victhinks - Tumblr blog

[victhinks]

“Despair has its own calms” is an all time Jonathanism, right up there with “I am surely in the toils!”

[victhinks]

These two images live next to eachother on my phone and I thought yall would enjoy them together as i do

First image created by @ghostlygraphist via this post

[victhinks]

Reasons why Jon Archivist is truly a character of all time:

Had the police called on him several times when he was a young child

Keeps his rib and the ashes of the season one antagonist next to his stationary drawer

Promised he wouldn’t get lost in tunnels and then immediately got lost in aforementioned tunnels

Has no clue what a joke is

Learned how remarkably easy it is to buy an ax in central London

Had to have two separate interventions

Told people his place of employment before traumatising them for life

The first character he ever said ‘I love you’ to is a cat

Allegedly participated in amdram

Watches documentaries and collects some kind of weird shit (my headcanon is Soviet Union postcards) when he’s not being a paranoid mess

Canonically looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks

Knows nothing about library science

Fell head over heels for a man that he hated until he learned he lied on his resumé

Has been referred to as Jesus or Jesus-adjacent at least twice

Asexual icon

Knows what a meme is and said “LOL” in the first episode

Rode on a merry-go-round sometime during his university days because he was in a weird place emotionally

Died for our Jonathan Sins

Is probably a computer now playing minesweeper with his boyfriend and evil 200+ year old boss

[victhinks]

No I will not elaborate further

[victhinks]

hypothesis: vampires are magically vulnerable to light originating from the sun

observation: moonlight has no effect on vampires, despite being a reflection of the sun

conclusion: this aversion is not a result of light or its origin, but some property of sunlight only present in direct contact

hypothesis: vampires are extremely sensitive to uv radiation

[victhinks]

Lockwood could hardly believe his luck. It was one thing to have the privilege of working together with Lucy — his gorgeous, Talented, and incredible Lucy — it was another thing entirely to have her love him.

Or

Lockwood struggles with physical affection after he gets together with Lucy.

[victhinks]

Written for Lonelyeyes Week Day seven: Reunion | @lonelyeyesweek

Elias had been so terribly smug in the panopticon. “My Institute,” he purred like it was the most obvious solution to the puzzle presented to Martin. My Institute. It had always been the most significant part of him. And he had been too confident to win their bet that Peter wanted, more than anything, to prove him wrong.

Or

Peter dies but he also doesn't. Elias does not know that.

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Lonelyeyes Week Day six: Books | @lonelyeyesweek

Death had been an ever-present companion in Elias’ life, as much as he dreaded to admit the fact. He had lost so many people to the simple spell of time. No matter if they were affiliated with one of the powers, one day death would sweep in and steal them away from the face of the earth.

[victhinks]

Lonelyeyes Week Day five: Marriage | @lonelyeyesweek

Although Peter and Elias got plenty out of it, they had a price to pay for their marriage.

Or

Their patrons hurt Elias and Peter because of their affection for one another.

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Lonelyeyes Week Day four: Reincarnation | @lonelyeyesweek

Toying with Peter had to be one of James’ favorite pastimes. Well, technically he was Elias now. Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute. And he could not wait to meet Peter Lukas in this new body and make him squirm.

Or

James is Elias now. Peter has to figure that out.

[victhinks]

For Lonelyeyes Week Day three: Promise | @lonelyeyesweek

“I will be the first to succeed at a ritual,” Elias had told him once, when he was still James. Peter had scoffed. “Do you want to bet on it?” Elias had offered, and Peter readily accepted.

Or

The thoughts of a dying man.

[victhinks]

Lonelyeyes Week Day two: dream. | @lonelyeyesweek

Elias was so used to the comfort of his meticulously decorated office, the gentle bursts of power from the Magnus Institute itself, that the bleak, concrete walls of his prison cell were making him disturbingly sick with the weeks he had spent in confinement.

Or

Peter visits Elias in prison. (Or does he?)

[victhinks]

Lovelyeyes Week Day one: kiss. | @lonelyeyesweek

TW: panic attacks, murder

When they broke apart and Peter’s lips twitched upwards minimally, Elias could not help but wish his husband had been there to pick up the pieces in the aftermath of Gertrude’s murder. It was so much easier with Peter around.

Or

Elias kills Gertrude, then he kills Leitner. It does not leave him unaffected.

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It was only right Crowley brought his plants, but that did not explain why they stayed inside the Bentley. Aziraphale could see them now through the windows of Crowley’s beloved car, and it puzzled him to no end.

Or

Aziraphale finds out Crowley is living in the Bentley and invites him to move in.

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Lockwood groaned, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling and stretch. It did not help to lessen the pain, it never did. If anything, it made him more aware of its uncomfortable waves overcoming his aching body.

Aching. He was always aching now.

[victhinks]

‘This, too, shall pass,’ Kipps told himself, as he dragged his burning feet along the marble floors of the main building at Fittes’. He had been standing for the better part of the day, going from client meetings to DEPRAC briefing to supervising and leading the training session of his team, back to the little desk that had been cleared for him at DEPRAC. Fittes had given him a promotion of sorts, thrusting the responsibility of being the agency’s connection to DEPRAC for signing papers and organizing the taking on of cases onto him as if it was nothing on his already overexerted shoulders.

Or

Quill Kipps at the edge of his endurance.

[victhinks]

Pay For Your Liberty

For Lockwood & Co. Angst week, Alternative Prompt: There's No Way Out | hopelessness ; @lco-angst-week

Posted on AO3

TW: Panic Attack, Anxiety Attack, Suicidal Ideation

When Inspector Barnes shoved the paper over to him, Lockwood held his breath. 60, 000 pounds of damage repair was a lot of money his agency — he did not have. It felt as if the floor had fallen away beneath him and he was in freefall, rushing towards the hard ground with nauseating speed.

When Inspector Barnes shoved the paper over to him, Lockwood held his breath. 60, 000 pounds of damage repair was a lot of money his agency — he did not have. It felt as if the floor had fallen away beneath him and he was in freefall, rushing towards the hard ground with nauseating speed.

“Insurance will cover,” he told Barnes, voice strangled from the strain of rising panic inside of him. He needed to get out of here, get fresh air, take a breath and stop his hands from shaking under the inspector’s watchful gaze. Anything, to get out of here.

Lockwood knew the case was not covered by insurance. Before setting up Lockwood & Co., he had spent weeks painstakingly working through the files and documents, the entire bureaucratic nightmare that was the process of founding an agency. Of course, he had thought about insurance and turned the papers of a carton worth of files and binders to memorize all the conditions and offers provided by all insurances available to him. 

None of them covered cases where the agents went against DEPRAC’s official recommendations and guidelines at a humane price, so he did not insure anything that deferred from the status quo.

Using a magnesium flare indoors was a fire hazard and strongly recommended against by DEPRAC and the Fittes manual, as well as anyone with common sense. Lucy had saved his life with it though, and had she chosen not to act, it would have been a hopeless situation for him. 

It was abundantly clear however, that the insurance would not care for that.

Barnes knew this, and told him as much. “If you fail to pay your debt to Mrs. Hope in the next two weeks, I will shut you down.”

Lockwood felt dizzy. Barnes’ gaze was heavy on him, assessing him, judging him, waiting for him to fail, make a wrong move so he could snatch away the last thing keeping him alive—

He gave Barnes a sharp smile in return, hoping it was convincing enough. “I will settle my debts in time, Inspector,” he declared, rushing his words to distract from the shakiness with which they were delivered. Lockwood pushed himself into a standing position, bracing his hands on the table to keep himself steady. “Good day.”

And he was gone, rushing through the endless gray hallways in a haze. Where was the exit? He needed fresh air.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, when he was finally out on the streets, away from DEPRAC’s all-seeing eye. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, feeling a tide of blinding panic approaching him. 

What was he to do? There was no way he could pay this immense fee in two weeks!

Breathe, he reminded himself, blinking away the shimmer of tears that had gathered in his eyes and taking a few shallow breaths. Not ideal, but it would do.

He could not afford to lose it now, he had to get home and figure out how to fix this mess. In a daze, he started walking through the streets, mind racing for options on how to make that absurd amount of money in practically no time. 

The world around him was dulled to vague noises seemingly coming from miles away and Lockwood found himself mildly surprised when he stood on the doorstep of 35 Portland Row. His legs had carried him there on their own volition, he had been much too deep in thoughts to take notice of a single street, hearing Barnes’ ‘I will shut you down’ echoing through his mind over and over again.

When he entered the kitchen, Lucy and George sprang up and Lockwood was hit with a wall of noise. With difficulty he realized they were a string of questions directed at him. 

“Are you hurt?” Lucy’s voice barely registered through the pounding of his heart and the rushing of blood in his ears. He felt faint.

“Later. Can we please do this later, I really need to sleep,” he said in answer, wishing to earn a few hours to himself and calm down, devise a plan on how to fix this, on how to save the agency and himself. 

Retiring with a final nod, Lockwood went to his room and softly clicked the door shut behind him before leaning against it, loosening his tie. 

He glanced to his desk, seeing the binders overflowing with legal documents of his agency and household expenses and contracts. They were taunting him, suffocating him with their mere presence. A painful reminder that he was on his own now, no supervisor, no parents — alone in every choice he made, alone to carry the consequences. 

It was enough to make Lockwood finally break, sliding down his door until he sat on the ground, knees drawn tightly against his chest.

This was pathetic. He was fine, he just needed to find a way out of this mess.

And he was sure he would — Wouldn’t he? — he had faced worse already. 

In the past twenty four hours, he had nearly lost his newest associate, been attacked by two separate Type Two’s (one of which he had been entirely unaware of), been nearly killed by said Type Two, set a building on fire, jumped out of a window and been given a fee that would most certainly cost him his agency—

A violent sob interrupted his train of thought, wracking his frame harshly. The overwhelming feeling that he was choking, unable to breathe, made Lockwood whimper quietly, trying to keep his heaving intakes of breath as silent as possible and curling further into himself.

They could not know, this was his burden to carry. His name on the door, his responsibility.

That did not mean he did not long for a pair of arms to encompass him in a tight hug, helping him calm down. Or soothing words whispered against his hair, gentle reassurances that everything would be alright, would turn out just fine.

He could not have that. His name on the door meant he was responsible now, for everything. He called the shots and he bore the consequences of his agency’s actions. Which left him to deal with their debt of 60,000 Pounds.

For an instant he wished Lucy had just let him die.

It would have been so much easier to be gone, not have to deal with this shit and the hell of a life lead to at least have something. The world they lived in was dangerous, but he could have at least gone for a job with a safety net instead of throwing himself head over heels into his own agency.

I’d be dead, then. Lockwood’s chuckle at his own thoughts sounded hollow to his own ears. Perhaps I will be by the end of the month. 

If he lost his agency, there’d be no telling what he’d do. Exploring the bottom of the Thames seemed like a pretty great guess. 

But it was not the end yet and after he regained control of his breathing, stopped shaking quite so noticeably and cleared the tear stains from his face, Lockwood left his room with one final glare at the binders stacked on his desk.

It was time to fix this. So how to go about it?

He could take another loan on his house, but the thought alone made his heart ache painfully. Taking the first loan to set up the agency had been difficult enough and left him awake at night sometimes, terrified of losing his house and the last thing he had left of his parents. He had made sure he could pay off the loan for at least six months without any income as a security net. Otherwise, he felt like he would go insane with fear.

But a second loan on the house would be a volatile investment and he did not think he could bear it. What was the alternative, though? Lose the agency and kill himself for lack of purpose afterwards? 

Not quite there yet. Concentrate!

He could not borrow money, so he had to make it. They had to take a few prosperous cases and the money would flow in in no time. Right? Definitely.

So Lockwood entered the kitchen, filling George and Lucy in on his predicament and presenting his plan. “We’ll just take on a few big cases and it’ll be all settled,” he stated confidently, the bad press in the paper and the canceled cases pushed to the back of his mind because this had to work. 

“Lockwood—” Lucy started, eyes big and filled with disbelief. The ringing of the phone cut her off and he darted out of the kitchen to escape the air of resignation surrounding his friends, well, colleagues, employees. This had to work.

“Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co. How may I help?” he said easily, the well practiced greeting rolling of his tongue without a hitch and making him sound more confident than he actually was.

“By firing Lucy Carlyle,” the inspector’s voice responded and just like that, Lockwood started shaking again. Lucy had enormous talent and she might very well be their best shot at landing a big case if the research into Anabel Ward’s ghost was anything to go by.

They could not do this without Lucy. And Inspector Barnes knew that. “I’m sure you have more important things to worry about,” Lockwood said, gambling for time to figure out how he could get DEPRAC off of his back. But the inspector would not budge.

“Your agency is a big problem,” Barnes said, making Lockwood flinch. DEPRAC was a powerful enemy to have and he had tried his best at staying below their radar. If they wanted Lockwood & Co. gone, it would be only a matter of time until they found something to shut them down: a fee too high for him to pay, a contract he’d missed, a box left unchecked in all the papers he’d signed. A mistake he made, big enough to cost him his life. “Get rid of her, Mr. Lockwood.” 

He heard the line disconnect and closed his eyes tightly against the desperation clawing at his chest again. Lucy’s voice behind him sent a sharp pain through his heart, “Who was that?”

This was impossible. This was hopeless.

How could he possibly find 60,000 Pounds in two weeks and convince DEPRAC to leave Lucy alone.

Lockwood turned to face them — Lucy and George — and their soft gazes of concern and worry were enough to remind him that it was his responsibility to figure out how to keep them all afloat. 

“Wrong number,” Lockwood lied easily, putting the phone back. 

They did not need to know.

“I’ll fix this,” he telled George later, promising the same thing to Lucy, who just regarded him with a tight lipped smile and pity in her eyes. 

He just hoped he could.