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pinkie-quinns · 2 months ago

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(posting some old twitter threads here for posterity's sake)

rocker eddie actor steve fame au p1 | p2 p3 p4 p5 interlude p6

Steve follows Eddie out to LA. Indiana’s home, sure, but Eddie’s got dreams bigger than the both of them. And Steve loves him, wants to be there with him the whole way through.

He does odd jobs to pass the time, nannies a lot, works on sets. Extra work pays the best, quick easy cash, so he dances to click tracks in cut scenes of teen shows and pays for their groceries.

A producer on one of the bigger jobs picks him out on set, tells him he has a good screen presence. He gives him a contact for a proper agent. Steve books the third thing he tries out for.

It's a small role on a pilot that hasn't been picked up yet. He's excited but doesn't think much of it. Mostly he’s just happy for the paycheck. Corroded Coffin's really struggling to break through. They just got dropped from their tiny indie label and Eddie's really bummed.

And Steve uses some of the money from his big, SAG-approved paycheck to try to cheer Eddie up. Make him feel better about the whole thing. But it does the opposite. Eddie keeps acting resentful.

It only gets worse when Steve's show does get picked up.

Turns out he tested really well with audiences. So the writers rewrote him into the main cast, extended his two episode arc into the whole season. And Steve's really grateful for it, figures they both should be. Eddie's not really working and they need the money.

Corroded coffin is still labelless and basically broken up by the time the show comes out.

It's a smash hit. Steve's character is a fan favourite. Overnight, he finds himself within the throes of fame. He gets a manager and a PR team and a personal assistant.

He's away from home a lot, doing the media circuit to promote the show. People start prodding into his personal life. His manager, his team, and the network all advise him to appear single and available.

Eddie makes it easy for him. He leaves without saying a word.

Years down the road, Steve is settled into his fame. He's done a couple movies (some hits, most misses). His show is heading into its final season. He's dated a lot, mostly other celebrities.

Then he walks into a CVS on Venice & sees a name he's been trying to forget for 7 years.

Right on the cover of NME. Eddie had gone to London, apparently. Finally broke through there. Was releasing his debut album later this month.

At least that's what Steve could tell from looking at it. He doesn’t buy the magazine. He hops into his car and drives til he’s out of gas.

He used to do that back in Indiana. When everything got too loud. Used to do that with Eddie, once they finally got their shit together. Just drive until the tank is near empty & then pull up to some blinking gas station. Head home.

Steve strands himself in Santa Barbara instead.

He sleepwalks through the next few months. The town is buzzing around the impending arrival of Eddie Munson. His album, Penitence, debuted to solid numbers & has only been gaining traction since. He's promoted it in London, New York, done Glastonbury & the late festival circuit.

It's gotten to the point where it's big enough that its hit single is even terrorizing Steve's local grocery store. He knows the first three notes really well. Knows cause that's his cue to leave.

He hasn't listened to the album. He hasn't read any of the interviews.

In his head it's a good kind of revenge. Eddie left without a trace. Steve should respect his wishes, right? That's what Eddie wanted so badly that he couldn't even call.

He should respect that too, be staying dead instead of haunting every busboard like a poltergeist.

But he's Eddie so of course he doesn't. So instead Steve spends all his free time thinking about when he'll inevitably run into him. Will it be the VMA afterparty? Will it be the CBS lot? Will it be the whole foods he keeps running into Michelle Pfeiffer at? (Probably not that)

In the end, it's a knock at his door.

Eddie came straight from the airport. Big duffel at his feet. He looks a decade older but his eyes are the same. He doesn't say I'm sorry, or I fucked up. Doesn't get down on his knees & beg. He just asks:

"Did you listen to the album?"

There's a part of Steve that wants to throw a fit. Be big and loud and start lobbing things at Eddie. He'd seen a movie star do that on set once. Over a PA bringing him the wrong brand of flavored water. But he's not Wahlberg, so he invites Eddie inside.

And they sit and listen to Penitence.

It's an apology. A long one. Fifteen tracks though Eddie always used to be a real asshole about albums that were longer than twelve.

And it covers everything. All the regret and resentment and the ego that clouded him when fame happened for Steve and not for him. When Steve didn't even want it. It's sorry over and over and over again. It's I fucked up and please take me back. It's ego death. It's disgust and guilt and self-flagellation.

And when it's over, it dawns on Steve, who feels just as heartbroken as ever, that it's not enough.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #twitter threads #fanfic #angst #fame au

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booksandabeer · 8 months ago

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Celebrating 10 Years of CA:TWS — A Stucky Rec List

Rec list for the CA:TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary (thank you so much for organizing this event! 💙) | Prompt: Memories

10 years, huh? 10 years of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. 10 years of what many—myself included—still consider to be the best MCU movie ever made.

But also 10 years of post-TWS fanfiction. 10 years of Bucky Barnes Recovering and Steve Rogers' Sadness Errands; of Up All Night to Get Bucky and Revenge Road Trips; of Winter Soldier Trauma Umbrellas and Everybody Needing A Goddamn Hug; of Good Bros and Soft Epilogues. 10 years and tens of thousands of Steve/Bucky fics later, here we are.

So, to mark the occasion, let's take a trip down memory lane and celebrate the movie and the stories it inspired: One fic from each year since it all began:

There's really only one rule here: All fics are set before, during, or after the events of CA:TWS and/or reimagine its plot in interesting ways. Naturally, many of the fics on this list are post-TWS canon divergent, but I tried to go for a nice variety of length, genre, and popularity to keep it interesting. Speaking of popularity, this is very much not intended as a round-up of ‘most popular fics of each year’ because—and I say this with all the love and respect in my heart for those stories and their authors—nobody needs a rec list for that, and I believe in spreading the love. Here we go:

Poltergeists by enemyofrome | 17K, T

Author's summary: When the helicarriers blow up and the Winter Soldier goes on the run, he takes Steve with him. He's got a name written in Morse code on the inside of his arm, a ton of questions he doesn't know how to ask, and now, a new handler with absolutely zero sense of self-preservation to contend with. Life is hard. In which Bucky tries to figure out whether he's a human being, Steve does everything he can to keep from losing him again, and there are lots of explosions.

Starting off with one of the best versions of the 'Bucky didn't leave Steve, he took him with him after the Potomac' fics that were (and still are!) so popular post-TWS. This one stands out because of its fantastic beginning, its interesting take on how Bucky was broken and remade into the Winter Soldier, and because it allows both characters to be messy. It's a popular fanon trope that it's Steve who brings out a ruthless, almost vicious streak in Bucky, but here it's emphasized that this is very much a mutual thing. Just like Bucky, who's often afforded the "excuse" of still figuring out how to be a person again, Steve gets to be difficult here��without ever turning him into a stubborn asshole. They're both traumatized, and they're both allowed to show it and to lash out, including at each other. Also, this fic will give you capital-F Feelings about morse codes and apples. Believe me.

sleepwalk back to the battle site by ftmsteverogers | 22K, T

Author's summary: “I’m going to track down every HYDRA agent that’s left,” Bucky says, buckling his gun deftly to his belt. “And then I’m going to kill them.” “Oh,” Steve says. “Come with me?” Bucky asks, dangerous hands tucked into his pockets.

A classic post-TWS fic that picks up right after the movie ends. Equal parts Revenge Roadtrip, Bucky Barnes recovering, and Steve Rogers being in urgent need of a good hug. This starts out intensely melancholic—Steve's despair and helplessness are palpable and there's a scene involving a drinking glass that still brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. Halfway through, the story changes pace and becomes much more action-heavy, but it still manages to allow space for the quiet, intimate moments between Steve and Bucky. They have both become sharp and deadly men, but they're also allowed to be soft with each other. Their coming together feels sweet and inevitable. I also really enjoyed the Steve characterization here. His absolute conviction that Bucky is still Bucky at his very core and always will be, but also his emotional and intellectual flexibility to adapt to this still-new-to-him, changed version of Bucky rang very true to me.

Surveillance by Sproings, 7K in 2 parts, G

Author's summary: If there are ears everywhere, that means it's somebody's job to listen. I hate my job.

Do you ever think about how SHIELD bugged Steves DC apartment and how horrible that was, but also...you're kind of curious what they might have overheard? Do you ever wonder about the people who listened in on his sad, lonely life? Well, here you go. An outsider POV fic told "through the ears" of an unnamed SHIELD agent assigned to spy on the private life of a man who doesn't really have much of one. The story begins just before IM3 and takes us all the way through the events of CA:TWS and beyond. It's clever, original and told with great empathy for both the subject under surveillance and the person carrying out that surveillance—who increasingly questions its purpose. Here's a small snippet to give you an idea of the fic's style:

He got a phone call, once. He put it on speaker, too, which was very exciting for me at the time. It was from an archivist at the Smithsonian. They seemed really surprised that he answered his own phone calls. The two of them talked for a long time about an exhibit the museum was planning. A very long time. As if one of them was starstruck, and the other was desperate for any kind of human interaction.

What Gets You Through by velleities | 12K, M

Author's summary: For Steve, getting through each day is a process – one he’s currently failing at spectacularly. Feeling out of place in this brave new world, he hopes to find a home in Bucky, and looks for him with everything he’s got. But Bucky doesn’t want to be found, and when he does touch base with Steve, he never sticks around for long. Bucky has embraced the modern age, leaving Steve lagging behind – or so Steve believes, until Bucky shows him otherwise.

This post-TWS fic revolves around five encounters in liminal spaces, and each time Bucky has pieced himself back together again just a little more. Despite their increasingly longer and more honest conversations, and Bucky's incremental progress, he always disappears again, leaving Steve to grapple with his heartbreak. There are quietly gorgeous moments in this fic (the bus and the church in particular were my personal favorites) as well as wonderfully crafted characterizations. Bucky is initially portrayed as somewhat feral in some ways yet surprisingly well-adjusted in others, and I love that Steve can't help but be a little annoyed at that. However, it quickly becomes clear that, in good old Bucky Barnes fashion, much of it is really just a front put up for Steve's benefit...

A Real Boy by itsnotbleak | 5K, T

Author's summary: It took the Winter Soldier three weeks to remember that human beings needed to sleep and eat. It took Steve far too long to realise the Winter Soldier was sleeping in his bed.

A wonderful, short-but-doesn't-feel-like-it fic (in the very best way) set immediately after CA:TWS, in which Bucky secretly and then soon not so secretly visits Steve in his apartment. Follow along as Bucky Barnes argues with his brain about sandwich toppings, the importance of a good night's sleep, and the necessity of personal hygiene. Also: how to best go about becoming a real boy (again). And who the hell is that Bucky guy anway? This is as soft and sweet a Bucky recovery fic as you're ever going to find. It's funny but not silly; sad in a way that all of these stories inherently are—because, well, these are some tragic boys—but not super angsty or depressing. A beautiful story with a lovely, hopeful ending.

Savage God by PottersPink | 36K, M

Author's summary (abbr.): Past, present, future, Steve knows Bucky Barnes. It’s why he recognized him when he found him in that alley in April of 1942, even though Bucky was older, stronger, wearier; he called himself The Asset, and had a metal fucking arm. He flinched when Steve tried to touch him, and when Steve told him he loved him, his first response was to ask why. Seventy years later, Steve wakes up in the twenty-first century, and he doesn’t know whether to be heartbroken or hopeful when some of the things Bucky revealed to him in 1942 start falling into place.

An absolutely riveting AU that will have you on the edge of your seat the whole time. I'm itching to talk about it more but I cannot since it would mean spoiling the hell out of it. What I can say is that it's a very intriguing and clever exploration of what would happen if Steve knew about the future but without really knowing any of the details. How would it change the events of CA:TFA and CA:TWS, and how would it change Steve himself? I so very much appreciate this characterization of Steve as smart, competent, and unwavering with a hefty dose of no fucks left to give. This fic features some really nifty time travel and plotting, great action sequences and a very satisfying ending where certain people get their much-deserved comeuppance. Plus: Bonus Shrinkyclinks (kind of)!

Charlie Lock by seapigeon | 105K, M (hard M)

Author's summary (abbr.): The Winter Soldier knows that sometimes, in order to make the kill, you must destroy what the Target lives for. Steve Rogers knows that he can't fight his captors. If he fights, they'll kill Bucky. But the price of his life is steep. Tony Stark has nothing left to live for, but he's needed. So all these miserable motherfuckers better stay alive, too. Clint Barton never expected to be a leader. But a leader he is, and no one else is going to die on his watch. --- A story in which the first wave of Project Insight succeeds, and the Avengers must pick up the pieces and find a way to stop Hydra from completing its work with Zola's algorithm.

This is not only the longest fic on this list, but also the angstiest one—by a mile, so please heed the tags. It's dark, disturbing, and brutal. However, it is neither relentless misery porn nor is it shocking for shock's sake, where everything is magically forgotten and/or healed the moment Steve and Bucky start kissing. Instead, the author puts these characters into an absolutely horrifying situation and then slowly, gently guides them out of it and into the light.

It's a Stucky fic but it's also a multi-POV ensemble piece featuring all the Avengers and other familiar faces. If you are someone who'll always be a little bitter about the unfulfilled promise of an Avengers found family, then this is for you. In this AU, they do not only fight together, but grow together in every way. They truly become a team, not just co-workers barely tolerating each other. The story takes its time exploring the characters and the group dynamics. Steve and Bucky are definitely at the center of the narrative but there is space here for every member of the team to grieve and adjust to the new reality and to find at least some measure of healing. It's a story about the meaning and the consequences of revenge, about hope and resilience, and about love in all its many forms. It also has one of the most satisfying title drops that will have you pump your fist in triumph when it happens. It's a tough read, but ultimately a very rewarding one.

SPELEVINK by Ginny_Potter | 10K, G

Author's summary: Bucky’s back. He’s leaving me messages through IKEA plushies, Steve texts Sam. jesus christ, rogers, Sam texts back. Or, Bucky lives in an IKEA Tiny Apartment, Steve is a dancing monkey once again, and somehow they find their way back to each other.

This is an absolute DELIGHT of a fic that will have you alternately laughing out loud and crying quietly into your SVARTFIBBLA blanket (super-soft, recycled polyester, 47x63"). It's ‘crack treated seriously’ at its very best and a clear homage to the fandom classic Infinite Coffee… (that’s not a dig or a spoiler, the author says so in the author’s note).

Now if you know me, you’ll know that angst o’clock is my happy hour and I’m usually not very into these heavy-on the-humor quasi-absurdist fics (because I’m super special and not like all the other girls, obviously). But. I LOVED this story so, so much. It’s such a fun read—even when it makes you cry—and it really became one of those ‘huh, I guess I’m into this after all’ moments of joyful (self)discovery via fanfic for me. I never thought a pair of oven mitts could move me like that, and I'll never be able to walk into an IKEA again without muttering "F******!" under my breath (iykyk). Absolutely fantastic.

a handful of dust by RecoveringTheSatellites | 20K, M

Author's summary: Steve looks for Bucky for a long time. But the thing is that Bucky doesn't get found, Bucky finds. Bucky always finds Steve. This takes a hard left after the Potomac and stumbles through the dark a lot after. Take a bit of running, the occasional synaptic misfire, the resurfacing of old memories, a dash or two of PTSD, and (eventually) a nice dose of action, stir, and serve over some unresolved issues.

Honestly, the second paragraph up there perfectly sums up the story. It's a good ol' fashioned Bucky recovery fic with some angst, some action, and a whole lot of healing and devotion. Steve and Bucky get to be very sappy about each other, but also extremely Badass Battle Boyfriends™ when somebody threatens their hard-won happiness. Both are allowed to be messy, unstable, and very co-dependent.

This was the first time this author played in the Stucky sandbox and I mean it 100% as a compliment when I say that you can tell. This is someone with "fresh legs" diving headfirst and very deep into the Stucky trope pool and they're doing it with great relish and enthusiam. The result is a story that rejects some of the tried and true conventions of the post-TWS fanfic canon and lovingly embraces others, but that is definitely aware of and in dialogue with the body of work that came before it. Also, it's just a really fun read that gives these two the very soft ending they deserve.

Everybody is Supposed to be Dead by pollutedstar | 22K, M

Author's summary: In 1944, Bucky Barnes falls off a train into the Alps, missing and presumed dead. Months later, Steve Rogers nosedives a plane into the arctic. In 2010, the Winter Soldier project is uncovered by S.H.I.E.L.D., and Bucky Barnes is found alive. Three years later, Steve Rogers’ frozen body is found in the ocean.

A really interesting AU and a fascinating exploration of what could’ve been; the impact it would’ve had on the events and characters if Bucky had been the one to be “found” first. How would it affect Steve to come back into a world where he isn’t quite so lonely and adrift, and where he does have the relief and reassurance of having Bucky by his side and at his back? How would that have changed the way he acted and reacted to this strange new world and the people and organizations trying to recruit him to their cause even though the ice hasn't even completely melted off his body yet?

There are a lot of astute and precise observations about characters like Tony, Natasha, and Clint in this story, and on top of that, it offers up some very compelling insights into Steve's conflicted and difficult relationship with his role as Captain America.

it's never over (hey orpheus) by romcommie | 12K WIP, 2/?, M

Author's summary: He remembers a song first and then everything else follows, burying him below. Or, Bucky Barnes pieces a life back together with a few choice verses, some duct tape and seventy years worth of spite. Steve Rogers tries very hard to relearn there's a life to be lived in the first place.

Ok, listen up, people! This is a WIP and there are only 2 chapters posted so far, but I haven't felt this absolutely bonkers excited about a post-CA:TWS fic in a long while. We're talking frothing at the mouth here. I have such a massive crush on this fic, it's a bit embarrassing, really. It's one of those fics where you know after just a few paragraphs that you're in very good, very competent hands. The wealth of historical and cultural detail; the way the story shifts/flips/flickers back and forth between time, perspective and narrative levels; the Bucky voice—it's all so well done! I'm so insanely excited to see where the author takes this!

ENJOY!

#catws10 #stucky #stucky fic rec #stucky fic #stucky rec list #steve x bucky #stucky fic recs #steve x bucky fic rec #stevebucky fic rec #stevebucky #my recs #*drops this and runs aways* this rec list nearly gave me an aneurysm. you're welcome!

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aziraphale-is-a-cat · 2 years ago

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Okay okay okay I know I'm on a bit of a sad kick but danny turning into a literal phantom.

Something happens at school, maybe the GIW shoots him in science after he finally got to passing, and it's the straw that breaks the camel's back, danny just snaps and goes full poltergeist. Transformation sequence, fucking magical girl's his way to a new, hellish form.

He takes over the school, no in or out and just starts attacking anybody trying to "free" the students. In his head he's just trying to keep them safe from outside harm but to everyone else this is a hostage situation from a new, extremely violent ghost.

Everyone on the outside is desperately trying to find phantom and get the kids out while everyone on the inside is trying to calm danny down because he is having a panic attack.

Eventually after an hour the justice league gets called and they try to handle the situation but ghosts are made of emotion to some extent, and Danny's having a lot of them which powers him up while being extremely erratic he's not easy to control or even keep track of for long. His intangibility and invisibility ads a new, untouchable layer to an otherwise already kinda op powerset that the league haven't ever had to fight All at once before.

While the justice league is busy trying to neutralize Danny, the students have banded together to try to break through the barrier and calm danny down. They go through Danny's backpack for scraps of fenton tech and fucking just straight up mug the GIW agents, and tucker Jerry rigs something to deactivate the force field.

During a lull in the fighting, when Danny's got the JL on the defensive, they flood out the front door and crowd danny while he desperately tries to mother hen them away from the justice league who he still blindly perceives as a threat. The JL freak out at the civillian to threat contact but slowly come to a horrifying realization as danny calms down with his friends and classmates that they've been trying to beat up a teen hero in a mental crisis and he shifts back into phantom and eventually human danny while sobbing about how he just wanted to keep everyone safe.

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #tw panic attack #panic attack #tw mental health crisis #justice league #monster danny #poltergeist danny phantom #im very mean to thos poor boy but i promise i love him

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suzukiblu · 8 days ago

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WIP excerpt for Marina; Tucker is having a normal one. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh, should we be worried about all that back there?” New Ecto-Boo asks, looking skeptically back at the GIW agents they’ve already passed–and also looking really fucking hot, still, and on top of that being fucking easy about his flying in a way that Tucker usually only sees in the older and stronger ghosts and spirits–note to self–and definitely more graceful than Danny ever is, but also, like–heavier and more deliberate about it, somehow? Like, Danny flies like he’s in zero G and controlling his momentum with a bit of ecto-powered propulsion as he makes his way through the vacuum of the world. This guy flies like he’s moving the world around him; like he’s got it all in his grip and he’s just spun his destination right to him.

Possibly he’s literally doing that, considering? That might actually be a thing, yeah, given the whole nature of weird ghost powers being weird ghost powers.

Okay, yeah, Tucker apparently will be finding this situation hot. On top of how hot he already found it, will he be finding it hot.

His ideal future ghoulfriend is a situation, at this point.

“Yeah, no, it’s cool, they’re just seeing horrifying specters from another dimension,” he reassures Haunted Heartthrob, patting his–still wet and naked–chest again with his free hand. Said chest is also still kinda ecto-glisteny, but at the same time looks sort of, like, weirdly iridescent under the subtle green glow of the remaining ecto on it? Like, not full-on “so like are a few of the GIW scientists just reeeeeally into Twilight or what?” levels of it, but still, it’s definitely noticeable as a thing.

Another note to self, Tucker thinks, and taps some observations into his PDA in coded shorthand. By which he mostly means “uses the most illegible font he has installed scaled down as tiiiiiny as it can get in a real light text color”, but same difference.

Also much funnier to watch Vlad rant and curse about not being able to “decode”. Like so, so much funnier.

He has literally never even tried changing the font, much less the text size. Tucker has no idea how the dude can be so smart and so stupid, but that’s kind of a specialty of Vlad’s at this point anyway.

“Uh,” the Honey Pot Poltergeist says, slanting him a wary look.

“Oh, I mean they’re seeing horrifying specters from another dimension in, like, a faked-by-my-superior-tech way, not like I cursed them to Lovecraftian insanity,” Tucker reassures him, wagging his PDA at him in clarification. “I just can’t get into that dude’s writing, for one. Also do you know what he named his fucking cat?”

“Literal fucking hate speech that I have no desire to be repeating, last I heard,” Spectrally-Sexy/Just-Passed-The-Shitty-Person-Test snorts, making a face.

“Correct answer, good job,” Tucker says approvingly. It wasn’t actually like, a trap or anything, but he was maybe testing the waters a little, sue him. Like, just checking for red flags early, that’s all. He’s not sure if the guy’s fully white or maybe, like, a little bit mixed with a bit of East Asian, he’s not an expert or whatever, but being white-passing mixed doesn’t rule out the possibility of red flags, so yeah. Or, like, being literally anything, admittedly, because some people are just fucking asshole. “Hey, hang a left at the next hallway, would you? Looking for a hot goth in a black crop top and a vegan leather miniskirt.”

“So like plastic, you mean,” his new sweethaunt says dryly.

“Yeah the whole ‘you know ethically-sourced leather is actually better for the planet and less wasteful than pleather, right?’ thing was not a happy realization for her,” Tucker confirms.

#dpxdc #data enkrypton #tucker foley #kon el #conner kent #superboy #wip: tucker is having a normal one #marina #racism mention

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wildcardaces · 2 years ago

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@ruby-static "movie quote ammo" edition!

Where oh god anna you shouldn't have told shawn your puffles name XD

Shawn: wait your puffle is called goose!?

Anna: yes?

Anna: wait why are you so excited about that?

Shawn, doing a top gun voice impression: talk to me, Goose.

Anna: Bruh.

Anna probably doesnt understand why shawn is so excited until he begins to start quoting movie lines to goose. Much to her dismay.

This is revenge for all the times you yelled "SHAAAWWWN" anna *WHEEZE*

Shawn: yo this wood is so soft i can eat it.

Anna: are you a fucking beaver??

Shawn back on his bullshit again and confusing everyone!

Suddenly future party boys again!

Gary: oh my, he reminds me of someone.

Kilanova: names kilanova!

Gary: hello! Welcome to the EPF.

When kilanova joined the EPF, Gary absolutely saw him first and went "oh this guy is going to bring some familiar moments to this place"

And the finale! Fullbodies of the two future dudes. Starting with kilanova himself.

He is basically the Dan of his time! (Which honestly is even more funny considering he is a descendant of him) He is partially melanistic and has a blackhole stomach. Put somthing infront of him in terms of food and its gone. His markings resemble a star!

And poltergeist!

He is named after one of the first exoplanets ever discovered which orbits a pulsar star. He definitely has a sibling called phobetar to complete the checklist of the first two exoplanets discovered ever.

I like to think that penguins in the future have the most weirdest names but with kilanova being named after the explosion caused by two neutron stars colliding and poltergeist being named after a super irradiated zombie planet? They got some cool names!

#agent a anna #agent a Goose #shawn #kilanova #poltergeist #gary the gadget guy #club penguin ocs #club penguin oc #club penguin

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g1rld1ary · 10 months ago

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just blurry ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you accidentally get lockwood drunk and have to walk him home from the pub where his drunk rambles disguise real feelings

➻ word count: 1264

➻ warnings: getting drunk

➻ had my first uni orientation today!! made a friend :)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Since you and the rest of Lockwood & Co had turned eighteen, you all loved a good drink after a case. It eased all sorts of pain inflicted during your missions — physical and emotional. Whilst you mostly drank together at home because of the bizarre hours you usually worked, when it was appropriate you’d all taken to a quaint little pub named The King’s Court. It was only a few blocks from Portland Row which was ideal for getting home in the middle of the night, and almost always had a table for the four of you. Plus, you were pretty sure George had a crush on one of the bartenders, but you couldn’t be certain.

Tonight was one of the nights you’d wrapped up a case early enough for you to get a seat, but that didn’t mean it was an easy fight. It was a particularly aggressive poltergeist, your personal least favourite ghost to face. Invisible and aggressive, someone almost always ended up getting hurt. Tonight was no exception. Lucy had been gifted a rather long — but thankfully shallow — cut all the way up her arm, and the rest of you were physically exhausted from fighting. Yet when Lockwood cheerfully suggested the pub, no one had the heart to disagree with him.

You’d all had a bit to drink, which made Lockwood giggly, George loud and Lucy tired. You personally felt fine, not having had quite as much as the others. One of you had to be able to get the key into the front door, you figured.

George and Lucy left first, George becoming transfixed on her injury despite her protests, and wouldn’t rest until he was allowed to bandage it up. You’d stayed with Lockwood after he’d whined about wanting to stay out later, in a way not unlike a petulant child. You didn’t mind though, he was always fun to talk to — even more when he was drunk and giggly.

You gossiped for a while, Lockwood telling you stories of adventures the company had been on before meeting you, and in turn you told him about growing up in your own small town and the small group of friends you had out there. Lockwood, on top of his perfect eloquence, was also a great listener. You found yourself spilling secrets without even meaning to, spurred on by his eyes locked on yours, slightly glazed over with admiration as you spoke.

Without realising it the two of you had stayed until closing, and the last bartender working waved you out apologetically, a sympathetic glance to you as you supported Lockwood’s weight. You apologised for the both of you staying so late and tried to coax Lockwood into working with you, dragging his stumbling frame down the street. You really should have cut him off a few drinks ago.

While the rest of his body worked at half speed, Lockwood’s mouth was running at a million miles a minute. He blabbered on about whatever came to mind; the weather, what he might have for breakfast, an argument he was having with George before. You listened dutifully — there wasn’t much else to do while you struggled under his weight.

Taking a break you pushed Lockwood up against a ghost lamp, two hands on his shoulders both to pin him upright and take the pressure off your poor legs. Usually when you were carrying an injured agent you had assistance, and Lockwood was rather tall and gangly, making for a very awkward trip. However comfortable the position was for you, it did put your faces very close together.

You and Lockwood were inadvertently gazing into each other’s eyes as you caught your breath, and he suddenly noticed all the variation of shades in your irises. He looked down at you in utter amazement, all the minuscule details he’d never had the chance to see before coming into focus.

“You’re really pretty,” He breathed, a moment of tense silence hung between you, the only sound the faint buzzing of the lamps. And then Lockwood giggled, light and airy and ridiculous enough to dissolve whatever moment between you had been beginning.

“Alright, it’s time we get home,” You said, disregarding his previous statement, but Lockwood wasn’t having it. As you both stumbled home he couldn’t be silenced.

“No, I really mean it! You’re so pretty. Your eyes and your hair and your face, when you stick your tongue out to concentrate…” You didn’t know anyone noticed that. “Plus, you’re so funny. And nice. And you always put up with my stupidity. You’re so great.” If you didn’t know better you could have sworn you’d seen little hearts floating above his head.

“You’re really drunk right now,” You settled on replying, “I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk at all! You’re just blurry.” Without even looking at Lockwood you knew exactly what expression he had on. Seeing the charming, lopsided grin would only heighten your own feelings further and so you locked your gaze down the street, where Portland Row seemed both so close and yet so far. You entertained his gushing until you made it to the doorstep, where you were grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist him when he was saying such sweet things while pressed up to your side.

You finally sent him up to his bedroom with a promise to go tuck him in in a minute (you weren’t sure if he was joking or just got really honest when drunk), and headed off to the kitchen, fetching him a glass of water and some painkillers.

Knocking lightly on his door you found Lockwood sitting cross legged on his bed, absolutely adorable in his worn out pyjamas. He looked up at you again with those eyes and you imagined that was what a younger, more innocent Lockwood might have looked like all the time. Your heart ached for a moment when you thought about it, a quick yearning for a time when the both of you could have been just kids. You shook the thought off as soon as it came, aware of Lockwood watching and analysing your expressions.

“Well, come on then, get in bed,” You said, and Lockwood clambered under the sheets in a way that made you laugh softly. “If I only knew it would be this easy to get you to go to sleep, I would have gotten you pissed a lot sooner.” Lockwood only smiled, shaking his head.

“If you want me to go to sleep you just have to ask, I’ll do anything for you.” You hesitated for a moment at his confession, but wrote it off as drunk ramblings. You needed it to not mean anything to push back the warmth glowing inside your chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood. Come get me if you need anything.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before you could talk yourself out of it. The second your face retracted from his Lockwood’s hand was touching his cheek, a dumb smile creeping onto his lips.

You were out the door before he could respond, but standing outside to regain your composure, you could definitely hear his inebriated giggle through the door and smiled softly. He might be a drunk idiot, but you guessed he was pretty cute like that.

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ghostinthelibrarywrites · 4 months ago

Text

When the bones are good

My third fic for @painlandweek is partially a belated fill for the domestic AU prompt, with a hint of a case fic. You can find it here on AO3 or read it below!

Prompt: Domestic AU/Casefic

Words: Approx. 3K

Rating: M

Warnings: none

Summary: Agents Edwin Payne and Charles Rowland of the Ministry of Supernatural Investigations have been sent to a quaint suburb to investigate a potential witch snatching little girls. It would be a straightforward undercover assignment, if only Edwin weren’t battling his entirely unprofessional feelings for his partner and friend.

***

In his nearly a decade working for the Ministry of Supernatural Investigations, Agent Edwin Payne has been led to all manner of unsavory places by cases: vampire dens, run-down old castles overrun with poltergeists, decadent Fae courts where human captives were treated as circus animals, slaughterhouses where it wasn’t just pigs and cows hanging from the hooks. Somehow, none of those gruesome cases left him feeling half as off-kilter as this one.

Director Nurse had told him that it would practically be a vacation. After all, Port Townsend, the quaint seaside town where little girls have been going missing for decades, is charming, as is the house where he’s staying with his partner. In the month he’s been undercover here, no one has tried to kill him once. It probably is the closest thing to a vacation Edwin has taken in years.

But he’s never had a case where he had to pretend to be married to Charles Rowland before and he’s finding that more terrifying than ravenous vampires or poltergeists.

“Love, I’m home!” Charles’s voice echoes from downstairs.

“Up here!” Edwin doesn’t know why Charles insists on keeping up the act when it’s just the two of them alone in the house. He says he’s just keeping in character, making sure their facade doesn’t slip when they’re in public. Edwin is wondering if Director Nurse has finally grown tired of him and if this is part of some kind of prolonged psychological torture.

He doesn’t turn around as he hears Charles’s footsteps striding into the office, watching the house across the street through the lens of a camera. Esther Finch—possible serial killer, probable witch, and definite piece of work—stands on her front porch, smoking her pipe and surveying the street with the lazy interest of a housecat deciding if it’s worth leaving its patch of sun to stalk an unsuspecting songbird. The Aspens’ little girl, Becky, is playing in her front yard, and Edwin doesn’t think he’s imagining how often Esther’s attention strays to her.

“Anything of interest happen today, mate?” Charles props his hips on the edge of the desk, leaning into Edwin’s space.

Edwin can’t help but look up at him. His partner looks every bit the part of Charles Raymond, a blissfully happy newlywed in his mid-to-late twenties with the kind of ordinary office job that does not involve investigating supernatural crimes. His tie is undone, hanging loosely around his neck, and he’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his button-up shirt, giving him a rakish look that is far more affecting than it should be. He looks perfectly at ease here, as if he was born for this life.

Remembering that Charles asked him a question, Edwin clears his throat. “She has unfortunately not erected a gingerbread house in her front yard or taken to the skies on her broomstick. We need to get into that house, Charles. That’s the only way we’re going to prove she’s behind the disappearances.”

The Finches’ front door opens and Monty, Esther’s son, sticks his head outside. The two exchange words before Esther waves Monty away like one would an errant fly. With an eye roll, he vanishes back into the house.

“Monty asked me if I wanted to get coffee sometime,” Edwin adds. “Perhaps I can get him to invite me into his house afterwards.”

“He did what?” Far from being relieved at a potential breakthrough, Charles looks outraged.

“Coffee, Charles,” Edwin says. “It is a brown beverage one can consume if they can ignore the taste. If I remember correctly, you’re overly fond of it.”

His partner isn’t mollified. “Doesn’t he know you’re married?”

“We aren’t actually married.”

“But he doesn’t know that, does he? Cheeky little prat.” Charles shakes his head. “No, you shouldn’t go anywhere alone with him. For all you know, he’s in on whatever Esther’s doing to those girls.”

“We don’t know if Monty knows of Esther’s activities.” Edwin rather likes Monty, who is sweet, even if his interest in astrology is a bit fanciful for his tastes. He has trouble picturing him as an accessory to multiple murders. Besides, he can’t be older than his early twenties, so the disappearances started decades before he was born.

“Can’t imagine he hasn’t noticed her ritually murdering little girls in the living room.”

“We don’t know for certain if she’s ritually murdering little girls at all. And if she is, it might not be in her house.” Edwin sighs, exasperated. “Besides, I’m not a girl under the age of twelve. I’m far from Esther’s usual victim, so I should be quite safe.”

“I’d rather not take any chances, yeah?”

Edwin rolls his eyes at the ceiling. Most of the time, he finds Charles’s protective nature charming. Occasionally, it’s infuriating. “Then you’ll need to find another way into Esther’s house, because I am at a loss.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Charles reaches down to squeeze his shoulders. “We always do, don’t we?”

Edwin resists the urge to lean into the touch. He and Charles have always made a good team, ever since the first case they were assigned together, only a few years before. Before Charles, Edwin consistently had trouble keeping a partner. He’d been through so many that Director Nurse was threatening to saddle him with a lifetime of desk duty. He didn’t expect the cheery, doe-eyed rookie agent to be any different, but Charles instantly proved him wrong.

The problem was that Edwin was always an odd duck, even before he was dragged into another dimension for nearly a century of torture and escaped into a strange new world without having aged a day. He has never been particularly good with people, has never been able to build the effortless rapport with strangers and colleagues alike that people like Charles are so adept with. But strangely enough, Charles has always seemed to find his prickly nature and sharp tongue charming rather than irritating. He’s become not just Edwin’s partner at the MSI, but the best friend he’s ever had.

Now, if only Edwin wouldn’t threaten it all with his inconvenient, childish feelings.

His eyes travel down to the thin gold band on his left ring finger. Of course, Charles made a big production of slipping it onto Edwin’s finger in the middle of the MSI offices while down on one knee, drawing claps and cheers from the watching agents, especially Crystal and Niko. Afterwards, Director Nurse gave them a sharp talking to about taking the case seriously, but even that hadn’t been able to dull the grin on Charles’s face.

“We should get a dog,” Charles says.

Edwin puts down the camera. “Why on earth would we do that?”

“Would give us an excuse to walk around the neighborhood, right? And we could, like, train it to run into Esther’s yard so we could chase it and poke around a bit.”

“Yes,” Edwin says slowly. “That all sounds much easier than me going out to coffee with Monty. We should certainly hinge the success of the mission on whether Fido listens to us and goes into Esther’s yard, or is distracted by a squirrel.”

“Come on, mate.” Charles grins that devastating grin of his, the smile that makes witnesses want to talk and puts frightened victims at ease. “Getting a dog is the kind of thing newlyweds do, isn’t it? We have to sell it.”

“We’re living together, wearing wedding rings, and introducing ourselves as husbands. I believe we’re selling it, as you say.” Not that Edwin knows what it’s like to sell a marriage. Two men couldn’t even get married before his kidnapping; he’d always assumed either a loveless marriage or a life of loneliness was his future, if he even survived the Great War.

However, Charles is constantly preoccupied with successfully convincing their neighbors that they’re a married couple. From Edwin’s observations, he doesn’t think any of their married neighbors are half as openly affectionate with each other as Charles is with him. But perhaps Charles knows what Edwin does—that no one will truly believe that beautiful, kind, charismatic Charles belongs with prickly, bookish, awkward Edwin. Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned with whether their neighbors buy them as Charles and Edwin Raymond, a blissfully married couple.

Charles’s smile widens, growing truly heart-stopping. He should need a permit for it, Edwin thinks grimly. Surely it counts as a compulsion of some kind.

Edwin sighs. “We can discuss the dog after I see if I can ingratiate myself with Monty. If that fails, Fido can be Plan B.”

“Cheers, mate.” Charles squeezes his shoulder, his thumb brushing Edwin’s collarbone in a way that makes his insides feel fluttery. “How do you feel about curry for dinner?”

***

As usual, Charles manages to dirty every pan in the kitchen while preparing dinner, but Edwin can’t really complain, because his curry is exceptional. Edwin cleans the kitchen while Charles plays the music from the 1980s he’s so fond of. It’s the kind of warm, domestic scene Edwin never had as a child. When he was brought down from the nursery to join his parents for dinner, he was expected to sit silently while his parents conversed. There was no easy conversation, no laughter, no squabbling over the last piece of naan.

Edwin doesn’t know for sure, but he doubts this was the kind of dinner Charles had growing up either. Charles doesn’t like to talk about his life before coming to the MSI, beyond vague allusions to his father not having been a particularly warm, loving presence in his life. But Edwin has seen the scars on his back, the ones that look like they were left there by a belt. He can fill in the rest of the details. Perhaps that’s why Charles has thrown himself into this lie with such gusto, to give himself the illusion of the quiet, domestic life he never had.

Over the running water, he can hear Charles singing along to the music, loud and off-key. It fills Edwin’s chest with something warm and unbearably tender. It would be so easy to let himself sink into the fantasy that this is their real home and that it’s his real husband butchering Bohemian Rhapsody in the other room. But if Edwin gets too comfortable, he could lose the only person who has ever truly loved him. He can’t risk that.

A hand touches his hip and he startles, sloshing soapy water all over the counter. “Charles!”

“Sorry, love.” Charles loops his arm around Edwin’s waist, nuzzling the back of his neck in a way that makes Edwin’s knees feel a bit wobbly. “We’ve got an audience.”

While he puts a pan in the dish drainer, Edwin flicks his gaze out the big window in the breakfast nook. Across the street, Esther Finch’s house is lit up bright, like she’s turned on every single light. He can see the shape of her standing in her bay window, her blond hair glowing gold. She’s facing the street and while Edwin can’t make out her features from here, he can’t shake the disconcerting feeling that she’s staring right at them.

A shudder travels up his spine and Charles’s grip tightens on his waist. “I see.”

“Dance with me,” Charles says in his ear as the song changes to something low and crooning.

“I’m cleaning up.”

“The dishes can wait. Dance with me, love. Got to sell it, don’t we?”

Of course they do. Reluctantly, Edwin turns off the water, takes off his rubber gloves, and turns to face Charles. His partner is smiling softly at him, looking warm and far too touchable in the soft lights of the kitchen. It makes Edwin shiver for a whole new reason. He steps into Charles’s arms, putting his hands on his shoulders, and sways with him.

Edwin didn’t particularly care for dancing before he was taken, but this is nothing like the dancing he learned as a child. Instead of rigid steps and rules, it’s just bodies moving together, his cheek pressed to Charles’s and Charles’s arms around him, holding him close like he’s something precious. Edwin closes his eyes and gives into the fantasy for one, blissful moment.

This is real. His name is Edwin Raymond, Charles is his husband, and they met three years ago on the tube when Charles asked him what he was reading, then fumbled his way through pretending he’d read it too, making such an ass of himself that Edwin was charmed despite his better judgment. Charles knew right away it was love, while Edwin didn’t realize the depth of his feelings for months. They eloped in the spring, a small ceremony with just them and their officiant.

“Edwin,” Charles whispers and Edwin opens his eyes, feeling almost drunk on the dream of this being real. “She’s still watching.”

Right, because they’re doing this for a reason. Edwin blinks and nods. Slowly, Charles turns them, so that his body is between Edwin’s and the window. It’s such a small, instinctual moment of protectiveness that it makes Edwin’s throat feel a little tight. Charles never seems to think twice about putting himself between Edwin and potential danger. He has no doubt that if he’d had Charles Rowland in his life in 1916, he’d never have been dragged off by an abomination that fed on his pain and terror for decades.

“Still watching?” Charles asks in a low voice and Edwin flicks a glance over his shoulder to see Esther still standing at the window.

He nods into Charles’s shoulder. “Do you think she suspects something?”

“Don’t know how she could. She might just be being creepy. Seems to do that a lot, doesn’t she?” Charles presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of Edwin’s mouth. “I have a plan.”

“And what’s—” But Edwin is cut off when Charles kisses him, full on the mouth. They’ve kissed a handful of times during this charade, dry, chaste brushes of lips when Edwin says goodbye to Charles in the morning. There’s nothing chaste about this kiss; it’s all lips, tongue, and hunger. Edwin can count on one hand the number of times he’s been kissed before and none of those times have been like this, like the other person would sooner stop breathing than stop kissing him.

There’s a soft, moaning noise and Edwin realizes belatedly that he’s the one making it. He should pull away, but instead his hands are fisting in the front of Charles’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Charles’s hands are running over his shoulders, down his chest and arms, like he wants to memorize every inch of Edwin. There are quite a few inches of Edwin that desperately want Charles’s hands on them; the front of Edwin’s trousers is becoming painfully tight.

“Edwin,” Charles whispers against his mouth and somehow, it’s the sound of his name that jerks Edwin back to reality.

This is not real. This is an undercover assignment, and Edwin is seconds away from climbing his partner—his friend—like a tree.

His eyes snap open and he finds the window across the street empty, Esther Finch nowhere to be found.

Edwin pulls back, breathing heavily. “She’s gone.”

Charles blinks at him, mouth puffy and red and eyes hazy with something that Edwin wishes was want. “What?”

“Esther Finch.” With every ounce of self-control Edwin has, he steps back, out of Charles’s embrace. “She’s no longer watching. Excellent plan, Charles.”

Charles blinks several times, then his usual irrepressible grin spreads across his face. “Right, aces. Think we really sold it.”

“I would say.” Edwin smooths down the front of his shirt. “That was very… convincing.”

Charles nods. “Course it was. We’re professionals, aren’t we?”

“Entirely professional.” Edwin clears his throat. “Which is really why I should finish cleaning this kitchen. I cannot leave it like this overnight.”

“You know Nursie’s not going to show up and check to make sure we’re making our beds and keeping our desks tidy?”

With an exasperated huff, Edwin turns back to the sink, hoping Charles hasn’t noticed the continuing tightness of his pants. He’s not a horny teenager making out with Thomas King in the file room; he needs to get a hold of himself.

“Right,” Charles says. “I’m going to go… yeah.”

Edwin hears his footsteps retreat, a shade too quickly to be casual. He stands at the sink, heart still pounding and face still flushed. He’s imagined kissing Charles a thousand times and that was everything he ever hoped for and more. And it was all so they could convince their possibly homicidal neighbor that they're nothing but a canoodling couple in love.

Charles is an excellent agent, one of MSI’s best. He gives every case his all. Of course this case wouldn’t be any different. If Edwin is getting tangled up in his own feelings, that’s entirely his fault, not Charles’s.

They’ll wrap up this case. If Esther Finch is the one who has been kidnapping and most likely killing little girls, they’ll bring her to justice. If they’re wrong and there’s another culprit, they’ll find them. And then, they’ll leave this house to go back to their real lives in London and this will just be a funny story that they tell in the future. The time Charles and Edwin pretended to be a married couple for a month and Edwin was certainly able to not lose his head about it.

Because Charles is right, they’re professionals. Edwin can be professional, even if it bloody kills him.

***

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving comments and/or kudos on AO3! I'm considering turning this into an expanded fic where these boys finally get their shit together if there's enough interest.

#dead boy detectives #payneland #painland week #edwin payne #charles rowland #ghost's fic #ghost's writing

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jeepersjpeg · 20 days ago

Note

u have like .. really good taste in media , so do u have any movie recommendations ?

my top favorites right now (in order)

1. I Saw The TV Glow (heartwrenching "coming-of-age"/psychological horror/wait.. he's "coming-of-age" so quickly--? Time wasn't right. It was moving too fast. I was 19, then I was 20, then I was 21. Like chapters skipped over on a DVD. I told myself, this isn't normal. This isn't normal. This isn't how life is supposed to feel. I thought about r-- really good movie if you haven't seen it already)

2. Possessor (trippy, violent sci-fi psychological horror. i wrote a song about this one. ive seen it around 5 times now and not a day goes by where i don't think of it.)

3. The Poughkeepsie Tapes (50% satirical mockumentary commentating on how america glorifies its serial killers, 50% found-footage horror, you'll need to look up warnings for this one [or just ask me, ive seen it 4 times, i can give you in-depth CW's without spoilers].)

4. Horse Girl (a girl's spiraling descent into conspiracy. trippy, mystery thriller)

other favorites in no specific order

• Antiviral (another Brandon Cronenberg film, sci-fi thriller, taking parasocial relationships to a whole new level)

• The PowerPuff Girls Movie (underrated and one of my favorite PPG-related things ever next to the now-banned rock opera episode, See Me Feel Me Gnomey)

• Longlegs (paranormal mystery horror film, an FBI agent gets more than she bargained for when delving into a new case. ASK ME ABOUT OZ PERKINS AND NICHOLAS CAGE'S PERSONAL CONNECTION TO THIS FILM AND HOW IT SAVED THE FILM ITSELF FOR ME AND MADE IT GO FROM "A WEE BIT DISAPPOINTING BUT STILL GOOD" TO "TOP FAVORITE" BECAUSE OF HOW IT IMPACTED THE WAY I VIEW IT... IF YOU DARE..)

• Catsoup (silent japanese cartoon, short film, you can find it on youtube! two cats go on a magical, somewhat dark, adventure. visually stunning)

• The Brave Little Toaster (the only disney film that will ever grace my favorites list. incredible. the anthropomorphization of objects is stellar, the characters i could go on and on about-- and the songs are fucking great. shoutout to mass car suicide [Worthless]. also this movie inspired one of my OC stories [Curtain Call].)

• I'm Thinking Of Ending Things (adaptation of my favorite book, very different from the book but i think it brings some excellent things to the table and tells it in a very cool way. psychological thriller, mystery. Jesse Plemons is in it, they grabbed him off the set of Breaking Bad and forgot to tell him he wasn't still playing Todd. [< compliment])

• Baby Driver (anyone who hates this movie doesn't know how to have fun. action-comedy, incredible soundtrack that is SYNCED TO THE HAPPENINGS IN THE FILM, main character is an autistic CODA who i love very much, i have a deep personal connection with this movie because of the person i watched it with and the impact it had on us.)

• I Don't Feel At Home In This World Anymore (action-comedy, crime, awkward girl and her awkward neighbor [who just met her but would kill and die for her] get in over their heads trying to retrieve a stolen laptop.)

• Poltergeist (1982, my ma's favorite horror film and one of mine too. paranormal, visually stunning, the practical effects are so fucking cool. also im decently sure it was inspired by Little Girl Lost, an episode of The Twilight Zone, because it's like a more fleshed-out version of that concept.)

• Home Movie (2008, it's on youtube, i can't remember if it's like overall good but it's the only instance thus far in which i think the "evil child" trope is done well so it makes my favorites list)

• Whiplash (ARE YOU RUSHING OR ARE YOU DRAGGING?!)

• Nightcrawler (crime thriller, guy's spiraling descent into abandoning all morals for the sake of his obsessive new project, and the gripping horrific ways that this choice affects those around him)

• Dread (2009, violent horror, guy's spiraling descent into abandoning all morals for the sake of his obsessive new project, and the gripping horrific ways that this choice affects those around him)

• Raggedy Ann And Andy : A Musical Adventure (on youtube, an animated childhood favorite that still holds up. shoutout to the blue camel)

aaaand some others im prooobably forgettinggg..? tried to include a bit of as many genres i could think of, since most of my favorites are horror :)

#jeepers speak #answered

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blindbatalex · 3 months ago

Text

I hung out with @k-ky all day and she literally activated the sleeper carraville agent that lives inside my brain at all times. I really and truly do not have time to start on a whole new WIP right now, so please enjoy this little 1k teaser in the meanwhile.

By the time Jamie parked the car and trudged to the house, the front door was already open with Gary looming behind. Between the dusk falling quietly outside and the hallway light he had not bothered to turn on, the way he would not meet Jamie’s eyes, he resembled a ghost. Jamie ignored the raw spot the thought touched in his chest—the still too fresh panic a call from the hospital saying that your friend collapsed tends to inspire.

“Traffic was mad.” He chuckled as he walked in. It sounded strained and echoed ominously in Gary’s minimalist, unpleasant house. “I should have honestly taken the train.”

Honestly, if Gary had died and come back as a ghost, he would be a poltergeist. An annoying, self-righteous, argumentative poltergeist that drives property values down by his sheer potential to drive any people unfortunate enough to buy the house up the wall. Neither did he bother to so much as crane his neck to look at Jamie as he led them into the bowels of the house.

“Thought you’d changed your mind.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, it was a close thing,” he huffed, and regretted it instantly when Gary’s step faltered. It was a fucking joke. After everything they have been through, did he, could he think–

And while he meant no disrespect to the witches, Jamie struggled to understand why they had to drag him into the curse they rightfully wanted to cast upon Gary. Bloody hell. “But if you died, who would I rib after every time United bottle yet another game?”

With that they reached the living room. Gary sat down on the sofa and for the first time since Jamie came in, deigned to meet his eyes. It wasn’t just the light, he definitely looked haggard. His ugly face pale and with deep bruises under his eyes. He wasn’t happy either, judging by the thin line of his mouth.

If anything I am shocked that it took you this long to get yourself cursed, the way you carry on, was what Jamie wanted to say but someone needed to be the adult in the room so he held his tongue, choosing to plop himself down on the sofa next to Gary instead. He wrapped a firm arm around Gary’s shoulder and popped his feet on the coffee table.

“Get your feet down,” was all the thanks Gary could be bothered to give, alongside a vicious poke at his ankle with his big toe.

“No, you get your feet up.”

“I don’t know how you live in Bootle, but we for one have standards here–”

“No, you idiot, we ought to maximise the surface area, innit?”

“You mean–?”

“Press our legs together, yeah.”

Whatever little colour there was in Gary’s face drained at Jamie’s words. It was daft—it was so mind-bogglingly daft that Jamie had no words for it—but then again, they were ex-footballers for God’s sake. They had spent 30-odd years watching their teammates strut around naked in the showers, getting pulled into hugs and shoving and, in Gary’s case, cuddling up with Beckham to watch telly. Sure the two of them did not hug, and Jamie did not cuddle with blokes, but given they were where they were, neither was there any reason for—this. To act like petulant children. Or prisoners on death row.

Jamie glared at him, withdrawing his arm.

“I’m sorry, do you want to die?”

Not really, but I want to cuddle with you even less, the dark look that crossed Gary’s face seemed to say.

The git. He just had to be so stubborn about everything, make life as difficult as possible for whoever was trying to give him a hand.

Jamie closed his eyes, breathing through his nose to try and get a lid on the anger he felt burning in every cell of his body. Honestly, who in their right mind would pick an argument for example with a coven of witches on the definition of what constituted witchcraft in the first place?

But when he explained the curse, and what seemed to keep Gary alive, his mum had smiled and said– he is lucky to have a friend like you then, isn’t he? And Beckham, who for some reason felt he had the right to give Jamie a call, let alone to order him around, had said– cut him some slack will you, it’s a bit awkward for him. And yeah, if Jamie put himself in Gary’s shoes, he could see why having to–

“Look,” he said through gritted teeth, his eyes still shut. “I don’t like this either but you are my friend and I happen to care about you. You scared the hell out of me, Gary. And if this is what we have to do to manage until we find a way to break the curse, I’d–” His voice betrayed him, crushed under the weight of a singular truth. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked at Gary. “I’d do anything, alright? And I think you’d do the same for me, if our places were swapped. So.”

Gary nodded, very faintly. Is it so awful, Jamie wondered, having to cuddle with me that you made me say all of that out loud? Even at the hospital, when he was quite out of it, he had tried to protest, to push him away. Said, I can’t.

“Take off your shoes.”

Cut him some slack. Yeah.

Jamie did as he was told. Besides, for one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t sure he had any more words in him left. Gary was already taking off his own.

When he was done he put his feet up on the coffee table and Jamie followed suit, shifting closer towards him to bring their bodies flush against one another. With one hand he turned the telly on while the other arm he wrapped around Gary’s shoulder again. Gary for his part even made a tiny effort to lean into the touch this time, whether from guilt or self-preservation, Jamie could not tell.

All these years they’d known each other—and Jamie could count the number of times they hugged on one hand. In Valencia, after that defeat, once. Once when Jamie had been hammered out of his mind in London—though that was more Gary taking on his weight as he half-carried Jamie back to the hotel than anything else. He’d been warm beside him then, too, like he was now, strong, a little soft, just—good.

The two of them fit. There was no use thinking about that. They certainly did not fit in this way. He could smell Gary’s aftershave, feel his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. It felt awful--a force threatening to rip apart the walls of his cells.

No wonder, he thought, no fucking wonder.

Next time, he would make sure to get laid before coming over, so his body would not mistake affection, at once mechanical and friendly, for genuine desire.

For Gary N.eville?

Come on.

#carraville #my fic #i just had to get this out of my system - i have a 10k chapter of another fic I need to work on tomorrow 😭#but carraville truly is forever #one is never free of it for good #i want to come back to this and write the full thing so bad

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helloooofandoms · 2 years ago

Text

You Talk Too Much

Reader is an old friend of Lockwood's and they run into ine another during a case.

You were beginning to think that you were unlucky. This was the 5th job this week, and the 3rd one you were stuck babysitting some inexperienced or under qualified agent on. You couldn't fathom why the academy kept sending out these half baked nitwits with little to no actual experience other than a few measly type ones.

It was your regular dilapidated, cobweb infested house on the corner, but you could feel the shift in air as you got closer. Hear the whispering of unidentified voices before you saw yourself standing directly in front of it. You could hear the yells and screams of whatever agents were inside. Sounds like they were doing quite alright. As you started to pick up your feet to walk past you heard a familiar name being shouted.

"Lockwood!"

You couldn't catch a break could you? Sure you hadn't seen the arrogant stringbean in a while but you had assumed maybe he left town. Who were you kidding he would never leave this place. It was you that had relocated, which made it difficult to meet one another, or have overlapping missions every now and then. The two of you were quite a duo back in the day but like they said all good things must come to an end. You needed a better paycheck as you had been an individual hunter on your own before the two of you met. You were what they called a triple threat, you had the talent of touch, listening, and sight. However, you mainly kept your talent of listening under wraps. Last thing you needed was to go famous and end up six feet under due to the amount of work they'd throw at you. You also had no interests in being in a tug of war between Fittes and Rotwell. It was too pompous for the normal lifestyle you were hoping to achieve even with this crazy profession.

Right, enough inner monologue time to see if your old friend needed help.

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

Making your way up the stairs your head was spinning as you could hear voices in almost every direction. You had already deduced that the main floor was empty given the screaming which sounded like it was coming from the floor above you and all.

The noises growing ever so loud made you push open a door with enough force that it slammed into the wall. The noises stopped for a moment. The three figures looking your way. Lockwood who was armed with his Rapier inches away from slashing it through the ghost. A girl that was lying on the ground visibly exhausted and terrified. Lastly the ghost. A nasty looking one at that. Half of its face looked as if it was melting and you couldn't stop yourself from thinking it resembled two-face.

It didn't give you any time to speak as it vanished temporarily only for you to spin on your heel and slash the blade of your iron kusarigama into the poltergeist. It unleashed a guttural scream that made you swear. "Fuck off!" You ran the second blade through its body once more before it disappeared. Frowning you turned around fully to look at Lockwood. Your arm hurt a bit and maybe you were getting too old for this huh?

"You know for someone with their own agency and all maybe it wouldn't kill you to train your employees." You gestured to the blonde girl still.om the floor. "Who am I kidding? You're the epitome of 'don't think just do'." You huffed making your way over to them. Lockwood had already assisted his partner off the floor and his lips quirked up as soon as he saw you.

"My my look what the cat dragged in." Lockwood smirked.

"Cat is correct. That's exactly what it sounded like from outside. Between the ghosts and the two of you I couldn't tell who was in danger." You said with an eye roll before wrapping an arm around both of their waists and taking a step back resulting in the two of them being pulled towards you. A ghost appeared in the exact same spot you had moved them from and she just stared at you. It was a little girl. She looked sad as she held her teddy bear. Then she looked at the blonde girl beside you and pointed to the left.

You watched as Lockwood's employee listened to the young girl. "Book is in the closet." She said before vanishing.

"I knew there were three ghosts here but I couldn't imagine one was friendly." You hummed as you followed behind Lockwood whom had already began moving to the closet where he saw her point. He couldn't hear them like you and the other girl could but he did read body language which was just as important.

"You're a listener as well?" The girl asked a bit shocked.

Tilting your head left and right with a scrunched face, you spoke "More or less."

"Aha!" Lockwood cried as he retrieved the book and dusted it off. "Time to get out of here." He grumbled.

"Yeah before ghost number three traps you." The girl beside you looked up at the ghost that was on the ceiling and quickly descending.

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

The three of you walk together down the road. Lockwood and the girl you came to find out who's name was Lucy look a bit worse for wear compared to you with not a single scratch or hair out of place.

Smiling to yourself you looked over at Lockwood and playfully nudged him with your shoulder. "Say Tony you come here often?"

Lockwood only shook his head with a grin before responding. "No but if it means I'll see you I think I can make some arrangements."

He was still a smooth talker. Deciding not to make the atmosphere too intense you looked over at Lucy. "You know Locky never told me he actually hired someone better than him."

Glancing at you from the corner of her eye she laughed. "I'd reckon he's simply shy." Lucy played along.

Placing a finger under your chin, you feigned being lost in thought. "He has always been rather bashful hasn't he?" What a bold lie.

Lockwood glared at the two of you. You knew it was utter regret by the way he crossed his arms and let out a sigh. "Lucy has been with us at Lockwood and co with us for some time now. I guess you'd both be bound to meet at some point."

"That's right. I may have to save your ass much more in the future!" You had a sickeningly wide grin when you clasped your hands together.

"How scandalous of you. To think you'd be checking me out on the job." Lockwood draped an arm over your shoulder. "As much as we would love to see you again George isn't quite fond of animals."

You resisted the urge to bring your hands up and shake him by the shoulders. "You know I'd choke you but I think you'd enjoy that too much." You mumbled under your breath. "Hey Luce how do you live with this utter nightmare?" You preferred her more relaxed personality over Lockwood's cocky behavior right now.

Lucy looked between the two of you a smile playing on her lips and a knowing look in her eye. "I simply don't encourage his foolery." She shrugged before climbing the steps to open the door.

"Wha- Lucy we're supposed to be friends." You whined to no avail as the girl simply sauntered inside and made her way up the staircase to what you can only assume is her room.

Sighing you turn to face Lockwood. He didn't have much of a look on his face and you wondered if he was feeling okay. Without a second thought you placed the back of your hand on his forehead you scanned his body over with your eyes. "You don't feel sick."

The heat spreading on his face made him cough lightly and push your hand away. "Maybe I've just got a bit of a temperature." He waved his hand dismissively.

You two stood there for what felt like an eternity. Neither wanting to move but not knowing what to say. It was him who broke the silence in the end.

"Let's catch up more often." He said genuinely. A softer look on his face that you just couldn't help but tease.

"Do you miss me or something?" You snickered but he didn't react much.

"Of course." It was simple and boy was it effective. The way he looked at you like it was impossible to look at any thing else. The reflection of light dancing in his eyes from the hanging porch light above you two. Not to mention the way he glanced at the door as if he was planning his escape. He didn't say much but he didn't have to. He wore his heart on his sleeve when it came to the ones he cared about. The showboat facade died out quickly after getting to see the real Lockwood.

All of a sudden those intrusive, deep, and buried feelings of crushing on your old friend resurfaced. It was your turn to flush as you pushed him through the doorway and turned your back towards him. "I have a feeling I will be seeing you soon." You stepped down. Something stopped you from walking away.

Whipping around you went back up the steps. Your arms snaking their way under his and around his back. "In the case we don't meet for a while I figured it's only professional of me to leave you with a small token of my memory." You told him before pulling away.

He hadn't even hugged you back the ingrate! As you retreated and looked up at him you could see he was more preoccupied on looking at anything else but you. A faint blush covering his cheeks as you could even notice the color staining the tips of his ears.

Not wishing to stand out in the cold any longer you left his doorstep this time for real. "Hey y/n next time you see me the hug will be a minute for every week we haven't seen one another!" Lockwood yelled from his doorstep.

It had been about half a year since the last time you saw him. He always had a knack for occupying your brain. Holding up a thumbs up you kept walking. If your calculations were correct that hug would last 182 days. Maybe you should push it to not seeing him for whole year?

You turned for the last time on your feet to see Lockwood still a ways away standing by the door, watching you walk off. Cupping your hands around your mouth you yelled. "Tell George I said hi and that I'll see him next year!"

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim #lockwood and co #this show is stuck in my head #i just wanna write normal aus for him pls

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