#i was so close to making freelancer a gun | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atlabeth · 1 year ago

Text

leave the door open - anthony lockwood

summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.

a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!

wc: 8.2k

warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending

127.

128.

129.

13–

Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again.

Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.

You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security.

You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise.

35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign.

You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.

It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.

You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up.

“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.

He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”

“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him.

You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”

“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”

“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down.

“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”

“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”

“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”

He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”

“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”

“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”

You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”

“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”

“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”

“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile.

You chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”

“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.

Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”

“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.”

You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes.

“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”

"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.

You closed the door behind you.

You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night.

Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking.

And you did adjust, that was true.

You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least.

Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all.

Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open.

You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map.

He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.”

“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.”

“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?”

“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.”

“I like the sound of that,” you mused.

“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.”

“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.”

Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.”

You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.”

“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Just get on with it, Lockwood.”

He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.”

You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?”

He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.”

Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.”

Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.”

“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.”

His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”

Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.”

“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.”

“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said.

You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.

“You don’t have to—”

“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”

Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued.

“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”

Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”

“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.”

“Your family would care.”

You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”

He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever.

“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.”

That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.”

“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.”

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around.

“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.”

He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.”

And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour.

It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented.

Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you.

But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases.

The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile.

“What in the world are you doing?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.

“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.

“At two in the morning?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”

“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”

“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”

“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”

You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.”

“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”

“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.

“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”

Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”

“The best,” you confirmed.

He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.

“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”

“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”

Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.”

“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”

“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed.

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual.

As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?”

You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.”

“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.”

“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.”

He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste.

“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.”

(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its.

One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again

He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it.

Normally good, he thought with a slight smile.

A fine addition to the team indeed.)

You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his.

You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open.

You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar.

You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name.

“You should be asleep,” he said.

“So should you.”

“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.”

“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.”

Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.”

“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.”

He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.”

You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along.

“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.”

All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you

“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…”

“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised.

He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.”

“Then the same goes for you.”

“Obviously.”

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do.

The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.”

You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much.

“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.”

Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.”

You smiled. “Very true.”

“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.”

“It seems you’re always up.”

“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.”

“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.”

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on.

Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head.

That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so.

Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.

When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior.

When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him.

He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange.

And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain.

You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.

You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask.

Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad.

Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push.

Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though.

It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything.

“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed.

Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said.

“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?”

“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly.

“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.”

“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.”

“Don’t forget stupid.”

Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.”

“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.”

This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment.

“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider.

“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.”

“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?”

“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.”

Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.”

“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly.

“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.”

“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond.

He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone.

You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him.

You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed.

He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.”

“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?”

“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.”

“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?”

You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.”

Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it.

A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals.

This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done.

The other half was getting out without being spotted.

The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together.

“That was good work.”

You ignored him.

“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.”

You ignored him.

“Seriously. You work well on the fly.”

“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly.

“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.”

“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left.

You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you.

“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?”

“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed.

He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?”

Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head.

“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly.

He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.”

“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.”

“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.”

“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?”

“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped.

“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.”

“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.”

“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.”

Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze.

“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—”

His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.

It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen.

The guard pulled the trigger.

Lockwood lunged.

You screamed.

“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.”

“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.”

“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added.

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.”

“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?”

“...A bit,” she admitted.

You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.”

“A bit.”

“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.”

“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said.

“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.”

She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?”

“He cares about all of us, Luce.”

“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.”

Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said.

“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.”

Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.”

“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said.

“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.”

You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.”

“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?”

“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.”

“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.”

“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.”

Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.”

“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”

“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her.

Sometimes you really hated your friends.

It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel.

Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous.

You were just… strategically not talking to him.

And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related.

It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong.

You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight.

All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but…

You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife.

You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.

Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood.

“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives.

“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.”

Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.”

You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was.

“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.”

Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.”

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose.

“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.”

His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.”

“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.”

“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.”

“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.”

Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.”

“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.”

Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to frown. “What for?”

“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.”

“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.”

“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.”

“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.”

“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.”

“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.”

Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around.

Your Lockwood.

“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?”

“Because you’re a reckless idiot?”

“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him.

The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.

“Thank you,” you said.

He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you.

“Always.”

And it was as simple as that.

It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs.

Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic.

And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous.

So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do.

You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs.

Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer.

The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you.

You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe.

Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside.

“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.

Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.

“Always.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

761 notes · View notes

leonardalphachurch · 7 months ago

Text

Red vs Blue: Reformation

After Epsilon fragments himself inside of his mind, Tucker is left to pick up the pieces.

An alternate take on Tucker’s story in Season 19: Restoration.

Masterpost

Available to read on Ao3

CHAPTER 1 - Recognition

They might’ve finally found what they’ve been looking for. But there’s one thing to take care of, first.

__________________________

We open on a shot of a military base at night. Two guards stand in front of an exit.

Guard 1: Hey.

Guard 2: Yeah?

Guard 1: You ever wonder… if we’re in a simulation?

Guard 2: Simulation?

Guard 1: Yeah, yknow, like, none of this is real. We’re just the product of some guy simulating a bunch of random outcomes to try to find out what happens next?

Guard 2: … No. That sounds made up.

Guard 1: It’s not made up! It’s a real theory!

A cloaked figure enters through the door between them. Guard 1 raises his gun.

Guard 1: Whoa. Did you see that?

Guard 2: See what? Your simulation?

Guard 1: No! I don’t know! Looked like something… invisible.

Guard 2: Invisible? How does something look invisible?

Guard 1: Well, it looks like something that’s not there.

Guard 2: How am I supposed to see something that’s not there?

Guard 1: It is there, it just looks like—

A second cloaked figure enters the base.

Guard 1: There! There it is again! Did you see it?

Guard 2: Did I see the invisible thing that isn’t there?

Guard 1: Yes!

Guard 2: No. No I didn’t.

Guard 1: Dammit.

Guard 2: Maybe it was a glitch in the simulation.

Guard 1: Oh, fuck you.

Cut to the inside of the base. We see a series of shots. A pair of cloaked boots run along a hallway, followed closely by another. A guard collapses out of nowhere. A silenced pistol is shot.

Cut to the inside of a room. The door opens. No one enters. The door closes. An armored soldier uncloaks.

It’s Locus.

Locus: Is this the correct room?

Another soldier uncloaks and walks past him. He’s wearing The Meta’s armor in black. As he speaks, it fades into an aqua.

It’s Tucker.

Tucker: It should be.

He walks up to a large terminal and plugs in a device.

Tucker: Let’s find out. Guys?

Multiple colors of lights flash around him. Green, cyan, purple, pink, yellow, turquoise. Orange.

Tucker loses his balance after the last flash. But only for a second. He shakes his head and turns to look at Locus.

Tucker: Security here sucked, huh?

Locus is standing in between Tucker and the door, not leaving his back open to either of them.

Locus: I’ve learned it’s not something to complain about.

Tucker: I’m not complaining. Just saying, if what we think is here, is here? Well, it deserves a hell of a lot more security than that.

Locus: …What do you think is here?

Tucker: Huh?

A flash of cyan light.

Tucker: Oh, it’s some old files from Freelancer. Nothing too important, but, shit’s super classified. Be fucked if just anyone found it.

Locus makes a noise of acknowledgement. Is he agreeing? Disagreeing? Gassy? Who knows.

Tucker leans against the terminal, all casual like.

Tucker: So, how’ve you been?

Locus: ………. Fine……..

Tucker laughs.

Tucker: Damn dude, slow down. Even the AI couldn’t process that much information.

Locus sighs.

Locus: I have been. Fine. Nothing interesting has happened since we last spoke.

Tucker: All right.

They take a beat.

Locus: ………. How…… are. you???

Tucker: Wow. That seemed physically painful.

Locus: I… am not used to being the one leading the conversation.

Tucker: Right.

They take another beat.

Tucker: Y’know, I was kinda surprised you were willing to work with a partner again so soon after. Well, y’know. Didn’t think you’d trust so easily.

Locus: I… was more surprised you were willing to trust me.

Tucker, quietly: Yeah, surprised me too…

He stares at the terminal. Some colors flash around him. Pink, cyan, purple, yellow. Orange.

Tucker: We’ve also been doing fine. Same old, same old. Chasing down leads, cleaning up Freelancer’s messes, blowing up Charon’s shit.

Locus: Being a thorn in the UNSC’s side?

Tucker points at him.

Tucker: You know it! Saving the galaxy. One step at a—

Sigma appears at Tucker’s side. Not as a flash of light, but in his full naked, on fire, hologram-y glory.

Sigma: This is it.

Tucker stands up straight, giving Sigma his full attention.

Tucker: Wait, seriously? Finally? It’s really actually him?

Locus: What is “it”?

Tucker: I told you, it’s just old files from Freelancer.

Locus: You said “him.”

A flash of cyan.

Tucker: Did I? Must’ve misspoke.

Sigma: Lavernius. It’s time.

Tucker: Right.

Tucker takes the device out of the terminal. The colors flash all around him again.

Locus: Time for what? I… have been patient. But I do not appreciate being kept in the dark. I know you have bigger plans—

Tucker: Dude, relax. It’s not like we were gonna tell you everything before we knew we could trust you. You? C’mon, be realistic. But,

Tucker lets out an over dramatic sigh.

Tucker: Fine. I’ll explain everything when we get out of here, okay? Just— oh, shit, watch the door.

Locus turns to face the door.

Tucker: Like I was saying,

Tucker pulls out a gun.

Tucker: We were pretty surprised you were trusting enough to work with a partner so soon.

Tucker shoots Locus in the back.

Tucker: Probably shouldn’t have been.

Locus: You—

Tucker starts walking. He reaches down to grab something off Locus as he passes.

Locus: You— why— I, I can’t move—

Tucker: Yeah, don’t worry. Delta says you’ll get use of your legs back in 6 months. Right D?

A flash of green.

Delta: 6-12.

Tucker: 6-12. Cool how they can calculate that, huh?

Locus: Why… why are you doing this?

Tucker: It’s nothing personal, man. Just taking out one of the few people in the universe who might be able to stop us.

Tucker stops walking next to a wall.

Tucker: Well…

He reaches his hand towards an alarm.

Tucker: Maybe a little personal.

He flips it. Lights start flashing, sirens start blaring.

Tucker: I hear the UNSC treats genocidal maniacs well.

Tucker moves to the door.

Locus: You… I should have trusted my instincts. You are just like him.

Tucker stops. Purple, yellow, cyan. Orange. He laughs.

Tucker: You’re joking, right? You two were mass murderers. I’m trying to clean up the mess that you made. I am protecting people. Look at how easily you were manipulated again! Trust me. The galaxy is safer with you put away. It’s safer with us.

The door flings open as Tucker turns invisible. Locus tries to tell the oncoming guards about Tucker’s presence to no avail. We see a Tucker’s cloaked figure maneuver past the guards, into an empty area of the base.

He uncloaks.

Tucker: All right guys. Calculate how fucking badass that exit was.

All the AIs holograms pop up around him. Their lines slightly overlap each other.

Delta: Given your standard metrics, I would calculate that was… 75% “badass.”

Gamma: Too cheesy.

Theta: It was so cool!

Gamma: Overly sentimental.

Omega: We should have killed him.

Sigma: You should not have taken his bait.

None of the others’ lines overlap with Sigma’s.

Sigma: You cut the door opening too close. It was an unnecessary risk. Don’t do it again.

Tucker: Oh, please, Sig.

He flicks Sigma’s hologram.

Tucker: I know you love the dramatics.

Sigma: Not when we are this close.

Tucker looks down at the device he’s holding.

Tucker: So this is really it? We really found him?

Delta: We will not know for certain until we can decryp—

Sigma: Yes. This is him.

Tucker holds the device up and stares at it. Lovingly.

Tucker: All right, Church. Just wait a little longer. We’re gonna fix everything. Real soon.

Omega: Not soon enough. Let’s move.

Tucker laughs, cloaks again, and heads out.

#fanfic: rvb reformation #lavernius tucker #sigma rvb #rvb #red vs blue #rvb19 spoilers #chromatic writings #written by lavender

75 notes · View notes

groovinrightalong · 8 months ago

Text

Alright, as promised, here are some ✨married Byler/Byler dads headcanons✨

A little preface that this is specifically for my transmasc Mike headcanons, so it’s not necessarily canon compliant, it’s pretty much just MY older byler AU so if it’s not your cup of tea you can just scroll along. Brief mentions of being a seahorse dad and a heads up right now that transphobia will get you an IMMEDIATE block:)

Now that that’s over with!

-Mike and Will get married at some point in the early 90s. Mike doesn’t get his birth certificate changed until some point in the 2000s, so legally he’s considered female, and you better believe they take advantage of it. He’s like at least three or four years on hormones by the time they get married but they’re just like :D yes we’re a straight couple I love my wife :D

-Bonus points if Will wears a dress for the wedding

-They get a dog pretty much as soon as they move in together. Will loves dogs (Mike’s more of a cat person but he adores the way Will’s face lights up when he sees them) and she’s probably a birthday present from Mike to Will. They like to joke that she’s their child, they bring her along to family picnics and events. Joyce and Jonathan are obsessed with her, she reminds them of Chester.

-Mike grows up to be an author! He makes a decent living between selling his books and a gig working at the local library, and Will does some graphic design. He doesn’t particularly like how regimented it is, he prefers doing art for the love of it, and he gets his chance when they’re early to mid 40s because Mike’s books start to get really popular and they can live off that income. Will then pretty much just does the art for the covers and works as a freelance artist. Gloats about being a trophy husband.

-They spend the first decade of their marriage just being the cool uncles for Jancy’s kid, always stopping in for surprise visits because they all moved to a bigger city within a decent distance from each other. Mike likes to buy the kid gifts he knows will piss off his sister, like water guns and play dough that’ll get stuck everywhere. He’ll sneak them candy, pick them up from daycare to take them out for the day. He’s a nuisance.

-Will aids in the schemes, but obviously he’s Jonathan’s baby brother so he’s the good one and Mike is the bad influence😇 And then the kid learns their first curse word from him when he accidentally slips up in front of them and he never hears the end of it.

-He’s really soft and happy with them though, and Mike obviously notices. Mike’s sort of iffy on if he wants any kids but he can tell Will does even if he won’t say anything.

-They adopt their son in like early 2002/2003. His bio mom was really young. They keep in contact with her, send her pictures and updates. His name’s Sam! (Short for Samwise. Because they’re fucking nerds.)

-They end up with two kids. Their daughter’s only six or seven months younger than Sam because hey y’all testosterone is NOT birth control. She pretty much looks like a mini Joyce, her name’s Gwen. (Gwenevere. Like I said, NERDS.)

-Their kids kind of have a similar dynamic to Will and El because they’re so close in age, they’re always in the same grades, etc. People jokingly call them the twins.

-Nancy takes her revenge by doing pretty much the same thing Mike did with her kid with the twins. She’ll sneak them treats, get them sugared up when they’re at her house then send them home. Sam thinks she’s the coolest person EVER (much to Mike’s horror)

-Gwen’s nonverbal. As a toddler, Sam talked for her pretty much all the time. She never said her first word, was really quiet and reserved, and it worried them obviously. But then they were like, oh wait, let’s try sign language (Mike has times where he’s pretty much totally nonverbal too so they already know a decent amount) and as soon as she figures it out she’s talking to them all the time. She’s super high energy and between her and her brother, they get into a LOT of trouble (Mike’s first gray hair comes in when he’s like 34😭)

-She also has a bit of a sixth sense! It’s mostly to do with the supernatural (which isn’t really an issue since the gates are all closed now… right?) but sometimes she’d react to something right before it happened and it would freak her parents out. Will has it too, but he’s so used to it now that he doesn’t really notice it? And Mike’s just like oh well that’s just how he is it’s not weird. It’s a… lot freakier when it’s a toddler.

-(Bonus!! Jonathan, Nancy, Mike, Will, and the kids all have the last name Hopper. Hop adopted Jonathan and Will and they changed their names to match him and their mom and El because FUCK Lonnie.)

I have lots more thoughts but this is going on really long and just🫠 Yeah. Byler dads.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #byler headcanon #trans mike wheeler #transmasc mike wheeler #autistic mike wheeler #byler dads #byler uncles #married byler #older byler #byler kids #my headcanons #jancy #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #this is all canon compliant with my Juno fic btw

58 notes · View notes

kinglivv · 3 months ago

Note

Hi!

I love your Kate Stewart fics! I'm so glad she's getting the attention she deserves.

I have an idea for a Kate x fem reader

(Older woman x younger woman)

Prompt:

Reader is colonel Ibrahim's younger sister and pops in to UNIT to annoy her older brother as they have a very childish dynamic. It's become routine that Kate knows exactly when to expect her and looks forward to these little moments with reader . Little does she know reader has the hots for her older brothers boss .

Forbidden fruit trope kind of thing .

Forbidden Fruit

Kate Lethbridge-Stewart x f!reader

Summary: As Colonel Ibrahim’s younger sister, it would be completely inappropriate for you to date his boss. But what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him… surely?

Warnings: Mentions of grief, gun violence

A/N: I’ve been working on this all month on and off between various commitments! Enjoy

Contrary to what you believe, Christofer sees it first. He sees it from the moment you and Kate initially lock eyes.

It had been in the UNIT boxing gym. You didn’t work for his beloved organisation, but you’d freelanced once for them on their lower levels and were making the most of the free amenities before your clearance ran out. You and him had been boxing partners since your parents died, training each other being a way to harness your shared grief.

“Come on,” he teases you from across the ring, “you can do better than that!”

You make a swipe at him, but he’s quick on his feet and you almost lose your balance.

“Footworks getting sloppy, Y/N.”

“Shut up Chris,” you wait for the second he glances somewhere other than you, and then you take his legs out from under him and pin him to the floor.

“Hey-“ he says as he hits the mat with an oof, “that’s playing dirty.”

“Colonel?”

The voice rings out across the gym and you look up from your position hovering over your brother to see a blonde woman stood in the doorway. Christofer watches your face, and sees that look cross it, that look you used to direct at your ex-girlfriend when your relationship was in its honeymoon stage. Sharp suit, long legs, big brown eyes - just your type. He should have known.

“Y/N,” he says from his rather undignified position on the floor, “this is Kate Lethbridge-Stewart, my boss.”

“Nice to meet you Kate Lethbridge-Stewart,” you parrot with a smirk.

She gives you a curt nod, and then looks back to Christofer.

“Bit of a situation upstairs. Could use your assistance.”

He nods, and then realising you’re still staring at the woman, uses your momentary distraction to throw you off him. You’re tossed to the side with a shriek and he dusts himself off. He trails out of the room after Kate but when he glances back at you, it’s not him your staring after.

It escalates when they bring you in on a job.

You’re a mathematician by trade, and a code breaker by hobby. You were the smartest person Christofer knew, and so when a difficult Sontaran dialect is picked up and seemingly un-translatable, he suggests they draft you in. You’d already assisted UNIT in an advisory capacity before, what’s a little desk work?

Kate begrudgingly accepts the suggestion, more because she has an undying faith in his judgement and so few options left, and you turn up at the office that evening, clad in an expensive dress you wear to your real job, handbag in hand.

“We’ve had a dozen experts look at it,” Kate explains. “No one can figure out what the hieroglyphics mean.”

You’re staring up at the screen they’re projected onto. Christofer watches as you chew on the end of your pencil, lost in thought, and standing entirely too close to his boss.

“Can I get some paper?” You ask. “And a desk?”

Kate blinks.

“Sure. Use mine.”

She shows you to your desk and you start scribbling on a notepad. She raises and eyebrow at Christofer, who merely shrugs. Two minutes later, you hold up the paper, triumphant.

“It’s not hieroglyphics,” you announce, “or even a dialect. It’s a chemical composition. See these symbols? They represent different elements. And then these lines? Isotopes. You’ve got yourself an incredibly rare Earth element here.”

Kate comes round the desk, places a hand on the back of your chair and leans over your shoulder.

“You’re right…” she confirms, momentarily rendered speechless.

“But what does that tell us?” Christofer asks.

“You said rare?” Kate asks, already on the scent like a bloodhound.

“Yeah,” you drum your fingers on the desk. “Only occurs in North East America. Just the right climate.”

“North East America…” Christofer ponders, and then at the exact same moment it clicks.

“That’s the target!” You chorus with him.

Kate slaps the back of the chair. “Of course!”

As Christofer begins to relay this information through his radio, he doesn’t miss Kate leaning down next to you, hears her murmur “Just when I thought I was pushing my luck with one genius Ibrahim, you come along.”

He doesn’t miss your smirk, either.

He makes a mental note to tell you to quit it. He’s familiar with your antics - how couldn’t he be after the steady stream of girls you’d had in and out the house throughout university? He’d never minded before, but this thing you had for his boss absolutely has to stop. Naturally, Kate offers you a job, but to her surprise you’re not interested. When Chris asks you why, you teasingly tell him you’re not giving in without being chased. He can’t quite tell if you’re joking or not.

He’s most certainly not ready for when Kate begins to express an interest. She starts to ask about you in passing, when they’re in the lift or stood by the water cooler. She takes an interest in your freelance work. She drafts you in on a couple more jobs. When he raises tbus to you, all he gets in response is a cheeky “your boss has the hots for me Chris, what about it?”

At some point to his horror, you get her number. He wouldn’t have known had you not left your phone on the kitchen counter and a text from “KLS” had popped up. It was a sweet “yeah of course, pick you up at 9? Xx” and so entirely out of step with how he perceived his boss that he didn’t quite believe it was her. When he asks where you went that evening, why you got back at 1am, he gets some vague answer about being with friends.

When he next asks you about Kate, there’s no flirty remark, no teasing joke, you clam up completely. You brush it off, deflect in a similar way to what he’s been taught in interrogation training. Kate ceases to ask after you at work, almost as if she already knows exactly how you are.

The next time you turn up at UNIT, it’s to drop off the lunch he’d accidentally left at home. A terribly domestic gesture, but that’s not what takes him aback. Rather, it’s the fact you hadn’t requested clearance from him to get in the building.

“Who let you in?” He asks, feigning casual interest as he takes the lunch from you. He doesn’t miss the way you glance guiltily at Kate’s empty desk.

“Dunno,” you lie, “they must recognise me.”

As if a military unit would ever let someone past security just because they were a friendly face.

You wave him a goodbye and disappear down a corridor. It’s then that he decides he’s quite like to get the bottom of this and naturally follows you… all the way to Kate’s office.

“Hey,” he hears you say softly as you knock and enter without waiting for approval.

“What a lovely surprise this is.” The sound of Kate’s chair creaking.

“You say that as if you didn’t just call down to security to let me in,” you laugh.

“Yeah well, maybe I,” a sentence punctuated with a kiss, “just really wanted to see you,”

Christofer is holding his breath. He can’t quite believe what he’s hearing and he can’t stop himself from creeping closer, just peaking in the window on the door to make sure it’s true. There, sure enough, you’re wrapped up in each other’s arms.

He walks away rather stiffly.

The next time any of this surfaces, it’s weeks later and after a bad shoot out. A shoot out that ends with him in hospital, barely conscious for a whole week. A doctor tells him that had the bullet been half an inch to the right, he’d be dead.

Naturally, you’re in and out every day, not leaving his side during visiting hours. Sometimes he’s awake, sometimes he’s not, but nonetheless you read to him and play music and tell him about your day. You tell him you want him to find a new job, a safer one, one that doesn’t make you fear his life will end like your parents.

Kate visits a few times, brings him chocolates and looks generally guilty. The third time she visits, he’s two weeks into recovery and you’re already sat by his bedside. He shuts his eyes tight and pretends to be asleep - this is the first valuable piece of entertainment he’s had in weeks.

“Hey,” you look up at her from the bed.

Kate glances at Christofer and judges him - incorrectly - to be asleep. “How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected,” you shrug. “Roses for my brother? Should I be jealous?”

“They’re for you, darling,” there’s a rustle as she hands over what he can only assume to be a bouquet, “figured you might be feeling just as awful as him right now.”

“Oh,” you say. “Thank you,”

There’s the unfamiliar sound of his Commander shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Kate,” you say cautiously, “I’ve told Chris I want him to find a new job.”

A pause.

“He’s my best Colonel.”

“He’s all I’ve got left,” you say shortly.

“Does he get a say in this?”

“You know he’ll do whatever I ask.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“I’m not losing him and our parents.”

“What would that mean for us?” Kate’s voice is slightly choked.

“It wouldn’t change a thing Kate,” your tone softens, “I just can’t live like this, worrying everyday that the two people I love are going to end up dead. At least I can get him out of it.”

“Love?”

“What?”

“You said you love me.”

He hears you stand up and leave his side, pulling Kate into you, pressing a kiss to her lips. It’s then he decides to peak an eye open.

“Ha!” He exclaims, “Knew I’d catch you at some point.”

Your heads jump apart and turn to look at him in such exact sync it’s almost comical. He raises an eyebrow at the sight before him - your hand curled in her lapel, the roses squished between you and Kate’s hair rather mussed.

“You - you knew?” You squeak.

“I’m an intelligence soldier, of course I know.”

“You’re not angry?” Kate asks. It’s the first time it strikes him that she might be worried about his reaction. That she might have worried she’d broken their valuable trust.

“No,”

“Right.” You swallow, and your hand drops from her blazer, pulling away from her. “I’m going to the vending machine then.”

“Y/N…” there’s a hint of whining desperation in Kate’s tone as you abandon her to a room alone with your brother. She turns to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she manages.

“Why?”

“I lied to you,” she states, “Carried on with your sister behind your back, undermined the trust we have in each other. I’ve put our working relationship at risk -“

“Kate,” he stops her, “she’s been happier this last month than I’ve known her in years.”

A blush forms across her cheeks.

“She makes me very happy,” Kate confesses. “Promise I won’t hurt her.”

“You better not,” he quips back, and although his tone is teasing, Kate knows he’s deadly serious. The Ibrahim family, clearly, were not one to be crossed. “You should tell her.”

“That I won’t hurt her?”

“No. That you love her too.”

The pink in her cheeks increases ten-fold.

“I will.”

#doctor who #angst #kate lethbridge stewart #kate lethbridge stewart x reader #kate stewart #kate stewart x reader #kate stewart imagine #kate lethbridge stewart imagine #jemma redgrave #jemma redgrave x reader #jemma redgrave imagine #fluff #christofer ibrahim #unit #female reader #f!reader

51 notes · View notes

qjaidenhere · 8 months ago

Note

BEGGING to hear about ur familoier au plssss

Okok so!! This is a Jaiden and Bobby centric au with some Roier (I mostly came up with this au because I was sad about Jaiden and Bobby and wanted them to be happy) it’s very slice of life fluffy modern au- just them being happy together :]] just know this is extremely self indulgent because I want them to be happy and if feels ooc or something no it doesn’t :]

much more under cut

Bobby often goes to the park with his family!! He likes to brings his fake sword and swing it at anything and everything he sees. he also likes to pick the many flowers around the park to make flower crowns!! It’s rare for a friend (or parent) of Bobby’s to not have at least one of his flower crowns (and his parents often have at least one flower of his on them all the time)

Bobby also loves to paint with his family!! He will draw on canvas, walls, his own skin, whatever, so he often has doodles up and down his arms. The family will often put aside time in the day for them to paint together (at Bobby’s request) and it’s often his highlight of the day :D he likes to copy Jaiden’s arm tattoos with his drawings on his arms (though he won’t admit it to her) and he often draws his family or his friends!!

Bobby also has two dogs- a big brown newfoundland named Oso and his husky named Tripita (he’s also named the two raccoons outside and sometimes tries to take them inside but they always escape)

Jaiden is a freelance artist who works on commission who is roommates with Roier. She is learning Spanish for both Roier and Bobby (who is bilingual) and they both encourage and help her while she’s learning! She went to law school for a bit when she was younger- but ended up dropping out.

all the eggs go to the same school and are all in the same class (for the older eggs) and the younger eggs (when they come into the story) often hang out with them at lunch and such :D Roier also babysits Tilin on the weekends so they and Bobby are pretty good friends (though they sometimes joke at being rivals) and Dapper sometimes comes over for sleepovers!

All the eggs are kind of close which means that their parents also all know each other because of their kids- it’s how some of them get to know each other at first but a fair few knew each other beforehand!

Misc thingys:

-the city is name quesadilla city

-jaiden once spent a day going from store to store to find the specific brand of french fries that she and Bobby likes lmao

-Jaiden often shows Bobby the basics of her job/s because of his interest in art

-Bobby is in awe of Juannaflippa because of her nerf gun

-all of the eggs are around 8-10 in this au I think but I’m still figuring out ages

-the au is called a garden of missed promises

-jaiden dyes her hair and convinces Roier to get a streak (she wanted him to get blue but they settled on red) and Bobby begged enough that they got him a blue underside of his hair

-they love to go biking together around the city

-the federation is kinda just the government for now,, they’re not nearly as bad as the canon federation and mostly are just in the background

-when they save up enough money they sometimes go out to a cottage on the countryside and hang around there

-Bobby and Tilin originally met when they had a fight at school that turned into their Roier and Q fighting over who has the best kid (they mostly made up though)

also it’s a sort of fantasy modern au only in that they are still hybrids instead of all being human- Jaiden is a parrot hybrid, Roier is a spider hybrid, Bobby is a dragon hybrid, pretty standard (not all the eggs are dragon hybrids though)

it’s VERY early qsmp based if you couldn’t tell already though I do want to add some of the other language creators (especially cellbit for spiderbit) but I’m still working on figuring out how they would work in this au! also Pepito and Empanada are going to be confusing to fit into this au- I don’t want to not include them but idk,, if y’all have any ideas they would be greatly appreciated

also people who expressed interest: (sorry for tag! I won’t do it again I just wanted to show y’all in all the same place)

@13minmailman

@kaihuntrr

@sleepdeprivedbooklover

@fruitlessjam48

@v01dw4tch3r

#turtleasks #turtletalks #qsmp jaiden #qsmp Bobby #qsmp tilin #qsmp au #a garden of missed promises au #q jaiden #q bobby

31 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

Text

First Date - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (NSFW)

NSFW - Mentions of torture and sex.

When Nestor meets you formally, you are torturing the shit out of the guy, he’s supposed to be torturing the shit out of. He’s seen you before with Marcus, always a warm greeting and a quiet conversation, sometimes an exchange of envelopes. He’s never been quite sure that it is you do for the other man until that day.

When he finds himself with a gun pressed to the back of his head he’s surprised. You move like a ghost, no tell-tale creaks or footfalls, no rustle of clothing, just the barrel of a Glock digging into his skull.

No one gets the drop on him; it’s refreshing until it isn’t.

When he turns to face you there’s a spark of recognition on both sides. You lower the gun as a professional courtesy before stepping aside and allowing him into the living room.

It’s a blood bath. The poor bastard is naked, tied to a chair with duct tape clasped over his mouth, his eyes wild and pleading as the two of you stand before him with your arms crossed. You’ve spent hours carving into him, nicks, slices, stabbing marks, all missing the vital places like organs and veins. Each cut a way of prolonging the pain. The sound of blood dripping onto the plastic sheet you’ve spread across the carpet is the only thing that can be heard throughout the house as Nestor surveys your handiwork. He’s seen it before just never this close. There’s a skill to it, he thinks you may have some medical training in your background because somehow this asshole is still breathing despite his injuries.

“I didn’t realise El Cuchillo was a woman.” He tells you, tilting his head to one side.

El Cuchillo.

The Knife.

“No one does.” You respond with a sigh. “Men don’t like to think woman are as capable of violence.”

“Evidently they’re wrong.” He says gesturing to the target, who’s breathing has elevated once more, now that he understands Nestor’s not the least bit phased at the abuse he’s endured. “What’s the job?”

“He molested the wrong person’s niece.” You inform Nestor, threading your fingers through your captive’s hair and yanking his head back so that you could look into those terrified eyes. “It ends when his body gives out and we are nowhere close to that yet. You?”

“Same crime, different buyer, someone close to us.” He responded before gesturing at your hostage. He watched as you released the other man’s head, shoving it away from you. “I’m supposed to make it painful, but it looks like you’ve taken care of that.”

“He’s ready for a change if you have something special in mind.” You told him with a shrug. “I have to go track down his hard drives anyway. He says they're in the bedroom, but he’s at the point of telling me anything he thinks I want to hear.”

Nestor admires the fear you’ve instilled in this man, he’s not broken, not yet but he’s getting there. He’s clinging to that thread of hope that someone will realise he’s missing, come to his rescue but Nestor knows you’ve both done your homework. There’s no one coming for him tonight.

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

Since you did the heavy lifting with the ‘interrogation’ Nestor thinks it’s only fair that he bears the brunt of the clean-up. By the time you’ve located the hard drives, he’s finished what you came here to do and moved the body to trunk of his car. He’s happy to dig the grave himself but you insist on coming along for the ride.

“I’d like to see it through.” You tell him. “It’s not that I don’t trust you…”

But it is what it is, you're freelance, he gets it. You need to make sure he does what he says he’s going to and truthfully, he doesn’t mind the company. He’s never met a woman like you, so forthright and practical, that doesn’t shy away from the harsher realities of life. You don’t mind getting your hands dirty. He admits there’s a beauty in your work, the dexterity of it, the elegance.

“I understand.” He tells you, tilting his head towards the hard drives. “You get what you need?"

“If he’s part of a ring I’ll find them.” You tell him.

He doesn’t ask what you’ll do to them, but he has no doubt that every one of them will die screaming.

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

To Nestor’s surprise you help with the digging. He thought you’d be exhausted after the length of your session with the dead fuckhead, but instead you’re in the hole with him, sweating despite the chill in the nighttime air. The two of you work in silence, it companionable, each in your own thoughts. He thinks you’re planning your next steps and he’s thinking about fate. The fact the two of you are in the same place, at the same time, working for two different clients. Shit like that doesn't happen for no reason.

There’s no protocol for this, the two of you live in dangerous worlds. You’re the first woman he’s met that gets it, that he doesn’t have to hide this part of himself away from. He thinks that’s potentially part of his attraction to you, the rest…

You have an oddly soothing presence. There’s a calmness in you, even after the act. It washes over him and he realises he can hear you singing under your breath as you shovel the next set of dirt. He knows the song, it’s one he’s grown-up hearing. He doesn’t realise he’s singing along until you tilt your head towards him, with a smile that makes him feel like he’s seeing the sunrise for the first fucking time in his life.

When he looks back he thinks that was the moment he fell in love.

Digging a grave in the desert and singing along with a beautiful woman.

It was fucked up, but to Nestor it’s one of his most treasured memories.

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

You’re both covered in dirt and grime, dust in your hair by the time you clamber back into the SUV. He can tell you're tired, he feels the same way. All the shit you’ve done tonight it takes a toll. Physically, emotionally, it leaves a hollow in the aftermath. It’s lonely, this life, Nestor has resigned himself that but now he sees it doesn’t have to be. He leans back in his seat, his hands on the steering wheel as he stares at the space where the two of you buried a body together.

“You got plans tonight?” He askes you.

Your cheek is pressed against the headrest. Your skin flushed with exertion, and it brings out something beautiful in you. He wonders if that’s what you look like in the height of ecstasy, eyes bright and burning for him. You feel it, he sees it in your face. That intensity in your expression, the one he feels deep down in his bones.

“A hot shower and a comfortable bed.”

The question is unspoken. It hangs in the air between the two of you in the silence of the car. He could stop, he could turn the engine on and drive you to wherever you need to go but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward and kisses you.

It’s a wildfire that steals away his breath, it floods his senses, searing through them until he’s lost and the only thing he can focus on is the sensation of his lips on yours. He hasn’t felt like this before, he's never allowed himself to. With you it’s easy to give in.

“Can I join you?” He whispers, his nose trailing along the length of yours as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek.

“I think you should.”

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

There’s a tenderness in Nestor that you don’t expect, it’s in the way he touches you underneath the shower water in your hotel suite. His hands, the ones that have committed unspeakable acts, are gentle as he explores your body. He kisses you like he treasures you, like you’re the most cherished thing on this earth and you allow yourself to fall into it. After all these moments are fleeting.

There’s not another man that makes you feel this way, that ever has and you want to make it last. You don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you, but somehow it feels like you do. Your palm comes to rest on the nape of his neck, holding him close so you can look into his eyes as your fingertips trail over the tattoos that decorate his torso.

There’s a heat burning inside of you, and he stokes it with lingering touches that make you moan into his mouth. He hasn’t touched you there not yet, you sense he wants to draw it out as long as possible so he keeps you in that heightened state of elation. Every single trace of his fingertips sends a burst of ecstasy through your synapses, and you never want it to end.

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

Nestor has you right where he wants you, amongst the sheets on a bed that costs more than most people make in year. The way the two of you fit together, it’s perfect. Like you were made just for him. A piece he didn’t even know was missing. You’re in his lap, his eyes on your face as he watches you, the pleasure in your features, the way your skin flushes as you tip your head back. His hands are on your hips as he thrusts up into you at a maddening pace, one that keeps you on the very cusp of ecstasy. He hears the hitch in your breathing, and he knows you’re close again, that you’re teetering. He knows if he just hits that sweet spot, he’ll send you tumbling over the edge and you’ll take him with you. But Nestor’s a disciplined man, he wants this to last, he wants to remember this night for years to come because he thinks maybe he’s found his soulmate and if he just gets to have this one night with you he’ll die happy.

So, he stops, he holds you in place as you tremble with euphoria on his cock and it takes everything he has not to snap, not to give you the completion you crave, that he craves too.

There’s an intimacy in this moment, a balance of trust, a vulnerability and when he looks at you he feels it. You’re giving a part of yourself to him, letting him see a side to you that one else has and he cherishes that because he’s giving you a part of himself too.

“I don’t want this to end.” You whisper against his skin.

“It doesn’t have to Pequeño Cuchillo.” He tells you as he begins to move again. “We’ve got all night.”

Love Nestor? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor mayans #nestor oceteva #nestor #mayans #mayans mc #mayans fx

145 notes · View notes

anamelessfool · 11 months ago

Text

Papa Knows Best (AO3)

From my "Domestics" Ficlet Series

GEN Young Primo (1962)

Tags: Mother and Son, Vintage Suburban Childhood, TV Rots Your Brain, Single Mom, Latchkey Kid, Fluff and Humor, Maybe I should send this to my Therapist, Sorta Sad Fluff Because That's My Brand

First and foremost dedicated to @fishwithtitz the most badass mom I know (besides my own), @ghuleh-recs because they like my Young Papa HCs. Also special shout out to @thew0man and @can-of-pringles for their unbelievable support.

Ficlet below the cut!

1962

Primo [Irving Robert Olson] was born at the New York City Chapel of the Satanic Church of the Void in 1953 to Sister Nance and Brother Nihil. He and his mother left the Church in 1960. Looking back, the fact that his half-brother Secondo was born the following year was probably a strong factor in Nance's decision.

The world wasn’t designed at all for a single parent household. His mother Nance did what she could to be there, but it was hard making ends meet as a poet and freelance writer so she was often out late, teaching at the nearby college or researching for the occasional newspaper gig. Nance would date other men but none stuck around, especially when they had strong opinions about her son. She preferred being alone anyway.

Primo early on learned to take care of himself, and to understand that she couldn't really attend all the bake sales, meetings and neighborhood events like the rest of his classmates.

He would ride his bike home easily enough, over the train tracks, quickly past the kids shooting bottles off of the rails with bb guns. Primo was the heaviest kid of his age group, and the other boys delighted to remind him of that. (He also was the strongest kid so they kept a healthy distance from him when they started crowing about his weight as he rode past.) He would arrive at the house soon after the train track gauntlet, parking his bike by the front yard vegetable garden. The key would always be under the mat and a sandwich in the fridge just for him. If Nance would be home past five o’ clock there would be a note for him with a silly doodle by the phone.

Primo had a big imagination, but he was never interested in books. The two things he really enjoyed was his portable turntable and the television. He had the entire week’s programming memorized and luckily Nance wasn't around right after school to chide him about too much of it rotting his brain.

One of his favorite programs (besides the Lone Ranger) was a sitcom entitled Father Knows Best. On the afternoons it was on, Primo would scoot up too close to the television, twisting the volume knob until it would not crank any further. He even dared to eat his sandwich right in the living room, the plate balanced on his lap. No one but the bronze Baphomet sculpture on the side table ever witnessed his small acts of defiance. But it was a little ritual that he enjoyed as the music swelled and that familiar house with the white picket fence appeared on the screen.

He felt odd watching it, like he was spying through the window of a classmate’s house. Trying to understand the ins and outs of this perfect family and their small dramas. Often he imagined the television screen was a window to an aquarium, a zoo exhibit featuring a rare organism. Sometimes he felt it was the smiling figures on the screen that were the real people, and he himself was the creature in the enclosure. Those were not very good days.

At the end of each episode Father would strike a dapper figure, poised against the stiff gray couch, wearing an equally stiff but smart suit even in his own home. He'd thoughtfully put his pipe to his lips, nodding at his son standing sheepishly in the middle of the living room. “Now I suppose, Bud, that today you’ve learned the importance of telling the truth,” he would chide smoothly. His voice would keep a manly tenderness despite his scolding. “And because you didn't tell the truth today, you lost the money that you were planning on buying Barbara’s birthday present with.”

“That's the pits, isn't it,” Primo said out loud, half to himself and half to the bronze Baphomet nearby.

But like the namesake, Father always knew best, and the son would get a few new dollar bills, a playful rifling of his hair and an order to go out and play. THE END, announced the title card, and the music would wash across Primo sitting in the living room alone.

“Is Mister Walter coming back this weekend?” Primo expertly captured another one of Nance’s Sorry pawns. It was evening and the two of them were doing their usual after dinner bonding time. It was fun to chat and play board games with his mother, but Primo secretly enjoyed them better when there were three people playing.

“Mr. Walter…hated cats,” Nance muttered through her cigarette. Apparently a lot of them hated cats. Primo thought it odd this was a hard limit for Nance since they had never owned a pet bigger than a goldfish.

“He was alright,” said Primo. “He liked watching TV with me.”

“TV rots your brain,” Nance replied. “Have you been enjoying Robinson Crusoe?” She had gifted the book to him for his birthday and had subsequently planted it in strategic locations to encourage him to read it. He kept reading the first page, getting confused, and then putting it down.

“TV makes sense.”

“Yeah, of course it does. Take a plot, throw it in the mixer and then drink it up. I once got offered a job writing one of those family bilgefests and turned it right down.” Nance had forgotten they were playing the game. She tapped her nail on the table. “You're smarter than that, Irving.”

“Mom, it's your turn,” reminded Primo. He stared hard at the game in front of them. “There was a good Father Knows Best episode today. Bud lost the money for Barbara’s birthday gift.”

“Father Knows Best?” Nance’s neat ponytail twitched. “Irving, you know best.” She moved her piece and collected one of her son’s pawns off the board. “Sorry.”

Primo started to feel her seething agitation, although he knew it was never about him. “Are you…thirsty?”

“Are you offering?” Her small elfin smile started to emerge. “Shall we split a Coke?”

Primo nodded and obediently went to the icebox, grabbing one from the door. He pulled out two glasses and carefully emptied the bottle into them, stooping and staring with intensity as he ensured the Coke was perfectly divided between them. He returned from the kitchen, fully smiling now, and handed one to her. Nance did a silly toast and then they clinked glasses.

Nance sighed and ruffled her son’s hair. “I'm sorry this is hard. But it's necessary. You'll understand soon. This world is full of idiots who wait for things to happen, and it never comes. Who expect things to go a certain way. Who think someone else knows what's best.”

Primo suspected she must have had a rough day. She was usually cheerful, quippy and energetic but today she gloomily tapped the ashes from her cigarette into the crystal ashtray and stared at the Baphomet across the room. At last she sipped her glass and waved her hand around.

“But all of this? All mine. I made this happen. I did it. And I'm not holding my hands out at the sky either. I'm grabbing what I want with my fist.” Nance's face softened. “And I love sharing it with you, son. I choose to share it with you.”

My AO3 | Tumblr Fic List | My Terzo/Omega Fics

Please comment and reblog! Thank you.

#ghost scenes from the void #young primo #papa emeritus i

25 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 1 year ago

Text

Sam and Max Beyond Time and Space Retrospective: Night of the Raving Dead

Happy halloween all you happy freelance police. I"m jake and my Sam and Max Beyond Time and Space retrospective continues as Sam and Max fight a guy who sucks just in time for spooky season.

Chapter 3 gives us a fun spooky good time as we have zombies, frankenstines and vampires as our dynamic duo have to beat a club hopping german vampire before his army of the undead conquer the world. So a normal tuesday really. Can our heroes save the world.. again? Will we have to see a lot of pierced vampire nipples? Is Lincoln still the worst Short answer, of course, just look at the article image, and i'm still in cringing agony so.. can confirm. Long answer is under the cut!

Night of the Raving Dead begins In Media Res and milks it for all it's worth: Sam and Max are in a soul sucking machine, at the mercy of Jurgen, a european vampire who never wears a shirt but does gladly show off his pierced nipples. Still better than bebops. Firm 6/10.

At any rate pierced nips aren't the issue as the threat here is your old fashioned spike wall style trap I know just the man for the job but sadly he's was a bit busy with his own spiked wall issues

So instead we flash back to the start of this tale.

And to my delight our heroes continue to pile up junk in their office. Sam has now added a holy urn and is still high priest seperation of chruch and state kneels before god emperor priest president Max!

Our heroes have a bit of infestation though in their office there's something all too familiar

youtube

These are not greasy teen zombies or greasy gnomes or even the dreaded Crombie, but European Zombies! So it's up to us to talk to everyone and find out why. In an intresting reversal this time it's Bosco whose closed, while Sybil's reopened her place, because we psychologically tortured him into disappearing.

Sybil meanwhile is looking for love in all the wrong places as after her relationship with Abe Ended she's restarted her dating service.. but just for her. After the obvious sex work joke because this is the 2000's, Sybil is basically screening dates... and is currnetly screening a moleman.

But after he failed we're left with Harry Moleman. Whose back for some reason. Gotta reuse those models I guess. He has aboslutely no shot and Sybil is being just polite. He also has a choclate heart we'll need later and a fear of zombie's we'll exploit later

Moving over to Stinky's her latest special is a gooey cake/chekov's gun, while her latest item we can grab is a sunlamp bulb since even she has no idea why it's there, but the plot does. The plot sees all.

Anyway abe's also there.. .and still the worst as he blames Sybil for the breakup, is stalking her and won't shut up

Yeah I liked Abe at first.. but in a record TWO episodes he's gone from endearing into the hall

It's a shame too as I really DID like abe in season one and the first episode of this but this gag, ESPECIALLY wiith how the sybil plot concludes, really dosen't work.

Thankfully we move on to our boys the C.O.P.S. who have decided to captalize on this to sell internet to zombies, via online trial discs. For those too young to know what those are

For now though we can't get any of those future coasters, but we do found out poor bluster has some brain damage which was also funnier at the time. We do find out the source of the ZOmbies: the zombie factory in Stuttgard, Germany. And to my shock Stuttgart is a real place. I would've asked my german friend , but she needs sleep and isn't awake till midnight like moi.... am I a vampire? ... no. No I love garlic bread too much to make that sacrifice. Then again It'd also make it easier to meet Matt Berry.. dammit this is a dillema.

While I mull this over we move on to Stuttgard. I didn't ask said friend, @galaxysupernaturalstuff because again, asleep.. and because I forgot earlier. Though I probably DON'T need an actual german to tell me "yeah Stuttgart isn't a small villiage with a giant castle in the middle of it. "They thankfully don't do too many german stereotypes about the country as a whole, the only gags they do being the fairly innocent beerstein and the fact Midtown Cowboys is big there. It's done more in a tounge in cheek way than anything genuinely offensive.

Turns out the Zombie Factory is both your standard spooky hammer horror style monster castle.. and a club, and to get in we need to get past the bouncer, good old superball.

youtube

Yeah like the Bosco scremaing thing this is a runner nad a truly great one. Also unlike that one it's both nonseical and you can't get punched for it. He's working for Jurgen, our big bad, because his doors are rich fine mahogany.. and he needs SOMETHING to do after the divorce. He was married. I'd.. genuinely forgot that.

To get past him we once again have to do something that's likely to get me sent to hell for playing this game: take a brain from a fresh corpse

Then we throw it to a gargoyle which suprisingly ISN'T alive, nor voiced by keith david despite it being night, allowing us to cut the line.

It's inside we get a ZOMBIE DISCO BITCHES. We meet our arc villian and the mastermind behind this half baked scheme, Jurgen. Jurgern.. is a deliglight: he's basically every 20 something trying to seem cool by clubing distilled into a vampire and given a german accent and nipple rings. And he is glorious. The fact his plan is just "Conquer teh world with zombies" jah helps. our heroes just try to go for the head.. but Jurgen can teleport so we need to take the source of his powers: his...

And it's fun too as each one is simply hitting him with his vampire weakensses.. and the how, as usual is fun and redicuous. That being said actually solving these puzzles.. is a lot. I ended up hitting a dead end: I figured given the tropes at play that the key was to trigger some type of hidden entrance to get up to the balcony to replace the bulbs in the spotlight with the sunlamp. And it is.. btu the how is INCREDIBLY overcomplicated. While the writing couldn't be stronger this chapter and where your supposed to go MOSTLY straight foward, the actual puzzles are often overcomplicated. The ones in the Zombie Factory itself rely HEAVILY on a dj soundboard , which you have to put the right words from one of jurgen's poems into, without it being clear which words in the poem are a clue. Also solving the spotlight DOSEN'T fix the problem and you still have two other things to do to him, only one of which is pretty easy to figure out since after Jurgen mentions he's a huge midtown cowboys fangboy, a new area unlocked announcment shows up. As it did with the COPS when this castle unlocked. Both a great gag and a nice bit of gameplay magic to make this easier.

So yeah.. I used a guide for most of this. This is one of the trickier ones gameplay wise and if you don't adventure game often or have a lot of patience

It can be maddening. There's also another "pick a random dialouge option fo ra song" puzzle like last season, which just.. isn't fun. Picking various options is only funny if there's multiple jokes, like the cooking without looking segment from last game. Basically asking "PICK RANDOM DIALOUGE FOR US FEASANT" isn't fun it's just keeping me from having fun with the part of the game I actually like.

So with that we an shine a little sunlight on Jurgen's life, causing him to freak out and loose a little respect of his fanbase. Like any influencer in embyro, just one stab to his rep isn't going to do it but it's a start. Next it's time to return to Midtown Cowboys! Their probably hiding a cow. Midtown Cowboys have been saved from cancelation baby! See back then Networks actually.. payed attention to things like audience numbers or dvd and digital sales instead of guarding the numbers like a cave troll so they can cancel whatever they want whenever they want. Gee I wonder why the actor's strike has taken 105 days with that kind of job security.

As it turns out Midtown Cowboys is HUGE in germany, with WARP having converted to just shooting Midtown Cowboys and spinoffs. Hey at least they beat Disney+ to the punch with that model. Turns out the statoin lady's been TRYING to get our heroes back in they've just been busy and such.. and max also deleted her messages because he be like that.

We also reunite with my boy Mr. Featherly, who legally changed his name from Philo Pennyworth. While he DID go back to theater even he can't resist the siren call of "buy your own private island fortress" money. Max naturally signed away those rights without thinking. They lost 4 executives that day..so you know it's not all bad.

We can still use the broadcast to our advntage though, stashing some garlic cigarettes from outside the castle in Featherly's bag as a prop. What follows.. is comedy gold. While we sadly don't get a cookin without lookin sequel, I wanted to use baboon hearts, what we do get is just as funny as we get a very special episode, the kind sitcoms used to do to tackle the heavy issues instead of just weaving them in if it fits the tone.

The cowboys hold an interviention for mr. featherly, who finds out they were indeed hiding a cow but he has his own cow.. a smoking addiction. Even Bessie is disapointed. It then quickly turns into an add for smoking and why it's totally rad and you should all do it as their sponsor.. is garlic clove cigarettes. It's so fucked and I love it. IT's a simple idea i'm genuinely suprised I haven't seen elsewhere and genius.

So with that we just have one last thing to destroy this man's career: we need a man of the faith to bless some water bottles we got at the club. But since Shelby isn't around, we'll have to make do with max, dunking the water bottles in his sacred urn while he gives us the sacred rites

The problem is as seen with the cigs, while Jurgen is many things, a hipster, a scene kid, a goth, a tool, a vampire, a mild german sterotype, a dracula, an emo, a direct to video sequel to Dracula 2000, a nipple piercing sorta guy, european, german, big dicked, bad at poetry, a plagarist, a mad scientest, an outer god... he is not dumb enough to let people carry in his weaknesses. Dumb enough to keep some of them in his private lab as we'll see, but still not dumb enough to let vampire hunters right in.

So to get it past we have to have max drink the holy water. You'd think this would mean max would get set on fire, another vampire weakness but it just give shim a halo. I guess his own religion can't cast him into the firey depths.

It's a once again limited time thing.. though I don't get WHY in this case. I get having it wear off to show it has to be used IN the castle.. but why does it wear off on the dance floor.

Anyways to beat jurgen we have to out out emo him with lyrics about darkness, no parents, continued darkness, and of course

We DO basically win, but normally jurgen would copy us. I know because I did this puzzle before knowing the solution. He drinks max. Thankfully his drinking Holy Water makes him need to go potty. You know if I had a nickle for every time we had to defeat one of our foes by making him need to go to the bathroom i'd have three nickels.. which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened thrice.

So we follow Jurgen to his lair but given we've only done three puzzle's we're not done yet, two act structure and all as SAM AND MAX ENGAGE IN THE MOST THRILLING BATTLE OF THEIR CAREERS... bringing them to the trap.. which thanks to Sam being busy recapping, works and swallows our heroes souls. Jurgen goes.. somewhere, leaving us in his study. We find some useful junk, including a stake, and a monster.

This is Jurgen's Monster, who like his master I dearly love, a poetic beast whose mad you brought him to life as he's so lonely. Can relate dude, can, relate.

Helping him win a date with Sybil is our main quest from her eon out as she has a soul mater, a weird horrifying eldrich device she dosen't know how to use, so her finding her soul mate means we can have it. Which is good because Sam and Max's souls don't want to go back after how their bodies have misused them, waiting to go to the next life. To put a stop to our souls going to hell a few chapters early we need that soul mater.

What follows is a LOT of stuff since we don't have just 7 days to make jurgen a mannnnnnnnnnnn. We can't get him pink and quite clean but we CAN get him a brain via our old friend Flint Paper and the Zombie of Abe LIncon. Yeah turns out Abe was buried in Stuttgart and thus we meet the real abe whose loyal to his dead wife and actually likeable. Sadly he's brutalyl murdered because Flint Paper is on the warpath. He wants to kill us because "THey'd rather be dead than undead!" Sam and Max don't remember making him promise that and thus use another hidden passage to knock him out and get the brain.

Next we need a proper hand. Thankfully the zombie from the intro stole jessie james hand, which is now alive and holding up girl stinky. To get it we need to trick it and this puzzle is clever: the hand hops every time it shoots. So we simply have to make it get all the way to girl stinky, then put his attention her so it goes the other way.. straight into the goey cake. We got our HANNNDDD BACCCKKKK.

We now need to give him some heart. This one's a tad overcomplicated, even by this chapter's standards: first we need to play the cops game for this chapter, distrubing internet demo disks paperboy style. This game is tricky, but unlike the difficulty in this chapter, it's a fair kind once you figure it out. You have to move your car to be in the right position to hit the zombies with a disk. It's still hard, but it's the fun kind of hard

With that we have a big anetna we can bolt cutter off the car and use to power up Jurgen's alchemy machine.

To get our final body part though we need to play the dating game against featherly and harry moleman

Harry is just hopeless and Featherly is pretentious: LIncoln's brain is the only thing Sybil liked about him, and the hand has jurgen spell out I love sybil. Awwwwww. We just need a heart of gold as the ones we have are a clock and plants that make us into mr. van dresen. I mean .. you'd think playing a good rendention of lesbian segull would woo her but I guess it's not her thing.

No we need a heart. Luckily Harry takes his time answering a question and has a choclate heart, and even more luckily this time ruining his life dosen't feel bad as he's tried to murder us, sybil and really had ZERO chance before shouting at us.

With that we can be in it to win it, using the science and the alchemy to give us a gold heart and winning Sybils. Unfourtnatley the game then makes a pretty bleh error in judgment, as Sybil realizes she still wants abe and.. runs off to apologize to the bastard

Yeah this joke is all kinds of messed up. I get her going back IS the joke, that he's bad for her.. but it just comes off stupid, and mildly sexist as it feeds into the old "oh women like jerks" sterotypes instead of "abusive relationships happen". I mean it's a lot to ask sam and max to be realistic, so i'm fine with that but it's not a lot to ask them to actually be funny if their going to do something this annoying.

So on that sour note the climax. We get our souls back and fight jurgen, who has a plan.. of.. some sort. Anyways we can't stake him because we're too slow, so we toss the soul mater to jurgen's monster pull the lever kronk and swap bodies, using his to finally put this chapter to it's eternal rest... but not before flint comes in and tragically jurgen's monster dies.

I'm.. still not over it but i've been asured he returns somehow. And there's no time to punch flint for this as it turns out the reason he dived in guns a blazing to see us earlier is that he needs our help: bosco isn't just missing... he's NOWHERE ON EARTH

Night of the Raving dead is one of my faviorite chapters writing wise, with lots of clever jokes, an all timer villian and tons of my faviorite characters.. and abe. The abe stuff drags it down slightly, but everything else is so good this is easily my second faviorite chapter of the games thus far behind Save the World's The Mafia, the Mole and the Meatball.

It still suffers from some of this games overarching issues: the puzzles are more obtuse, the writing can be a bit mean spirited, and I don't have a third thing. Beyond Time and Space thus far isn't BAD, and has legs up on it's predecessor with gorgeous environments, but it still feels a bit of a step back from the previous one. It's got a bigger budget.. but it's just not as fun as the later chapters of save the world. It's not a bad game, the writing is as sharp as ever and most of your terrible actions are too over the top to not be funny, but it dosen't have quite the charm the first one did.

Next Time: I .. genuinely dont' know. The descrption for this one is more vauge. the only thing I know for sure is we'll finally meet THEM

Thanks for reading

#sam and max #sam and max beyond time and space #telltale games #skunkape games #halloween #vampiers #stuttgart #europe #midtown cowboys #Youtube

15 notes · View notes