#together for lco

[wellgoslowly]

WE ARE AT 30,000 SIGNATURES ON BOTH PETITIONS LOCKNATION!!!!!! I KNOW IT MAY SEEM DISHEARTENING AT TIMES BUT DONT GIVE UP PLEASE

[losticaruss]

guys wouldn't it be crazy if me and my lco mutual got together to rewatch the show no no it'd be sooo crazy lol haha. we could get together on discord and binge it. lol

[victhinks]

On The Precipice Of Fear

Lockwood & Co. Angst week has started! Here is my contribution for Day One: The Universal Problem | canon divergent; @lco-angst-week

Also posted on AO3

TW: Aftermath of Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Reference Self-Harm, Self-Esteem Issues, Panic Attacks, PTSD

Lockwood was sure his legs would give out any moment now — keep it together, one step at a time. Lucy can’t know what happened, what Winkman did in that room. She would only worry, realize he was useless and dangerous before leaving — his resolve was crumbling as his trembling increased. It was only a matter of seconds until he would collapse in a heap on the ground. If she would only slow down for a moment—

Their mission to retrieve the mirror was an absolute disaster and Lucy was furious with him. As Anthony Lockwood trailed a few paces behind her, limping slightly from the mind numbing pain he had just experienced, her anger seemed to him a small price to pay for her safety. For her life.

His priority had always been the welfare of the people around him and seeing Lucy unconscious on the ground at his feet, utterly helpless to the things that odious man could do to her, left him with a blinding panic and desperation so profound he would have done anything to get him away from her. 

Now she was storming away from Lockwood, hurt and betrayed by what he had offered to keep her safe. (She was utterly terrified for him, but Lockwood did not know that). He was alone again, her back to him was proof of that and somehow the realization hurt more than all the pain in his body.

“Lucy,” he called out for her horsley, “wait, please.” His throat was raw from screaming, the electricity coursing through his body a sensation he was sure he could never forget. Tied to the chair completely at Winkman’s mercy, the fear shooting through him stole his breath and made his chest ache painfully. It hurt. He screamed when Winkman allowed him a respite from the current, his cries echoing loud enough he thought the whole of London should be able to hear him. 

Lucy did not listen, keeping her back to him and walking on hurriedly. The urgency in her step reminded him of the danger George was in. He needed their help, they had to get to him before Carver did. Lockwood tried to increase his velocity, catch up to her somehow, make this right, keep George safe. 

“Lucy,” he tried again, feeling weaker. His body was protesting against every step he took, the strain on his abused muscles getting more unbearable. There were dark spots in his vision — he dreaded losing his sight, he was useless without it — and the world was tilting slowly. “Luce—”

She whirled around to glare at him at last, blinded by her rage and all consuming fear to remain ignorant of Lockwood’s distress. “What?” she hissed, “I told you to save it! We need to get to George, everything you have to say to me can wait.”

Lockwood wanted to agree, tell her she was ‘right, of course, Lucy. I’m sorry, so sorry’ because what else was he if not enduring; always needing to keep pushing, keep moving, go forward, don’t look back— 

But his knees were shaking uncontrollably and he was sure they would give out any moment now — keep it together, one step at a time. Lucy can’t know what happened, what Winkman did in that room. She would only worry, realize he was useless and dangerous before leaving — his resolve was crumbling as his trembling increased. It was only a matter of seconds until he would collapse in a heap on the ground. If she would only slow down for a moment—

“Lucy,” he tried again, breaking off with a low groan of pain, arms circling his chest. 

Lockwood stopped walking abruptly, trying to take steadying breaths to keep the feeling of too much, his fault at bay. He was weak, he could not think clearly in the aftermath of his torture. It overwhelmed him, he could not process it, he needed to keep it secret so they would not worry, would not leave when they came to realize how pathetic he was. What leader could not keep their team safe? It could have been Lucy in that chair. What leader was he?

They needed to get to George. He needed to keep walking, Lucy expected him to. George needed him to. The urgency of the situation swept over him like a tide, leaving him barely able to keep himself upright. He had failed them again. 

“I just feel—” he said faintly, Lucy becoming a blur before his eyes. This was it, the end of his rope. Lockwood swayed dangerously. “I feel—”

The unsteadiness of his voice must have given him away because he heard Lucy charge towards him. “Lockwood!” she cried, narrowly catching him to keep him from falling onto the hard asphalt. Concern had taken over any previous feelings of anger or disappointment she may have harbored. Her arms wrapped around him tightly and he leaned heavily on her. 

In any other context, Lockwood would have relished the feeling of Lucy so close to him, her arms around him — keeping him from breaking — but the electricity, the torture, left him unable to take full stock of his body, least of all her gentle touche. He was numb, feeling everything heightened at the same time.

The last thread of his strength left him and his knees gave out. Lockwood would have crumbled to the ground like a ragdoll, had Lucy not been holding him steady. She guided him downwards slowly, until they were both kneeling on the ground. There was a strange ringing in his ears and her voice seemed to register from under water. After a while he realized she was calling his name frantically. “Lockwood, what’s wrong? What—?”

His breaths were shallow and reality was hard to grasp. The pain in his chest would not let him breathe properly, the shaking was increasing minutely. “Lucy—” he gasped, panic-stricken. He could not breathe. Why could he not breathe? What else had Winkman done to him? 

Lucy tried to calm him, reminding him to breathe deeply — breathe, Anthony — despite being decidedly agitated herself. She was out of her depth, not knowing what to do, not knowing what was wrong with him. They had to get away, go home. It was dangerous to stay outside.

“We have to go,” she said urgently when Lockwood’s breaths evened out slightly. He was shaking no less, still trembling like a leaf in her arms. If he heard her, he gave no indication, remaining resting against her.

Lockwood was too exhausted to think, in too much pain to remain tethered to reality. He was floating, escaping his aching body. It was unwise to be so distant outside at night, they were easy prey for any passing Visitor, but he could not muster the energy to draw himself into the present. 

He had to stand up, keep walking because George needed them, George needed him. And he promised he would always be there when George needed him. That's what friends were for. They had to go. 

With a cry of pain, Lockwood heaved himself off the floor by sheer power of will, panting heavily. He would have collapsed again, had Lucy not reached out to steady him. “We have to get to George,” he gasped, starting to walk again. It would take forever to get to Portland Row this way, so he walked faster because George needed them, he had put him in danger. If something were to happen it was his fault, his name at the door.

Lockwood started running, ignoring the violent protests from his body and Lucy’s shout of concern. The streets he passed were nothing but whirls and specks of light. He could not think, could not breathe properly because every breath anchored him to the present and led him back to the agonizing pain he was in. He would pass out, Lockwood was sure. But weakness was not an option now that George was at risk (and he could not leave Lucy alone with his unconscious body outside at night), so he kept pushing, kept running, forever onwards— 

“Slow down, damn it!” Lucy called out from next to him, her steps much more steady than his own. “We’re faster if we take a cab.” Right. At least that way he did not have to worry about his muscles giving out again.

When they reached 35 Portland Row, Lockwood practically jumped out of the cab to rush to the front door. Lucy was close on his heels and when they stormed inside to find George alright and snappy about their tardiness, Lockwood let out a long breath that had been choking him since regaining consciousness in the electrical chair. George was fine, they were all home together, unharmed. It was alright, everything was fine.

He sank to the ground in the hallway, resting his back on the wall entirely exhausted and breathing deeply. The shaking did not lessen, impossible to hide from his friends’ watchful gazes. They would know, they would leave. 

A series of heavy knocks on the front door made him remember Craver. 

Cold sweat was running down his back and Lockwood turned his sob of pain into a gasp as he stood once more. This was not yet over. He looked at Lucy, who had already unsheathed her rapier. 

“Lockwood, let me,” she demanden, motioning to the door. It would be the responsible thing to do. Let her answer it because she was actually capable of holding and using a rapier in that instant.

He could do neither, but he was more stubborn for his own good. “Stay back,” he said strained, stepping towards the door. It was his name on it. With a last glance at her to make sure she was ready and George was out of harm's way, he opened it.

Carver fell through and the ensuing struggle with DEPRAC robbed him of his remaining energy and all capacity to think clearly anymore. There was so much to worry about: the Boneglass, who had killed Carver, why? And Lockwood was in too much pain to face it all.

It did not help that images of Winkman’s smiling face were plaguing his already unorganized thoughts as he told him how no one would be surprised if Lockwood turned up with slashed wrists. 

He had never thought of it before and he would have certainly never done it like that . Too much blood, too untidy. He would have opted for a clean cut suicide. Pills. The Thames. Elegant, as far as these things could be. And more bearable for the poor soul unfortunate enough to find him. Perhaps it would have even passed as an accident.

What was he thinking? There were people depending on him now, he could not simply leave them behind to fend for themselves! (Why was the bottle of sleeping pills in his bedside drawer so appealing, then? Why was he staring at the sharp kitchen knives, imagining how they would feel slicing through his flesh, cutting him open to reveal the deep red in his veins��?)

Lockwood shook his head. This was in the past. He had left this in the past! It was time to worry about the future. This case would take everything out of him.

Lucy was seated on the sofa beside him, regarding him intently with a quizzical gaze filled with concern and emotions he could not quite place. She must be tired as well, weary from the mess their evening had turned into.

With a pang of guilt, Lockwood realized he himself had added to her burden. What had he done, collapsing in front of Lucy and worrying her unnecessarily. He was fine, always. No matter that he could not stop shaking and the vague tilting of the world around him had turned into a nauseating ache in his head. His chest was burning still, halting him from taking deep breaths. No matter, he was fine.

How unprofessional of him. He was supposed to be their rock, calm, stoic — they were all doomed if he let his feelings and needs take control of him.

“Lockwood?” Lucy asked in question and his eyes flew open from how he had tightly shut them to keep the tears at bay that threatened to escape them. It hurt, and he knew it should not matter — he could not allow it to matter — because they had a job to do , but he was tired and in so much pain (and Winkman’s face would not leave his mind when he sneered ‘a suicide pact it is, then’) he did not know how long he could keep it together anymore.

“I’m— I’m fine,” he stammered, voice shaking, wishing only to find enough strength within himself to muster the stairs and collapse onto his bed.

Lucy raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re trembling,” she stated, not unkindly, drawing nearer, “are you in shock?”

“He’s seen worse,” George’s voice quipped up from the kitchen. He was fixing a cup of tea, no doubt. “Lockwood, are you hurt?” George knew him too well, it was starting to become a problem.

“I said I’m fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth, pushing himself into a standing position with the help of the sofa.

Lucy stood with him. “Yes, and you keep lying, so pardon if we’re not convinced,” she said, gripping his shoulders and pushing him back onto the sofa. With him sitting and her standing in front of him, he was inadvertently reminded of Winkman towering over him, taunting him, torturing him —

At least his hands were not bound.

“What did he do to you?” Lucy asked him sternly. There was no getting out of this one. 

George stepped into the living room with a tray and Lockwood accepted his cup of tea numbly. The warmth was nice, grounding him to the present. 

“Who are we talking about?” George asked, confused as he took a seat on the sofa and watched him questioningly. 

Lucy sat next to George and explained the day’s escapades briefly. “Winkman” — Lockwood flinched lightly at the name, the two of them noticed — “he has the mirror or, well, the Boneglass.” 

And they had failed to get it, nearly dying in the process. 

“I saw you tied to that chair, Lockwood. What did he do?” she asked again. 

He wanted to laugh. Instead he scoffed. What use was it to spell it out to them? Why did she want him to say it? When the silence stretched on, he lost his patience. It was late and he was trying his very best not to break down in front of them. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could retreat.

“You heard my screams,” Lockwood answered monotonously at last, “I think you can figure it out.”

Lucy blanched, her face taking on a parlor that would rival those of Visitors. “That was you?” she asked softly, voice breaking at the last syllable, “I thought— I thought it came from a source. Christ, Lockwood—”

“He tortured you!” George exclaimed incredulously. 

There went his secret, then. 

[alphacrone]

Angst Week Day 1 - @lco-angst-week

missing scenes | AU | canon divergent 

X-posted on AO3

No book spoilers.

TW: discussions of death, injury, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal ideation

-

“I seriously hope you don’t have a soulmate,” George told Lockwood one evening after a particularly grueling job. “Because you are going to get them killed.” 

Lucy shot George a nasty look, but Lockwood laughed it off. “I’m not that reckless, George.” 

“Sure,” Lucy said bitterly. “And the sky’s not blue.” 

Lockwood rolled his eyes and grinned. He was certain he didn’t have a soulmate, else he’d be dead by now. The universe was set on taking away everyone he’d ever loved; his soulmate would’ve been on that list. 

“I hope Kipps is your soulmate,” George told him. “Then at least there’d be a silver lining when you managed to off yourself.” 

That made Lockwood laugh even harder. Lucy scowled and went oddly silent. He hoped she was just angry about the job and not jealous over Kipps. Lockwood couldn’t handle it if she wanted to be that bastard’s soulmate. 

Experts claimed soulmates were an unfortunate byproduct of The Problem. Whatever had twisted and torn the fabric of space and time between the world of the living and the other side had also played a cruel trick on humanity, linking souls at random. Most of the population never knew who their soulmates were as there wasn’t a reliable way of testing it, not without risking death. George had spoken of cases of near death experiences bringing soulmates together, but those were few and far between. Soulmates generally only found each other in romances and tragedies, and Lockwood did not want to live in either. 

“You should be more careful,” Lucy told him as they returned home, kicking off their shoes in the hallway and tossing their rapiers into the umbrella stand. “For yourself, if not for your soulmate.” 

“You and George worry too much,” he said. “I think I’ve been just the right level of reckless since the Bickerstaff ordeal.” 

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You just jumped from the top story of a house to, and I quote, ‘defeat a Visitor with the element of surprise.’” 

“And it worked!” Granted, he could have just thrown his rapier or silver net down, or let Lucy and George handle it from the ground, but where was the fun in that? 

With a sigh, Lucy turned to head up the stairs. “George is right,” she told him as she left. “Your poor soulmate…” 

That evening, in the comfort of his favorite armchair in the library, Lockwood pondered what Lucy and George had said. Was he really putting some poor person’s life at stake when he took risks in the field? It seemed unfair of the universe to link the lives of two strangers, especially when at least one of them was an agent. 

Sometimes Lockwood wondered if his parents had been soulmates. Maybe if they hadn’t been, one of them might have survived. Nothing about this soulmate business seemed good or right or fair. What was the point of entwining souls like this, only causing misery and strife? In old stories, the term soulmate was something beautiful, souls that were meant to exist together, souls that were meant to love each other. Now they were a worry at the back of your mind, a fear that kept children up at night. Love was never part of the equation. 

It was a fear that kept him at night too, sometimes. Not for himself, but for Lucy and George. What if their soulmates were agents as well, or relicmen or nightwatch, doomed to the same dangers that came with their professions? Would either of them simply die one night without a word? It was too painful a thought to linger on too long, so Lockwood let himself live in a world without soulmates, where a person’s death was their own and no one else’s.

In the end, however, he would be forced to understand that this was not the truth of the world. 

-

Lockwood had been shot. 

Of all the ways he’d imagined his own death, Lockwood had never actually thought a gun would be part of the equation. Ghosts had no need for firearms and relicmen preferred weaponry that could double as tools of the trade. Even in the moments he’d considered the Golden Blade might be his end, Lockwood had assumed it would be with that stupid gilded rapier of his during some heroic duel to the death. 

The fall was more in line with how he’d imagined it would all end. The crash landing in the bowels of the catacombs was a nice touch, very on brand. But this did not kill him, so Lockwood trudged forward, following the screams of his friends. His bullet wound screamed in agony, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to that until he knew Lucy and George were okay. 

His timing was impeccable. Lockwood took a leaf from Lucy’s book and chucked his rapier at Bickerstaff’s spirit, giving the others time to conceal his source again. They were both whole, both up and moving and alive. The moment the danger had passed, Lockwood fell to his knees. He could go now. He could rest. 

But when he said something to this effect, propped up between his friends, Lucy made a distressed noise and held him closer, supporting his abdomen with her hand. It was warm through the thin, bloody fabric of his shirt. 

“We won’t let that happen, will we George?” Lucy asked. Lockwood could barely grasp her words, as distracting as it was to have her hand on his stomach. 

“Never,” George said, and the intensity in his voice startled Lockwood. It had been a long time since anyone had cared if he lived or died, and now he had two of them. 

Unfortunately for them, Lockwood could feel himself fading. He’d never come this close to death, despite his best efforts, but he knew it was fast approaching. He hoped George and Lucy would be okay when he was gone; at least they had each other. 

Suddenly, the left side of Lockwood’s body went cold, and distantly he realized Lucy had pulled away. He looked over, vision blurring, and saw she’d slumped to her hands and knees, body trembling. 

“Luce?” He whispered. She didn’t respond. 

“Lucy?” George spoke more loudly, more urgently. “Luce, what’s wrong?” 

“I…” Lucy’s face had drained of color and her elbows buckled, sending her face-forward into the stone floor. “I think I’m dying.” 

“What? Were you ghost touched?” George surged forward, jostling Lockwood in a way that made his bullet wound blaze in agony. He and Lucy groaned out in unison and for a moment Lockwood’s vision went white. He slumped against George, unable to hold himself upright anymore. 

“Oh, shit,” George whispered. “Where’s Kipps. Kipps?!”

Suddenly Lockwood found himself lying on the dusty stone floor of the catacombs. George scrambled off, shouting for Kipps, shouting something about the keys to a pair of handcuffs, and Lockwood turned his head to get a better look at Lucy. 

Her eyes met his, distant and unfocused. Her breathing was labored, chest rising and falling in a painful staccato. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Lockwood understood. 

“What’s wrong with her?” He heard Kipps ask. “Ghost touch?” 

“No,” George replied. “Worse. They’re soulmates.” 

“Shit.” 

Shit was right. All this time, Lockwood’s soulmate had been some poor, faceless sod somewhere in the world, collateral damage in Lockwood’s personal quest to join his family sooner rather than later. But now it was Lucy, and he realized that every stupid, reckless thing he’d ever done had put her in the line of fire. It was inexcusable. It was monstrous. 

Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “Luce, I’m so sorry.” 

Someone was lifting him into their arms—Kipps, he thought distantly, since he could see George pulling Lucy to her feet—but Lockwood didn’t care. They could throw his body in the Thames for all he cared. He just needed Lucy to be okay. 

“We’re not tossing you in the Thames, Tony,” Kipps said, and Lockwood realized he’d spoken aloud. “That would only kill Lucy faster.” 

Kipps had a good point. Lockwood supposed a broken clock was still right twice a day. 

“You’re awfully rude for someone who needs my help,” Kipps said lightly. Lockwood couldn’t tell where they were going, but it felt like up. Surely he wasn’t already dead. Heaven didn’t exist and if it did, he certainly wouldn’t be let in. 

“Shut up,” George said and Lockwood realized he must have said that aloud as well. “No one’s dying tonight.” 

“Except Joplin,” Lucy wheezed. 

“Ah, well, yes,” George agreed. “Except Joplin.” 

Lockwood laughed as his vision went dark. 

-

The trip out of the catacombs and to the hospital was a blur. DEPRAC had arrived quickly and taken care of Winkman and his men. Lockwood knew he and Lucy and Ned had all been loaded into ambulances, though there wasn’t much anyone could do for Lucy in her state. George and Kipps were waylaid by Barnes, but George threw such a fit that he was allowed to ride in the ambulance as well. The pain and fear in his face chilled Lockwood to the bone, so he closed his eyes and let the darkness overtake him again. 

When he next came to, Lockwood was in a small room divided by a curtain. Someone was in the other bed, but he couldn’t see them, could only hear the beep of their heart-rate monitor. It beeped in tandem with Lockwood’s, slow and steady. 

Before long, nurses came in and took his vitals. They gave him water when he asked and explained that he was a very lucky boy, that he’d flatlined during surgery and had to be resuscitated. Fear and guilt pooled in his gut, and Lockwood tried to ask after Lucy, but it came out a jumbled croak of words. 

“Your friend should be back soon,” one of the nurses told him. “The one with glasses. He’s been by your side all day.” 

George was here. George would know where Lucy was—how Lucy was—and would be able to tell him everything he needed to know without sugarcoating it. Lockwood thanked the nurses and they left again, promising to bring him some juice. 

They were right; George arrived not long after, sipping on a Styrofoam cup of tea. He looked haggard and half-dead himself, eyes bloodshot and clothes still covered in blood and gravedirt. He gave Lockwood a small smile when their eyes met, then immediately scowled. 

“I can’t believe you got shot,” George said in lieu of a greeting. “Of all the stupid, reckless things you do on a daily basis, I never expected you to get shot.” He took his seat next to Lockwood’s bed, setting his tea aside. 

“I promise I wasn’t trying to get shot,” Lockwood said. Speaking was getting easier, but his chest still burned something fierce where the bullet had entered. “Lucy, is she-?”

George’s expression darkened. “You know you died on the operating table, right?” 

Lockwood’s heart skipped a beat. He had died. He had died, for a minute. That meant his soulmate-

Ignoring the pain in his chest and the tug of his IV, Lockwood shot up into a sitting position. He gripped his sheets, ready to throw them aside. “Is she- did she- she can’t have-” Everything went numb and cold. Panic fizzled through his veins. Lucy couldn’t be…

“I’ve never watched anyone die before,” George said quietly, looking down at his knees. “She was just…gone.”

The room spun. Lockwood struggled to breath. His hands shook. Lucy had…she had…

“They resuscitated her,” George said quickly, sensing Lockwood’s panic. “She’s alive, Lockwood. They resuscitated her and you and everyone is alive.”

Lockwood fell back against his pillow. The relief was overwhelming. 

“She’s alive,” a voice said from the other side of the curtain. “And can hear everything you’re saying.” 

George grinned and stood, moving quickly to pull back the curtain to reveal Lucy in the other bed. She was still sickly pale and hooked up to as many wires and machines as Lockwood was, but she was here and awake and alive. Lockwood let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Luce,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Lucy smirked. “Yes, Lockwood, I’m sure you were just begging to be shot.” Her tone was joking, but they’d been in a situation a little too similar to that not long ago at Combe Carey. “You couldn’t have known.” 

He couldn’t have, it was true, and he certainly hadn’t begged the Golden Blade to kill him, but there had been so many times before then where he’d put Lucy’s life in jeopardy. He should have cared more before when his soulmate was just a shadow of an idea, but the selfish part of him knew it only mattered now because it was Lucy. 

“Killing you is unforgivable,” he said softly. “You should be angry with me.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m fuming,” Lucy said. “As soon as we’re out of here, we will be having words. But not because you nearly killed me, Lockwood. Because you nearly killed you—again.” 

George moved his chair to sit between their beds, smiling softly. “We’ll be getting a lot more jobs after this,” he said, taking off his glasses. He rubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt, but it was so dirty it just made a bigger mess. “Better jobs. More dangerous, high-profile jobs. We’ll need to discuss your habit of getting into near death situations.” 

“Never again,” Lockwood said sincerely, struggling to push himself into a seated position. “I won’t endanger Lucy like that again. Not now that I know.” 

Lucy sighed and gave him a sad smile. “I wish you’d take your own life more seriously.” 

“You know what?” George said. “I’ll take it. I don’t care why he keeps himself alive, just that he does.” 

He laughed and so did Lockwood, but Lucy stayed silent, shaking her head. He knew she was mad at him, but Lockwood found her anger and her concern wonderful. It was a warmth he hadn’t known in years, one that sank into his bones and made his heart feel light. If staying alive meant Lucy was alive, that was enough to keep himself safe. 

But if staying alive meant Lucy was happy, then he supposed that was more than enough to truly live. 

[georgipopovich-voiceblog]

What’s a toy you bought but ended up not really liking? (LCO)

"Lord.... so we bought this harness that's meant for tying wrists and ankles together, it was a NIGHTMARE to put together and it's not even very good, the velcro couldn't hold a butterfly down."

[neewtmas]

hi lisa happy holidays!!!!

i just wanted to thank u so much for your christmas event it was such a great idea that really brought people together :) the messages i received really touched me and i wont forget about any of them!!

you were one of the first lco blogs i followed and also one of my first mutuals so like…… where would i be without you. you and your blog were such a great introduction into the fandom for me and i hope your holidays are incredible!! thank you so much for just being the absolute best and im so grateful to be your mutual!!

xx love

Thank you so much for this sweet message!!! It's crazy you say that I was your introduction because I honestly look up to your writing so much!! And I love bring your mutual🩷

Love you so much and have a very merry christmas🫂🎄💫

[imthediamondintherough]

Because im in a somewhat ok mood I thought I'd start with design lore and character details. I said I'd inform you @0lympian-c0uncil

So. A tip: I'm a bit of a clothes/fashion fanatic. I obsess over small details a lot. This is gonna be very evident.

Also I CAN'T DRAW. So there is no art for any of my characters.

Currently.

Moving on.

Right!

The new name for the series is now

Lore Chthonic Order

(Or LCO in abbreviation)

yeah you waited a long time and the title isn't even that good. hilarious right?

I took a lot of inspiration from much anime and existing series. (You know as authors do) so designs are heavily influence by anime characters and such.

I also said there would be other deites in this... series actually I haven't decided if this is a series or anthology (still working out that detail.)

I can't give all the characters information out (like the second protagonist) because that would be spoilery. But I got to give you guys something to make up for the delay in content right?

So let's get to infodumping!

Demeter and Persephone purposely have similar designs in terms of clothing choices. But that is when they are together and only when they are together.

Demeter's character design (as in physical appearance) is inspired by the character design for Type Moon's FATE/ Grand Order's goddess Parvati. At least when she's in her domain and not in typical "civilian wear" when she is around mortals. ...More on that later.

Typically her colors are various greens, whites, browns, and yellows because I like the idea that Demeter gives off a summer vibe (probably some unintended symbolism and hidden messages there. I'll let you work that out) so alot of her clothes are very summery and late spring based.

In LO, Demeter's clothes usually look very business like. Very formal (and kinda boring) BUT I like that choice in clothing it suits her business oriented mindset. (I also like business suits and think women look great in them.) But this is Demeter so I'll make a point to incorporate certain aspects fit for Demeter and what she stands for.

So lots of plant motifs and maybe summer fruit images on her more casual clothes and dresses. But I also want to reference the thing she's iconic for: Persephone. True the myths around Perse don't have the best light and everyone likes making it so it's a "okay" thing that happened (and depending on the version you prefer it kinda isn't...)but whatever! not relevant.

I want to hint at or allude to Persephone the daughter who (probably) ran away and the daughter she loves. In my story Persephone is only seen as her role as queen of the underworld (I think that's justified since the focus IS on all the underworld related deities...) So that means darker colors and delicate...ish appearing flowers (not the common roses. unless you mean "black" varieties and the thorns)

Demeter wants her daughter to be around her (but she's in the underworld for much of the beginning of the story so I think placing little references to her is a good idea.) Demeter herself will not wear too many dark colors and flowers are usually limited to reference her daughter Persephone. No Persephone isn't a delicate flower and in LCO Demeter recognizes this and accepts it. But she also still wishes she could keep Persephone by her side always. Hinting to her in her clothes as a sort of reminder is a good way to emphasize that.

And I like clothes. Like I really like writing about them so brace yourself.

Back to my first point Demeter's physical description design is based on Fate Grand Order's Indian goddess Parvati.

Incidentally Parvati is a mother like figure and in this story Demeter ends up a mother like figure to multiple people so is anyone surprised?

As for normal civilian wear-- well it's just what she wears when she is around a large number of mortals. Usually this is a dress or suit with floral details (or reminders of Persephone). And I think having suits have lots of references to Persephone fits because it's like... Persephone means business in both aspects of her role. And Demeter wants to follow that in her own way so while she can't ask Persephone to wear suits (though she's positive her daughter would look wonderful in them) she wears them herself as a way of hinting how proud she is that Persephone is her own person.

When Persephone is around and not stopping by to drop off a gift she wears clothes similar to her mother in terms of style and colors. Mostly to reference where she currently is. But being the goddess of spring she wears lots more flowers. As per request of Demeter to feel like the old days they are normally large flowers or flowers that would require a lot of... Sun....

Although on occasion, Persephone pops up randomly (which is how we have warm days in winter) usually just to say hi or let one of her children speak to their grandmother or she's doing a favor for another goddess then she still wears dark colors with minor or or more subtle hints to flowers.

[itripandfallalot]

It’s not often that Lockwood dissociates, and it doesn’t happen now. He’s good in a crisis, action oriented, lucid, and incredibly alert. He's always thankful for it in the moment, but at night, when he’s trying to shut his mind off, it doesn’t help as much. He pictures a dark room in his head, a new box in front of him, the crystal clear images of his memories in his hands, and one by one, he places them into this new box, and shoves it away into a corner with all the other boxes labeled, dangerous, do not open. He wonders, if he ever dared to examine all of them, how many boxes of memories he’s accumulated and compartmentalized over the years. And now, in this moment, as Holly says, “There’s been an accident,” he knows he’ll eventually be packing another box soon. George is attacked, and Lockwood spends a lot of time at the hospital, barely keeping it together. Book spoilers for The Empty Grave.

@lco-angst-week - Day 3 Lockwood and Co Angst Week Day Three: It’s all in your head [fear | self-doubt | guilt ]

[fandomscraziness22]

what is your favorite character trait from each of the jatp and lco mains? and how do your two favorite characters compare, in similarities to each other and to you?

thank you to whoever is sending these wonderful anons to jatp and l&co peeps, i love seeing all the answers on my timeline!!!

oh boy, that's tough!!

jatp: i loved julie so freaking much!! she was so strong, and had to learn to be strong in a different way to allow her friends and family to help her find music again. but also it was a choice she made on her own! i would like to think i have the same type of strength? I also just really enjoyed her relationship with all the boys, being willing to put them in their place but also loving the heck out of them and enjoying spending time with them.

lockwood & co: i love them alllllllllll i can't pick! lockwood's hard exterior hides such a soft heart. george is so frickin funny and smart and loves so deeply. lucy is the glue holding the trio together so perfectly, and is so strong and sure of what she needs (in the show). they all demand something from their friends, and aren't willing to let things slide when the work needs to be done. they all just work so well together, and george will absolutely tease the hell out of lucy and lockwood when they finally get together. having such a strong support system is something i have in common with them! my friends are my heart, and being able to do everything with them, and rely on them, is my favorite thing about where i am in life right now.

[wellgoslowly]

LINNIE TEXT POSTS HAVE RETURNED

[bella-rose29]

do you ever mixture two fandoms together like take a scene from lco but out pjo character' in it? eorigheirh

only in my head

although with that said I guess technically I'm gonna do that with my vampire!lockwood series Bite Me?

I don't wanna say too much bc it's actually a big plot point and a massive spoiler for something I haven't even written yet lol, and actually thinking about it it would be a very very very niche fandom for me to cross with lockwood and co (and idk if there actually is a fandom for the thing I'm crossing it with tbh)

but omg I'd love seeing how the pjo kids deal with l&co situations and vice versa that would be amazing

[treeremovalpensacola]

Discount program from Envu helps LCOs save on select herbicides

If you're in the Pensacola area, then you have probably already experienced the need for having to remove a tree or stump or getting your tree's trimmed. The cost of tree removal varies depending on a few factors, such as: - The type of tree that needs to be removed - The size of the tree - The location of the tree - The condition of the tree Pensacola Tree Removal offers competitive pricing for our tree removal services. For a full list of services Tree removal services visit Tree removal service in Pensacola for a fast, friendly and reliable quote that you can count on. This will help not only beautify your property but also is the safest way to do it. From now until Sept. 30, Envu‘s NOW Solutions program features four ways to save, including off-invoice discounts, select product rebates, agronomic pairing incentives and purchase tier rebates. “All of us on the Envu lawn and landscape team know that lawn care operators are up against a variety of weed challenges this time of year,” said Larissa Wolfe, customer marketing manager, Envu. “The NOW Solutions program brings maximum savings on proven solutions they need right now for effective weed control.” The program includes different agronomic pairing solutions, so LCOs can save more when they purchase select products together to solve for specific lawn and landscape diseases. The program also features savings on a range of herbicides. Celsius: A postemergence, warm-season herbicide that offers broad spectrum control on more than 120 weeds, including dollarweed, Virginia buttonweed, doveweed and bull paspalum. Tribute Total: Provides broad-spectrum, postemergence broadleaf weed, grass and sedge control in Bermudagrass and zoysiagrass. Revolver: Controls many grassy weeds such as Poa annua, goosegrass, clumpy ryegrass and tall fescue. According to the company, Revolver is readily absorbed by the foliage, where it stops the production of key amino acids. Specticle FLO: Provides preemergence control of troublesome weeds. It is an integral part of the Envu PRE3 program for maximum control of Poa annua. Specticle G: A versatile, preemergence herbicide that helps maintain premium, weed-free landscape beds for the entire growing season, according to the company. The post Discount program from Envu helps LCOs save on select herbicides first appeared on Landscape Management.

[lawassociate45]

Alternatives To Courtroom

As properly as some things of sentimental worth of what I have created along side of my art work. For example, supposing your death is brought on by an accident and anyone was held liable. Your property could actually be value quite so much of money, although you by no guardianship alternatives means noticed that money while you had been alive. It is essential that you simply put together a listing of assets that may be stored together with your Will. They are an expression of your wishes, however they don't have the identical authorized rigour as a Last Will and Testament.

A guardian of a kid has sure entitlements , obligations and powers with respect to that child. A guardian is liable for a child’s physical, psychological and emotional development and wellbeing and is required to make essential decisions alternatives to guardianship affecting the kid. A 4 method assembly between the legal professionals and fogeys can also end in a settlement of most if not all family legislation issues.

Usually that is set by a schedule agreed on by the spouses or set by the courtroom. During their parenting time, each partner can make day by day choices a couple of baby, such as choices about bedtime, homework, and meals. If you would possibly be at present serving to care for an adult 19 years of age or older who needs assistance with decision making as a end result of dementia, stroke, developmental disability or other situation that has affected their psychological functionality, there are a couple of choices.

The adult loses his or her decision-making rights and is considered a non-person under the law. At Lisa Feldstein Law Office we also assist shoppers with communicating preparations to the hospital to make sure the method goes smoothly special needs guardianship, revising delivery plans, assisting with delivery registrations and other elements of the method. We are “on call” around the time of the supply to reply questions from clients and hospital staff.

The effort to find new approaches that can better meet needs may lead to risks to individuals who are typically marginalized and vulnerable, and for whom errors in approaches could have serious, long-term penalties. The LCO has given cautious consideration to how to greatest meet these competing considerations. Regardless of the method taken, it is necessary to identify clearly who has legal authority – and therefore accountability – for any determination made, significantly in relation to third parties, but in addition for everybody concerned in the arrangement.

Unfortunately, she had a stroke, and was left in a vegetative state. Because no consideration had been given to her financial preparations, there was no one duly authorized to access her assets to assist pay for the payments excellent from the nursing residence for her day-to-day care. We assisted to put together a management plan, prepare the requisite court application, and appeared in Court before a Superior Court judge to have our consumer efficiently named as her mother’s guardian. In Ontario, every particular person over the age of 16 years is presumed to be able to managing and making choices for themselves in relation to private care and over the age of 18 years for choices regarding property. The United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities protects the rights of people with disabilities to train their authorized capacity – that is, the right to direct their private, health care and monetary choices on an equal basis with others.

In collaborative negotiation you and the other parent every hire specially-trained attorneys. You and your legal professionals signal an agreement saying that nobody will go to court guardianship trust or threaten to go to court docket. If the collaborative process breaks down, you and the opposite get together must hire new lawyers if you want to go to courtroom.

If not, it may be very important complete this kind to ensure you have the assistance and assist you need. In situations where both dad and mom are unfit or unable to care for his or her child, a court will appoint an applicable guardian for the child. This guardian is often a relative corresponding to a grandparent, aunt, or uncle, or someone else with a close relationship to the child and/or their dad and mom. Ratheal Family Law is a divorce and family law agency with places of work in Clinton and Yukon, Oklahoma.

Simply put, the Management Plan outlines the applicant’s (i.e. the proposed Guardian’s) particular plan for a way the incapable person’s property shall be managed and safeguarded. Income tax returns may be filed informally by the husband for his spouse. In practice, the Canada Revenue Agency doesn't insist on a signature on the return. However within the event of a dispute or inquiry, it may be unimaginable to deal instantly with CRA without both a pre-existing illustration document on file , an influence of legal professional or guardianship. Again this is in a position to require balancing the cost and value of a tax matter vs. acquiring legal authority as a guardian of property. 1 The Mentally Disabled Persons’ Estates Act offers for the court appointment by the Court of guardians of the property of a “mentally disabled person” but that authority is restricted to the custody and management of that person’s property and funds.

Public agencies similar to Area Agency on Aging (AAA’s) in Pennsylvania are using guardianship companies to back-fill strained authorities budgets. This pattern is contrary to the principles upon which the Independent Living movement is founded and represents a threat to each person with disabilities. The Court conducts digital pre-trial conferences for grownup and youth legal recordsdata requiring one or more days of court time. Judges talk about these trials with legal professionals to ensure that solely those requiring a trial are actually set for listening to and that point estimates are correct before trial dates are set.

[thetoxicgamer]

TSM’s 2023 Academy Roster Will Feature 3 Iconic Na Veterans and Former Lcs Champions

Dennis "Svenskeren" Johnsen, Kevin "Hauntzer" Yarnell, and Jason "WildTurtle" Tran last played on the same League of Legends squad five years ago. But as TSM's Academy roster members beginning in 2019, the group will reunite, the organisation revealed today. This triple threat will be joined by mid laner Stephen “Triple” Li and support Dragon “Dragku” Guo, who both hail from Australia as former LCO players looking to make a name for themselves in North America. This roster will compete in the newly-formed NA Challengers League, which will be replacing both the Academy and Proving Grounds tournaments in 2023. Svenskeren, Hauntzer, and WildTurtle played together for TSM during the team’s dominant hold on the league between 2016 and 2017. From the 2016 Summer Split to the 2017 Summer Split, TSM won three LCS championships in a row, etching themselves into the history books as one of the few teams to record consecutive trophy runs. https://twitter.com/TSM/status/1600883039193927680 Since that final year with TSM, however, the three veterans led very different paths in their careers. Svenskeren, for example, went on to play for Cloud9 and Evil Geniuses from 2018 to 2021 before taking a full year away from competitive play last year. His greatest achievement throughout this period happened in 2018 when he and the boys in blue broke into the semifinals at the World Championship in one of the best runs NA has had at the tournament. Hauntzer, on the other hand, stuck with TSM through a relatively disappointing 2018 season. After missing out on Worlds that year, he eventually played for a struggling Golden Guardians roster and with TSM Academy from 2019 to 2021. Like Svenskeren, Hauntzer was not able to find a team in 2022 and was forced to step away from competitive play. The team’s AD carry WildTurtle has become a journeyman in the LCS over the last few years, playing on teams like FlyQuest, CLG, and Immortals. Since 2021, the 27-year-old veteran has spent a lot of time at the bottom of the regular season standings but is looking to revitalize his career by joining some familiar faces. For anyone looking to scratch a nostalgic itch, the Challenger League might have exactly what you need when TSM’s Academy roster takes the stage next year. Read the full article

[spooky-lord]

bitches be like 'do you want a dad character who genuinely cares about his kid(s) but ends up hurting them in the process of raising them, usually due to unresolved trauma" like no if i wanted to see someone like that id go to my living room

[eruden-writes]

Lights, Camera, Orc-tion! (Part 3)

Summary: With medical debt looming over her head, Avicia Thorn can’t rely on her cam career to make ends meet. She applies for a slightly-better-than-minimum-wage data entry position at a motion picture production company.

On her first day, she stumbles onto the illustrious Kahdreg Vidaroc looming over the HR Recruiter, making demands. By the time she stumbles out of the office, she is Vidaroc’s new personal assistant. Whether she likes it or not.

Her pay gets even better when she becomes Vidaroc’s “girlfriend,” a ploy meant to stave off unwanted attentions from an highly influential siren investor. Farce doesn’t keep feelings at bay as they play pretend.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Epilogue ---

It took Avicia ten minutes to get to Sunset Boulevard and an additional ten minutes to find Java Brava. Crowds thronged the streets, bustling from one store to the next. Traffic lumbered and sped down the street, in a litany of mechanical noises. Somewhere, she heard a tour guide’s megaphone give a garbled explanation. She almost passed the unassuming coffee shop as she anxiously sought it. 

It was a surprisingly small storefront, wedged between an old bookstore and an antique store. Through the window, it gave off the typical air of a coffee shop. Warm, earthy reds and browns; cozy lighting; shelving that housed books and knick knacks. She noticed, while peeking in, a shelf ran along the perimeter of the store, set up with tiny chairs and tables. Further back, there were large stalls, made for larger bodies like centaurs, minotaurs, and more.

An indie and accessible coffee shop was really not what Avicia expected. She glanced down the street, at the corner, where a more corporate BuckStar stood in bright, flashy glory.

Kahdreg seemed more the quantity over quality sort, when it came to caffeine. Vaguely, she wondered if the BuckStar was new, if Kahdreg didn’t know of its existence, before shrugging and pushing into Java Brava.

A burst of pleasantly cool air licked over Avicia as she entered. Inside, an array of people sat, quietly sipping and talking over baked goods. Behind the counter, two workers - a demon and a human - flitted between refilling products or cleaning. The scent of vanilla and caramel and coffee filled the air, making Avicia’s stomach grumble a little.

As soon as the baristas saw Kahdreg’s order, they knew where she had come from. They both flashed her sympathetic smiles.

“Newbie?” asked the demon, their lips quirked in a cockeyed grin. Their work visor hung across one horn, as if they couldn’t be bothered to put it all the way on.

“Is it that obvious?” She laughed, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

As the two baristas started on the orders, Avicia dropped a tip in the jar and situated herself in a chair not far from the counter. She watched the two work for a moment, envying how they seemed to easily work around one another. There was a sense of camaraderie and, briefly, she wondered what the pay was in this shop. 

Probably nowhere close to a personal assistant’s salary.

Pulling out her personal cell phone, her eye gleaned over messages from friends and patrons. She shot off a message on her Bellamy Bluebell social media; vaguely explaining her change in situation and how she wasn’t sure if it’d put a hiccup in her schedule, just yet. 

By the time she was done with that, the demon barista called her name, listing off her orders. As she came up to the counter, the barista winked at her and pushed the full cup carrier. After taking a second to scrawl something on the paper, the receipt also slid across the counter. They grinned down at Avicia, pointed teeth gleaming in the light. “Chin up. First day is always the hardest, right?”

When Avicia glanced at the receipt, she realized they’d given her their personal number. Her eyes flickered up to them and, for a fraction of a second, the demon’s flirtatious smile faltered with nerves. The appearance of her smile eased their shoulders. She gave them a nod while thanking them, before steeling herself to make the journey back to the film studio. 

Though, she could’ve done without the hot drinks on such a sweltering day, she felt she’d grappled well with this sudden gofer order. 

Until she came up to the production lot’s gates, realizing she didn’t have her badge, yet. 

“Badge?” The guard on duty monotonously asked, stepping outside his guard post to address her. His nametag said ‘Frank’ and, in smaller font below, ‘he/him.’ He was human, but his build could put many minotaur’s to shame. She could easily see him as a bodybuilder in his off-time and briefly wondered if he also worked as a bouncer during the evening.

“I’m new. I haven’t even gotten my badge.” Avicia winced and smiled awkwardly. Between the situation, the hot drinks, and the warm day, miserable heat slinked up her body. She licked her lips, nodding toward the guard’s post with a hopeful tone in her voice, “Could you just-” 

The guard cut her off, holding up a hand to silence her. “No badge, no entry.” 

Fear and anger gripped at Avicia’s chest. Her eyebrows dipped into a ‘v’ as she spat back her own command, “Call Director Vidaroc. He can vouch for me!” 

The air round the guard changed. His eyes widened, just enough, and his shoulders tensed with uncertainty. Then, he narrowed his eyes at her, crossing his arms as his footing shifted. “What do you do, then?” 

“I’m Vidaroc’s personal assistant,” she hissed and was gratified by the surprise returning to the guard’s eyes.

He turned around, mumbling a curse under his breath as he stomped back to the guard’s post. Dialing in a number, leering at Avicia the whole while, she could only watch his mouth move. After waiting for a few minutes - probably for Kahdreg to answer the blasted call - a wince scrunched the guard’s face. Avicia had to keep a grin from her lips as he held the phone away from his ear. Yes, he certainly got in touch with her boss.

When the guard returned, he scowled at Avicia, face flushed from being reamed into. 

“Did you get ahold of Mr. Vidaroc?” She couldn’t help the dig. 

With a thumb, he pointed into the filming studio as the entrance gate rose. “Make sure you have your badge next time.” 

Avicia nodded, marching passed the guard and the barrier with her shoulders set. Surprisingly, it didn’t take her long to retrace her steps and locate the filming location. Almost as soon as she entered, the supervisors swarmed her, plucking their drinks from the trays and gushing gratitude before being swallowed up by the chaos again. 

She blinked, still recovering from the brief chaos. Her focus returned just as Kahdreg approached her. He relieved her of his drink, before holding out a hand to her. “Receipt?” 

“Yes- Oh, wait!” Avicia tore the paper back, pulling out her phone to take a quick snapshot of both the coffee shop’s phone number and the barista’s digits. She smiled innocently up at Kahdreg, before handing the paper over. Pulling her sweetest expression and most innocent tone, she explained, “If I have the coffeehouse’s number, I can call ahead next time.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her actions, eyes not leaving her until he side-eyed the receipt now in his hand. A snort left his lips. “Right. Has nothing to with this note about your ‘beautiful smile?’” 

Passing nearby, Elyon gave a theatrical gasp, putting her free hand to her chest as if she were utterly scandalized. “Kahdreg! Such wanton flirtation! If you’re not careful, Avicia will call HR on you for sexual harassment.”

The orc spun around so fast, Avicia felt the breeze of the movement, before he growled out, “Choke on your frap, Elyon!” 

Unlike the other crew members that paused or jumped at the echoing snarl, Elyon just cackled and continued on her way. Kahdreg turned back to Avicia in a huff. She watched the two with a curious gaze. Faintly wondering how long the two had known one another. 

“Anyway, your work cell and tablet arrived, Ms. Thorn.” Motioning to where she’d been sitting earlier, Avicia noted the cellphone and tablet in her spot. Along with what looked like a couple files and - hopefully - a badge on a lanyard. Leading her to her spot, Kahdreg continued, “Get synced up with my contacts and calendar. The file has instructions for all of it. If you’re hungry, lunch will be served at the craft table in-” 

He didn’t finish his instructions, before his attention was caught something. Before Avicia could say a word, the director was storming across the set, drink in hand and bellowing displeasure at a poor worker. Avicia watched him stalk off, lips twisted a bit in displeasure. With a shrug and a sigh, she turned to her new work tech and the file atop.

---

Night had fallen by the time Avicia ambled into her apartment. Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids, brain pounding from all the additional information she’d ingested. With care, she placed the work phone and tablet on her cluttered dining room table, before turning to the pile of mail she’d picked up from her mailbox in the main foyer of her apartment building.

Flipping through the mail, she sighed. Junk, junk, phone bill, junk, and two more medical bills. She tacked the bills to her refrigerator, intending to pay them what she could in the morning, before heading into her bedroom to change. She had barely gotten into her comfortable pajamas when a foreign sound chimed. 

Avicia’s eyebrows furrowed, sticking her head out of her bedroom. The chime sounded again, familiar but… wrong. That wasn’t her cellphone.

Suddenly, it hit her. With a heavy sigh, Avicia trudged into the kitchen to retrieve her work phone. Faintly, as she keyed in her code, she hoped it was just a random e-mail or reminder she could address in the morning.

No such luck. It was a text from one ‘Director Vidaroc.’ 

Great. 

‘You need to sync my appointments to my calendar, NOW. Your predecessor skimped on keeping it up-to-date and I missed an important meeting this evening. Fix it.’

Avicia frowned at the words. Her shift was over! She was about to type exactly that when she paused. Narrowing her eyes, she jabbed out, ‘Do I get overtime for after-hours work?’ 

‘E-mail your extra hours every week to me, I’ll verify whether you’re full of shit or not before it goes to accounting.’ 

Avicia’s frown deepened to a scowl, but - regardless - she punched back. ‘Thank you, sir.’ 

Taking a look at her cellphone, noting the time, she grabbed her work tablet and wandered into her living room. By the time her email opened, Avicia had settled into the couch. There were quite a number of unread emails in her personal work account, already. Most referenced the former assistant’s backlog. As Vidaroc’s personal assistant, she also had to monitor his business account. Which meant most of those correspondences had to do with appointments or something Vidaroc deemed too menial for his attention. 

There was a new email from Vidaroc - sent an hour ago - demanding she double-check all recent appointments. Further, she was to go through the backlog of emails and rectify whatever the former PA had failed at.

Tapping over to the calendar, she groaned. There were multitudes of highlighted times and dates, in various colors. Meetings with investors, execs, actors, producers, and some phrases - were those people’s names or companies? - she didn’t find familiar. She could already tell, after gleaning over the correspondences, many were in the wrong spot or canceled.

Heaving a sigh, Avicia heaved herself from the couch to find a notebook and pencil. This was going to take some time to untangle. It took some figuring out and, by the end, she had two pieces of scratch paper, with a multitude of crossed out times and appointments. With two highlighters, she found the appointments that needed to be swapped or entered in, before setting to work on the tablet. 

After the third appointment entry, her phone chimed with a text. 

She nearly threw it across the room, seeing Kahdreg’s text: ‘Took you long enough.’

Avicia took a deep breath, stilling the agitation in her chest. What a goddamn asshole. She gritted her teeth and, carefully, tapped out a reply: ‘I’m sorry, sir. There were redundant times, reschedules, and cancellations.’

Checking the calendar for whatever important meeting the director had missed, Avicia hoped to still the fiery itch in her gut. If it was so important, maybe she could justify his callous texts. 

All she could find with a single line: Dinner with Naera.

That just made the fire in her stomach burn hotter, her grip on her work phone making the plastic creak. To herself, she growled, “Keep track of your dinner dates yourself, you pompous ass.”

To Kahdreg, she sent: ‘Can you take a look at the calendar and see if everything looks in order, sir?’

A return text didn’t ricochet back. Chewing on her lip, Avicia stood and went to the bathroom for a soak, needing space from the piece of tech that tied her to Director Vidaroc. She checked the phone again, when she was done with her bath. 

Still nothing. Avicia tossed the phone onto the couch, a little ire in the motion, and stomped off to bed. 

What an utter ass he was.

---

A month into her job as a personal assistant, Avicia felt she found her groove. The workdays slid by and she’d carved a place among the crew. She even managed to squeeze in her Bellamy Bluebell shows on the weekends, even if it utterly exhausted her. At least she had Sundays free to recoup and visit her father.

She’d fallen into a comfort zone. Which was why, one morning, when she handed Kahdreg a couple items she had retrieved from his dry cleaners, she could tell something was off. 

The rest of the crew bustled about the set, intently giving the director a wide berth. It was like watching a river part around a boulder. He’d been glaring at his phone, lips twisted into a frown, not even deigning Avicia with a look as he accepted the clothing from her. The air crackled around him with an extra dose of agitation. The aura evidently keeping other co-workers at bay. 

But Avicia’s stomach sunk when his gaze flickered to her. The movement was sharp and intent, as if an idea had just smacked him upside the jaw and snapped his head in her direction. “Do you have any formalwear?