#creeping shadows fanfic

[chaoticspacefam]

Tell us about You’re In My Veins !

[This one was from a “WIP Ask Game” a while back where I listed titles/placeholder names for my current WIPs and y’all got to ask me about any that interested you! I don’t have the link anymore but yeah, context sjkgjdg]

CW: there’s a snippet at the bottom of this ask which has some suggestive/raunchy connotations. No direct actual smut (that’s already happened prior to this bit at the end 😏) but this is very much an argument about their sex life

Hoooo boy where do I start with this one? It’s one of the ones that’s been stuck in WIP hell for the longest goddamn time. Not even because I don’t like it or anything. The bits I have written of this one are still pretty solid, if anything they need some minor polishing (I was awful at paragraphing when I started this and it shows lmao 90) and it’d prolly still be post-able. But at this stage I’m not 100% sure exactly where it’ll fit into the Creeping Shadows timeline. I know its somewhere mid-to-end of Balmorra, and definitely before Voss but you know...that’s an awful big gap rn :’) I’m sure I’ll figure out where it goes eventually, but till then its stuck in WIP hell 💀 hahaha Anyway the first draft of this was meant to be like make-up smut but in true Aria fashion, she had to ruin it by deciding “nope I’m not ready for feelings yet” and she turned it into a fight (but that said, it does end with Aria seriously reflecting on said feelings even if the overall “tone” of it is that she hates that she’s having them 🤣🤣) so it’s a milestone for their relationship which does, in the end, lead to them actually fixing it for real later on down the line. As a joke I like to call it “make up sex but backwards” bc that’s basically what ended up happening with this one I can’t remember if the rules of this ask game said to include a snippet but I kinda feel bad this one was sat in the askbox for so long so have a lil snippet as a treat 💖

>> SNIPPET STARTS HERE, last warning that it gets a lil suggestive from here on out! also quite a lot of swearing, this is very much a lovers’ spat and both of them went for the THROAT XD <<

Vano’s jaw tightened. “Nice to know you were so concerned with my safety. You know, just a simple ‘hey Va, I’m not dead but I can’t be with you right now’ would have sufficed!” The Mirialan growled, sitting up on her hands, her eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. “And just for the record, I'd GLADLY die for you, even though you don't fucking deserve it.” “I never asked you to!” Aria snapped back on impulse, not thinking of the effect the words would have on Vano. “I never asked for any of this. I never asked for you to pad after me like a helpless Kath pup!!” The Marauder drew back, and Aria felt the reaction to her words sting Vano like a slap to the face. “Well, I never asked to fall in love with a self-centered bitch either, but here we are!” she yanked her robes back on sharply and sat back on her haunches to glare at Aria. “The only thing I'm sorry for, is that I was stupid enough to think that if I gave you enough time, this would be more than just fucking to you!” “I never promised you flowers and poetry, I told you it was just sex and you kept crawling back anyway!” Aria shouted after her as the Sith stormed away, grabbing her discarded equipment as she passed it. “Fine, then you can find someone else to go to bed with, because I'm DONE with you!” “You always say that, and a week later your head's between my legs again!!” she retorted, knowing the Mirialan had left the ship when no further reply came. The Jedi sank down onto the pillows and choked on the involuntary sob that left her as Vano's last words spun in her head like a swarm of angry hornets.

There’s some more filler/exposition-y stuff between this snippet and the last line but it feels prudent to mention the last line is a bit of internal dialogue (I seem to do that on occasion, first this oneshot, then Strikhedonia...guess its a writing quirk now? /jk) from Aria and it’s just: I hate how much I need you!!

#bold of you to assume i know what i'm queuing #WIP ask game #swtor sort of #subterfugeverse #creeping shadows fanfic #aria/vano #i don't wanna clog their character tags with this one since there's nothing *direct* here but i will tag the ship for organisation purposes #owo #mildly n/sfw #no actual smut in the preview but they are directly yelling @ eachother about sex so #i'm gonna tag it just to be safe lmao #tw: sex mention #tw: casual sex mention #anyway getting aria to admit she has feelings?? not today no siree #she clearly *DOES* but this bitch is so in denial she won't even admit it to *HERSELF* at this point nevermind poor vano lmao #ofc we all know they *do* sort it out eventually but this is very much bang smack in the middle of the *worst* part of their 'relationship' #where its very much one-sided and still casual sex with totally-no-feels-at-all-nuh-uh-never from aria's side of things #XD #thank you for the ask! #and once again profusely sorry it took so long LMAO #swtorpadawan

[silver-scripts]

Lockyle: Only One Bed Preview

When confronted with the ~only two rooms~ debacle at Albury Castle in The Creeping Shadow, I'm sure I'm not the only one who immediately imagined a "only one bed" fic.

It's one of the projects I'm working on for nano and probably won't be edited until December, so here's a sneak peek :)

This isn't edited so sorry about any typos

The group of them stared at the two sets of keys in front of them.

Two.

“Well, personally I’m too tall to fit in a twin bed or on the couch, so I’ll be taking the room with the big bed,” Kipps said. He reached out to snag the key, and Lockwood lunged forwards as well. Evidently their old rivalry still went deep enough that neither of them was willing to concede to the other.

But there were two keys, and they each pulled away with one. The game changed.

Holly eyed George and then Kipps, calculating the odds. “Well I’m not sharing a bed, so I will be taking the cot,” she said quickly, taking a step towards Kipps. She slung her bag over her shoulder and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, smiling tightly. Kipps grabbed his kit bag and the two of them headed upstairs. A moment later, a door closed.

And then there were three.

George, Lockwood, and Lucy stood staring at each other. A breath passed, and George took his glasses off to clean them on the bottom of his shirt. Carefully, he replaced his glasses and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He teetered on his heals as if he was waiting for someone to say something.

“Well,” Lucy started. She wished, suddenly, that she hadn’t bitten her tongue and had asked Holly to split the twin. It would have made the most sense. And yet here she was now, resigned to taking the couch. She could already imagine how much her back was going to hurt in the morning. “I suppose it makes the most sense for me to-”

“I’m more than happy to take the couch,” George said simply. “Personally, I like my personal space. And I can’t imagine either of you would be rather fond of spending the night with me.” He smiled at them delightedly and grabbed his bags, heading off to plop down on the couch by the fire. “Have a good night!”

“Wait,” Lucy called. “You-”

But George had already disappeared, and she was alone with Lockwood.

If he was phased by the idea of having to spend the night with Lucy, he didn’t show it. Instead, his eyes sparkled the way they always did, and he sent her one of his signature grins. He grabbed both of their kit bags.

“Onwards,” he said, swinging the key merrily around his fingers. He headed for the stairs.

Lucy felt jittery in her skin, but she took a heavy breath and forced herself to follow him. Might as well get this over with.

Upstairs, Lockwood meticulously put the key in the lock. He turned it, and the door popped open with a resounding click. He nudged it open with his foot and dropped their kit bags just inside the door.

“Charming,” he said.

Lucy followed him inside. The room was smaller than she’d imagined — even smaller than her tiny room in the attic. There was just barely enough room to walk around the twin bed, which was fitted with a faded, brown, hand-made quilt. Matching nightstands adorned either side of the bed, and each was outfitted with a reading lamp and small bowls of lavender.

A fireplace stood at the foot of the bed, and its dusty mantle was lined with old, black and white photos of the town. An ancient, tarnished mirror hung above it, and Lucy stared at herself in the reflection.

Lockwood walked to the window and gave a curious peek outside. The night glittered back at him, and his eyes shone as he looked out at the town.

“Well Danny’s right about one thing,” he said simply. “There are quite a few ghosts out tonight. No sign of the so-called ‘Creeping Shadow’ though.”

“That’s not altogether surprising,” Lucy said.

Lockwood shrugged. “Maybe. But you never know. We can do all kinds of research tomorrow — I suspect the townsfolk will have quite a bit to say. In the meantime, we should probably get some sleep.” He stepped back from the window and ruffled through his bag on the floor, withdrawing a toothbrush and a set of pajamas. “Shall we?”

Lucy’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Of course,” she said quickly.

Lockwood stepped past her and into the hall, where he disappeared into the bathroom. She closed the door to their room behind him and locked it, that nervous feeling in her chest growing stronger. She pulled the over-sized t-shirt she always slept in out of her bag, suddenly aware of how ratty it was and how badly it probably needed a wash. Her pajama pants weren’t in much better shape. She changed quickly, feeling overly self-conscious about her choice of sleepwear.

Why should she care, anyways? She never cared when Lockwood saw her in the mornings — hair disheveled, teeth unbrushed, imprints from her pillow still on her cheek as she stumbled into the kitchen for tea and toast. This shouldn’t be any different.

There was a knock at the door, and Lucy opened the door to be greeted, unsurprisingly, by Lockwood. He held his suit folded neatly in his arms and had changed into a pair of neat white pajamas. “Bathroom is free,” he said, heading into the room. “You might want to get in there before George does. Or Kipps, god knows how long his nightly routine probably is. I imagine it takes a good amount of upkeep to prevent him from looking like a ghost himself every day.”

Lucy snorted. She gladly followed his advice and headed to brush her teeth — partially to get away from him, but also because she’d made the mistake of using the bathroom after George once, and it was safe to say it was not a mistake she was ever going to make again. Even the skull had wrinkled his nose at the odor, and he didn’t even have a sense of smell.

Teeth brushed, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and headed back into the bedroom. Lockwood had started a small fire while she was gone, and had turned off the main lights in the room. His reading lamp was on, and he was tucked beneath the bed covers already and had his nose buried in a local newspaper. When he had acquired it, Lucy had no idea.

“Erm,” she started awkwardly. “Would you prefer it if I took the floor?”

Lockwood looked up at her from the newspaper and blinked. “What?”

“Would you prefer it if I took the floor?” she repeated, motioning to it stupidly. “I’m sure I could drag down a pillow and blanket or something.”

“What are you talking about?” Lockwood asked. “Why on earth would you sleep on the floor?”

“Well…” she trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re comfortable, is all.”

“Why should I ever feel uncomfortable in your presence?” Lockwood asked. “Anyways, I hope you don’t mind, but I started a fire. It was feeling a bit brisk in here.” He folded the newspaper over and tossed it onto the nightstand. “No offense to Aldbury Castle, but its news is incredibly dull. They haven’t even reported on any of the hauntings. Their front page news story is about how some farmer’s sheep went missing.” He huffed. “What’s the point of even having a newspaper if you’re not going to talk about anything important?”

Lucy snorted, thankful for his change of topic. “So getting into it isn’t one of your goals, then?”

He grinned. “I never said that.”

Shaking her head, Lucy closed the bedroom door behind her and stiffly slipped into bed. She pulled the covers high up over herself and turned to face away from Lockwood. It was a twin, so there wasn’t exactly much room to spare, but all the same she put as much space between the two of them as possible.

She felt Lockwood move, and a moment later his light switched off. “Good night, Lucy,” he said softly.

“Good night, Lockwood.”

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockyle #the creeping shadow #only one bed #my fanfic #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #save lockwood and co #fan fiction

[killerfrostisme]

That last line in TEG absolutely KILLED me. So I decided to write a series of Locklyle one-shots, to heal my poor broken unsatisfied heart.This one takes place somewhere between TCS and TEG. Enjoy!:) I posted this on Fanfiction.net as well, so you can check it out. It's called Moments in Time and by username is MissPotts01.

Lucy Carlyle was having a really hard time not falling in love with Anthony Lockwood.

It wasn't his good looks that did her in, (though they certainly were an added bonus). She pretended not to notice her heart do backflips everytime a lock of his dark hair would fall into his eyes, or the way he'd flash his special smile at her, successfully making her forget all logic. Or the way he threw back his head and laughed at something George said/did, making her wish she could bottle the sound and listen to it whenever she wanted.

It wasn't even because of the suave, confident disposition that was his leadership. Or the quiet, calm way he inspired his team's confidence and gave them the strength to believe in themselves. Or the way he'd congratulate everyone individually on a job well done after a case was closed. His charm, his witty remarks, his charismatic smile were all trademarks of just him being Lockwood and were all enough on their own to give her butterflies.

But they weren't the reason why she was having a hard time preventing him from living rent-free in her head.

No. That was because of a very simple reason:-

Lockwood saw her as a person first and an agent second.

Ever since she was a little girl, her abilities as an agent had always been given top priority. Especially by her family. According to her mother, Lucy's primary existence revolved around solving the best cases, bringing in lots of money and generally being the best agent there ever was.

Even at the cost of her own safety.

It's not that she had ever resented her Talent, (she wouldn't know who she was without it) but sometimes she really wished her mother would try to have a conversation with Lucy Carlyle her daughter, rather than Lucy Carlyle, the agent. Her sisters weren't so bad, but there was such a wide chasm between her and them, that it seemed impossible and completely useless to try and cross it. Packing her bags and coming to London, had probably been the best decision she'd ever made. Here, she found a family.

And Lockwood.

She scowled. It was eleven thirty in the morning, (early by her standards) and she just couldn't get him out of her head. For crying out loud, the day had only just begun!

"Something wrong, Luce?" asked Lockwood, peering over the top of his newspaper. They were sitting at the breakfast table, rested from a night's sleep after a particularly gruelling case. George, was scribbling something in his research notes, and inhaling one jelly doughnut after the other, Holly was looking at him with mild disdain, as she daintily sipped her cup of tea.

And Lockwood?

Ah, Lockwood. Well, he was looking right at her.

"Luce?" He asked, his eyes probing, "Are you okay?"

Belatedly, Lucy realized Lockwood had asked her a question. Flushing bright red, she gulped down her scalding hot tea.

"Just fine." she said, sneaking a glance at Holly and George, to see if they were paying attention to the conversation. (They weren't. Holly was delicately broaching the topic of civilized eating with George, who was clearly not listening to a word she was saying.)

Lockwood raised his eyebrows. "Is that why you're scowling at your breakfast?"

She flushed a deep, beet root red. Ah. So he had caught that.

"Oh, just thinking about things." she said flippantly. Getting out of here would probably be a good idea. She could never think logically when Lockwood was shooting her one of his 'searching' looks.

She grabbed her plate and cup, rinsed them in the sink and all but dashed out of the kitchen, all while feeling the intensity of Lockwood's gaze on her.

The warm afternoon sunshine was making her sleepy. She was sitting out in the garden, drawing soft, languid strokes across her sketchbook. First came the strong, defined jawline, the angular cheekbones, the megawatt smile, tousled hair, there was no mistake:- she was drawing Lockwood.

"Is that supposed to be me?" asked a voice behind her.

She jumped a foot in the air, and whirled around. Lockwood was standing there, no tie, shirt sleeves rolled up, looking more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

"Yes," she said, suddenly remembering that he'd asked her a question.

"It's really good." He smiled at her, soft, slow and hesitant, the one he reserved just for her. "You're really good, Luce."

She flushed as red as a tomato at his praise. (Was she doomed to forever resembling a tomato when he was around?)

"If it's okay with you," (he rubbed the back of his neck) "I would-" (now he was messing with his hair) "-really love to see more of your sketches."

Oh.

It's not that she didn't want to show him. She did! He was the first person she would have shown all her work to if...he weren't the centre of nearly every artwork she'd done.

She opened her mouth, prepared to decline and make up some excuse which he'd never believe, when suddenly-

"Yes."

Had she actually said that? No, she hadn't. The wind was messing with her hearing.

Except, there was no wind.

Which meant...she'd just agreed to letting Lockwood see her sketches.

Lockwood on the other hand, seemed unaware of the inner turmoil in Lucy's head, because he was already stretching out a long quick fingered hand for her sketchbook-

-and wordlessly, Lucy seemed to be handing it to him.

She watched him flip through the pages, and felt something akin to a very strong and intense feeling blooming in her chest. What that feeling was she had no idea. Well, she had some idea but she was trying not to think about that. All she knew was she felt extreme happiness when he was around, felt joy when he noticed little things about her and felt pleasantly surprised when he wanted to know more about her, the person rather than her agent persona. She felt special when he chose to confide in her, and while their experience on The Other Side had severely scarred them, she wouldn't change a thing about it. It had forged an irrefutable bond between them which she'd rather kiss a Raw-bones than break.

Love.

The unfamiliarity of the word struck her as odd, since the person who it was associated with felt like home.

She was incomparably, irrevevocably, completely and utterly in love with him.

The realization wasn't as jarring as she thought it would be. Instead, it brought with it a sense of peace, a sense of belonging and a feeling of familiarity.

Like coming home after a long day of work. She felt at ease, as if everything was just right.

As she looked at him, still thumbing through the pages of her sketchbook, she was still having a hard time not falling in love with him. But she found she didn't care. She was tired of ignoring her feelings and keeping them locked up in a box. She knew he felt something towards her, and was going to wait however long it took, to make him realize that she was going nowhere.

She looked at him and smiled:- I am going to allow myself to fall head over heels in love with Anthony Lockwood.

#books #lockwood & co #lockwood and lucy #locklyle #locklylefluff #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #fiction #ficlet #i love these two #lucewood #jonathan stroud #fanfic #the empty grave #the creeping shadow #i giggled #these two have me in a chokehold #lockwood and co show #lockwood and co spoilers

[beautifulmakkaris]

lucy takes the long way home | aka the ‘locklyle hooking up during lucy’s freelance era’ fic

Vaguely behind her she hears the creak of the observation deck door begin to open and suddenly she’s shoving back from Lockwood, his hands steadying her at her hips even as he pushes her away, detangling themselves with the level of teamwork that made them so damn good when they worked together so that when George storms in they’re stood side by side, not looking at each other.

“What is taking so long?” George demands as he stomps onto the platform. “I’ve got potatoes to boil.”

Lockwood manages to slip his mask of cool professionalism into place, already stalking towards the door. 

“Sorry George, just finishing up.” He pauses in the threshold of the doorway, glancing back to Lucy, the only sign of the last few moments the pink crawling up his neck that could be easily waived away as being cause by the heat of the furnace. “Good to see you, Luce.”

George eyes her suspiciously and she starts to open her mouth to say- what? Sorry we didn’t answer, we were too busy snogging? But before she can make a sound, he’s turning on his heel and following Lockwood out, leaving her to slump against the railing, hot and extremely bothered.

read chapter one on ao3

#locklyle #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #locklyle fanfic #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #the hollow boy spoilers #the creeping shadow spoilers #the beast has been unleashed #this fic might kill me

[js589]

And here's your quote preview from Roz & Jack's take on The Creeping Shadow, chapter 6 (Talking It Out, part 1):

Lockwood: "And the papers always make it sound cooler than it was."

Lucy: "You would know."

Could it be? Banter? Light flirting? Communication at last?

#lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #roz & jack continue l&co #the creeping shadow #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklyle #not even gonna pretend this isn't locklyle flirting #it totally is

[fangirlfreak08]

Guys looking for a Locklyle fic. It’s like a little series of different scenarios that Lockwoods jealous in but it’s all one fic? Alternatively any jealous Lockwood fics

#Lockwood and co #Anthony Lockwood #Lucy Carlyle #Locklyle #fanfic #the empty grave #the creeping shadow #the hollow boy #George Karim #the screaming staircase #the whispering skull

[obscure-fanpage]

Pairings/Franchises I Will Write for:

Pairings

Blitz/Stolas - Helluva Boss

Asmodeus/Fizzarolli - Helluva Boss

Bee/Loona/Tex - Helluva Boss

Bee/Loona - Helluva Boss

Angel Dust/Husk - Hazbin Hotel

Adam/Lute - Hazbin Hotel

Charlie/Vaggie - Hazbin Hotel

Charlie/Alastor - Hazbin Hotel

Crowley/Aziraphale - Good Omens

Gabriel/Beelzebub - Good Omens

Nandor/Guillermo - WWDITS

Laszlo/Nadja - WWDITS

Mac/Dennis - IASIP

Sophie/Howl - Howl’s Moving Castle

Bella/Alice - Twilight series

Franchises

Evil Dead series (Ash Williams Universe)

Creep (2014 & 2017)

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Howl’s Moving Castle

Twilight

What We Do in the Shadows

Good Omens

Stardew Valley

One Punch Man

Angels of Death

Bee and Puppycat

Portal

…and more probably. If you want a pairing or fandom not listed here let me know and I can update this list if I feel comfortable writing for them or not. The main hard no’s are underage pairings or extreme kinks. No shame and I’m not going to police your ships. I just don’t want to write fanfic for those pairings or kinks.

I’m not against writing RPF, but will post sparingly if at all. I do ship some pairings in this category, but I do not believe in extreme shipping of real people. There are just some pairings with interesting dynamics, and I would base any writing or comments based on their personas rather than any opinion on the person themselves. I do not want to debate the ethics of RPF. I see both sides and will tread lightly if I post any of that on my account.

#fanfic #pairings #writing #imagine #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #good omens #what we do in the shadows #wwdits #evil dead #creep 2014 #creep 2017 #it’s always sunny in philadelphia #iasip #howls moving castle #studio ghibli #twilight #angels of death #one punch man

[mirroringdust]

The Conversation at Table 5

Spoiler for The Hollow Boy and the first half of TCS

***

"I-" a pause. "It isn't that easy"

Lockwood chuckled silently "Of course it's easy, we can do it together, whatever it is." 

"This isn't funny."

Keira still couldn’t see Lucy’s face but her voice was getting harsher. Lockwood, who was leaning forward, instinctively backed away. His smile flickered for the blink of a moment. "It wasn't meant to be funny. I just-." His expression softened. "I just wanted to calm you down."

***

A sneak peek somewhere from the middle of the Cafe Scene that is mentioned in the creeping shadow and that I wrote from the POV of an outsider (and partly Lockwood's). I am so happy I finished the three part and did my best to do the books justice. I really hope you enjoy my imagination of that scene. 😊

#lockwood and co #Anthony Lockwood #Lucy Carlyle #Locklyle #Locklyle fanfic #fanfic #Fanfiction #Writing #Ao3 #The cafe scene in the creeping shadow #That dreadful conversation #Locklyle angst #The hollow boy

[strelles-universe]

For clarification regarding Barkface and his mate, I strive to make the clans unique from each other and so that combining them into one clan would be like someone saying, "North, South and Central America should all be the same country because they all have 'America' in the name."

Based on the fic from @aerial-jace where medicine cat is an inherited position called Augurs, I decided on WindClan encouraging legacies of Mothflight to be medics and so react positively to their medics having mates.

So to summarize medics and kits;

ThunderClan - You can have both a mate and kits but there must already be another fully trained medic before you can have kits. You can keep the other parent a secret from the clan if you want but they must de disclosed to the leader for apprenticeship purposes.

WindClan - Please have a mate and kits. At least on of your kits will be a medic whether they like it or not. We won't force you to take a mate but we'll be visibly disappointed if you don't.

RiverClan - If you have kits, you keep that to yourself. If you choose to raise them, you must step down from your position. Depending on who your mate is, you may be delegated to only apprentice duties until your leader decides you've been shamed enough.

ShadowClan - If you have kits, you will be forcibly removed from your position as a medic. You must raise your own kits and everything they do will reflect on you. When your failing is discovered, you will not eat for two days and instead focus on prayers to the Souls for betraying them.

Before anyone asks, Yellowfang kept her position as medic because Raggedstar never told anyone that she was Brokenstar's mother. He was toxic and somewhat abusive but he did love her and even at his angriest, he refused to completely destroy her life that way.

Raggedstar and Yellowfang are now friends in StarClan. Raggedstar spent the first moon after his death inside the Pool of Memories and found himself disgusted by the way he treated the cat he claimed to love in life and resolved to do better in death. Yellowfang is no longer interested in him romantically but is willing to be friends.

#the medic code #medicine cat code #warrior cats #erin hunter #fanfiction #fanfic #warrior cats fanfic #worldbuilding #erin hunter warriors #the cats of strelles #fantasy culture #fantasy lore #fantasy religion #long post #strelles raging winds #the pride of creeping shadows #strelles shorerisen #strelles stormborn #strelles the greenwood empire

[pininglikefinedining]

Chapters: 10/10 Fandom: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood & Co. (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood Characters: Lucy Carlyle, Anthony Lockwood, George Cubbins | George Karim, Quill Kipps, Holly Munro, Montagu Barnes, Marissa Fittes Additional Tags: Book Spoilers, Unplanned Pregnancy, Characters aged up slightly, Maybe slight smut, lockwood is touchy feely, touch is definitely his love language, feelings are hard, nobody likes to talk about them, Non Canonical, but i tried to tetris it into the canon if you know what I mean, no beta we die like a Visitor Summary:

After the Chelsea Problem Lucy and Lockwood share a night of passion, but it doesn't change anything between them until the unexpected happens. Things will have to change now, or will they?

(unplanned pregnancy told through the plot of TCS & TEG)

Catmomtac finished her series!!! It’s so good! Go check it out!!! 

#locklyle #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #spoilers #ao3 fic #ao3 #fanfic #completed #the creeping shadow

[mactavishsgfandwife]

A Simon Riley HC

a random situation that came to my mind just now, this is my first fanfic nonsense ever and i wrote it in a good 20 minutes, so sorry about that x no clue how to format these posts either so bear with lol

warnings: none really, slight allusion to past violence?

headcanon i bet ghost HATES when you crack your back, because he literally breaks people’s spines on the field and you making those noises with your back on purpose really freaks him out, like he:

a. just doesn’t like people cracking their backs in general, is secretly scared that they would somehow manage to break something

and b. hates when you in particular do it because he cannot bear the thought of anyone hurting you, let alone doing the depraved things that he does as his profession

you’ll just be sat there in the morning, nuzzling your cheek into the side of his chest, and as he watches you dotingly you sit up and twist, making your whole back crack. that creeps him out, a lot.

"hey, baby, don’t do that," he speaks, his voice a little stern, as he turns onto his side to face you. his skull mask is sitting inside the duffel bag at the foot of the bed, and so the early-morning daylight that glows through your thin curtains casts soft shadows over his light hair and strong nose.

"do what?" you look up to face him with sleepy eyes, as you crack your knuckles.

"that. stop."

simon takes hold of your hands in his bigger ones, trapping them, and holds them firmly but protectively against your stomach.

you look up at him, curiously, not quite understanding the sternness of his reaction - after all, you had seen him crack his knuckles before, before a workout, in the same way that lame dads do before some not-so-strenuous task.

after a moment, his serious gaze softens a little, as he leans in to give you a tender kiss between your brows. apologetically, he lets your hands free, maintaining a gentle grip on them just to stroke your knuckles with his thumb.

"sorry, love…" he mumbled, "jus’ don’t want you getting hurt."

thanks for reading my utter nonsense teehee

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #cod #cod mw2 #fluff #i need him #ghost #headcanon

[chaoticspacefam]

Kas: He’s mine to kill

Mortis: kills Thanaton anyway Kas: first of all how dare you, second of all that one counts as mine!

#swtor #elven's swtor screenshots #sith inquisitor storyline spoilers #swtor oc: ni'kasi ahaszaai #sith pureblood #sith inquisitor #darth occulus #woooo!! we're officially darth occulus now! *throws streamers* #(also yes ik in game its occlus but i hate that word ew so no i'm not using it occulus is better send post) #i can stop freaking out about making sure her alignment stays at exactly 0 all the time just in case it runs away w/ us hahahaha #kas and mortis defo have beef now. you stole her kill dude how dare D: XD #there will be more kas in the future bc i need to record the non-romance lana dialogue for fanfic draft purposes #but will be taking a break in between to work on more aria recordings #hopefully that will stop her from being a brat so i can start working on creeping shadows regularly again #but dw this isn't the last you'll see of kas by a looonggg shot

[miguelhugger2099]

Here, Kitty Kitty

Summary: Miguel O'Hara is your world's Black Cat. A/N: me when there's no fanfic of miguel as black cat: fine, ill do it myself Art: Marbipa on twt

Miguel x Reader, No warnings, a little suggestive but that's it, Word Count: 2,535

Swinging on your webs, you hopped from building to building and made sure to to keep an eye out for any more crime during your patrol. You hoped that tonight would be a breeze but unfortunately, the life of a superhero will never rest. You landed by one of the police antennas and heard a call coming through their radios. Tilting your head, you focused on the frequencies to get a better signal. "All units be advised. We've got a call for a robbery in Lower Manhattan. Heading there now, requesting backup." You glanced up at the sky seeing the moon illuminate brightly. "I guess I could help the boys in blue." You shrug and thwip your web shooters, the silk spinning and sticking to another building before jumping off to gain momentum. You hauled yourself up after swinging, diving down between apartments and just barely slipping through a couple fire exits. You thought about who it might be this time. Maybe it was the Shocker again. Oh, he was always so easy to make fun of. No, that wasn't possible: you put him in prison. You just hoped it wasn't another one of Tombstone's men--they were always a little too cocky. Maybe just a couple of randoms trying to make extra cash the wrong way–a boring way to end the night but at least it'd be easy. You swung faster after hearing the sirens of police cars echoing throughout the night of New York. You saw a few police cars behind you and you giggled to yourself, playing a one sided game of who would get there faster. Always the competitive one you were, you stuck your webs onto two poles and pulled back so hard that they bent slightly. Your forearms burned until you let go, slingshotting yourself in the sky and allowing yourself to glide above the city. You wished to take off your mask and feel the breeze properly but you settled for the ripples flapping on your suit. "Robbery, robbery, robbery..." You murmured, swiveling your head around to see where the robbery could've been. You blinked as you spotted the familiar colors of blue and red flashing in the distance. "Robbery!" You grinned.

Zipping through the wind, you landed above what you now see is a jewelry store. You crawl into the shadows, making sure none of the policemen could see you. "Hm. I guess they win this time." You mutter to yourself about your little game. Perching on the ledge, you listened in on their conversation. "Any security footage?" One policewoman asks. "We're checking them now but so far after entering the perimeter, all cameras have been damaged." "Did you see what was stolen?" "A few rings and bracelets. But the owner is more concerned with a diamond necklace. Says it was going to be auctioned off later this weekend." You tilt your head in thought. And they got away? Definitely not some regular citizens. You began to feel a headache creep on you. You couldn't handle another big bad to fight this weekend. You stepped down from the ledge carefully and walked around the top of the building to find a vent. Once you did, you ripped it open and crawled inside, your body sticking to the ceiling. You looked around and saw various cases filled with glittering jewels, ranging in size and colors. You crawled through another room and hopped off the ceiling with a small thud. Looking behind you, you made sure no one had seen you and you began rummaging through the room to find any evidence lying around to catch the perpetrator.

You found yourself in front of the glowing case in the middle. You circled around it, the eyes of your mask squinting at the empty sloth that would've fit a giant diamond necklace inside. The glass was perfectly intact instead of ruthlessly shattered. This was no common thief. No fingerprints, everything was spotless and clean. You took a closer look. "Looking for this, arañita?" You hear a smooth voice behind you. You spin around, shooting your webs to trap the wrist of the stranger behind you to the wall. The familiar tall man you've had a complicated relationship with, Miguel O'Hara a.k.a. Black Cat. His skin tight black suit hugged his built body, white fur fluffed at his forearms and around his shoulders. His suit was opened at his chest, a long slit that gave everyone a nice view of his tanned skin littered with little black and graying hairs. His dark brown eyes were decorated with a thin diamond shaped mask that did little to hide his ‘secret identity’. His dark brown hair was in its usual slick back, gray strands curling in his locks and a pretty black collar around his neck. He tilted his head at you and lifted his other hand to cut your webs off him with an extracted claw. “Eso es como se trata un amigo? I thought your whole thing was being friendly, arañita.” Miguel says light-heartedly, unphased at the way your mask narrowed at him. You noticed that the hand you had webbed up was holding onto a pouch. Miguel slips open the pouch by its strings, lifting out the diamond necklace. He clips it around his neck and it shines in the moonlight that seeps through the ceiling window. He admires his reflection in the cases, his gloved hand caresses the jewels, his nail being gentle with grazing over it. “Isn’t she just a beauty? She’s not my style, personally, but I can appreciate her.” His eyes meet yours and he grins. “I think you would make it look even more beautiful.” You ignore his blatant flirting, your hands itching at your sides, wanting to snatch the pouch from him and return it to the police so the owner could have a good night’s rest–so you could have a good night’s rest. Now knowing the one behind this was Black Cat, your headache had gotten worse and you knew it’d be a long night. Miguel stalks up to you after taking the necklace off and placing it back in his pouch.

“What’s wrong, arañita? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked, his claw grazing under your chin and making you look up at him. You bit down on your tongue. This cat always had a way of pissing you off. “I thought we agreed you’d put this behind you. You’re rich. What more could you possibly want?” You grab his wrist and take his hand off from your chin. “Would you believe me if I said I just wanted your attention?” His lips curl up, showing off his fangs. “No.” “Ouch. I’m hurt. I thought we had something.” His smile doesn't falter. “Give back the jewels, Miguel.” ‘Hmm. No. These could go for a lot of money. Way more than whatever that auction it is they’re doing.”

“Miguel, you promised me you would be good.”

His eyes soften for a split second. The memory of your last encounter months ago where you two had spent the night together in the city up on the Empire State building. Your relationship was a confusing one. There had been nights where you were on opposite sides and other nights where he answered your call for help.

Miguel began to trust you. Despite his tendencies to slip between your fingers, you always spoke to him kindly when he wasn’t pushing your buttons–even then he knew you never harbored any actual hatred for him. So after a long night, he confided in you that this was his new life and it wouldn’t change–he’d always come back to a life of crime, it’s who he was. You believed he was better than that.

That night before he disappeared for months, he pulled up your mask just enough to see your lips and he kissed you, leaving with a promise to do better. But cats were known to do whatever they wanted. “You know I’m not good like you, arañita.” His smile turns melancholy. “But you could be.” You insisted. “Give me the pouch.” “I can’t do that, amor.” 

You huffed through your nose, jaw clenching, and you tried to snatch the bag from his hand as quickly as you could. Miguel was faster, his clawed hand grabbing you and forcing you to bend over the glass display of jewelry with your arm behind your back.

You grunted when your cheek met the hard glass and attempted to worm your way out of his hold. You feel Miguel lean over your body, his warm breath whispering next to your ear.

“I've thought about you like this. Maybe with a little less clothing.” He teases and chuckles when you stiffen. 

“Miguel.” You warn lowly. 

“It's been nice seeing you again, arañita, but I've got to run.” You hear a dull clanking sound along with a small whizz.

You felt rope like strings wrap around your body and arms and suction themselves to the glass he slammed you on, trapping you.

Shit.

You crane your head as much as you could to see Miguel take a step back away from you. Just for shits and giggles, he plucks a pair of earrings from a stand and places it inside his bag before raising his hand up at the ceiling window. 

Miguel gives you a wink and a charming smile and his grappling hook zips out from his wrist, denting itself in the wall. It pulls him up and he pops the window open, successfully escaping without leaving a trace.

You groan and knock your forehead on the cold glass. With your strength, you pop the rope off you, stretching your arm and wrist out.

Police began to enter inside the building, their commotion and their comms going off and getting closer to you.

Collecting the ropes, you webbed yourself out through the same window Miguel used and closed it behind you. You tossed the ropes away and began swinging around, trying to sense any trace of Miguel.

“Dammit, kitty.” You mutter under your breath. You ignored the way your heart pounded as you scanned every nearby corner. The sight of him after so long sent flutters in your stomach. You ignored the lingering hot touch of his fingers around you, the weight of his body towering over yours. His hips that gently bucked up against–

You tumbled on the roof of a brick building. This was not how you wanted your night to go. You let out deep breaths, your arms and legs spread out as you lay on your back. 

After a couple of minutes, you sat up. You ripped your mask off and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. You felt a turmoil of emotions. 

When Miguel had kissed you that night, it broke your heart. He felt so sure of himself to give you affection but at the cost of his disappearance right after. It hurt but you thought if he could turn his life around for the better, it'd be worth all the heartbreak and what ifs.

You stood up and placed your mask back on your head, your arm raising up to shoot a web when your spider senses alerted you of someone. 

You turn around to see Miguel, half of his body in the shadows.

“I don't have the pouch so don't shoot.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender.

“Didn't you say you needed to run?” Your voice spits and Miguel nods.

“I also said it was nice to see you again.” He walks up to you, his hands gently placing themselves on your hips. You stand tall, not wanting him to know his effect on you. “So forgive me, I'm a little selfish. I wanted to see you one more time.”

“Why are you back?” You mumble. Why are you back in New York?

“I'm sorry, corazón. You know me. It's what I do.”

“So you lied to me.”

Miguel winces. “No. No, I didn't. I tried, believe me.” His hands squeeze your hips. “I tried for you but…it's not for me. This,” He gestures to himself, clad in black spandex and white fur. “This is who I am now. It's how I have to live.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your mask-covered face. He wonders what you looked like underneath. Were you as beautiful as your body? Your heart? He dreamed so. He knew so.

“I still don't believe that.” You whisper, leaning into his touch, hands slowly going around the back of his neck and he takes it as an invite to bring you closer.

“You're still so naive.” He murmurs.

“You said you liked that about me.” You quipped. Miguel chuckles.

“I did say that.” 

You feel a smile creep up on your face, your heart feeling lighter at the sound of his laugh.

“Hopefully we'll cross paths more often now that I'm back in New York.” Miguel grins. “Te extrañe.”

“I missed you too.” You whisper. With your chest pressed up against his, you could faintly feel the rumble of him purring. Miguel's claws run under your throat, flicking up the fabric of your mask to expose just a bit of your neck as if wanting to lift it off. “But you know I have to turn you in for robbing.” You add.

“Hm. A shame.” He mumbles dismissively. He continues to ride up your mask and you let him. He stops at your nose and leaves it there, eyes focused on the way your lips parted. “Kiss for good luck?” He asks. His eyes glint when you licks your lips subconsciously.

“You’re pushing it, kitty.” You mumble back but your arms tighten around him. Miguel purrs at the pet name.

“Just one kiss.” He insists, leaning down to brush his lips against your mask where your forehead was. You tilt his head further down with your hand at the back of his head and he follows. With your guidance, his lips find yours and your heart skips a beat. Miguel tugs you closer by the waist, pressing your chest and hips together. His hands crawl up your spine while he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. You match his pace with your eyes closed while you feel his soft lump lips caressing yours. You didn’t know how long the kiss lasted–not when his hands roamed your body, squeezing you and devouring as much of your tiny moans as he could. Your hands curled up at the base of his neck while he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip. Gasping, you allowed him access but he pulled away. “I’ll see you next time, arañita.” Miguel whispers against your lips,the fangs of his teeth gently nibble on your top lip before he pulls away. He squeezes your waist, his touch lingering and aching to keep you near but he lets go. He takes a step back from you and jumps back into the night, the sound of his grappling hook zipping through the air faintly. You sigh, trying to slow down your heartbeat with a hand over your chest when suddenly you pause. “Dammit…” You huff and kick a pebble away from you.

a/n: black cat miguel o'hara if you can hear me, please save me, save me black cat miguel o'hara

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara imagine

[killerfrostisme]

A/N- This is a cute fic I wrote that takes place during those few months between TCS and TEG. It was supposed to be short but the story ran away with me XD

It had been an extremely difficult case.

It started off as a simple case so Lucy and Lockwood had decided to go for it alone. The client’s descriptions had given hints of nothing more than a Type One so it hadn’t made sense for Holly and George (and by extension, Kipps) to come along. About midway through they realised that there were two ghosts (a demure Type One and an angry Type Two), one of them being a murdered girl and the other the murderer, her jilted lover who in a fit of sadness had committed suicide after slitting the girl’s throat. They had had to rely thoroughly on Lucy’s Listening ability and Lockwood’s fencing capabilities to be able to locate and contain the source (a bloodstained embroidered handkerchief) and were heavily emotionally and physically exhausted. Lucy just wanted to forget that the stupid night had happened and collapse onto her bed and fall into dreamless sleep.

“How are you, Lucy?” Lockwood’s quiet voice broke her out of the drowsy trance she was falling into. They had staggered in through the house, trying to stay quiet for George’s sake, and flung themselves onto chairs in the kitchen, and were now nursing individual cups of hot tea before bed. Lockwood had turned the radio on-claiming it would help get their minds off the case-and a popular upbeat pop song from a few years ago was playing softly in the background. 

“I’m fine,” she said, giving him a small smile. 

“Luce," he murmured, reaching over the table to clasp her hand, with both of his. "It was quite an awful case as it is and we were grossly unprepared, and that girl getting in your head wouldn’t have helped one bit, so I need to know if you’re okay.” He finished his speech, by looking deeply into her eyes and definitely not causing little butterflies to flutter around in her stomach.  

It had taken a toll on her. But Lucy had become better at handling intense cases and somehow it just seemed easier with him beside her. Her grogginess earlier was already dissipating and she had a sneaking suspicion it was because her body was trying every trick in the book to stay with him for as long as possible. 

"I'm okay." She whispered, gently, covering their joined hands with her own. "Seriously."

"That's good to know," he said, flashing her his special smile, the one he reserved just for her. Out of his entire repertoire of smiles, this one was by far her favourite. Apart from the obvious fact that it was chartered for her, it was her favourite because it was free of pretence. Gentle, hesitant and completely unguarded.

The pop melodies on the radio switched to the lilting opening bars of a decades old soft rock song. It was one of Lucy’s favourite songs when she was growing up in the north. It was one of the few happy memories she had of her home, of spinning around in their poky little sitting room with her sister, Mary. As the vocals began, her entire being filled up with nostalgia, and perhaps it was this emotion that made her get up from the table and stick her hand out, palm facing upwards, in front of Lockwood. 

Lockwood raised his eyebrows and flashed a surprised grin at her. “Lucy Joan Carlyle, are you asking me to dance?” 

“Why yes, Anthony J Lockwood,” she said, mockingly putting her hand over her chest. “Was that not obvious?”

“I don’t know if I can accept,” he replied, tapping his fingers against his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “Traditionally, isn't the gentleman supposed to ask the lady to dance?”

“It’s the twenty-first century,” she said, grabbing his hand and hauling him to his feet. “Traditions be damned.”

In an almost coy manner, he placed his hand on her waist and she on his shoulder. He clasped her other hand and began to lead them in a simple waltz. 

Of course the posh prat can dance, she thought as she followed his lead. He was probably born with a silver spoon in his mouth and tap dancing shoes on his feet! It wasn’t surprising really, considering Lockwood was as lithe and graceful as a panther while fencing, so it would be natural he'd be a wonderful dancer as well.

As if reading her mind, Lockwood smiled and said quietly:-“My mother taught me to dance, in this very kitchen actually. I haven’t really danced since her death and I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.” he continued, wistfully.

“Well,” said Lucy, after a moment’s pause, “I’m sure she’d be very happy with your dancing progress. You dance beautifully, Lockwood.” 

“Thanks, Luce.” He smiled gratefully.

“My sister and I used to love this song,” she said unexpectedly. He’d shared a snippet about his mother, it felt right to offer something in return. “We used to dance around the house to this song. It’s one of the um…” she trailed off.

“Go on, Luce.” he nodded encouragingly at her.

“It’s one of the few times that I was actually happy at home.” she finished. She’d never really opened up about how sad she really was in her mother’s house. She’d never acknowledged to herself how screwed up her childhood actually was. 

Lockwood was watching her intently, his gaze concerned. “Well,” he said, with a tone of finality to it. “I hope that you've associated one more happy memory with it.” he added, grinning at her meaningfully. 

“The happiest,” she beamed at him, flushing a little when she saw his eyes twinkling in response.  It felt good to open herself up to him. With him by her side, she felt she could be herself completely and start to heal. He would support her and she would support him, together they would build each other up.

She placed her cheek against his chest and felt him hum in response. They continued to sway, holding each other close, long after the song had ended,  two broken teenagers finding solace in each other and knowing they would be just fine. 

A/N- I always thought that something along these lines would’ve happened during those four months between TCS and TEG. I don't think Lucy was letting us in on the full situation and there was definitely more to it than met the eye. I mean, c’mon the two literally walked through the Other Side together, I think that besides having moments of obvious heart eyes for one another (mostly on Lockwood’s part) they would’ve probably had moments of emotional connection as well. The song that they dance to is entirely up to your imagination and what you think would best suit them. For me, I always imagined this scene with More Than Words by Extreme playing.

Anyway I got a little carried away. XD  Hope you liked it! Like, reblog all that jazz if you did:)

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and lucy #lucy carlyle #locklyle #lockwood and co #books #fiction #i love these two #jonathan stroud #ficlet #writing practice #fanfiction #fanfic #locklyle fanfic #the creeping shadow #the empty grave #these two will be the death of me #these two deserve the world #l&co spoilers #l&co #renew lockwood and co #i will never get over the fact that these two don't canonically kiss in the books #in my mind they do #and that's that #my writing #they are living in my head rent free #they are literally soulmates

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

04 — I'M HERE REGARDLESS OF THE PAIN

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

As it turns out, ‘real men’ fight bloody.

It’s a difficult journey, your escape, and you end up killing more men than you had ever planned to. With comms blaring in your ears, the weight of an assault rifle in your hands, and the windy night brushing against your clammy skin, you find yourself lost in the thrill of battle.

Everything comes to a head, however, when an unfamiliar voice enters your comms, and both Soap and Ghost seem to deflate with relief.

It’s with the roaring of a helicopter overhead, bullets flying by your running body, that a deep, gravelly British voice trickles into your ear – like the eye of a hurricane.

“All stations, this is Bravo Six – Get down!”

You’re not sure who ‘Bravo Six’ is, or why he’s helping you, but the telltale spark that sparks at the base of your spine has your entire being – your soul – ready to put your life in this man’s hands. It’s an all-consuming, threatening need, but one you find yourself clinging to regardless.

Whatever mental dilemma that is starting to form immediately gets put away with the rest of your ongoing ones. Your focus is now entirely set on the figure on top of the wall, firing a rocket at the enemy’s helicopter. As the pilot loses control of the aircraft, you can feel the thrum in your chest as it crashes and burns into the prison’s ground. 

“It’s Price!” Ghost cries out, the most… not joyful, but pleased, maybe, that you’ve ever heard the man.

“Hell fuckin’ yeah!” Soap adds, and when you flit your gaze to your left, you see the beaming grin on his blood-speckled face. In the giant, bright lights surrounding the grounds, you can see all of his intricacies, even when running and shooting down Shadows.

Price, you now recognise the voice as belonging to, commands you all through the radio once more. “All Bravo and Vaqueros,” he barks, “Top o’ the wall. Get here and I’ll get you out. How copy?”

He’s a Captain, through and through. From his delivery, requiring no disobedience, to the undertone of compassion for his men. He’s the kind of man you’d be blessed to work alongside with – a true, hard earned leader.

“Loud and clear, Price. Comin’ to ya!” Ghost copies, and it feels as though the air around the lot of you has grown thick with tangible, genuine hope.

Rodolfo, closest to your right, looks to you with raised brows, before calling out to Soap and Ghost to your left, “Who’s he?”

Soap’s returning smirk is hardened, a hint of bloodthirst in it. The wrapping around his arm has, miraculously, remained on, with only a small patch of blood bled through. It’s a relief, and a compliment to your handiwork. “A friend,” he chuckles, and you believe it.

“I like him already,” Alejandro barks a laugh, before tilting his head to call out to his men, “¡Vaqueros, vayan al muro, entre las torres, ya!”

You can’t help the small smile that creeps onto your face, amidst the sheer panic inside of you. It’s easy to fall into the heat of the moment, the camaraderie and community.

As the five of you stop mere feet away from the wall, you see ropes get dropped down by the figure on top, allowing for all of you to ascend. Price tells you all as much, before you're clicking your ascender into place, and being shot up the rope.

You’re just behind Soap and Ghost, watching as two men – you’re assuming the one with the boonie hat is Price – grab their hands and pull them up.

They all greet each other, and it hits you what they are. Who they are. 

This is the 141 of every soldier’s nightmares. This is the 141 who Soap’s confirmed is closer than anyone will ever know. This is the 141 that takes down enemies by each other’s sides, forever on each other’s six.

It’s odd, being an outlier, someone watching on from outside of their circle. Like a spectator in a real life motion picture, or a cameraman capturing the essence of a love so deep, no one could tell where it started and ended.

They barely pass a few words amongst each other, before each of them move to help the rest of you up.

It’s the other stranger – a man with tight, dark curls, and electrifying brown eyes, that stretches his hand out for you to take. With one breath to decide, you let your hand fall into place against his, your skin heating from the very first touch.

Time seems to stop, just for a moment, as the two of you make eye contact for the first time.

His eyes. They’re such a deep, earnest brown, and the dimples etched into his cheeks look as if they were made to be admired. He, like Soap, has a light dusting of freckles across the highlights of his face, and if one were to tell you he was carved from stone, you’d believe it.

In reality, this assessment lasts less than a few seconds, before he’s pulling you forward.

But he’s too strong, too fast with it, and you quickly find yourself crashing into his chest, your nose hitting against his collarbone, sending a sharp pain through it.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, love,” he rambles out, quickly placing his large hands on your shoulders and keeping you at arms distance, eyes flickering up and down your frame. And, oh, his voice. It’s like honey against velvet, warm and soft and accented. 

“It’s alright,” you manage to say, around the stiffness of your jaw.

He, too, seems at a loss for words, his brows pushing together in confusion. Before either of you can continue your conversation in your small bubble, Soap bursts it with easy charisma.

“Ale, Rudy,” he jerks his head towards the two newest additions to the small group, before looking to you, “Sweetheart.”  You can feel your cheeks heat, your knuckles whitening against the strain of fisting your hands. “Meet Captain Price and Sergeant Garrick.”

It’s a true insult to be referred to as such a vitriol-lidden endearment, especially when being introduced to the 141’s Captain. And the man who you can’t quite get a feel of – the one still watching you, now.

“Thanks for the assist. My men need cover fire,” Alejandro yells over the sounds of gunfights and firearms, reloading his rifle as he does so.

There’s a collective, exciting thrum to the air, your body coming alive within it. A rooted, organic part of you instinctively forces your attention to Price, who immediately commands his team; “The lot of you! Overwatch – now!”

It’s a good call, and quickly adjusting a scope onto the head of your rifle, you move to kneel and aim over the small stone wall. 

Peeking over it, you manage to shoot a few in an arm or a leg – not fatal wounds. If you were at all thinking, you’d realise it was a self-preservation technique; when your body would finally crash from the adrenaline, the pure agony of killing your men would, maybe, lighten. Just a bit.

You jolt when Price barks a warning, “Vehicles incoming, right side!”

Quickly adjusting your stance, you manage to catch a glimpse of the said vehicle, its body covered in the shadows.

“That vehicle’s rigged –” Ghost calls to your left side, but by his dampened tone, you can tell the words aren’t directed to you, “Soap, detonate it!”

Through the scope of your rifle, between one moment and the next, orange and yellow fill your line of sight; nothing visible but the heart of an explosion. You can’t help your deep, surprised exhale, but the sound of Soap’s manic laughter soothes the tension in your shoulders.

“¡Escalen, Vaqueros! ¡Es su oportunidad!” Alejandro shouts through his comms, at the same time that Ghost calls out their status, “Vehicle destroyed!”

Ghost’s voice is such a deep timbre – all dominance and command, guttural and raw and gravelly. You feel almost guilty, how easily you find yourself clinging to their instructions, even if you outrank them all. Like scotch tape over your cracking porcelain brain, a quick fix; a necessary one, if you don’t want to break on this very cement.

“Shadows in the right side tower, watch your backs!” Price calls, and you instantly pivot to direct your gun to the stone tower to your right, hands assuming the most stable position on your rifle without a single tremble.

Your eyes go wide as you watch Soap storm in, efficiently taking down all of the Shadows within with easy shots and a final slice of his knife.

Minutes pass, then, yelling of orders, Soap landing shots of his grenade launcher, Shadows going down without a single KIA caused by your trigger.

It’s when Alejandro calls out to his soldiers, pushing his tactical glasses up and securing his rifle on his back, “Vamos, avancen rapido- mientras está despejado!!” That you let yourself breathe. In, out, the feel of your chest rising and falling with the sound of destruction all around you.

The rest of the previously captive soldiers rush up the ropes, you extending your hand and pulling up a few, just like the rest of the men on top of the wall.

“We’re good to go, coronel,” Rodolfo turns to report to Alejandro, his expression firm, a thin clinging of sweat shining with the fire of explosions below. A few small cuts decorate his face, one just nicking a mole on his upper cheek.

Alejandro nods, allowing himself a smirk to stretch over his face, before looking to you all with a narrowed gaze. “Let’s get out of here, hermanos y hermana.” You will never admit the small, blooming part of you that craves that kind of inclusion – how he adjusts to your presence in such small ways.

“Down the wall,” Price jerks his chin, wiping a hand over the scruff of his beard as he prepares to exfil, looking behind you all. “We are leaving!”

Your heart stutters in your chest – a sudden, all-consuming thought erupting in your brain like wildfire. If you surrendered – turned, and begged for the Shadows to take you to Graves – would they? Was there any hope of return, of normalcy, a way for you to go back to the life you always knew?

A sudden hand around the nape of your neck has you startling out of your wandering thoughts, your eyes fluttering where they meet near-black ones. 

Ghost.

“You know how to get down, dontcha?” He tilts his head, the words coming out deadly soft in the gunfire surrounding you both.

With shaky, unsure movements, you nod.

He squeezes his hold on your scruff tighter, studying you like one would study a germ under a microscope. He leans in – his mask brushing the side of your ear as he seethes, “Then get down, Sweetheart.”

If he knew of your inner struggle, or if it was merely a coincidence, you aren’t sure.

All you know is that he’d just saved you. Intentionally or not – he had rescued you from both the Shadows, and yourself. With a firm nod of your own, you shoulder him off of you, and rappel down the wall.

As soon as your feet hit the muddy ground, you focus in on the exfil vehicles up ahead, the lights no longer shining on you all. Hints of sunrise peak over the horizon, the small bits of hazy orange decorating the men near the vehicle.

Two more footfalls echo behind you, and when you look over your shoulder, it’s to find both Soap and Price.

“These are ours,” Price affirms, pointing to the two vehicles in front of you. When his eyes meet yours, his jaw sets minutely, and you're quick to look away and to the rest of the group.

“Check,” Alejandro nods.

Soap, jogging up to the vehicle, gestures to Rodolfo, “Take the truck we came with,” the man quickly agreeing and rushing back to join his Colonel and men.

“¡Vaqueros, siganme...! ¡Rudy, movamos el rancho!” Yells Alejandro, jerking his head towards the other man, Rodolfo quickly responding, “Sale, Coronel, suerte.”

Adrenaline continues to rush through your veins like a second blood, your muscles loose and ready to react to the smallest snap of a twig. Turning your brain off is second nature, at this point, the rush of unneeded thoughts shut off like a faucet.

Directing Price to follow their lead, you find yourself lost on where to go – Rodolfo was the closest thing you had to a supporter, but at the end of the day, the deal had been made with the 141. Not the Los Vaqueros.

“Gaz, drive!” Price directs, before his steely blue eyes find you, frosting over, allowing you no way of reading his emotion. “You’re with us.”

…There’s your answer, you suppose.

The five of you manage your way into the vehicle, Gaz roughly hopping into the driver’s seat and the other three rushing into the back. Soap’s hand finds its way around your wrist as you go to hop in, pulling you forward roughly. 

Elbowing him with a somewhat immature huff, you try and get comfortable, but being squished in with three other six-foot-something bulky men makes the act difficult.

It’s the least of your problems, really, because as soon as you stop your fussing around, all eyes are on you.

“You lot have three seconds to tell me what the hell is goin’ on,” Price grits out from under his breath. Somehow, it comes out a hundred times more terrifying than if he had yelled it.

Two nervous seconds pass, and just when you think that this is finally going to be the end of your road, Soap babbles out, “The lass is with us now. Sir.”

Knees spread, Price runs a tired, weathered hand down his face, letting out a long-suffering breath.

“...Where’s she from? A stray?” He asks, looking to the two – so dismissive, you just can’t help yourself. You’d earned your title, you were worthy of respect, even if it was from the Captain of the 141.

“She’s right here,” you retort, voice hard and unbudging – even when six eyes lock onto you once more. “And she is a Colonel. One who just killed her men because she wasn’t going to turn a blind eye to war crimes. Who just saved the lives of your men, for no reason but her humanity. Is that what you wanted to hear, Captain?”

Visceral, tangible silence fills the metal walls of the vehicle once more.

That is, until a low, impressed whistle from the front breaks it. Gaz. You look into the rearview mirror, meeting his smile-crinkled eyes. “Definitely what I wanted to hear,” he says, a grin on his elegant features, the minute lighting of the horizon cascading his skin is silky pastels.

“...Sweetheart ‘nd Johnny got in a scuffle while we were on the run,” Ghost supplies, eyes darting to yours for a second before focusing in on Price. “She gave him mercy. We agreed to enter a… mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Mutually beneficial?” Soap guffaws, then groans when you elbow him against his injured arm, his head hanging between his shoulders.

Staring down Price, you straighten your spine. “I help you all survive Graves and get the job done. You give me the resources necessary to knock some sense into him.”

Price raises an unimpressed brow, looking at the three of you in a strange sense of exasperated disappointment. “By ‘knock some sense into ‘im’,” he uses air quotes, “We help you kill ‘im?”

That is the biggest question of all.

Could you – would you – kill him? The man who was your everything; boss, provider, family, lover. If it meant protecting the greater good, if it meant sacrificing yourself, would you allow yourself to deliver the final bullet to his brain?

“No,” you manage, voice cracking softly when you look down to where your hands fist against the fabric atop your thighs. “This isn’t him. I don’t know what’s going on, but…” You swallow, finally looking at Price in the eye once more. “I just want things to go back to normal. He’ll come around.”

It’s like you’ve rolled over and bared your throat to the four men, allowing vulnerability in such a trapped space.

“And if there is no saving him?” Price asks, leaning his forearms against his thighs, entwining his hands together as he studies you. “We’re taking ‘im down, but…” Rolling his tongue against the back of his teeth, he considers for a moment, before nodding to himself. “We’ll allow ya to speak to ‘im. If anything goes haywire…”

“You’ll kill him,” you fill in the blanks, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. They taste wrong on your tongue, the syllables like sour milk.

“He tried to kill us both,” Soap spits out, his right leg bouncing as he looks around the van. “Yer lucky we’re giving ye this much.”

“I could’ve killed you,” you state, the words anything but a lie. They seem to shut him up, at least.

“Save the squabbling for later,” Price cuts in, a direct order to you both. You could, if you wanted to, point out that you were both of equal rank, really, but you decide against it. If you had it your way, you’d have the Captain of Task Force 141 liking your company. “What the hell happened to you, MacTavish?”

MacTavish is certainly a new one – if you had to take a guess, it’d be Soap’s last name.

With a roll of his eyes, Soap jerks his chin to his bandaged upper arm. “Got shot. Through and through. Sweetheart bandaged me up.”

“Where’d that one come from?” Gaz asks from the front, watching through the rearview mirror. “Sweetheart. Got a crush, Johnny boy?”

“Oh feck off,” Soap grumbles, casting a soft glare to the man up front. “Hen gave me those sweetheart lollies when aye was bleedin’ out. Had nothin’ else.”

Gaz hums as if to say that he does not believe that story for a second, and you see all four of them seemingly… relax. Easing, like how one would as they stepped through their front door after a long day at work. Familial and comforting and…

Not for you.

You don’t belong, that voice once again echoes through your ears, and this time, it’s harder to shut it out. It doesn’t matter that you don’t belong, not when you’d be finding your own feet after this bullshit gets sorted out. Really, there wouldn’t even be a reason to see the four men, or the Las Vaqueros, again.

For some reason, your stomach feels uneasy with that thought process.

“We found out somethin’ much more important,” Ghost admits, and the mood immediately settles into something much more cold, much more serious. “Shepherd burned us.”

That name.

It’s like a shot to your system, an invasion of your very being.

Shepherd.

“...General Shepherd?” You mutter out, without a single thought behind the words, your mouth directly connected to your mind.

“Ye know ‘im?” Soap blurts out, brows furrowed and torso turning towards you, hand flexing around the rifle in his lap. Your mouth is dry, your palms are clammy, and your head is pounding.

“He trained me,” you manage, breath tightening and words shaky. 

“He was my first Captain.”

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[js589]

Chapter 4 is up! Lockwood talks to Lucy! Lucy talks to Lockwood! Penelope Fittes is slightly terrible! Barnes questions his chosen profession for the umpteenth time! AND SO MUCH MORE!

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co fanfiction #the creeping shadow #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #holly munro #george karim #montagu barnes #*pats story* this baby can fit so much locklyle mutual pining #we're all just waiting for them to get together #myself and roz included #but trust must be rebuilt first #and plot and stuff #roz & jack continue l&co