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bella-rose29 · 4 months

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Happy New Year - Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: barely proof read (I vaguely looked over it once) and mentions of alcohol consumption

felt like writing this (it's totally not to sweeten you all up for when I post deck the halls part 5 tomorrow whaaat that would be ridiculous I would never do that... 👀)

Tag list (i think this is everyone but idk anything anymore): @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @light-23, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

"Right, we've got just over an hour before midnight and George has got the telly all set up for the fireworks display. Holly said she'd be here in about ten minutes and Kipps is coming with her, I'm not entirely sure where Lucy and Norrie are which I should probably be more concerned about, and I think that's everything. Is Flo coming do you know? Because I know George said she hadn't decided yet but-"

"Lockwood?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you sit down? You seem very stressed," Y/n said, smiling at him from behind her mug of tea while she sat in the kitchen, watching Lockwood pace around the table. It was definitely way past her normal bedtime, but Lockwood had seemed so excited about seeing the New Year in with them all that she couldn't exactly say no to him, especially not when he'd given her a small smile filled with hope that she would say yes to spending the evening with him.

That and they'd tested out the speakers earlier, and she would never have been able to sleep with the music as loud as it currently was.

"I am hosting, Y/n/n. I'm meant to be stressed; it's part of the job."

"Well," she started, getting out of her chair and wincing when her bones clicked. She picked up the mug that Lockwood had abandoned on the table and moved over to where he had stopped his pacing. "I think you're meant to drink your tea and have a biscuit. Then everything will be better, yeah?"

"Alright, if that's what the doctor orders," he smiled as he took the mug out of her hand, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest at the sight. She'd had a crush on Anthony Lockwood since she first met him a few years ago in a café, both him and his company and her Fittes team winding down after their jobs and grabbing a cup of tea before heading out into the cold again. Then she'd quit her job at Fittes because they stopped giving her work and she couldn't afford the rent, and she'd noticed an ad in the paper for agents to join the psychical agency Lockwood and Co, and she'd been met with the pretty boy from the café again. He'd welcomed her instantly, made her feel at home and gave her a place to live, and over the next couple of years her feelings only grew.

Now they were 18 years old, soon to be celebrating the New Year in 35 Portland Row together, and he was smiling at her like she was the sun.

"Don't tell George about the biscuits though, yeah?" he whispered, leaning in as though it were the sort of secret that could never be told. She nodded, snorting at his mock seriousness.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Can't have you on your own, can we?"

"I wouldn't be alone, Lockwood. I'd have Lucy, and Holly, and George." She frowned a little, considering something. "Although maybe not George if he's killed you. I don't really want to be friends with murderers to be honest." Lockwood let out a laugh, and Y/n couldn't help but grin back at him when his joy was so infectious.

"No, I don't suppose that would be very good, would it?" He chuckled to himself for a moment or so, sipping his tea and munching on a biscuit. "I'm not much looking forward to being the only one not getting a kiss at midnight though."

It surprised her that he'd brought up the topic, since Lockwood had never really shown much interest in that sort of thing before. "Kipps'll probably be on his own too, although I'm not sure you'll be able to convince him to give you a smooch. I'm not kissing anyone either, if that helps."

"I think I'd rather kiss George's underwear than Kipps. You're not even going to kiss Lucy? I thought you two said you would," he asked, attempting to sound disinterested in the whole subject.

"Yeah, well now that she's got Norrie here they're gonna kiss instead, so I'm on my own. And I would also rather kiss George's pants than Kipps."

"Ah."

"Hmm." They drank the remainder of their tea in silence, the music from the speakers that George had set up streaming in despite being muffled through the closed kitchen door. "You know, I haven't even had my first kiss yet."

Lockwood looked at her, surprise all over his face. "What about that guy you went on a date with?"

"What? When did I go on a date?" And why did Lockwood sound... jealous?

"A few weeks ago. Oh, what was his name? Dave? Derek?"

"Daniel?"

"Yes! Daniel, that's the one. I knew it started with a 'd'."

"Dan's not... we're not dating, Lockwood. That wasn't a date," she said, feeling increasingly flustered.

"So he just bought you flowers and took you to dinner... as a friend?" Lockwood was definitely jealous, and Y/n had to bite back a laugh at the idea. Something was nagging at her in the back of her mind, telling her that it was strange for him to be jealous and wouldn't that mean something? but she wasn't paying much attention to it.

"Well I told him it wasn't a date. And we didn't kiss so I don't see how it's relevant."

"Right." A momentary pause. "But still, how come you haven't kissed anyone before?"

"It's not by choice. I've just never... had the opportunity I guess. You've probably kissed loads of people, what with how many of them you charm every day." Lockwood shrugged.

"Not really. There was one girl a few months ago, but she kissed me after pinning me against a taxi so that I physically couldn't get away from her, so I'm not entirely sure that counts."

"... What?"

"Yeah. After that job for Mrs. Hastings, her daughter followed us out and shoved me against the taxi. I have no idea how she was that strong but I feared for my life."

"You're ridiculous," she muttered as she looked at his face, no hint of anything other than utter seriousness displayed on his features.

"Ah, there you two are!" George said, pushing open the door and talking slightly louder than normal due to the blaring music. "I was wondering where you'd got to! Come on, the others are all here now, and they managed to convince Flo to come along somehow."

Y/n put down her empty tea mug and picked up her plastic cup that had had Lucy's punch in it (although what was in the punch itself she had no idea), and headed into the living room with Lockwood close behind to get comfy for the celebrations.

~~~

"Five minutes everyone!" Lucy shouted. She had since emerged from wherever it was that she'd been hiding (she and Norrie had appeared in giggles and with blushes on their faces, so Y/n felt sure in her assumption of what they'd been up to) and was now handing around a large bottle of some sort of cocktail that she'd mixed earlier.

Y/n and Lockwood were curled up next to each other on the sofa, somehow fitting the both of them on there without falling off. Lockwood was partially sat up, leaning his back against the armrest and holding Y/n close to him by wrapping an arm around her waist.

"You alright, love?" Lockwood murmured into her ear, and she nodded sleepily. Despite the loud music and alcohol Y/n was feeling worn out from the late hour, and Lockwood's hand stroking through her hair wasn't helping to keep her awake.

"I'm alright. Jus' tired."

"Not long now. Four minutes I think."

"I still don't have anyone to kiss," she said, a frown appearing on her face. The alcohol had made her tipsy, and she pushed herself up to look at Lockwood. "Neither do you. Oh!" she exclaimed, thinking up a brilliant idea that was helped by the drinks in her system. "We should jus' kiss each other, then all of our problems will be solved!"

"I'm not sure about all, love," Lockwood chuckled, and Y/n's frown reappeared.

"So you don't want to kiss me?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, voice growing quiet. "I mean, if you're happy to then... you know. If you don't mind then I don't... we can kiss. If you want."

"I want. I'm not going to lie I've wanted to kiss you for years now. You're so prettyyyy and kind and funny and lovely." She had no control over her words, all of them flying out before she could properly stop and think, and then she was registering them and slapping her hand over her mouth while her face turned red. Lockwood was just staring at her, his mouth slightly open and his face flushed from the alcohol he had drunk, and she buried her head in his chest.

"Why are you hiding, love? You're pretty too, so I don't know why you're not letting me look at you." He was still stroking his fingers through her hair, and when she brought her head back up to smile softly at him he pulled her closer (although she hadn't thought that was possible).

"You're drunk, Lockwood."

"I'm not-sober. There's a difference. Besides, you're not-sober too," he wagged a finger at her with a smile. "Wait, what does me being not-sober have to do with you being pretty?"

"'Cause you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying, love." It was almost too much, the fondness in his eyes, and if she wasn't so captivated she would have looked away. "I've wanted to kiss you for years too, I was just never brave enough."

"Ten seconds!" Lucy yelled, and Y/n wondered just how long she'd been staring into Lockwood's eyes for time to pass so quickly.

"Nine!" the others gathered in the room started chanting, not noticing Lockwood and Y/n cuddled up on the sofa. "Eight! Seven! Six!" Lockwood pushed a strand of hair back behind Y/n's ear, his hand lingering at the side of her face and cupping her cheek. "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year, Lockwood," she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

"Happy New Year, Y/n/n," he whispered back, pressing his mouth to hers.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader

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baambastic · 1 month

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Woo Be Upon Ye:

Medieval fantasy TimKon AU where Kon is a half-dragon prince of the realm who elevates commoner Tim to the Royal Guard on a whim. Also has Bart as an apprentice mage, Donna and Cassie as Themiscyran ambassadors, many of Tim’s school friends as Royal Guards, Wildcat as a mentor, the Daily Planet staff as the royal council, and more! Planned as part one of a four-part series.

Bernard Dowd vs. The World:

After hearing Tim’s many, many, many stories about his friends, Bernard realizes that almost all of Tim’s guy friends were hitting on Tim at multiple points. Failing to convince Tim of this, however, Bernard makes it his mission to obtain written testimonies from as many of said friends as he can to support his case. Such friends include Superboy, Danny Temple, Sebastian Ives, Lonnie Machin, and more.

Two for the Price of Them:

In this AU, Tim’s 100th cloning attempt is a success, and so clones of both Kon and Bart are created. Partway through the artificial aging process, however, an agent of N.O.W.H.E.R.E. (overhauled from the same metahuman-abduction organization from the New52) attacks. Tim is forced to go on the run and off the grid with the two clone babies.

The World Didn’t Stand Still:

When Kathy Branden plugs a Phantom Zone Crystal into her teleportal and visits the Phantom Zone, she comes back with a young Krytonian boy, Chris Kent, who claims to be the foster son of Clark Kent and Lois Lane. Effectively taking pre-boot Chris from after his debut story and transporting him into post-Rebirth continuity. Part of a planned trilogy of fics centered on Chris. Guaranteed that they will not end with Chris getting punted into the Phantom Zone for an unknown length of time.

The Dichotomy of Lor-Zod and Chris Kent:

In post-Infinite Frontiers continuity, Lor-Zod begins getting flashes of a life before his own, of a life where he was family to the loathsome Kal-El of the House of El. Lor’s father, Dru-Zod, convince Lor that his affliction must be the machinations of the Justice League’s Martian Manhunter, a psychic attack meant to weaken New Kandor for invasion. Along with Non as a chaperone, Lor-Zod goes on a quest to hunt the Martian Manhunter, though he’s really on the path to restoring his pre-boot history and identity, and all the internal conflict that comes from the contradictions between his two selves. Effectively how I would approach reconciling the current iteration of Lor-Zod with Chris Kent. Guest-starring Martian Manhunter and M’gann M’orzz.

The Cola Caper:

Upon hearing the devastating news that an embargo on the island nation of Santa Prisca will halt the distribution of Zesti Cola in the United States, Dick and Tim go on a mission to infiltrate Santa Prisca and abscond with as much Zesti as they can, and maybe even the secret recipe if they’re lucky.

Stray Little Tiger:

A Billy Batson-centric fic placed in a Stray!Tim Drake AU. Selina Kyle, on her way home from a caper, comes across a lightning-struck boy in an alley. Clearly homeless and in need of help, she decides to take the boy in until he’s healed, though the lightning seems to have severely damaged his vocal cords. She doesn’t know that this boy is Billy Batson, that he’s Captain Marvel, or that there’s something deeply wrong with the Rock of Eternity. This story is told mainly from Selina’s POV, with occasional sidetracks to Tim’s POV, but never Billy’s POV. Identity shenanigans, found family, magic problems, and more.

A Single Word Spoken:

A girl in the shape of a weapon is brought to Fawcett City, where she fulfills her purpose for the first and last time.

The girl who can no longer be a weapon hides from her wielder in an old subway and finds herself transported to a place of great magic.

There, the girl who wishes to be more than she was made to be finds a Wizard, who sees the girl for her heart and not for the blood staining her skin.

The Wizard teaches the girl a name.

Cassandra speaks her first word.

And in so doing, she speaks power.

Also featuring Cass navigating the anachronistic Fawcett City, befriending Billy Batson, codependency issues, an old man who’s also a Bengal tiger, ancient grudges, a different old man who’s barely qualified to give Cass life advice, and more.

Fake it For the Win:

While on a cruise, Tim and Kon decide to fake being married in order to compete on an onboard game show for married couples. When they actually win, though, they have no choice but to keep up the act for the rest of their trip. Fake dating to real dating, with a focus on comedy.

Crossroads of Fate and Eternity:

JLI-era fic with a couple of canon-divergent indulgences. Kent Nelson, helped by Khalid Nassour, decides to take Billy Batson under his wing as a student of the mystic arts. Magic lessons, Tower of Fate and Rock of Eternity shenanigans, Bromfield family stuff, an ancient entity and an ancient demon, philosophy, and other such tidbits.

A Little Ways Along the Family Tree:

When a villain travels through time to the future and accidentally takes Robin with him, Damian Wayne must team up with Mar’i and Jake Grayson to defeat the villain and return Damian to his proper time.

A High-Speed Romantic Tryst on an Open-Water Murder Shack:

When a couple of thugs steal a houseboat belonging to one of Tim’s marina neighbors while he and Bernard are hanging out, the two of them give chase in Tim’s own houseboat. Comedy, crack treated seriously.

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au-wannabe-the-very-best · 7 months

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I wanna chew on your Misplaced Super Train AU like it's got the texture of perfectly toasted potato bread. I wanna squeeze it like it's a triple-overstuffed squishmallow and wrap it around me like a silken weighted blanket.

This has got to be my single most favorite AU of yours so far, and I feel it with such intensity that all the All Caps and exclamation points in the world could not help me express it.

Feed

Please

Like, does the group do anything about Volo, or does he manage to avoid them/avoid giving them Rancid Vibes? I feel like they would have a pretty good mix of people/pokemon able to pick up on individual little things that come together to make a Concerning Picture.

And how are the people (Emmet et. al.) back home doing? How do they feel? Because a whole group of people disappearing launches people straight into conspiracy theories rather than just ("just") the concern a single dissappearance would generate.

Would the group show up in history books? Would Ingo & Co know they were gonna disappear (a lá Stable Time Loop) or is it more like they don't show up in history until it happens (if at all)? (Time is weird.)

I think because of the fact that they just accidentally came through a space-time rift, Volo's operating under the assumption that they weren't sent to stop his plans or anything, so he just avoids them. As for the group, I think it would be super funny if they have like. An instinct for people who wield legendaries. Because they're so used to passengers trying to sneak them into the battle subway. They're BANNED for a reason.

So, like, they KNOW Volo's got legendary voodoo all over him but they don't particularly care? Not their passenger, not their problem.

As for the family back home, Emmet and the others aren't really handling this very well. Interpol gets involved immediately, but their lack of results is very discouraging. See, before this, there has been things disappearing throughout history that logically shouldn't just disappear! Things like a whole fridge or a washing machine, for example. But it's always been attributed to a thief who's got a really well-trained psychic type, or something like that. Nobody is going to connect these random disappearances to a whole ass train vanishing off the tracks, despite the fact that they're both connected to the space-time distortions. Up until this point, all previous disappearances were low-level and weren't given much investigation.

So there's really... no precedence on how to handle this. Not even "fallers" are as bizarre as this. Plus, there's no ultra wormhole energy, so that's ruled out fairly quickly. Interpol has got no leads. And the internet is getting wild with the conspiracy theories, much to the dismay of the family and friends of those who went missing.

Emmet breaks his phone against a wall when some tabloid claims it's a publicity stunt.

Anyways, no, I don't think Ingo or the depot agents had any clue they were going to disappear, but I DO think this is going to be a "stable time loop" scenario— while in the past, they're going to have the caution to not reveal much future info, and keep their identities generally a secret. Not to mention, in the future, the "secret third alien clan in Hisui" is considered a conspiracy theory, regardless of the evidence of their existence. It doesn't really reach the ears of the Unovan subway workers, outside of lesser-known memes. There's no photos of them, and the only person in their group who has much a reason to be interacting with anyone native to Hisui would be Ingo. And that's just because Lady Sneasler's taken quite the liking to him. There's the added plus that with Ingo's amnesia, he actually doesn't run much of a risk when it comes to revealing things, so they're not as worried about him interacting with the locals as they are of Big Mouth Cameron who told people they were FROM ANOTHER WORLD.

I also think, when they return, a lot of the proof of their existence is going to be taken with them... Which doesn't leave much for the historians to find.

When they come back, though? Oh, the historical community is going to have a field day with the goodies they brought back.

#Misplaced Super Train #Submas #Subway Boss Ingo #Subway Boss Emmet #Ingo #Emmet #depot agents #PLA Ingo #PLA #Pokemon #Pokémon #Volo

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philliam-writes · 1 year

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you are in the earth of me [03]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: no warnings apply

Summary: A hand catches your wrist. Warm fingers brush against the slip of skin where your glove ends, sending an electrifying shock up your arm. You start. Lockwood lets go and pulls back. “Like it or not, we are in this together,” he says quietly. His voice drops to a low tremble, gaining a quality that feels like a solid caress on your skin. Heat crawls up your neck. “And as with any proper team, there are no secrets, and no holding back valuable information. Deal?”

Notes: [01] || [02] | [04]

Words: 4.3k

A/N: A shorter chapter, but I still hope you'll enjoy it! Thank you so much again for all the support! ♥ If anyone new wants to join the taglist, just lemme know!

03: wring those embers

back then, i was dauntless and dawn could never know and my weakness made me weep less than i would ever show you — The Amazing Devil: The Calling

Indeed, at Rotwell everyone works hard to solve the Problem. It is quite impressive how immaculate they look while doing it—as though in addition to the highly sensitive Psychic Talents every Rotwell agent possesses, they secretly train to perform under stress with no fold in their jackets, no holes in their pants, no grime smudges on their faces. Seems as though your invitation to those seminars got lost on the mailing route.

You slither by the countless other agents in their splendid burgundy jackets, aware you stick out like a sore thumb with your torn coat and muddy steel-capped boots. After the night you had, it is hard to plaster on the charming smile that is Rotwell’s USP. Every winning smile sent your way by your colleagues is too bright, too clean. They look very new and fresh and shiny, like someone has popped them out of a plastic case this morning.

The glittering glass building rises on Regent Street with its smooth-fronted edifice of glass and marble. Snarling lions, holding rapiers in their forepaws, have been inscribed into the glass of its sliding double doors. Outside, a line of the desperate and ghost-haunted stands, waiting to get inside and petition the company for help. You squeeze past them inside the spacey foyer, a wide room with gold-fringed red carpets leading to the different departments laid out before a row of neat receptionists sitting at their tidy desks. Right at the room’s centre, in front of the white-marbled wide stairs leading to the upper floor, stands Tom Rotwell’s marble bust with its forever-frozen, blank expression passing judgement over his legacy. You feel very small under his scrutinising gaze, and duck along the marble pillars towards the maintenance apartment on ground floor.

Someone barks your name. There goes your plan to head in unnoticed and get cleaned up before any of the adult supervisors catches you. But when you turn, you recognise the scrawny boy heading your way: Aleck Gorobec, an agent from the Domestic Hauntings Division. He’s always had this habit of chewing on something—right now, he’s working a toothpick between his front teeth as though he’s trying to make a gap as wide as the Grand Canyon. “Hey, Crawford wants you in his office.”

The relief vanishes in an instant. If you had to chose between spending the afternoon in Daniel Crawford’s office or doing a tango with a Wraith, you’d be already on your way to put on your best Sunday dress.

“Like, right now? ‘Cause I really need to get a new jacket—”

“NOW now,” he says. “Better not keep him waiting, he seemed prety pissed. I think he got into a fight with his wife. Again.”

Even better. He’ll chew you, spit you out and feed your remains to that little rat of a dog he owns.

You will find no support in Aleck; now that he has relayed the message, he turns and saunters back to his little group of half-sized lackeys with identical hair cuts, leaving you to your fate.

So you make your way towards the staff elevators and think about faking a heart attack so you could skip seeing Crawford. They wouldn’t let someone with a weak heart deal with something as harsh as work regulations, would they?

The lift brings you up two more floors to the deputy sector. Each floor is lined with heavy crimson carpets you know for a fact are steam-cleaned every night when the majority of agents set out for cases. Employees on this floor have their own canteen and coffee shop regular agents aren’t allowed to use—you have a feeling a cup of coffee or tea they serve up here costs half of your rent compared to the one they sell downstairs that is delivered by the local Starbucks.

Muffled voices drift through the rows of closed oak doors. Somehow, the smell always reminds you of a teacher‘s room; stuffy but comforting in a way, the sleek couches and spartan cabinets in the small waiting areas and lounges have absorbed the coffee smell over the years.

Crawford’s office is at the end of the long hall. You were hoping he would be caught up in a phone call as well, but when you knock, there’s an immediate “Come in!”

Andrew Crawford is a small, stocky man with little to no neck depending on his mood for the day. Apart from making it his life ambition to harass every even slightly successful agent under the age of 25, his other hobbies include collecting every type of Little Trees Car Air Fresheners on the market. As far as you know, he doesn’t even own a car.

“Took you long enough,” Crawford grumbles. His little hairy moustache twitches in annoyance. “Take a seat.”

You prefer to stand. Somehow you don’t think that’s what Crawford wants to hear. So you make your way across the office, slowly sinking into the hard plastic chair. Deputies’ rooms are all furnished equally: marble-topped desks, chairs, bins, filing cabinets and a few plants. You count ten, eleven, twelve of those air fresheners hanging from a single yucca plant.

Crawford finishes abusing his plastic keyboard, throws a glance at a large-scale street map of the Strands, his area he’s responsible for, takes a swig of cold tea and turns to you for the first time.

“Wait, where’s your damn jack—” Crawford stops, takes you fully in: the tears and holes, the grime and ectoplasm smudges on the once-splendid red. He grunts, and leans so far back in his swivel chair it creaks loudly in protest. “Almost didn’t recognise it. Say, Rotwell is one of the best employers anyone with Psychic talents could ask for, don’t you agree?”

You hate questions like this. “I, er—yes?”

Crawford looks at you. Then looks some more, as though he’s just waiting for you to realise what this is all about. He clears his throat and leans forward, puts his massive arms on the table as though he’s just having a chat with a close pal in a pub after work. “See, thing is, I was informed you were seen with unknown operatives from other agencies. And last time I checked—” He turns to the monitor to his left, slams his thick fingers on a few keys—“you were not on a job that required assistance from external agents.”

You start fidgeting with the hem of your gloves. “Well, no, but sir, I was attacked—”

“I heard that happens from time to time when engaging ghosts.”

“No, I mean by a man. Someone alive.”

Crawford eyes you suspiciously with his tiny, dark eyes. “When did that happen?”

“In the early morning hours. Three, four a.m.”

“And what do you want me to do about it now?”

You open your mouth, and close it. One of Crawfords few talents is successfully making you feel as though you are the problem. What if you were? What if you’re overreacting? An agent’s life tends to be dangerous, what of it? “Well, the culprit is still out—”

“Do you have a name? Did you see his face?”

“No, and I didn’t, but—”

“Then what exactly do you expect from me? Clearly, nothing serious happened to you, you got off with just a few scratches. The real issue is that due to what recently transpired, further employment might be a problem.”

You grit your teeth against a groan of frustration, feeling your body burning with anger, your blood boiling with rage that threatens to spill over. “I have worked here for five years, without any complaints, no breaches of contract.” You ball your hands into tight fists. “I am an exceptional agent, you know that. And you’re letting me go just like that?”

Crawford sighs wearily. “Trust me, this isn’t easy for me either. I am aware you are one of our more lucrative agents. But lucky for you, we are not letting you go. I merely suspend you for conducting unauthorised work with an external agency. Until your suspension is lifted, all benefits are revoked. That includes using certain facilities and access to equipment for field work. You can leave your jacket here.” Crawford reaches forward and taps a spot on his desk with two fingers, before returning to the paperwork in front of him.

It takes a moment to stir from the ice-cold grip that has taken hold of your body and heart. Your mouth is dry and a fist-big chunk of anxiety is lodged tightly in your throat. “I was not working with anyone. This is all a misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstanding or not,” Crawford replies calmly; something has caught his attention on the monitor, he isn’t even looking at you, “we’re just taking safety measures to ensure the confidentiality agreement wasn’t breached on your end.”

“But I—”

He looks up at you then, and blinks as though wondering why you are still wasting his time. “And where is your rapier?”

“Still at ho—the dormitory.”

“All right. No need to bother. We’ll send someone later to clear out the room. If you need help finding new accommodates, there are a few establishments offering lodge for little money in Lambeth I heard.”

The aggressive typing resumes. You are clearly dismissed.

Wrenching out of the jacket, you make no effort to hide your anger and frustration. Crawford gets a balled-up knot of dirty fabric thrown on his desk, but he seems to care little for your tantrum safe for raising a single bushy eyebrow at the flickering screen.

You stomp outside the room, slamming the door shut behind you hard enough it rattles the golden-framed paintings of rolling hills and slithering lakes on the wall.

You’ll show him. You’ll show them all.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the polished glass window on your way out—no wine-red jacket, nothing to identify who your employer, no former employer was; just your tired face yet eyes bright with determination, for the first time since a long while, you look like yourself again.

At the Lions Den, it isn’t just the cleaning crew mingling near the entrance. DEPRAC vans park in front of the main doors. A few officers are lost in a deep conversation about the intricately interwoven iron railings decorating the windows on the first floor. Two very tall, very sturdy Rotwell agents stand guard, self-important and with their chests puffed out as though they are guarding Buckingham Palace itself.

There is no way you’ll be able to get inside through the main entrance—even if you did, you have a gnawing suspicion security has been tripled inside since yesterday. They must have figured out someone has broken in, otherwise why would DEPRAC be here?

You duck behind naked rhododendron bushes and sneak towards the iron door leading to the back garden. Many residences in Chelsea have garden terraces; this one is a courtyard between several buildings. Slim paths wind through the back and disappear behind shoulder-high hedges. The trees, their leaves turned gold and russet with the late fall, are strung with chains of white lights, and stylish ghost lamps scattered between them that give off the familiar green glow at night. A small fountain plashes musically in the centre of the yard.

Minding the pebbles crunching under your boots, you gingerly make your way across the lounging area, past the small tables and cushioned three-piece suites—until you catch the swish of a black coat disappearing around a corner.

Just great.

You hurry after it, hearing the crunch of stone under heavy work boots somewhere behind you. DEPRAC, or worse, Rotwell agents.

The two are hiding behind a bench facing the back entrance. Before whoever strolls behind you can round the corner, you grab Lockwood by the end of his coat, and Lucy by the back of her collar, and yank them behind the trunk of an elm casting long, dark shadows on the building.

“What are you doing here?” you hiss; all three of you are cowering so close together your knees almost touch.

Lucy looks as though she is still recovering from being grabbed like that—by considering if she should swing at you or not. Lockwood on the contrary has already collected himself and put on a diplomatic smile. Yet you can see the steady, fast hammering of his pulse against his throat.

“Why, Lucy has never seen the infamous Lions Den, that’s why I took her up on a little sightseeing—” Lockwood begins.

“We need to get inside,” Lucy hisses back. Straightforward, to the point, like an arrow aiming true. You can work with that.

“Not sure if you noticed, but Rotwell dormitories have a strict jacket-only policy,” you say. You feel their eyes on you like a pair of red-hot coals.

“Where’s your jacket then?” Lucy asks.

You draw your shoulders back. “I quit. This morning. Afternoon. So, no jacket for me.” What’s a little lie if they will never find out the truth. Whatever shrapnel of self-respect you can hold, you will staple it on you as though it is the last leaf whipping on a barren branch during a cold winter storm—the last remnant of the previous season where everything was warmer and cosier.

There is silence. You can hear the soft electrical hum of the lights and ghost lamps turning on above your heads as dawn sets in, the water plashing in the stone fountain in the centre of the courtyard.

Lockwood and Lucy exchange looks—it seems like a glance, but you recognise a full blown conversation governed by face muscles and eye narrowing; it is the same whenever you and Kipps argue about something without wanting a third person to understand the topic. Kipps’s teams calls it your ‘sibling conversation.’ Lockwood and Lucy look a lot like that right now, conjuring full volumes with shared glances only.

“Just follow me,” you mumble, and duck behind a juniper tree before they can reach the conclusion of their argument. “And keep your heads down.”

You lead them away from the agents strolling down the path you’ve been on just a minute ago. Lockwood and Lucy immediately stick to your heels, careful their heads don’t poke over the hedges.

The three of you sneak around the east wing, through another iron gate and pause to listen for voices. Only a couple House Sparrows chirp in the trees above your heads. This could be a graveyard for how frequent visitors stroll by.

Finding your apartment isn’t hard. Bright, neon-yellow DEPRAC tape marks an X where the full-height window, smashed and gaping, leads inside the rooms. Glass lies strewn across the grass. The entrance to your apartment is like a dark mouth, the broken glass still sticking to its frames standing out like jagged teeth.

Again, you listen for voices. Again, only silence answers. You look back at Lockwood and Lucy. “I’ll go check things out. You stay here and keep watch. If anyone comes, let me know.”

Not interested in any disagreement or otherwise unsolicited opinions, you turn to slip inside. A hand catches your wrist. Warm fingers brush against the slip of skin where your glove ends, sending an electrifying shock up your arm. You start.

Lockwood lets go and pulls back. “Like it or not, we are in this together,” he says quietly. His voice drops to a low tremble, gaining a quality that feels like a solid caress on your skin. Heat crawls up your neck. “And as with any proper team, there are no secrets, and no holding back valuable information. Deal?”

You wrestle with what you should say. You have never been skilled at putting things delicately. Frankly, you’re better off on your own than having to worry about those two—and yet. If Lockwood and his agents had not let you stay and patched you up, what use would have your confidence now?

Not trusting your voice, you nod.

Glass shards crunch under your boots when you step inside. The whole room is demolished: furniture overturned, the cupboards have been completely and methodically emptied. All the drawers are missing. What remains of your desk is splinters and broken leftovers. Your clothes have been ripped off the hangers and thrown on the ground, some even torn. You don’t want to think about how you would have met the same end if he had gotten you into his hands.

The wardrobe’s door barely hanging on its hinges squeals when you carefully pull it open. You find your duffel bag at the bottom, and meticulously start throwing whatever intact clothes you can find inside. A few shirts, something you can wear to sleep, underwear, a few jeans, your favourite turtlenecks, sweaters. A package of unopened gloves. Your library pass that grants you access to every Archive in London—the one you thought you’d lost a week ago and technically should return to Rotwell.

An old, outdated kit with a few zip fasteners missing hangs from a hook. Whatever leftover equipment from missions you’ve hoarded over the years—salt bombs, iron fillings, hands-sized lavender packages, one canister of Greek fire, a slightly rusty iron chain—you pull out from the back corner and cram inside the kit. There’s also the last model of a layered leather harness with small pockets and buckles to hold equipment that you prefer to the standard agent belt around the waist.

It should be enough to manage simple cases as a freelance psychic operative until you find your bearings and build a reputation. Type Ones should be no problem, and most non-agents can’t tell the difference between grocery-bought salt and the extra grainy and purified salt from Sunrise Corp. You’ll have to drop by at the Thames Embankment at some point, where a lot of the cheaper merchants ply their trade under the brick arches of Hungerford Bridge.

But your first job will be making sure no one will get hurt over that stupid key ever again.

There is one more thing. On the door, tapped against the wood, is an old photograph. Matthew, Kipps, you. Age eighteen and thirteen, the boys crowd you and pull grimaces behind your beaming face as you proudly present your shining new rapier and the Fittes Manual to the camera. Seven years, but it feels like a lifetime.

People always used to say that you two have the same eyes—everything else is different like night and day. His blonde curls shine like a halo in the setting sun stealing through the curtained window in the back. He has a half-smile on his face, and his head tilted towards Kipps as though he is just on the verge of turning and telling him something. You see the same dimple on his cheek that you have when you smile, and when you squint you can make out the small smudge of pasta on the corner of his mouth you guys had earlier to celebrate you achieving third grade.

You fight the urge to touch his face on the picture—the only comfort during the first months without him. Even though you know he won’t come back, sometimes you wished an echo would reverberate, something that connects you to him apart from the memory of the last day spent together before he died. You take the picture and fold it neatly before putting it into your back. Grief can try and catch up later when you’re too busy to give it more thought.

As you get your stuff ready, something glinting on the ground catches your eye. It is a small, polished coin, flat on one side and engraved on the other. Depicted on the bottom is an infinity sign, and above is a double cross. You brush your thumb against it, but of course there is no psychic echo attached to this item. Because it belongs to a living person—that living person who must have lost it when he destroyed the interior.

Beneath your gloves your palms are slick with sweat. You stare at the symbol for some time, unblinking. The bitter taste of a certain word spreads on your tongue, closing your throat.

Unwrapping this revelation will have to wait. You move swiftly to the hallway and stand before the umbrella rack that holds your rapiers. Most of them are a little too fancy not to link them back to one of the bigger agents with their jewelled handles, but there are two with simple designs, so you decide on the 17th Century Italian Rapier.

“Take the Solinger Rapier,” comes Lockwood’s voice from behind you, startling you. You shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t listen to orders, still you throw a glare at him over your shoulder which he promptly ignores by giving you a bright grin. “More balanced.”

“So much for being a team. Scared I’ll just run off with the evidence?”

“Ah, so you did find something. Well, we at Lockwood and Co. hold teamwork to the highest account. It is only polite I help.”

Any reply gets stuck in your throat when loud steps thump on the other side of the apartment’s door. Lockwood and you look at each other, eyes wide.

You throw your kit at him without a second thought so you can go after your other bag, and to his credit, he catches it effortlessly and bolts for the smashed window. Before you follow, you quickly snatch the Solinger Rapier and fasten it to your belt.

With your duffel bag in hand, you join Lockwood and Lucy outside. The sun is already behind the horizon, the sky a pale grey-blue, the colour of tempered steel. You take your kit back from Lockwood, ignoring his satisfied grin like a cat in the sun when he notices which rapier model dangles from your hip, and lead them back through the gardens out on Dovehouse Street.

Everything is going so smoothly. Too smoothly. Since the universe can’t have that, just as you close the iron gate behind you and set out down the street to where you guys can call a cab, a familiar voice calls out your name—a voice that always has your fight-flight-response kicking in, tending towards fight the moment you turn around and see Sebastian Vernon’s self-satisfied, arrogant grin.

Sebastian Vernon, a fellow Rotwell operative at the height of his career: he’s recently turned 19, he managed to luck out a Jack of all Trades regarding Psychic Talents and sports an impressive, sharp jawline many girls you know swoon over. The Golden Boy, The Pride of Rotwell. Of course he developed an ego as big as an inflated balloon with nicknames like that.

“Did you get my note this morning?” His voice jolts you from your thoughts. “Great drawing, isn’t it?”

“So it was you. I almost couldn’t tell; it looked like a five year old drew that.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw, his smile cools down to freezing point. “I heard they kicked you out,” he continues. “What was it this time? Botched a job? Set a customer’s house on fire?” He strides towards you with his hands behind his back, his cologne trailing like a cloak. His hair is pinned up fashionably, expression arch. He has always possessed a regal bearing. You can’t understand how he manages to look down his nose at you, even though you are one head taller.

You have crewed with him sometimes during the years, and neither have warmed to the other. You try to chalk it up to personality conflict, but deep down, you know that it is mutual dislike. Sebastian always finds ways to make you feel less-than with the barest twist of inflection or a carefully chosen word slipped like a knife between the ribs, so sharp you don’t notice the wound until you look up from a lapful of blood. And you aren’t above a blunt riposte, even if it often comes far too late.

When he’s close enough to stand in front of you, he whistles. “Like what you did with your face. Gotta compliment whoever gave you that shiner.”

“Jealous they managed that within a day when you couldn’t do it in the last five years?”

His smile turns arctic. At least that’s something you can always hold against him: kicking his ass in every in-house rapier duel since joining Rotwell.

“Always with that big mouth,” Sebastian seethes. “Whoever rearranged your face should have done us all a favour and shut you up for good.”

“I would appreciate,” Lockwood says in a conversational tone, making you startle—you have completely forgotten him and Lucy, “if you do not threaten my agency’s associate.”

He holds himself leisurely, relaxed. His long, slender fingers curl around his belt—not outright resting on his rapier handle, but close enough that he could reach it with one swift, quick movement if he wanted.

Sebastian blinks. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?”

A corner of Lockwood’s mouth twitches. His voice is deceptively calm, his smile wolfish. “Lockwood from Lockwood and Co.”

Sebastian’s pale blue eyes widen. He looks at you. “You’re telling me you’re working with Andrew Lockwood? From the Lockwood and Co.?” A sort of deranged laugh escapes him. “I know it’s bad, but I didn’t expect it to be that bad! Surely, even you can do better than Lockwood and Co.!”

You throw a quick glance at Lockwood. He regards Sebastian in silence, and his face can be hewn from marble in its impassivity, which you realise now makes him all the more terrifying. His gaze sharpens like a hound on the scent.

“Why not ask your ginger boyfriend if he can get you a position at Fittes’s?” Sebastian’s smile crooks into a cruel half-moon. “Or has he already reached his expiration date?”

You open your mouth—and to your surprise Lucy shoulders past Lockwood and wrenches one of your bags out of your hand. Her eyes are blazing, red blotches of rage spot her cheeks and neck. “His name is Anthony Lockwood. And Kipps—Quill Kipps has a name, too! If you don’t have anything nice to say to your fellow—former colleague after everything she’s been through, then best keep your mouth shut.”

She whirls around and marches off, like a sudden autumn storm sweeping through the streets. Lockwood and you share a look; you notice his eyes glint with barely contained mirth and pride before he dashes after Lucy.

When you glance at Sebastian, he keeps his face blank, but the emotion behind it becomes unsettling and dangerous, like a vague whiff of burning plastic from an electrical outlet.

You hurry after your two new companions. Sebastian’s voice trails after you like a shadow. “Careful you don’t get your new team killed. Again.”

You draw up your shoulders, take your doubt, ball it up, and crush it into a fuel you can use.

“So,” you say when you caught up with Lockwood and Lucy. You’d offer to take your bag back, but Lucy holds it as though she can’t wait to use it as a weapon and bludgeon someone with it. “Kipps has a name, too. Nice one.”

“Shut it. I just can’t stand haughty guys like him,” Lucy grumbles, impatiently swiping hair out of her eyes.

“Funny,” Lockwood notices brightly, “how you sometimes use that same voice with me.”

Lucy rolls her eyes, but some of the tension in her shoulders dissipates.

“I gotta admit, good teamwork so far,” you say. “I guess I can let you take a look at this.”

You flip the coin between your fingers and present it with the symbol up on your open palm.

Lockwood wastes no time plucking it from your hand, his fingertips brushing against your gloves. Even through the fabric, you feel the warmth of his skin. You put that information into a box, close it up, and shove it into a far, dark corner where you’ll hopefully forget it and it can collect dust.

“Fascinating,” Lockwood mumbles, inspecting the coin from every angle. “Does anyone know what this symbol means?”

Lucy glances at his open palm. “No.”

He said so earlier. No secrets, no holding back information. Yet this is something you can’t share yet. The fact that somehow, this symbol seems … familiar.

“No,” you echo, eyes fixed ahead on the road. Black clouds, like slabs of onyx, gather at the horizon, rolling over London. “Never seen it before.”

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#lockwood show #lockwood books #lockwood & co #l&c #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood x y/n #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co reader #reader insert #lockwood reader insert #l&c reader insert #phill.l&c

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blouisparadise · 11 months

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Upon request, today's rec list contains fics where either Louis or Harry is antisocial or untrusting. This is a shorter and more niche list, but we hope you enjoy it! If you want our rec lists to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Once Upon A Dream | Explicit | 33,319 words | Sequel

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

2) Give Me Love | Explicit | 41,041 words

Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

3) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42,979 words

Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation. Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world. When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light? Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation. Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world. When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

4) No Easy Choice, But You're Mine | Explicit | 45,603 words

Louis is an omega hitman with one last job that goes a little sideways. Harry is the alpha bartender that looks a little too closely and cares a little too much.

5) One Heart Broke, Four Hands Bloody | Explicit | 47,249 words

Louis’ life is really fucking dull until one day he happens upon the scene of a crime, as said crime is happening. A murderer with big hands and a charming smile somehow manages to change his life for the better.

6) Yesterday Came Suddenly | Explicit | 48,504 words

The one where Harry, the deadliest member of the NYC assassins’ guild, is forced to face a seemingly impossible task in hopes of finally leaving the underground behind for good, but when ghosts from the past come back to haunt him, escaping the darkness becomes that much harder.

7) Not Afraid Of Living On A Fault Line | Explicit | 55,218 words

His eyes widened when he realized he had just somehow managed to ask Harry to hang out. Judging by Harry’s own expression, he wasn't the only one who was shocked. Louis expected him to laugh off the ridiculous request but the beta looked up at him, almost hopefully. “Are you being serious?” “Um,” was all Louis could say, feeling every bit as speechless as Harry had been earlier. “Are you?” Harry shrugged. “I’ve been told I need to get out more.”

8) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124,766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.” “Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.” “Wait, what?” Zayn asked. “Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,” “What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand. “I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.” “That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#fic recs #blp fic recs #blp #bottom louis #top harry #larry

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preservationofnormalcy · 8 months

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Hah! I just found this transcript from the archives. This was all declassified for the extranormal community in the 90s after some Radiant Heart deacons showed up on a wizard talk show before we could stop it.

The following document was assembled from an audio recording and agent recollections during an operation that took place January 2nd, 1950, wherein Agents Saxon and De Boer attended a “revival” religious meeting held by Extranormal Beliefs Group “First National Church of the Radiant Heart” in the guise of reporters from the local newspaper. Elizabeth De Boer is an accomplished psychic medium in Office employ, and Saxon is employed as Security.

===============

[The revival meeting takes place in a large tent, such as that used for a circus. A few hundred people or more are assembled inside. Benches are arranged in three “wings” surrounding a central stage. It was noted after the fact that this resembles the “trefoil”.]

[De Boer] Is it on?

[Saxon] Yes, ma’am.

[Background noise and chatter from the assembled congregants.]

[D] What do you think so far, Saxon?

[S] They put me in mind of my cousins.

[D] Why?

[S] I’m from the hills, ma’am. ‘Round Tennessee way. My family’s church are all snake handlers.

[D] And how do you feel about them?

[S] Pity, mostly.

[D] Because they’re religious?

[S] On account of my uncle dying from the snakebite, ma’am.

[D] Mmm.

[S] Speaking of, how’s the Geiger?

[D] We won’t keel over tomorrow, if that’s what you’re asking.

[S] But it’s still going off, ma’am?

[D] Chambers said the ███████ would protect us.

[S] Not that I distrust Miss Chambers, ma’am, but a man gets a little nervous when he sees a Geiger counter spinning.

[A rising noise from the crowd quiets them. Clapping and singing commence as Pastor Mayweather himself rises onto the stage, waving, smiling, and grabbing an offered microphone.]

[Mayweather] Thank you, Brother Mark. Thank you. Ladies and gentlemen, you know why we’re here tonight. Don’t we?

[The crowd murmurs agreement.]

[M] We are here in communion, ladies and gentlemen, we are here to give HONOR to the one that unites us, gives us life and POWER, and BRINGS us together both here and in the next life, can I get an amen?

[A chorus of ‘amens’ rises from the crowd. Mayweather continues to speak as he paces back and forth across the stage.]

[S] He’s navigating the stage real well. I thought he was supposed to be blind?

[D] They said he doesn’t have eyes. In our line of work, I wouldn’t assume those mean the same thing. Besides, he’s probably faked it.

[M] --and you are HERE, ladies and gentlemen, to witness a miracle. Am I right? I got to speak about something here folks, let me speak before we bring on our new friend. Do you feel it, folks?

[Shouts of agreement.]

[M] Oh I feel it too. That glow, that warmth. Can you feel it, soaking your body, wrapping your very DNA in radiant love, rebuilding you? Of course you can, family. Of course you can. Brother Mark, can you-- yes, thank you Brother Mark. Folks, this is Emily.

[A young girl is wheeled onto the stage in a wheelchair. She is shy, but looking up at Mayweather with awe.]

[M] Young Emily here had polio. She has been blighted by that dreadful disease and can no longer walk. Isn’t that right? [E] Yes, Pastor.

[M] Emily, are you here to accept the blessing of our saviour, our light, our POWER and warmth, the Split Atom?

[E] (tearing up) Yes, Pastor.

[Mayweather puts his hand on her forehead and leans down toward her.]

[M] Sister Emily, will you place your faith in the Glow, the holy radiation, and be PURIFIED by ions, down to the subatomic level, Miss Emily--

[E] Yes, Pastor!

[The lights in the tent flicker and a low hum fills the area. The counter on the silent Geiger counter in De Boer’s longcoat rises.]

[S] What’s he doing….

[M] Sister Emily, by the POWER and AUTHORITY invested in me, we will REMAKE you. We will split one atom, one holy exercise in unlocking the secrets of the universe and we WILL burn away this damage, we WILL heal your damaged nerves--

[The crowd’s cheering rises to a fever pitch. The lights flicker faster and a green glow emanates from Mayweather’s hand. He continues his invocation, and many in the crowd join him, chanting, cheering, reciting scripture.]

[M] BE HEALED, Sister Emily, be HEALED!

[There is silence, and then a crackling energy. Briefly, green light can be seen behind Mayweather’s sunglasses. As the lights come back up, Mayweather holds out his hand.]

[M] Sister Emily, will you rise in the name of the Glow?

[After some hesitation, Emily pulls herself out of her chair. To her amazement, she can stand shakily on her feet. The crowd erupts in cheers and praises.]

[S] Wow. That’s--

[D] Chicanery. Hogwash.

[S] The girl seemed--

[D] A plant. An actor. Flicker the lights, flash a green flashlight onto the speaker. It’s a show to sell their radiation quackery.

[Mayweather dabs his forehead with a handkerchief as Emily is led off the stage.]

[M] Isn’t that a miracle, ladies and gentlemen. Isn’t that wonderful. We know where our power comes from, don’t we? From the Radiance, from the Great Ionization. Folks, we have another thing to show. Brother Gregory, fetch the- thank you, Brother Gregory.

[A deacon brings a Geiger counter and sets it on the stage on a table. Mayweather stands behind the table, his hand over the counter.]

[M] Ladies and gentlemen….ladies and gentlemen, we are GATHERED here tonight in the name of the Split Atom, I said in the NAME of the SPLIT ATOM to call up the spirit of Sister Josie, isn't that right? Yes family, Sister Josie passed on into the Glow two months ago but her holy atomic soul has lingered to GUIDE us into the holy Glow ourselves.

[He raises his hand, palm outward, and the crowd goes silent. Saxon notes that De Boer leans forward to watch.]

[M] Sister Josie….are you here? Are you here with us?

[The Geiger counter is silent for a moment, then crackles to life. De Boer clutches her forehead.]

[S] Ma’am? Do we--are you okay?

[D] Yes, yes, just. Keep the recording going, Saxon.

[M] Sister Josie, is that you? Two clicks for yes, one for no.

[The Geiger squeals twice, and Mayweather smiles. The crowd gasps and murmurs.]

[M] Ain’t that something, folks? Ain’t that something? Sister Josie, can you bless us tonight? Bless us with your Radiance?

[The counter goes haywire, squealing and clicking loudly. De Boer leans on one of the bleachers for support, gritting her teeth.]

[M] Can you feel her, folks? Can you FEEL her ionized spirit coursing through each and every one of us gathered here?

[D] We need to go. I need to leave.

[S] Yes, uh. Alright, ma’am, let’s--

[The sound of the crowd dies down as they leave the tent.]

[S] ….what, uh. Did you hear something?

[D] Yes, I….hold on.

[De Boer takes a moment to compose herself.]

[D] Screaming.

[S] What?

[D] It was just screaming. Just….screaming. Turn the recording off. We need to get the ERTF involved.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #long form #lore #radiant heart #extranormal religions

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cantsayidont · 6 months

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February 1961. If Lex Luthor was a teenager in Smallville when Clark Kent was Superboy, what happened to Lex's family? Jerry Siegel answered that question in a curiously roundabout way about a year later, in a story in SUPERMAN'S GIRL FRIEND LOIS LANE #23. Perry White assigns Lois to "write a story on witchcraft," and sends her to the New England town of Cardiff, where there were witch trials centuries earlier. In Cardiff, Lois visits the local library to learn more about the trials and notices that one of the alleged witches burned at the stake, Louella Thompsons, bore a striking resemblance to the town's current librarian, a young woman with the unusual name of Lena Thorul:

Learning that Lena was orphaned as a child, Lois soon works herself into a froth imagining that Lena is the reincarnation of Louella Thompsons, and that the accidents that killed her family might be the result of black magic. Lois then begins to think she's being watched, and experiences several bizarre events, including the mysterious disappearances of her camera and typewriter. She also narrowly avoids a car accident like the one Lena said killed her parents. Superman, as always in these stories skeptical of any kind of "superstitious magic," is convinced that there must be a scientific explanation — and since evil scientist Lex Luthor recently escaped from prison, Superman concludes there must be a connection. Locating Luthor's secret lab with Lois in tow, Superman finds that Luthor has been using remote "vision-screens" to monitor Cardiff and the Daily Planet offices, and used "super-science rays" to cause the mysterious disappearances of Lois's stuff. Superman even guesses the reason:

Superman then gets Luthor to explain the whole story:

In late 1962, Lena popped up again in the Supergirl strip in ACTION COMICS #295, which reveals that she moved to Midvale not long after her previous appearance. Lena befriends Supergirl in her guise as Linda Lee Danvers and applies for a job as an FBI secretary, but is rejected because, as an FBI official explains to Supergirl, "Our security check on Lena drew a complete blank! No one knows where she came from! There's no birth certificate! All we know is that she was found in the wreckage of a car after a serious accident, and once worked as a librarian in a small town! She's a complete mystery! A girl without a past!" Dismayed, Supergirl — who's unaware of Lois's earlier encounter with Lena — travels back in time and learns what Lex had previously revealed to Superman and Lois about his family.

That story reveals that while Lena's resemblance to Louella Thompsons was a coincidence, Lena does possess extrasensory perception. Learning that his sister has fallen in with a gang of thieves who want to use her psychic abilities for robbery, Luthor asks Supergirl for help:

Luckily, Lena actually uses her extrasensory powers to thwart the gang's attempted bank robbery. As she tells Supergirl:

From this point on, Lena became a semi-regular Supergirl supporting character. About two years later, in ACTION COMICS #317, she married FBI agent Jeff Colby and became Lena Thorul Colby. Supergirl kept her promise to Lex and didn't tell Lena about him, but in the Supergirl stories in THE SUPERMAN FAMILY #213–214 in 1981, Lena found out anyway, and was outraged that Supergirl had never told her the truth. Lena reconnected with Lex — whose concern about her wellbeing was completely genuine, if perhaps misplaced — and Supergirl expressed hope that Lena would eventually forgive her. However, THE SUPERMAN FAMILY #214 was Lena's last pre-Crisis appearance, so it seems they didn't reconcile before Kara's death in the Crisis in 1985.

Unlike in many modern stories, the pre-Crisis Luthors didn't appear to be particularly rich. Lex's comment in Lena's first appearance about their parents having "left everything" to her suggests that she might have inherited a little money, but given that she was working as a small town librarian and applying for secretarial jobs, she presumably wasn't independently wealthy.

In post-Crisis continuity, there was initially no indication that Lex Luthor had any siblings, but his parents were still killed in a car accident, which LEX LUTHOR: THE UNAUTHORIZED BIOGRAPHY strongly implied that Lex arranged so he could collect on their life insurance policy.

#comics #superman's girlfriend lois lane #jerry siegel #kurt schaffenberger #lois lane #superman #lex luthor #lena luthor #lena thorul #supergirl #pre crisis #silver age superman #the unauthorized biography says that the luthors were actually quite poor #and that luthor was able to use the life insurance payout #to become a self-made billionaire #this seems improbable and later went by the wayside #to follow smallville in making the luthor family wealthy

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eriquin · 2 months

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The Trolley Problem, part 27

Steve knows the kids already, but none of them know him. It's a weird time for all of them as they try to figure out what to do next.

(master post)

Steve sat everyone down and went over the details, again. It was weird sitting with all the kids and seeing no recognition in their eyes. At least they still acted the way he expected, asking question after question and barely letting him tell his story.

“Okay, so you get that there’s a gate to a hell dimension, called the Upside Down,” Steve said. “It’s like a mirror image of Hawkins from right now.”

“Like, is everything reversed?” Dustin asked. “All the books are backwards and stuff?”

“No, it’s not reversed. It’s not literally a mirror. Sometimes gravity reverses when you go through a gate if it’s on a weird surface, but otherwise it’s just like a copy. Except covered in vines and decay and stuff. Oh, and there’s monsters.”

Lucas and Mike started talking at once. Lucas wanted to know why it was called the Upside Down, and Mike asked about the monsters.

“I don’t know who named it,” Steve said. “And there’s just one monster right now. It was going to take Will, but it got Eddie instead.”

“Yeah, it yanked him through that gate thing,” Tommy said. “I mean, I didn’t see it exactly—”

“I did,” Will said. He hugged his arms around his chest. “It grabbed him and pulled him through.”

Carol rubbed his back. “Hey, it’ll be okay.”

Steve gave her an exasperated look. He knew that she was just trying to keep Will calm, but it was a little infuriating to hear her say it. He snapped his fingers to get everyone’s attention again, and tried to move on with his story. “Okay, so at some point this week, you guys found Eleven, who is this girl with psychic powers who escaped from Hawkins Lab.”

This opened up a whole new round of questions. Why was she named that? How and when did they find her? What kind of psychic powers? How was Hawkins Lab involved? How did she escape? Steve was frustrated with how few answers he had for them.

“They were doing experiments on her. I don’t know what kind! But that’s why there’s a gate open under the lab now, and that’s why monsters are getting through,” he said. He was never more aware of his own ignorance than when he was being quizzed on things, and he had to sit down and put his head in his hands.

“Guys, back off for a second,” Tommy said. He got up to run interference. “Steve, you wrote a bunch of this down already, right?”

“I mean, I tried to,” Steve said, sounding unsure even to himself.

“Okay, then let’s read the book first and give him a chance to think about stuff.” Tommy picked the notebook up and started flipping through it. “Christ, Harrington, your handwriting is worse than mine.”

“Fuck off, Hagan,” Steve said.

“It’s not that bad,” Dustin said. “I read through most of it, but it’s all out of order. Like, when did the Russians infiltrate Hawkins? Are they already here? Like, could someone in our school be a sleeper agent?”

“I bet it’s Troy,” Mike said. “He’s such a smug dickhead for no reason.”

Tommy frowned at Mike. “Troy who?”

“Troy Walsh. He’s this kid at our school,” Lucas said. “He’s a bully.”

“There aren’t any Russians in Hawkins yet,” Steve said with a tired sigh. “They get here in ‘85. But that’s why Hawkins Lab wants to keep El’s powers secret and cover up her escape and the gate and everything. They’re afraid of the Russians finding out, I guess.”

“But they do find out, don’t they?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah, but the lab doesn’t know that yet,” Steve said. “It’s confusing.”

“They can’t find out what you know, either,” Will said. “I mean, they’ll think you’re psychic, too.”

Steve looked a little alarmed at this and covered his mouth. “Uh. Shit, yeah. They might.”

“Maybe he is,” Dustin said. “I mean, he can see the future. That’s one of those classic psychic powers, right?”

Steve groaned and shook his head. “Look, whatever is going on, we need to keep the lab from knowing that we know. They will just kill us to cover it up. It doesn’t matter that your kids or we’re teenagers. They made, like, a fake body for Will when he disappeared the first time around. There was a funeral and everything!”

Dustin looked alarmed. “That wasn’t in your notes,” he said.

“Yeah it... Shit, maybe I forgot that bit.” Steve looked at the notebook in Tommy’s hand and sighed. He felt totally drained. “I mean, they’re not going to do it this time. Maybe for Eddie...”

“Not likely,” Carol said. She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No one’s looking for him.”

“What, nobody?” Steve leaned forward in his chair. “Are you sure?”

“He’s absent a lot,” she said with a shrug. “No one even noticed.”

“Fuck,” Steve whispered. “That means Hopper’s not gonna get involved. There won’t be anybody searching in the woods. The fucking lab is just gonna... Shit, what happens next?”

“Don’t you know?” Lucas asked. “You lived it.”

Steve shook his head. “I didn’t think it was all this weird monster stuff until the monster came through the wall,” he said. “I didn’t see that until Saturday, after everything else already happened. I know that Eleven escaped from the lab, but I don’t know when. Maybe she already escaped? Shit.” He looked towards the back of the basement, where there was a door out into the backyard.

“Can we go back to why there’s a girl with psychic powers?” Carol asked. “Like, how did that happen?”

Steve gave her a blank look and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Tommy smirked a little, and answered for him. “See, Carol, when a psychic mommy and a psychic daddy love each other very much—” Carol smacked him with the back of her hand, and the kids all giggled.

“The important thing is that she can close the gate, and that’ll stop the monster from coming through,” Steve said. “But I think she can also look for people? So if we find her, maybe she can figure out where Eddie is.” He gulped. His mouth felt dry. “If he’s still alive, I mean.”

Carol gave a look like she was mad he’d even brought it up. He glared back at her, and she gestured at the kids, with a pointed look at Will. Steve sighed and covered his eyes with his hands. They were so young. Everyone was so damn young.

“Okay, so we have to find Eleven,” Will said, trying to get them back on track. “That’s what happens next, right? We have to find her before the lab does, so she can help us find Eddie. If no one is looking for Eddie, then we have to look for him.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Will. You’re right.”

“But where do we start?” Mike asked. The kids all sat in a half-circle on the floor, facing the three teenagers. It felt like they were doing some kind of group project. “Do we just wander around through the woods, calling her name?”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Carol said. “I mean, there’s a monster, right?”

“And bad guys with guns,” Lucas said. “They’re probably out there looking for her, too.”

“Yeah, we can’t just go wandering around,” Steve said. He put his head in his hands. “But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Do you remember anything else about her? Or where we found her the first time?” Mike asked. He was whining a bit, but it was kind of tolerable as a twelve year old where it hadn’t been in a fifteen year old.

Steve sniffed a little and shook his head. “No. You guys were just out in the woods, looking for Will.” He sighed. “I remember a lot more about what’s happened recently. Which isn’t actually recent to you, I know. But, like, there’s another evil psychic guy who’s behind all of this, and I don’t know if he’s, like, watching us right now.” He got up and started to pace. “In the time I was from, we still didn’t know how long he’d been planning this. All we know is that he wanted revenge on Eleven because she threw him into the Upside Down, but she didn’t even remember it because it was, you know, traumatic and shit.”

“Wait, there are more psychics?” Dustin asked. He looked excited at that. “So you could be one!”

Steve was going to deny it again, but he caught Mike rolling his eyes so hard that he straightened his back up and glared at him. “Don’t give me that look, Wheeler. I could be. It’s one explanation,” he said. Mike didn’t look convinced, so he added, “Henderson’s usually right about these things. This kid’s, like, crazy smart.”

Dustin looked so pleased by this praise that it almost made Steve want to believe it. But then he ruined it by saying, “Wow, he really does know me,” and Steve tried to think about how to take his ego back down a notch.

Tommy got up and picked up the notebook. “It seems like we’re kind of stuck. Carol, did your dad say anything about what happened at the lab?”

“I mean, I haven’t seen him, but he doesn’t talk about work. Mom said he was called in last night for some overtime stuff. She was pissed.”

“Your dad works for Hawkins Lab?” Mike asked. He looked at Tommy. “Isn’t it dangerous for her to be involved, then?”

Carol scoffed. “You’re one to talk, pipsqueak. How is it more dangerous for me than for a literal child?”

They started sniping back and forth until Steve yelled at them to quit it. He looked over to Tommy for backup, but Tommy just shrugged and smirked. “Thanks, Tom. Very helpful.”

“I don’t know what we’re doing here, man,” he said. “We’ve gotta worry about the lab because they’re trying to avoid the Russians, right?”

“The Russians aren’t a problem for, like, a year and a half,” Steve said. “The lab gets closed down next year, ‘cause Eleven finally closes the gate—”

“Wait, she doesn’t close the gate for a year?” Lucas asked. “Why not?”

“Well, mostly because the lab is full of people trying to capture her and bring her back to be experimented on,” Steve said. “Anyway, once the lab is gone, the Russians infiltrate Hawkins. They build a secret base and start opening the gate again with some kind of machine. Dustin intercepted their message and came to me and Robin to decode it, and we figured out what they were doing. Well, mostly Robin. I was just there to hit things and get hit.”

Carol winced at this, but Tommy laughed. “So band-geek Buckley is a spy? I don’t see it.”

“She’s way cooler than you think,” Steve said. “She knows, like, five languages and is great at figuring shit out.”

“Why didn’t you go to her instead of Munson, then?” Tommy asked.

“I tried to, man,” he said. “She just... Look, I’m kind of a shithead to people right now, okay?”

“No kidding,” Mike said. Steve turned to glare at him, but he just glared right back. “What? You’re the one who said it.”

“What did I ever do to you, Wheeler?”

“Not to me, to my sister.” Mike crossed his arms and wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “You’ve been a jerk to her for the past month. She really liked you and you ditched her.”

Steve sighed. “That was to protect her from all of this,” he said, waving his hands at the world in general. “Fat lot of good it did.”

“Okay, whatever. Buckley thinks you’re a dick now, is that it? Why? What did you do to her?” Tommy asked.

“I mean...” Steve rubbed his forehead. “Mostly it’s just who I am as a person. We weren’t really friends until we got caught by the Russians under Starcourt, you know? We started working together at Scoops in June and the most positive interaction we had all month was her making fun of me for striking out with girls on a daily basis.”

“What the hell is Starcourt and Scoops?” Carol asked. “Did you, like, have to get a summer job? What happened to being a lifeguard at the pool?”

“I mean, Starcourt was air conditioned and I thought scooping ice cream sounded easier than sitting in the sun all day.” He sighed at their confused expressions. “The Russians did a bunch of shady land deals to build their secret base, and they built a mall on top of it to disguise the fact that they had people coming and going all the time. We found out they were there, found their operation, then got trapped in the underground base. Dustin and Erica got out but Robin and I were captured—”

“Wait, wait,” Lucas said. “Erica? My—”

“Yeah, your sister. Sorry. Maybe she won’t get involved this time. In ‘86, she’s still bugging me about child endangerment and how I owe her ice cream for life. She’s a real shark.”

Lucas blinked a few times, stunned. “Holy shit, he’s for real,” he said. “He really does know Erica.”

“So yeah, me and Robin were captured and, like, drugged and interrogated and stuff, but then Dustin and Erica came back to rescue us. And we all got out, but then... Man, a whole lot of other stuff happened. I hit a possessed guy with a car so he wouldn’t crash his car into Nancy and the kids. We got chased by a giant flesh monster. We burned down that giant flesh monster with fireworks. You know. Stuff like that.” They were all giving him stunned looks now. “Anyway, all that stuff made me and Robs best friends. But for her, it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m kind of stuck.”

“Are you kidding me?” Carol shrieked. She looked completely put out. “You’re telling me that Hawkins gets a fucking mall?”

Tommy burst out laughing. “Carol, Jesus Christ,” he said, slapping his knee.

Steve started laughing, too. So did the kids. “I mean, it was run by evil Russians. And it was only open for, like, a month before it burned down.”

“Yeah, but still,” Carol said. She huffed and put her hands on her hips. “Russians be damned, I would kill for a mall closer than Bloomington.”

“Well, if the Russians come here and build it again, maybe it won’t burn down this time,” Steve said. He pushed his hair out of his face and let out a heavy sigh. The window at the back of the house showed that it was pitch black out. “Anyway, it’s late. We should make sure the kids get home. We can figure more of this out tomorrow, maybe.”

“It’s not that late,” Dustin protested.

“It is, and there’s a monster out there,” Steve said. He got up again and gestured for the rest of the group to follow him upstairs. “You guys biked here, right? Think we can fit their bikes in your truck, Tom? I can drive them.”

Tommy agreed. When they got to the front door, they were met with a downpour. He started groaning about driving in the rain, but the kids looked much more ready to get a ride home.

But Steve stopped and stared at the rain. “It’s raining,” he said as it jogged a memory.

Tommy snickered and patted his arm. “Great observation there, Sherlock,” he said.

“No, it was raining,” Steve said. “When they found El. It was raining when they found her in the woods, and they brought her to Mike’s basement to hide her.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Shit. She’s out there now.”

He slammed the front door shut and started running towards the back instead. Then he spun on his heel and detoured into the kitchen, barely dodging Lucas as he went. There was a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers, and a heavy raincoat in the garage. He didn’t even realize that the rest of them were following him until he got out to the sunroom.

Carol grabbed his arm to keep him from running out into the backyard. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“To find El!” he said. “She’s out there in the rain! She’s gotta be.”

Behind Carol, the boys were all digging through their backpacks. They came up with ponchos and flashlights, always prepared like the little nerds that they were. Tommy had found a spare raincoat in the hall closet. He didn’t have a flashlight, but he looked ready to charge out there at Steve’s side.

“Wait, you’re going too?” Carol asked. She looked over the group as the kids got their raingear on. “You’re all going? Are you nuts? There’s a monster out there!”

“She’s right,” Tommy said. “We should get weapons. You’ve still got that stuff in your trunk, right?”

Carol scoffed. “Oh my God, you are nuts.”

“Carol,” Steve said, laying his hand on her arm. “She’s twelve years old, and she’s lost.”

The words hit her all at once and for a second, she looked like she was about to cry. “Fine,” she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “But you have to stick together! Or at least in groups. Each of you, keep an eye on two of these kids. You got it?”

“I’ll get the weapons,” Tommy said. Steve tossed him his keys, and he ran outside, still cursing the rain.

“We have walkies, too, so we can communicate,” Mike said. “Dustin has one and I have one.”

“I’ve got one, too,” Lucas said.

“Give it here,” Carol said. “I’ll be, like, the home base.”

“Two groups,” Steve said. “And be careful. If you run into guys from the lab, say we’re looking for Dustin’s cat.”

“Yeah, like they’re really gonna buy that while you’re carrying weapons,” Carol snarked.

Tommy came back with the nailbat and a handaxe. Steve claimed the bat, despite Tommy’s protest that he was better at baseball. They set out for the trees that bordered Steve’s backyard, intent on searching the woods for a girl that only Steve knew about.

#the trolley problem #time travel #stranger things #steddie #my writing

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bracketsoffear · 10 months

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Cecil Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) "I know he won last time, but I honestly think he deserves it. He is seemingly all knowing about current events in the town and sometimes reports them in a similar way to fear statements. I don't pay enough attention to all the lore to know exactly how he knows all the goings-on all the time, so it seems spooky to me. Though there is no canon description of him having a third eye he is often depicted with one, and a huge eye is a part of the logo. Being watched is also a theme throughout Nightvale, with the government agents who are always outside your house, or the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home"

Vincent Price (The Price of Fear) "(To be clear, this is a fictionalised version of himself that he portrayed in a radio show, not the real life person. Although the "total strangers confess weird often disturbing and confidential things to him unprompted" aspect WAS apparently true of him in real life--I don't know that anyone ever confessed to murder but a lot of strangers who recognised him would apparently confide all kinds of secrets and strange stories to him since he was fairly nonjudgemental and wasn't the type of guy to interrupt or walk away when someone was talking to him. The "just knowing things" part…well, he did believe he had some level of psychic abilities/premonitions IRL, but I don't know what to make of that. Either way though the character being submitted for this poll is the fictionalised version, who shares a lot of traits with the real man but gets into clearly fictional situations in each episode.) Vincent discovers all kinds of Dark Secrets (TM) in the form of a different supernatural or murdery event each episode. Sometimes this involves him actively investigating mysteries to discover the truth about various strange occurrences. Other times he's more of a witness to events, often becoming the only person alive to know the truth about something horrible--for instance going on a fishing trip with a guy leads to him discovering the guy's been killing people and feeding them to sharks. Other times, people just…tell him things--in fact, people open up to him extremely quickly in most episodes, he only has to ask a couple of questions to get someone to tell him all about his experience of being possessed, but the most notable examples are the FOUR occasions where a total stranger approaches him, sits down opposite him, and confesses to murder almost totally unprompted, in an unusually coherent way (OK so one guy was a very nervous and hesitant person who takes a little bit of prompting, but his confession still forms a coherent and narratively interesting enough story to make an episode of a radio show!), while Vincent just (mostly) calmly listens to it all. Also he…knows stuff. Inexplicably. Like, maybe not concrete factual stuff so much, but like, at least to what in a different context I'd call force-sensitive levels. Any time he thinks something's wrong, or someone's in danger, or that he might never see this person again, or he claims to sense Evil, without fail he is accurate. (Also the promotional art for the show features him staring at you somewhat disturbingly.)"

#eye poll #the magnus archives #the eye #poll #welcome to night vale #wtnv #the price of fear #vincent price

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bonescribes · 5 months

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In two to three sentences, write a brief elevator pitch, or synopsis, to get someone interested in your character! Ideally, an elevator pitch is said within 30 seconds, the length of an elevator ride. Use this opportunity to summarize the best of your muse's story, without giving too much away! Get the "audience" hooked!

colin: moderately antagonistic archeologist who loves music. ideal for fellow music-lovers, unnecessarily smart people, or folks who have seedy dealings. a little manipulative, a lot closed off. has a cool robot arm.

fai: cheerful -- possibly bordering on annoying -- mage who doesn't use magic. ideal for fellow mages, moons in need of a sun, or equally energetic fellows who want to terrorize the grumpy ones. frontrunner for world's tragic-est backstory; his smile hides multitudes. (also easy for crossovers, as his story involves jumping around worlds.)

ukitake: old, powerful shinigami known best for his kindness. ideal for folks who need a dad and/or grandpa figure, fellow old souls, or anyone who needs someone to talk to. has the wisdom of thousands of years of life, and a constitution worse than your sickliest victorian boy.

kurama: former infamous fox thief, current Super Normal Human Guy, incredibly complex individual. ideal for fellow demons, young spiritualists in need of a mentor, or antagonists in need of a strong rival. somewhere between kind, loving, and absolutely brutal.

light: world's first democratically-elected gay man; host to a truly incredible amount of disabilities. two-time death game survivor. ideal for fellow kinda-psychics, folks interested in participating in harrowing death games, and other deeply traumatized individuals. will infodump at you.

richeh: quiet apprentice witch with a dislike for change. ideal for muses in need of a daughter or little sister, fellow spellcasters, and people whose idea of hanging out is sitting in a room & ignoring each other. very much the creative, artistic type.

rita: child prodigy, mage, scholar. orphan with zero socials skills, and no interest in sharpening those skills when she could be researching instead. ideal for muses who can dish it and take it, adventurers, and folks in need of a little sister who isn't afraid to set them on fire. very spiky on the outside -- beware.

sanji: cook, pirate, lover of women. proud owner of not one, but two tragic backstories. ideal for muses who enjoy eating, guys who like to fight, and pretty much anyone in between. will flirt with you. frontrunner for world's most self-sacrificial man.

sasha: superstar psychic secret agent who has green skin & wears sunglasses at night. ideal for psychics in need of a mentor & runaway children. very stern and guarded on the outside, but really just A Guy on the inside.

simon: ex-con prosecutor with a very rough exterior -- literally and metaphorically. ideal for suns in need of a moon, crime-adjacent muses, and folks with an interest in psychology. will do absolutely anything for the people he loves -- including but not limited to getting himself executed.

toya: street singer & soft boy extraordinaire who struggles to emote due to a very stifled upbringing. ideal for particularly energetic muses, musicians, and students in need of a tutor. very good at arcade games -- will win you a prize from the claw machine. will win you several prizes, actually.

yukito: world's gentlest man & alter ego of moon guardian yue. entirely unaware of the second thing. ideal for rough-around-the-edges folks, anyone in need of family, and sports teams in need of an extra player. somehow both incredibly observant and incredibly oblivious all at once.

#❀ ooc .#THIS WAS REALLY FUN ACTUALLY #i might like. add this to my pinned post lmao

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 10 months

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my rewatch of broadchurch has reminded me of how much i love the idea of hopper taking on steve as an intern and showing him the ropes of policework. so, uh, here's a little thing i might make into an actual fic one of these days:

it's not steve's first choice of job. but it was offered to both him and robin, it pays well, it gets his dad off his back. or maybe worse. ("finally getting your life together, are you? finally got yourself an actual career.")

at first, it's simple, easy. reports, paperwork, sometimes some leg work. hopper oversees steve and robin's training personally. he says it's because they show potential; while that may be true, steve also suspects that hop's been told to keep an eye on the two of them by the shady government agents who have been lingering around hawkins—most of them pretending to be regular people, but the townspeople know better. everyone knows everyone in a small town like hawkins, and after the hellscape the town became, people have their own theories about what happened. most of them are pretty close, almost all of them including a government conspiracy.

for the few months, that's all they do. chase after the people who get too close to the truth, hush them up before the papers can snap up the story. they can't stop them all, but for the most part, people outside of hawkins write it off as lunacy. steve and hopper are thankful for that.

two years. two years of pure silence from any related to the upside down; no demodogs, no labs, no doctors, no psychic children. just eleven—jane, now—with the hopper-byers, and she hasn't used her powers for anything other than making max's life easier. the party's gone back to playing d&d together regularly, even though their parents tease them they're too old to be playing it in mike's basement.

and then, a couple months after the anniversary of will's disappearance, the world starts to crack again.

not really, not literally, not like it did when vecna split hawkins into four chunks of hell. but it's close, because steve can feel the world shift and begin to fall, just like it did then. it's worse this time, though, because he didn't really notice last time. he was too wrapped up in himself, in high school, in tommy and carol, in nancy. but this time? this time steve is fully aware of just how disastrous the world is.

it's a body. it's a young boy. all of hawkins stills because it's a little too similar.

when he's found, nobody knows who it is. the body's in the quarry, found by a group of young kids playing a little too close to the edge. (the town starts to get uneasy.)

the police retrieve the body. the family's contacted privately. the mother screams and wails that she was right, that she knew, that if they had just listened to her—

they realize, too late, that a missing persons report was filed about the boy two days ago. hopper hates how much the woman reminds him of joyce.

the autopsy is performed, and it confirms that the boy is really this woman's son. hopper insists on being present for the autopsy, just a little too worried it would be another fake.

for a while, steve is convinced it has to be related to what happened in the early 80s. hopper is, too, until that autopsy. after that, he tells steve it's a perfectly normal murder case.

it takes a while before steve believes him. only after that does he start to think that a regular murder case is even worse.

"i hate these small town murders," hopper says to him one day. "too many secrets about too many people get uncovered. things we never should know."

"but we're the police, shouldn't we know these things? if people are threatening and blackmailing and committing petty crimes, shouldn't we know?" steve asks, confused as to why hopper seems to be okay with these things—small compared to a murder, but big to a small town—happening all the time under their noses.

because that's what has been happening. backs are turning quickly. the town is becoming violent, accusing anyone and everyone who is slightly suspicious as the boy's killer.

"in a regular small town, it wouldn't be as big of a deal," hopper says. "even then, some things are just better left unsaid. but here? there's too many secrets we need to keep. secrets unrelated to this case. secrets that could get the soviets interested again."

and the idea of that makes steve shudder, his body remembering pain he had never really gotten rid of, always feeling it when it's too cold or raining.

robin shares similar ideas to hopper. "all these accusations," she says one night, when it's just them in the office because hop sent everybody else home and he's in the next room making coffee, "doesn't it scare you? like imagine if somebody turns on...i don't know, jonathan or...or nancy? i mean nancy owns guns and people know about it—"

"the boy wasn't shot, robs."

"—and jonathan, i mean, everybody who went to school with us heard about you breaking the camera and why you did it. they might..."

steve shakes his head. "i wish i hadn't, robs. especially now."

"i know that, that's not what i'm saying. my point is, we've all got dirt, every single one of us. eddie's been accused of murder before, who's to say they won't do it again? even if it doesn't make sense, neither do the people they target now. anyone who's done any wrong is in the risk of it being made public. and if that happened to us? if people find out about el, about vecna, about will? what happens then?"

she's worked herself up into a panic, steve can tell. but this time, he doesn't really know what to say. he doesn't know what will happen. the government agents who watched them for months before they disappeared all at once never made verbal threats, but the threat of their presence was enough to silence everyone.

the only thing he can think to say is "eddie's on tour with the guys right now, he's safe from all of this."

"until they get back, then everyone will become the next jason carver," robin says, and steve begs her not to bring him back up.

secrets get dug up as the case drags on, only getting further and further away from closure. affairs, bullying, threats, drugs, alcohol, robbery. whatever small, dirty secret the town could possibly have, it does have, and it gets dug up and aired out like dirty laundry.

steve watches the town pretend to be shocked at every new revelation. it doesn't hurt very much until he watches the entire town pretend that they—and he—didn't know his dad was cheating on his mom and has been for years; that still doesn't hurt as much as the pitying looks they give him when he shows up to ask questions or to take their statements; and that still doesn't compare to the looks everyone gives his mom.

he watches his mom lose her love of life. it was fine, or they could pretend it was fine, before everybody knew (officially) about his dad's infidelity. they could pretend it wasn't happening. they pretended it was some big business meeting or a dinner with a client or whatever it was, except what it actually was.

that's what hurts steve most about policework. watching people go under for things that have nothing to do with him. watching people lose family and livelihoods over mistakes made years ago. watching the life drain from a community, replaced by suspicion and anger and hatred.

because if he stops and thinks about it, steve doesn't really mind it otherwise. he likes the thrill, the facts fitting together, the possibility that they might actually be right.

and when they are right, even after countless wrong leads, steve feels the relief deep in his bones. he feels it in the town, too, feels people start to breathe again and start to go back to normal and live their lives again.

he knows it's not normal again, not really. how can it be? but he watches the case go to trial, he watches it go right, he watches the killer go to jail. he watches the family finally breathe again, hears the mother thank him and robin and hopper, sees them try to go back to their lives and do they best they can.

it's not normal, but it's better. it's better than it was, because the accusations are gone now, what's been dug up has either been forgotten or left alone or maybe it has changed lives, but people are moving on. sweeping it under the rug like it never even happened.

there are some divorces in the following weeks—the couples whose infidelity was discovered. the police chase a few domestic abuse reports. steve handles a few of them, because he's learned to handle the punches now. there'a crackdown on illicit substances. steve and robin are glad eddie's quit all of that now, that he had given it up years ago.

the world stops ending. steve knows it'll end again someday, more often if he ever ends up in a big city. but for now, it's over and he can go back to his boring old police routine.

steve likes "boring" these days. boring is a safety net, something to fall back into when things get exciting.

the other thing steve likes about policework—it is exciting. sometimes. sometimes, it makes him feel alive again.

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spaghettiwench · 1 year

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Lucy as the Golden Blade AU headcanons because the comic I did for it a little bit ago started gaining some traction. Please enjoy some of the thoughts I had while drawing it:

-Lucy joins up with Fittes after the Screaming Staircase and becomes the apprentice of the Golden Blade after Penelope realizes how strong of a Listener she is.

-Lucy leaves for Fittes in part because she wants to keep her promise to Norrie in becoming one of the best agents in the business and in part because she doesn’t want to lose a team that she truly cares about all over again.

-She refuses to wear the Fittes uniform but finds herself wearing gray more often than not (sometimes she’ll wear splashes of blue because she really likes the color)

-Gale pushes her to her breaking point when it comes to both rapier skills and her psychic abilities, making her incredibly powerful and skilled with a blade by the time she crosses paths with Lockwood and co again.

-Lucy and Gale do not like each other in the slightest. Gale is annoyed that he gets stuck training some snot nosed brat and Lucy is pissed because no matter how hard she works she is never up to his standards. Nonetheless he trains her and she shows up every single day because she would never give him the satisfaction of thinking that she’s hiding from him or not up to the challenge.

-I like to think she volunteers for jobs where she might be able to run into George and Lockwood again. Not because they’re friends (of course not they’re sworn enemies at best) but because she likes to bait them.

-Also she finds that Lockwood is a fantastic sparring partner and keeps a detailed count on who wins what battles. She keeps a tally in the inner cover of one of her sketchbooks.

-The night at Winkmans warehouse both Gale and Lucy were in attendance but only Lucy ends up catching up with Lockwood and dueling him. Lucy holds that over Gale's head for months, accusing him of losing his touch because of his cripplingly old age. He never fails to remind her that even though she caught Lockwood she didn’t manage to actually beat him.

-She uses that point as a reason to push herself even harder at rapier practice, she’s determined not to be bested by him again.

-Lucy will never admit it but she looks forward to her confrontations with the small agency. Going out of her way to keep up with their cases in the papers and magazines. Deep down she likes them and remembers their friendship from when she first arrived in London. Secretly she believes she owes them for being a stepping stone in her success, and she never stops feeling guilty for leaving them behind in the way that she did.

-The more she crosses paths with Lockwood and George the more she starts to regret abandoning them for Fittes.

SPOILERS FOR HOLLOW BOY/CREEPING SHADOW/EMPTY GRAVE PAST THIS POINT

-Lucy meets up with Lockwood and co again when they go and visit Chelsea for the mass haunting. Fittes even has her working on the case so she gets lumped in with Kipps and his team.

-The chase at the parade is basically the same except instead of Lockwood and Lucy helping each other out they’re determined to see who can catch up to the attacker first. It ends with them pulling out the rapiers by the river, almost coming to blows before they’re found by other people.

-Lucy goes with Kipps to Aickmeres and it ends up playing out the same exact way. Lucy gets teamed up with Holly, the two argue, Lucy ends up saving Holly before herself and falling down into the old prison. She still sees Lockwood as the Fetch and he still comes down after her. So when he offers her a job, to come back to Lockwood and Co, to be part of a real team again, she has to refuse. It breaks both of their hearts when she does it.

-Okay this is where I start to deviate from cannon a bit more so bare with me

-Lucy has no idea that Fittes and Rotwell are opening spirit gates, at the end of the black winter is when Penelope finally trusts her enough to let her in on the secret

-Lucy is obviously horrified by the idea and runs away. She has nowhere else to go other than to the one place she knows is safe. The only place that might offer to take her in, and runs off to Portland Row.

-Of course they take her in and after the Creeping Shadow case she officially becomes the newest member of Lockwood and Co.

-Absolutely flips her shit when the skull starts talking to her when she first moves in

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #the empty grave #the hollow boy #the creeping shadow #the screaming staircase #the whispering skull #the golden blade

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moviemunchies · 7 months

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Ah, yes, the del Toro Hellboy movie; it’s much better than that other attempt at making a Hellboy movie that came out in 2019. It’s a very del Toro movie, which means it’s not that faithful an adaptation of the original comics. Still, it’s close enough, and it’s a pretty good movie in its own right.

In World War II, Professor Broom leads an American military in thwarting Rasputin’s Nazi experiment to open a portal to the Ogrdu Jahad, the seven gods of chaos (just roll with it). They defeat Rasputin and his forces, but something does come through the portal: an infant Hellboy. He’s adopted by the Professor and the newly-formed Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense (the BPRD). Aging much slower than an ordinary person, he of course becomes an agent of the BPRD and something of a cryptid to the general public. As he doesn’t really get along with his coworkers/handlers, Professor Broom hires FBI agent John Myers to work with him, and help introduce the audience to the world of the BPRD.

Except! Ohes noes! The Professor is dying! And Rasputin and his minions are back, raising up unkillable monsters and hoping to force Hellboy realize his destiny as Anung Un Rama, the Beast of Apocalypse.

There are several noticeable differences between Mike Mignola’s comic characters and del Toro’s versions of them. Hellboy being a grumpy young adult, rather than a serious investigator at this point comes to mind, as well as him being romantically interested in Liz. Abe is psychic now (a change which I actually kind of prefer?). Most of all though, the biggest change is that the BPRD is a secret organization, and Hellboy must hide from the public’s view, causing a lot of angst and conflict.

These are the hallmarks of a Guillermo del Toro picture: a monster who wants to be accepted by humanity, and can’t because humanity sucks sometimes. That’s not A Thing in the Hellboy comics, and it makes me understand why some comics fans don’t like these movies as much. That being said, apparently Mignola went into the the adaptation giving del Toro his blessing to do his own take on the world and characters. Also, this was my introduction to Hellboy (and I suspect that for many that’s the case as well), so I can’t really hold it against the movie too much.

Supposedly, according to TV Tropes at least, there is a Director’s Cut out there, and it develops the characters better than the theatrical cut. I have never seen anything about that, and I don’t know where I’d track that down, but let me know if you see that floating around!

There are some changes in the worldbuilding as well, like how the Ogdru Jahad are slightly different from how they appear in the comics. This is kind of excusable–the backstory and full explanation of their nature were things that Mignola knew, but hadn’t shared yet when the movie was in production. He actually decided to explain all of those in a comic story (“The Island”) when on set for this movie. So I can’t fault the movie for changing some of that.

Then again, there’s also the 2019 film, which tried to include a lot of the comics story and ended up being an overcrowded mess.

The special effects are… well, it’s a mixed bag. The practical effects, of which there are a lot, generally aged pretty well. You know you’re looking at something real when you’re looking at practical effects. The other effects are a little more hit-or-miss. It looks like del Toro realizes that the CGI wasn’t always as strong, as some of those weaker CGI images are in quick action shots, or in dark places, so that you don’t see it on screen for too long, or can’t make it out on screen, so it still works. Other things, like Liz’s flames, or when Hellboy electrocutes Samael–those are weaker effects and don’t hold up as well today.

Still, it’s overall a darn good movie. Even if it’s only a loose adaptation of the comics, it’s a solid, memorable story, with really good visuals and great scenes. Every action sequence is memorable and well-done. The characters are likable, the Plot is easy to follow, and the movie is loads of fun to watch.

Also it’s about a half-demon that’s been raised Catholic, which is a darn interesting premise by itself.

And Hellboy punches a robot ninja Nazi in the face. That’s pretty great.

So I suppose you should watch the movie.

#Hellboy #Movie Munchies #Guillermo del Toro #Ron Perlman

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sheltershock · 7 months

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Thought of the evening: how does the nuances of the agent [surname] system work?

Because it seems like most agents just use their surname(Oleander, Nein, Vodello, Mentallis, Forsythe, etc.), but some agents have numbers(33)?

But also, what if your surname changes? Hollis has a line about a husband, so does that complicate the naming system? In her memory vaults she was going by Forsythe since her intern days, so either she was married back then or it’s possibly her maiden name. Do all agents go by their maiden names? If Milla and Sasha got married and changed their surname, they’d have the keep the old names right? You can’t have two “Agent Neins” or “Agent Vodellos” that would cause too much confusion.

But what about sibling agents? Norma and Lizzie are sisters, and are both in the intern program. Are the Psychonauts going to have two Agent Navidads? Or if Frazie joins to be an agent, would the chaos of having two “Agent Aquatos” cause problems? Maybe in the case of siblings they’d go by their middle names? So Agent [Middle Name].

And what about the numbered agents? Did the Psychonauts start at one and have since climbed to thirty-three? Why do some agents get to have their surname attached and not others? My personal headcanon for the numbered agents I thought of while planning a fic is that numbered agents are actually agents recruited who are part of a witness protection program, and thus it’s to hide/contend with changing identities. But there’s no in-game explanation as far as I’m aware.

Also not really apart of the Agent thought, but there’s the tiny paradox of Sasha and Milla being “international secret agents” who work for an espionage agency, but also being celebrities in universe and are getting their names and faces printed on magazines. Does the world assume that the names “Sasha Nein” and “Milla Vodello” are false identities? Honestly the idea that True Psychic Tales and all the terrorists they fight believe that these are fake names/stage names when in reality they’re just their real names is a little amusing. That they just believe that they wouldn’t be open enough to use their real names, but its like reverse psychology. Or the idea that they’re able to sneak in places and not immediately get caught is because their enemies are like “no, that can’t be Agents Nein and Vodello, that would be too obvious.”

#psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #btw if they did get married I personally believe they’d get their surnames hyphenated #so “Vodello-Nein” because “Nein-Vodello” sounds weird and awkward in comparison to me. Rolls off the tongue better #also their kid would hate them every time they have to stand in an alphabetical line because they could’ve been in the middle with “N”#but nooo their mom’s name HAD to go first #but I do legitimately wonder how Lizzie’s and Norma’s graduation worked #and why agent 33 exists as 33 #also do you think there’s an “agent nine” that always gets confused with Sasha when getting called in?

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 months

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Secret Santa (Vincent/Apollo)

An early christmas present to @bellafarallones2, set after the events of The Thrilling Adventures of the Green Knight

“We’re so glad you’ll be with us again!” Mrs. Williams tucks Vincent’s volunteer contract away in her desk, “you’re always very popular with the kids.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His watch chimes 8:00 am, “I have to go to work. I’ll keep an eye out for your email come October?”

“Exactly.” She walks him to the office door with a wink “and as always, your secret is safe with us.”

The Tilden Shopping center is on the other side of town from The Bureau of Hero Oversight, and as he feared the late summer heat means some of the local villains are even more irritable. That means a traffic jam just on the edge of downtown as several members of the Pine Guard zoom past in pursuit of Baron Thorne. Vincent hopes for the villain’s sake that Indrid isn’t among them; even since he dropped a building on Duck, The Moth considers Baron Thorne his sworn enemy.

He’s just glad that Indrid’s self-appointed sworn enemy isn’t getting out any time soon.

“I’m surprised you want me for this.” Vincent stares at the security screens and the one way glass that has him looking down on the cell of Apollo Cold, AKA The Flame.

“We’re learning the hard way that we need an agent with the right temperament to deal with him. And it has to be one, so he can’t play us off each other.” Director Stern sighs, running a hand over his hair. Vincent swears that grey in it only appeared after he was promoted, which happens to be the same time Apollo was brought in.

“Can I ask what you mean by that?”

“Even-tempered. Hard to rattle. Used to dealing with obnoxious men who think they know everything. All things that training-in starter agents prepared you for. After all, you dealt with my know-it-all self just fine.” Director Stern rests a hand on Vincent’s shoulder, “more than that, call it…call it a hunch. We’ve worked together all these, and I know the kind of man you are, Agent Capra. That’s why I trust you with this.”

“That means a lot.” Vincent smiles at him, “anything else I should know?”

“He’s got half the staff convinced he’s psychic.”

“How?” Vincent manages to not sound too alarmed

“My suspicion is a combination of prior research, cold reading, educated guesses, and luck. Indrid confirmed he’s lying, though of course he insists he developed powers after Indrid ‘deserted’ them.” Joseph’s phone buzzes and he sighs as he takes it out, “treat him like a T.V psychic and you should be safe.”

“Understood.”

Vincent spends an hour reading over all the information Stern left him, then decides it’s time to introduce himself.

It’s a short staircase down, then a reinforced door–the only way in or out–to an empty, well lit room. Apollo’s cell is made of the kind of glass they use to keep tigers from eating toddlers at zoos, with no privacy save for a small bathroom, and furnished with a bed, a tablet with limited permissions, and nothing else. It’s grim, but from the notes it’s also the last resort since Apollo kept turning anything else they gave him into a weapon.

Currently, the villain is sitting on the bed, watching Vincent approach with malevolent disinterest.

He stands calmly in front of the cell, “Hello, Apollo. I’m Agent Vincent Capra. Director Stern has assigned me to be the agent in charge of your care.”

“And why should I care about that?”

He shrugs, “You don’t have to care. It just felt polite to introduce myself face to face.”

“That makes you braver than the rest; they all hide up in their little cave” He tilts his head towards the control room, “Not that it will help them. They’re dead men regardless of whether I know their faces.”

Two months of being imprisoned hasn’t made him any less dramatic it seems.

“Tell me” Apollo studies his nails, “does it bother you? That a ‘know-it-all’ former pupil has surpassed you?”

The usage of the exact wording unnerves him, but all he says is, “Not at all. Director Stern was a co-agent for years and we know each other well. I’m very glad for his promotion.”

“I suppose you all feel it’s better him than you, as his death for his role in this will be far worse than if he were some disposable agent.” A smile, “I’m going to turn his boyfriend into a rug while they are both still alive.”

Vincent waits for him to finish.

A frown, “Nothing? Usually that at least earns me a wince. Maybe the old goat has something metal under all that fat after all.”

“You’re not my first villain, Apollo.”

The younger man rises, walks to the glass as he says, “You know, you remind me of my father.”

“You killed your father.” Vincent replies calmly.

Petulance breaks the surface of Apollo’s features, “I was going to say that.”

“I’m sorry to have stepped on your toes.” Vincent turns, “if you need anything, you where I’ll be.”

Apollo certainly did, and proceeded to hurl all manner of insults at him without warning, when he wasn’t busy detailing exactly how he’d murder Vincent and everyone he loved.

It’s been like that for a month and a half now, and they’re still no closer to working out how Apollo knows certain things. Indrid, in spite of tearing the control room apart, could not find a device or any other proof that his twin had managed to install some means of spying on them.

But his errand this morning gave Vincent an idea.

As he trades off with the night shift, he casually stands near a certain vent in the control room, that he was picking out a certain necklace for his niece’s birthday at a store that closed before he got off work, so he had to go ahead of time.

Then he reads over the notes from the night (“Cold sat on bed with back to camera for two solid hours, talking to himself”), covers up the vent, and then goes down to say good morning.

Apollo is laying on the bed, eyes closed, and Vincent is nearly turned around to let him sleep when a cool, self-satisfied voice says, “A necklace? How dull.”

“A funny thing about the necklace, Apollo” he leans closer to the glass, voice quieter, “I never bought it. I wasn’t anywhere near that store this morning.”

The villain’s eyes snap open and he turns his head toward him, “Liar.”

“Not at all. I was doing something much more secret than that. Something no one at the agency knows about”

“What kind of secrets could a ridiculous old goat like you have?” Curiosity lurks beneath dismissiveness.

“Surely you can tell me, since you claim you can know anything about us you choose.”

A pause, then, “You were paying off a parking ticket.”

“No.”

“Seeing a mistress.”

“Not even close.”

“You’re a hitman?”

“Goodness, no.” He doesn’t hide the laugh in time.

“Do not mock me!” Apollo is off the bed and snarling in his face in an instant, “I demand you tell me, this instant.”

“I don’t think I will. A man has to have his harmless little secrets.”

He returns to the booth, Apollo yelling curses after him. Then he clicks on the intercom and says, “I’m going to say it aloud in a moment. Then I’ll give you a last guess.”

Once he’s certain the mic is off, he stands by the vent and says, “I play Santa Clause at a mall.”

When he hits the intercom back on, Apollo pipes up, “You were shoplifting. I knew it all along.”

He shakes his head, pleased to have solved the mystery, “Not quite. But a good guess all the same.”

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apollo can suffer the indignity of imprisonment.

He can deal with the sinking feeling that his brother has, in fact, beaten him.

He can tolerate the endless sameness of his days, even laugh to himself and how pathetic that the agency thinks of this as a punishment.

But he will not tolerate Vincent Capra keeping a secret from him.

He’s been trying since last week to work it out, even went so far as to search “what do ordinary men keep secrets about” on his tablet, yet he’s no closer to an answer.

This morning he’s waiting, wrists cuffed through the electrified, hand-sized openings in his cell while some sniveling orderly speedily checks through his room for contraband. Vincent comes in just as the man finishes, wishing him a good morning before turning his attention on Apollo.

He must have been running late today; he still has a travel mug of coffee in hand.

“Gambling.”

A slight laugh, “Good morning to you too, Apollo. And no.” The cuffs buzz open and the holes in the cell close the instant he pulls his hands away, “I’ll be working on some reports today, but yell if you need me. Not that you have any trouble with doing that.”

He’s already turning towards the control room. Apollo does not want to lose his attention so soon; not because he cares about him–quite the contrary–but he’s not ready to go back to having his conversation options be someone who isn’t really there.

“Bird watching?”

Vincent pauses, “No, not that either. Though I suppose it’s one of your more reasonable guesses; birders usually go places early. Though I’m not sure if there are many exciting ones in the city.”

“You could go to the waterfront. It is on a flyway.”

He should really just cut out his tongue at this point.

“I didn’t take you for an amateur ornithologist.”

“I am not.”

Vincent sips his coffee, “What kind of bird would you be?”

“Eagle owl.” Forget his previous thought; ripping his tongue out would be more fitting. Right after he slices Vincent’s vocal cords one by one to stop him asking questions in that way that makes it so easy to answer honestly.

“That seems fitting. I’m not sure what I might be.”

Apollo studies him, then smirks, “A grouse. Plump and grey.”

The older man touches his hair, “I’m not all grey yet. And I think I wear it well.”

“The same cannot be said for your physique. Did you just stop trying once you were surrounded by heroes and saw how pathetic you looked?”

A sigh; not upset, just disappointed, “Some day, Apollo, I hope you can find joy in things other than insulting everyone you meet.”

He snorts, “Joy? Joy comes with triumph, with victory, with making your enemies crawl on bloodied palms for mercy you do not intend to grant. All things that are outside my reach. For now.”

“Was there really nothing else in your life that made you happy?” Confusingly, Vincent has stepped closer to the glass.

“No. Unlike my brother, I did not need pointless amusements or people. The work was enough.”

Silence, then Vincent’s brown eyes look at him with unnerving clarity, “Apollo, have you considered that you’re so desperate to know my secret because you’re bored and unhappy without the life you had?”

His traitor of a tongue says, quietly, “I would rather rip my own fingernails out than go another day without a goal.”

In another life, such a statement would have been met with someone handing him pliers and telling him to get to it. Instead, Vincent says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The Christmas trees are already encroaching on Halloween decorations as Vincent makes his way through the store. It feels a little odd to be using the company credit card to buy toys, but Stern agreed that anything that kept Apollo occupied and calm was worth spending Bureau money on. Apparently he’d been refusing books on principle–what principle, Vincent cannot say–but Vincent downloaded some onto the tablet just to tide him over. When he left last night, Apollo was wholly engrossed in Guns, Germs, and Steel.

He’d kept interrupting Vincent’s work that day, which was not unusual. But this time, it was to read him passages, rather than insult him.

When he returns to work the next morning, Apollo moves toward him excitedly before catching himself and returning to his usual disdainful expression.

“What is in that package? Is it mine?”

“Ho, ho, ho” Vincent smiles as he slides the box into the cell.

Apollo blinks at him.

“Do…did you never learn about Santa Claus?” That would explain how he still hasn’t guessed Vincent’s secret.

“I know what he is. I simply do not understand why you are referencing him in September.” Apollo opens the box, removing the Gearball Brainteaser, “or why you have given me a toy.”

“It’s apparently difficult to solve.”

Apollo gives him a dismissive wave, as if shooing him away, “Child's play.”

With that, he sits on the floor and does not look up from the puzzle for several hours. When he does, it's with a triumphant smile as he shows the solved sphere to the camera.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apollo is not surprised he’s dreaming of being a bird; he fell asleep after watching the live feed from the aquarium’s aviary. It is easier to let himself watch it, knowing Vincent will not mock or punish him for it.

The last time he dreamed of being a bird, he was ripping viscera from the belly of what was either his father or brother; the face was too destroyed to say.

This time, he is something small, a sparrow or warbler, huddling in tall grass. Without seeing it, he knows there's something hunting him. And rain is battering his feathers, he’s so cold and afraid and surely a flock is near, but if he calls for them, whatever is stalking him will pounce.

Warm hands scoop him up, tucking him into a breast pocket of a grey coat. He knows, in that way of knowing things in dreams, that it’s Vincent who has given him this soft, safe place to nest.

He wakes up nauseous, surely from the saccharine nature of the dream, rolls over in his blankets, and tries to pretend he’s still nestled in a pocket.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

It turns out the nausea was not from the dream. It was from food poisoning

Someone at the bureau had been putting expired or otherwise tainted food into his meals. According to Vincent, they were summarily fired when Stern found out.

It was a rather devious way of harming him, and he intends to congratulate whoever came up with it right before he boils them alive.

He’s laying on the cold floor for relief from the fever, blanket in reach for when he gets chills, when Vincent appears at the glass.

“Do you need more water?”

“No. I am fine. This is barely discomfort.” He closes his eyes, “I am not some, some weakling who needs soup or medicine or whatever it is people with no tolerance for suffering and frail bodies require when ill.”

“My mother always insisted on ginger ale. I still crave it when I get sick” Vincent sits down in the chair he’s taken to keeping next to the cell, then chuckles, “my fathers mother was a firm believer in putting whiskey in tea for the ill, even for children.”

“That seems like a good way to murder a child accidentally.” Apollo forces himself to roll on his side so he can see him.

“I’m the baby of the family, so by the time I came along she knew not to do it to me. My eldest sister does recall being given a hot toddy at age five that put her to sleep for most of the day.” He rests his head back against the wall. He’s wearing a white and lavender tie today, and Apollo wants to rest his own head just below the knot of it.

He must be more delirious than he thought.

“My father would always read to us when we got sick. The Hobbit was a favorite of mine.”

“I have read that one” Apollo sits up, “my favorite part was when the dragon pours molten gold onto the dwarves who dared enter his lair.”

Vincent looks at him with surprise, “I think we read very different books.”

“Nono, I distinctly remember the cover and the title.”

“Was that a book that was read to you, by chance?”

“By father, when we were small. It is now occurring to me that he may have made the story different to impart the correct lesson. No one puts beheadings in books for children.”

“No, there are a few in there. But I think the ending is much happier than you’ve been lead to believe.” Vincent looks down at him, “would you like me to read it to you?”

“I am not a child!”

“And that’s not an answer.”

“Yes” he grumbles, “after all, you are functionally a servant. You should wait on me when I am ill.”

Vincent indicates the tablet, and Apollo grits his teeth to keep from throwing up as he stands and passes the device through. After a few taps, Vincent pulls reading glasses from his breast pocket, and begins.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why are you humming that?” Apollo looks up from his book at Vincent. He hadn’t even realized he was humming “Silver Bells” as he filled in his paperwork.

“I suppose I’m already in a festive mood. I know it’s barely November but I can’t help it; I love Christmas. Picking out presents, spending time with family, all the lights. Cheesy, I know.”

“Exceedingly.” Apollo says, lacking his usual venom.

“I imagine it wasn’t celebrated in Abbadon.”

“Of course not. No doubt my brother has taken up the practice all the same.”

It’s a harmless truth, so he says, “I did see that he’d already put up a tree.”

“To please his brick of a hero, one assumes.”

“He may just like it” Vincent chides gently, “you aren’t carbon copies of one another.”

“Do not be ridiculous. That muscle without a brain is the reason he’s no longer even a passable shadow of his former self. But I suppose he is clever all the same; he found a loyal, durable shield to protect him while he flits about.”

Vincent takes a deep breath before replying, “Maybe he’s just found a partner he trusts.”

“He had one.” Apollo snarls.

“I’m not certain he’d call what you two had as trust.”

The villain scoffs, then softens, “I suppose not.” He gets up from the soft chair they’ve allowed him, padding over to Vincent, “I do envy him for what he has now.”

“That’s a hard thing to admit, isn’t it” Vincent sets his work aside to stand and face him, “I’m proud of you for being able to.”

A finger traces on the glass, “We could have such an arrangement. If you freed me.”

“Apollo, you know I’m not going to do that.”

“Why not?” The younger man raises his voice, “you like me, I can tell.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you loose to hurt god knows how many people.”

“What do you care? You would be safe! You would be helping me and I, I would offer you protection. And glory.”

“Does that strike you as something I want?”

Apollo pauses, clearly considering the question. Amber eyes flame, and Vincent knows he’s worked out the right answer and doesn’t like it.

“Fine” He hisses, slamming a fist into the glass, “I was lying anyway, a dull old goat like you is of no use to me.”

“I’m going for the day, Apollo.” It’s a fight not to yell back, to not be upset as he wonders if any of the progress he thought he was making in connecting with the villain was all an illusion.

“Go on then! Leave! I do not care! And when I finally free myself, I won’t even bother killing you personally! You can die here with the rest of these rats like you deserve.”

With that, he stalks away, leaving Vincent to retreat to the control room.

—-------------------------------------------------

“What do you mean not here?” Apollo glares at one of the cameras feeding to the control room.

“I mean he’s on another mission right now.” Stern says through the microphone, “and I’m not at liberty to say when he’ll return.”

“How can you send him on another mission? You know very well I am the greatest threat to the country, let alone the city.”

“Be that as it may, you’re also not the only threat here. Vincent was the right man for the assignment. There will be other agents assigned to your care in the meantime.”

“Bring Vincent back or I will-”

“Slice my face off while my family watches, yes, you’ve said as much.” The mic goes dead, and no one responds no matter how much Apollo curses at them.

Eventually he tires of that tactic and goes to sit on the bed, back to the camera.

“Another villain” he mutters, “if I had been an even more powerful threat, they would never send Vincent after anyone else. I would have him all to myself.”

The twin in his head replies, “And if you had never been a villain at all, you would have had the same.”

He tucks his legs to his chest. He’s not upset, he’s not, he is simply frustrated that the version of Indrid in his mind has been less cooperative of late.

And he is not at all pleased when the real version appears the next day for his monthly visit. Still, Indrid has information and he needs it, so he steps to the glass.

“Is Vincent dead?”

“No.” Indrid replies suspiciously quickly.

“Did they have you kill him?”

“No” His twin crosses his arms, “he’s on another mission. Assuming all goes well, you will see him again.”

“Liar.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “Apollo, we are not at Abbadon anymore. That kind of thing does not happen here.”

“Of course you think that, you are a coward and a traitor and one day you will remember what you were made for and I will laugh to learn you dismembered that hero of yours while he was still alive. And you will be all to blame for it, like old times.”

Indrid returns his snarl, the tell that the barb has lodged under his skin, “This! This is why they sent Vincent away!”

“Aha! I knew it!”

“Oh, really?” They’re toe to toe now, both acting as if the glass is not there, “you knew that your last conversation with him upset him, and that they decided it was wise to give him a break from you because no one deserves to be subjected to your company for as long as he has? And yet you think you value him enough for someone to see him as a prize to take away from you?”

“I do! He is, he is better than anyone else here! When he is nearby I do not-” He stops himself before he says something he regrets.

Indrid leans back from the glass, “You do not feel like you are trapped.”

“Damn you and your powers to whatever pit of hell is coldest.” He looks away, “once I am free, I will give him one more chance.”

His brother removes his glasses, tiredly rubbing his eyes, “You truly think that is the part of you he likes?”

The “yes” fails to form on his tongue. He knows it is a lie. Indrid knows it too. And so there is no point to it.

“You are not the Flame anymore. That persona, that life, is behind you and it is going to stay there. Every hero and half the villains in this city will fight to keep you from it. I will die before I let you take up that mantle again.” He slots his glasses back on his face, “eventually, you are going to have to decide who you are without it.”

With that, he leaves, tossing his usual goodbye over his shoulder.

“Indrid?”

His brother stops, but doesn’t turn to look his way.

“Do you promise he is still alive?”

“On whatever honor either of us still has, I promise he is.”

Apollo rests his forehead against the glass, relieved, “Thank you.”

Indrid turns, surprised, but says “you are welcome” all the same.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Technically, Vincent’s mission ended a week ago, but Stern insisted he take a week of vacation before returning to work. Which is why he’s reading up on Apollo’s doings at eleven at night on Christmas Eve.

Cold spoke to Director Stern about possible community service.

Well that’s certainly unexpected.

Cold has begun doing remote service identifying labels for screen readers and entering data from trail cameras for public lands.

Vincent flips forward; Apollo kept that up even after being told that they really didn’t know when Vincent would be returning to his post here.

Cold continues engaging with staff less than previously. Interactions are neutral rather than hostile 70% of the time.

He checks the monitor, having told the agent on the night shift that she should get some dinner and he could watch Apollo for a while. The villain is on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

When Vincent steps from the control room door, bag in hand, Apollo is to the glass with impressive speed.

“Vincent!” He reins in his excitement, “I see you have returned.”

“I sense I was missed.”

“I…yes. It turns out your company is superior to anyone else they assigned to me.” He looks at Vincent’s face, notices the bruise under his eye, and Vincent wonders if he’ll mock him for getting it or threaten the person who did it first.

“What happened?” His hand touches the glass, as if trying to examine Vincent’s injury.

“I was undercover as a butler for a young man who was trying to fashion himself into a villain. Deeply uncreative and not nearly as formidable as some people I could mention. Still, he wasn’t thrilled when he found out who I really was and there was a scuffle. I won.”

“I am glad. And I wanted to say that I am…I am” he closes his eyes and spits out, “sorry. For what I said the last time we spoke. I will do my best not to do it again.”

“Thank you for apologizing.”

Blonde hair falls into Apollo’s face as he cocks his head, “Why are you here so late?”

“Your Christmas present.” Vincent smiles, “would you like to know my secret.”

“Yes” Apollo’s eyes widen excitedly.

Vincent opens the bag, tipping it to show the red suit inside, “I’m a mall Santa for much of December. My father did it when I was growing up and I kept up the tradition.”

Apollo snickers, “You are full of surprises. Confusing, mundane surprises.”

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Vincent asks teasingly, “after all, it was your gift, not anyone else’s.”

The villain meets his eyes, expression softer than fresh snow and, for the first time Vincent can remember, free of machination.

“You have my word.” He slips his hand through the gap. Vincent doesn’t bother engaging the cuffs before taking it, intending to shake it. But clever fingers curl too closely, too awkwardly for a shake, as if Apollo is afraid he might slip away.

Vincent cups the hand between both his own, rubs a thumb along it gently as he murmurs, “Merry Christmas, Apollo.”

The villain smiles at him, warm and small, “Merry Christmas, Vincent.”

#vinlo #vincent/apollo

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