes in my veins as Coyote gently places the passed out bird onto a sleeping cot before tucking her in, for god’s sake… As if this couldn’t get anymore saccharine sweet.

“Poor girl’s out steel cold. Fell asleep on the floor.” The shiny fucker pipes up for probably the first time in I don’t give a shit. I’m not paying much attention as my mind is going in several different directions at once. I’m still confused as all hell as why seeing Kestrel and Coyote playing with god-damn legos like good friends was making me look at the younger man like he was a lightning rod, now this?! This was bringing back some urges from my Empire City days. His face is looking more and more punchable by the second, but why?!?

Why is this enraging me so much?! Why is every dark urge in my head screaming at me to kill this man?!?  Why am I giving so much of a shit about who does what kind gestures to her?!? 

We. Hate. Each-other.

I’m struggling not to bear my teeth and growl at Coyote when the bay doors open and out comes the black haired woman… Crow, was it? It’s the only other name that doesn’t have a face to it aside from the absolutely ridiculous ones. Her arrival snaps me out of my murderous fury and draws my eyes to her.

“Okay guys.” She starts. “I need to know exactly what went down with Pangolin, beginning and end. There are other Misfit groups out there and the Defense Teams need to know what’s going on. It’ll also help me dial in Pangolin’s treatment.”

Mako starts giving a play by play of what went down out there, I’m half-paying attention as rage is still boiling hot when I remembered something that had been bugging me for a while. I remember Jean saying something about an “anti-corrodium” or some nonsense like that, it’s something that needed answers.

“Hey, uhm… Crow, was it?” I jump in and ask when there’s a break in the convo, she turns her head with a “hm?” and a tilt of her head. “What in the hell is Corrodium?” The raven-haired woman blinks at me and raises an eyebrow before looking at Mako.

“D- Did you not tell him about Corrodium…?” Crow questions Mako with a pointed look, she throws her hands up defensively. “We really didn’t have a lot of time between the chaos that broke out when we first picked him up, Kes trying to complete her project, the Summoner and now this!” Great, another goddamn thing that nobody fucking told me about, though Mako does have a point about things being a roller coaster ride from the beginning to now, kinda hard to squeeze in a Wildlands 101, so I guess I can let it slide…. For now, anyway.

I can see the woman pinch the bridge of her nose and let out an irritated sigh before looking at the two of us.

 “Okay, let’s all get something to eat before I go hangry bitch on both of you.” Crow grumbles while looking at Mako with a glare.

“Yeah, I’m not sure when we last ate.” Mako murmurs while rubbing the back of her head. ”Coyote can keep an eye on sleeping beauty over there.” Hold the god-damn phone!! Tin-man’s gonna be watching Kes?! “Though we should be sure to bring her back a couple of funnel cakes, she’s going to be ravenous when she wakes up.” My eye twitches as I glare at Mako. Did she really suggest that?! The fire in my chest flares hot again at that thought and the train-wreck in my head starts back up again. 

“It should be me watching her, not him.” The devil on my shoulder hisses in my ear, it shocks the ever loving shit out of me. Why did I think that?? Why do I care who watches her?! Why do I give a damn?! WHY?!?

I open my mouth to protest, but my stomach tells a different story as it growls obnoxiously loud at the thought of carnival food, causing the girls to look at me with amusement. I feel a bit of heat tinge my cheeks as I grumble and rub the back of my head.

“Well, I think that decides that.” Mako hums with a smile and I roll my eyes, but I follow the two women outside, leaving Kes behind with Coyote… Much to my bewildering chagrin.

Some funnel cake does sound really good at the moment, maybe a churro or two.

I shield my eyes from the blinding sun as we step outside of the hospital into a literal carnival, so many colors every which way, with tents and rides and holy shit there’s just so much to look at, so much to explore and climb.

“So, Corrodium.” Crow hums as we head off to what I can guess is this city’s Junk Food Alley. “To put it as simply as possible, Corrodium is basically Conduit poison. The parasitic bastard child of lead and some kind of anti-rayacite. It’s so dangerous, it’s commonly called “Conduit’s Bane” around here.”

“Uh-huh, that’s nice and all but that don’t tell me much.” I huff in irritation, Crow gives me an aggravated look as the tips of her raven locks seem to melt and liquify into water.

Oh fuck, she’s a Water Conduit…

“I was getting to that.”  She hisses in annoyance before taking a deep breath.

“The reason it’s so feared and you should have been warned about from the very beginning….” Crow gives Mako a heated glare. “Is because of its effects. If a Conduit is even so much as exposed to it, it weakens them greatly. However, it becomes so much more dangerous if it’s injected, like through a bite or a sting. It royally fucks them up, corrupting their bodies and powers.” I bring my hand to my chin and rub the stubble on it, my mind processing all of this. This brings questions into my head, why didn’t anyone tell me? I mean, I get that the chaos me joining the party caused did turn everything on its head, but nobody said anything at all. Were the Misfits just so used to this being common knowledge that it just slipped their mind?

“Corrodium Poisoning can be treated with various Ray Field Radiation treatments and Rayacite infusions, but there’s no real silver bullet cure-all for this.” She continues. “Every treatment plan has to be tailored to the patient's unique biology and power signature and they have to remain under constant surveillance until everything is flushed out completely.” Jesus, sounds like Pango’s gonna be stuck in the hospital for a good while.

“You guys were extremely lucky that you got Pangolin in when you did.” Crow points out with a worried look. “If you had been even a second later, then Pangolin’s prognosis would have been really grim.” The seriousness gives me pause, now I’m really starting to wonder why nobody said anything about this shit before.

She continues, going into medical jargon that I couldn’t really understand much, so my mind starts to wander and look at all the new sights around me.

Good God, saying that this is a city that the circus took over is just the tip of the iceberg. Tents stood tall, with the three-pointed one dwarfing the rest, so many colors, so many sounds and smells. There were stands with souvenirs and rigged games, rides that looked like Mad Max had a field day constructing them out of rusted scrap and old buildings and…

Holy shit, is that one of those Slingshot rides?? Without a cage?? I watch the ride release the ball in between the springs and literally launch whatever poor son of a bitch was in there, sending him sky high! Good thing Conduits don’t go splat from high places… Still hurts like a bitch if you botch the landing though.

The sound of screaming catches my attention as I… That’s a big-ass roller coaster…. And an Ice Conduit is skating on the track while being chased by the train??? It takes all of my willpower to not galavant off to go ride the rides… Besides, bad idea to go climbing on an empty stomach.

I make a mental note to hit these rides up before we leave.

“That reminds me…” I murmur when I hear a lull in Crow’s medical jargon. “You said Corrodium has a power weakening effect when a Conduit’s exposed to it, but when the Misfits and I fought those Blink Scorpion bastards, my powers were fine and it seemed like everyone else’s was fine too… What’s that all about?”

“Corrodium… It’s a very nasty and very adaptive metal.” Crow answers with a soft hum. “The properties of that stuff can vary depending on what form the Conduit is exposed to. The Corrodium in Blink Scorpion venom? The energy produced messes with a Conduit’s perception, making them appear that they’re teleporting around.” Well, that explains why I could still detect them with Radar Pulse.

“The power weakening effect is most prominent in metallic Corrodium, be it raw or refined.” Refined? That’s not good. Metals don’t just start being refined for shits and giggles, there’s always a reason. Something like this shit being refined? I smell trouble, but I put a pin in it for the time being, more questions to be asked.

“And Pangolin?” I mention. “What would have happened if we didn’t make it in time?” I notice Mako’s face go an off color and Crow’s head lower as she sighs.

“Best case…? His powers either weaken greatly or he loses them outright. Everything. Worst case….” She licks her lips to wet them and her eyes narrow. “He dies from the poisoning or he becomes… One of them….”

“One of them.” 

That thought, it echoes in my head like a scream in an auditorium. An ice-cold chill shoots down my spine as everything starts to sink in. I had thought death by RFI was the worst way for a Conduit to go, memories of that fateful day flicker in my head as I remember the searing agony of my own body being torn asunder from the inside out by that damned machine before Zeke used the Amp to free me from its clutches… And that thing wasn’t even fully charged.

At least the RFI would have killed cleanly. This Corrodium shit? It makes the RFI look like a bullet to the head, quick, painless and gets the job done.

Not only can this metal poison strip a Conduit of their power as a best case scenario… It turns them into literal monsters in the worst case. God… And that’s what was happening to Pangolin. He was slowly dying right before everyone’s eyes.

The weight of this situation, not just in the here and now, but what this means for everyone… It sits in my stomach like a lead weight. I can feel the color drain from my face and my empty stomach curl in on itself, making me want to throw up what little contents it had. Before I know it, Mako and Crow are guiding me to the nearest bench, fearing I might faint. Flickers of Trish flash in my head as the raven-haired woman has me sit down. My mind reels from it all.

I put my hand to my mouth as I try to digest everything… God, now I truly understand why Dove was so beside himself and why Kestrel went completely nuclear when she was given permission to drop her mask. Every second they weren’t in the hospital was a second closer to Pangolin’s end. To the death of a big brother and their leader… And they were helpless to stop it.

“Has… Has anyone… Survived after the window shut…?” I ask breathlessly as Crow hands me a bottle of water, no doubt one she poured on the fly. I eagerly take the bottle and drink it down in hopes of calming myself some. The Water Conduit shakes her head before speaking.

“Honestly… Not really.” She murmurs with slight hesitation. “It’s only happened twice and if I’m to be frank, a lot of us in the medical group here in Tri-Point chalked them up to either miracles or dumb luck as even they didn’t come out completely unscathed.” Two? Hmm… Might be worth looking into who those two are.

“We have the brightest minds among us studying these two cases to see what made the difference for them, what allowed them to keep their humanity.” They won’t be the only ones looking into them now.

I stare off into the distance as I sit on the bench, my mind racing a mile a minute. This… This is just so much for me to process, especially after all the chaos that unfolded not that long before. A brand new metal… One that can spell the death or zombiefication of all of Conduit-kind. New fears begin to form as my brain starts creating what ifs. What would happen if I became exposed to that crap? Would it rob me of all of my powers? What if I had gotten stung? What manner of horrors would I be subjected to or worse… What would that shit turn me into? The fear that trumped them all, however, is this.

If a bunch of rag-tag survivor types know about it, then who else knows?

These guys, as tough and creative as they are, don't have access to state-of-the-art tech or vast information pools… And if these guys know about Corrodium… Then it’s an absolute guarantee that certain other parties have known about it far longer than the Wildlanders have. How long has this Pandora’s box been open? It has to have been a long time since there was a refined version of it made. Long enough for it to be made into things.

This could be something that could spell disaster. Something that would make even the Ray Field Plague look like a sniffle.

Something that could truly kill us all.

[anubislover]

Home is Where the Heart Is

(The fanfic I wrote for the @womenwantedzine way back, now finally exposed to the public, lol)

As she cleaned her tools and listened to the steady hum of the Polar Tang’s engine, Ikkaku decided that there was nothing she didn’t love about being a Heart Pirate.

After all, her crew was simply the best. Her captain was a brilliant doctor and a member of the Worst Generation. The boys were vibrant and fun and capable, and it was a blast coming up with awesome poses together. Plus, they hands-down had the cutest navigator of any crew on the Grand Line, and she didn’t mind the occasional garchu from him, despite how hot and sweaty he could get.

Not that it was always easy, being the only girl on the crew. When she’d first come aboard, she’d had to deal with more than a few awkward situations, like sharing a bathroom, overhearing inappropriate conversations, the occasional unthinking sexist comment, and, of course, the embarrassment that came with medical check-ups and monthly menstrual cycles.

Now, though, the boys fully respected her. Or at least they never acted like heart-eyed idiots around her the way they had with the Kuja. She didn’t have to worry about not having a tampon since they were bought in bulk; after all, they were great for plugging bullet wounds. And while the boiler suit wasn’t what most people would consider high-fashion, it was nice that it was unisex and utilitarian. The thick material protected her skin from hot pipes and sharp metal, and honestly, she pulled it off the best.

After a while, she’d even come to love—well, tolerate—their alliance with the Straw Hats. She may have opposed it at first and seen their help as worthless, but it was hard to stay mad after she found out that Monkey D. Luffy had basically saved Law’s life. And, perhaps, she’d mainly resisted teaming up because she was upset that her captain had sent her and the crew to Zou instead of letting them help.

Most of all, she loved the Polar Tang. The submarine was far more high-tech than any other pirate ship she’d seen, and she knew every nut, bolt, pressure gauge, and pipe. It was unique. It was home.

What other ship could travel underwater without that bubble coating from Sabaody? Could practically disappear beneath the waves when pursued by the Navy, or pop back up for a surprise attack? What other ship was able to observe deep sea life like the Tang?

They did have to deal with the unique hazard of the occasional hungry squid mistaking them for a whale, but hey, she’d take that over most Marines. It was killer on the paint job, though. A steady supply of yellow paint was a necessity for dealing with those sucker marks.

And of course, no other ship had someone like her on board. Every member of the crew had some knowledge of the Tang’s workings, but Ikkaku prided herself on her expertise. Why, just from the feel of her feet on the steel walkways and the angle of the water in a glass, she could tell whether or not the trim tanks needed balancing or if they needed to redistribute the weight of fuel and supplies.

The Polar Tang was her home, and Ikkaku was determined to take good care of it. After all, it took care of the Hearts. She was familiar with the legends of the Klabauterman, and with the way she loved and looked after the ship, she was certain one existed on board. And if it didn’t, well, she was the next best thing.

The clunk of boots echoing through the hallway broke her out of her thoughts, and checking the clock, she realized it was time for dinner. If she didn’t get moving, she’d likely find herself Shambled into the galley.

Giving the engine one last affectionate pat, she ran off to join her nakama.

[daswarschonkaputt]

are you still taking requests for dvd commentary of a fic scene? could you do apias chapter 19, the opening scene with jiraiya, oro and the sandaime?

oh yeah, ofc sure!!

[quickly takes off my kinnporsche hat and puts on my naruto one]

under the cut so i don't bore people with my rambling, haha.

Orochimaru’s lip curls as he props himself up languidly on one of Sensei’s couches. “Welcome home Jiraiya,” he says, voice smooth and mocking. “Done with your penance already?”

So, like, this first line was one of the very first things I had written for this chapter. In fact, this entire first scene had been sitting in my drafts since before I wrote chapter 18. I rewrote the entire scene, like, five times before I finished the chapter, getting all my ducks in a row.

This is actually referencing something that we'll find out a bit more about later on. I have in-depth plans regarding what the sannin got up to during the war, and how everything ended up fracturing. (Basically, Jiraiya was involved in something a little fucked up during the war, that he sort of blames himself for. There were originally going to be way more references to this throughout the chapter, but they got cut for flow reasons.)

The job of this scene is to establish the byplay between Jiraiya, Orochimaru and the Sandaime, and sort of set-up the state of their relationship. (Which comes back again at the end of the chapter.)

“I’d gathered,” Orochimaru says flatly. “We’re one person short for a Team Hiruzen reunion.” [...] Sensei reacts with the same nonchalance that he’s always carried when faced with Orochimaru’s spite. “That is, in fact, the issue,” he says.

So here we have a cornerstone of the Orochimaru and Sandaime dynamic: Orochimaru snipes, and the Sandaime doesn't react at all. There was actually a line from earlier in the scene that got cut that might explain this better -- Jiraiya says, "The only way to survive Orochimaru's brutal words is to hide the fact that he's ever managed to draw blood at all." Or something to that tune. Essentially, this is a powerplay from Hiruzen -- Orochimaru can't do much more than say mean things, because Hiruzen is Hokage, and so Hiruzen is just pretending that those mean things don't effect him at all.

Sensei taps his pipe against the edge of his desk, flecks of smouldering ash falling down onto the floor. His movements are measured, slow and relaxed. A powerplay, of sorts – he knows he can afford to make you wait.

This is one of my favourite lines in the chapter, lol. It's so fun to write this scene from Jiraiya's POV as opposed to Orochimaru, because Jiraiya is very neutral about all the ways the Sandaime uses to display his power and subtly keep them in line, but you just know that internally, Orochimaru is fucking fuming.

It's an impression that matched with what he read of her sealing style – concise, elegant, and subtly brilliant. Never a wasted stroke. Compared with Jiraiya’s haphazard scrawling, the difference was stark.

So, this bit here is referring to Mito, and her sealing style. It exists to establish that Jiraiya did not learn his sealing technique from Mito -- he's mostly self-taught -- and establish this idea that your sealing technique reflects your personality. (In a following chapter, we get to have Jiraiya's perspective on Minato's sealing technique, so we've got to lay the groundwork here.)

The other bit of groundwork laid here is the idea that Mito didn't have all that much interest in Jiraiya's fuuinjutsu. This hasn't been revealed yet, because it turns out the scene I'm thinking of is at the start of ch 21 not 20, but whatever. I do what I want. On the topic of Minato, someone says, "Look, Minato I get. He’s not your average floater genin. Heck, Mito-sensei even sort of likes him." Mito-sensei likes Minato, and she likes how Minato writes seals -- there's a reason Minato was there when she had her stroke.

On the outside, it’s a simple request. From their view within, Jiraiya knows it’s anything but. “I…” he starts. “There are some contacts, I could lean on, who might have some ideas. She won’t have left Fire Country, not with the price on her head after the war. And, well, with her habits, there should be some sort of trail I can follow.” He inhales. “When do you want me to leave?” Orochimaru says nothing. They both know it has to be him.

So, obviously, this is referencing the complicated relationship between Orochimaru and Tsunade, that we get a bit more context for later on in the chapter:

Anyone else would probably believe him. But Jiraiya had been there, the day they put Nawaki to rest. He’d been there when Orochimaru had put his head on the floor, and begged Tsunade for forgiveness. He’d been the one to pick Orochimaru up off the floor when Tsunade slapped him so hard his left eye swelled shut.

Tsunade and Orochimaru have a grudge between them that Orochimaru acknowledges was his fault (lowkey a huge deal given Orochimaru's... everything), involves Nawaki (Tsunade's dead little brother), and is so awful that Tsunade slapped him when he tried to apologise. Oh, and it has something to do with why Orochimaru doesn't want to be a jounin-sensei. Hmm. Wonder what could be going on there. Truly, a mystery for the ages.

Sensei takes in another deep inhale from his pipe. “That,” he says, “is where things get a little complicated.”

So, this is the last line of the scene, and things deliberately cut off there so that I didn't have to explain all the wild political scheming going on. We obviously get one puzzle piece for this with Jiraiya and Orochimaru at the bar:

Orochimaru doesn’t do anything as plebian as flinch. He pours himself another cup of sake. “Jounin-sensei get to pick their teams. I presume Sensei is extending you the same courtesy?” “Yeah,” Jiraiya says.

And then another bit at the end of the chapter:

“We are not broke – yet. On the second matter, I have been very reliably informed that the daimyo will not support another war,” Sensei says calmly.

But there's a lot more going on than just that. One of the things about Sarutobi Hiruzen, and writing him in this fic, is that he has schemes within schemes. You see this very much this chapter -- he lets Jiraiya and Orochimaru in on something, and then lets Jiraiya in on another, later, secretly. The way I write Hiruzen is as a dyed-in-the-wool politician. He's clever and he's scheming. Jiraiya, at least, is convinced of his sensei's benevolence beneath that -- he still has faith. Orochimaru is somewhat more disillusioned.

Some more general things to with this scene:

We start the chapter off in Jiraiya's POV, because it's important that the readers get a feel for what he's like, how his brain works, before we see Megumi's POV on him next chapter -- and as such, can choose how much of what she sees to believe.

I wanted Jiraiya to feel like a plausible spymaster, without making him cold and manipulative. He's genial, and friendly, and he gets on with people and even builds genuine relationships with them -- but he's also got a head for secrets, and he ferrets them out with relative ease.

Orochimaru is the kind of person who would orchestrate a six-month long seduction of someone to get access to an office to steal a file. Jiraiya is the kind of person who'd just have a mate who could slip it to him. Friends in every city, essentially.

So, like, one of the things this chapter is how much are the characters saying? What aren't they saying and why? Jiraiya, Orochimaru, and Hiruzen all wear masks for different purposes. Jiraiya's interesting, because what he hides first and foremost is his intelligence. You see it a little, at the end of the chapter -- the mask comes off. Jiraiya lays his cards on the table for his teacher.

Basically, when you chose that scene for the commentary, my brain went, huh. yeah. okay. i see why.

There's a lot going on with Jiraiya this chapter. But, in the interests of not spoiling the entire arc, I'm trying to be as general as possible here. Let's just say there was a lot of set-up here.

[legends-of-time]

The Journey of Living at Downton

Chapter 13: October to November 1918

Masterlist

Emma is walking with Major Knollys and Lieutenant McGarel in the grounds of Downton when they pass Lady Mary pushing Captain Crawley's wheelchair across the grounds. She is assisting McGarel as he walks with a walking stick.

"Morning." Knollys greets. Emma nods and smiles at them.

After passing them, she glances back to observe them. Lady Mary seems to be looking after him a great deal and Emma wonders how Sir Richard is feeling about this. She hopes he isn't violent when jealous.

——

"I've never worked in a house where a valet and a housemaid were wed," Jane says as she sews in the Servants' Hall. Emma is leaning against the table next to her as she herself has a quick cup of tea.

"It'll be unusual, I agree," Anna replies from her seat across from Jane as she fixes a hat of Lady Mary's

"But lovely," Emma remarks, sharing a smile with Anna.

"Hope it doesn't break us up, having you two set apart in a home of your own all special while the rest of us muddle on for ourselves." Miss O'Brien says as she cleans some pearls next to Jane.

"You sound as if you're jealous," Anna remarks.

"I'm not jealous. I just don't want it to spoil things."

Emma smirks into her cup.

"Why? Because we've all been such pals until now?" Mr Bates says sarcastically from his seat next to Anna as he fixes collars.

"Well obviously. Haven't you noticed?" Emma jokes, grinning.

Daisy enters with a tray, a black mourning band on her arm. She sees them look at her for a moment and she exits without a word.

"Give her time," Anna says.

——

"I have something to confess," Sybil says approaching Emma as she tucks Captain Goodson into his bed.

"What?"

"I..." Sybil glances around. "Can we go somewhere private?"

"Of course." They go to one of the rooms downstairs being used as storage for Hospital equipment.

"I should have mentioned this before but..." Sybil begins. She frowns as if trying to think about how to word this correctly.

"Sybil..." Emma prompts.

"A few months ago Lieutenant Prior proposed to me."

Emma gasps. "Sybil, that's brilliant!" She wraps the other woman in a hug before pulling away with her hands still on her arms. "Have you said yes?"

Sybil is hesitant. "I've told him I'll think about it."

"Can I ask why?" Emma asks contemplatively, dropping her hands.

Sybil sighs. "I can't go forward with my life until the war is over. There's also my family and friends to think about."

"You worry they won't accept it, him." Emma realises.

"Due to his position, I'd have to give up my whole world. I might have to elope to even avoid them stopping us." Sybil rambles. Emma raises her eyebrows at the last bit.

"But can you imagine being without him?" Emma prompts.

Sybil chews her lip thinking for a moment. "No, no I do not think so."

"I think you have your answer then."

"Maybe you should take your own advice." Sybil remarks. Emma's eyes widen at that.

——

Daisy is pouring drinks as they settle in the Servants' Hall that evening. Anna and Mr Bates talking quietly between themselves on the opposite side of the table from where Emma sits between Thomas and Mrs Patmore.

"Not sure about what?" Miss O'Brien says loudly as she walks past them before sitting next to Jane on Mr Carson's left.

"What about you Sergeant? You started planning for after the war?" Jane asks over Gemma who sits between her and Thomas.

"Not really, not yet." He replies as he smokes.

"I know what you should be doing. I know what we should all be doing." Mrs Patmore pipes up from her seat on the other side of Emma.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Thomas asks.

"Hoarding. It may be wrong, but this rationing is starting to bite, even with everyone's books, I'd a battle to get enough sugar for this week."

Emma finds it odd that people seem to forget that rationing happened in the first war as well.

"Are you suggesting the black market, Mrs Patmore? I'm shocked." Thomas remarks.

"Oh, I doubt that very much." Mrs Patmore remarks as she leaves.

"She's got you there," Emma says.

"Maybe I should get involved in that," Thomas says stubbing his cigarette.

"Is that wise? That world can be a bit dodgy; you can't trust people." Emma warns him.

"I'm just thinking of making enquiries."

"Slippery slope Thomas. Slippery slope."

——

Sir Richard is looking for a place near Downton for him and Lady Mary to live once they are married. The one he is eyeing and talking Lady Mary to today is Haxby Park, which is owned by the Russel family but they seem to be selling the place after their son was killed and don't feel like continuing it on. Emma honestly doesn't blame them.

In the Ward, Emma spots the Major that requested to stay at Downton due to an apparent family connection, Patrick Gordon. He sits on his bed with the bandages covering most of his badly burnt face. She sees Lady Edith going around collecting letters and reaches the Major and whatever the Major says to her comes as a shock to her as she sits down seemingly processing whatever was said but Emma doesn't bother to find out what is going on there, though she's already seen him snooping around and looking at the family pictures.

She leaves the room to continue with her shift but later wanders back in to see them still talking and it looks serious. Emma knows that if it's anything significant she'll find out later.

——

Emma's heels click on the Garage floor and Mr Branson stops what he is doing to the engine under the car as she speaks.

"Looks messy." She remarks.

"It's not too bad." He gets up and walks to the bench. Emma wrinkles her nose and follows.

"Sure." Emma rolls her eyes.

"I thought you were avoiding me." Mr Branson says to her.

Emma walks purposefully forward. "I'm not." She is really, particularly after what Sybil had said. It scares her.

"But you haven't come up with an answer yet, have you?"

Emma ducks her head and stares at the floor chewing her lip before looking at him again. "Not yet, sorry. I know you want to take part in Ireland's troubles, and I get that. But I just can't think about everything, the future, until the war is over. It won't be long now. So, will you wait?"

"I'd wait forever."

Emma blushes. "I'm not asking for forever. Just a few more weeks."

——

That night Emma finds a distressed Anna on the stairs leading to the servants' bedrooms. Turns out Mr Bates' lawyer had called while Emma had been on her shift. Vera Bates has gone and told the judge that Mr Bates had paid her to agree to a divorce and Because they withheld it from the court, it means the judge can withdraw the decree nisi and Mr Bates is not divorced after all. This hasn't dissuaded Anna at all and she is more determined than ever.

"I'm sorry if it's a bit of a crush. I didn't want to be overheard." Lord Grantham had pulled the family into the Small Library before dinner the next day. However, Emma had been assisting Captain Crawley to the Drawing room before being told to push him into the Library, which ends up with her awkwardly standing in the room as Lord Grantham closes the door.

"I'm sorry this seems private, should I leave?" Emma asks. The Dowager, Her Ladyship, the three daughters, Mrs Crawley, Captain Crawley and Sir Richard are littered about.

She turns to go but Lord Grantham stops her. "No, it's all right Emma."

"Are we talking financial ruin? Or criminal investigation?" His mother asks, diverting the conversation back to why they're in the room in the first place.

"Neither." Her son replies. "I'll get straight to the point. We have a patient who has been badly burned who goes by the name of Patrick Gordon, but he claims to be Patrick Crawley." The room collectively baulks at that.

"But I thought he was dead. Didn't he drown on the Titanic?" Mrs Crawley protests.

"Well, of course, it is what we all thought until now."

"They never found a body." Lady Edith argues. Of course, she would argue in his favour.

"They never found lots of bodies." Her older sister counters.

"I'm so sorry, but I'm not quite on top of this. Who's Patrick Crawley?" Sir Richard asks.

"The man who would displace me as heir. If he's alive, then I'm no longer the future Earl of Grantham." Captain Crawley explains dejectedly

"It's ridiculous. How can it be true? Where's he been hiding for the last six years?" Lady Mary harshly demands. Emma can't help but agree. Where has he been?

"In Canada, suffering from amnesia." Lady Edith answers.

"He does have a story that would explain it. I'm not quite sure about how to test the facts." Her father adds.

"He knows all sorts of things that only Patrick, or someone very close to him, would know." The middle daughter continues.

"What a stupid thing to say. Any fortune teller at a fair comes up with a dozen details he couldn't possibly know." Lady Mary snaps fiercely. Emma is increasingly uncomfortable with being in this room.

"There's no need to be angry." Her mother placates. "This young man is either Patrick or he's not. There must be a way to find out. Is he like Patrick to look at?"

"He isn't like anything to look at." Her eldest remarks hardly biting back her anger. Emma herself had honestly not recognised him as the man she saw in the few years she was at Downton before the sinking of the Titanic.

"I've sent his account up to George Murray in London to ask for his advice." Lord Grantham says.

"But what a waste of time and money." Lady Mary attests.

Her sister has had enough. "What's the matter? We were all so fond of Patrick. You were going to marry him, for heaven's sake! Aren't you glad if he survived?"

"Dear me, should I be worried?" Sir Richard remarks casually.

"Certainly not. This man is a fake and an imposter, and I think it's a cruel trick to play when Matthew's been through so much." Lady Mary looks close to tears.

"My dear, don't be too quick to decide. You never know. This might be a blessing in disguise." Captain Crawley says bitterly.

"What do you mean?" His mother asks.

"Well, he seems a nice enough chap. He's not very pretty, of course, but he can walk 'round the estate on his own two legs and sire a string of sons to continue the line. All in all, I'd say that's a great improvement on the current situation." He bursts out before calming to a simmer. "Nurse Byrne, could I prevail on you to take me back to my room?"

Emma snaps to attention. "Right, yes." She hurriedly goes towards him to push him out of the room.

Sybil gets up and says, "I'll open the door."

What does this all mean for them now, Emma wonders to herself.

——

Emma learns from Mr Bates about Mr Carson being offered to work at Haxby when Lady Mary goes there when she is married. She feels sad as she knows that he will be considering he adores her. She can't imagine Downton without Mr Carson.

Everyone is in the Servants' Hall having their evening meal and lost in different conversations. Emma sits on the side of the table that is at Mr Carson's left opposite Mr Branson, who she tries not to stare at too much, and sits in between Jane and Gemma.

"A German republic?" Mr Carson replies to Mr Branson's talk. "No, I don't think so, Mr Branson. The Kaiser will go, I grant you, and maybe the Crown Prince, too, but there'll be a regency, mark my words. Monarchy is the lifeblood of Europe."

"Emma agrees with me." Emma looks up from her plate at the mention of her name from Mr Branson. "Don't you agree Emma?" Maybe she shouldn't have told him some of the things that she has.

"W-well I-I mean war kinda changes a lot." She stammers. Mr Carson huffs.

Mr Branson, bolden by her reply, turns back to Mr Carson. "Sorry, Mr Carson, but I think you'll find the kings and emperors've had their day, if President Wilson has anything to say about it." Emma smiles at him shaking her head.

"You're always going up and down to London these days, Mr Bates." She hears Miss O'Brien suddenly say. Emma looks to see her talking to Anna and Mr Bates. Why won't she leave them alone?

"I have business in London." Comes Mr Bates' short reply.

"Oh, yes? Well, judging by your expression, your business doesn't seem to be prospering." O'Brien remarks.

"The trick of business is mind your own." Anna quips.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I—" There's a great shuffling of chairs and silverware as they all stand at the sound of Lord Grantham's voice as he enters the room. "I've just heard the news from the war office and I thought you'd all like to know... that the war is over."

Everyone is rejoicing but Emma keeps quiet and still despite Gemma shaking her.

"Cease fire will begin at eleven o'clock on the morning of the eleventh of November."

"Why can't it begin now?" Mrs Patmore asks from next to Mr Branson and Daisy.

"The eleventh of the eleventh seems pretty tidy to me." Thomas remarks from the other side of Jane.

"We will mark the moment in the Great Hall, and I expect all of you, including the Kitchen staff and Hall boys, everyone, to be there. And Carson..." Lord Grantham motions for Mr Carson to step aside with him.

Mrs Hughes is asking for more glasses and Thomas is calling for a toast. Mr Branson looks at her and she blushes.

They all clink their glasses with each other's and drink a toast. "To peace."

Gemma looks at Emma. "You should be smiling more Emma! Are you not happy at the news?"

"No, no I am." She puts on a happier face because it is good news but she can't help but think about how all this leads to the next war and the horror that brings plus the Spanish flu is already spreading and will likely reach them soon.

——

Mr Bates went to London with a thunderous look on his face and Emma hopes that things will go okay though she knows that might be asking too much.

Emma walks past Lady Edith and Major Gordon in the Great Hall as she goes to another table to give Lieutenant McGarel his medicine. She hears them talking about the lawyer but then who else would they be talking about?

Suddenly Gordon slams the table making a large noise causing everyone to look over, including Emma.

"I'm a stranger to them now!" He shouts.

Emma shares a look with Sybil who is pouring some water into Captain Goodson's glass. Everyone quickly turns back to their own tables pretending as if nothing happened.

Lady Edith seems to be whispering some encouraging words to him but he doesn't look comforted.

——

Her job means she misses out on a bunch. Apparently, Mr Bates had returned and he was slightly bruised, implying the meeting with his estranged wife had not gone well according to Gemma who overheard the conversation between him and Anna. Emma worries about what'll happen next.

There's more on the Major Gordon front, which Sybil updated her on. Apparently, there are some aspects of Major Gordon's story that could be credible. One of the people that was pulled from the sea after the sinking was an unidentified man but there are conflicting reports on whether he died on the Carpathia or whether the man reached New York alive.

It gets confusing considering the fact that there was a Peter Gordon who worked with Patrick at the foreign office but then emigrated to Montreal in 1913. The question is on whether Peter then decided to impersonate Patrick or something. Honestly, Emma is a bit confused about the whole thing. Though she wonders if Lady Edith is unintentionally feeding Major Gordon information, which leads her to believe him more as he seems to be confirming her belief that he is Patrick Crawley.

That evening Sir Richard returns from London with a Miss Swire that's insistent on not letting Captain Crawley go. Emma wonders if this has something to do with Lady Mary spending so much time with him. She feels annoyed as whoever thought this was a good idea, she thinks Richard, didn't seem to think about Mathew's feelings though it could be Lady Grantham's fault as well as she was the only one that didn't look surprised at the sudden appearance.

——

Emma walks into the Ward the next day to find Lady Edith and Sybil sitting on Major Gordon's cot, where Sybil had been changing the sheets, with an open note in the former's hand. Emma cringes, the elder of the two had clearly just found out that Major Gordon had left.

""P" for Patrick or "P" for Peter?" Sybil is asking.

"I know what you think, but I don't accept it. We drove him away. His own family drove our cousin away." Her sister replies. Emma can't see her face but she can tell that she's upset from her words and tone.

"But you believed in him, whoever he was, and that's worth something." Her younger sister's words do not reassure her and Lady Edith leaves the room upset.

Emma watches her go before turning back to Sybil. "Did you believe him?"

"Well, I... I'm not sure..." Emma doesn't know whether to trust the response.

"Yeah, I'm not sure either."

——

Emma stands near the door to the Library in the Great Hall by Sybil, Mrs Crawley and Lady Grantham, the rest of the Crawley family in the other corner with Sir Richard. A line of soldiers, including Thomas and Major Clarkson, on one side of the room opposite to the line of servants, linked with the family by Captain Crawley, with Miss Swire behind him. Lord Grantham stands at the front.

"I think while the clock strikes, we should all make a silent prayer to mark the finish of this terrible war, and what that means for each and every one of us. Let us remember the sacrifices that have been made and the men who will never come back, and give them our thanks." Lord Grantham speaks.

The clock chimes and the soldiers all stand (or sit) at attention. Emma feels odd doing something that is the first time for everyone around her but for herself she has done this every year of her life until she came to Downton. The eleventh chime fades and Lord Grantham relaxes.

"Thank you, everyone." The officers stand at ease. "Remember that this is not just the end of a long war, but it is the dawn of a new age. God bless you all."

Everyone departs and Emma sees Miss Swire begin to push Captain Crawley's wheelchair.

She goes over. "Why don't I do that."

"Can you get him back to his room? I'll open the door." Miss Swire walks off and Emma begins to push Captain Crawley's chair when the man is startled when they hit a slight bump in the carpet.

"My God."

Emma stops. "Something wrong, sir?"

"No, nothing. Emma, if I felt..." He stops, not completing his sentence.

"If you felt what, sir?"

"It doesn't matter. Not yet." Captain Crawley looks down at his legs. "Not until I feel it again."

What is he on about? He can't mean... but Major Clarkson said there was no chance of recovery! Captain Crawley is right though, they need to wait.

——

Mr Carson walks into the Servants' Hall and puts his hand out to stop them from fully standing. "Mr Bates, telegram for you." He hands Mr Bates the telegram and he opens it as Mr Carson sits in his seat.

It's obviously not good news by the look on his face as Emma watches him from her seat opposite, in between Mr Branson and Jane. Mr Bates glances at them all then hands the note to Anna, who sits next to him, as he leaves the table. She reads it.

"What was that about?" Thomas asks from his seat on the other side of her.

"His wife's dead." They all gape in shock. "Someone found her early this morning." Anna leaves, presumably going after Mr Bates.

"Well can't be sorry she's dead." Emma remarks and everyone looks at her wide eyed. "Bad time?"

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[denimbex1986]

Oppenheimer review – Nolan’s atom bomb epic is flawed but extraordinary

Christopher Nolan’s account of the physicist who led the Manhattan Project captures the most agonising of success stories

'The wartime Soviet intelligence services had a codename for the Manhattan Project, the US’s plan to build an atom bomb: Enormoz. Christopher Nolan’s new film about it is absolutely Enormoz, maybe his most enormoz so far: a gigantic, post-detonation study, a PTSD narrative procedure filling the giant screen with a million agonised fragments that are the shattered dreams and memories of the project’s haunted, complex driving force, J Robert Oppenheimer, a brilliant physicist with the temperament of an artist who gave humanity the means of its own destruction.

The main event is that terrifying first demonstration: the Trinity nuclear test in the New Mexico desert in July 1945, when Oppenheimer is said to have silently pondered (and later intoned on TV) Vishnu’s lines from the Hindu scripture, the Bhagavad-Gita: "Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds..."

This is the big bang, and no one could have made it bigger or more overwhelming than Nolan. He does this without simply turning it into an action stunt – although this movie, for all its audacity and ambition, never quite solves the problem of its own obtuseness: filling the drama at such length with the torment of genius-functionary Oppenheimer at the expense of showing the Japanese experience and the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Later in the 50s, there is the disillusioned, compromised administrator, hounded by the McCarthyites for his communist connections, nauseated by his own pointless celebrity, by his failure to establish postwar international atomic control and by a single denied thought: the Nazis surrendered long before there was any suggestion they had the weapon, and bombing the defeated Japanese at Hiroshima and Nagasaki was merely to cow the Russians with a ruthless demonstration of the US’s nuclear mastery.

Cillian Murphy is an eerily close lookalike for Oppenheimer with his trademark hat and pipe, and is very good at capturing his sense of solitude and emotional imprisonment, giving us the Oppenheimer million-yard stare, eyeballs set in a gaunt skull, seeing and foreseeing things he cannot process.

Matt Damon is the boorish Lt Gen Richard Groves, Oppenheimer’s exasperated military minder; Kenneth Branagh is his genial scientific hero and mentor Niels Bohr; Robert Downey Jr is the duplicitous Atomic Energy Commission chairman Lewis Strauss; Florence Pugh plays his lover Jean Tatlock, whose heart he broke, while Emily Blunt is his wife, Kitty, also badly treated. Tom Conti plays the sorrowfully detached Albert Einstein, and it has to be said that Nolan, rightly or wrongly, uses non-Jewish actors for Oppenheimer and Einstein, two of the most famous Jewish people in history and in fact doesn’t quite get to grips with the antisemitism that Oppenheimer faced as an assimilated secular American Jew.

There is a horribly gripping scene showing Oppenheimer’s formative experience as an unhappy graduate student in England at Christ’s College, Cambridge. He suffered what amounted to a psychotic breakdown and left a poisoned apple on the desk of his testy supervisor Patrick Blackett (James D’Arcy), which Blackett fortunately didn’t notice and didn’t eat. Nolan coolly invites to see this as a parable for the lost Eden of a more innocent prewar physics, with Oppenheimer as a serpent with Adam’s foolish innocence. And of course there is the creeping biographical irony: how terribly close Oppenheimer came to … killing someone.

The purest payload of fear is delivered in a scene that Nolan handles with forthright gusto. After the successful detonation of the Hiroshima bomb, Murphy shows us Oppenheimer in shock, but also realising he has to address an audience of cheering colleagues and subordinates. He knows it is his duty as a leader to congratulate them and be upbeat, stammering out some fatuous remark about how the Japanese “didn’t like it”, then realising how callous that was, and beginning to hallucinate the horror. Of course, Oppenheimer did not witness the actual use of his weapon, he never saw anything becoming death, the destroyer of worlds, and Nolan takes the decision to look away from it too, to stay in the US, to stay with Oppenheimer himself in all his sudden tragic irrelevance.

Perhaps the film’s most important moment is the one that addresses its own flaw: the legendary postwar encounter in the White House Oval Office between Oppenheimer and President Harry S Truman (played by Gary Oldman), the man who took the final executive decision to drop the bomb. Nolan and Murphy show how Oppenheimer shrinks and cringes into the couch in front of him, like a scared little boy, apparently wanting something like absolution from the president and mumbling that he feels he has “blood on his hands”. Angry and baffled, Truman tells him curtly that all this is his responsibility as president and asks a very pertinent question: does Oppenheimer think the Japanese care who made the bomb? No, they want to know who dropped it. It’s true: concentrating on Oppenheimer is simultaneously fascinating and beside the larger historical point.

In the end, Nolan shows us how the US’s governing class couldn’t forgive Oppenheimer for making them lords of the universe, couldn’t tolerate being in the debt of this liberal intellectual. Oppenheimer is poignantly lost in the kaleidoscopic mass of broken glimpses: the sacrificial hero-fetish of the American century.'

[dansnaturepictures]

26/01/23-Two photos of Grey Silverfish this morning, moon it was lovely to see out the front this evening and phone photos in Winchester this lunch time including periwinkle

For only the second time I saw a hat trick of raptors in Winchester today; Peregrine pulling apart food on St. Thomas Church and Buzzard and two Red Kites soaring with the kites tussling interestingly too over high up trees seen from my riverside dining spot by the Itchen. I don’t think I’ve ever seen majestic Red Kite and Buzzard in the air at once before, a great opportunity to see how much bigger in wing span the Red Kites are and aside from the brilliant spectacle of seeing them at the Hawk Conservancy I haven’t often seen more than one Red Kite in the air in Hampshire before where they are much more common these days. I got a smashing view of Buzzard in a tree by the railway line on the way to the station this morning too, one of a few birds I am on a top run for lately. I saw another two birds I’m enjoying of late Chiffchaff and Grey Wagtail at the river and on a pipe over the water at Abbey Gardens respectively. To think I’ve seen Chiffchaffs four times at three different sites already this month, whilst a resident bird these days, for a big spring time and summer bird is quite something. On a changeable day of weather with sunny and cloudy parts it was lovely to see nice bits of red at sunrise, rainbow from the office and a lovely emerging moon on the way home tonight. It was good to be able to make out trees again at the station with it light a little bit later now. I believe the yellow plant in the first phone photo is wattle and there is nice ivy there too of course. I enjoyed great views of two of the regular spiders in the landing tonight. 

I have been slightly considering lately after doing my usual two bridge camera in bag for office working days per month the last two Thursdays if I want to bring it more regularly. I have probably come to the conclusion that whilst I’d like to, for the sake of keeping it in tact and me not having too heavy a load to carry on my commute, bringing it more than I do (whilst I might add the odd day to the two per month for certain reasons here and there) isn’t feasible as it adds a lot to an already packed backpack. But this week, with a brilliant and unique set of wildlife seen on my lunch times in Winchester and in other parts of the day without bringing my camera at all (when I have my camera I might be a bit more alert to see more whilst looking for photos) - and whilst I am enjoying branching out into phone photos of things the last few months something I’d not really explored before as I got a camera before I ever got a phone so that’s more second nature to me for photos - it has reminded me how wonderful it is just to observe things as a great form of escapism on a working day.

[longaccessories]

Skatebird ps4

If nothing else, tiny birds are cute as heck. I’d love to see a wider variety of bird sizes, but I understand why they’re not available. Shop GameStop, the worlds largest retail gaming and trade-in destination for Xbox, PlayStation, and Nintendo games, systems, consoles & accessories. After it is clean, use the scrub brush to scrub off any dirt or dried residue. From feather patterns to tiny hats to jaunty scarves, you’ve got a ton of options. Swish the skateboard around in the soapy water to clean it. On the other hand, you start out with an aggressive amount of bird customization available. I loved every song I heard, the first dozen times I heard them. It turns out the song list is pretty short at the start. The soundtracks should be your number one priority. Skate For Your SoundtrackĪnother perk to these wide open stages is the ability to patiently explore every part of a level, finding things like soundtrack expansions and new outfit pieces. Description Grind on bendy straws, kickflip over staplers, and carve killer lines through cardboard and sticky tape parks, in SKATEBIRD You're a lonely lil' bird, and your Big Friend has hung up. However, with that being said, if the developers get another innings, I would play a SkateBIRD 2 without a moment's hesitation, and I would fully expect that the developers would deliver having had this experience. For now, I have to assume that very small birds are just bad at steering with their feet and wings. SkateBIRD is a brilliant idea and it takes a big, heaving swing at it. It’s possible that no one else will have this problem with SkateBIRD. Again, I’m fully prepared to chalk some of this up to my habitual ineptitude. A shocking amount of my time was spent zipping off of ledges after botching a hairpin turn. SkateBIRD PlayStation 4 Home News Board Product Deals Amazon Find this product on Amazon Description Grind on bendy straws, kickflip over staplers, and carve killer lines through cardboard and. When combined, all these tiny problems make certain mistakes feel quite costly. Skatebird is a cute and original arcade skating game supported by great music, but the skating itself is crude by modern standards, the objectives are generally uninspired, and the camera is a. Plus, the crash animation feels just a little too long. Your turn radius is crazy wide, which means narrow passages are a nightmare to navigate. You build up speed gradually, through quick dips onto half-pipes and ramps. Steering is somehow both the simplest and the most frustrating part of the overall mechanics.

[writingsfromhome]

Crystal Clear

A/N: Here’s some fluff, friends to lovers I’ve had going on while I work on something bigger :))

----------------------------------------

“Y/N,” a strange man calls my name. I look him up and down but I don’t think I know him.

“Who’s asking?”

“Y/N, it’s me? Harry.”

“Oh,” I laugh and greet him how I would have if I’d recognized him under all those layers, in a great big hug. “Your disguise is brilliant!”

“It’s not a disguise,” he says into his coat. “It’s bloody cold here.”

“Coldest day so far,” I accept the hot chocolate from the vendor and ask him for another, Harry could use one, poor thing. His plans this week were changed last minute, and since he was in New York City where his best childhood friend lived, he decided to actually hang out with me. Ever since he got famous, it was hard to catch time with him.

“Did the cold freeze all the English out of you? You’re not even wearing mittens,” Harry accepts his own cup from the vendor.

“I’m got them in my pocket,” I point to the bulge on the side of my coat as we step aside and make our way deeper into the winter festival that was at Bryant Park. “Don’t insult me, I can still make a better cup of tea than you ever could.”

“There she is,” I hear the smile in Harry’s voice more than I see it. It truly was ridiculous--not only was he wearing the thickest parka I’d ever seen, he also had on a beanie and a scarf, as well as knit gloves that held tightly to his hot chocolate.

“I’m always here, you’re just too busy to see me.”

“Not this again,” he groans. I was always giving him grief every time he touched down to NYC but didn’t pop by for a visit. I knew he had a hectic schedule, and even though I wasn’t that bothered I still liked to tease him.

“It’s true, you come to the city so often but I see you once a year. And maybe again when I’m in London if I get lucky.”

“I’m busy Y/N, I talk to you all the time!”

“I know,” I elbow him. “I just like to rile you up.”

“Well now that you’ve got that out of your system,” he tugs my hat over my eyes. “Where are we going next?”

I push it back up, “I thought we could just wander the shops, then get on the skating rink if you’re not frozen to death.”

“Alright I’ve got to pick some gifts up anyway let’s see what’s here.”

We make a good team as we visit stands selling ornaments and kitschy decor, handmade gifts, and hot cider. We sift through exactly what we might want, or what the other’s looking for. And with the light dusting of snow coming down, and the bright lights strung around the Park, it was like walking in a Christmas movie.

“Look at this,” I point ahead. We’d nearly visited all the stands and holiday shops but a festive psychic advertises their services in a small glass booth. “Should we?”

“It’s a waste of money,” Harry scoffs. “She’s just going to read your body language.”

“She might be the real deal-”

“You can’t be serious-”

“C’mon!” I tug his gloves hand and it takes a few but he stumbles towards me. It’s slightly warmer inside and I notice the space heater running in the corner. “At least it’s warm” I whisper to Harry.

“You really want to do this?” He asks one last time.

“It’s just $10-”

“$20 for the two,” the woman almost shifts out of the wall and I hide my jump with a laugh. There’s a curtain behind her, I realize, she must have stepped out.

“It’s just me,” I clarify.

She eyes Harry and Harry eyes her back. “You look familiar.”

“Just have that face,” he shrugs, burrowing into his scarf. “I’m just here to watch.”

She stares at him a moment longer before settling at the small table. I flash Harry a smile before sitting down myself, setting my bags onto the floor.

“Palm reading, cards, what will it be dear?” The psychic asks. I remember the sign out front said cards would be more than having my palm read so I opt for the cheaper option.

“Hm,” she says thoughtfully as she traces the lines on my palm. I wriggle my eyebrows at Harry and he rolls his eyes, but he stays watching her like a hawk. It was cute how overprotective he got sometimes. The psychic glances up to catch him watching her, she then glances at me and tilts her head.

“I see longevity, in life and love, a few bumps but you’re a strong persistent woman.”

Harry grumbles behind me and I resist the urge to say something to him.

“I see success after hard, hard work. But a big success that will change the course of your career.”

“Wow, how soon?” I ask.

“Mmm, after a big milestone. Turning 30?” she continues to examine my hand. “I see a second life later in life, with kids...just one no maybe two children.”

“How about her love life?” Harry asks. “Her last love s’not too nice.”

“Seriously Harry?” I turn to glare this time. He’s grinning with flushed cheeks, knowing it was a sore spot he liked to say i told you so to. It was true, he had told me so about my 3 year relationship but I’d ignored him.

“Your love life,’ the woman speaks up. “Shows me two great loves. One cuts short, the other is as long as your life line.”

“Ooh,” I lean in, interested. “I think I know about the one that was cut short. Tell me about the second!”

“This second...” she traces my palm and I feel a tingle. “This second love is very close, a bit rocky but it will last.”

“A bit rocky?”

“Hm,” she chews her bottom lip. “Time, distance...it will make it rocky. But it lasts.”

“So how close is close?” I ask eagerly.

“Close,” she says with a smile that tells me I wasn’t getting anything else out of her.

“That’s a bit vague isn’t it?” Harry pipes up from the back.

“The future isn’t always crystal clear,” she says without looking up at him.

“Lay off,” I scold him.

“It’s okay, I get nonbelievers all the time.” She laughs. “That will be $10 dear.” When I hand her the bill she stops me as she takes it. “A little free advice?”

“Sure.” I pick up the bags I placed on the floor earlier.

"Don’t be so focused on the life you want that you don’t see the life you have around you.”

“I’ve actually told her that before,” Harry decides we want more of his unsolicited opinions. “Maybe there is something true to all of this.”

“Thanks,” I pocket her words for later. Harry was right, he’d said something along those lines to me before, especially when it came to giving up control and going with the flow on trips and events with him. I always declined his offers, we lived a modest life growing up and accepting these gifts from him always felt so excessive. I wanted to make my own way in the world, but Harry always had something to say. “And sorry for his attitude, he’s not always this rude.”

“Yeah,” Harry shifts forward. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m a lot nicer usually.”

“I know,” she smiles.

“She’s psychic,” I remind him.

“I’m also online,” she laughs. “Can I get a picture?”

Harry eyes me, before going in for a selfie with her. I know he usually didn’t mind getting asked in smaller settings but he’d admitted it was something he was still getting used to. It had been a couple years since he became so famous, in such a short amount of time I went from being able to go down to a local pub with my best friend to schedules and security details and a whole other list of complications. Sometimes I hated it, mostly I was happy for him.

“Another day, another fan.” I tell Harry after we walk away from the psychic and he flips me off. “Should we get something to eat and get out of the cold?”

“God yes,” Harry shivers. “Can we just go to yours?”

“Let’s go,” I loop my arm through Harry’s.

Harry wants instant warmth so he hails a cab and we pick up takeout once we reach my neighbourhood. Harry had been here a few times, my roommate had gotten used to the fact that I was best friends with him, and sometimes he preferred to stay here when he wanted to be anonymous. Paparazzi sometimes crowded outside his hotel when word leaked he was there.

We eat ourselves into a food coma and Harry decides to stay the night, not wanting to face the cold again. Since our living room couch sprained his neck the only time he’d slept there, he usually crashed in my bed. His head barely hits the pillow before he’s snoring, I guess the jet lag finally caught up.

***

I jerk out of sleep, a crashing noise followed by swearing catches my attention.

“I think your roommate dropped something,” I hear from beside me. I turn my face to get a facefull of Harry’s thigh tattoos.

“Y’think?” I croak and shift backwards to see his face. He’s sitting up in bed and scrolling through his phone.

“Guess which psychic is officially internet-famous?” Harry asks dryly.

“Hm?” I’m still calming my heart from waking up so suddenly so it takes a moment to register Harry’s words. “What?”

He shoves his phone in my face, the selfie he took with the psychic yesterday is posted on social media with over half a million likes. He swipes away and a lot of his tag is filled with news outlets and fan accounts spamming the picture. He pulls it back to read a heading: “Harry Styles visits Psychic for ideas on his next album. There’s also Harry Styles rumored to be connected to the Occult...I don’t know what that means. Psychic tells all on Harry Styles reading.”

“How did that picture circulate?” I rub my eyes and sit up beside him. “And where is all of this coming from?”

“She has a Twitter, and she posted the picture.” He shows me, it’s there with the caption A handsome face showed up to my booth at the Bryant Park Market tonight. Get your future told, 5pm to 9pm 7 days a week.

I can’t help but laugh, she was a business woman and she really took the opportunity to sell her service.

“It’s not funny Y/N,” Harry looks furious so I cover my mouth and squint at his screen as he scrolls. A ton of people are responding asking about his future or what he came there for. Amongst them, she responds to only one person: His love life was involved.

My jaw drops, “That’s such a lie! She read me my love life, and life lines!”

“I told you she was a fraud,” Harry jerks the phone back to him.

“She lied for sales, but doesn’t mean she didn’t tell the truth yesterday.”

“If she lied about this she lied about it all and you wasted $10. She only talked about your love life, not mine...”

I remember her words, my second love was very close...could she have meant...

I glance at Harry and he seemed to have followed the same train of thought because we lock eyes, his probably just as wide as mine.

“D’you think?” he says just as I say “Was she...?”

We immediately burst out laughing as the tension comes to a head and bubbles over in a safe trickle.

“Is that what she was trying to say?” I say when I’ve finally caught my breath, my stomach hurt from laughing this hard.

“I guess when she said close she meant close,” Harry’s flat on his back from laughing. “Quite literal.”

“And you were calling her out on being so vague.”

“I’ve got to give it to her,” he shuts his phone off and throws it onto the covers between us, releasing the annoyance. “She’s a good businesswoman.”

“I was thinking the same thing but I thought you might kill me if I said that,” I admit.

We lay on the rumpled covers in silence, I think about everything else she said. The potential of it all is tarnished by the idea of Harry being my second love, for life. It was so ridiculous, unless by love she meant the way I love him now. As my best friend. Our lives were so different, there was no way it could ever work. Not to mention...he was my best friend since forever.

“Have you ever thought about it?” Harry asks out of the blue.

“Thought about what?” I prop myself on my elbow.

“Us, like...the way she predicted?”

“Together together?” I can’t help but laugh. “No never, you’re my best friend!” I recognize the flash of hurt so I backtrack a little. “No offense Harry, I love you but could you imagine?”

“I have,” he says it so quietly as I lay back down. “What?” I ask. He shrugs, “I’m surprised you haven’t. We’ve been friends since...we were 7. You’re saying you never thought about it?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Actually I haven’t. When...what did you think about?”

“I dunno,” he fiddles with his rings. “Like for school dances, when I didn’t have a date I thought about asking you as more than a friend...thought about where that could lead. Or every time you had your heart broke. I wanted to take the pain away and just show you what you deserved.”

“Harry I...” it was sweet, what he was saying. But he never gave a single clue about it the entire time we grew up. He was always chasing girls who looked nothing like me, so I always thought that’s what his type was. Never did I think about anything more with him.

“Not-not recently though,” he forces a laugh. “Just when we were kids.”

“That’s sweet Harry. I had no idea.”

He shrugs, and sits up.

“No seriously I...that’s so sweet. But just so you know, you have shown me what a good man can be. Just by being the best friend ever.”

“Aw,” he swipes my cheek as he gets up. “That’s cute. I don’t know if I’ve done such a good job when you’ve only dated knobs.”

I could recognize his defense mechanism--turning it into a big joke. But he leaves the room before I can call him out and I’m left sitting in the mess of what he’d just told me. It’s not that it was awkward or a bad thing, but suddenly it felt tense and the tension triggered an anxious feeling in my chest.

I decide to get out of my room and find my roommate cleaning up the remains of her broken mug. I offer to clean the spill as she dresses to go out for her run. Helping her distracts me, and when I hear Harry leave the bathroom I lock myself in, and try some breathing exercises to clear the anxiety creeping up. When I realize I was trying to avoid Harry, I scold myself. This was ridiculous and funny! Harry wanted to ask me out when we were kids, it was cute, and that was it. The psychic was a fake anyway, nothing she said meant anything.

I head back to my room where Harry’s made the bed. I change into trousers and my favourite fisherman sweater, and find him having coffee at our small kitchen table with his phone on speaker as he talks to someone. His legs barely fit underneath, so they’re sprawled to the side. He’s still shirtless, and my attention snags on his torso.

I shake myself out of my thoughts as I bump into the kitchen island, and glance up to see that although he was talking to the person on the phone, his eyes had been on me...while my eyes were on his abs. Oh god, I cringe. I try to act casual, mouthing if he wanted breakfast but he shakes his head and points to the call he’s having.

I make myself a toast and try to ignore what just happened but it only adds to the tension from this morning. When he gets off his call he brings his cup up to the sink.

“I think I need another cup.”

“Be my guest,” I move aside. “You sure you don’t want breakfast?”

“Are you going to feed me avocado flax seed quinoa toast?” he teases.

“There’s no quinoa.” I correct, crossing my arms. “But...yes.”

“I’ll take this banana,” he holds the lone banana on the counter. “I’ve got to be in East Harlem by noon, that’s what the call was about.”

“Aw,” I hated saying goodbye. “Are you busy the rest of your stay?”

“I can make it back here,” he says.

“Do whatever you need to do,” I say. “I’m used to being discarded after you hang out with me in the city.”

“I don’t do that!” he reaches behind me to slot his cup in and set the machine to grind his beans. I can smell my shampoo on him, he must’ve showered. “If you want me back, you can just say that.”

The morning sunlight streaming through the kitchen window leaves no room for shadows; the shift in the mood is clear as the daylight streaming in. Or maybe I was reading too much into his words.

“I always want you back,” I look up to his height now that he’s standing so close, and the kitchen tightens further.

We’re stuck in a tableau; with my back against the fridge looking up at him as he gazes down with a curious expression. My mind grows blank the longer I stare. No one says a word, the sound of beans grinding the only noise in the kitchen.

My best friend in the whole world looks torn standing in front of me like this, and as my senses slowly rush back I realize that even if my expression doesn’t show it...I was torn. Because out of nowhere, all I can think about are all the questions I ever shoved away in the dark: what would it feel like if I kissed him right now? And what would have happened to us if he had asked me out to our school dance? Would we still be best friends? Would we have cut each other out? How many universes were we still good together like this? How many universes were we good together as more than this?

An urge to touch his face, make sure this was real, takes over me. But as soon as my fingers brush his cheek he snaps out of his trance and stumbles back like I’d burned him.

He forces a laugh. “I really do need that coffee.”

“Right,” I turn to the machine to put the grinds into their slot but I yank too hard and the freshly ground coffee flies out towards me. “Shit!”

“What happ-” Harry takes one look at what’s happened and turns away, his shoulders shaking.

“I can see you right in front of me laughing!” I shout. “Help me!”

“It’s all over you Y/N,” he turns around, tears in his eyes. “Give me this, I’ll put it far away from you.” He takes the remaining grinds and sets it down. I brush away what’s closest to my eyes so I can see and try to shake it off my sweater but they stick to the fibers of the knit.

“Great,” I grumble. “This is dry clean only.”

“It’s in your hair,” he runs his fingers through the strands that hang over my shoulder. I shake my head to dislodge the grinds; his fingers brush my neck away and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Uhm, that should be most of it.”

“It’s not out of this sweater,” I pout. “Screw dry clean, why did I think I could buy dry cleaning clothes?”

“I can drop it off on the way out today?” he offers.

“That means you’re coming back to drop it off to me?!” I ask hopefully.

His expression softens, “Y/N I’m coming back to your flat. I promise.”

“He promises!” I shout. Even though things were a bit awkward this morning, I got to spend more time with my hard-to-catch best friend and for that I was over the moon.

“We could also try to vacuum the sweater?” Harry suggests.

“So you don’t have to come back with dry clean?” I tease. “I’m not letting you get out of your promise, let me give it to you before you change your mind.” I tug my top off and ball it up, shoving it in his hands. It falls to the floor when he doesn’t hold it.

“Hello?” I look up and he’s a deer in the headlights. “Harry...”

“I can’t do this right now,” he takes a step back. I get the sweater from the ground and hold it out to him again.

“Do you want to wipe the kitchen floor with the sweater too? Take it!” I sigh. “Harry are you really acting so chaste about seeing a girl in her bra?”

“It’s-” he decides to stop mid-word. “You’re not just any girl Y/N, I’ve already made it clear.”

Now it’s my turn to stare--he hadn’t made it clear. “You said you only felt something when you were younger...”

“And you believed me?”

I realize I didn’t, but I wanted to believe him so I hadn’t questioned it. “Well it’s not the first time you’ve seen me in a bra. Can you take the damn sweater?” 

“Yeah I can I’m just...” he seems to calm down a bit, enough to step towards me and take it. “I didn’t have to face this conflicted feeling in me if I didn’t see you often. I can just be the best friend. But now, with the whole psychic thing and you in--like this in your kitchen and I--I’m remembering how much I just want to...”

“Kiss me,” I say.

“Yeah...” he looks away.

“No, I’m telling you to kiss me.” I clarify. His expression would’ve made me laugh if my heart wasn’t beating so fast. I couldn’t believe I was being this impulsive.

“Really? You’re not just saying that cuz of this morning?”

“Fine,” I step out of his reach and cross my arms to hide my shaking hands. “If you don’t want to kiss me-”

He pulls me back too quickly and I bump into his chest. “I never said that.” He says in a tone I’d never heard from him before, it’s serious and sexy and it sends tingles through my body. I press myself up against him and he finally, finally, kisses me. Every bit of tension and anxiety the day had built up releases in the single moment his lips cover mine.

How had I waited this long?

The kiss is gentle, delicate like he’s still not entirely sure I want the same thing he does. I show him I do by using my tongue to open his mouth slowly and the hesitation disappears immediately. We’re a fighter jet taking off from there; I don’t know where I end and where he begins as he walks me to the kitchen island and lifts me onto it, our limbs tangling together, His hands roam down the side of my body, but he stays in the safe zones until I unclasp my bra.

“Oh hell no,” my roommate’s voice interrupts us from behind. I hold my bra close and turn. She stands at the entryway, shaking her head. “Not here. Not on our kitchen island. You two have a room literally 10 feet away...”

“Oops,” I say quietly which seems to set Harry off. My roommate is still shaking her head but I see the smile on her face. I’d caught her hooking up on multiple occasions so it wasn’t anything new. But I didn’t do this often. I jump down, apologizing to her. “Harry’s going to clean the coffee off the floor...I-I’ll find a shirt.”

“Mhm,” she closes her bedroom door and I look over at Harry who’s crouching on the floor in tears.

“This is all your fault!” I whisper but he tugs me down to where he is and holds my face as he kisses me.

“I know you two aren’t behind the island,” my roommate’s voice comes out again. I stay there as her footsteps move to the bathroom and the door closes behind her.

“I hate you,” I skirt out of his reach, and rush to my room yelling another sorry as I head back and find a top. Harry appears in my room as I put it on.

“I guess that was a good time for her to walk in on before it got too far?” he still has a stupid grin on his face.

“I don’t even want to think about it,” my cheeks were burning and even more so that Harry was elated.

“I’ve actually got to head out now.”

I pout but he kisses my pout instead. He promises he’ll be back in the evening and I let him go with one more kiss, my mind catching up with everything that just happened.

Oh my god.

***

It’s nearly 8 by the time I’m done running all my errands--taking holidays off for work was usually a good decision for me. I had a big family and picking up all the holiday bits before I flew back home was always a big job. I take an Uber home, I couldn’t handle a 40 minutes trip back home carrying everything home on the subway.

I call out to my roommate when I get in but she doesn’t respond. I check her door and it’s open and dark, the bathroom is also empty. She must have evening plans.

I open my door to a surprise. Harry is sprawled on my bed. He jerks awake when I settle my bags down.

“Y/N?” he squints as I turn the light on.

“How did you get in here?” I shrug my coat off.

“Y’roommate let me in before she left,” he rubs his eyes. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep...I had a whole thing planned.”

I’d gone over the whole morning during my errands, surprised and excited and nervous about this new step for us. But I continued to think about what the psychic said, our love lines extended alongside my life line. Even though there wasn’t much comfort or trust in a psychic who used a photo opp as a marketing opp, what she said had come true. And I put my faith in that, calming my nerves about this new step potentially ruining our friendship forever.

“Was that okay?” Harry sits up. “She didn’t think you’d mind.”

“Oh no that’s fine,” I unwrap my scarf and stand at the foot of my bed. “I really wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“Of course I would,” he reaches for my hand. “I wouldn’t leave you after this morning, I’m not that flighty.”

“Well we never really got to talk about it,” I say as I sit down. I’d texted him during the day but it never showed he read it, I wasn’t sure how to read into that; finding him passed out on my room meant he was probably on the go all day.

“Are you okay with this?” he says with such concern, I nearly tear up. This was making me way too emotional.

“I am,” I smile at my best friend in the whole world. “I just don’t want to go too fast.”

“We won’t,” he promises as he holds his arms out. I lean in towards his solid chest and he wraps his arms around me. I feel his breath on my cheek, then his lips in my hair. “I’m yours for eternity Y/N, we can take it as slow or fast as you want.”

It was a good thing to say, and I believe him entirely.

We eventually untangle ourselves to get food in us, and even though things are different, they’re also not. We still pick out the same parts of our food to give the other person, we still talk the same shit and laugh at the same jokes. But his hands grasps mine and his thumb brushes over my knuckles absentmindedly. His eyes stay steady on me as I talk like I’m someone new he’s exploring. We kiss after dinner, but we also load the dishwasher and laugh about the one time I’d managed to burn soup from a can. Eventually we end in my bedroom, where we lay together, our conversation growing quieter by the minute, the space between us growing smaller.

And even though we’d slept like this a hundred times before, it’s different now. I can feel it in every atom of my being, I was his and he was mine. And I don’t know how long it’s been like this for it to feel so easy, but accepting it was a no brainer, like accepting the sky was blue or the sun was hot. I remember the advice the psychic gave, I was following it: living the life I had around me even though it wasn’t the life I thought I would have.

There were a million things Harry and I had to figure out to make this work--I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But I did know that it was right, it was true, and it was going to be forever.

The future may not be crystal clear, but my future with this man was.

[racicoricofalapatorius]

The fifth doctor and a child headcanon

The doctor already has a lot on his plate dealing with a know it all, a pushy Aussie always going on and on about Heathrow and a puppy dog-eyed princess but that doesn't mean he can't Adopt take in another kid.

but this one is only six years old.

she's sweet, cheeky, friendly, and more scared than she lets up to be.

she was left abandoned on a space station and the doctor promises her "i will never let you go"

the doctor is always there for her no matter if he has to fight through ten thousand Dalek ships just to get her, he will.

{y/n} calls Nyssa: Pretty princess Adric: wiz kid Tegan: Kanga Turlough: Ginger cat Doctor: daddy/dadda labrodor puppy

the doctor often picks her up and zooms her about in the air while the team walk

he always tries to get her to use her manners but sometimes she won't. he'll say "{y/n}, that is not a way for a proper young lady to speak" in which she'll reply "good thing I'm not a lady then, isn’t it?”

whenever he’s facing a threat his no.1 priority is making sure {y/n}’s alright

he's always playing cricket with her and well let's just say he's met his match

Nyssa is always telling her what makes a good princess and says "You know, you could make a good princess, you're amazing enough. more than me." {y/n} Replies "first of all you are the princess the one and only brilliant Nyssa and I'm already a queen"

He loves to take her to a garden on a walk

the doctor will go very dark whenever anyone tries to take her as none fucks with his little girl

whenever a member of the crew leave {y/n} gets very sad but he puts an arm around her and says “you know life is long and people we love may come and go but they are the only thing that makes us go on for so long. still, i promise {y/n} i will never let you go.”

He loves to join her for fake tea parties

She's always stealing his coat I mean acquiring it. Nah she definitely stole it!

Or he puts his coat on her and hat cus he thinks she looks adorable in the oversized get-up

Nyssa is always putting her crown on the little girl’s head

he often pulls silly faces to make his little {y/n} laugh

the doctor kisses her on her forehead/puts her on his shoulder/carries her on his hip

{Y/N} is often falling asleep in his arms on their adventures and he loves to carry her to her room and tuck her in

The doctor will normally hand {y/n} over to Nyssa for her to hold the little girl

he calls her ‘little star/darling/sweatheart/my dear’

The tardis crew can see how much the doctor cares for {y/n} and they do to but not nearly as much he does

the doctor has to keep replacing the celerly on his lapel as {y/n} keeps eating it. he’s learned to keep a bag of snacks in his pocket. (he made the pockets bigger on the inside)

the master can see that she is the doctor’s greatest weakness and tries to use it against him and it works most of the time but the doctor always finds a way out as he always needs to protect {y/n} and won’t ever leave her or let her go

whenever faced with a threat the Tardis crew go into protective mode and stand in front of {y/n}

{y/n} got taken by the Daleks as a hostage against the doctor and when she was rescued they ran towards each other and she jumped in his arms and hugged him tightly saying “I love you, daddy. i mean- i didn’t- i don’t” she started panicking and hyperventilating but the doctor just smiled and put a hand to her cheek and said “i love you too, sweetheart”

Tegan loves to teach her aussie slang it often annoys the doctor as he says "why are you teaching my daughter to speak like this? i just got her to say please and thank yous" {y/n} pipes up and say "can it, ya drongo"

they often play dress up/hide n seak/or just run around

{y/n} always dances around the console and skips along the tardis corridors

when faced with a deadly disease the doctor caries her into the tardis thinking he’s got the cure for both of them but he discovers he dropped it somewhere outside, with no time and how weak he is he quickly without hesitiation decides to give her the medicine ‘i will never let you go’ and regenerates for her

but before he does he tells her “goodbye my little star.” in witch she replies “Daddy,please don’t change. i don’t want you to please” she begs. “hey, hey i can be brave for you; becouse i love you. i will never let you go {y/n} never. i promised.” he takes her little hand and plants a kiss on her forehead. “never”

[bostoniangirl85]

‘Inspector Gadget’ fanfic drabble - Gadget isn’t quite as clueless as most people think (humor/crack)

I expanded this fic and just posted a new story! Links below.  :) Title: “Not So Oblivious”

FF.net 

AO3

Just a funny little idea that I’ve been playing with that I thought I’d share with you guys. Happy Friday!  :)

Sometimes, Quimby wondered if Gadget really was oblivious and clueless as he appeared. Of course he knew Gadget from before...well, before he became just ‘Gadget’ to everyone. The young constable Gadget had once been had been determined, brave to the point of recklessness, and utterly devoted to his job. He knew Gadget’s mind would likely never return to its previous state, but sometimes Quimby wondered...

There had been moments over the years where Quimby had seen Gadget act with decisiveness and brilliance, and those moments tended to center around Penny.

But then, Gadget’s devotion to his niece had been one thing Quimby had never doubted Gadget on, not once.

“H-hey there Penny! Nice to see you!” 

Quimby snorted softly as he watched from the corner of his eye as a hapless, gangly clerk (some rookie the commissioner had forced on Quimby) greeted Penny as she waited for Gadget. The boy’s crush on Penny was painfully obvious - even Brain was giving the boy exasperated looks - as he stumbled through some inane conversation.

He kept an eye on the two as he continued to sign papers. Penny smiled politely and nodded but Quimby could tell she was growing a bit tired by the teen’s ramblings. Still, he wouldn’t intervene unless necessary; he’d keep watch just to make sure the kid - a scrawny, pocked-marked boy of eighteen - toed the line and remained respectful.

“S-so, what brings you to the station on such a nice day like this?”

“I’m waiting for Uncle Gadget,” Quimby heard her reply. “He should be back soon.”

“I haven’t met him yet - he’s a cyborg, right? Must be hard, being...” Quimby winced. Bad idea, kid, he thought as he signed another form and placed it in the box on his desk. Penny was fiercely protective of Gadget and Quimby knew she hated it whenever people made fun of him. 

“Uncle Gadget doesn’t let anything stop him,” Penny replied, still politely but with a hint of coolness in her tone.

Quimby hid a smirk around his pipe. ‘Good girl, Penny.’

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-well, everyone knows how brilliant Inspector Gadget is.” The boy paused then seemed to gather some hidden courage. “Say, Penny, I was wondering...if you’re free tonight-” “Ah, Penny! There you are! Good day at school?” Quimby looked up at the sound of Gadget’s voice. Penny turned and smiled at her uncle, or rather at his head which was extended on his metallic neck, weaving and bobbing like some bizarre snake. The more senior officers didn’t bat an eye at the sight, having grown used to Gadget’s bionic appendages over the years.

Except the poor clerk. He was standing frozen, mouth gaping as he watched with a slightly horrified expression as Gadget’s head snaked over Penny’s shoulder to nod politely at the boy.

“Excuse me for interrupting. You must be the new clerk. Ah, I see you have those files I was looking for! I’ll take them off your hands.” As Gadget spoke a Gadget hand emerged from his hat and neatly plucked the files out of the clerk’s limp fingers.

“It was nice talking to you.” Penny smiled at the boy and stood, brushing off her skirt. A thump made her and Brain turn around.

The clerk had fainted dead away.

Gadget smiled and tucked the files under his arm. “Ready, Penny?”

Quimby waved her off when Penny eyed the clerk’s still form. “He’ll be fine. Go on, have a good weekend.” Penny smiled and turned back to Gadget. “Ready, Uncle. C’mon, Brain. I’m starving!”

After the three had left there was a moment of silence in the station.

”Should we, uh, call a medic?” asked one officer as he poked the clerk’s arm. “He’s out cold.” ”Nah, he’ll be fine. Happens to almost everyone who first sees Gadget’s...well, gadgets.” Another pause, and then, “Okay, show of hands - who here thinks Gadget did that on purpose? We’ve got a pool going.” “No gambling on duty,” growled Quimby. He then raised his hand. “And Gadget absolutely did that on purpose,” he added dryly.

[sugar-quilled]

ron weasley x reader

request

a/n: i slipped from the topic a little bit, pretty sure what i wrote isn't teasing, and if you'd like me to change it just tell me :)

summary: While visiting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Ron's clothes get sucked into a machine. All of them, except for his boxers.

genre: comedy and (im not sure if this counts as fluff but) fluff

word count: 1.6k

pronouns: not used

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Diagon Alley was packed, as it always was at the start of a term. Underneath a beautifully clear sky, students were seen hurrying to purchase potion ingredients and new robes. Those that had already purchased the items on their Hogwarts list were seen crowding around a new and extremely flashy building.

The store front was painted in a shocking orange color, with a large figure standing inside a window and tipping his top hat to the surrounding crowd below. In neat, gold printing, the store was identified to be none other than Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

You entered through the door amongst other eager shoppers, and immediately heard a circus-like music, coupled with the chatter of about 50 people.

Shelves on shelves of brightly colored goods and at least 4 oddly built staircases met your eyes. Immediately to your left was a brightly colored display of candy. Your walked closer, and Fred and George Weasley popped out from a counter nearby.

"Taking a look at those nosebleed nougats are you, Y/N?"

"We've got samples over here if you like-"

"Just eat the red and you'll see the red!"

"And one bite of the other side will stop it just like that."

"And fever fudge!"

"There's only a bit of those puking pastilles left, clearly we're due for a restock, Fred."

"Well, Y/N, welcome to our shop and go enjoy yourself! Call us if you need any help and we'll be right by your side in a jiffy. Now come on, George, one kid over there looks mightily suspicious."

You smiled after the twins' backs, not even angry that they hadn't let you get a word in, when you spotted Ron Weasley taking a look at Headless Hats—now on sale for 1 galleon and 8 sickles! Your previous conversation (could you even call it a conversation?) with the twins immediately left your brain and you made your way over.

Ron had been a long time crush of yours. In fact, the two year anniversary of your feelings was yesterday, and you celebrated by having a whole-hearted sobbing fest while your friends stared awkwardly at each other and tried to console you. Not that your friendship wasn't something to be happy about, but Merlin you just wished you could hold his hand. Romantically. You didn't think Ron could ever like you, what with his being best friends with Hermione Granger who was both insanely smart and jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

"Ron! It's nice to see you!"

He immediately swung around and burst into a very toothy grin. "Y/N! It's nice to see you too! What's up?"

You smiled back. "Nothing much! Your brothers' shop is gorgeous! The, uhh, those nosebleed nougats are really fascinating. And you? How was your summer?"

Ron put a headless hat down and strode closer to you to check out a row of punching telescopes. "Quite uneventful, to be honest. But yeah this stuff they came up with? Have you seen the smart-answer quills? Blimey I'd never have to ask Hermione for help again! And those fainting fancies. Reckon Snape'll believe one of those?"

You laughed. "Are you planning to faint during a lecture? It's our N.E.W.T year, you'll need all the information you can get."

Just then, Fred and George appeared right behind you.

"Having a good conversation, Ron?" Fred said cheerfully, elbowing Ron in the ribs—"Ow, Fred leave us alone!"—"Do you two want to check out the back?"

"Just don't steal anything, Y/N," George winked.

"Unless that something is Ron's heart," Fred muttered. Or you thought he muttered. But the twins' expressions had been wiped blank so that you couldn't tell whether Fred had really said it, and Ron had busied himself in untangling two extendable ears, so whether he had blushed or hadn't, you also couldn't tell.

"Lead the way, George!" Fred chortled, and swept away.

"Alright then. Right this way, you two!"

George led you and Ron, whose mouth seemed to be clamped shut, weaving past shelves higher than you to a door at the very back of the store. A small plaque on the door said: "Weasleys Working: In Progress." He twisted open the door, and beckoned both of you in. Right in front of you was a huge lab and packaging station. You could see potions brewing to your right, and to your left, there were two witches packaging a box of puking pastilles.

"So," George started, "welcome to our work station! Y/N, you might have seen a big gray thing over there upon entrance." He pointed. You looked. "That is actually something we've just installed in and its a bit of muggle machinery. Michelle and Rosalyn over there," he nodded towards the two witches, "used to have to do all the wand work manually but this big old thing makes some parts automatic. Quite useful!"

You stared at the big metal machine. There was a sort of chute at one end, and a big pipe leading up and into the ceiling.

"Well, I'll leave you two to it, and Michelle and Rosalyn," he called, "would you mind helping me out in the main area? Fred's left to check on the upstairs, and there's too many people waiting in line for purchasing." George gave Ron a ginormous wink, and left the room. The door swung back and clicked to a close.

You walked over to the muggle machine, very aware of Ron trailing behind you.

"Blimey, that thing's big. What does it even do?"

"I don't know, it looks like something that deposits goods into this bin under it. I'm not really sure where the goods come from though."

Ron circled the massive thing twice, and the second time, he tripped over a wire. Thankfully, he managed to stand himself upright with one hand leaning on the machine.

You laughed at him, and he looked embarrassedly back with a forced chuckle.

Then there was a loud whirring noise, and as Ron turned around in fright, the thing began sucking.

You were wrong. It didn't deposit things. It took them to be deposited.

With a frantic yell and many grabs at a nearby table, Ron's clothes ripped off. The machine sent them rattling through the chute and the whirring noise came to a stop.

Well. Not all of his clothes.

Ron was left standing in a pair of heart adorned boxers. Red hearts.

He tried his best to cover himself, but seeing as he only had two hands and more than two things on display, it was quite difficult.

You realized that you were staring and quickly looked away.

Ron was carefully looking at anywhere but your face.

After quite a long time's silence, your croaked out, "nice boxers, uh... dude," while looking at the ceiling. A giggle escaped despite your attempts at keeping it in, and you were sure Ron's face now matched the color of his hair.

"If you tell this to Gred- I mean, Fred or Gor- George, I'll-" he started shakily, "I'll die."

Seeing as he wasn't threatening you and assuming this meant friendly conversation could be engaged, you stammered, "they really suit you. You know, the red and all. Although I'd suggest a green pair next time. Because of the color wheel and those two are compl-"

Ron had burst into shaky, suppressed laughter.

"Never- never mind my fashion choices, how the bloody hell am I supposed to get my clothes back?"

"Well I don't see why you want them back. I mean think of the ladies you'd get by walking down the street with this lovely attire. Maybe for accessories you can add a bit more red by eating a nosebleed nougat, I'm sure I saw a few when I entered."

Both of you were laughing now, but a yell of shock from upstairs made both of you jolt.

"Oh no, no, no," Ron muttered, darting his eyes around as if trying to find a hiding spot, "Fred's upstairs, he knows what I was wearing, oh no, no-"

The door swung open. Fred was standing in the doorway looking highly amused.

"Ron, I thought you said you'd never wear those! Aunty Muriel will be pleased her present wasn't a waste of money!" Fred exclaimed, striding into the room and circling Ron, who was shaking fiercely. "They do compliment your hair, maybe I'll have to borrow the pair one day."

You choked back a laugh, bursting a vein for sure, when Fred rounded on you.

"I didn't know you two were already on this level of your relationship. Looks like Ron here neglected to tell me some bits!" Fred said cheerfully, waving his wand so that Ron looked perfectly normal again, except that his entire face was now the same color as the hearts on the boxers underneath the normality.

"Well I daresay you two have looked around, I was up there nearly 10 minutes," Fred continued, gesturing towards the door, "and Y/N, regrettably we have no products that erase recent memories-"

"Shut up," Ron muttered, walking towards the door.

"-but the idea is certainly a brilliant one and I'll be sure to start developing it." Fred gave a hearty wink as both Ron and you had exited the room, and closed the door.

You looked at Ron. He looked back.

"Well you know I never said I wanted to erase that memory. You did look quite marvelous."

Ron laughed, though his face still looked like he supported the UK Quidditch team.

"You should really take my suggestion of that green pair, and I wouldn't mind seeing how that looks either."

Both of you doubled over in laughter.

"And," you choked, "a pair of shoes to match wouldn't hurt either, though I daresay you'd rather go barefoot? Shoes shouldn't be worn to bed, after all."

There were definitely tears coming out your eyes now, and the two of you stumbled drunkily, still shaking with laughter, out the shop and down the ever so full streets of Diagon Alley.

[feferipeixes]

Child I Will Hurt You

One of the weirdest things to Alcor about being a father was how automatically Toby trusted him.

Which really freaked him out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. After all, he was practically still a child himself.

(See the most updated version on AO3!)

===

The thing that scared Alcor the most about raising Toby was how fully the boy trusted him.

He’d experienced and marveled at that kind of trust before. When Mabel found him after that fateful day in 2012 and threw herself at him, sobbing with relief that he wasn’t gone after all, he felt it. When Stan took him and Mabel into his home a few years later, patted him on the back and said “It’s no problem, kid”, he felt it. When he warned Mabel that he shouldn’t be trusted with the triplets’ true names and Mabel shouted him right out of his self-flagellation, he felt it.

The first day he brought Toby home after finding him alone and shivering on the street, he felt something very different.

Panic.

Panic over who the child in front of him truly was underneath that thin layer of flesh. Panic over what would happen if he didn’t stop whatever Bill was planning. Panic as he remembered Weirdmageddon over and over again in complete, horrific detail.

“Listen kid,” he said, floating a few feet off the ground so he could better tower over the child, “no funny business, okay? You hear me in there, Bill?”

Toby only cocked his head, scraggly and unwashed golden locks tumbling away from his face to reveal his scarred eye. He still wore the half-scared half-curious look he’d had when he’d first caught the demon’s attention, but there was something else bubbling up. Something that tasted suspiciously like trust.

It really freaked Alcor out because he didn’t feel he should be trusted to raise a child. Trust was something you gave to adults who knew what they were doing, after all, and he was practically still a child himself.

Alcor grimaced, and lowered onto his knees so he could look the boy directly in the eyes. “I mean it. I’m watching you. I’ll know if anything bad happens.”

To his surprise, Toby smiled at that. “You can make the bad things stop?”

“Yes,” Alcor replied, his voice cracking like it hadn’t in centuries because he was already messing this up, he was sure of it. “N-no getting into trouble. Not on my watch.”

The boy’s face lit up, trust shining brilliant from both eyes, and before Alcor could tell what was happening, Toby had reached up and hugged him around the neck.

And the demon remembered

Bill’s little pipe cleaner hands iron-clad around his neck,

Squeezing the life out of him,

Blue fire rushing all over his body,

Over and into his soul,

Screaming until there was no more breath left in him,

And the little boy’s smile radiated such trust and hope that Alcor was left completely speechless.

“Thank you,” Toby squeaked, and Alcor felt it.

---

“Oh stars, I can’t do this, I can’t do this!” Alcor was in his human disguise, head in hands, elbows resting on the counter, rambling like the world was ending. “I’m way in over my head. Raising a child? Me? I mean I looked after Mabel’s triplets but this is so different…”

“...Sir?” The cashier’s hand hovered over Alcor’s head, unsure whether it was appropriate or comforting to actually pat him. “Are you alright?”

“No!” he fumed, lashing out and knocking over some of his groceries. “I have a six year old at home and he trusts me to look after him and keep him safe! How could this possibly have happened?”

“Uh…” The cashier peered behind the man to the customers in line, most of whom looked some degree of disgruntled or confused. She gave them a little wave to indicate that they should probably move to a different register, and then turned back to the man who appeared to be hyperventilating now. “Do you have a partner? Anyone who’s helping you?”

“Of course not, I’m alone, I’ve got no friends,” he moaned. “There’s no one who I trust enough to foist Toby off to. The poor boy has such bad karma -- he needs me to protect him from that or he’ll get eaten alive!”

“Well… it sounds like you’ve got the right instincts at least. You want to keep him safe.”

“That’s just it! I don’t!” Alcor picked his head up and the cashier saw streaks of a strange yellow liquid running down his face. “Everything I’m doing for him is just stuff I picked up from watching my sister raise her kids! I don’t have any kind of adulting instincts -- none at all! I transcended when I was fucking twelve and that’s where I’ll be stuck until the end of time. I’m just a pointless child! I’ve got too much power and no actual ability to help anyone!”

The cashier sighed and -- after the man nodded to say it was alright -- put her hand on his shoulder. “Listen, man, all of that stuff sounds normal.” (Except for the parts that made no sense to her at all but she opted to ignore them.) “No one knows how to raise a kid, and no one ever feels like they’ve grown up. You learn it as you go. Trust me, my kids ran me ragged and I had no idea what I was doing. But they turned out alright. So will yours.”

Alcor’s voice began to wobble, and he pressed gloved hands to his temples. “But he won’t! I’m developmentally frozen. I’m not capable of learning anything! Seriously, what kind of adult buys this much candy?”

She glanced at his cart, which indeed was half filled with Giddy Cowboys and Sneakers bars. “That is a lot,” she admitted. “I would not advise giving your kid that much candy.”

“What? No.” Alcor stopped sniffling and pulled a face like he’d just smelled poo. “That’s for me. I’m buying all these vegetables and milk and chicken for Toby. He’s a growing kid, he needs to eat healthy, get all those food groups in, you know. I’m not stupid. But I am childish for liking candy so much that I’d eat this much of it in a week! I mean, seriously! Oh stars, I’m hopeless!”

The cashier lifted an eyebrow and removed her hand. “You eat all of this… in a week?”

“I know, I know, I’m ridiculous!”

“That’s not what I meant,” the cashier cut in, before he could start gibbering again. “I’m just worried about your teeth. Your… teeth…” She trailed off as the man suddenly yawned, exposing two rows of jagged knives that could sink into her flesh in an instant. “Your, um, your- your-”

Alcor pulled a mirror out of seemingly nowhere and started picking at his teeth. “What, do I have something in them?”

The cashier’s eyes widened even more as the man’s gloves came off. “My… what pointy claws you have…”

“Thank- wait.” Alcor froze, one long blackened nail still pressed into his gum. “Wait a minute. Pointy. Sharp. Cutting and slicing and ripping open oh stars!”

“Um- um- um-” the cashier tried to say, but with every word she felt like she was shrinking until she’d be swallowed up by her clothes. “Slicing?”

Alcor shook his head furiously, and this time his fist was positively trembling when it came down onto the counter. “I haven’t child proofed the knife drawer in the kitchen!”

He flipped his hat off of his head and pulled out a wad of cash, which he then thrust into the cashier’s hands just as her lights went out. Before anyone else could react, he vanished into thin air, taking his groceries and the shopping cart with him.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,” Alcor grumbled as he zeroed in on the offending drawer. He pulled it open and there they were -- obscene, dangerous implements that he was a wicked and cruel caretaker to have potentially exposed his child to. He couldn’t stop imagining what might’ve happened if Toby had tried to pull open the drawer and it had fallen on him -- couldn’t stop thinking about his little boy sticking his adorable hand in and receiving cuts and lacerations and awful, awful sobbing filling the house…

With a snap, child locks were in place. Alcor tested them out by trying to pull the drawer open -- and it took a few tries before even he was able to. Sighing with relief, he leaned against the counter and slid down to the floor. His feet bumped up against the shopping cart sitting in the middle of the kitchen, overflowing with Reece’s Mugs and Chortle Taffy and Quasarbursts.

He couldn’t do this. He was too irresponsible.

Alcor dug a hand into the cart and pulled out a candy bar. He sank his teeth into it, enjoyed the rush of sweetness that was almost as good as flesh and bone. Slowly he began to unclench his muscles -- even though his form was imaginary, the cramps shooting throughout his body still hurt. He slid down the counter a little further, almost letting his head touch the floor -- and then he noticed it.

The stairs.

Bolting upright, Alcor let the candy bar fall from his hand. The stairs. How hadn’t he thought about that before? What if Toby fell down and tumbled into the banister and lost his other eye? What if what if what if?

Not a minute later, the demon was wrestling with child safety gates, somehow struggling even with all of his considerable power just to get them to attach to the wall. At one point he tipped his jaw back and used his tongue to line the edges with spit, which then solidified like glue. The stairs had to be safe. He couldn’t risk Toby getting hurt.

And with that thought came even more thoughts that sent Alcor racing through the house. What if Toby slipped in the bathtub? What if Toby climbed on top of the fridge and couldn’t get down? What if Bill slammed his arm in a drawer again and again and again and again until it was full of forks and then he poured soda into his eyes and laughed like a maniac while Dipper drowned in the vast emptiness of the Mindscape???

Alcor stiffened. He set down the intricate contraption he’d been building to keep Toby safe from wild animals in the backyard. And he looked into the mirror.

What was he doing?

This was Bill’s soul he was fretting over. It was always him, on the inside, and he’d known it from the very first day he’d seen the boy. He knew what was lurking beneath the surface, what kind of monster slept in that innocent form waiting until one day he could reach out and traumatize his father once more. Reach out and steal his beating heart, and laugh, and live, and die, and laugh, and live, and die, in a way he’d never be able to again.

A chill passed through Alcor’s body. Something had to be wrong with him, because he knew what Toby was and he’d spent the entire week worrying about the boy. Why did he care so much?

Quietly, he crept down the hall, and peered into the bedroom on the right. There he was -- the beast himself -- sleeping soundly in a bed decorated with race cars and rocket ships. A few more steps, and Alcor could see how small he looked, how even in his sleep he seemed so broken. And the demonic instincts that had rushed through Alcor since the day he’d gone up in flames were quelled, because every fiber of his being told him he needed to protect this child.

He rested a hand on the boy’s forehead, and watched him dream about running around in a field of grass, playing catch with his new father.

---

Thus started a new routine. A demon, trying day-to-day to take care of a small child. Playing grown up even though he felt so utterly unprepared for what he was doing. But Alcor’s life didn’t stop when he became a parent.

Neither did any of his other regular obligations.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now!” Alcor roared, jumping to his feet. “I’m gonna run you through with my sword! Die die die die!”

The dungeon master -- Damien -- peered over his half-rimmed glasses at the demon and smirked. “Not gonna work, I’m afraid. The slime beast’s armor is too thick to be pierced by a sword such as your own.”

Alcor gaped with disbelief. “Whaaat? I call foul play! You let Anushka do it!”

“Anushka’s sword has a fire enchantment on it. Slime armor is weak to heat.”

“Also, I said die five times,” Anushka added with a shit-eating grin on her face, jabbing Alcor in the side with her elbow. “Die die die die die!”

Alcor snorted and dropped back into his chair. “Well, you got me there.” He looked at the other players, disappointment rolling over into amusement. “Can I change my move or am I locked in?”

Damien shrugged. “Go for it. I don’t think you’ll be able to beat it this turn though, and you’ve only got one hit point remaining.”

Nat leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Yo, I’ve got an idea. You should defend this turn and try to survive the slime’s attack, and then on my turn I can fire enchant your sword.”

“Huh. Maybe…” He patted his head to get the spittle out of his ear, and surveyed the map of the dungeon they were in. Then he sat bolt upright in his seat, a large exclamation mark appearing over his head. “Damien. How many sword actions do I get this turn?”

Damien rolled a die. “Two.”

“Yessss. Okay. First, I lunge at the slime again! But with the blunt end of my sword so it gets knocked back.”

Damien rolled another die. “Yep. That works. Are you gonna use your free movement to approach it again?”

Alcor shook his head. “Nope. I’m gonna throw my sword -”

“Your sword doesn’t have enough piercing damage to make a difference from that distance, I’m afraid.”

The room’s dim lighting glinted off of razor sharp teeth. “- at the cable holding up the chandelier.”

Anushka and Nat dropped their pencils, and looked straight up, momentarily forgetting that they were not actually in the dungeon they were traversing. “You what?”

Damien rolled a die again, and sucked in a sharp breath. “Alright. The chandelier falls onto the slime beast before it can react. It quickly catches on fire, leaving it too weak to attack. Congrats!”

Beaming, Alcor scribbled some numbers on his character sheet. “Heck yeah. No slime beast is strong enough to get one past the Dreambender.”

“You’re so creative, Al,” Nat said. “Seriously, wow. I never would’ve thought of that.”

He wove off the compliment. “Naw, I’m just basically a large child. Being silly and immature is what they’re good at.”

Looking up over his dungeon master partition, Damien furrowed his brow. “Why do you say you’re immature -”

There was a ringing in Alcor’s head -- a tug on a bond -- and he held up his hand. “Wait, hold that thought. Speaking of children, my kid’s calling me. I’m gonna have to leave early this week.” He stood up, and did a dramatic bow. “I’ll see ya all next week! Don’t lose my summoning circle!”

Toby -- lying flat on the floor of the Mystery Shack -- perked up at the sight of his adoptive father walking through the door. Tyrone looked about as human as they come -- a man in his mid-thirties with soft brown eyes, no wings, and feet that always touched the ground. He opened his arms and Toby came running to hug him.

Right away there was that trust again, that total trust that Alcor still couldn’t believe he deserved. How could someone like him -- someone who’d just spent two hours playing a tabletop role playing game and laughing about memes -- be trusted to take care of a child?

Gingerly, he took Toby into his arms and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

“I’m boooooooored!” Toby whined. “Can we play a game? I wanna play pretend!”

Chuckling, Alcor put Toby down and then sat beside him on the floor. “Sure thing, kid. You know, I’m pretty good at playing games like that. I was playing one with my friends earlier today.”

Toby’s jaw dropped. “Whoaaaaa! You have friends?”

A vein bulged in Alcor’s forehead. “Of course I- never mind. What’s the game, kid? What are we pretending?”

Toby jumped up and started pacing in a circle. “I wanna make up a story! It’s gonna be great! I’ll be the hero and you’ll be the bad guy -- an evil king who wants to kill all of the good people in the land! Is… is that okay?”

There was a mirror mounted on the wall behind where Toby had been sitting. Without the boy in his way, Alcor found his gaze fixed on it. He could see Toby gesturing as he walked and he could see the nostalgic decorations hanging on the wall of the Shack. But there was no Tyrone to speak of.

It took a moment for him to realize that Toby was talking to him. “What? Oh yeah. Of course, kid. I’ll be the bad guy.” He took a deep breath, discarding the voice in his head that furiously objected to him being the villain to Bill’s hero. “What’s my motivation?”

Toby cocked his head. “Moti- what?”

“What’s my backstory? Why am I evil?”

The boy continued to stare at him with a blank look on his face. “You’re evil cause you’re the bad guy and bad guys are evil!”

“That’s kinda boring- never mind.” Alcor grimaced and looked back at the mirror. “So you’re the hero, eh? How are you going to defeat me? What’s the hero good at?”

“Everything!!!!” Toby squealed, and his reflection grabbed onto something invisible. “The hero is the good guy so I should always win and I’ll have all of the magic and the biggest swords ever!”

Alcor shifted so that Toby was hanging onto his shoulders rather than around his middle. “Everything? But if the hero always wins, what’s the point?”

“The good guy always has to win!” the boy chirped, squeezing tight around Alcor’s neck. “Always!”

Oh my stars this is so boring, Alcor thought. How fricking uninventive is Bill’s soul? Children are supposed to be good at being silly and creative. I guess all Bill’s soul can think about is being powerful again.

A figure stepped into the room on the other side of the mirror. It was short -- looked to be about 12 years old -- and had clawed hands, bat wings sprouting from its hips, and a fancy suit that looked out of place for someone so young. Alcor’s jaw dropped as he watched the figure pick up Toby’s reflection, pat him on the back, and then stare directly out of the mirror at the demon.

“This is a game for children,” the figure said in a low growl.

“What?” Alcor yelped.

Toby giggled at the interruption. “I said that all the evil people should die because they’re mean! No one should ever do a bad thing!“

“This is what children are like. They see in black-and-white because they know nothing about how the world works.” Cold, black eyes bored into Alcor’s skull. “Have you forgotten what that’s like?”

“B-but I’m silly,” Alcor stammered, sweat starting to drip down his face. “I’m irresponsible. I love playing games and coming up with interesting stories. Those are childish things for someone as old as me to be doing.”

“Dad?” Toby asked. “What are you saying? I can’t hear you.”

The figure sneered, baring two sets of sharp teeth uncomfortably close to Toby’s head. “Whoever told you that must’ve really hated the idea of growing up.” Toby stirred, and it spent a moment cradling him so he’d calm down. Then those eyes -- now bright and full of gold -- flicked back at the demon. “Who said it? Was it you?”

Alcor gasped and fell over. Toby shrieked as he suddenly found himself tumbling to the ground, and the sound broke Alcor right out of his trance. Quick as a whistle, he pirouetted and caught the boy in his arms, pulling him close to his chest in a tight hug.

“Oh no, oh Toby, are you alright?” he fretted. “Did you get hurt?”

“I’m okay!” Toby squeaked, his face pressed against Alcor’s collarbone. Alcor loosened up on his hug, and took in Toby’s smile. “That was fun! You always catch me! That’s how I know you’re really a good guy.”

“I’m a good guy?” Alcor gulped, and glanced back at the mirror. This time he saw himself, in his present human disguise, holding Toby close, and looking so, so utterly responsible. It freaked him out.

“...Dad?” Toby asked, brow crumpled. “Daaaaad what are you thinking?”

“I think…” Alcor sighed, and gave his son a little kiss on the forehead. “I think it’s time you got some friends your own age.”

---

From that day on, things were a little different.

Alcor bought a house in the physical plane, because a memory of a shack in the Mindscape was no place to raise a child.

“Dad?”

He doctored forms and documents so it not only looked like a certain Tyrone Pines actually existed, but also that he and his adopted son Tobias Pines were legal residents of a sleepy town in the middle of Washington. This let Toby attend school with kids his own age.

“What is it, Toby?”

He went to the library on the weekly to check out parenting books, having long exhausted the meager supply of advice his omniscience had to offer -- as it turned out, parenting was very much a learn-as-you-go experience with few absolute truths to guide you.

“What’s a demon?”

Alcor froze, his hand halfway in the process of turning a page in his book. He started to turn his head around to look at the boy, and remembered just in time to turn his body around with it.

“Where did you hear that?” Alcor asked carefully.

Toby kept his head down, opting to study his father’s shoes instead of his face. “I, um...”

There it was again, that emotion bubbling up inside of Alcor, that instinctual distrust he couldn’t help but feel for the soul who had once taken everything from him. It was all he could do not to jump up and yell “Aha! Caught you red-handed, Bill! I knew you were in there all along!”

He got out of his chair and knelt in front of the child, using a finger to gently raise the boy’s head so they could see eye-to-eye. “You can tell me,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

Alcor saw Toby reach into that pure, automatic trust he had for the monster who was raising him. The boy gulped, and squared his shoulders.

“Um... Devon’s dad said it to Devon.”

Alcor blinked. “Is that so? Devon, the kid in your class who asked you to play baseball with him?”

Toby nodded. “H-he was asking me again, and I know you said I wasn’t allowed to, but he started showing me anyway. He got his bat and swinged it and it looked really cool. Then his dad yelled at him and said ‘Devon, you little demon, cut that out right now!’“

Alcor could only stare, mouth agape, in response. Toby started to tremble as he continued speaking. “Then Devon’s dad took the baseball bat and Devon got really sad and I didn’t know what it means but it looked bad and I don’t want to be a little demon and I’m really really sorry I said I wanted to play baseball I don’t want to be a demon I don’t I don’t -”

He cut off with a squeak as his father took him into his arms and hugged him tight.

Alcor was a being with access to more power and magic than almost anything else in the universe. He could level mountains, he could turn cities inside out, he could institute universal basic income on the moon with a snap of his fingers.

But when he held Toby in his arms, when he saw the awestruck look on the boy’s face when he played the violin for him, when he listened to Toby babble excitedly about whatever he’d learned in school that day, Alcor felt powerful.

All of his magic crumbled beneath the obscene power granted to him by way of this child’s trust in him. He had the power to protect this child, to support and encourage him to grow up to be the best person he could be. He could also betray Toby’s trust so, so easily.

He could punish his son for no reason if he needed an emotional pick-me-up. He could disregard the boy’s concerns and laugh in his face. He could even raise his voice just a little too much, caught in a moment of frustration, and leave Toby wincing in distress -- an ephemeral moment in Alcor’s life but an upsetting and formative moment in Toby’s which could forever mar their relationship.

That would be childish. That would be immature of him.

Alcor had killed reams of cultists, had bestowed disturbing curses on people who’d only sort of deserved it, had terraformed the western coast of the United States in a fit of rage. He’d done a lot of horrible things with his magic, but.

This power, this power he had to shape Toby’s life.

This power horrified him.

“You’re not a demon,” Alcor said, (and it felt so unfair to be saying that to him of all people -- so cruel and dirty that he wanted to scream until his hair fell out. But he didn’t.)

“Don’t cry,” (even though no one had held him when he cried that day in 2012, because he’d simply slipped through their fingers, and he wanted to repay that favor. But he didn’t.)

“Daddy’s here,” he whispered, before kissing Toby’s tears away. “You’re not in trouble.”

The words came so naturally, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. As if he had the experience to understand what was upsetting his son, and the power to make it better. As if he had the maturity to push past his own conflicted feelings, because he was an adult, and this was a little child.

He set Toby down, and kneeled to meet his eyes. In that moment, he felt tall. Sort of grown up.

Toby sniffled. “You’d never yell at me? Even if I do something wrong?”

Alcor thought once again back to the day he’d seen Bill Cipher on the side of the road. Thought about the furious, vengeful part of him that enjoyed the boy’s suffering because that’s what he deserved. Remarked on how the universe had served him up his greatest enemy in the most vulnerable form possible, giving him the opportunity to take Toby’s trust and do unspeakable things to him.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” he said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I promise.”

Remembered how he’d instead chosen love.

---

It was a dark and stormy night that found Alcor wandering the streets of a mostly-abandoned city.

He’d been summoned -- it always started with a summons -- and he’d been angry. It didn’t even matter what had made him angry, because there were so many things these days that people absolutely would not stop doing no matter how much he screamed and threatened and threw flaming balls of plasma into their twisted places of worship. They never learned. And neither did he.

Alcor couldn’t stand how many people had to die because of him. How many people were killed in his name. How many lives he’d taken with his own hands because he couldn’t seem to stop, like an immature brat who throws tantrums when things don’t go his way. He wondered if he could ever change, or if he was just stuck this way.

It was deep in these thoughts that the demon heard a little noise. A squeak, barely audible over the rain. He dismissed it at first, because his grand thoughts were more important than the world around him, and right after a bad summons was the perfect time for self-hatred. It felt good -- it was one of the only things that still did. He considered burning the entire city to the ground. Maybe that’d feel even better.

Something told him that it wouldn’t.

He heard the squeak again, his eyes darting over to a heap of trash bags between two buildings, and that’s when he saw him. A little boy with golden hair, no older than six. He was dressed in rags. He looked like he hadn’t seen a scrap of food in days. The left side of his face had been eaten away by flame, leaving it patchy and discolored.

Alcor had seen right through Bill’s disguise, of course. There wasn’t a meatsuit pitiable enough to blot out the sins his soul had committed. Perhaps that was why he had been abandoned on the side of the street to begin with -- karma was finally catching up with him. Alcor wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t. Something strange was going on inside of him. Some sort of instinct buried within him -- not one tipped with blood and claws, but one that creaked and groaned under centuries of exertion.

It was this feeling that prompted him to gather up the child in his arms. He felt how fast the boy’s heart was beating; saw in his past how much he’d been hurt without an adult to protect him. He knew that feeling well.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as Toby began to fuss. “Things will be better now. I’ll protect you. I might only be a child myself, but I promise I��ll protect you.”

One year later, one year of introspection, growth, and unbroken promises later, he had to admit he’d been wrong.

(AO3 link)

[arrowflier]

What if Debbie made them have a Halloween party with costumes. What would they all be?

In retrospect, they should have known it was a bad idea to go along with Debbie’s plan.

“Come on guys,” she had begged them. “Franny wants to do a family costume, and it won’t work if it’s just the two of us!”

“No way,” Mickey said, but Ian was already speaking over him.

“Sure, whatever,” Ian agreed, and Mickey smacked him on the arm.

“What?” Ian asked innocently. “It’s for Franny.”

Mickey relented almost immediately, even if he did keep scowling.

“Fucking fine, then,” he grumbled. “But only cause it’s for little red.”

“Thank you Mickey!” Debbie said, trying to hug him, but he hid behind Ian’s larger frame.

“Didn’t mean you,” he muttered into Ian’s back, gripping Ian’s shoulders and spinning him bodily to keep a barrier between himself and Debbie.

“You would have done it for her, too, Mick,” Ian laughed, and Mickey whacked the back of his head as Debbie beamed.

“Keep your thoughts to your self, asshole,” Mickey ordered, then sighed as both redheads snickered at him.

---

Now, standing in the living room of the Gallagher house and looking at the costumes Debbie had laid out for them, Mickey wished he wasn’t such a sucker for red haired Gallaghers. Because right there in front of him was the gaudiest outfit he had ever seen.

It was a deep blue, at least, but the color was the only thing Mickey could get behind. The rest of it was a complete travesty, with three-dimensional silver piping, shiny buttons, and leggings—fucking leggings—meant to be tucked into the silver boots currently laying on the floor.

“No,” he stated immediately. “Nuh-uh, not wearing that.”

“Mickey, it’s just for one night,” Ian tried to reason with him.

That was all well and good for him. Ian was the lucky one—his costume was mostly grey and black, with cool patterning and thin plastic bits meant to make it look like armor. It even had a helmet, and, best of all, a plastic sword.

“Why do you get to be the knight?” Mickey complained. “I could beat your ass any day, man.”

Ian just raised his eyebrows.

“Will you shut up and get dressed already?” Debbie demanded, wandering into the room with Franny. She was holding up an outfit similar in taste to Mickey’s, but pink and glittery and child-sized.

“Franny won’t wear her princess dress unless you guys do it with her, come on," Debbie pressed, and Mickey scowled at her.

“Should’ve known you were up to something,” Mickey groused. “No way the kid picked this shit out.”

Debbie sighed.

“Will you please just wear the damn costume?” she asked. “It’s too late to find another one, Lip and Tami will be here any minute.”

Ian took one look at Mickey’s sour face, and decided to try a more diplomatic approach.

“Don’t you want your me to be your prince?” Ian asked, kneeling down next to Franny and tugging on a lock of her red hair. “We could match, how about that?”

Franny pulled back, stomping her foot.

“No!” she insisted. “I can’t marry you silly, it has to be Uncle Mickey!”

“You can’t marry Uncle Mickey either…” Ian tried to reason, but one look from his niece stopped the words in his throat and he coughed.

“Yeah, okay, sound logic,” he agreed instead. “Sorry Mick, guess you gotta be royalty tonight.”

Mickey wants to argue some more. Franny never even liked this shit, why should he have to play along? If she was gonna be a princess, her mom could have at least let her be Xena or somethin'. Now that was royalty he could get behind.

But Debbie was glaring at him, and Ian and Franny were both watching him with their damned big eyes, blue and green and faintly wet.

"Whatever," he finally said, and grabbed the offending outfit from off the sofa. "But if I get a single comment about this tonight, we're leavin', got that?"

"Sure Mickey," Ian and Debbie both agreed, and he frowned harder.

Liars, the both of them.

---

An hour later, Mickey was crammed into the corner of a booth at the Alibi, nursing his third beer of the night. If one more person had anything to say about his costume--Tommy had called him a fucking pillow prince, that fucker--he was gonna take Ian's fake sword and stab them with it.

"Doin' okay over here?" Ian asked as he sat down beside him. Mickey just grunted in response, and took another sip.

"It's not that bad," Ian tried to say, but Mickey's glare cut him off short.

"At least you're not the jester?" he tried again, nodding his head toward Carl, whose multicolored, belled hat could be heard across the room.

"Fuck off," Mickey told him, flipping him off with the hand not holding his beer. "Never thought I'd be wishing I was with your asshole brother instead of you."

"What, Carl?" Ian asked, confused, but Mickey shuddered.

"Fuck no," he asserted. "The one with the badass family costume, you moron."

Ian looked around, still unsure, then spotted Lip and Tami a few tables over. Lip had on homemade Mandalorian regalia, complete with a helmet that Mickey had earlier said was a brilliant choice for hiding his ugly-ass face. Tami was dressed as a blonde Cara Dune, the fake tat on her arm on prominent display as she held Fred in his little Grogu costume.

"What," Ian asked with a smile, "you wanted to dress up like a woman?"

Mickey snorted. "A fucking badass woman," he corrected, "but no. I coulda been Boba Fett or something, man. Instead of this...," he paused to wave down at himself, almost spilling his beer in the process.

"This gay-ass thing," he finished, and Ian smirked and scooted closer.

"But you are gay," he pointed out, forcing an arm around Mickey's shoulders and ignoring the responding eye-roll.

“And besides,” Ian murmured in his ear, “your gay ass looks amazing in those tights.”

Mickey flushed.

"Yeah, well," he muttered back. "Better stay close, Mr. knight in plastic armor." He leaned closer to Ian, letting his husband tighten his hold.

"Nobody better look at my fine ass but you."

[zecretsanta]

FIC: Untitled Escape Room Movie Project

To: @witchervesemir

From: @kiichu

Hey, here’s the extra gift I promised! This was so much fun to write, and I hope I created a believable cast/universe. There’s some fun things on the Ao3 page, so I encourage you to please read it there!

AO3

“Oh my gosh, is that you… Jumpy!?” 

“K-Kanny!?”

“CUT!”

A loud screech and the slap of a clapperboard startled the young man and woman out of their acting illusion, two sets of eyes flying towards the director. 

“What’s up?” Junpei Tenmyouji asked, crossing his arms. The rest of the actors on set had relaxed their stances, chitchatting amongst themselves for the time being. 

“That was good, but I didn’t really feel the emotion,” explained the director, Kotaro Uchikoshi. “Junpei, you haven’t seen this girl in years - she’s your childhood best friend.” 

“And probably his first love.” The actress of the girl in question, Akane Kurashiki, piped in, elbowing her co-star. “You didn’t really seem that surprised. Or rather, not I-can’t-believe-you’re-here-on-this-murder-ship-too surprised.” 

Uchikoshi laughed. “That’s a good way to put it.”

Junpei nodded, taking the advice to heart. He’d wanted to be an actor ever since he was a kid, and had slowly built up a resume throughout the years. Now in his late twenties, he still had enough of a babyface to pass for the college-aged male lead of the upcoming movie, Zero Escape: 9 Hours 9 Persons 9 Doors. When he’d auditioned, the director hadn’t had a name for the character - and, to his surprise, chose to name the protagonist after Junpei himself upon seeing his performance. There really was no greater honor, and Junpei considered himself beyond lucky for this opportunity. The least he could do was listen when the man gave him acting advice. 

“Akane,” Uchikoshi continued, “you were great - just need more of that ditziness, y’know?” 

“Tone up the ditz? Can do!” Akane exclaimed, twirling around in emphasis. 

With a huff of laughter, Junpei watched his co-star in awe. Akane Kurashiki was a well-known actress, starring in several important roles in pivotal movies the past decade. She was a beautiful young woman in her twenties, continuously growing a loyal and large fan following. 

It downright made Junpei nervous, being in the presence of such talent, but Akane was a kind and patient person. He could really learn a lot from her, and recognized his privilege for this opportunity.

Akane’s younger brother, Aoi, was also in the movie, playing her character’s sibling as well. Aoi had been cast as the rowdy and sarcastic Santa not because of his actual relation to Akane, but because he was just that damn good at it. Aoi had tried to explain away his talent by saying that Santa’s protectiveness for June stems from his own for Akane, but it didn’t change the fact that the performance was believable and admirable. 

Really, everyone in the room with Junpei was so damn brilliant at acting. 

If this movie was going to be as great as they all hoped, it would take every one of the actors’ efforts to make it work. And really, the cast had been nothing but supportive to one another, so Junpei found the confidence to believe in the film’s success. 

“Alright, everyone! Back to your places!” Uchikoshi called, and the cast scrambled to their original places. “Roll sound. Camera ready? Action!” 

  “Are you seriously doing a Tiktok right now, Yotsuba?” The actor playing the mysterious amnesiac ‘Seven’ - Yamamoto - chuckled as he walked into the break room, seeing his younger coworker performing a dance in the corner. 

The girl jumped, her bright pink wig sliding a bit out of place. “Yamamoto!” she hissed, adjusting her headpiece. “Ugh, this thing weighs a ton.” 

“I’ll bet. All that hair and the earmuffs and stuff… I don’t envy you.” Suddenly, Yamamoto felt grateful his character only wore a hat on his head, and he didn’t need a wig. 

Yotsuba gave a dismissive gesture. “Not a problem, I’m gonna take it off soon anyway. And hey, to answer your question - yes, of course. Can’t help it, there’s a dance trending and I had to join in the fun!” She giggled. “Besides, it gives some promotion for the movie, so why not?” 

“How do you all know what’s popular on the app, anyway?” Yamamoto asked. “Like, I have one of those Tiktoks, but I don’t really get how it works. There’s always something new going on.” 

Yotsuba Field took a deep breath. “Yeah, explaining that to you would take all night. Ask Kubota or Nijisaki - they’re boomers too, but get it better than you do.”

“Hey, I resent being called a boomer.” Kubota Teruaki, the actor for the trembling character of the ‘9th Man’, cheerfully stepped into the break room. “Because I do have lots of followers. My contract lets me post little preview clips of the movie, too.”

Nijisaki, another friendly actor with an extremely minor role, strolled in behind him. “Nothing about your character dying in the first twenty minutes of the movie?” he asked.

“Of course not.” Kubota wrinkled his nose. “But you have to wonder if they’re going to edit the trailers to make it seem like I’m there at later points.” 

“Probably. They did that with the actress for Sayaka Maizono in Danganronpa, you know?” Yotsuba pointed out. 

“Makes sense. At least you have a speaking role, Kubota. Me and Kagechika get grunts of confusion, and then we’re corpses.” Nijisaki laughed. 

A hand clapped down on his shoulder, a low raspy voice announcing the presence of another actor. “Yes, sorry about that! Oops!” Gentarou Hongou, the actor behind the spoiler murderous villain, Ace, snickered. “I kinda wish my guy would just chill out. Eat a Snickers bar, or something. He could’ve been best friends with everyone! The cool dad character! But nooo.” 

“He’s not very charming once the scary faces come out. Or so I’m told,” Light added agreeably from behind him. 

“Yeah, I don’t see him topping any popularity lists…” Hongou lamented.

“I don’t ‘see’ him at all.” Light’s lips curled to a smirk as he opened his sightless eyes, earning him a giant groan from everyone else in the room. 

Aoi and Hazuki were just coming into the room and heard that line, and Aoi promptly threw his head back in exasperation and groaned. “Oh my God…”

“Sorry, sorry,” Light chuckled, not seeming sorry at all. “But, Hongou, it could be much worse - remember the original script that got cut? I guarantee if that leaks, there’ll be tons of creepypastas about the ‘deleted scenes of 999!’. They’ll say someone burned alive in our incinerator set during that scene or something.” 

“Creepypastas?” Yamamoto echoed. “Do I want to know?”

“My kids mentioned something like that years ago, when they were teenagers,” Hazuki pointed out. “Is that the slender man?”

Yotsuba snorted, trying to cover her mouth in politeness but failing miserably. “Like with Tiktok, not explaining that.” She nudged Hongou and Light. “That does remind me, though, of my own deleted scene. The one where I go ax crazy?” 

“They deleted that?!” Nijisaki gasped. “But it was such a cool scene…” 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make much sense in context, I guess. They’re not supposed to really know until the editing begins, but I was told it was going to be cut from the final movie.” Yotsuba shrugged. “Sucks, but what can you do? Uchikoshi says he’ll talk about it in the DVD interviews  and stuff. That’ll definitely make it talked about online. And hey, any traction is good, right?” 

“I guess so,” Aoi said. “But anyway, I think we’re all about done for the day, right? Akane and Junpei are finishing up their scene, so… how’s going for some pizza sound?”

Everyone in the room exchanged a pleasant glance. This was nothing new to them, as the entire cast was on friendly terms with each other and frequently went out after work. Usually, the only reason someone wouldn’t come with the group would be family obligations, such as Hazuki or Hongou picking up their kids or grandkids, or a scheduling conflict like Yotsuba’s model work. 

However, that particular day, the entire cast was thankfully free. 

“Oh, but what about the kid actors? From the incinerator? My little self?!” Akane gasped. 

“Ah, they went home hours ago…” Aoi replied. “Damn labor laws!” he joked, shaking a fist in fake frustration. 

Hazuki nudged him with a roll of her eyes. “Then how about we order them food the next time they’re all back on set? Yamamoto, don’t they have a scene with you in a couple days?”

“Yep! We’ll be starting the boat escape scene,” Yamamoto replied. “That’ll be a fun day. Wet, too.” 

Light rolled his sightless eyes. “Side effect of having several boat sets to work on.” 

“Hey guys,” Yotsuba cut in, stopping any further conversation about work, “about that pizza?” 

The group rumbled in enthusiastic agreement.

  Gentarou Hongou stepped out of the dressing room in his new costume for the day. It wasn’t anything fancy, really - a blue pinstripe suit and a lab coat overtop, with a fedora to match. The younger actors originally had protests to the fedora in particular, but the director argued that it would make Ace seem even more like a dick, so they went with it in the end. 

Being a more seasoned actor, Hongou had embraced the wrinkles he’d gained over the years. It was exciting to evolve his talent to different roles, roles that had been all but locked to him before simply due to his age. The ‘wise old man’ was certainly fulfilling to play, but Hongou had to admit he’d been having fun hamming it up as Ace. Being the first twist villain of the movie, Ace had to be played as a deeply unstable man seemingly out of nowhere - and the evil faces Hongou got to do! Oh, they were so fun . Sometimes, Hongou couldn’t believe that he got paid for this stuff. 

That day, he was set to film a flashback scene, and Ace was significantly younger (Hongou even had to shave…!), so the makeup department got to work smoothing out the lines on his face. By the end of it, he was on set with Yamamoto and a bunch of kids at the incinerator backdrop.

There was a particular scene, however, that made Hongou a bit nervous. Ace had to drag the younger version of June into the ‘incinerator’ - typical evil bastard stuff - but he had to grab the little actress’s wrist and actually pull her. They’d practiced it before, to make sure she’d be safe and he was pulling in a way that didn’t hurt her, but he still had his concerns.

Yamamoto’s costume made him look considerably younger, as well, with prominent makeup and no beanie. Hongou nodded to the other man as he walked onto set, noting June’s child actress hovering nearby. 

The little girl didn’t hesitate to approach Hongou, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Wow, Mr. Hongou - you look way different!” she chirped. “Just like Mr. Yamamoto!” 

“Amazing what some makeup will do, hm?” Hongou chuckled. “I don’t even think my wife would recognize me like this. Maybe she’d think I’m more handsome this way.” 

The little girl giggled, the sound putting Hongou a bit more at ease. “She’s super excited to shoot today. Was yammering on and on the minute she walked outta makeup,” Yamamoto rumbled.

“I’m glad you’re not scared of me,” Hongou admitted sheepishly, kneeling down to look her in the eye. “I’m going to be making some pretty silly faces, and they might seem a bit intense in the moment.” 

“Oh, I know!” the girl exclaimed. “It’s just acting - I know that, Mr. Hongou. Don’t be too worried if I seem scared, okay?” She patted him on the shoulder with a beaming smile. “I’m not, I promise! Everyone here is so nice, I’m so glad Mommy let me be a part of this! I’m having so much fun!”

Ah. Hongou smiled at her warmly; her youthful energy reminded him of his daughter when she was the same age. “Well then,” he rasped, “I say we have a scene to shoot, don’t you?” 

The little actress nodded. “Let’s do this!”

  “Ah, how wonderful to see you decided to come back.” Hongou said his lines with practiced ease, staring down at the little girl opposite him with the eyes of a killer. Or, at least, he tried - it was hard to get into the headspace of a faceblind character without actually being faceblind himself. 

They tried to cast someone with prosopagnosia for the role, but there weren’t any auditions - and Hongou had a pretty good idea why. This situation wasn’t like Light, who was actually blind as Snake was - the disability in Ace’s case was not being portrayed in a respectful or realistic manner, so it wouldn’t exactly be the role of a lifetime for an actor with prosopagnosia. 

Little Akane’s actress trembled as she turned around and faced him; Hongou had to remind himself of her earlier reassurances, and hope she remembered his. The girl shook her head, taking a step back away from him. 

“Come with me,” he recited, “We must continue the experiment.” 

Hongou really tried to play up the ‘deranged’ look - Ace was really off the deep end, even in the past! - and hoped he was selling it. The little girl was very talented, definitely giving the impression she was genuinely terrified. Hongou wondered absentmindedly what acting school she went to, or if her parents were in the business. 

Unfortunately, he was so lost in that train of thought, he missed the cue for his next line, and fumbled out the words, “Stop snuggling, goddammit–” He stopped short, rumbling out a deep laugh, “D-did I really say snuggling?!” 

His scene partner giggled in response. “Mr. Hongooooou!!” 

More laughs sounded from behind a nearby prop door. The young actors for Santa and Snake’s kid portrayals were waiting to pop out and call for Akane, as well as Yamamoto.

“Oh my God, Hongou,” Yamamoto said, his voice muffled behind the door. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hongou chuckled. “I’ll get it right this time. No snuggling allowed on my ship.”

Uchikoshi gave a chortle of his own. “It’d be a much different movie.” 

“Not nearly as exciting, though,” Hongou replied with a smirk. Conflict does make a story, after all, and 999 ’s conflict was pretty damn interesting. 

“Okay, okay - from the top, people!” Uchikoshi cried out, clapping a few times to get everyone back into their places. “And no snuggling this time!” 

  “You– Akane!? You’re Zero?!” 

Akane couldn’t contain her laughter as Light, Yotsuba, Yamamoto, Hongou, Kubota, and Hazuki all read through the latest piece of their scripts. From the beginning of shooting, only Akane, Junpei, and Aoi were told about the end twist in an effort to make the surprise feel as real as possible. The last pages of the script were hidden from most of the actors until the final shooting days.

Up until that point, everyone had been under the impression that Aoi was Zero. Sure, they knew the twist about Akane and Aoi being siblings, but weren’t aware Akane was part of the operation at all. In fact, the script had actually said the contrary up until the last minute ‘change’ (or, more accurately, the last minute switch to the real script). 

“Oops?” Akane shrugged lightly, giggling as her friends gaped at her. “Sorry!” 

“Holy shit,” Hazuki whispered. “Holy shit, I like that twist.” 

“It makes a bit more sense in hindsight,” Hongou pointed out. “Something was weird about you, Akane.” 

Akane bopped Hongou on the arm. “Like you’re one to talk!” 

“Fair point.” Hongou just gave a sheepish grin. 

“Do you know how hard it was to keep this a secret from you guys?” Aoi asked with a grumble. “Really really hard.” 

“Yeah, Aoi’s mouth is big enough that I was afraid he’d spoil,” Akane sighed, shaking her head. Her brother was a bit of a loudmouth after all - just like his character. “But seeing as his career depended on his silence, I’m glad he pulled it off.” 

Aoi put his arm around Akane playfully. “Hey, I seem to remember you and Junpei whining about how we couldn’t spill the beans, either.” 

“Shh, don’t tell them that!” Akane exclaimed. 

“Oh well, I guess it doesn’t matter much now that we do know. And I’m glad Uchikoshi went this route.” Yamamoto chuckled, reviewing the new script. “Seems we just have that final car scene to shoot.”

Hongou groaned loudly. “Not that scene…” 

“Shut up and wear your duct tape and ropes,” Hazuki laughed with a wink. 

Yamamoto snorted, turning the script to the last page. “And then that’s about it for a while, huh? Until reshoots, if we need any.” 

A murmur of agreement fluttered around the room, everyone simultaneously coming to the conclusion that their fun was almost over for now. It was a shame, really, that things like this couldn’t last a bit longer, but that was showbiz. They’d all been through this before - everything must naturally come to an end. Take away the costumes, director, scripts, and sets, and all you had left were a group of people. 

But at the very least, they were a group of people that cared about each other and promised to stay in touch. 

And in the end, that made it all worth it.

[evanpeterssource]

Evan Peters and Billie Lourd Discuss the Art of Dying Onscreen

BILLIE LOURD: Let me set the scene for you: I’m sitting outside my house in my never-washed car, because that’s the only silent place in my home, and it’s not even in my home. I have a wireless breast pump with me, so if you hear a weird sound, that’s what that is.

PETERS: I’m in my bedroom, currently in my PJs. I worked a night shoot last night and am doing a night shoot again tonight. So, I’m drinking coffee and trying to wake up and get back into it.\

LOURD: I know how that goes. My hands are on my temples for you. Okay, Ev, I’m fucking obsessed with Mare of Easttown. I do not watch any shows because if I ever have free time, it’s usually spent napping or just lying in a silent room. But I failed all my nap times with watching this show. You’re a fucking genius.

PETERS: Thanks Billie. I appreciate it.

LOURD: Tell me the story of how it all came to be.

PETERS: They sent me the script and it said that Kate Winslet was going to be the lead, and that it was an HBO crime drama. So I was like, dude, I’ve got to really work on this one. I did the self-tape thing, so it was super awkward and weird.

LOURD: It was a self-tape? Wow.

PETERS: Yeah, I sent that in, and then the director and writer and showrunner were like, “You want to have some lunch?” And I was like, “They’re going to tell me to redo the tape, I know it.” And then they offered me the part, thankfully.

LOURD: That’s when you know you’re a really good actor, is when you get a part off a self-tape. I’ve never done that.

PETERS: Oh come on, you’re a great actress. You can do that single-tear thing.

LOURD: I do have a single-tear thing!

PETERS: That’s incredibly hard to do.

LOURD: Only when there’s a promise of bratwurst at Krafty’s will I do a single tear. What was the scene that you had to tape?

PETERS: The earlier scenes, where I’m coming in and meeting Mare and she just does not want me there at all.

LOURD: I was going to say, if you had to do that drunk scene, or the breakdown scene, that would be a nightmare. Did you know you were going to die? How did that make you feel? I’m a therapist now.

PETERS: It was a little stressful trying to navigate that. You had a finite amount of time to cram in all this stuff. Because you knew how it was going to go, and you wanted it to have an interesting arc, but… poor Zabes.

LOURD: Dude, it was fucking devastating. Zabel is so sweet, and you’re like, “No, he was on such a fucking upswing!” You’ve gotten shot in the head a couple of times now, which is pretty rare for an actor.

PETERS: Yeah, he’s got to work on that quick draw. But it was a cool scene to shoot. We kind of stretched out time and it was like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, where it was a stare-down, and you’re like, “God, this feels like a really long time to be staring at people.” But Craig, the director, was like, “We’ll edit it. It’ll look good.” And nowadays, everything’s CGI, so back in the day they probably would have used blanks to help with that, but it was just a click. Or the other actor going, “Bang!” and all of a sudden you would have to get shot in the head. And you’re like, “What are we, 12, playing with guns?” It was such an awesome set that they built. They found this property that was like an abandoned bar, with a house on the back. And then set dressing came in and made it that amazing, creepy, disheveled, messed-up house that it was. So it was really cool to be in there and feel like, “Oh my God, we got the guy.”

LOURD: It’s amazing to watch you piece it together and look at each other and hear the pipe banging. It’s so suspenseful. We’ve got to talk about Kate. Can I call her Kate? Should I call her Kate Winslet? She’s so fucking magical. What was that like working with her.

PETERS: I was pretty terrified and nervous and stressed out before meeting her. I’m such a huge fan, and she’s one of the best actresses of all time. But she was so warm and down-to-earth and immediately disarming. What’s really cool is that she’s very collaborative. I thought she was going to be like, “Nope, I’m right. You’re all wrong.” You know, because she’s brilliant. But she was very open to new ideas and exploring things. I found that really reassuring, and surprising, since she’s set at such a high caliber.

LOURD: That’s so cool to hear. I feel like every actor’s dream is to get to work with her. Did you stay in your accents all the time? I always wonder that when people do accents.

PETERS: I was in it the whole time. I’m not good enough of an actor to be able to pop in and out of it. Somebody on set said there are different levels. There’s the learning it, there’s the “I have to stay in it,” and then there’s, “I’m so good that I can pop in and out of it.” Kate was that. She was incredibly English throughout the whole thing. Like [in British accent], “Oh, hi, Zabes. How are you doing babes? You good? Everything good? Okay, great.” And then she’d be like [in Philadelphia accent], “Let’s go get a hoagie. Let’s go down to the shore and check out the store.” I was just like, oh my god. How do you do that?

LOURD: That is so trippy. I don’t think I could do that.

PETERS: No, I could not do that. She’s really impressive that way.

LOURD: What was your favorite scene to do with Kate? I have to stop calling her that. Lady Winslet?

PETERS: There were so many. The bar scene was pretty awesome because it was so improvised.

LOURD: Oh, really?

PETERS: Yeah, it was just kind of fun to be at a bar with Lady Winslet.

LOURD: That’s my dream.

PETERS: But there was another scene that I really liked too: When I first got in the car, and I’m like, “Hey, are we carpooling?” And she’s like, “Ugh, this fucking guy.” And then I get in the car and she slams on the gas and I almost smoke my head. I thought that was really fun because it was one of the earlier scenes that we shot, and it set the tone for how much Mare was annoyed at Zabel being there.

LOURD: How did you do the bar scene? Are you allowed to get drunk?

PETERS: No, you can’t get drunk unfortunately. But I would say I’ve done a ton of research over the years. You know, at a couple of your birthday parties.

LOURD: Would you rather do a death scene or a killing scene?

PETERS: Oh, that’s a hard question. It really depends on how you’re killing or dying. Dying is such a challenge, as an actor.

LOURD: I don’t like dying.

PETERS: It’s so hard. It’s like, how do you do it? And does this look believable? Can they see me breathing? It really depends on how you’re getting killed as well. There’s so many questions and so many ifs.

LOURD: Killing me in American Horror Story was such a laugh. I hope they put in parentheses, “She said sarcastically.”

PETERS: Yeah, that was a pretty horrific day.

LOURD: That was a rough one. I’ve watched it back and I can definitely see myself breathing. And the eyes are so hard, like to actually keep your eyes open. I feel like I’ve made the decision to close my eyes. Do you do open-eye or closed-eye deaths?

PETERS: I like to do a little halfsies—a little open, a little closed.

LOURD: I like it. Split the difference. Have you been on the streets since Zabel died? Do people come up and hug you and thank god that you’re actually alive?

PETERS: No. I’ve gotten some text messages that were like, “Sorry, man. You’ve got to work on that quick-draw.” I’m super stoked that people like the show.

LOURD: It’s one of those shows that’s now part of the zeitgeist. Even my baby loves it. How long did it take to shoot?

PETERS: Gosh, we started in October 2019, and then I was supposed to be done at the beginning of March 2020. I had about two or three weeks left. Then the pandemic hit and they punted it to September. I was like, “Oh man, I’ve got to keep learning this accent for six months.”

LOURD: And not eat all the double doubles in sight. You had to keep that accent and keep that bod.

PETERS: Yeah, it was a challenge.

LOURD: What do you think would have happened with Mare and Zabel if Zabel didn’t die? It’s a real thinker.

PETERS: Ooh, that is a real thinker. I think they would have gone on a few more dates and then Mare probably would’ve realized that Zabel’s not the one. Zabel would have been devastated again.

LOURD: I think they could have had a shotgun wedding in Vegas and lived happily ever after. It could have been great.

PETERS: I like that for Zabel. That sounds good.

LOURD: Do you think you would have moved to Easttown or would he have gone back?

PETERS: I think he definitely would have had to move out of his mom’s place. For sure that would have been step number one.

LOURD: Were you sad when he died or did you think that this was the perfect ending for him?

PETERS: I thought it was an interesting ending to the character. He kind of came in, and then it was so shocking, but that’s the way death is in real life. You’re never really expecting it, and then it happens.

LOURD: It’s amazing you got to know the whole arc of the character before you played him.

PETERS: Yeah, it’s rare to get all the episodes beforehand. You make a choice in episode two and then you get to episode seven and you’re like, “Oh wait, that was totally wrong, what I did in episode two… Can we go back and reshoot that?” And they’re like, “No.”

LOURD: Did knowing the ending affect how you played him? He was so lovable anyway, but did knowing he was going to die make you play him even more lovably, if that’s a word?

PETERS: Yeah, that did play into it. There was talk about making him a little bit more arrogant and cocky. But I thought, when he dies, it’d be more tragic if he wasn’t that. So we tried to make him a little bit bumbling and not as good of a detective and really trying. We wanted it to be as shocking and sad as we could.

LOURD: Did you do any actor-y stuff? Like, a cologne you wore? Or did you wear a special hat?

PETERS: That’s so funny. I wish I wore a special hat to work every day , like an old-school 1940s detective hat. I did always have my coffee mug. There was a little bit of a Zabel-mug thing going on. And there were rituals. I would write in the mornings and try to get into it, stuff like that. But god, I wish I wore a hat.

LOURD: We should incorporate that into our future careers, to make sure we have a hat for every role we play. And then you could have a case at your house of all the hats you wore.

PETERS: That’s so goddamn funny.

LOURD: People are going to be like, “Billie Lourd is a psychopath.”

PETERS: Oh, you know what I did do? I wore a cross. You can’t see it, but when he died, I wanted you to see the cross on his neck. He’s got this weird thing with religion where he was raised religious, but then being in the line of work that he’s in and seeing all this death and awfulness, you start to question that. And then his mom is very religious. So I wanted him to be, underneath it all, a little bit religious and hopeful and needing the protection of god when he went out into the field.

LOURD: That’s way better than a hat.