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preservationofnormalcy · 8 months

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[The office is crowded when I make it in. A few dozen people in the waiting room of the simply-furnished building, weary eyed. Some waiting patiently, some not so patiently. As a slender man speaks tersely with a receptionist, I am unsure where to go. After I hesitate a moment, a man at the end of the desks waves at me.

He is short, barely over five feet tall. He is bald on the top of his head, with bursts of frizzy hair on either side above his ears. His eyes inspect me from behind huge and thick glasses rimmed with a brassy metal, above a brown corduroy suit with a green tie. When he speaks, he has a slight lisp and a heavy stammer.]

F] Hello. Uh. Yes, h-hello madam.

M] Ferdinand Mills?

F] Yes. Yes, co-come here. May I have a word?

M] Yes, of course.

F] I ch-choose the word, uh, ‘interview’.

M] What?

F] Nothing, nothing madam. Come, come.

[I am led back behind the counters, past small cubicles and offices. It looks like any other office building I’ve been in, if furnished a little more…vintage. Kelly greens and dark brown woods dominate the furniture, and brassy metal fixtures catch the somewhat dimmer light. I’m led into Ferdinand’s office, and immediately I see piles and piles of paperwork, stacked almost impossibly high in some places. His computer is buried in it, and for a moment I wonder about the heat. He sits at his desk and laces his fingers together.]

F] I, umm. Was told of your c-coming, madam. What….what is your purpose here?

M] I’m here to conduct a….to…..

F] Mmmh?

M] To….conduct a….what is happening, why can’t I—

F] You may, uh, have it back.

M] Interview. Interview, interview. What the hell, I….oh.

F] A p-parlor trick. Nothing, uh, more, Ms Hendricks.

M] Why did you do that?

F] Some, uh, new agents don’t quite understand the ru-rules. Think it’s a g-game. Until they’re uh….

[He gestures with his palm down and fingers wiggling.]

F] On the end of a…string, madam. M-marionette.

M] So you just…take something from them?

F] B-better it be me, than, ah. Something else. Please. Y-your interview, madam. Your questions?

M] As long as you don’t do that again.

F] Queen’s, uh, honor. On the Court.

M] ….what is your name and position?

F] I am called F-Ferdinand Mills, and I am the director of the Legal Extranormal Persons Office, as well as, ah, liaison to the North American Seelie Court.

M] What do you do in either position?

F] In the f-former, I am a social worker, ah. Mostly. We oversee the process of g-gaining legal personhood under the Office and the work that entails. It’s a little like….im-immigration.

The latter position is m-mostly ceremonial. I help the Office train its staff on issues related to the Fa-Fair Folk and…perhaps the, ah. Challenges.

M] What is legal personhood?

F] B-before the 1937 Tom-Tommyknocker Accords, it was Office policy that non-humans were not g-giv–ah, extended the rights and privileges afforded to h-human citizens by the US constitution. Not, not that they applied to humans equally either…b-but I digress. The Accords provided a legal f-framework for providing citizenship and thus legal p-protection to non-human or sufficiently str-ah. Abnormal persons.

M] Why is it called the Tommyknocker Accords?

F] The camp-cam….effort was led by Tommyknockers, an ethnic group of Fair Folk that w-were among the first to im-immigrate with Cornish humans and took up residence mainly in m-mines. Their presence was, ah, of course never officially re-recognized by American authorities, but they often had union cards, paid for by their human c-coworkers. This s-sort of solidarity led the Tommyknockers to seek some kind of rights from the g-government, which gained the ear of the Office in the nine-ninetee-ah. In the 30’s. In return for the local S-seelie Court’s cooperation in protecting humans from the actions of r-rogue fae, fair folk would receive legal p-protection and citizenship, and c-considerations for those that can, ah, pass as human.

M] And this has been extended to…more than just fae?

F] V-very soon after it was started, work began on expanding it to lycanthropes, the undead, demons…by now there are art-artificial intelligences, homunculi, extraterrestrials…

M] Do you think the department is successful in its goals?

F] Our g-goals are to help promote a culture of protection for those who may not have had it in the past. It’s a matter of civil rights. The astoundingly vast majority of people that come through here….all they want is to live p-peacefully and be left alone, more or, ah, less.

I hope you-you can agree that people of all stripes should have a fundamental right to exist without legal d-discrimination or fear. Of course, given the Office’s secrecy standards, certain concessions have to be made.

And, to be cyn-cynical, there’s also the goal of providing those people a route of, ah, legal redress. If we didn’t ex-extend certain protections to the extranormal population, they’d riot. And they’d be justified in, ah, doing so.

M] That seems like an important point. What about your position as fae liaison. How did the Office’s cooperation with the NASC begin?

F] As the Accords were being f-formed, it was determined, primarily from the T-Tommyknockers, that enough Fair Folk had, ah, immigrated to North America that they had formed their own C-court. This would allow the local f-fae to determine their own law, culturally influenced by but separate from o-older Courts. The culture of this court was still diff-different than many in Europe and elsewhere, of course, and this probably contributed to the success of the Accords. M-many wanted a fresh start, for them-themselves, and with mortals. Some of them were half-human themselves. My f-father was among those present at the Accords, ah, in fact.

M] And this has been a successful relationship, in your opinion?

F] I know s-so. The country would be a very different place if we had powerful groups like the NASC opp-opposed to us.

M] I did want to ask about the, uh. Recon team—

F] I won’t s-s-speak on that without an ethics r-r-representative being p-present.

M] I just wanted to know what their—

F] If LEP is imm-immigration, Recon is immigration en-enforcement. I have my i-issues with how the R-r-recon team conducts its— no, no, no, I won’t speak on it further.

M] Are they the main enforcement and security agency in the Office?

F] I said I wouldn’t— nnnhf. F-first line. F-first contact. If it seems like too much for them, we call O-Sec. Then it’s out of our h-hands. Now if you please, if you’d like to kn-know more about R-recon, speak to someone in Recon.

M] Do their operations bother you?

F] Ms Hendricks, I–

M] Or are they a necessary evil?

F] N-n-no evil is necessary, Ms Hendricks. I won’t speak f-f-further on it. In fact, ah, I, uh, I believe we are done t-talking. Reschedule another interview if you m-must.

(Buy the poster here!)

#office for the preservation of normalcy #interview #fae #fair folk #NASC #urban fantasy

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devondespresso · 3 months

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My Sunshine

G | 815 words | also on ao3 | cw: minor reference to child neglect and a dysfunctional household, mild blood

STWG prompt: Sunshine

Thank you so much to @stellarspecter and @vegasol for betaing and helping with clarity! You guys are truly amazing 💕💕💕 Dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💛

Steve is 8 years old again.

That’s old enough to form memories that will last longer than a year or two, and he's starting to hate how that's the way time has to work, with the old stuff mostly forgotten. This memory, even, he didn’t realize had slipped away.

But all it takes is the vague tune of a song, and he's 8 years old again.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."

Steve is 8, before she learned about the cheating, before he had to learn what that meant, before screaming, and before all of that was taken to New York, Chicago, then Seattle, because she said too quiet was better than too loud.

"You make me happy, when skies are gray."

He is 8, and he is laying in bed. He has two scraped knees and an ever uglier elbow that Mrs. Hagan almost fainted at the sight of. He is a little tired, but he is not ready for Saturday to end.

"You'll never know, dear,"

But his mom is sitting on the side of his bed and running a hand through his hair. She is wearing her rose-tinted Sunday best. And she is singing.

"How much I love you."

Steve isn't eight years old.

And he definitely isn’t 8 years old.

He's nineteen, too close to twenty, sitting in the doorway of a room that isn't his, in a house he didn’t grow up in, stopping himself from getting comfortable leaning back on a door frame despite the current strain in his back, because it would only hurt the wound there more.

He's on the outside this time, looking over because no one told him he had to leave yet, as Ms. Henderson sits on the side of Dustin's bed and hums the tune like he isn't nearly fifteen years old.

And then, of course, the song is over, because it's always been too short.

And Steve is not eight years old.

There's too much strain on his back, so he brings his legs in carefully and pillows his head on his knees as she starts humming a new song that’s not as familiar.

Tews pops his little head into the room, looking at all his options before deciding to bump his head into Steve's legs and start purring, like he doesn't already have plenty of food in his bowl.

"You have food, you little rat," he whispers, petting Tews' head.

Tews leans into his hand, but still meows, circling to his other side to bump into his other leg.

"Mhm, pretty sure it was still half full five minutes ago.”

Tews meows again and darts behind him, trying to lead him back down the hall. Steve leans back a bit to try and find him, but he can’t.

Tews sticks a paw on his stomach, right where his bites are freshly bandaged, clearly thinking he was jumping on a lap before Steve yelps and shoots a hand over to get him off.

“Tews, Tewsie, c’mere,” Ms. Henderson calls from the bedside, a hand still in Dustin’s hair, and with a little sound all cat people somehow know how to do. Tews meows at him again with the same tone, then runs over to Ms. Henderson.

“Sorry, bud,” Steve whispers, holding the spot as he tries to relax again, laying his head back on his arm.

Tews bumps his head into her ankles, circling back and forth before meowing again.

“Too sweet for your own good,” she chides, picking Tews up so he can curl up in her lap.

And she starts humming the song again.

And Steve is not an eight year old.

“You okay, honey?”

Steve looks up.

“Yeah, just hit the edge of it, it’s probably not bleeding or anything.”

She nods, but she doesn’t believe him.

“Alright, Tewsie, up–”

“No, I can get up,” his hand finds the door frame to make it easier, and he stands without a fuss. “There, easy peasy.”

Then he joins her and Tews, because it’s easy.

Ms. Henderson pats the bed, just barely so it doesn’t wake Dustin, and Tews goes to the spot. Steve pats his head again.

Ms. Henderson stands, and offers a hug.

Steve’s nineteen, but nobody can really say no to a Henderson hug.

She avoids poking at the wounds on his back that are too fragile to handle it right now, somehow holding only around them, almost like there's nothing there. Steve might be bleeding.

And she starts singing a song only moms seem to know when to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

And he closes his eyes.

“You make me happy, when skies are gray.”

And he hugs tighter.

“You’ll never know, dear,”

He’s bleeding, and it’s going to fall onto the shoulder of her sweater.

“How much I love you.”

And–

“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

And Steve is 19.

#stranger things #steve harrington #claudia henderson #steve and claudia henderson #steve harrington has bad parents #steve and his mom #steve pov #steve harrington pov #stevecentric #steve harrington centric #devon's writings #tw blood #tw minor blood #stranger things 4 #stwgdailyprompt

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elfloofermoofer · 2 months

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I have a theory about TmagP that I'd like to share with you guys and it's about the O.I.A.R.

My thinking started with the latin motto that the organisation has. No British government organisation from the ninetees should have a latin motto. Therefore is the O.I.A.R older than it seems. I think that it is an organisation that was started several hundred years ago, either at the same time as the Magnus Institute or earlier by the government in Britain at the time. Its purpose is to defend against, control or use the entities (if possible) and the avatars. It is still used for that and people in the government (who are Lena's bosses) know about it.

That old heritage might be where the alchemy symbols come from.

Furthermore I think that the reason for it being as it is now comes from the time when the Magnus Institute was destroyed. Someone in the archives, maybe some of Gertrude's assistants, developed the algorithm FR3-D1 to easier search for statements. The government found out about it and took it by force and either accidentally destroyed the institute or destroyed it on purpose. After that they implemented it into the O.I.A.R and rebranded the organisation to "a boring civil service job" to avoid detection from other nations.

The thing that doesn't fit into this theory is why and how Johnny's and Martin's voices are in the program.

#tma #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tmagp #tmagp 7

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raaorqtpbpdy · 8 days

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Suspended in Time and Space

For the Prompt: Wandering lost in the Ghost Zone, Valerie comes across a familiar sight, but this is not the Casper High she knows. Here the red of her suit sticks out like a beacon of color in a realm of black and white (but mostly white). Despite the hateful glares the ghosts throw her way, she knows this school stuck in the past holds the key to her way home, if only she can find it. [from @the-oaken-muse]