#while she doesn't want to room with Lockwood because...he's Lockwood | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maarigolds · 1 year

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Lucy, Lockwood and George, after everything.

(show edition. I'm not going by book canon for this one, so don't worry about spoilers)

At 21 or 22, Lockwood is the first of them that starts to lose his talent.

Which makes sense, since he's the oldest. At the beginning he refuses to even acknowledge it, but Lucy and George figure out what's happening soon enough. For a while he's just ashamed and angry and sad all the time. Then it gets better: Lucy and George get him trough it. He also calls Kipps, and they talk for hours, both coming out of it feeling almost at peace (Kipps has gone back to school and is talking about wanting to become a teacher. Which Lockwood feels like should surprise him, but actually doesn't).

Lucy is next. It breaks her heart a little (because of skull and all other type 3s) and it scares her a lot. But then she realizes how soothingly quiet the world can be at times, and lets herself think that maybe she will be alright.

George is last. And the thing is, even though it saddens him to lose the one thing that connected him to ghosts, mainly he's relieved. He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while, and now that it has, he's ready for whatever may come next.

The jobs get more and more rare as they hear, see and feel less and less. Lockwood knows he could hire new kids to replace them, but in truth he doesn't really want to. Perhaps Lockwood & Co. can be laid to rest at last: after all, they've already achieved more than he ever dreamt. So the next time a client calls, he informs her they've shut down and gives her the name of an up-and-coming independent agency he's heard great things about. He only feels mildly guilty about it.

Even if they're technically not his employees anymore, George and Lucy stay. They don’t talk about it, but the idea of moving out of Portland row and living lives that aren't intrinsically intertwined feels wrong to all three of them: they're a family, after all, and nothing has to change about that.

Still, they need to make money somehow. So they muse about going far away from London, opening a bakery, living in a small house by the sea. But in the end they stay, both in the city and line of work they're used to. Because they do belong there, it's undeniable. George, of course, goes into ghost research and becomes a leading voice in the field, discovering new ways to help agents all over the country. No one is surprised, but everyone is proud. Lucy one day shows up at Barnes' office to ask him about becoming an inspector. It's the last thing either would have expected, but when he asks her why, she says it feels like the best place to be to help kids like her. To stop people like Jacobs. So he gives her a job. She's determined to change things from the inside. Barnes thinks that if someone could, it's her. And Lockwood... well, it takes a while for him to figure it out. But one evening Lucy comes home talking about a kid left deeply traumatized by a job gone wrong, and suddenly he knows. The next day he calls the bank to open up a pro bono clinic for agents and ex agents in need of psychological treatment. After less than a week they already have their first client.

Slowly but steadily, it becomes their new normal.

Lockwood sets up a study in the room on the stairs and works mainly from there. George, on the other hand, works at a lab in the City: he is the first to leave in the morning, but he always comes home soon enough to cook dinner. Lucy keeps slightly more irregular hours, and sometimes her job keeps her away for longer than she'd like. But then again she occasionally gets to come home to the adorable view of the boys fast asleep in front of the tv, so that's good.

One day Flo brings them a stray cat she found while working: they name him Donut and spoil him way too much.

Lucy starts gardening. George grows a magnificent beard (Lockwood is not jealous of it). The fridge breaks down and they have to buy a new one. Airf's son replaces him at the shop. They put up a hammock in the backyard, and spend their vacations piled into it. Mrs Burke from across the street knits them all hats for Christmas. Lockwood adds new framed articles on the walls and new knick-knacks on the bookshelves.

He's not sure when, but one day 35 Portland Row stops being the home his parents left behind and becomes his home. Their home: his, and Lucy's, and George's (and Donut's. And Kipps' when he comes over for lunch on Sundays. And Flo's when she swings by using her own keys. And Barnes' when he stays for tea after long work days).

So they keep going as they have, day after day, year after year, slowly growing older. Wounds heal and scars fade. The sun shines through the kitchen windows on summer mornings. The smell of persian food fills the air every evening. Old rapiers get dusty in the umbrella stand. There aren't any ghosts between their walls, both real and metaphorical.

Everything is alright.

#def wrote this with a cot3 mindset but it can be read as platonic #still #they're in love your honor #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #poly co #locklyle #georcy #georgewood #cot3 #💙🖤🧡

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websterss · 5 months

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𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Hi could I request an Anthony Lockwood x reader where after a particularly hard case reader gets hurt protecting Lucy Lockwood fumes and they both argue for a while because the reader insists she did the right thing and Lockwood just yells out “I can’t lose you! Don’t you get it? I love you.” And the reader just stops yelling pulls him into a hug tells him she loves him too and they just spend the night in each other's arms

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst and fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,881

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t know what brought you more discomfort. The aching burn of your open wound or the eery silence that fell over the car ride back to the apartment. Your eyes fell upon each individual member, trying to grasp what each was feeling at that moment. Lucy was slumped against the seat, eyes watching the buildings and road flood past as the car moved. You assumed she was neutral, perhaps thankful as one being saved could get. You turned your head to watch as George fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. He too avoided the deafening lack of noise within the car but visibly seeing his shoulders tensed up had you assuming he didn’t want to disrupt the peace, wanting it to last a little longer. Though you didn’t mind it that much. You were grateful for the silence. Taking advantage of it because once the car stopped moving you’d all be graced with the burning rage that was radiating off of Anthony.

Now as for Lockwood. The rapid tapping of his foot and the very obvious vein popping against his forehead were enough to display his lack of impatience. He’d bolt the second he saw the steps of the apartment. You assumed as much since you were the cause of such smoke practically fuming out of his ears. The dreaded scolding and berating was something you weren’t at all looking forward too, but you very much expected it to happen. You of all people tonight did not hesitate to put your life on the line for the sake of the others. Preferably in Lucy’s case. Almost on the verge of being pummeled had it not been for the shove your gave her. She graciously thanked you with tears spilling past her waterline, scolding you for such rash behavior, all within the time span that you felt something pierce your abdomen. The visitor having thrown sharp objects your way. It hardly hurt the more you thought about it. Though you feared that that wasn’t entirely a good sign especially since blood seeped through your not so white shirt. At least you came out heroic! That had to count for something right? Right?!

You flinch as you, Lucy, and George walk in after Lockwood who had burst in. The swing of the door collided harshly with the wall creating a dent. You could hear as more doors slammed against their thresholds, causing a series of flashbacks to flood your mind. None worth remembering. None you wanted to flee your mind instantaneously.

“Maybe I should go talk-“ Lucy begins.

“No, he’s mad at me…I think it’d be wiser for me to face him.” You shake your head at Lucy.

“You sure?” You can see traces of worry within her.

“Yeah. I’m sure…I’ll be fine.” You force a smile hoping it’d look convincing. The last thing you wanted to do was worry her. You're aware of the fact she doesn't believe you, neither do you believe yourself since your own eyes were locked on the staircases that lead up to his bedroom. You can only imagine the amount of damage that he's caused in there.

You take a deep breath and climb up the stairs. You clutch at your side, trying not to gather more attention on yourself.

The closer you approach the doorway to his room, the louder the faint sounds of his voice and muffled smashing of objects grow. Anthony’s room was located across from the first landing. Thankfully the door itself remains closed. You can feel bits of tension and anger radiating from within the room to the point it’s almost palpable. You almost don't feel like knocking.

But you do knock, knowing the faster you got his confrontation created from your stupidity out the way, the quicker you could dress the wound. You raise your knuckles to his door, knocking three separate times. The noises from within the room cease and only silence lingers. The sounds of Anthony’s footsteps can now be heard, growing louder and louder.

It’s almost surreal how fast your mind goes from racing a thousand words a minute to an eerie and almost deafening silence. As his steps get louder so does your pounding heartbeat in your ears, a strange sinking feeling rising up your throat. You try your best to hold in the urge to feel like you’re about to throw up and instead stand your ground outside of his closed door. The doorknob jiggles.

The door hinges scream as the door opens. Anthony’s face appears in the doorway. You instantly notice how flushed and red his cheeks are. His brown eyes glare at you intensely. A vein pops in the middle of his forehead, anger radiating off of him like waves of heat.

"You going to let me in, or am I going to remain bleeding out here all night?"

“Don’t start with me.” He growls, his hands balling into fists before he steps aside and allows you to come in.

He opens the door wider, allowing you to enter the mess of a room. The walls are peppered with dents, along with the mirror by the front of the room as well as an antique clock. His nightstand has been flipped over and shattered onto the floor. The sheets of his bed are rumpled, and blankets are scattered around the room, you were surprised it wasn't worse off.

"Redecorating I see?" You breathe out. He glares at you before he turns around, and walks over to his dresser. He opens his drawers and grabs a medical kit.

“Shut it.” Anthony mutters as he sits down on the edge of his mattress.

He gestures for you to sit down, though you feel like doing so would only escalate the situation as you can already feel him glaring daggers in your direction. You feel yourself grow more weary by the second, you were pretty sure the adrenaline high from earlier was wearing off.

"I think you could do with a new lampshade. Maybe even a new color for the walls. I was thinking forest green but if you-" You ramble off, only pissing him off further on purpose.

“You’re infuriating. You know that?” The young man’s gaze narrows, his eyes boring straight into yours. "Never do as you're told..." He leans closer to inspect the wound, his brows furrowing into a scolding frown.

"I've had great influence." You muster a teasing smirk.

“Just for that, I should leave you here to bleed out.” Anthony mutters a dry remark before he leans in a little too close for your liking and gently begins lifting the hem of your shirt.

"You'd never gather the courage. You'd hate yourself for it. Don't worry your gorgeous head Tony a little wound like this can't get rid of me that easily." Your laugh turns into a groan as he presses a wet cloth with disinfectant pray on it.

A string of curses come out of your mouth before you can halt them. The smell of the disinfectant burns the inside of your nostrils, causing your face to screw up involuntarily. He presses a little harder with the cloth, not seeming phased by your reactions.

You can feel your cheeks heat up as you grit your teeth and try to hold back the pain and not squirm around.

"Well…that didn't cheer you up." You wince.

“It’s not really a happy occasion,” Anthony mutters as he continues to press the cloth against your wound.

The pain was still there, but you felt like it was diminishing a little. Or maybe you were just growing accustomed to it. All you could smell was the antiseptic burning into the wound.

"I'd have expected a smile of some sort at least." You shrug as you fall back on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow at you as he finishes cleaning out the wound and begins to sew it. “How could you be reckless?” You hear him ask with an exasperated tone.

It took every ounce of willpower for you not to flinch or make any sudden movements, the pain from your wound made it difficult to stay still, but if you moved around too much, he might apply more pressure than necessary.

"I prefer the term heroic…God!" You groan as the needle pierces through your skin.

“Heroism is being reckless, and you almost got yourself killed because of it.” He finishes stitching up the wound. You can see the slight relief on his face as he leans back on his heels.

He then places your right hand over his so he can press down onto the wound. You almost let out a moan when he does this, the sharp pain sending a jolt through you all over again. You try your best not to react to it.

"A-Alright, next time, it's Lucy's turn." You roll your eyes.

“There shouldn’t be a next time.” He snaps back, but the pain he sees in your eyes makes him pause. His eyes quickly soften a little and he removes his hand from where he previously pressed it down. “How’s it feeling?” His eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort.

"Like I've been stabbed." You deadpan.

He can’t help but let out a dry scoff before he lets out a tired sigh. “That tends to happen when you throw yourself in front of someone.” His eyes shift back to your wound just to make sure it’s fully closed up. "Seriously, do you need anything from me, and don’t give me a sarcastic remark.” He adds as an afterthought.

"I-I need you not to be angry with me…" You struggle to sit up. His face falls as he goes to stand up. "Anthony please!"

He pauses for a moment as he watches you try to sit up. His face is still lined with frustration. The anger within his eyes lingers.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He asks as he helps you gently sit up. "I heard Lucy scream, and it felt like the world stopped. How could you be so stupid!"

"Stupid? I was saving our friend!" You snap.

“By recklessly jumping in front of a visitor!” Anthony shouts. “You could’ve died if it managed to get the drop on you. You could’ve been possessed if it had turned out to be a Poltergeist. And don’t even get me started about what would’ve happened if it were to ghost-lock you. You’d have been gone before we even managed to reach you.”

"I'm fine though, nothing happened!"

“Nothing happened?” Anthony asks incredulously. He repeats louder as he looks down at you. “You got stabbed! You lost a fair amount of blood. “Nothing happened?!” He throws his hands up, trying not to show the intense worry he is feeling. Nothing happened?!” He snaps, his voice cracking. “And the fact that you’ll just say so, so calmly?!”

"Yes nothing more- God what do you want from me? I was only trying to save her-"

“I can’t lose you! Do you not understand that? I love you.” Anthony pauses, staring at you as the anger fades from his eyes, his gaze shifting to the ground. He’s now at a complete loss, not knowing what to say. He wants to be angry at you for being foolish and reckless, but seeing the way you’re looking down as if you feel regretful, makes it difficult.

"You love me?" Your voice cracks.

“I love you. The thought of losing you is unimaginable.” Anthony whispers. It’s the first time he’s ever uttered those three words directly to you. As if this whole argument were simply a ploy for him to finally admit it. "Is that okay?"

You can't muster your laughter. You close your eyes in disbelief at his silly question. "Just as long as it's okay for me to love you too?"

“You’ve always been so annoyingly good at getting under my skin and turning my questions around, but this one time…I’m okay with it.” He replies. It’s a strange sensation. To feel the weight of the words slip off his tongue. To finally admit all those stupid little arguments you always have meant something. "More than okay with it." He breathes out.

"Good. I'd have been very upset if you didn't think so." A smile grows on your lips.

Anthony stares at you, his eyes searching yours. He wants to get closer to you, to kiss you, to pull you onto his bed, to never let go. All the things his stupid heart and brain are telling him to do, and yet there’s this immense feeling of hesitation.

He knows what this means for both of you. He knows what happens next. But he can’t seem to bring himself to do it, to take the first step. The fear of rejection is making him feel foolish by this one moment of hesitation, and he knows he’s got to get rid of this insecurity.

“Stop it.” He mutters as he reaches down to caress your cheek with his hand. “I’m supposed to be the one angry with you.”

"I don't think you're capable of remaining angry for so long…" You lean into his hands.

He lets out a small breath. “No, I don’t think I am,” Anthony whispers. He’s got to be close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in closer.

Anthony’s heart starts to speed up at the idea that this one single motion could change everything between them. He lets his fingers trace from your cheek down to your jawline, trailing softly along your skin. His body leans forward ever so slightly until his nose almost touches yours. He wants this moment to last forever. To freeze time and have you right here with him.

But instead, all he can do is whisper a soft, hopeful, “Please.”

You spare him the wait and tug him closer by his locks.

His eyes widen when you finally take the initiative. He brings his other hand to your other cheek and cups it as you pull him in. Before he knows it, your lips are pressed together in a heated kiss. Your bodies mold together as you both press close against each other. The kiss becomes intense, and all he can think about is the heat in his stomach, and how the moment feels too good to be true.

You're too lost in the kiss, you forget the reason why he was angry to begin with. Yet when your stomach brushes against his own and before you know it, you wince, pulling back gently from his lips.

Anthony notices the sudden change in your demeanor. He pulls back with a concerned expression on his face. Your pained reaction is enough to pull him out of the passion-filled moment.

"Slow." He breathes out and rests his head against yours. He raises a hand to touch the outskirts of your wound as if he needed a reminder. "We need to go slow about this until you're all better."

"I don't think I can wait that long." You shook your head.

"You'll have to." He replies. He knows it's not fair, that you have to wait for something that he so desperately wants too. "I don't want to risk the wound opening back up." He adds, hoping you'll understand.

"I know…" You look back up at him.

He stares at you for a moment more, his eyes scanning your face as if he wants to remember every single detail before he pulls away from you. He gives a gentle smile before brushing his thumb against your face, and letting his fingers brush through your hair. He leans in to place a kiss on your forehead, the softest kiss he’s given you yet. "How about we exchange kisses for some much-needed sleep?" He smirks.

You hadn't even fully registered the toll and lack of energy you were experiencing. That was evident. The adrenaline high from earlier was wearing off, and you were now experiencing the aftereffects.

“Sleep will do us both some good.” He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and allowing his hand to drift down to your neck which he rubs softly with his thumb. You can already feel your body start to relax, but you can’t fight the tiredness building up inside you anymore. “After the whole fiasco, nearly losing you, I'd like to simply hold you.” Is all he mutters.

"I'd like that…" You sigh as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s not long till you pull away.

You toe off your shoes and jacket, then allow him to lead you onto his bed.

Anthony pulls the blanket over him and you both, making sure you're warm. His arm wraps firmly around you as he holds you close so that you are completely cradled in his embrace. All the tension from the fight having faded away by now, replaced with a deep sense of security and peace.

You feel your body relax into his as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. You feel yourself start to slip, slowly drifting off into oblivion as Anthony pulls you even closer, the warm breath of sleep drifting between you both. The last thing you feel is a sweet kiss pressed against your temple.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood oneshot #writings by juls #my gif

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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

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Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song London Boy. Where the reader is from Europe, and she just moved to London to become a better ghost hunter, but she gets rejected at Fittes and other agencies. Then she finds out about Lockwood&Co. and goes to a job interview and gets hired. Since she's from Europe, she has an accent, and like she doesn't always pronounce words right, Lockwood loves it and finds it adorable. As she lives with all of them, they start becoming closer. She and Lucy become like best friends. And from the whole start, when she met Anthony, she was crushing on him and he would often call her darling and love, because for him it's normal, but she would literally be running laps in her head. Lucy notices all of this and teases them about it. Happy ending with them confessing and kissing? As always, you can change it so it suits the song more, I really love your writing, and it never disappoints!!

Lockwood x Reader - London Boy

A/N: While I was researching possible words to mispronounce whyy did I find out that I was pronouncing one of them wrong this wholeee time AHHH also why was it so hard to find a gif where he's smiling. Netflix pls renew the series to give him more screentime where he doesn't look like he wants to dies plzzz. also this starts with a letter written by the reader to her sister a week after moving to London, 3.1k, enjoy!!

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope things are fine over there. London is...interesting. It's very cold and wet, for one. I always feel like I'm one gust of wind away from catching a cold, but a friend took me shopping a few days back, and I've got a much warmer coat now. You'd love Lucy, she's got your sense of humour and everything.

Things didn't work out so well at Fittes. Or Rotwell. Or any of the other agencies I had shortlisted. I'm at a small independent, Lockwood & Co. There's only four of us and Mr. Lockwood's only a year older than me (a misnomer if I ever saw one, I thought he'd be closer to eighty than eighteen), but they get by just fine and I'm learning loads.

Part of me still wonders if I made the right choice by leaving. I wish I was home; warm, dry and safe. I miss the fields, the bonfires, the cheap juice boxes... miss you and mum to bits. Give her all my love.

"Writing a letter?"

She slammed a hand over her postcard with an aggressiveness that shocked her as much as him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, opting for a change of scenery while she drafter her note. It was morning, and from the shuffling sounds outside, George and Lucy seemed to also be awake, but only Lockwood was in the kitchen with her. And the thing about Lockwood was - well, he made her a little skittish.

She panicked at his slightly taken aback expression, rushing to make amends. "No! I mean, yes, I am writing a letter. It's for my sister, Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry I startled you, I don't mean to pry."

"You weren't." God, did she completely forget how to hold a normal conversation? It was mind-numbingly difficult to generate coherent words or even thoughts with his buttery smooth posh accent washing over her. "I just - we keep odd hours and with the time zone difference I haven't had the time to talk to them on the phone."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

She looked down into her tea, suddenly shy. Keeping eye contact with him was difficult enough when they were all in the room, but his undivided attention was simply unbearable. There was something so intentional in his gaze that made her too nervous to think too much about it. So that just left a knot in her chest that would throb and set her ablaze any time he got too close. That, coupled with their extremely embarrassing first meeting, made her especially prone to stuttering or leaving the room whenever Lockwood was around.

Ironically, he was away handling a mild Type One case in Sidcup, for which the prestigious clientele warranted the inconvenient travel, during her interview. Which was just as well, because she was sure she wouldn't have been able to force anything out with him watching her as closely as George had. She had seen the newspaper clippings on the wall, but the dates had been cut off, so it hadn't been immediately obvious to her that he was a teenager like the rest of them. Besides, who had heard of an agency run by three teenagers and no adults?

Which was why she nearly fell out of her armchair the following morning when the front door opened to the sound of unfamiliar yet boyish laughter. The briefcase carelessly left by the entry way to the living room caught her eye first, followed by his crisp suit, his straight tie, and finally, the man himself.

She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but as he grinned with his dimples mischievously winking at her, she felt that if anyone could change her mind, it just might be him. She felt the palms resting on her book grow clammy as her heart thudded dangerously, And this was all before he had even spoken or looked at her. As soon he opened his mouth, she was a goner.

"You guys have to read this: 'Lockwood & Co. - the answer to the Problem? For an independent agency with less resources yet arguably more success than the big two, could they be the key to ridding our world of visitors? Read more on pa-' Page six? So much of that trouble, all for a page six?"

"Now look what you've done, Lockwood. You've scared our newest member mute with that demented laugh of yours."

"How could I forget? Y/N L/N, the one agent with enough talent to, and I quote, 'somewhat-kind-of satisfy' George Karim. I was positively racing home to meet you. Forgive my, hmm, associates. I hope they didn’t give you too rough of a time."

"You make it sound like we're degenerates!"

"They can be quite bothersome when they want to be. I'm Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co."

He stuck out a hand, and she blinked at him. She felt a bubble of nervous laughter lodged in her throat, almost half-inclined to believe that this was all a bit; he really was that ridiculously attractive. His dazzling smile faltered, morphing into one of concern, until Lucy knocked enough sense back into her to respond. She shook his hand, embarrassed, mumbling a greeting. He walked away, loosening his tie, and she buried her nose deeper into the paper, wishing it would just swallow her whole.

They had been terribly busy the past week, and during the day she would mostly tag along with Lucy, so their paths rarely crossed. There was this one time when he had just been coming down the stairs as she and Lucy were returning from their shopping trip. She froze halfway in the motion of taking her coat off, then shrugged it back on. He looked mildly confused. She was desperately confused. She didn't appreciate Lucy's snicker.

"New coat."

"Yeah. It's real warm."

"I can see that." Her coat looked not all that much bulkier than Lucy's, but she could still hear the smile in his voice as she pulled her gloves off. Somehow, she managed to coordinate her limbs enough to take the coat off and hang it like a normal person, before briskly walking up to the attic, the side of her face burning from when she passed Lockwood.

"It's real warm." Lucy wasted no time teasing her as soon as they were in the attic. She groaned.

"What else was I supposed to say?"

"You were really excited about the pockets at the shop."

"They're-"

"Faux fur-lined, yes, you've told me a thousand times." She gave a knowing half-smile. "Couldn't manage telling him once?"

"He'd think they were stupid. He'd think I was stupid." Even more stupid that he already thinks, she wanted to say. But who could blame him? For all he knew, she didn't have enough brain cells to string three coherent words together.

Their cases were tiring, but the routine was still so new that more often than not, she would be too wired to peacefully knock out in the attic with Lucy after their cases. She'd open the door to the attic just a crack, and listen to the soothing sounds of paperwork rustling in the library, watching the barely visible soft shadows of Lockwood moving about. She could glean that they were a little burdened by the absence of a pair of hands, and she had tried to offer her help, but all she got was distracted pats on the forehead as her words went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't blame them; they really did look stretched thin, which made her especially thankful for Lucy's company even at their busiest.

Still, that didn't stop her from carrying her blankets down to the door to the attic in the dead of the night, leaning her head against the banister. If she were lucky, she'd catch a faint strain of Lockwood humming. As cheery and disarming as he was, picturing him humming felt too intimate. The little that she could hear reverberated through her skull, the notes knocking into her other drifting thoughts about him, his British smile and his stormy London eyes. But the Lockwood she curiously dreamt of at night never reconciled with the Lockwood she saw walking and talking during the day, and so their relationship had come to a sort of standstill, where he would smile at her and she would take the first socially-acceptable chance to flee the room. Only, it was a bit harder to escape early in the morning when they were the only ones in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the others soon came, and the tension eased. Lucy came in, sleepily trying to scrounge up some tea while George went off on Lockwood about his sleep schedule, or lack thereof, while Lockwood tried to stuff his face and busy himself in gathering his documents to keep from answering. She took advantage of the bustle to discreetly sift through the drawers. Lucy had mentioned that they had a postage drawer somewhere, but she didn't want to be too much of a burden by asking again.

"George, lay off me, I've got to get to DEPRAC. Luce and I will meet you at the Archives and - oh, darling, we keep the stamps here." Lockwood paused his hunt for some brown, non-descript envelope to pull open a drawer between the two of them. She could feel her face starting to warm, but only because of the embarrassment, not the nickname. "Mailman should be coming around soon, so you might want to hurry. Luce, yesterday's client should be coming around near 5 and you promised Holly you'd do the invoices while she was away. Oh, what now George?" She ducked her head, muttering some thanks that went unheard as George tried to force out how many hours Lockwood had slept, practically chasing him out of the house. Lucy raised her eyebrows suggestively, which she pointedly ignored.

That day was the most dull one yet, where she rolled around the house like a lost penny, trying to occupy herself. A letter arrived some time in the late morning, and she took the liberty of starting its case report file. Lockwood was the first one free, arriving home a little after lunch. She told him as soon as she saw him, while he was still taking his coat off, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve.

"We got a new case while you were gone. I started its file."

"Wonderful. Thanks, love." He rolled up his sleeves, putting on the kettle, while she surreptitiously leaned against the wall for support, trying not to think about how effortlessly pet names dripped off his tongue, like honey, before she got too shaky in the knees. She pressed on.

"It was from a Lew-tenant Smith."

"Who?"

"Lew-tenant Smi..." her voice trailed off. No, that didn't sound right. She couldn't imagine any of them saying it like that. Lockwood briefly leaned over her shoulder, a faint smell of soap lingering around him, before his eyebrows unfurrowed and he returned to his tea.

"Oh, I see. We pronounce it as 'left-tenant.' Now, where's he staying?"

Oh dear. She wasn't entirely sure. "Erm, Ald-wykh?"

"Ald-wich, we call it."

"Ah." Some part of her wanted to apologise, but he was looking at her with a strange twist to his lips and a certain fondness was shining in her eyes that, once again, she was rendered speechless. A silence followed, and for once, she willed herself to bear it.

"You haven't been stuck at home all day, have you? Have you been outside during the day any time this week?"

"I, er-"

"Luce, what kind of a friend are you?" Lockwood spun around to accost Lucy, who had wandered into the living room to see the commotion, bleary-eyed from whatever lair she had retired to to iron out the paperwork. "Y/N must be feeling cooped up. We should make a day trip of it. We'll get a break one of these days, and we'll take you around London, do all of it: high tea, the West End, go to a pub, watch some rugby- how are you with heights? Interested in the London Eye?"

Lucy groaned, stealing Lockwood's tea. "I don't know how Holly does it."

"Well, for one, I don't think she lets it pile up like you do."

Lucy shot Lockwood a dirty look, taking his biscuit too before turning back apologetically. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but how about next week?"

She laughed, pulling a weak smile from Lucy. "Don't sweat it. Hopefully, I'll still be around then." Lucy waved goodbye, retiring to her mountains of paperwork.

"Well, there goes my tea. Would you like some...?"

"Tea? Oh, um, sure."

"Brilliant. See you outside in five minutes." With that, he left the kitchen. Once she had caught up to what had just happened, she slipped her coat on, joining him outside just as he hailed a cab.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been exaggerating: Lockwood was fully prepared to take her to each and every one of those attractions, no matter how long it took. In the end, they narrowed it down to a rainy cab ride to a play at the West End, with high tea afterwards, though they did get around to the rest in the coming weeks. Oddly enough, they never planned it beforehand. The occasional lull in cases would sneak up on them, Lockwood would wander into the living room where she would be fused to an armchair, and suddenly it would be time for yet another trip around London.

But now they were at high tea, tucking in to the fading sunlight and excitedly discussing the play. A wind blew through one of the open windows, and she shivered.

"Everything okay, love?"

"I'm fine. It's just a little draughty, don't you think?"

"A little what?"

"Dra - erm, like, it's windy?"

"Drafty."

"Oh, come now, that sounds nothing like how it's spelt. How was I supposed to know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as he polished off his food. But she was feeling bold enough to not let it drop this time.

"You keep doing that! You smile and turn away or you laugh and it makes me feel like I've put my foot in something - "

"No, no, dear god, no." There he was, laughing again. She hoped he would choke; but not too hard, just enough to shock some sense into him. "You don't - it's not your fault; believe me, I'm just an awful person. It's just...you really try your very best at...everything, really." His eyes fixed on hers and she found herself wanting to never look away. "It's...endearing."

"I’m sorry. I know my accent isn’t the clearest-"

“No, it’s fine. I like it. It’s very unique, and…beautiful. I’d pick your voice out of a crowd.” She felt this warmth wash over, and then chills run down her spine. He made her all nervous and giggly on the inside in a way that made her want to lounge around London, indulging herself in useless thoughts of ridiculous London boys with addictive smiles and silver tongues.

But like all good things, their excursion came to an end. She found herself dragging her feet to the front door with a boy with whom she was too scared to be alone with just 12 hours ago.

"I hope you had fun today. Not feeling too homesick, are you?"

She thought back to the green meadows and lightning bugs that she had dreamed about in the early hours of that morning. That life still seemed so precious, so sacred, but now it was oddly distant, no longer something she yearned for.

"I don't think so. You know what they say, 'home is where the heart is,'" she looked up at him, unable to resist the smile tugging at her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I think the English aren't half-bad either."

"Not half-bad?" They were so close now, she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. Her heart stuttered. "I took you out to the West End, and you call it 'not half-bad.'"

"Well, there are certain exceptions."

"Like what?"

Her stomach threatened to explode with giddiness. She was having a hard time regulating her breathing and looking at him at the same time. God, she was never beating the 'stupid' allegations. "I don't know," she fibbed in a flimsy attempt to seem cool. "Like...like you."

In the end, it was his eyes that pulled her in, pulled her under, because one moment she was teetering on the precipice of something new and terrifying, and the next there was soft skin brushing her frozen face, warm lips on her chapped ones. He tasted like summer in this cold, dead winter, breathing life and wonder back into her. It was dizzying, exhilarating, heart-palpitations-inducing...it was Lockwood, surrounding and consuming all her senses.

He pulled away, and all she stared at him blankly, as if he had stolen the words at the tip of her tongue. He gave a half-smile, and she grinned at him. He opened the door for her, murmuring in her ear in a way that filled her brain with pleasant static. "After you, darling." She rolled her eyes reflexively as a defense mechanism, but still her heart fluttered. They walked in to find George sorting the mail, mildly peeved, mildly concerned.

"Ah, so you two finally decide to show up. You could've been dead in a ditch for all we know. Your dinner's gone cold, you know."

Lucy had skipped down the stairs once the front door opened, a little too immediately for her liking and now her eyes narrowed teasingly. All of a sudden, she had the embarrassing realisation how visible the front porch was from the attic. There was colour in Lucy's cheeks, which probably meant that she had somehow managed to work through all that paperwork. Drat. "I dunno. I think Mr. and Mrs. 'Darling' are- "

"Luce! Have I...told you about my coat pockets?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, heading back to the attic, while George shook his head and handed her a postcard. Lockwood's fingers lingered briefly on her wrist as he walked away, leaving her and her mind all topsy-turvy. With a start, she pulled herself away from delicious thoughts of Lockwood to the postcard in her hand. She scanned it eagerly, lips twitching as she reached the end of it. Her sister could be just as ridiculous and delusional as her sometimes, and she wasn't even in the same country.

Y/N -

Can't say much, haven't got the time. All's well here and we miss you dearly too. The house is just too quiet, but mum seems to be adjusting. We saw a picture of your boss in the paper the other day.

London boys truly are a different breed, aren't they?

Love, Lizzie.

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #london boy #lover

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genieofthebooks · 1 year

Text

Chaos of 35 Portland Row

Pairing: Platonic!George Karim x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Lucy Carlyle x Fem!Reader, Romantic!Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

A/n: This is an Incorrect Quotes fic. They all belong to the sources that they came from, I got them from an Incorrect quotes generator.

Warnings: Swearing, Chaos.

Lucy, spraying a melted cutting board with a tiny water gun: We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.

Lockwood: I actually just put the cutting board in the oven...

George, visibly confused: Okay, so they decided to put the cutting board in the oven?

Lucy, spraying Lockwood: You FUCKING DUMBASS!

Lockwood: Dude, I forgot-

Lucy: OH MY FUCKING GOD! We're trying to make Chicken Alfredo right now, and you fucking MELT the cutting board in the oven at 400 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT!?

Y/n: *Watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation.*

Lockwood: Guess what I'm about to get!

Y/n: On my nerves.

Y/n: Is this a good idea?

Y/n: Probably not.

Y/n: Do I care?

Y/n: No

Lockwood: What is love?

George: An emotional minefield.

Y/n: A neurochemical reaction.

Lucy: Baby don't hurt me.

George: I am convinced Y/n and Lockwood share a brain cell.

Lucy: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

Lockwood: That's ridiculous, Y/n doesn't have a crush on me.

Lucy: Yes she does.

George: Yes she does.

Y/n: Yes I do.

Lucy: How do Lockwood and Y/n usually get out of these messes?

George: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

George: So, Y/n is no longer allowed to take the rubbish out at night.

Lucy: Why?

George: Because I've caught her trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row.

Y/n, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your arse.

Lucy: We’re about to do the taser challenge. You want in?

George: What's the taser challenge?

Y/n: We tase eachother, then drink.

George: How do you win?

Lucy: What are you, a lawyer? You want in or not?

Lockwood: If you want my advice-

George: No offense but you’re the last person I want relationship advice from. You tried to kill your girlfriend. Multiple times.

Lockwood: First off, that was before we started dating. Secondly, she's also tried to kill me.

Y/n: It’s true. It was mutually attempted murder.

Y/n: There's no way he would like me back.

George: Lockwood would throw himself in front of a moving car for you.

Y/n: Lockwood would throw himself in front of a moving car for fun.

*George drunkenly wanders around the house and Lockwood is drunkenly giggling*

Lucy, completely sober: *sighs* Well, looks like it's just me and you against the wold, Y/n.

Y/n, going to her and Lockwood's room: Nope, just you. *shuts door*

*Lockwood and Y/n are planning to break in somewhere*

Lockwood: We need to distract the guards.

Y/n: Right.

Lockwood: What are we gonna do?

Y/n: I'm gonna break their elbows while you poke their eyes.

Lockwood:

Y/n:

Lockwood: Deal

Lockwood: I WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD FOR YOU!

Y/n: Okay, can you do the dishes?

Lockwood: No!

Y/n: I wish I was a cat, but not in a furry kinda way, more like a “I can sleep all day and hit people with no consequences” kinda way.

Y/n: You don't think I can fight because of my gender!

Kipps: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Lockwood can fight in that dress either.

Lockwood: Perhaps not. But I would make a radiant bride.

I hope you all like this, sorry it was not what I normally post

#lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle x reader #george karim x reader #incorrect quotes #lockwood and co #35 portland row #george karim #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood

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tinyenha · 8 months

Text

𝔐𝔶 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔐𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔫…

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴: 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊

No one POV

"Ahh... Tomorrow is the day. The day Mother left me and Father to the afterlife. I should go tell Father and visit her grave together" Y/N signed and went to her father's room where he stored all his personal belongings. While she walking, she looked out the window and stared at the nature that surrounded the mansion, her home. She lived at the big mansion along with her Father.

Every year, Y/N and her Father visit her late mother's grave to celebrate the day of her mother's death. Her mother died when she was still young because of her unknown sickness. She is still young when her mother leaves her. Many medicines and treatments her mother tried but it didn't work as planned. As much as she doesn't want her mother to go, she knows that people's death is unpredictable. Especially people that she treasured the most. Until now, she still remembers her promise with her mother to take care of her father and protect him from any danger. She kept her promise. She only has her father left.

Flashback...

Young Y/N and her mother take a walk in the nearest garden to spend their free time together. The garden is full with white roses and baby breath. Butterfly wings are displayed as they fly about freely. "Mother look! White butterfly!" Young Y/N grabbed her mother's attention and pointed at the butterfly that she just mentioned. Her mother smiled sweetly and patted her daughter's head. "How beautiful. You like them?"

"I love it, Mother! They're beautiful and small. Sadly they're so fragile, we can't hold them just like when I'm holding cute kitten." Young Y/N pouted while staring at the white butterfly. Her mother sadly smiled and patted her daughter's head. "That's true, dear. They are so precious. We need to protect them from any danger. Just like us, we protect each other from bad people. Be kind to people and animals. Help each other, protect each other. Spread love and keep smiling. Promise me that, okay dear?"

Young Y/N nobbed her head, understanding her mother's words. She held her mother's hand gently and stared at her. "Just like how you and Father protect me, I promise to protect both of you. You and Father is the only treasure I have now. I love you guys so much. You're the best. No one can beat my love for you and Father." She hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you, dear. What a lovely and thoughtful girl." Her mother hugged her back and caressed her head gently.

End of Flashback

No one POV

Y/N smiled sadly, remembering her memory with her beloved mother when she was 5. She is already 23 years old. After her mother's death, she feels empty even though there are maids who help clean their mansion and always take good care of her. Growing up without the warm love of a mother is the hardest reality that Y/N needs to face. She tries to live happily just like her mother wishes. Her father also tries his best to spend time with her. Thankfully, her father never failed to make her smile and know her well. "What Father is doing right now? Hopefully, he is not busy with his work." She thought.

The villagers of Lockwood have known Y/N's family well. Y/N's father worked as a mannequin maker and already run his business for a long time since he used to help his family carry all the materials to make the mannequin. Even though there is a lot of better job he can do, he decides to continue his family tradition and explore more about mannequin creation. His customers are mostly from royalty with different backgrounds. Besides that, he also makes toys and music boxes for the kids. His lovely personality and kindness never fail to make villagers' hearts melt. He was very sociable with all the villagers that he passed by. Y/N's late mother is also one of his customers. She came to his workshop and requested him to make a small music box as her comfort item during nighttime. Since then, they become closer and eventually fall in love with each other.

Once she arrived in front of the room, she knocked on the door slowly. "Father? May I come in?" She heard rustling inside the room. "Sure, dear. Come inside." She opened the door and saw her father carving the mannequin. Her father's room was full of sketches that displayed mannequin diagrams. Books are stacked just like a tower. Material of the mannequin is everywhere including his crafting tools. Her father stopped her work and looked at his daughter. "You look sad.... Are you okay? Need anything, dear?" "Urm... Mother's death anniversary is today... I wonder if you're free right now. Let's visit her. Like usual, our tradition every year..." She smiled sadly while playing with her dress lace. "Of course, dear. I almost finished my work. Let's get ready. We can grab some white roses for her and clean her grave." He smiled sweetly and went to his daughter. Her father caressed her head gently. She sighed. "I miss her Father..."

" I miss her too, dear... Don't be sad. Mother doesn't want you to be sad. Smile for me" Her father gently caressed her daughter's cheek. Y/N sadly smiled and hugged her father. "Promise me to stay with me, don't leave me alone." She whimpered. "I promise. I will protect you no matter what happens. You're my only daughter. You're my pill of happiness that brightens my gloomy day. No one can replace your place."

Her father hugged her back and tried his best to hold back his tears. He knows how hard her daughter's life is. How sad her life was without her beloved mother. He feels guilty that her daughter needs to face this reality. But with her wife's promise, he will treasure his daughter for the rest of his life. He doesn't want his daughter to feel lonely. He wants to give his best, give a lot of love, and provide her the happy life that she deserves. Protect her from any danger. He only has his daughter left. No one else can take her away from him.

Taglist: @rinbowaman @heesbaby @deobitifull @enha-stan @shawnyle @gyus-honey @kaykay11sworld @httpsrinrin @sunghoonsfeethair @nshmrarki

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

could you possibly do lockwood x reader and the reader is always slightly to eager to sacrifice her life for george and lockwood etc to the point where lockwood is concerned about it and he confronts her abt it and she basically says how does the same thing like kinda angsty.

sorry that was long and rly specific and sounds abit depressing in retrospect 😭 no pressure if not love ur lockwood and co imagines tho

a/n: oh i can absolutely do this! if there's anything i love, it's lockwood and angst lol. i hope you enjoy!! and don't worry about the length of a request, if there's something you want then I'll do it <3

warnings: mild language, angst, mentions of death gn reader

It's four in the morning and all you want is a good cup of tea and to lie down, but when does anything ever go the way you want it to?

As you sit on one of the kitchen chairs, Lockwood is fumbling around, trying to patch up a gash on your forehead after a scuffle with the ghost you had a case for tonight. You feel like a child. Even more so because he's telling you off.

If you're being honest, you've not been listening to most of what he's been saying, partly because of exhaustion and pain, partly because he's been pattering on for so long that, quite frankly, you've lost interest.

"Are you even listening to me?"

You flinch as Lockwood slathers antiseptic cream on the cut. "Honest answer?"

"Preferably."

"Then no. What were you saying?"

The look he gives you holds no humour. No, this is the look Anthony Lockwood gives when he's tired and irritated and unable to keep up the farce of a charming, unbothered business owner. It doesn't hold much sway over you, and it never has, truthfully, but you can empathise with him. Solely because he often acts the same way you're acting now.

"You can't keep doing this," he says. His eyes are fixed on the plaster he slowly places on your forehead. "You're throwing yourself into harm's way with no good cause."

"No good cause? I think making sure you and George stay alive is an exceptional cause."

"This isn't a joke, (name). This is your life."

The words irk you a little. "I could say the same to you."

Lockwood's hands drop from your head, and he looks at you straight-on now. His eyes, usually filled with curiosity and soft happiness, swirl with something else. Frustration.

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're always so snippy with me after cases," you say, trying to keep the edge out of your voice, "when all I'm doing is keeping you and George safe. I mean, tonight, you were both ghost-locked when I found you! But you're no different. If anything, you're worse than me. You've thrown yourself out of windows before. Shit, you've locked me in a room to fight a ghost yourself while I tried to find a source!"

He starts packing away the first aid kit, tearing his eyes away from yours, and you know you've made a good point. He never looks at you when he knows you're right.

"Lockwood, this company can't survive without you, we can't survive without you. My risks are thought through, and I'm not doing anything that should really cost me my life. You on the other hand..."

He glances at you, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "Me?"

You sigh, willing him silently to just look at you. "You'd give your life in a second. Which, believe me, I am eternally appreciative of, but it's rarely ever necessary, if ever. I've half a mind to think you're doing it to just... you know. Finish things. I'm - we're concerned about you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, you absolutely do. You are such a hypocrite!"

"Me?" The look he gives you is scathing, so unlike any way he's looked at you before. "That's rich. Who was it that jumped from a balcony to stop of ghost? Who put themself right in the path of a ghost launching itself for someone? It was you!"

The anger that grips you is almost unbearable, but you push it down. Shouting will get you nowhere, and George is trying to sleep. "First of all, that balcony hung over a thick spread of bushes, so I had no injuries except for some thorn scrapes. Secondly, that ghost was going to kill you. Third, I can name at least five more things you've done in the last two weeks that put you in much more danger. Are we seriously going to make this a competition?"

Suddenly, he stands, and his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. You wince, watching as he shoves the first aid kit back into the cupboard. He pauses, hands on the countertop, standing straight as a rod.

Drama queen, you think, but you don't dare say it out loud.

"You're getting too reckless," Lockwood says, his back still facing you. "I can't risk having an agent who is too reckless. It endangers everyone."

Oh, you want to strangle him.

Angrily, you stand, not caring that you almost send the chair clattering to the floor. You press your hands to the table, wrinkling the thinking cloth, and lean forward, scowling.

"Reckless? Do you even hear yourself, Lockwood?"

"I do."

"I think you just love to hear the sound of your own voice. Surely that's why you spout so much bullshit."

"No, I -"

"I'm talking now, Lockwood," you snap and, thank god, he goes quiet. "You of all people do not get to call me reckless, not with the shit you pull. George, yes, he can feel free. But, you? Not a fucking chance. You go out of your way to put yourself in dangerous situations! And I get it, you want to protect us, but that is what I'm doing, too, and you don't see me almost dying! I leave with a scratch or two, so what. You leave with concussions and ghost-touch and the risk of bleeding internally. But, okay, I'm the reckless one. Whatever."

When he turns, his eyes are burning. "You endanger all of us when you pull shit like what you did today."

Scoffing, you say, "All right. What should I have done? Left you and George to be killed? My question is, what would you have done, Lockwood? Would you have left us?"

His silence is your answer, and you stand straight. Your gazes are locked, both alight with rage, but you won't back down. Not on this.

"That's what I thought."

You make to leave, but he moves quickly, grasping your wrist with a touch that should be strong. You're surprised by the gentleness of his hand, how loose his grip is, and you look up at him, frowning. His gaze has changed entirely, from rage to desperation.

"I can't -" He struggles for the words. "I can't lose you, (name). Not like I lost..."

My family. The words are left unspoken, but you know it's what he would've said. There's a pang in your heart, and you want to apologise for it all, but that's always been your gut instinct. To say sorry for everything. But not this time.

"And you think I can bear to lose you?" You try to hide the waver in your voice, but he's caught it, and you know it from the way his gaze softens. "You can't order me around, demand me not to protect you guys, when you do exactly that. It's not fair, Lockwood. Not on me, not on George. And I don't - I don't want a part in this if all you're going to do is sacrifice yourself and then criticise me for doing the same."

His hand shakes as it holds yours, and that's when all the sadness hits you, the regret for the argument you've had. "I'm sorry. I just..."

Your hand closes over his. "I know. I know."

When his forehead touches yours, careful not to press on the gash, you breathe in deeply. And you breathe out all the bad, all the pent-up anger inside of you. There's too little time in your lives to spend like this.

"I won't stop unless you stop," you murmur, closing your eyes.

His breath is warm on your cheeks. "Seems like we're stuck in a checkmate forever, then."

You sigh. "I suppose we are."

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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hailqiqi · 9 months

Text

Don't Let Them In

The BBC wants their money.

Notes: Absolute crack inspired by a short conversation in the Chaos server. Also, because I wanted to write Lucy playing a part like she did at Winkman's in the books.

Tags: Gen, Crack, Brits writing Very British Things, First Person POV (because that's how the books are written and it works for Lucy idk), one or two swear words Words: 2297

Read on AO3 here, or read on tumblr under the cut

'Television licence inspection, open up!'

Lockwood halted and whirled around, blocking the kitchen doorway. 'I told you it was their van, George!' he hissed.

'And I told you, my brother says that's impossible—'

'Don't be ridiculous, everyone knows they send out TV detector vans—'

'And how exactly are they supposed to detect TVs?'

Lockwood huffed. 'How am I supposed to know?! But everyone knows it's a thing, right Luce?'

'Yeah, actually, my mam was always worried when—'

'See?'

'Oh for God's sake.' The banging on the door had continued throughout our whispered conversation, but George ignored it, instead removing his glasses and cleaning them on his shirt with a huff. 'Whatever you two numpties believe, the facts are that we have a TV with no licence. We can't let him in.'

'Do we have to let him in?' I asked, glancing at the door. 'Mary said Andrew's boss says you can just tell them to sod off and they'll leave.'

The banging grew louder, now accompanied by flicks of the letterbox and shouts of 'I know you're in there! I can see you through the glass!'

Lockwood winced. 'He doesn't sound too happy,' he said, eyes darting around before landing on our offending TV set. 'Right, okay, here's what we'll—'

'Open up already!'

'Just a minute! I can't find the key!' he shouted a response at the door, then turned to us. 'Okay, so, we'll put the set in the high-security storage room. He's an adult, he won't want to go in there.'

'He'll probably leg it the second he sees our kit,' George said, snorting.

'Exactly. So, Lucy, you answer the door and stall him, while we carry the TV down the stairs.'

I ignored George's groaning in favour of staring at Lockwood, incredulous. 'Why should I be the one to open the door? You're much better at the whole people thing!'

Lockwood shrugged. 'It's a man, just smile and give him the pretty girl look — don't look at me like that, you do it to me all the time!'

At my shoulder, George made a choking sound; I felt my face flush. 'I'm sorry, what—'

The banging at the door intensified and Lockwood gave me a blinding smile, the same bright, dazzling grin he'd give me when trying to convince me to face off with a Wraith without flares. 'Come on, Lucy, you've got this.'

Warmth fluttered through my chest, and the next thing I knew the boys were fumbling the set out of the sitting room while I (slowly) headed for the door. Dangerous things, Lockwood's smiles; they tended to spark momentary insanity in whoever he turned them on — child, colleague, client, adult. George alone seemed immune, with all his surliness, but I hadn't built any sort of immunity up in my ten or so months at the company and could only hope that would come with time. Though we all know how that turned out, I'm sure.

The banging on the door was echoing in the hall so loudly I was surprised the door hadn't been knocked off its hinges. I watched the crystal skull on the key table vibrate for two more bangs as the boys manhandled our illicit TV into the kitchen, then summoned my most vapid smile and opened the door.

A man stood on the top step, his hand raised mid-knock. He was balding and wore a wrinkled white shirt with visible sweat stains large enough to rival George's rapier training shirt, and the tie loosely-knotted at his collar was over-large — perhaps in an attempt to compensate for his lack of neck, who knows. His sleeves were rolled up over meaty arms against the unseasonable weather, the cuffs tight and reminiscent of bread dough exploding from a loaf tin, and he carried a clipboard and small, black box in the hand that was not currently raised in a fist at my head-height. If a gorilla with mange had been stuffed into a suit, you'd be hard-pressed to convince me that he wasn't currently standing at our door.

He narrowed his small eyes further at me, and I gave him a simpering smile. 'Hello! I'm sorry it took me so long, I couldn't find the key for the door!'

A pause followed, in which his eyes grew so small they should by all rights have imploded. I kept my smile fixed firmly in place and hoped the inspector wouldn't notice the door was a latch lock.

'You were a bloke a second ago.'

Shit. 'No, I wasn't!' I pitched my voice higher than usual and feigned offence. 'I certainly am not a boy!'

'Yeah, you was. You weren't a Manc, either.'

I didn't have to feign it now. 'Excuse you, I'm from Northumbria.'

'What's it matter? You lot are all the same, anyhow.' I glared at him and considered the benefits of shoving him down the steps and slamming the door, but then I’d probably have to deal with DEPRAC and the police instead of just the BBC. The man cleared his throat, unperturbed, and started what was obviously a practised spiel. 'Right, I'm here to check for TVs. We don't have a licence on file for the property, so I'll need to take a look around to make sure you're not doing anything illegal.'

I fluttered my eyelashes in an attempt to recover. 'Of course we're not doing anything illegal! We don't even own a TV!'

We were, in fact, doing multiple things DEPRAC would take issue with, but that wasn't the point.

'Then you won't mind me taking a look around.'

'Normally, yes, but I'm home alone and that would be terribly improper…'

He peered around me and down the hall. 'You lose ten stone between that door and this one, then?'

'What?'

'Your shadow was a lot larger a minute ago. It's just a quick look love, then I'll be on my way.'

The inspector moved to walk around me and I draped myself against the doorframe to block his way, desperately wishing I knew what 'pretty girl' nonsense Lockwood had been on about. Maybe Floating Joe had got him in the head earlier, because the inspector simply rolled his eyes.

'If you'd just—' a yell from the kitchen interrupted him, and he raised an eyebrow at me. 'Home alone, are you, love?'

'Yes,' I said, nodding enthusiastically. 'That was my cat.'

'Odd-sounding cat.'

'No, it isn't.' More yells came from behind me and a smug smirk slowly settled on the man's face which, if you remember his gorilla-esque looks, made me want to vomit more than it made me want to let him in. I gritted my teeth; the boys obviously needed more time, and my dignity was shot anyway. With what I hoped was a dainty gasp, I widened my eyes theatrically and summoned my most injured cry: 'Are those my keys?'

He paused. 'Sorry?'

'There!' I pointed to the keychain hooked at his waistband, which was quite clearly his own. 'You've got my keys!'

'What?! No, these are my—'

'I can't believe you!' I wailed. 'I looked everywhere for them! No wonder I couldn't find them!'

'Look, love, these—'

'You rotten thief! I bet you're not even a TV man after all! You're nothing but a—'

Alas, neither of us got to find out what nonsense I was about to spout next as at that moment a gigantic crash sounded from the kitchen, the noise reverberating in the hall and cutting me off quite effectively. Raised voices followed — though who was shouting at who, I couldn't tell — and, without thinking, I abandoned the door and dashed towards the commotion.

Lockwood and George both stood half-way down the basement stairs, locked in a shouting match and completely oblivious to my arrival. The source of the crash I’d heard was not immediately obvious, but when I chanced a vertigo-inducing glance over the bannister there on the floor was our TV set, face down and surrounded by shattered glass, looking somewhat like a large-bottomed lady after an over-indulgent afternoon at the pub. It was no wonder they were both so upset about it — while our set was ancient, there was no way we could afford a new TV if we couldn’t afford the licence fee in the first place, and both boys liked to watch the football when they could.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind me. ‘Home alone, were you, love?’

I turned meekly to face the inspector, who stood at the top of the stairs looking thoroughly unimpressed, clipboard at the ready. The boys were still wrapped up in their blame game, and the inspector had clearly noticed the broken TV on the floor, and there I was trapped on the stairs between an argument and authority — but I did my best to muster up a winning smile and tried my luck anyway, because that’s what we did at Lockwood and Co.

‘See? I was telling the truth when I said we don’t have a TV!’

— — —

A year later saw us huddled in the corridor outside the kitchen door, older, wiser, and more competent, yet reliving a hushed argument from the past (albeit with one extra player).

‘What do you mean you haven’t paid the licence fee? I saw you in the papers all winter, I know you can afford it!’

‘Look, there was so much going on that I completely forgot once we brought it home—’

‘Shouldn’t Hol have done it?’

A delicate snort. ‘Normally, George, yes — but I distinctly remember Lockwood saying he would take care of it himself.’

‘Did I? It was all a bit of a blur, really, what with—’

More bangs reverberated down the hall, accompanied by shouted threats that made me wince.

‘Look, I don’t know what happened while I was gone but I’ve been telling you all week that that van on the corner looked dodgy and you need to check the licence has been paid—’

‘Lucy, how many times do I have to tell you that TV detector vans aren’t real.’

‘They are real! They’re in the papers and everything!’

‘Not everything in the papers is true, we all—’

‘No, no, I recall my aunt forgetting to pay her licence fee and a van was parked on her street the next week.’

‘Holly!’ George let out an exasperated huff. ‘Not you, too? Anyway, that van’s been there because the Johnsons are having some work done, it’s not a mythical bloody—’

‘Is nobody going to answer the door?’ Kipps wandered out of the kitchen and leant against the doorframe, arms crossed and frowning. ‘It’s a bit hard to enjoy my tea with all this racket.’

‘I can see you in there!’

‘We really should stop having these kinds of discussions in the hallway,’ Lockwood mused, running a hand through his hair before turning to me with one of those smiles. You know, the ones that light up the whole room, make his eyes twinkle, and somehow leave me both weak-kneed and furious at the same time. ‘Lucy, do you think you can…?’

I backed away towards the stairs, my hands up to ward him and his blasted smiles off. ‘Oh, no. No way. Don’t you remember what happened last time?’

Kipps sighed. ‘I’ll get the door.’

‘Stall him for a moment, me and Lockwood will have to move the telly—’

‘Absolutely not, not after what happened to the last one! Holly, how much is the fine?’

Holly looked offended at the mere notion she’d ever had to pay it. ‘I have no idea.’

Suddenly the banging stopped and sunlight flooded the hall — as one, we turned to where Kipps had opened the door, his reedy figure silhouetted in the glare. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

It was the same gorilla-esque man from last time, again caught with one meaty fist raised mid-knock. However, he quickly lowered his hand, smoothed his shirt out and pronounced, ‘I'm here to check for TVs. We don't have a licence on file for the property, so I'll need to take a look around to make sure you're not doing anything illegal.’

We held our breath. There was no way we’d move the TV in time now — especially not the gigantic monstrosity that had been purchased during my time away — so our only hope was that the fine was in the hundreds rather than thousands. Or, less likely, that Kipps had some modicum of charm hidden somewhere at the very bottom of his pointy shoes, and that the inspector would be more susceptible to it than he had been to my own.

‘Thank you for the offer, but I don’t think you’ll be doing that.’

The inspector towered over him, moving closer so that his figure almost completely blocked the doorway. Kipps appeared unperturbed, a thin, willowy figure facing off against a giant.

‘It’s the law that you must have a TV licence if you have a TV, and it’s my job to check for TVs if you don’t have a licence.’

If anything, Kipps’ posture looked bored. ‘I think you’ll find it’s the law that we don’t have to grant you access, and considering that this is an active psychical investigation agency we could even argue that it’s for your own safety. Have a good day.’

And with that, he shut the door in the gorilla’s face.

Things remained tense for a moment — the man certainly hadn’t seemed the type to back down from a fight when we’d met him the year prior — but much to my surprise, the giant shadow lurking on the other side slowly diminished, until the inspector was completely gone. We gazed at Kipps in shock.

‘What? You don’t have to let them in, you know.’

#lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george cubbins #quill kipps #my writing #fanfiction #a bit late but finally adding this here #yes tv licence inspectors are real #as are tv licences #the idea is that the public service is then not beholden to the government for funding so can be impartial #but of course the tory bastards have stacked the board #but anyway the licencing system is why the bbc keeps putting out quality content #i'm not against it...even though I'm not paying it either XD

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

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I have a Locklyle comfort fic request! Since Mother’s Day is coming up, I would love to see a fic about Lucy and Lockwood finding comfort in each other while George is out visiting his mom. Even though their situations are different, they both don’t really want to acknowledge the day and there may be some feels on the day in general. Maybe they even end up cuddling on the couch in silence just appreciating that they aren’t alone today. Thank you 🥰🥰 hope you have a great day 💖

Blood of the Covenant

Pairings: Locklyle (+ supportive bff George!)

Content: grief/mourning, deep conversations, canon-based, fluff

A/N: wishing a happy Mother's Day to anyone celebrating and a comforting day to anyone who can't or won't celebrate for any reason! Hope you like this, I told myself last week I'd try and write it in plenty time for the day itself and then yesterday had 0 words 🙃

Word count: 2.2k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @honey-with-tea

About the only good thing about family-based 'holidays', Lockwood thought, was having unrestricted access to the bathroom while George was away. This time he'd gone to Sidcup to visit his granny, with the rest of the family meeting him there for a big Mother's Day dinner, leaving Lockwood to wallow in every sense of the word. The agency had no cases to be working on, so he had tried to get some actual sleep for once. It had been fitful, filled quite predictably with hazy dreams of his mother. As the first rays of dawn crept round the edges of his curtains, he admitted defeat and crept downstairs to run the bath where he now lay. The water was warm, infused with lavender salts (normally he wouldn't have bothered, normally he wouldn't even be having a bath in favour of a quick shower, but if ever there was a day he deserved a little luxury it was this one). Although it was doing little to quiet his mind, the muffling sensation of water round his ears and the gentle golden glow behind his closed eyelids at least tricked him into believing the time was flying by. If he stayed like this just a little longer, surely the day would be over before he knew it.

Eventually the water grew cold, and with some reluctance Lockwood dragged himself back to reality and out of the tub. Ruffling his hair with a towel and wrapping another around his waist, he shuffled out into the hallway. The scent of something sweet wafted up the stairwell and his stomach rumbled. So much for avoiding the whole day, it was only just breakfast time.

—

Lucy was standing at the stove in a dressing gown, humming along to a song from her cassette player. She heard the kitchen door swing open and quickly turned to be met by Lockwood, looking particularly exhausted in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. His hair was slightly damp. He glanced around the room, noting the way the table was set for two with an assortment of jam, syrup, sugar and cinnamon laid out in between.

"Morning," she said quietly, as though she were afraid to wake George even though they both knew he wasn't home.

"Morning. Something smells good."

Her smile was genuine, if a little sheepish. "French toast. I always make it- made it for Mother's Day and figured just because I don't really have a mother now doesn't mean I can't still have it." Suddenly she realised what she'd said and her expression dropped into one of utter horror and regret. "I'm so sorry, that's not what I meant at all, I know it's not the same-"

"Hey," Lockwood moved to her, placing a reassuring hand on her arm and rubbing against the soft fabric. "It's okay, don't worry. Just because the circumstances were different doesn't mean you didn't still lose someone. Mourn her however you need to."

"Is that what you'll be doing? Sorry, stupid question, I know."

"It's not. I… yes. I always do." He paused as he took the plate of crisp warm toast that Lucy handed him before leading the way to the table with her own.

"Well, if you want space to do that by yourself then I get it, but you know you don't have to be alone if you don't want to." Lucy's heart broke at the way Lockwood looked almost shocked by the notion. She knew a little about what he'd been through, knew how hard it had been for him to trust her with the sparse details he had, but it had never quite occurred to her that the reason he was so reserved about his past was that he'd been alone for so much of it he'd never had anyone he could tell even if he wanted to. By the way he was looking at her like she'd just handed him the moon, it seemed it hadn't occurred to him either.

"That would be nice, actually." He gave a shadow of his usual grins. "After breakfast though, there's no way we're not enjoying this."

Lucy's return grin was bigger and playfully wicked. "Oh believe me, I'm going to enjoy it. Mum never let me waste jam on this so I'm going to use enough that she'll be able to taste strawberries from all the way up north."

—

With full, cosy stomachs, the duo retreated to the living room with cups of tea, claiming a sofa each to splay out on. The silence was not uncomfortable, but the longer it went with neither of them speaking the thicker the tension became.

Eventually Lucy gave a huff of frustration. "This was a stupid idea, I'm sorry, I have no idea how to do this."

Lockwood sat up and looked at her softly. "Luce, that's the third time this morning you've apologised for having feelings. Maybe we could start there if you feel ready?"

She pondered for a moment. Her friend was incredibly shrewd - he must have realised when she arrived with no references and no parents that her home life hadn't been the happiest, and that would only have been reinforced when she finally told him about Norrie. But beyond that, she'd barely talked about life before Lockwood & Co. Tried not to even think about it, if she was being honest.

"Mum was… not a very good mum, really. Never particularly fond of me, but we lost my dad when I was little and after that I was just a burden until I got old enough to start earning her money with my Talent."

Lockwood thought back to how she'd reacted when he unintentionally called her an asset - it had killed him to see how upset she was about feeling commodified, he couldn't imagine anyone treating their own child that way.

"Is that why you left?"

She was less hesitant this time; the subject had clearly been given a lot of thought. "It was the root of it. I always knew she valued the money over my life, but when she put it above my friends' right after we got the verdict for their deaths… I had nobody left who cared about me."

The silence was more forgiving this time, as Lockwood processed the depth of what he'd just heard. He stood and moved to the other sofa. Still leaving a gap, letting Lucy decide whether she wanted contact, but offering his presence. "That's awful. I had no idea when you told me about Norrie that you lost everyone. And I know we're past it but I'm so sorry that I ever made you feel as used as she did, you don't deserve that."

"You weren't to know. I just… it's still hard to accept. Blood is thicker than water and all that."

"Actually, the full saying is 'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb', meaning bonds made by choice are stronger than ones made by birth."

"Of course that's something you know," Lucy rolled her eyes affectionately. "But that's exactly the problem: I feel guilty for not missing her because she's still my mum, and really she's the reason I have a proper family in you and George, but then I feel guilty when I do miss her because it feels like I'm betraying you both." At this she leant into his shoulder, and he laid an arm around her waist to hold her close. She had nothing to feel guilty about, he was confident in that, but how could he say it when he found himself feeling the same way?

"I understand," he said instead. "I try to use today as more of a memorial than a celebration, but every year it gets harder to pay tribute to a woman who's been missing from my life longer than she was in it. Sometimes I don't even know whether I actually remember her or just picture what I think she was like." He felt the head on his shoulder shift and looked down to meet Lucy's doleful gaze.

"She'll never stop being your mother, Lockwood. There's no time limit on grief. And her significance doesn't change based on how accurately you remember details about her."

She was right. She usually was.

—

Most of the day was spent on the same sofa. The lack of sleep finally overwhelmed Lockwood, but Lucy had seen it coming and the second he started fighting back a yawn she nudged him into her lap and combed her fingers tenderly through his hair until he drifted off. She was quite happy to sit like that for as long as he needed; the gentle pressure of his head against her thighs, the slow rhythm of his breaths and the way her ministrations began to keep tempo, it was all a very grounding reminder that this was where she was meant to be. Not with a woman who had decided to owe her nothing from the moment she entered the world, but with the boys who made it clear every day that they loved her as much as she did them.

"What are you thinking?" a sleepy voice asked from below. Lockwood was smiling up at her, looking more rested than he had in weeks.

"Just about how good it feels to be here like this. You?"

"About how much I'd give for a pizza right now."

Lucy let out a startled laugh. "George would be distraught if we went without him!"

"George isn't here." The classic Lockwood smirk was back. "Besides, he's all about trying to make me a better person, so I'm sure he'd support me getting some fresh air and being a normal teen for a couple of hours."

"You? Normal?"

"Ha ha," he said sarcastically, giving her a faux-outraged nudge as he shifted upright. The sudden change in pressure made her legs tingle. "I think I could pull it off. Everyone else seems to be able to forget about their problems and the Problem long enough to go on dates and have fun, how hard can it be?"

Lucy felt her cheeks grow warm. "Well, I suppose a date would be helpful for your personal development, so who am I to say no?" Her heart nearly burst out of her chest at the way his face lit up. "I'll have to thank George when he gets back." The nudge he gave her this time was actually outraged.

—

George returned just before curfew to a worryingly quiet house. He knew how hard Mother's Day always was for Lockwood, and from the vague conversations he'd had with Lucy he suspected it wasn't going to be too positive for her either, but he so rarely got to see his parents and his friends would feel just as bad if they felt they'd kept him from his family. Regardless, he was still half-expecting to come back to Lucy blaring training music in the basement or Lockwood's semi-annual turn on the piano in the library, so the complete absence of any sounds of life put him on edge.

"Hello?" he called, to no response. Instinctively, he wandered through to the kitchen and checked the Thinking Cloth for clues. Sure enough, a previously blank patch was now filled with black ink. He pushed up his glasses and peered closer.

'GEORGE - FRIDGE'. That was Lockwood's familiar scrawl, taking up most of the space. He must have guessed George would come looking.

Lucy's handwriting was squashed into the space underneath: 'would say "next time we'll take you with us" but it was a date sooo… ;)' His jaw dropped in a mixture of shock and glee. He wondered who had…

'(I asked)', Lockwood had scrunched in tiny letters into the bottom corner. Smartarse. George dropped his backpack on a chair and, original purpose of the note quite forgotten, immediately headed upstairs to grill whichever one of them he found first.

As it turned out, the answer was both of them. Lockwood's bedroom door was slightly ajar, providing a clear view of the boy flat on his back under the duvet and Lucy tucked into his side with her head on his chest. One of his arms was under her shoulder and curled around her back, and the other lay on top of the sheets with his hand holding hers. Both of them were back in their pyjamas, Lucy's dressing gown abandoned haphazardly over their feet. George smiled fondly at the sight. He'd been expecting it for a while and was just relieved they'd finally caught up. Hopefully Lockwood had taken her somewhere nice; wherever it was evidently had a positive outcome. Oh wait, the note!

George tiptoed away from the door, resisting the urge to pull it closed for privacy but knowing that would make it obvious he'd seen them. As soon as he was back down in the kitchen, he bounded over to the fridge. Inside was a pizza box, and inside that was his favourite pizza, completely intact, not so much as a sliver taken. God, he loved his friends. If he'd known this would be the outcome of getting them together he'd have pushed the matter a lot sooner. Or maybe it was him leaving town for a day that had encouraged the generosity. He'd have to go away more often to find out. Knowing them, though, he could just as easily come back to the house burnt down. It really was good pizza, though, perhaps it was worth the risk…

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fanfic #locklyle #locklyle fic #save lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle

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krash-and-co · 2 years

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LOCKWOOD AND CO HEADCANONS BECAUSE I'M BORED AND AUTISTIC

some of these are going to go against canon but I don't care because yes

𒊹︎︎︎ Lockwood really likes cats, and they like him too. if he sees one, he'll kneel down and just wide-eyed stare at it. and it'll??? like??? go up to him???? Lucy is still trying to figure out why this is.

"do you telepathically speak to cats lockwood"

"do I what"

𒊹︎︎︎ George once created a fake ghost out of mesh, chicken wire, semi-transparent curtains, glow-sticks, and various other random items. He claims it was for "research purposes," but considering it was placed in front of the bed in the spare room Kipps often sleeps in, nobody believes him.

𒊹︎︎︎ Kipps really likes kareoke. whether he is good or not is a topic of argument often. Lockwood says "he's making a wonderful effort," (while covering his ears and visibly grimacing) and George and Lucy just straight up tell him he sounds like a dying animal or something of the same meaning. he's actually not horrible, and Holly may or may not join him. (they are good friends no I don't take criticism. and they are both gay. they're besties and I-)

𒊹︎︎︎ Lucy made Lockwood a bracelet and he wears it literally all the time. he's got his suit, jacket, tie, and oh look at that a bracelet. very professional. he somehow doesn't see the problem.

𒊹︎︎︎ Lucy and George made Lockwood a birthday cake from scratch when he turned 18, and Kipps and Holly were in charge of decorations. Lockwood was sent on a phony errand to buy a very specific brand of doughnuts which he took very seriously. George, who was carrying the cake to put in the oven, ran into Kipps and Holly, who were holding a fold up table.

the batter spilled all over it.

Lucy insisted that the oven would burn away all the germs anyway so she and George quickly scraped the batter back in the bowl, put it in the oven, and served it later, decorated and everything as if they didn't scrape batter off the ground 2 hours before. It was not very professional looking but didn't look like anything happened to it either, and lockwood saw it and actually cried.

however, Kipps and Holly wisely turned the cake down when offered. George, Lucy, and Lockwood ate happily.

Lockwood does not know.

Lockwood will never know.

𒊹︎︎︎ holly, when lacking something practical to wear for a case, will literally cut her dresses shorter or rip off sleeves and stray ribbons without batting an eye. the team was in shock the first time she did this. she doesn't know why.

𒊹︎︎︎ Lockwood knows sign. you absolutely cannot fight me on this.

he learned when he was little; Jessica taught herself and then him because she knew he had difficulty speaking when upset. (he had an even harder time handling his emotions when he was younger.) they'd use it all the time together.

but after Jessica died and he wound up working with Sykes, there were multiple instances where he'd start signing and nobody knew what he was saying. eventually he got even more upset and just gave up, resorting to complete lack of communication until he could speak again. that happened a few times with his Portland Row crew, when he was really frustrated and just couldn't think of anything else to do, and they all felt so bad for not being able to understand him despite how hard he was trying.

lockwood decided he wanted to teach Lucy sign literally out of nowhere. they were just sitting on the couch together, and they're both all quiet until he turns to her and grins. he puts his hands to his chest and then his right pointer finger against his left palm, and she's confused until he explains it means he loves her. "love L. love Lucy. I love you, Lucy." She thinks it's the sweetest thing ever and he really wants to show her more (cuz he's finally with someone he loves and trusts and ow my heart). after that day he started teaching her for little dates and stuff and ahhhh lockyle...

help me I thought about this way to much it's so perfect

but it's better than obsessing over the fact that Netflix ditched us

#forgive me if I ruined the British sign language I'm fricken American and even then I'm just learning asl #the amount of fics I want to write based on these honestly #if you do one that's awesome please show me cuz I'm too lazy to write myself #lockwood and co headcanon #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #george cubbins #holly munro #lucy carlyle #quill kipps #l&co #l&co. netflix #lockwood and co show #lockwood and co netflix #it's worth mentioning my current asl knowledge is mainly insults #first thing I wanted to know before I signed up for the class #jk it's cuz Pinterest popped up a video and I'm like ooh cool #so now I can call kids in my asl class stupid before they even know what it means yay

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wutheringheightsfilm · 29 days

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since this video essay (and it is an essay, i have cited sources! i have academic articles! get on my level youtubers!) is going to take a long time to make (i'm hoping to get it done in two weeks but we'll see...) and probably not enough of you will give a fuck about or have the time to fully watch what will most likely be upwards of an hour of content, here is a list of some things from the book wuthering heights i wish more adaptations would include:

since a lot of these adaptations ignore the Lockwood-Nelly storytelling framing device, we miss out on seeing a lot of Heathcliff's character as he is in the present, namely, what fascinates me is that while Lockwood is ill, Heathcliff not only sends him the last grouse of the season, but also visited Thrushcross Grange to sit at his bedside and talk to him

Catherine and Heathcliff actually trying to reckon with the abuse they face (it's a rare sight to see the abuse they face taken seriously on screen, see my prev meta post about their visit to Thrushcross Grange)

actual age appropriate castings. when you remember that a good third of this book, where a lot of the most famous stuff happens (the, he's more myself than i am, the i curse you to never rest while i still live, etc) is when these characters are all in their late teens and early 20s...yeah that makes a lot more sense now doesn't it?

on that note, stop casting Nelly as a woman in her late 50s/early 60s, she's literally the same age as Hindley and at her oldest is no older than like 42.

the fact that Nelly's storytelling is extremely biased--she does not like Catherine and thinks her a bad person, and she doesn't like Heathcliff either. how much of this is real? literally the things i would give to see a version of wuthering heights that explores what might be real and what isn't...

to compound on that, i want a version that actually shows the small little interludes where Nelly stops telling Lockwood the story and says something about the present day!!! GIVE ME THE NELLY FRAMING DEVICE!!! WHY WOULD THE 1992 MOVIE CREATE A FAKE EMILY BRONTE FRAMING DEVICE WHEN THERE'S ALR-

When Heathcliff is visiting the grange on the day that Catherine is mean to Isabella and making fun of her for having a crush on Heathcliff, after Catherine tells Heathcliff Isabella is the heir to the Grange, whenever Catherine leaves the room, according to Nelly Heathcliff is just sitting there plotting and smiling to himself

When Edgar hears Catherine and Heathcliff fighting in the kitchen (ugh god the kitchen fight), while Catherine is still ranting at Heathcliff, she doesn't notice Edgar come into the room but Heathcliff does, to which he does an immediate "shut the fuck up" sort of motion and she immediately does shut the fuck up

WITH THAT, something that gets lost in the sauce all the time (due to too many screenwriters and directors playing up the "romance" between these two) is Heathcliff and Catherine teaming up constantly, even in the later years of their relationship. The more "casual" elements of their relationship get lost. For example, while in that same fight in the kitchen, Catherine and Heathcliff both make fun of Edgar for being a pussy and that's hilarious! Because despite the strife that's going on between Heathcliff and Catherine, they are still on the same page and still feel united against that stupid rich pompous idiot they've been making fun of since they were teens.

The fact that these characters are products of their environment is something that no filmmaker (except maybe Andrea Arnold in the 2011 version) really grapples with to any extent

Most of the movies either miss or downplay or rush the scene where Hindley is planning to shoot Heathcliff one night, and Isabella goes to the window to warn him, literally saying "You better seek shelter somewhere else tonight! Mr. Earnshaw has a mind to shoot you!" (after saying that Heathcliff "ought to stretch [himself] over [Catherine's] grave and die like a dog") and Heathcliff is like "open the door you stupid bitch!" (not a direct quote but might as well be) and Isabella is like "oh! okay! come in and get shot then if you please, I've done my duty!" and leaves him out there to break the door down on his own. Wuthering Heights is a comedy and they don't tell you this. It's one of Isabella's best moments and we rarely see it, along with her second best moment, her throwing her wedding ring from Heathcliff in the fire

More adaptations need to have Heathcliff pulling out the actual physical almanac page he's kept with days marking when Catherine hangs out with the Lintons vs hanging out with him

#vero.txt #t #vero's wuthering heights meta

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unsaid-stardust · 1 year

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Just Wish Me Luck

A/N: Hi friends!! this fic features heavy panic attack imagery!! take caution!!!

Lockwood couldn't breathe. He saw his face again. Winkman's. In a dream. He can't even escape the bastard in his fucking sleep--It wasn't fair.

He sat in his bed gasping for air, holding onto his chest as if that would ground him somehow. His vision swirled--no longer was it his bedroom, but a dark wonderland of mismatched colors and strange creatures. His throat was tight and his clothes felt even more so. He needed to get out.

He thrashed his covers off of his body, expecting some sort of relief, but it never came. He slid down to the floor, his back against the side of his bed, hands forcing themselves to stick to the floorboards. He tried to focus on the rough wood beneath them and his bare feet thinking it might pull him back to wherever the hell he was; It didn't.

Lockwood needed help. He knew that. But, if he couldn't help himself, what could someone else do?

He didn't care; that's how he knew it was a bad one. He needed someone.

George was an option, but he'd probably murder Lockwood for waking him up if whatever the hell was happening to Lockwood didn't kill him first. Lucy--while he didn't want to wake her up either, Lucy was the best option. He just needed to get to her.

Hesitantly, Lockwood stood up with a slight sway and began making his way to the attic. He's not sure how many times he loses his footing on the stairs, his vision still swirling together like melted ice cream, but eventually, he finds himself in Lucy's room where he immediately finds solace on the hardware floor, his back against the wall. His breathing doesn't slow down, chest heaving.

Lucy is fast asleep in her bed in front of him. He knows he needs to say anything, do something, wake her. He can't just sit here on the ground like a creep staring at her while she sleeps. He can't. But, he does. Because that's all he can do.

And thanks to some kind of miracle or whatever it was at work, Lucy woke up. She sprung up in her bed looking for someone or something to attack when her eyes landed on Lockwood. Immediately, she threw her covers off of her body and sprang out of her bed.

"Lockwood?" She questioned, her voice coded with heavy concern as she rushed over to him. He didn't say anything in reply. He couldn't, even if he tried. His arms were now resting on his knees, chest still heaving.

"Lockwood? Lockwood, what is it?" Lucy urgently inquired, placing a hand on his knee. All he could do was shake his head as a response. Lucy pursed her lips and wrapped her fingers around his. Normally Lockwood would only be able to focus on the electricity that shocked his system when she did this. But, his head was still swimming at that moment.

"Hey, you're ok. You're with me and George is right downstairs. We're not leaving you. You're safe," Lucy whispered softly as she gently put a hand on his arm, her other hand never leaving his. Lockwood nodded in response, his eyes trying to focus on Lucy's green-infused irises. Lucy gave his hand a squeeze and slowly his breathing started to even out. She squeezed his hand once more, seeming to connect the dots, and his breathing continued to slow down.

Finally, it felt like he could breathe for once in his life. He let out a sigh of relief and put his hands up on his neck just below his ears as exhaustion came over him. Lucy sighed with relief too, sitting down on the ground next to him, her shoulders touching his. Lockwood wasn't sure how long they sat like that. Her shoulders connected to his, fingers still

intertwined, her head against the crook of his neck as his breathing went back to normal.

"Do you--want to talk about it?" Lucy whispered as she looked up at Lockwood. Lockwood felt frozen for a moment. He didn't want to keep going around in circles like this. It was only fair to Lucy, to him , to let her in. He swallowed back any hesitation.

"It was. It was a nightmare," Lockwood started softly. He grabbed Lucy's hand with both of his and started playing with her fingers to keep himself grounded as he spoke.

"Winkman was in it. I know-I know he's in prison now, but every time he's in my dreams it feels like I'm back there with him and I just can't-" Lockwood stopped for a moment, debating on whether or not Lucy should hear the next part. But, he meant it when he said "no more secrets". He doesn't want to keep locking himself away.

"Can't what?" Lucy asked. Lockwood took a deep breath.

"I just can't. Can't breathe, can't exist, can't sleep. Everything. When Winkman's there....I-I'm not," Lockwood finished. He didn't dare look into Lucy's eyes. If he did, he was pretty sure tears would swell from his own.

Lucy had other agendas though.

“Shh, hey, just look at me, yeah?” She whispered softly as she pressed a gentle finger on his chin, turning his head so that he faced her. He complied, but her finger didn't leave his chin.

“Winkman's not here, he can't hurt you anymore. He'll never hurt anyone-- ever again. "

She paused, as though to take a breath, but instead her finger slipped away from his chin. He couldn't even mourn the loss, before her hand reached out to cup his cheek so tenderly that his shuddering breath hitched,

"It's going to be okay, Lockwood. Maybe not right now. Maybe not for a long time, but it will be. You're here. You’re home. And you're not going anywhere." When he doesn't say anything, Lucy continued, her voice soft and warm.

"You do exist, Lockwood. There isn't a world in which you couldn't.”

Suddenly, Lockwood felt warm. And his eyes were wet. Oh my god. They were wet. Was he—crying?

Fuck.

He was crying. He hated when he cried. Especially in front of other people–in front of Lucy .

He tried to stand up then, wiping his eyes with his t-shirt sleeve. He wouldn’t let her see him cry, not like this. Not for the first time. Lucy placed her hands on his shoulders to push him back down.

“Lockwood, hey, hey. It’s ok. Just-let it out. I promise I won’t tell anyone that I’ve seen Anthony Bloody Lockwood cry,” She joked. Lockwood rolled his eyes and managed a slight chuckle as he wiped his tears once more. He sat back down then and let Lucy lay her head on his shoulder. She rubbed circles on his back as his tears continued to flow, no sign of stopping.

Feeling exhaustion take him over, Lockwood let his head lay on top of Lucy’s, the smell of her peach shampoo providing him comfort. He realized then that he was getting the top of her head wet from his tears.

“Sorry. I’m getting your hair all wet,” He mumbled, removing his head to take a look at her.

“Hey, don’t you dare apologize. I’m just….I’m really glad you told me all of this. It means a lot that you.. felt like you could share that." With me goes unsaid, but he can almost read the words in her gaze, which are filled with so much gratitude that his eyes swell once more.

Lucy gives a sympathetic smile and lays her head back down on Lockwood’s shoulder. He returns to the same position he was in beforehand and takes a deep breath in. Somehow, someway, he knew he was gonna be ok. He was Anthony Bloody Lockwood. She was Lucy Carylyle. They were going to be ok.

#lockwood & co.#lucy x lockwood #locklyle #locklyle fic #sab writes

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kiss-my-freckle · 6 months

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To be clear, I consider the vervain necklace more of a Delena thing. Damon was the entire reason Stefan gave it to Elena in the first place. It was 100% about Damon's humanity. You had to know where they were going with it.

Damon: I have a date. Sweaty palms. Wish me luck. Caroline: Yeah, Elena wasn't so lucky today. Stefan: I'd very much like it if you'd wear it for me, for good luck. Matt: Good luck tonight. We're lucky to have you.

3x5

6x2 reveals the reality of 3x5, and every reason why I did a post about this not long ago. Either Damon always knew where Stefan kept that necklace, or he found out after Elena took it off. Had he found out after Elena took the necklace off, Stefan would've known she didn't want it anymore.

What you get in 3x7 is this.

Elena: Look, I don't have the necklace. Damon has it somewhere. Text him.

Damon had the necklace, which means Stefan didn't. Had Elena told Damon to give it back to Stefan, and Stefan put it where he wanted it stored, she would've asked Stefan where it was. Girl was in the torture cell with him, so... lol

Caroline: So the necklace isn't where Damon said it would be and now we can't reach Damon.

When Caroline calls Elena back, they're searching for it in Damon's bedroom.

Caroline: Ugh! I give up. It's not anywhere in this room.

They were STILL searching Damon's bedroom for the necklace. Anna stealing it was the ONLY reason they couldn't find it. What you're then given is a 3x15 - 6x2 necklace jump. The only necklace scene you get is 4x1, and that's only because of Damon's compulsion in 2x8. I'm talking about 38 episodes without the necklace because it became Damon's in 3x5.

Elena: You're still wearing her necklace. Rebekah: Do you want it? Is that your last request? Here. It's all yours.

I don't follow the wiki page because they're wrong about a lot of things. Fact is, Rebekah threw it at Elena in 3x15 because she didn't want it. She was offering it to Elena. Throwing it the way she did was her way of saying it didn't matter to her so much anymore, and if Elena wanted it, she had to pick it up off the ground like Stefan did at the end of 3x3.

Going backward

You're given a repeat. Katherine steals the necklace in season 2 because she's pretending to be Elena. When Klaus takes over Alaric's body, he holds Katherine captive in his loft. Alaric would've found that necklace after Klaus and Stefan left town together in 2x22. That's when Katherine was able to leave to give Damon the cure, and when Klaus no longer had use for Alaric's loft.

I'm saying that I believe Damon held onto that necklace all summer UNTIL he gave it to Elena on her birthday. I believe he held onto it until he actually got a good lead on Stefan, and gifted it to her when he got that lead. For him, giving it to her was giving her hope of saving Stefan. So it's my belief that after 3x5, he hid the necklace in the same place he hid it all summer. So when Caroline and Bonnie searched for it in Damon's room in 3x7, it was in the same place he kept it all summer.

Damon: You're still wearing this necklace. Elena: You're the one whose mother's trying to kill you. Damon: I stole it back for you. Elena: You're still wearing her necklace.

Katherine steals it again in season 3 while pretending to be Elena. Elena doesn't want it back as they put her in parallel. Esther nearly killed Rebekah just as Stefan nearly killed Elena after he flipped his switch and bit her.

Damon: Isn't this the reminder of your unbreakable bond with Stefan?

A necklace proven unbreakable AFTER she takes it off and gives it to Damon... lol

Going forward

Like I said, 38 episodes without the necklace in scene because it became Damon's in 3x5. Keeping it in the Lockwood tunnels where Rebekah threw it has multiple purposes.

Why Elena wouldn't pick it up and give it back to Damon in 3x15 is simple. At the time, Elena was still very angry at Damon for sleeping with Rebekah. She probably figured she could go back and find it when it suited her, only to turn around and become a vampire. Thus, Elena couldn't cross that vampire seal to get it because she was a vampire. Had she, that necklace probably would've made its way back when she chose Damon in 4x7 because she was reminded of the necklace in 4x1.

The writers are then left with enough purpose to keep it in the Lockwood tunnel. The sire bond and Elena's humanity switch in season 4. The doppelganger curse and the Augustine storyline in season 5. Lily and Rayna in season 7. Sybil and Cade in season 8. When they remove the necklace for Damon, they remove his hope. When they give it to him, they give him hope. Thus, he gets it in their 1994 prison world, and again during Sybil's arc. In Sybil's arc, Caroline knew right where to find it, and the reason for that is simple. She knew where it was supposed to be in 3x7: Somewhere in Damon's bedroom. They never tell you where Damon kept it stored in his room, but there might be some in-show clues. Best to focus on 3x1 and 3x7 if you search for some.

Another purpose, you make Damon human so that if he truly wants it back, he can go into the Lockwood tunnel and get it himself. Find it? Come on... it's a necklace. All he'd need is a metal detector. Both Rebekah and Elena know where it was left.

Damon himself would KNOW if there were two necklaces, since he's the one that brought back the second, and he knows the last time he saw the original necklace... It was on Rebekah's neck.

The cure that made Katherine human. The cure that made Elena human. The Ms. Cuddles Caroline dug out of the ground, the Ms. Cuddles Bonnie sent home with her magic. When I say there are two necklaces, trust me... there are two. One at Stefan's grave for Stefan, and one in the Lockwood tunnels for Damon. Fitting for the 1994 prison world necklace to sit at Stefan's grave. Damon considered 1994 his hell. Stefan killed Katherine and destroyed hell. Best to view Elena's parallels with Damon in season 6 to get why I consider all of this fitting for Stefan's grave.

Damon: Nice trick with Elena. Let me guess... vervain in the necklace?

Because it's Damon's necklace, and a man wouldn't wear a woman's necklace, it's every bit what Damon himself would gift their daughter... Stefanie.

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brainrotallthewaydown1312 · 11 months

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I've had several people in my replies ask why I think Lucy Carlyle is an unreliable narrator, and the reply box doesn't give me enough characters for a solid answer.

Firstly, an unreliable narrator is not only a narrator who is purposely and blatantly lying to you. It is any narrator who misleads the reader weather it is on purpose or because they misunderstand something. it often comes from immaturity, circumstances, and character flaws. Many unreliable narrators are only passively unreliable.

Lucy fits this in several ways. The most glaring example is how she never seems to decide how much she wants to tell us. the opening sentence of book one is "Of the first few hauntings i investigated with Lockwood and Co. I intend to say very little" yet she later details a few jobs before the Annabel Ward case, spending several pages on her first case.

Another example is the treatment of George so far. i have only just started the second book, so i know there is context i don't have yet but just looking at the screaming staircase, it's very aggressive. when she first meets him, her description is rude. and shortly after, when her only other mentioned interaction with him was talking about Lockwood being shady about his past, her reflection on the two of them is that she likes Lockwood and trusts him already and what was (in the ebook edition i read) over a page of roasting George for being gross, annoying, fat, rude, etc. she straight up says "his face was uniquely slappable- a nun would ache to punch him- while his backside cried out to heaven for a well placed kick." and she doesn't really get much nicer as the book goes on. anytime he says more than a sentence or two or enters a room and it wouldn't interrupt the action of the scene, she describes him in an insulting or undermining way. he is blunt and sarcastic, but when you really pay attention to him, he warms to Lucy and does not properly earn how rude she is to him. but he gets under her skin, so she tells us at every opportunity how annoying she finds him. yet Lockwood, who keeps secrets when he tells them they can't, who hides potentially dangerous details of the mystery and job from them, who is suicidally impulsive and unpredictable, she is sure to tell us how clever he is at every turn and how much she trusts him.

all of this makes a lot of sense, because at the start of the series she is a 14 year old girl. she is immature and naive and impulsive. she is both quick to judge and very stubborn. she feels intensely and struggles to logic around her feelings. as is appropriate for her age. this doesn't mean she is a bad narrator or a bad character. honestly, it's one of my favorite things about her character. there are other things i find a bit tiresome, but the way she pulls the narrative to her strong biases is interesting. it requires a closer reading to get a better picture of everything around her and i like that.

my only complaint about it is that some of it feels more like something that went unnoticed in the writing process. like my first example of her going against the opening line to tell us about her first jobs. it works, it just feels like it was an oversight and it makes one of her more central traits in my mind feel less intentional

#lockwood and co books #the screaming staircase #lucy carlyle

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thedemisedroyal · 3 years

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Dangerous Betrayal | TVD/TO

The Vampire Diaries & The Originals

AU Story

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓

𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙾𝙽 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽!

• A U T H O R •

Elena felt very uncomfortable as Caroline walked away with Stefan on her arm, walking to the outside of the mansion to go dance. "I wanna apologize to you for being such a world-class jerk, the other night when I tried to kiss your sister. No doubt she didn't tell you, I wanted to apologize because I know I insulted you as well. I would have apologized to your sister but I can't seem to find her." Damon started off sincere, a glum look upon his face. Elena nodded, she was on guard a bit,"Yeah, she's back at the house. Jenna told her she wasn't to leave until she finished cleaning her room. She might show up later on though." The eldest Gilbert simply explained, Damon nodded, looking around the room before continuing.

"My therapist says I'm..sting out, trying to punish Stefan." Damon spoke, Elena furrowed her brows in confusion. "For what? And why go for Esme?" She was immensely confused by the man,"It's all in the past. I don't even want to bring it up. Let's just say that the men in the Salvatore family have been cursed with sibling rivalry." He pointed behind him to the registry," And it all started with the original Salvatore brothers."

"The Salvatore name is practically royalty in this town, until the war, there was a battle here—" Elena interrupted,"The Battle of Willow Creek." Damon muttered a 'right', letting Elena talk for the time being. "I know, we talked about it in class. Confederate soldiers fired on a church with civilians inside." Elena boringly told, she already knew such information.

Damon nodded,"What history books left out was the people that were killed...," Damon started to walk around Elena, and more towards the door. "they weren't there by accident. The are believed to be union sympathizers. So some of the founders on the confederacy side back then wanted them rounded up and burned alive." Elena follows right behind him, crossing her arms across her chest.

The raven haired man continued on with his history lesson, "Stefan and Damon had someone they loved very much in that church. And when they went to rescue them they were shot. Murdered in cold blood." He gulped, looking Elena, finally, in the eyes, he had a look of sorrow in his eyes. The brunette narrowed her eyes at the wall, in thought,"Who was in the church that they wanted to save?" She asked, Damon slightly shrugged,"A woman, I guess. But it was said in old tells that Damon had another woman he cared about in there, said to be his old best friend of his." He stopped for a moment,"But doesn't it always come down to the love of a woman?" He rhetorically asked, slighting smirking.

Elena took a deep breath,"Look, I'm sorry that you and Stefan have this thing between you but I can't get in the middle of it, Damon. Nor Esme. I just...I hope you two can work it out." The wilder Salvatore nodded,"I hope so too." He whispered, but she was still able to hear him.

Soon, the two made their way out, but, Damon stayed back for a little while, walking back to the registry. He had a sorrowful look upon his face as his thumb softly grazed the name that was written beneath Stefans. It spelled, in a beautiful cursive, Samatha Salvatore, Damon frowned a bit, his eyes getting a bit teary,"Little sister..."

• E S M E •

"Ooh, she lookin fine." The girl muttered to herself as she fixed her lipstick and hair in her hand mirror that Esme kept in her purse. The girl did in fact, looked very beautiful, wearing a long and flowing flower dress, colored a cyan/turquoise with pink and white flowers covering around it. It had a long slit in the middle to show off her long gorgeous legs but it was still appropriate looking.

She snapped her mirror closed, and put it away, fixing her straps of her dress and continuing her very long walk to the Lockwood Mansion. Slightly wobbly as her high heels got stuck in the grass, tripping on a rock here and there. "Why the fuck did I wear these damn heels. You fucking idiot!" She scolded herself, stomping her way to the mansion instead.

As she finally made it to the busy and full house her eyes wondered across the crowds of people. Unfortunately, she saw none of her friends nor family, so the brunette went to go explore the 'museum'. Jordan had felt this magnetic pull towards upstairs, so out of her instinct, she followed it.

Walking up the stairs to see the second floor was completely abandoned, not a single soul was up there. She then entered a room that held all the founder families's old things, like necklaces, journals, rings and more. The younger twin walked to the side that held the name Gilbert, but she ignored it as she was pulled to a black velvet box, something the girl didn't recognized.

Jordan picked it up, opening it to see a black and red ring. It was a pure black steel band, with dark blood red gems decorating it around the band. In the middle was a circle shaped, dark blood red gem in the middle, designed beautifully.

She took the ring out and placed the black velvet box back into the table. Her pointer finger slightly grazing across the detailed band, and final stopping at the big gem in the middle. Images flashing in her mind, first was a man, curly, dirty blonde hair, but his back was facing her, his hand folded behind his back. The next one was her mother, but her actual mother, the Firstbeing Queen, she had a sadistic smile upon her face, so similar to her own. Then finally, it was her, her eyes were completely black, with dark blood red patterned veins running down beneath her eyes, with hints of black.

Jordan gasped a bit as she was taken back to reality, she clutched the ring, calming herself. But she felt frightened by the ring, so she quickly grabbed the black box and put the ring back. Though she couldn't put it down as she heard someone coming her way, it sounded like Caroline and...Damon?

The Gilbert couldn't exactly tell what they were talking about, before she could think the two already made their way into the room. The girl swiftly turned around, hiding the box behind her back,"Oh hey Esme! Where have you been!" Caroline bubbly asked, Damon sent a soft smile towards the girl. Esme forced a smile,"Hey Care-Bear, sorry I'm late. I had to clean my room because Jenna told me I couldn't leave the house unless I did." Esme spoke happily, moving her hand to her purses back pocket, stuffing the box inside the pocket. It may have terrified her but maybe it had answers she so desperately needed.

***

Esme rubbed her sisters back, trying to show her support as Elena was glum after her fight with Stefan. The two made their way to the bathroom to freshen up. "Hey." Elena and Caroline spoke to each other, but Caroline and Esme sent each other a genuine smile through the mirror.

Elena made her way for the mirror to touch up her makeup, but Esme went to the side to fix the straps on her high heels, something she kept tripping on. It was silent until the blonde spoke up,"So how are things with Stefan?" She questioned, Esme cringed a bit, knowing the fight between her sister and the younger Salvatore.

The younger twin watched her sister her a bit uncomfortable at the question, she plastered a obvious fake smile,"Great. Just great." Caroline quirked a brow,"Really? Well, my radar must be off cause...," The blonde bent down to watch her apply lipstick properly, without any smudges. " I was getting all sorts of other vibes." Elena took a big inhale, fixing her hair, but Esmes eyes were still on her best friend.

Spotting something unusual on her body,"What is that?" Esme questioned, walking towards the Forbes girl, Elena tok tied her head to the side, furrowing her brow in confusion. Caroline hummed, still applying lipstick, the. Standing up straight to face the younger daughter. Esme moved her hair, her hand going to her scarf where she saw something of of the ordinary, but Caroline pushed her hand away,"D-Don't." The blonde stuttered, making the twins even more suspicious.

Esme quickly pushed up her scarf when Caroline didn't notice, showing the two a massive bite mark on her neck,"Oh my god, Caroline! What happened." Elena asked, in fear and confusion. "Nothing, okay." Caroline defensively told, slightly backing away from twins. "That is not nothing! Did somebody hurt you?" Esme harshly spoke, already getting defensive of Caroline, someone had gruesomely hurt her.

"No, okay, it..." The Forbes paused for a moment? Skating her head,"Nothing, it just.." Esme packed up for a moment, connecting the dots,"My mom would kill me." Caroline went back to the mirror, slightly scared as she fixed her makeup again, to avoid conversation. But something caught her eye, the same thing she saw when she was fixing her shoe.

Esme pulled down Caroline knitted white jacket, showing another bite mark that looked more recent,"Did Damon hurt?" Esme asked, Elenas eyes widened,"Did Damon do this?" The elder twin asked again, Caroline slightly shook her head, pulling back up her jacket, quickly,"No! Of course not!" Caroline defended, Esme immediately went to pull back down the sweater but her arms were pushed away.

"Just leave me alone, okay, Esme? God." The Forbes yelled, that's when Esme knew this was serious. Caroline rarely ever, near impossible, that she got yelled at by the Forbes. The twins looked at the blonde in disbelief as Caroline stomped her way out of the bathroom. The twins locked eyes before Esme's face was filled with anger, and she followed Caroline's lead.

Elenas eyes widened, she knew that look of Esme's, she had that look thrown towards her before. "Esme! Stop!" She yelled after her younger sister, running after her. Though the girl paid no attention. As she walked to the outside where Damon was last seen, the lights flickering and things slightly shaking as she walked passed them.

Esme quickly walked down the steps, making her way to Damon, who was already facing towards her with a clear smirk on his face, Esme pushed him, harshly. "There is something seriously wrong with you. You stay away from Caroline or I will go straight to her mother, the sheriff. You got it? Say away from her." Esme defensively told the raven haired man, her eyes shining a neon scarlet red, but only for half a second. He quirked a brow, confusion running through his eyes. Esme walked off, rage soaring through her,"Bastard." She muttered, in the corner of her eyes she could see Elena walking away from her and towards the fountain.

***

Esme walked around the mansion for the fourth time, she couldn't find Caroline nor Damon, and she was starting to get worried. So she and Elena split up after her other altercation with Stefan, Esme searched thoroughly inside while Elena went outside. But it had been nearly twenty minutes already and she hadn't found Caroline, and she didn't see Elena anywhere. So, she made her way outside as well to find her older twin.

As she walked, she was able to see Elena holding Caroline in her arms, Esme was able to hear Caroline sob into her sisters shoulder. Elena turned around, feeling the presence of her sister, as she was right, the two locked eyes. Sending each other a saddened look, Elena then turned to lay her head against the sobbing Caroline's shoulder, trying to comfort.

Esme would have joined but her head started to ring, she turned her head a bit, holding the side of it. It stopped, but was replaced by voices, "Thank you for staying so late." A males voice, she furrowed a brow, straightening her stance as she looked around the empty grounds.

"Did you get the Gilbert watch?" A woman's voice then appeared, Esme immediately recognized it to be Sheriff Forbes, Caroline mom.

'What did they need the Gilbert watch for?' Jordan questioned in her own mind, she knew where the exact location of the watch was, with Jeremy, knowing about the fight Elena and him had about it. But she didn't see the purpose or the importance of the watch.

"She claims it's packed away in her parents things." Mrs. Lockwood, Jordan knew the bitch. She was the definition of two-faced. "I can get it." A males voice pitched in, but this time, she had no idea who he was. She didn't recognize his voice, it sounded familiar, yes. But, Jordan didn't exactly know who he was. "Good, we're gonna need it." Sheriff Forbes spoke again, there was a second of silence.

"You sure?" Mayor Lockwood questioned, with Sheriff Forbes responding,"Five bodies all drained of blood. I'm certain." Jordan felt her heart drop, they knew. "They've come back." The unknown man spoke again, Jordan felt her heart race. She has to find out what they know, and why they want that damn watch.

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

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ephemeral - chapter six

a/n: this is likely the final part of this series, so i just want to say thank you to everyone who has read it for your support!! especially to the people on the taglist - you all hold a special place in my heart because you boost my ego <3

warnings: gn reader tag list -> @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @nessa-stark @superpositvecloudshipper @wordsarelife

full collection: here

It's warm in 35 Portland Row, but you can't seem to shake the chill that has settled in your bones.

You all sit in the library discussing the case as George fills in the casebook, just like old times. The fire roars in the fireplace, and the clock ticks quietly. It's after three a.m. Exhaustion seeps through your skin, but it doesn't quite touch. You feel too awake, too alert.

"Judging from the apparitions," George says, "I'd say that the maid and her husband downstairs, one of the sons of Lord Morton, were killed in the housefire. Did you see their burned faces?"

"Yes, we did, George," Lucy grumbles. "We saw them very clearly while they were trying to kill us."

"Either way," he continues, "their source was the one upstairs, the one (name) found. Makes no sense that they were at the entrance and so far from their source, but hey ho. (name), you said that the Wraith up in that bedroom moved for you to find the source, right?"

Nodding, you pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your blanket tighter around your shoulders. "Yeah. It was like she was trying to show me where it was. Her fear was so strong that I was sure it was her source. And then..."

"Then the Fetch," Lockwood says. "What happened there? You still haven't told us."

It's not pleasant to really think about. When you had worked at Rotwell a few years ago, one of the big warnings when it came to Type Twos was to steer clear of Fetches. While they're not aggressive or violent like most other Type Twos, they rake through a person's memory and find someone dear to them, then take the form of that person. It causes a lot of confusion, and multiple agents have died trying to chase after Fetches who were disguised as loved ones. Just the thought of it having gone through your brain to find Lockwood, of all people, to take shape as makes you feel violated.

"I just thought it was Lockwood at the door," you say, taking a deep breath. You feel too vulnerable admitting this. "He'd made me promise not to look for the source, so I just figured he was angry about that and wasn't speaking to me. I followed him - it - out to the stairs and then I heard the real Lockwood shouting. I just felt so confused that I couldn't... I don't know."

"All of your equipment was left in the bedroom," Lucy says. "You must've been ghost-locked, or something."

"I'm not sure. I was so sure I still had my things with me. Maybe I thought..."

The words go unspoken. You thought Lockwood would keep you safe. And he did, to his credit, but it wasn't the Lockwood you'd originally seen.

Lockwood, seeing the distant look in your eyes, continues, "That Wraith appeared while I was dealing with the Fetch. I found its source under the top step's floorboard - just an old coin. Then I took care of the Wraith, and you guys found the source."

"The whole stair railing," George says, and he almost looks awestruck. "Lucy and I had to rip it out of the wall. God, if Skull hadn't warned us when those first two ghosts disappeared that you were in danger, (name), we would never have gotten to you in time. You should've seen the speed Lockwood went up the stairs with. And for the ghosts to be working together! We've seen it before, but usually, they're the same kind of ghost."

"Well, it's over with now," Lockwood says, cutting that part of the conversation short. "I say we get a good night's sleep, and then take tomorrow - well, today - off. We deserve it."

Slowly, the room empties. First, it's George who's going to finish filling in the casebook while all the details are fresh in his mind. He takes a plate stacked with biscuits and doughnuts with him. Next, it's Lucy, who is snippy from some argument she had with Skull and wants to sleep it off.

You make no move to leave, staying wrapped up in the thick blanket and staring at the fire. The cup of tea Lockwood made for you remains untouched.

"I've never been as scared as I was when Skull told Lucy that there were two ghosts targeting you up there." Lockwood's eyes are fixed on your face, watching for any hint that he should stop talking. "And then when I saw you just standing there, cornered between the two..."

Unsure of what to say, you wrap the blanket even tighter. Maybe if you squeeze yourself in it as much as you can, the warmth will return.

"Then you got ghost-locked, and... I barely knew what to do. This is why, last time, I wanted to pull you out of the cases."

If he's trying to get a rise out of you, he's done a poor job. Something in your core just feels wrong, and you don't feel much except confusion and a strange numbness that you can't explain. The anger you've relied on lately, the one you've fallen back on when you've had no clue what else to do, isn't there.

"I don't like seeing you like that - hurt or ghost-locked or whatever. The thought of something going wrong, and it being you that has to be at the centre of it kills me, (name). I should never have brought you on this case. I should've figured out some other way to do it."

His words are registering, but they don't stick. And that look on his face, the way his concern has melted into something deeper, rawer, should form a pit in your stomach. A gratefulness in your heart that he's here for you. But it's not there. You're not sure you're feeling anything right now.

"(name), please say something."

Say something.

That's what you said to that other Lockwood.

"I'm not sure what to say," you murmur. "I don't - There isn't -"

Your hand drifts to your chest as if trying to feel for something that isn't there. What are you meant to say? That you feel more violated than you ever have after having a ghost sneak around in your mind and find someone important to you, only to manipulate you? That the Wraith's ghost-lock made you realise things that have offered equal amounts of clarity and confusion? There's too much going on in your head, yet there's not enough at the same time.

All of a sudden, Lockwood is sitting beside you. You have to check his face, to look for those faint freckles and the scar, to determine that it's truly him but, even then, you're on edge.

"The ghost is gone," he assures you. "It's me. I'm the same Lockwood that spilt a glass of water over you at your interview. The same one that embarrassed himself during a rapier practice trying to impress you. Would a ghost know that?"

"I don't -"

Would the ghost have known? It didn't realise he has freckles formed by the summer sun, or that he has a scar on his temple from whacking his head against the floor on a case. It clearly didn't take all that much into account.

"No," you determine. "No, it wouldn't."

When he opens his arms, you fall into his side, glad for his warmth. He's definitely not the ghost. For one point, you'd likely be dead having this much of your body touch a ghost, and, for two, a ghost would never be this warm. His arm rests on your shoulders, and he pulls you closer as if scared to let you go.

"I only want you to be safe," he says quietly. "That's all I've ever wanted."

Your throat feels thick. "I just - I can't spend the rest of my career as an agent cooped up in a house doing nothing but research. That's not what I'm good at. I don't want to be an agent if that's all it entails."

"I won't let you get hurt."

You want to shout at him. To tell him it's not his place to decide that anymore, not after how things ended, but you don't have the energy, nor the willpower. You've barely got the energy to move.

"You're not my boss any more."

"No, I'm not. But I'm still your friend, aren't I?"

The hope in his voice is unmistakable. Even after it all, the fall-out, the months apart, the arguing from these past two days, he still wants to be your friend.

But you have always needed more than that. You spent years happily being his friend and only dreaming of something more, worried that if you told him anything he'd only push you further away. It was coming to a peak around the time the argument happened, the need to have something more than just friendship, and you knew Lockwood felt at least a little bit the same as you, but his fear of loss overclouded it all. It's too much to be near him, to know that there may be an inkling of love for you - romantic love - in that heart of his, and not be able to act on it.

You don't want to get hurt again.

"You can't protect me forever," you say. "We'll both just end up hurt. Look how it ended last time."

His body tenses a little. "I can't keep watching you get hurt."

"And I can't just sit by and do nothing. It's stifling, suffocating."

Here come the emotions, all so suddenly that it feels like a punch to the chest. Abruptly, you move away from Lockwood, dropping the blanket from your shoulders.

"I know you want me to stay - that you don't want me to go back to working at Arif's, but I can't - I can't just stay here under your protection. It's not healthy, Lockwood."

When you stand, he does, too. His gaze is intense, but you don't look away. No, with that numbness slowly disappearing, your need to defend yourself comes back.

"A part of this deal was that you'd leave me alone until I'm ready to speak to you again," you say. "Believe me, Lockwood, I'd love to come back here more than anything, to try and work things out with you, but I can't stay if all you're going to do is ground me like a child. If that's what you propose, then I'm calling in that part of the deal."

It's unfair, you know, and the look in his eyes is killing you, but for your own sanity, it needs to be said. Already, you can feel your throat closing up at the thought of being stuck here, leaving the house for nothing more than grocery runs and research trips.

"Today was different than it usually would've been. We didn't properly know what we were walking into, and there was a type of ghost that doesn't usually appear. Most cases aren't going to be like that!"

Lockwood's hands flex by his sides as he watches you.

"I don't want to have to leave again," you say, and you walk up to him, grasping his shirt in your shaking hands. "Don't make me leave again, Lockwood, please. Nanny me on the cases, wrap me in bubblewrap if you have to, just don't force me out again."

You can see the emotions he's fighting inside his head, reflected in those dark eyes of his. They're usually crinkled from his smile, but now they're so expressive, so different than they usually are, that you can see everything. You can't remember ever seeing him so conflicted before.

"Please, Lockwood," you beg. "We'll figure something out, just don't give me the same ultimatum."

His hands shake as they envelop yours. Your palms have flattened on his chest, and you can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt. He's breathing hard.

"I don't want you to leave, either," he says quietly. This is as vulnerable as you've ever seen him. "We'll figure it out."

The emotions roiling in your chest ease, and you manage a relieved smile. "Okay."

Things may not be the same anymore, but you're willing to try and make it work.

"Thank you."

Your forehead falls on his chest, and you feel his body relax as his chin comes to rest on the top of your head. Soon, his arms loop around your body, wrapping you in his comfortable warmth.

"I'm sorry about everything," he whispers into your hair. "Truly."

"So am I."

<- part 5

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