#lockwood and co angst week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

g1rld1ary · 1 year ago

Note

omg hiiiiii! just saw your requests opened, so excited! i was hoping you could write something for lockwood with the enemies to lovers trope. anything you feel like with that is awesome! and ofc if you don’t want to feel free to not write it 🩷🩷

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you and lockwood hated each other, you had since you were just starting out as agents. when your team is made to work with his on a big case, deeper feelings might just get revealed

➻ word count: 10K exactly (what are the chances?)

➻ warnings: swearing, mentions of kissing, angst maybe?, injuries

➻ thank u so much for this request lovely!!!! i am SO sorry this took almost a month, but it's the longest fic I've ever posted here so hopefully that makes up for it a little?? if this isn't what u had in mind pls let me know and I'd be happy to write something different! ik it might not be exactly enemies to lovers but I hateee when the dynamic has no respect or reason to be lovers. anyway thank u for the request lolol!!!! xxxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You thought you were a good person. You dedicated your life to fighting ghosts, you helped old ladies cross the street, you recycled when you could. That was enough to be considered a good person, right? You were almost totally convinced, except for the all the vile things you had to say about Anthony Lockwood.

He was, with no exaggeration, the bane of your existence. You had known him all your life, but hadn’t been friends with him since you were both twelve, just beginner agents. And yet, despite all of this hatred burning up within you, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give you a moment of peace.

You understood running into his company every once in a while — agency events, maybe the occasional case, but lately it seemed like it was every week you had to face Lockwood’s nauseating grin and infuriating attempts at being charming. Whether it was your respective teams being sent on overlapping missions, picking up more supplies or just trying to pick up a coffee after a draining night, you had started to see Lockwood everywhere.

When you saw him again whilst you were picking up some doughnuts for your team you couldn’t help yourself snapping at him.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something, Anthony?” You barely spared him a glance as you finished the transaction with the cashier, quietly thanking him as you left. Lockwood did the same, practically throwing down his cash to catch up to you.

“You wish I was obsessed with you! I am just as unhappy as you are, trust me.”

“So what, you chased after me just say something we both already knew? Or do you have something you’d like to say, an apology perhaps?” You chanced a look in his eyes. Hurt flashed through them, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He cried, almost dropping his own box of pastries when he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You didn’t try to hide the rolling of your eyes.

“Whatever,” You huffed, before being struck with an idea. “By the way, did you hear that I’m now a team leader? That makes me the youngest in at least ten years — maybe ever. Pretty good for someone not fit to be an agent, don’t you think?” You feigned an interest in his opinion. His face dropped for a moment, then contorted to become almost polite.

“That was never—” You interrupted him with another sigh.

“Anthony, I really don’t care to listen to you discredit my achievements anymore.” You left him on the side of the street, marching back to your dorm at Fittes. You didn’t need to hear him tear you down and ruin your self-confidence more than he already had — not that you would ever tell him that. Lockwood was similarly disgruntled. Every interaction between you two turned into a fight regardless of what he said; he just couldn’t win.

You had a week of blissful distance from Lockwood and Co before you ran into them, quite unfortunately. You and your team had been assigned to an apartment that allegedly housed a few Type Ones, nothing serious but the residents had complained of hearing noises at odd hours. You held a bit of doubt — living in the dorms had forced you to become accustomed to the most bizarre noises at night, and those were most definitely not ghosts. Plus, adults tended to be paranoid; the noise could be anything from rodents to their little children being awake in the early hours of the morning.

Still, you had a job to complete, so you trudged your small team up to the apartment in question, ready for a quick job and to be cozy in bed before midnight. When Lockwood and Co were standing outside the apartment next to your appointed one, your face dropped into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, talking directly to Lockwood. He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, brilliant smile shining.

“Lovely to see you again too, sweetheart, we’re actually here on a job? Nice of you to come as our clean-up crew, but that really won’t be necessary. Run along now.” You had to hand it to him, Lockwood had perfected his condescending tone. You were going to respond when the girl behind him began to talk.

“Hey, I recognise you! You’re—” Lockwood cut her off quickly.

“Alright, Luce, I think it’s time we go inside, don’t you?” He was shepherding the girl through the apartment door before you could process what was happening. George, to his credit, looked highly amused at the whole thing. You always liked George, even when he was at Fittes, and seeing him was usually the only upside to your interactions with Lockwood and Co.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, nodding your head to where she and Lockwood had disappeared to.

“Lucy Carlyle,” He answered, “She’s a Listener — still learning the ropes.”

“And she knows me how?” George just smiled, and you could tell he was keeping secrets.

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day.” He began to follow the rest of his coworkers and you pouted.

“I hate when you side with him!” You called after him, before composing yourself and directing your own team to start the night. They just went along with it, used to your behaviour, and set up your equipment for the mission.

It was not going well. You could all feel a supernatural presence, but no ghosts and no signs of what you’d thought might’ve been the source. Plus, all you could hear was the apartment next door — their stompy footsteps, their laughter over the tea you knew they always had, and one of them wouldn’t stop knocking on the fucking wall.

It was supremely childish, and you would put all of your bets on it being Lockwood trying to throw you off your game. Unfortunately, it was working. And your bad mood was spreading to your teammates. The mission was certainly not going well, all four of you picking fights and throwing digs at each other as you searched uselessly for what could possible be the source, all with no confirmed supernatural presence.

Just as you were about to say something really cruel to your favourite member of your team, the words died in your throat. The temperature rose a few degrees, and you could practically see all your negative thoughts floating away. By the looks of it, your teammates all felt it too. When the freezing shock of the change wore off, you all resigned to embarrassment, realising exactly what had just happened.

This was only furthered when Lockwood waltzed into the apartment, cocky grin practically blinding you.

“Guess that another successful mission for Lockwood and Co now includes saving the careers of egotistical Fittes agents too now,” He crowed, and you rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might disconnect from your face.

“Clearly,” You tried to keep your tone level, “The source wasn’t in this apartment, so we couldn’t have found it regardless of if you were here.”

“Plus they were just Type Ones. You didn’t save any lives, Lockwood,” Your best friend, Sarah, piped up and you smirked.

“Maybe not in the physical sense,” He conceded, “But I definitely saved the career of the ‘youngest ever team leader’ — don’t think you would’ve kept the position for very long if you couldn’t fight a simple Type One.” You turned red in humiliation. How dare Lockwood act so high and mighty, like you owed him the career you fought so hard for? You wanted to express all the seething fury that burned your tongue, but the only thing that came out was a vicious declaration.

“I hate you, Anthony Lockwood.” Lockwood at least had the decency to look somewhat hurt. Although you’d been arguing for years with the insults only getting meaner as you both grew up and developed more precise vocabularies, neither of you had ever vocalised any hatred before. It cut deeper than Lockwood thought it would. You didn’t wait to observe the intricacies of his reaction, storming out of the apartment, making sure your kit bag hit him heavily as you passed.

“Well,” Lockwood broke the awkward silence that fell over the apartment, “I think we’re all done for the night. Let’s go.” Lockwood and Co began packing up their kit bags and gear, Lucy sweeping some leftover magnesium dust under an armchair. Lockwood paused in the doorway, looking back to Sarah with a curious softness.

“Make sure she’s alright, yeah?” Sarah nodded, swallowing a curious look. With a final nod he was gone, leaving the rest of your team to wonder what had just happened to shift the dynamic.

Back in your dorm at Fittes, you were still fired up. Pissed off by Lockwood’s ego, his audacity, you had practically already paced a hole in the floor upon your short return from dinner. All of these years and he still didn’t believe you were a capable agent, let alone team leader! You may not have really hated him; it was hard to truly hate someone who you shared so much history with, but you were glad you said it. Glad you hurt him, even a little. Maybe then he’d know how you felt.

He had — probably unwittingly — saved you arse though. It was one of your very first missions and unfortunately Lockwood was right; a team leader who couldn’t defeat a simple Type One, or realise that their case was a goose chase in the wrong apartment, wouldn’t last. So although he was the one who had told you you couldn’t be an agent in the first place, you probably owed your current position to him, which only mad you more mad. It was an endless cycle of being angry at Anthony Lockwood.

When Sarah came in to sit on your bed, you still weren’t done, taking the opportunity to verbalise your stream of thought.

“He is simply the worst person in the whole world and has no respect for me! I mean, he wouldn’t have helped at all if it didn’t serve his own inflated ego ,” You said, throwing your hands in the air in anguish. Sarah simply watched, barely concealing her amusement.

“Ok, but have you considered maybe he just argues back because you hate him? I mean, where did it start?” You huffed, vaulting yourself back onto your mattress.

“When we were twelve years old, he told me I couldn’t be an agent. I said ‘fuck you’ and have worked my bloody arse off to be one despite it, and to become the youngest team leader at Fittes, and yet every time I see him he still tries to sabotage my career or make me look stupid! God, he drives me up the wall!”

“So you’ve said all these horrid things because he didn’t believe in you?” She laughed a little, eliciting a deep frown from you.

“You don’t get it,” You said, tone solemn, “He was my best friend. He was supposed to believe in me even when everyone else said it was dumb.” The dampened mood brought a premature end to your conversation, Sarah leaving you to your thoughts and feelings as you dwelled on the past in a way you would usually forbid yourself from.

You pulled a framed photo out from behind your stack of books on the shelf. You and Lockwood as children, smiling brightly on a day at the beach, a spade in your hand and a bucket in his, your free ones intertwined as kids often do. You didn’t know why you’d kept it after all these years, looking at any photo of Lockwood typically made you mad, but you felt a bit guilty discarding the keepsake, especially the handmade frame his parents had given you one birthday before they passed. Plus, the memory untouched was one of your favourites — one of the last of your carefree days in childhood when you and Lockwood were best friends and both your families were whole. You held it softly for a moment, indulging yourself in being swept away by memories before deciding enough was enough and returning to the present, distracting yourself with a novel you’d picked up.

You were given a few weeks to cool down, blissfully free from any trace of Lockwood. You thought he must’ve been aware of the heightened tension between you recently, since you’d seen Lucy shopping around Arif’s and ran into George whilst getting your usual Friday night takeaway.

Hearing your name being called from around the corner of an aisle you turned quickly, reflexes on edge. Seeing it was just the redhead you relaxed, making yourself smile.

“Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you?” You made polite conversation, continuing on with your shopping. She replied cordially, a vague awkward air between you that you were both trying your best to overcome.

“We’re all really sorry about the case the other day, by the way. We didn’t mean to take it over or jeopardise your job or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured, “I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, every agent knows that.”

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

“Lucy,” You interrupted, “You don’t need to condemn Lockwood, or defend him. We both know where we stand with each other and that’s ok. I hope that doesn’t stop us from being friends either; you’re sweet.” Lucy managed a smile, revealing a pretty sparkle in her eye.

“I’d like to be friends too. Maybe we just won’t tell him,” She giggled, and you nodded gravely.

“Sounds like a plan.” You left Arif’s with a bag full of groceries and plan for coffee sometime.

George was less forgiving than Lucy. As you bickered over who got the last can of Coke in the restaurant’s little fridge, he imparted some of his very much unwanted advice.

“You should apologise. I think you crossed a line,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“He questioned my right to even be where I am — I think I have the right to be pissed at him.”

“He didn’t mean it,” George said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“How would you know?” You narrowed your eyes. George recoiled — he’d been caught.

“You know,” He trailed off, “Lockwood’s not like that. You should know that better than anyone.” You huffed again, fed up.

“I knew,” You corrected, “He’s shown me exactly how he feels about me now. And I am absolutely fine with that. I’m taking the Coke.” You ended the conversation abruptly, snatching the can out of George’s grip.

“But Lockwood doesn’t like any of the other flavours!” He called after you. You exaggerated a laugh, not looking back as you opened the restaurant door quickly.

“I know!” You yelled over your shoulder. George watched you leave, calculating look in his eyes. You said you hated Lockwood, he didn’t doubt you believed it, too. But he knew that most people didn’t remember which fizzy drinks their enemies liked.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Thankfully, you got just the distraction you needed. Your team had been given one of the most exciting cases on the Fittes roster. One of those old boutique hotels with funnily named rooms and a long, terrible history that had you buried in fascinating research. You couldn’t believe your team had been given the assignment, it was a sign that you were really beginning to be respected as a team leader in the agency. So, you couldn’t screw it up.

You and your team had been practically camped out in the Fittes archives, researching as much as you possibly could about the old hotel. There were a smattering of unfortunate deaths across the years — some darker than others, but you were confident it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The owners hadn’t specified exactly what supernatural experiences they had seen around the hotel, just that it was clear there were several presences around and they wanted them all gone to reopen the hotel as soon as possible. This did admittedly make you a little apprehensive — you didn’t actually have a solid idea of how many ghosts you’d be dealing with, and it was anyone’s guess how many of them would be Type Twos.

Finally, you were confident you and your team had done as much research as you could, and you were prepared for anything. And so you packed your kit bags, took the train ride and rocked up to the hotel mid afternoon, confidence overflowing. By nightfall you’d been on a tour of the grounds, set up your base and had started brewing some tea to get you all in the zone. You took a glance out the front window, seeing movement in one of the windows of the house next door. It was owned by the people who ran the hotel and they intended to open it as a second venue, but delegated the job to some smaller agency since the stakes for it weren’t as high.

It was all going well for a while. You had a plan to go room by room, making each ghost free before finishing in the majorly haunted kitchen. You were inclined to believe there’d be a cluster of Type Twos there since it was set alight years ago, and the accident had been swept under the rug in favour of saving the business.

The entryway was easy; a few Type Ones that practically led you their sources, clearly just wanting to finally be laid to rest. There was one nasty Limbless that gave you all a fright, but your researcher, Ben, was always miles ahead of the rest of you and knew exactly who the ghost was and therefore how to put him to rest. You told him you owed him a beer later and moved on, crossing a single room off the floor plan and shifting into the library, which was not so easy.

You started to think things were not as great as you originally anticipated when you turned to face the mass of Type Ones. Not the end of the world, a little bloody annoying though. Sarah seemed to agree, kicking the leg of a couch in frustration. The four of you figured your way out of it, though significantly depleted of supplies.

You returned to your home base to recoup, physically and mentally battered.

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, chugging down mouthfuls from her water bottle. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought hard, tapping your fingers insistently on the old wooden table.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for one more safely. Kyan, you go outside and get the rest of our equipment whilst we hit the second bedroom.”

“If we’re right then there should only be the one ghost there, right? The strangled woman?” You nodded in response to Ben, mentally drawing your plan.

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

“We won’t be,” You affirmed, tapping twice on the table to get you all moving.

Kyan left the building to go fetch the spare supplies and the remaining three of you ventured into the second bedroom. Everything was as it should be; lower temperature, creeping feelings of unease and miasma. You’d put together your chain circle and were feeling good about the Type Two woman you were facing, well, as good as you could in those circumstances.

That was, until it wasn’t just one Type Two. Despite the research and preparation you’d undertaken, there was definitely more than one Type Two enraged by your presence in the room at that moment. There was the woman, an angry apparition of some sort — you didn’t have the time to exactly figure out which subtype she fell into when a man also appeared. Shit. He wasted no time showing you he was aggressive too, and your heart sunk into your toes.

Doing some quick mental calculations, you announced the new plan — to get out. As team leader, you refused to be responsible for an injury or something worse because you wouldn’t back down when you knew you didn’t have enough defences left.

“Soon as it’s safe, get the fuck out of here,” You said, feeling to make sure they were still both in the circle with you as you stood with backs inward. “Use your defences as liberally as you feel you need to — we’re all getting out of here tonight.”

“What about the sources?” Sarah asked nervously, “We’ve only got one or two so far.”

“Who cares? Most agencies get one or two a mission and we’re in a giant bloody hotel. We’ve got more nights to get this done. We can’t get it done if you lot go off and die, can we?” Ben shrugged.

“S’pose not. Let’s go.” With that the three of you made a run for it, bolting out the bedroom door and into the corridor.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled, dodging out the way of another phantom headed your way. Evidently your previous endeavours had attracted the attention of some of the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel, none looking all that happy.

Your swear words didn’t falter as you continued the escape, ducking and jumping and making an utter fool of yourself to ensure you all made it out alive. You’d been covered by Sarah a few minutes ago with one of her magnesium flares, and so returned the favour without hesitation, only faltering slightly when you realised it was your last. You tried not to worry about it too much, you were nearing the laundry where there was a back door you could get to.

The closer you got to your escape the fewer visible apparitions there were. That was a good thing, your chances of ghost touch reducing greatly. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t still being hunted. A poltergeist had found you somewhere along the way, and the stream of things being thrown at you hadn’t ended yet. You’d vaguely felt something heavy hitting the back of your head and shoulders, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins was withholding the pain for the moment.

You’d crossed the threshold into the laundry, the back door within your sights. Maybe you got complacent, believing the end was nearer than you thought. Maybe it was just awful timing. However, as your feet hit the tiles of the room, you were being swept off your feet by the washing machine sliding into you, crushing you between it and the wall. You cried out unintentionally, feeling a sickening crack inside your chest. Your teammates turned back, door wide open and safety in sight.

“Don’t you dare come back for me,” You croaked, the wind pushed out of you. “Or I swear to God I’ll come and haunt you.” Ben took the threat and ran, ducking out the door into the fresh air of the night. Sarah hesitated, turning back to lock eyes with you, regret painted across her features. With a final threat she left too, leaving you to try and push the machine away from you in order to make your own escape. However, in an unfortunate series of events, the adrenaline started to wear off after your chase and you felt the sharp pain running along your skull, a thick drop of blood making its way down from a strand of hair into your left eye. Plus, you were pretty sure the machine had broken one of your wrists as any pressure you put onto it trying to move the machine set your nerves on fire, leaving you just your legs to try and make an escape. Turns out it’s harder than it looks to push a stupidly heavy washing machine away from you with your legs when you’re incapacitated on the floor.

Seeing your best friend the strangled woman approaching you sighed, trying to resign yourself to your fate. There was no way you were making it out without a miracle, and you were never the lucky kind. As she spotted you, you sealed your eyes tightly closed, unwilling to watch your own demise. It never came. When you chanced one eye open all you saw was sparks, the unmistakeable smell of a magnesium flare filling the room. You didn’t know what to feel. Relieved, of course, pissed off that your team had disrespected your wishes and endangered themselves, faint from the adrenaline and blood loss. Mostly faint, you decided, as you lay your head back against the tile, a sleep sounding like the nicest thing in the world suddenly.

You must have passed out for a minute or two as when you opened your eyes again you were in the air, distant voices yelling over the explosions and lights, but you felt a million miles away. You cuddled yourself into the body of whoever was carrying you — they were warm and your body felt ice cold. Everywhere you looked appeared blurry (and slightly pink, presumably from the blood in your eye), so you granted yourself some mercy and simply closed them. You thought you heard a mumbled “Hold on for me,” But you couldn’t be sure, everything was ringing in your head and the weight of staying awake was heavy on your foggy brain.

The next time you woke up was about half an hour later, or so you guessed. The sky was fractionally lighter than you remembered seeing, inching towards dawn, and you were laid down on dewey wet grass. The cool of it was nice on your skin, though you knew it would do major damage to your hair. Not that that was your greatest concern at the moment. You pushed yourself up on your elbows slowly, looking around at the scene that was coming into focus. Your team were on one side of you, looking exhausted but mostly physically fine. Straight ahead of you was Barnes, not looking as disappointed as you thought he would after a failed case. To your left was Lockwood and Co. Why were Lockwood and Co here? Why was Lockwood looking at you so intently, and why did he look like he was worried about you?

Only the first of your questions was answered. Evidently Lockwood and Co were the ‘small agency’ the hotel owners had given a chance for the smaller house on the edge of the property. They heard the commotion your team had made and Sarah’s screaming outside the kitchen door and came to save the day — of course. You were about to put up the protest that you didn’t need saving but it died in your throat when you saw the serious looks of everyone around you. Clearly this wasn’t the time for any of your bullshit.

“Clearly this case is bigger than your team can achieve,” Barnes said, and the fire was reignited within you. He must have been able to see what you were going to say and cut you off, “But I’m not taking you off the case.”

“Thank you,” You said quickly, tension in your shoulders releasing slightly.

“Lockwood and Co will work with you until the hotel is ghost free.”

“What?” You and Lockwood cried in unison, and you felt his eyes fall back on you. You refused to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—” You started, being cut off by Lockwood.

“We don’t work well together—”

“I happen to know you both need this case, or do you not care about the future of your jobs?” Barnes raised an eyebrow in the intimidating way only he could pull off. He had you there. Failing in a case, especially one that resulted in a near death experience would certainly jeopardise your trajectory at Fittes, and, unbeknownst to you, Lockwood and Co were pretty desperate for some good representation, unable to receive the praise deserved from the Combe Carey Hall case. You looked at Lockwood to find him already searching your face. After a moment of silent arguing between the two of you, you turned back to face Barnes, exaggerated smiles on both your faces.

“We’ll do it.” You smiled sweetly. A few more formalities sent Barnes and the other DEPRAC officer off, and only the two teams were left standing around, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of all the kit bags.

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked, a thought very similar to the ones bouncing around your head at the moment.

“Breakfast?” George suggested, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen your team agree to something so enthusiastically. The group of you all headed back to the train station, but Lockwood didn’t let you continue in the line to get your ticket. Instead he pulled you away from the crowd, seeming to have already told Lucy what was happening, judging from her cheerful wave goodbye.

You glared at him, yanking your arm away then groaning at the pain.

“What are we doing, Lockwood?” You asked with an exaggerated huff.

“We’re going to the hospital,” He said, unbothered by your protests. “And don’t say you’re fine because it’s clear you’re injured. I’d say a broken wrist, concussion and maybe a cracked rib, but we can let the doctors tell us I’m wrong, I’d be happy for them to tell you otherwise.” That shut you up, not least because you knew he was probably right. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline and a few painkillers by the DEPRAC officer who accompanied Barnes over, but you probably did need actual medical attention.

It was a very awkward cab ride to the local hospital. You and Lockwood were so used to arguing by now that silence felt like the only other viable option. You couldn’t make small talk, what would you even talk about? The only thing you knew about his life was his childhood, and you sure as hell weren’t gonna talk about that. The tension was palpable in the backseat, and when the cab driver wished you good luck for the hospital visit, you figured he didn’t just mean because of your injuries. You did force yourself to thank Lockwood when he paid for the ride though, even if it was just for the sake of the day moving on faster.

At least the waiting room created its own noise; beeping and chattering and footsteps filling the silence between you two. You struggled with the form in front of you, inconveniently having your dominant hand be out of working order. You painfully etched out your information over an embarrassing amount of time before Lockwood huffed loudly and snatched the clipboard from your lap.

“Fuck’s sake,” He muttered, pulling his own pen from his suit pocket, beginning to scribble down the answers for you. You just relaxed, your tired, drug-addled brain being allowed to rest for a moment. It wasn’t until he asked about your health insurance that you fully realised he was answering the questions by memory and forced your eyes to focus on the paper. Sure enough he’d gotten it all right, birthday and middle name included. You glanced up at him curiously, but it seemed like this was the moment he refused to make eye contact. You only had to inform him of things that had changed since you’d fallen out, neither of you verbalising that fact.

Things didn’t change when you were called into the doctor’s office either. The mix of pain, medicine and sleep deprivation led you to embrace the exam table and bordered on falling asleep as Lockwood talked for you. He’d gotten the rundown of the actual events from Sarah and his brief moments when he saved you, and explained the night as you got an x-ray for your hand. Plus, as you were waiting for the cast (it was, in fact, broken), he explained your previous medical history — the knee you dislocated when you were nine and the broken pinky finger from the year after. You only had to participate to explain the injuries you’d acquired during your career as an agent; the ones from after you and Lockwood stopped being friends.

The whole trip was extremely bizarre and slightly unnerving, and you were glad to get on the train on the way back.

“You were wrong about one thing,” You said, pulling out your walkman from your kit bag.

“And what’s that?” Lockwood asked, and you got the impression he was bracing to be yelled at again — you felt almost bad.

“No cracked rib for me.” You grinned, beginning to laugh uncharacteristically. You didn’t know why, it really wasn’t that funny, but Lockwood followed suit soon after. The two of you laughed borderline hysterically, much too energetic for that hour of the morning when everyone else was still heading to work. It only tapered off when your poor ribs couldn’t take it anymore (not broken but aggressively bruised), and the two of you fell back into silence. You had your music and Lockwood had a magazine you suspected he’d stolen from the A+E waiting room.

The only other time you spoke during the trip was when you summoned the courage to utter a somewhat genuine “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thanks. For not letting me die. And stuff.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Lockwood shot you a smile, the glowing kind you rarely got to see anymore.

As you got back to London and closer to Portland Row where your team was waiting, the air seemed to get thicker between the two of you once again. Maybe it was the proximity to the things that had torn you apart or the sense that you had predefined roles to play, but the carefree air between you had dissipated, leaving only the familiar tension that had been building over the last four years.

You followed Lockwood inside, trying to hide the out of body experience you were having returning to his family home after so many years. It had changed a little, of course, but still felt overwhelmingly the same, which both scared and comforted you. All the freaky foreign ghost hunting objects still littered the shelves, and you took the liberty of admiring them once again, remembering the stories Lockwood’s parents would tell about them and the adventures they’d had when collecting them. In your periphery you saw Lockwood hurriedly grab something off the wall by the stairs, shoving it in a drawer, but you really had no interest, choosing instead to reacquaint yourself with the house. The glimpse you got up the stairs showed a myriad of framed pictures of Lockwood and you scoffed — of course his ego would be on full display within his own home.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It was surprisingly easy to get into the groove of working with Lockwood and Co. Obviously you already liked George and Lucy, but your team seemed to work unexpectedly well with theirs. You and Lockwood stayed out of each other’s ways, the few times you were left to work together resulting in another stupid argument. The first time when you thought he was calling you dumb, the second over something minuscule; who’d let the tea brew too long so it tasted shit. And then who had to subsequently get up and make the next pot. Despite both of you honestly trying to be professional and get on with the job, it was agreed by everyone that it was simply easiest to keep the two of you apart as much as possible.

However, when the hotel owners wanted the leaders of both teams to meet up for updates on the case, you couldn’t get out of it. The day wasn’t looking good. You’d shown up to Portland Row so you could get a cab together — the meeting being dinner in central London, and had already argued with him over his choice of socks. In your defence, the powder blue socks matching your dress did make it look like you were a high school couple trying to match at a formal! However, George had rolled his eyes and pushed the two of you back out and towards the waiting cab, effectively ending that argument. You’d also teased Lockwood for bringing his rapier to a business dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

You’d held it together for most of the dinner, both of you putting on your best fronts and using your most formal tones to convince the elder couple that you were confident about the case. You found yourself kicking his shins to stop Lockwood from making promises you couldn’t keep regarding the case, and he got you back with condescending remarks, correcting you when he disagreed with how you presented the case. Altogether though you thought you were pretty subtle, and the two of you were presenting a model image of your respective companies.

However, when you shot Lockwood one of your saccharine smiles under the pretence of friendliness — he’d just undermined your authority again and stolen the best piece of dessert that you were going for, as if he didn’t torture you enough — you were shocked to hear the woman across from you laugh.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two bicker like an old married couple,” She giggled, and both you and Lockwood’s jaws dropped. “I mean, it just seems so dismal to be dating in these times, but you two give me hope that the future generations will still be able find love despite the Problem.”

“And clearly you’re both sensible kids, which is very important for a lasting relationship. Working for two different agencies would surely diffuse tensions around all those dangerous missions and such you agents partake in — except for this one, of course,” Her husband chimed in, jolly glint in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but it’s important to remember to be kids as much as you can. But you two playing footsies all night has proved that you’ve got that covered too. Silliness is just as crucial as being sensible, it’s how a marriage stays fun. We would know, we’ve had fifty odd years of it!”

You didn’t know how to react, and by the looks of it, Lockwood didn’t know either with his signature smile frozen on his face. First of all, you were not playing footsies with Anthony Lockwood — the bruise forming under his trouser leg was testament to that. Second of all, you had no idea how the woman could get your dynamic so incredibly wrong. Aside from all of Lockwood’s double edged comments and cocky corrections of basically anything you said, the two of you had hardly addressed each other directly all night, you might as well have been strangers!

The dinner wrapped up very soon after. The couple had taken a liking to you both and so trusted your teams to handle the case as you saw fit, only making you promise to take a romantic weekend getaway (or honeymoon! As the woman had remarked optimistically) to the hotel once it was completely ghost-free and renovated. For once you were glad that Lockwood was unable to ever shut up as he took the lead, seeming to believe that corroborating their assumption was the best choice in your situation. You weren’t sure you were entirely comfortable with lying to this sweet old couple, but you couldn’t deny that Lockwood was a better talker than you, and would probably handle the situation with more delicacy.

That was how you ended up being led out of the restaurant with Lockwood’s hand on the small of your back. You wondered if he’d ever done this before, and you didn’t know if you meant for a real or pretend relationship. You both said your goodbyes to the couple, flattered by the abundance of compliments they paid you — both personally and professionally, assuring you they were overjoyed to have your teams work the case. Just before they stepped into the cab the woman took you aside.

“Hold onto a boy who looks at you like that,” She said, “You might fight, but when he’s this in awe of you, you’ll find a way to make it work.” You didn’t know how to respond to that and so simply nodded, offering a weak smile as she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

That left you and Lockwood alone. You just looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you mind if we walk home? I really fancy some air right now.” Lockwood easily agreed, looking rather flustered himself, and off the two of you went into the night.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but you could tell he wanted to. Lockwood always chewed his lip when he was holding something back, he had since he was a child. You sighed and asked him, knowing it was the only way to make the habit go away.

“Nothing,” He said, “Just weird. Don’t you think?”

“Nah,” You lied, “Old people just say things like that all the time. They don’t care to know the full picture.”

“Which is?”

“We hate each other.” Hurt flashed through his eyes, but it didn’t make you feel as good as it did the first time you’d said it.

“I don’t hate you,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“I don’t hate you. We don’t get along anymore, but I don’t hate you. I hope you know that.” You faltered for a second. Had his use of ‘anymore’ been intentional to create a stabbing feeling in your gut?

“Oh. I guess I don’t really hate you either, if we’re getting sappy about it.” You tried to diffuse the tension growing between you, not wanting it to evolve into a discussion about what estranged you in the first place. Lockwood refused to apologise and you refused to forget, resulting in the bitter stalemate you’d been locked in for the past few years.

Your distraction came with a glance over Lockwood’s shoulder, and the wisp of a phantom coming into view. Lockwood was trying to continue the conversation about your developing relationship, but stopped when he noticed you frozen beside him. Turning slowly he swore when he saw the ghost, going straight for his rapier.

“Put your hand into my coat pocket,” He said, effectively drawing you from your freeze.

“Excuse me?” You whisper-yelled, not in the mood for him to try and lighten the mood with whatever dumb joke he was trying to make.

“Just trust me, I have flares in the inside pocket, just reach in and grab them to defend yourself whilst I keep an eye on them.” Them? You wondered until you looked around, seeing other ghosts start to emerge from the shadows, attracted by the scene you were obviously creating. You wasted no more time, ignoring the intimacy of reaching into Lockwood’s jacket, grabbing yourself a flare for each hand. With you accounted for, Lockwood told you the plan, he’d fight a path back to Portland Row and you’d cover the both of you with the flares, since you weren’t good for very much else with a broken wrist and no rapier.

It was hardly the most intense situation you or Lockwood had been in, but as the primary fighter in the situation, Lockwood was still putting up a good show of skill. Despite yourself you were entranced, admiring the graceful way he moved with the rapier, so in tune with it you’d think it was connected to his arm. As much as you hated Lockwood — well, you’d just established you didn’t actually hate him. As much as you thought he was egotistical and irritating, you had to admit that you really admired him as an agent. Lockwood was undeniably talented with a rapier — it was the fencing competition that got him started in this business in the first place — but to watch him in action was really something special. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was easy for him, he fought with the same ease and elegance he might drink a cup of tea.

You were so caught up in watching him that you hardly noticed when you arrived in front of 35 Portland Row, both luckily un-ghost touched. You were also alerted to the proximity you’d found yourself in. You’d stayed close obviously, not wanting to be left to the ghosts, but when Lockwood had turned to make sure you were still with him safely inside the iron fence, you found yourself only inches apart.

At this distance you were alerted to just how much he’d changed since you were kids. He was taller, obviously, your chin tilted up to make eye contact. He’d lost the baby fat that used to fill out his cheeks, leaving his face defined and bordering on gaunt — you figured he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging on the dark circles that seemed by now permanent. Plus something had changed in his eyes. He didn’t look carefree anymore, something dark and tortured lay behind the charming smiles. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was, and you figured you probably had something identical. However, the small scar on his jawline from when you accidentally flung a plastic toy into his face was still there which drew a small smile from you. Something within you urged to run your finger along it, and you felt your fingers twitch before you realised how inappropriate it was. That instinct didn’t feel so bad though when you caught Lockwood’s gaze shift down to your lips. Only momentarily, but you saw it. And worse? The fact that you didn’t mind. After all of these years and the fighting and terrible words shared, here you were maybe about to kiss Anthony Lockwood. You would be disgusted with yourself if you didn’t have so many other feelings fighting their way to the top.

The front door opening was enough to make you both jump apart, you rushing towards it to get as far from Lockwood as possible.

“Hey Lucy!” You called, practically floating up the front steps you were going so fast.

“Uh, hey, guys. We thought we heard you outside so I got sent to check. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly making out or something,” She joked and you forced out a laugh, far too loud to be real.

“As if! Come on, I’m dying for some tea.” You slid past her, rushing straight to the kitchen for a minute to think.

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

“What did you do?” She interrogated, all her scary Lucy-ness coming out.

“I don’t know,” Lockwood replied earnestly, still somewhat dazed himself. Lucy gave him one last look up and down before returning inside, leaving Lockwood to fix his smile on before rejoining the two teams.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The week leading up to your team’s next attempt at the hotel was extremely weird. You and Lockwood hadn’t spoken about what had happened (or almost happened) out in the front garden, but you had had a long talk about your behaviour lately. Over a few cups of tea in the kitchen whilst the rest of your teams were working down in the basement, you managed to both admit you were being dickheads. There was no mention of the underlying factors of your resentment, but you both agreed for the sake of your jobs you would try and be friends, or at least civil. No more bickering, no more picking apart small comments, no more rolling eyes.

It worked for a bit, which was really complicating your emotions. On the one hand, Lockwood was lovely, like he’d always been, and it was kind of nice to be able to talk and joke with him again after so many years, although you both carefully avoided the topic of your personal lives. On the other hand, it made you sad to pretend that everything was fine when you knew what you did. He didn’t think you could be an agent; Lockwood didn’t think you were good enough. And you could both pretend all you liked to be friends, but as long as that was what he thought about you it could never be real. So, while you’d both stopped your rivalry on the surface and gotten on with the case, there was a tension bubbling behind your smiles that both of you could see whenever you locked eyes.

It all came to a head when you started discussing your action plan for the hotel. All seven of you were standing in the basement of Portland Row, staring at a blown up floor plan of the place, little figurines representing each of you. It didn’t take you long to realise that you weren’t being represented.

“Where am I?” You asked, an uneasy silence falling over the room.

“You’re not coming.” Lockwood took the fall, even though it had been a unanimous decision whilst you were on an Arif’s run one afternoon.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the biting tone in your words, fury you’d worked hard to conceal bubbling back up to the surface.

“Your wrist—” Sarah tried to reason, but something in you had unlocked and you were not backing down this time.

“You and I know full well if this was a Fittes case I would still be out in the field, broken wrist be damned,” You spat, and you could practically see the gears turning in Lockwood and Lucy’s heads.

“They make you go into the field injured?” Lucy asked, but you weren’t focused on answering her — George nodded for you.

“So who’s barred me from being in the field, on what I might remind you, was my case first.” There were a few moments of silence where no one wanted to be the subject of your anger, but with a resigned sigh, Lockwood accepted the blame.

“It was my idea.” You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of your mouth.

“God, this is so typical! You’ve never thought I was good enough, and now what? Sabotaging my cases? My career? Because you don’t believe in me,” Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you could feel the tears heavy behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You spat a final “Fuck you,” before running up the basement stairs, up to where you knew the bathroom would be for some privacy.

You realised when you were at the top of the stairs that in your time working with Lockwood and Co you hadn’t actually used their bathroom, and didn’t remember which of the closed doors it was. Choosing one blindly you shut yourself inside, finally letting the tears that blurred your vision roll down your cheeks.

You sobbed heavily, indulging all the terrible feelings you’d been concealing for far too long. When the tears weren’t so frequent the setting around you came back into focus, and you noticed with a start you definitely weren’t in the bathroom. The view from the window told you it was Lockwood’s late parent’s bedroom, but the used furniture and messy bed said someone was still living there. Your stomach dropped as you stood, wiping the tears from your eyes. Looking around you were sure this was Lockwood’s room, the suit jacket on the desk chair a dead giveaway. However, a picture frame on his nightstand attracted your attention the most. It was the same one you had in your dorm at Fittes, the one gifted to you by Lockwood’s parents for your birthday. Both of you grinning widely and carelessly joyful. It had been so long since you’d felt like that, even longer since you’d felt it around Lockwood. The thought made your heart ache a bit. His parents would be so disappointed in the two of you. That made you start crying a little again, picking up the photo to examine it closer.

“It’s been there since you left,” A voice from behind you said. “I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.” You hadn’t noticed Lockwood come in and you didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You put the photo down with a start, turning away to wipe your face dry again.

“Go away, Lockwood. Just give me a minute and I’ll be back downstairs. I overreacted but I need to get over it, okay?” You snapped, praying your face wasn’t still red and splotchy (it was).

“No,” He said, and you turned to face him curiously. “Look, this has gone on long enough and we need to fix things.” You crossed your arms petulantly, a silent challenge for him to fix the damage you believed to be all his. “You said downstairs that I thought you couldn’t be an agent. Why?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you I wanted to be an agent like you?” You scoffed, “You all but laughed in my face! You said I couldn’t do it, that I’d be injured or killed and I couldn’t handle it. I’ve thought about that every case since, you killed my self esteem for years. I thought that if no one else, my best friend should have believed in me. But here I am, youngest team leader at Fittes with the highest successful case rate for my division. All in spite of you.” Lockwood stared at you, and you could practically see his neurons firing and making connections at a million miles an hour.

“That’s not what I said.” You could barely contain your bitter laugh.

“Does it matter? You didn’t believe in me, that’s what’s important.”

“No,” He said, “Because that’s not what I meant at all. I did believe in you — I do. I always have.” You scoffed again as he stumbled over his words. A little grovelling now couldn’t make up for all the years of anxiety and insecurity he’d caused.

“I mean it! If I didn’t believe in you, then what’s all this?” He led you to one of his dresser drawers. Opening it there were a stack of papers and you picked a few of them up, flipping through them. Every single one was about you. Photos from your childhood together, newspaper clippings of your successes throughout the years, the magazine article you interviewed for talking about women in power in the ghost hunting field. Lockwood had saved every piece of media about you, the ragged edges showing he’d ripped them out just to keep them. You remained silent, astonished by this new revelation. You looked up at him, and Lockwood could have cried at the look in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be an agent,” He explained, “Or that’s not what I meant. I meant that you shouldn’t, or more clearly, I was saying don’t. Asking. Don’t you remember? My parents were dead, my sister had just died. You were all I had left, and I didn’t want you to jump head first into the most dangerous job in the world. I wanted to protect you.” It was Lockwood’s turn for his voice to break and tears to arise, and you suddenly felt supremely stupid.

“Oh,” Was all you could say. After all of these years; the insults thrown and dirty looks exchanged, all your anger came from a misunderstanding? Not only that, a misunderstanding that twisted such an earnest declaration of care into something so awful.

“But you did it, and you weren’t just any agent,” He laughed slightly despite his emotions, “You were the best bloody agent Fittes has ever seen and all I could do was watch from the shadows and be proud of you silently. Why do you think Lucy knew who you were already? There were pictures of you all over the house before I made them take them all down when I knew we were working together. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“But all the arguing…” You trailed off, still unable to completely process this information.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall, especially when you were being — or I believed you were — deliberately obtuse to my efforts to explain myself. But now I see we were just on totally different wavelengths.” You were really struggling, there was a lot of new information being revealed at such a rapid pace that was completely changing your perspective on your whole adolescence.

“You love me?” Lockwood did laugh this time, loudly and with the same charm he usually had.

“Yes, you idiot. I have since we were kids.”

Oh. Oh. You suddenly felt like an idiot. All of this time you thought that Lockwood believed you were weak, not good enough, not worthy of your successes, when in fact it was the complete opposite. And then you thought about how you felt about Lockwood. How his believed lack of faith in you affected you so much because you cared so deeply about what he thought of you. How you could never bring yourself to look away when he was fighting because he was so completely in his element. How nice it had been to be able to joke around with him during your research. Oh God. You thought you simply respected him and his skills as an agent, but evidently the truth had been just out of reach your whole life.

“Anthony?” He was already looking at you, eyes searching deep into your soul. “I think I might love you too.” Neither of you could help the kiddish smiles making their way on your faces, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly before you knew what was happening. It felt nice to be held by him again, the last time would have been after his sister died. These were much better circumstances.

When you both came down the stairs later, no one mentioned your intertwined hands. You all had a lovely dinner at Portland Row, warmth and laughter filling the space and making you feel at home like you used to when you were a kid.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back to the Fittes dorms that Sarah leaned over to you, mischievous grin on her face.

“Tell me you were making out up there, please,” She giggled, and you shoved her away lightheartedly.

“Shut up,” You laughed, “Besides, it wasn’t making out.”

308 notes · View notes

lewkwoodnco · 1 year ago

Note

Can I make you a request about Anthony Lockwood based on the song “So American” by Olivia Rodrigo🥺😭

so american! - Lockwood x Reader

when he laughs at all my jokes and he says I’m so american oh god it’s just not fair of him to make me feel this much I’d go anywhere he goes when he says I’m so american oh god I’m gonna marry him if he keeps this shit up i might just be in la la la la la la la la la love

a/n: this fic has been rattling around in my head for a couple of weeks now and I was soooo double minded abt writing it so THANK YOU for the ask!!!!!! might not have written it otherwise heheh also I’m sooo proud of how my gifs turned out it was so fun to colour them all guts themed 😍😍 I hope you enjoy!! <333 also im having issues w the keep reading button AGAIN so sorry :(((

warnings/tropes: lockwood and reader are already in an established relationship, fluffy fluff, veeerrry small sprinkling of angst but happy ending! domestic sweetness

word count: 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

“Ready?”

Lockwood ducked into the car's passenger seat, grinning at the sight of her comically desperate expression. George and Lucy were fussing in the backseat, mainly because of Lucy’s seatbelt, or lack thereof, and they didn't seem to notice his arrival.

“Just wear the fucking seatbelt.”

"I'll be fine, George."

"She got her license at 16. 16! They just let anyone drive all willy-nilly up and down the roads in America."

Lucy gave him a look. He finally gave up and tugged at his own seatbelt sceptically, muttering darkly under his breath.

Lockwood & Co. was much more than a psychical investigation agency. Outside of their working hours, each member liked to work on some kind of passion project. After not having driven for over a year since she got her driving license in the States, she had decided to apply for one in London. Luckily, her employer had gallantly offered to provide her with the lessons she badly needed, having been the first of the three to earn his license. Well, employer and boyfriend.

Her mother could hardly believe the news and, frankly, so could she. In a lot of ways, having an English boyfriend was vastly different from having an American one. First, there was a slight communication barrier, given how terrible she was with accents. Then there were the differing preferences - Lockwood seemed forever ready for a cuppa at any time of day, whereas the only kind of tea she really enjoyed was iced tea. Still, these differences left gaps for lingering gazes and silences that stretched on a little too much, and somewhere in between she slipped her hand into his, and the rest was history.

Lockwood turned away to buckle his seatbelt.

"Okay, your seatbelt on?"

"Yes."

"Ready to go?"

"Hang on," came George's peeved voice from behind them, "you're not going to brief her first?" The two of them stared at each other blankly.

"Uh, Y/N, do you remember how to drive?"

"Sure." It was one of those things you never forget, like riding a bicycle. Sure, it had been a while, but how hard could it truly be?

"Brilliant. Now-"

George pulled himself forward between the two front seats, straining against his seatbelt. “We don’t drive on the right side here. We drive on the left side of the road. Left. Left.”

She glanced at her rearview mirror which outlined the line of cars behind them parked on the left side of the street.

“No. You don’t say.”

Lockwood coughed, poorly concealing his laugh as he craned his neck towards the backseat windows. "Right, all clear. I think we can move of-"

"Parking brake."

"Er, right, what George said. Disable the parking brake first."

“I’ve never driven with a parking brake before.”

“So you push in this metal bit, like so,” said Lockwood, gently manoeuvring her fingers into the right grip, “and then pull it up a little, and then bring it all the way down.”

She tugged at it in frustration. “I -it’s not working.”

“Lockwood, did you tell her to step on the “

“Step-on-the-brake-while-doing-that-yes I was just about to say, George. I think I know how to teach someone how to drive. Unless you’d like to take over?”

"Oh, please. You couldn't pay me to sit in the front seat with that maniac driving."

She got her parking brake down, checked her mirrors, and they were off. For a minute there it was quite enjoyable, trundling through the mostly empty backstreets of London. Lockwood even tried to prop his feet on the dashboard before getting badly told off by George. He was forever propping his feet up at the slightest chance - at the Archives, at home, and now here. Maybe it was all part of some innate desire to be a wheelbarrow.

And so, things were going perfectly rosy, until she faced her first real challenge - oncoming traffic. As soon as the car heading towards them came into plain enough view, the four of them went into hysterics. The road was just narrow enough to make overtaking a little too tricky for her abilities at the moment.

“What do I do? WHY isn’t he slowing down?”

“Don’t panic, it’s alright. Stop a little to the side.”

She cursed, fumbling for the brake pedal her foot had carelessly slipped off of. Lockwood was nervously watching the car get closer and closer to them.

“Now would be a good time to stop, Y/N. Brake! BRAKE!”

They shot ahead sharply, swerving right sharply, narrowly missing the car passing them. Lucy swore loudly and George gripped the car grab handle above him as he started scolding no one in particular.

"NOT THE BRAKE!”

Lockwood gripped the steering wheel over her hands, frantically trying to steer them to safety. With some difficulty, she shifted her foot back to the right pedal and slammed the brakes. There was a bit of a scuffle in the backseat, including George going off on Lucy in a very ‘I-told-you-so’ tone.

At the front of the car, Lockwood and she were still frozen, reeling from the past very exciting 30 seconds. Her eyes settled to where his hands were still resting on hers, tightly pinning her fingers to the steering wheel.

“Your hands are so warm.”

He peeled them off almost instantly, and she was sorry she brought it up in the first place. “Yeah, well, they’re panicking, just like the rest of me. What the bloody hell was that? I thought you said you knew how to drive!”

“I do know how to drive.” She bit back a smile at the sight of her 180 cm tall boyfriend trying to catch his breath with his hand dramatically splayed across his chest, muttering something about Americans handing out licenses to just about anyone.

The drive back to the rental car agency was much less eventful. After returning the car, they trudged back up the road to Portland Row. As they hung their coats up, she met his thoughtful gaze.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He drew in a breath and hesitated. “You look nice.”

“Is this some convoluted way of patting yourself on the back for your fashion choices?”

“So you agree? You think you look nice?”

She groaned. She should have known no good was going to come from showing Lockwood Mean Girls. Still, it was hard to stay mad for long at a face like that. "You’re such a nuisance. A…delightful one, arguably, but still a nuisance.”

"You find me delightful?"

"That's your takeaway?”

"Next thing I know you’ll be saying you fancy me.”

“I’m literally wearing your shirt right now.”

“Luce!” He turned and started down the hallway. “Y/N says I’m delightful!”

As usual, the four of them reconvened in the kitchen a little after lunch for a tea break. Well, the four of them minus Lockwood, who had been bullied into fixing a plumbing issue in the basement. They sipped their tea and chewed their biscuits in silence. She wished she could bring down a little for Lockwood.

“Maybe I should go see if he needs some help.”

“No!” George nearly upset his tea, which made Lucy choke on her biscuit. “ Don’t go down there. You’ll distract him, he won’t get shit done, and that’ll be one more week without hot water for me.”

So she sat back down sulkily, brooding over her tea, until another topic of conversation struck her.

“Speaking of Lockwood -“

“- no one’s mentioned Lockwood-“

“-did you guys see the socks he was wearing today?”

Lucy and George didn’t even try to muffle their groans.

“They were very nice socks! They had the most precious pattern of baby ducks against a darling blue backgr-“

She stopped short as Lucy reached across the table to grip her hand.

“Y/N, I say this with love, but if I have to hear one more word about Lockwood, or his stupid bloody socks, I am going to ram a fork into my eye.”

She blinked, confused, and scoffed. “Gosh, you guys are so overdramatic. I don’t talk about him that much.”

George and Lucy exchanged a look.

“Okay, so maybe I like my boyfriend and I enjoy talking about him. Is that really so bad?”

Lockwood rescued all of them from the siege of George’s response by walking in right then, holding a wrench and looking a little worse for wear, but appeared very pleased with himself.

“Fixed!”

“Finally.”

Lucy frowned at the clock above the stove. “Isn’t that client meeting at Tooting today?”

Lockwood’s smile slipped right off as he glanced at his watch and rushed out of the kitchen, muttering furiously. His simple black leather watch which complemented his wrist so perfectly-

“Y/N! Time to leave!”

Maybe George and Lucy had a point.

Once their client meeting had finished, she and Lockwood stood on the pavement outside the house, looking for cabs to flag down. It was a balmy evening, and a cloudless sky meant they could enjoy the warmth of the setting sun beating down on them. She squinted down the road while Lockwood pulled something out from his coat pocket.

“For a job well done this morning and at the meeting…” he revealed two pieces of tightly wrapped square candies sitting on his palm. “A little treat.”

She stared at the candy for a moment, thinking hard.

“Caramel! I just remembered.”

“…what?”

“That’s what we call it in the States. A caramel.”

“It’s made of caramel, sure-“

“Plural is caramels.”

He made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. “Changing an uncountable noun into a countable one? That’s just lazy.”

“Fine. What do you call it?”

“Toffee.” The vowels rolled off his tongue like silk in that English accent that had made it difficult to fully concentrate from day one. Standing next to him, watching him gently and methodically unfolding the golden wrapper, shining and glinting like a beacon of light…maybe this was all she needed to be happy.

“Taw-fee?”

He pulled a face at her exaggerated American drawl, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as he pried apart the stuck halves of the toffee. She watched him visibly relax as the first tangy notes hit his tongue, her own half close to melting in her palm under the brunt of the setting sun. He met her gaze and gave a faint smile, almost reflexively covering her hand with his own.

“God, you’re so American. So, which is it? Toffee or caramel?”

She bites into what's left of the soft treat she's scraped off her palm. It's warm and comforting and she instantly feels a little more happy. Maybe it's the candy, or maybe it's the boy whose side is pressed into hers. Love, she decides. It's love.

“How many cups of tea have you had today?”

As idyllic as the weekend had been, they were back to their usual busy routine which meant that their evening tea break was the first time they’d see each other since breakfast. She had just walked into the kitchen where Lockwood was seated at the kitchen table, pouring over a mess of papers with a cup of tea to the side. One of the first things she had learnt about Lockwood was his near-debilitating addiction to tea. Now, he silently took a sip from his mug and she gave an exaggerated sigh, settling into the opposite end of the table.

“You really drink too much caffeine.”

He quirked his lips into a lopsided half-smile -/ he peered at the papers she had spilled onto the table. “What’s all…” he gestured to her papers with his mug, “…that?”

“The Rotwell agents give me hell for my American accent when they’re on duty at DEPRAC.” She held up her list of words dolefully. “‘Least I can do is pronounce things right.”

He slid into the chair next to her, taking a look at the list. “Which one are you at?”

“Pri-vacy. Pri...vacy. Nope, can't do it.”

“Of course it sounds weird when you say it like that. Try using it in a sentence.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. If I have to say ‘pri-vacy’ one more time, I’m running you through with my rapier."

Lockwood choked on his tea.

"...or, you know...'pry-vacy' sounds perfectly fine."

She gave him a brief smile. “Anyway, I’ve got to do a Satchell’s run now. Lucy says we’re out of flares. Don’t wait up for me.”

It took her a decent amount of time to collect all the supplies they were out of stock on, yet when she returned Lockwood was still sitting in that same chair, staring at the same papers with worn-out eyes, distractedly tugging at his hair. He barely looked up when she walked in, mystified.

“You’re still up?”

He rubbed his face firmly. “I can’t…I can’t figure this out.” She took a closer look at the papers. There were reports dating back two centuries on the house of one of their upcoming cases.

“The investigation is tomorrow and I have no idea what or where the Source could be.”

“Well…maybe George’s figured it out.”

“If he did, he’d be home by now.” He hunched over the papers once again, his head swaying dangerously close to the table, and she was instantly reminded of how exhausted Lockwood had looked that morning. As if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. She started stacking some papers together.

“It’s getting late. We should head to bed.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“You can continue in the morning, but right now, you need to rest.”

His features hardened like he was ready to start a fight, but it lasted all of half a second before they caved to exhaustion. He looked like a drenched cat left out in the rain, with his hair messed up and in disarray.

“George is still at the Archives. What kind of a boss would I be to go to bed now? What kind of a…friend?”

Lockwood leaned back in his chair, briefly pressing a hand to his eyes and then his forehead, his forearm trembling ever so slightly. In the dim light of the kitchen, he seemed more skeleton than Man with his malnourished pallor and the scar on his lip being carefully outlined by a shadow. She ran a hand through his hair, down his neck, all the way to his shoulder.

“Hey. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’re human, too.”

He gave a deep sigh. “Fine. I’ll come in a while.”

“Promise?”

He gave a jerky nod. The tea in his mug had gone stone cold by then, and so she brewed him a fresh cup. He looked up, confused, as she placed it next to his papers.

“What about the caffeine?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and combed down the hair sticking up all haywire, as if she hadn’t heard him. “What about it?”

He smiled faintly and gave the hand on his shoulder a light squeeze, and returned to his work with his eyes humming with a little more energy.

Later that night, she dreamt that he was falling, and she was losing her mind trying to save him.

She should have known nothing was going to right in the job from the very beginning. None of them had been able to find much information on the house, and they were running late, so tempers were running very high. Even during the case itself, they were forced to split up and fumble through improvised plans. That was until she had stumbled onto Lockwood frozen at the basement door, looking down into the darkness in a strange way.

Go back, he had said. I don’t know what any of us can expect in this place. So I’ll come with you, she had replied. Or let’s wait for George or Lucy. I can’t. Why not? It’s different. I don’t have the time to explain it. Different how?

You’re more important.

The look on his face was more foreign than the house itself.

Now they were home, back at Portland Row. Lucy and George had sensed something was off and retired to their rooms. Lockwood headed towards the kitchen, and she followed him. He hadn’t spoken a word since her face had blanched at the sight of him poised at the basement’s entrance. She tugged at the ends of her hair. She could feel an argument brewing and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Are you okay?”

Lockwood continued rummaging through the refrigerator for his routine drink of orange juice, taking his time to reply. “Don’t I look okay?”

“Yes. No.” He was terribly confusing. “Why did you say you weren’t important?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said you were less important.”

He finally twisted the cap off the carton with his trembling fingers. The case had shaken all of them up, but for some reason, he was trying to hide it.

“Well…it’s not not true.”

“No it isn’t.”

“I’m a figurehead, Y/N. I represent the agency, that’s my name on the plaque out there, but that’s about it. You, Lucy, George…you’re the soul of the agency.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If…heaven forbid, something were to happen to one of us…”

Oh, he was so aggravating. She massaged her temples. She was going to punch him soon if she wasn’t careful.

“…the lot of you’d be better off without me than anyone else, and-“

"Oh god, shut up already!"

Lockwood abandoned the carton and straightened, and they glared at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen. “Or what? You'll shoot me?"

His expression softened only marginally when he saw how close she was to tears. She shook her head.

"If you pull another stunt like this...I might just have to marry you.”

“I’d have to marry you so that you can look down at your bloody hand and remember that there are people out there who would be nothing without you.”

“Y/-“

“Shame on you, Anthony J. Lockwood. Do you think George wouldn’t care about losing his best friend? Or Lucy? Or me? Hm?”

The tears had started to trickle down her face, and he walked towards her with a sympathetic expression, any and all rage long forgotten, and offered her his handkerchief. She could barely manage a weak glare before caving and accepting it, wiping away at her face. As soon as she was done, she wrapped her arms around him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug that smelled faintly of vanilla.

“That was a…a terrible thing to say, Anthony.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Well, you’re doing a pretty shitty job then. I’m worried about you every day.”

She felt rather than saw his smile, though he could perfectly picture it in her mind - uneven and tipped to the right, but perfectly sincere.

"Also, I'm pretty sure that shooting remark counts as xenophobia."

"Yes, I'm hugging you very xenophobically now."

She buried her face into his chest and scrunched her nose hard. It was moments like these that only cemented her faith that she was never going to find somebody who made her feel the way Lockwood did. Seeing him standing outside the basement, she didn’t even need to think about what to do next. It had become incredibly instinctual - her readiness to take his hand and hurtle into the latest oblivion, blind as a bat. It didn’t get more simple than this: she just wanted to be wherever he was.

It was him and her, and her and him - Portland Row’s cripplingly disaster couple, Mr A.J. Lockwood and Miss Americana.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #olivia rodrigo #guts spilled #so american #songfic

151 notes · View notes

marvelwitchergilmore · 1 year ago

Text

Freak Like Them

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You haven't spoke to your parents in years, and have never once mentioned them. One day, they decided to come and see you.

Disclaimer: This is more of a Lockwood and Co Platonic thing though I guess something could be shown as 'romantic'...kinda. Not proof read. Terrible parents, abandonment, shitty parents though some 'redeemed'. Swearing, angst, tears, found family kinda stuff.

You had been frantically running about all day, cleaning.

Whilst Lucy (tried) to eat her toast in peace, there you were, cloth in hand, taking her unfinished plate from her.

“Hey!”

Lucy watched you for a further moment before saying; “Do you mind?”

“Can’t have a mess. They’ll already find things to comment on.”

“They?”

“Do you know who she’s talking about?”

“No clue.”

“When did she even wake up?” George asked whilst himself, Lockwood and Lucy watched as you cleaned yet another already clean kitchen countertop.

“5, I think. She was up before me.” Lockwood stated.

You had actually been awake since 4, but figured you better start cleaning from 5. It gave you time to wake up, get ready and make sure the whole house was spotless before they came.

“Also, who’s they?”

“They?”

“She said, ‘they’ didn’t she?” Lucy asked, leaning into the duo.

“They are my parents.”

“What?”

“My parents.” you stopped for a moment to look at all three of them huddled together at the end of the table. “They called me last week saying they were coming down for a visit. Only, I completely forgot until last night and now nothing is clean and I don’t know what to do to avoid them saying something.”

“But I thought your parents didn’t like you being-”

“An Agent?” you finished Lockwood’s question. “They didn’t. Probably still don’t. I get a postcard from them every year but other than that, I don’t hear from them. And then, out of the blue they called.”

“And you forgot?”

“Well,” you sighed, looking at George. “I was a little busy trying to stop you three from committing an accidental murder in the Winkleman case last week.”

George remained silent.

“Either way, they’re coming today and I still haven’t finished-”

Lockwood stated your name. “The house is spotless. In fact, it hasn’t been this clean…ever.”

“I know, but I just need today to go well.”

“Why?” George asked, before realising he probably should have remained silent in his questioning.

George and Lucy didn’t know much about your parents, just that you had to have some somewhere. Lockwood knew a little more, but still not much. He knew why you came to London all those years ago. He knew why you left them and why they told you to leave, but other than that, he knew nothing more.

You refused to talk about them.

Anytime family came up in a conversation, you’d steer the conversation onto another topic or deflect it onto somebody else. You’d do it subtly but the others were slowly picking up on it.

“Please,” you begged. “Just…help me make sure today goes well and then they’ll go home and we can get back to normal.”

Neither of the trio knew what they were getting themselves in for when it came to your parents, and it would be too late for them to escape by the time they turned up at the front door.

George had made dinner that night, making sure to follow the recipe you gave him, to a T. Especially since it was your parents’ favourite meal and if he did it well, which you doubted he wouldn’t, then they would accept George and be kind with him.

That just left trying to get Lucy and Lockwood on their good side.

So, when the doorbell rang, Lockwood greeted them at the door, offering to take their coats.

Your mother thanked him and mentioned to her husband, your father, how kind he was.

So Lockwood was in their good books so far, until…

“Ah, my dear.”

Your mother spotted you as you came out of the kitchen and into the hallway. She took both of your hands in hers and kissed the air around your cheeks.

“Couldn’t greet us yourself?”

“Sorry, mum. I was just-”

“Nevermind. There’s always another chance. Are those-”

“Garlic potatoes? Yes. I gave George the recipe. He’s an amazing cook.”

“So are you, dear.” your mother told you. “I should know. I paid for the lessons.”

You could do nothing more than smile and nod before looking at your dad. “Hi, dad.”

“Munchkin, how is my little girl?”

“Goo-”

“She’s well, dear. Can’t you see? Nevermind that. Show us around. We’d like to see how our daughter is surviving after all.”

Your mother forced her way into the living room, your dad following her call whilst you remained outside the room for a short moment to take a breath.

“Are you-”

You nodded quickly at Lockwood, “I’m fine. Can you help Lucy finish the table?”

Lockwood nodded, his gaze wandering into the living room for a second before giving you a slight smile and heading into the kitchen.

Letting go of your forced breath, you entered the living room to find your mother judging every corner she could of the room.

“For London, I would have thought the rooms would be bigger.”

“Well, they are. We’ve just rearranged the furniture to make it cosier for the colder months.”

“And how long do you spend the day being lazy here.”

“Well, we’re not actually in here all that-”

“No need to lie to your mother, dear. I know you can be hard working when you want to be, but I also know children your age.”

Your mother wandered over to the fireplace before rubbing her finger over the top of it.

She hummed, and not in a good way. It was more…disappointment.

“You haven’t polished, I see. I can see now where we come on your scale of importance.”

“Mum, listen-”

“Would anyone like anything to drink?”

You made a mental note to hug Lucy as tight as you possibly could, later.

Your mother’s face lit up. “Oh, my goodness. You must be Miss Carlyle. I have heard so much about you. All from the papers, of course. Our daughter tells us nothing. Aren’t you much prettier in person? Perhaps one day you girls can have a talk over make-up. Perhaps you could teach my daughter a couple of things about presentability.”

Lucy didn’t know how to respond.

Usually, she’d fire back a snarky comment, but this was your mother.

And only now was she beginning to understand the reasons why you didn’t talk about them all that much.

Lockwood appeared behind Lucy for a moment. “Dinner is ready, if you’d like to take a seat in the kitchen.”

Your mother smiled at Lockwood and dropped Lucy’s hands.

“That will be wonderful, Son.” your father replied before all five of you made your way into the kitchen to see George.

The food was plated up perfectly, everything smelled just like how it did at home.

“Mismatched plates, how very…cute.”

You knew your mother didn’t mean that as a compliment.

“This all looks lovely, George.” your father told him before digging in. “My god! The potatoes, how did you-”

“I added a little bit of milk along with some spices left over from the chicken.”

Your father began telling your mother about how they should try and cook it like that when they got home, but your mother was more focused on you and your fellow Agents.

“So, tell me Lucy. When did you become an Agent?”

“W-When I was…eight…I think?”

“I remember the papers. It was awful what happened to those children. But that wasn’t your fault.”

Lucy didn’t know what to say, other than to nod and say an awkward, “Thank you.”

“Mum, can we please not talk about this?”

“I’m only asking a question, dear. Don’t attack me because you don’t like me wanting to get to know your friends.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Don’t talk back, dear. You know how I feel about you talking back.”

The room went silent for a moment before your father coughed and looked at you.

“How has the life of an Agent been treating you? I’m sure you’ve all got some strange stories you’d like to tell?”

“Dear, she just said she didn’t feel like talking about it.”

“No, it’s okay.” you felt a little spark of joy when hearing your father wish to talk about your job.

“Oh, so he can talk about it, but I can’t? Well,” your mother threw down her fork. “All I wanted was to spend time with my daughter and her friends and now suddenly I’m the villain but he’s the saint for asking questions.”

“Mum, I never-”

“I have a story!” George piped up.

All eyes turned to him and he swallowed nervously before telling his story about a case you were all working on a few months ago.

By the end of the story, you could have sworn your dad had pride in his eyes when looking at you.

Your mother, however, was a different case entirely.

“So you just went after them like that?”

“I was saf-”

“If they ran into a burning building, would you follow them? I understand you wish to prove yourself, but didn’t you have a good job there?”

You nodded. “I did, but I-”

“She’s happy now,” your father tried to explain lovingly. “And that’s all that matters-”

“Yes, yes, Dear. So, Anthony, tell me about yourself.”

The following 40 minutes passed in a similar fashion. Your mother asking questions, people answering and then her making a comment about you. Then, your father tried his best to support you.

Even if he didn’t support you when you decided to move to London to join Lockwood and Co, he was supporting you now. He seemed proud, even. But your mother didn’t.

“Did I tell you the story about when she decided she wanted to be an agent?”

You worried but continued to smile. It started out like a nice story.

“She was 14, and just got home from her maths tutors. I paid in full too, so no refund either.”

Oh, no.

“Dear, perhaps we don’t have to-” your father tried interrupting but it was no use. Your mother carried on and so, your father placed his hand gently on your arm whilst your focus remained on your mother, however your other hand found his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

This didn’t go unnoticed by the trio who then endured the story your mother told everyone.

“Can you believe that, my little girl, deciding to become an Agent instead of seaking her talents in-”

“Why don’t we move onto dessert?” your father announced, turning his attention to George who seemed to visibly give a sigh of relief.

“Yes, Lucy will you-”

“On it.”

Lucy led everyone into the living room with Lockwood, although yourself and your dad held back for a moment.

“I’m so sorry, Munchkin. I told her not to-”

“It’s okay, dad.”

“It’s-”

You took his hand on your arm again. “It’s okay, dad.”

As your dad followed Lucy and Lockwood and your mother into the living room, you let out a controlled breath and beside you, you saw a beer bottle.

“Not yet. If she smells it on me, she’ll hit the roof.”

“Maybe it will get her out quicker.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

You remained still, your gaze fixed on the door. “No. But it can’t be that long until she leaves. Keep that on ice for me?”

“In the hidden corner of the fridge already.”

“Thanks, George.”

Being careful of your steps, you made your way into the living room where you found your mother in the middle of another story.

Lucy was pouring your dad a drink meanwhile, Lockwood looked at you for a moment, giving a silent questioning look.

“Are you okay?”

You gave a small nod and sat on the arm of the chair beside your dad, listening to another story that your mother told people. All that flashed across your mind was the amount of times you cried yourself to sleep in the nights after a dinner party where she provided people with evidence of what a disappointment you were to her then.

God only knows what she tells them now.

“Oh, please, tell me how my dear daughter is working in your fine establishment?” your mother asked, sitting on the edge of her seat. “And don’t worry, I know she’s not perfect. You can be honest in your review.”

Lockwood stuttered for a moment, understanding full well that when your mother said “she’s not perfect”, she didn’t mean it to be everyone is imperfect but rather you were…terrible.

“She’s doing very well. She’s one of the best…any of us have ever worked with.”

“You’re kidding! Oh, my dear.” your mother was laughing, with tears. “Oh, how cute. Dear, did you pay him to say that?”

“Wait a minute-” Lockwood was about to say something but then your mother looked at her watch.

“It’s getting late, we should go. Come on, dear.”

Your mother stood and thanked everyone, not once making eye-contact with you, before ushering her husband into the hallway.

“What the-”

“Not yet, Luce.” you whispered.

However, as you stood and walked down the hall, you saw your mother fussing over your father’s coat whilst he tried to stop her.

“What’s going on?”

Something in your gut told you what she was fussing over wasn’t his coat, but rather something she would get off her chest and your father was trying to stop her.

“Nothing, Munchkin.”

“We think you should come home.”

Lockwood, Lucy and George sprang into the hall when they heard your mother.

“What?”

“Just until you get better.”

“Better?”

“Clearly you paid Mr Lockwood to say that about you. I am your mother after all, I should know when your boss is lying.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Why should I come home? This. This place. This is my home. It’s been more of my home than a house with you has ever been.”

“No need to be spiteful, dear.”

“Just stop it!”

“See, look, she’s making me the villain again-”

“Enough!” you shouted out. “Can’t you see I’m happy here? I love my job and I love these people. I understand you don’t like the fact that you can’t say to your friends that I’m some fancy accountant doing peoples taxes until three o’clock in the morning, but it should be enough for you that I am happy. I am doing a job I love and I have people that I love.”

“I told you she was happy-”

“How can she be? She’s going to be a freak, just like the rest of them!”

“That is enough!” your dad raised his voice. “She has a point. It should be enough that she’s happy and she’s in a job she loves. Maybe we didn’t agree in the beginning, but it wasn’t something worth losing our daughter over! And she’s not a freak. These children are not freaks. They are talented, incredible human beings who shouldn’t have been brought into a world of fear, but are making the most of life all the same. I don’t care what she does. What I care about is knowing who she is. What I care about is if she is happy. Not if your friends and their old minds are satisfied over the stories you tell them. We haven’t seen her in almost three years and you can’t take a few hours to be kind and proud of her! I am not going another three years without seeing our daughter.”

“So what are you saying? Are you staying here?”

“I’m saying either realise what you could lose, or I leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Either change or I leave. And I move down here with her and we don’t see you ever again.” your father looked back to you where he found you looking at him with tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Munchkin. It should have taken me this long.” he turned back to your mother. “She was brave enough to make the choice three years ago, and now I’m making it, too. So?”

You and your father waited, watching as your mother stood shocked at your father’s words before turning to look at you.

“You’ll regret it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But you will.”

“No, I won’t.”

Then she turned back to your father. “I’ll be at Janice’s if you need me.”

“Goodbye, Dear.”

Your mother did nothing other than turn around and close the door behind her.

“I’m so sorry, Munchkin. I should have said something sooner. Much, much sooner.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not. But I will spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you.”

“Are you really sure you want to live in London?”

Your father paused for a split second. “Maybe a few minutes outside of London.”

You laughed a little, and so did he. “I’m getting a little too old for city life.”

You stood, looking at him for a moment before hugging him. “Thank you.”

“I love you, Munchkin. And I am sorry.”

“I love you, too.”

The following fifteen minutes were spent trying to get your father to consider staying for the night, but he eventually convinced you that he would be okay in a local hotel room - especially since he had a discount from work.

As the door closed behind him, you locked it shut and as you turned around, Lucy came running over and hugged you.

“It’s a shit deal.”

“Thanks, Luce. Please tell me George has my beer-”

“Right here.”

“You’re an angel.”

“Was she always like that?” Lockwood asked.

You swallowed your beer with a nod. “It was a little easier in the beginning, but…yeah. Always.”

“Anyone for donuts?” George asked when a short moment came over all of you.

“Yes.”

“Please.”

As Geroge and Lucy left towards the kitchen, Lockwood pulled you back.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Because that was…”

You touched his hand that loosely held yours. “I’m okay.”

Lockwood looked like he wished to say something more, so you waited.

“If…if there comes a day, when you’re not. Promise you’ll come to me? That you’ll talk to me.”

“I promise, Lockwood.”

#lockwood and co #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim #angst #found family #renew lockwood and co #fluff #love #anthony lockwood x fe!reader #lockwood and co x fe!reader

97 notes · View notes

crippling-pages · 1 year ago

Text

~mya's (new) intro post~

Hello there! My name is Mya! And this is my intro post! <3

Facts About Me:

Mya [] Girl [] She/her [] Minor [] 13-17 [] Aromantic Asexual (Aro/Ace) [] Arab [] Bookworm [] Writer [] Quotevain [] Swiftie [] OneRepublic Fan [] Pinterest Addict [] Tam Song Obsessed [] Tam Song x Biana Vacker is my life []

Fandoms:

Keeper of the Lost Cities [] LEGO: Ninjago [] LEGO Friends [] Percy Jackson [] Hooky (Webtoon/Book) [] Lockwood & Co. [] Shatter Me [] The False Prince/The Ascendance Trilogy [] The Land of Stories [] A Tale of Magic [] A Good Girl's Guide To Murder [] Five Survive [] Trolls [] The Reappearance of Rachel Price [] The Inheritance Games [] Fairy Tale Reform School [] Royal Academy Rebels [] Miraculous Ladybug [] Malibu Rescue [] Erin & Aaron [] Sonic the Hedgehog [] Richie Rich (2015) [] Ducktales (2017) [] and more! <3

Ships:

KOTLC: Tam and Biana {} Dex and Stina {} Sophie and Keefe {} Fitz and Dex {} Keefe and Fitz {} Linh and Marella {}

PJO/HoO: Percy and Annabeth {} Nico and Will {} Frank and Hazel {} Jason and Piper {} Leo and Calypso

Ninjago: Cole and Vania {} Nya and Jay {} Zane and Pixal {} Kai and Skylor {}

LEGO Friends: Mia and River {} Emma and Ethan {} Emma and Matthew {} Olivia and Jacob {} Mia and Martin {} Olly and Paisley {} Leo and Zac {} Zac and Sky {} Nova and Liann {}

Lockwood & Co.: Lucy and Lockwood {} George and Flo {}

Hooky: Dorian and Monica {} Dani and Nico {} Will and Damien {}

Miraculous Ladybug: Chat Noir and Marinette {} Ladybug and Chat Noir {} Marinette and Adrien {} Marinette and Luka {}

Sonic the Hedgehog: Silver and Blaze {} Sonic and Amy {} Amy and Shadow {} Knuckles and Rouge {}

FTRS/RAR: Gilly and Jax {} Heath and Devin {} Sasha and Logan {}

The Inheritance Games: Max and Xander {} Avery and Jameson {} Nash and Libby {}

Other: Pip and Ravi {} Bel and Ash {} Red and Arthur {} Conner and Bree {} Branch and Poppy {} Chote and Gina {} Tobias and Amarinda {}

Links:

-My Quotev Account

-My Ao3 Account

Some of My Fanfics:

"Hashtag Hilarious" - A KOTLC Human AU, with Tam and Keefe being besties and roommates; one day, Keefe convinces Tam to make a shared social media account together. Chaos follows.

"Lilies For Lilly" - A Ninjago fanfic in where it's the anniversary of Cole's mother's passing, and this time, he goes to drop off some Lillies.

"Don't Touch Me (Don't Talk To Me)" - A Trolls one-shot, in where Branch let's himself be rude to John Dory (A second part to this is called "Wet William" which is Bruce's turn).

"Random Hooky Stuff" - Just some Hooky content there's almost 0 out there. Drabbles, headcanons, incorrect quotes, ships, fluff, and angst. All of the above!

"Tiana One-Shots, Skits, Memes, And More!" - A Quotev book with a bunch of Tiana (Tam and Biana) related content is in, blessing the world with more Tiana.

"KOTLC Characters React And Have Fun!" - A Quotev fanfic in where the KOTLC crew react to human stuff and just have fun.

"5 Days {KOTLC Sleepover Fic}" - A KOTLC Sleepover Fic on Quotev, and this sleepover lasts all week. Drama appears, and fun memories are made.

Some Fanfics in The Drafts (or in my head)

KOTLC Human Coffee Shop AU ("Keepers of the Coffee")

KOTLC Rewrite

KOTLC Human Musician Mash Up Tour AU

KOTLC Road Trip AU

Ninjago Movie Secret Identity AU ("Two Faces Of the Same Life")

Ninjago Regular/Human Tea Shop AU

Ninjago Normal Life ("Cuckoo Crazy")

Hooky High School/College AU

Percy Jackson x KOTLC Crossover

Ninjago x KOTLC Crossover

Hooky Coffee Shop AU

KOTLC Hogwarts AU

KOTLC Song Twins Circus AU

Some Quotes:

"Because when I annoy, I annoy hard." -Tam Song, Nightfall.

"Look, I know I don't talk about it, but it happened to me before. Losing someone dear to me. I can't let that happen again." -Lockwood, to Lucy.

"Better question; are you a narc?" -Tiny Diamond

"I am the M.C... the Mighty Cole!" -Cole, Rebooted

"I guess I'll just send some happy shadow thoughts into your head." -Tam Song, Flashback

"-And dying to see Tam. My sister's a fan of silver bangs." -Fitz Vacker, Unlocked.

"Quick, quick Tell me something awful Like you are a poet trapped inside the body of a finance guy" -I Hate It Here, Taylor Swift

"Kill him then claim my throne and my queen." -Dorian Wytte, to Monica.

"I looked around in a blood-soaked gown And I saw something they can't take away 'Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned Everything you lose is a step you take So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it You've got no reason to be afraid" -You're on Your Own, Kid, Taylor Swift

"Dude, save your daddy issues for another time." -Tam Song, Neverseen.

"Maybe not. But that doesn't mean you stop trying." - Tam Song, Legacy.

Side Blogs: @flasher-boi-endal @a-poet-yet-forced-finance-guy

DNI IF: Homophobic, racist, sexist, Trump fan, Israel supporter, etc etc. THIS IS A SFW BLOG! PLEASE RESPECT THAT!

That's about that! <3 Have a beautiful day or night! Mya out!

#mya's masterpost #mya's intro post

22 notes · View notes

ukulelevillainwrites · 2 years ago

Text

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x reader

word count : 6.5k

warnings : panic attack, anxiety, spoilers for lockwood's backstory

content : enjoy this part that has more plot, there's also angst but reconciliation too

taglist : @cassiopeiia24 @archiveoftara

note : time keeps passing faster it's getting out of hand, anyway i hope you like it !! and thank you everyone for reading and still being there as this fic keeps getting longer and longer

[from Lockwood’s POV]

He slammed the front door on his way out. It was probably loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. She had crossed a line and it was enough to make the anger he had felt the night before resurface. It wasn’t the fact that she had made everything to annoy him so early in the day, though it had played a part in it. What had set him off was her devising a plan right in front of him as if he was too stupid to notice. She hadn’t been explicit in what she wrote on the Thinking Cloth, but it was obvious that she intended to act on her theories today. And she was going behind his back. She was putting his company at risk and she didn’t even have the decency to be upfront. He thought he had earned her respect. Her disregard for his authority was a slap in the face.

He had gotten used to their fights by now. Even though they had gotten along pretty well for the past few weeks, their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start. But this was different. They had had disagreements in the past where he had been frustrated with her. She was always the one who got truly angry. It had made him laugh on occasions, like the night they met. She had the habit of taking things to heart. But she was passionate, a quality the three of them shared and it was probably what brought them closer. However last night the tension hadn’t been one-sided.

No matter how much he believed he was right, how he didn’t want her nor George to get into any more trouble, he kept wondering if maybe he’d been wrong. What if because of this he had ruined the relationship they had? Maybe he was being selfish indeed. Maybe he should consider their point of view more closely. George had never been the type to hold a grudge. He’d bring some doughnuts on the way home and they’d go back to normal. But y/n… it was complicated. It had taken them much effort to get along, and maybe now all that was gone. He’d need to do more. Get involved. Help her in her plan to stop this Dufour woman.

He stopped walking as the idea crossed his mind. What was he thinking? That was the whole point. It would put a target on their back. They would get noticed by every relic-man related to this case. It would alert the authorities, maybe DEPRAC would get involved. It was the last thing they needed. The publicity he was hoping for would shed light on the great work they did, not getting involved with a less than desirable crowd. And it applied for y/n and George too. Since Fittes didn’t work out for them, they should be doing their best to make Lockwood and Co noteworthy. To put the company on the map and guarantee them the future they were supposed to have. Why was he the only one to see that? It seemed obvious enough.

He went back and forth in his head as he followed the Thames for the next half hour. His thoughts were cut short when he noticed a familiar boat secured near a spot where the river was shallower. Instead of following the sidewalk, he jumped over a fence guarding a flight of stairs and climbed down to the banks. He had to walk a few minutes longer to finally spot a familiar figure. She was crouched down, digging into the mud, like he was used to finding her. He barely had time to walk closer to her that she was already greeting him, like she had sensed him coming from a mile away.

“Morning, Locky. Been a while.”

“It’s been far too long, Flo. I brought you some licorice to apologize.”

It was only when he mentioned the treat that she stood up and faced him. She took them nonchalantly. A wide bright smile lightened up her face after she took a bite.

“So, what brings you here?” She asked, chewing loudly.

“I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing.”

“There’s not much to tell. Business as usual. Except maybe for this new rich old man all relic-men wanna work for.”

“What’s that about?” Lockwood asked, frowning.

“You haven’t heard of the new traffic taking over the city? That’s surprising of you.”

“Oh please, not you too!” He was exasperated.

“What’s with you?” Flo teased him.

“Nothing.”

“I really thought you’d be more invested in all this.”

“A lot of people seem to assume that… What does this particular traffic have that’s so special?” His irritation was starting to show.

“It’s just such a mess that it’s killing people left and right. Relic-men who aren’t cautious…”

“They sort of had it coming.” He cut in.

“…innocent bystanders too. Some people get ghost-touched just by living nearby.” She had gone back to work, digging near the water as she explained the situation in a neutral voice. She didn’t seem particularly affected.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that they start moving dozens of sources at a time! They break into homes, antique shops, cemeteries or whatever potential place with relics they can find and just… don’t secure them at all. They’re being really dumb about it. A bunch of them just broke stuff and ended up with a new visitor.” Her tone had changed when she mumbled those last words. She tried being cautious when she explained further. But Lockwood wasn’t really focused anymore. The world stood still for a moment.

“Just because the guy who’s buying is paying more than the usual market price.” Flo concluded.

He had gone silent. It’s like he was reliving the scene all over again. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

“That guy. Who is it?” he suddenly asked with a new determination.

“I don’t know… some posh old man looking to impress his friends I guess.”

“Tell me if you have any more information. Stop by whenever you hear more, alright?”

“Locky, don’t do anything stupid. You don’t have anything to do with this. It wasn’t your fault-”

“Keep me posted, will you?”

With that he started to walk back, more briskly than he had come. This wouldn’t happen in other homes. Not if he could help it.

He tried to ignore the sorry tone he had heard in her voice as he reached the steps that led back to the street. The news hadn’t been what he expected at all. He thought he was simply going to have a chat with an old friend. Instead, the past he had tried so hard to bury was back to haunt him. It had taken him by surprise, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. He had much to do, he didn’t have time to be distracted. He ignored the twist in his stomach as the sound of the source breaking followed by a scream echoed through his mind. He directed his attention to the next step of the plan they would have to follow. George would have to explain everything all over again, but he was sure he wouldn’t mind. And now that he was on her side, y/n would no longer be mad. Everything would be fine. He had everything under control. He mumbled to himself on the street as he thought about what they needed to do next. Obviously Flo was essential to the operation. Without her intel there was no way they could stop the dealings. Especially if every relic-man in the city wanted a piece of the business. They couldn’t target relic-men specifically. They needed to aim higher. George had already offered to follow her. He was probably right. But most importantly they needed to uncover who was this mystery man buying all those sources. They also had to find out why anyone would want to buy so many sources that they singlehandedly affected the entire relic market.

As he neared Portland Row he wondered how he could phrase his apology. He stopped at Arif’s before climbing the few steps leading to the front door. The house was silent. At first he thought he would find them in the kitchen, still thinking of potential links between the information they had like George was used to doing. But when he got down there the room was empty. He looked through the library, their bedrooms, down the basement. No one. He went back in the kitchen, put the box of doughnuts on the table and started reading the plan they had started to write on the Thinking Cloth. He smiled at the poorly disguised acronyms and anagrams y/n had used to hide what she was planning on doing. Though it faded quickly when he read the next line, something about going back to the south of London out of town. He assumed it was where her family lived. She wasn’t just planning on investigating Dufour behind his back then. She was leaving town. She was leaving him.

It was only a matter of time anyway. He should have known it was a mistake when he offered to hire her. It was always destined to end this way or another. Letting her in seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed a job and a place to stay, he needed another member in his team. That’s what he’d told himself. But he might as well have lied to himself all along. He’d been manipulative from the start. He always was, he did everything he could to get his way. And now it was time to pay for it. It wouldn’t surprise him if George went with her. After all, he had been selfish with him too. George had helped him set up his company and supported him when he didn’t have anyone else. And when he asked him for help he turned his back on him. Being left alone was all that he deserved.

He loosened his tie. It was getting hard to breathe. Guilt strengthened its grip on his lungs, contracted them until he choked. No matter how deep he inhaled, he was running out of air. He was falling deeper down a spiral. Memories he thought buried resurfaced, their long thin fingers clinging to him, pulling him deeper. They sunk their claws into his skin, he felt like he was being torn apart. Blurry faces floated in front of his eyes and remained when he closed them. He wanted them to go away, but the thought of never seeing them again broke his heart all the same.

He held on to the nearest chair, trying to steady himself, but failed. Everything was painful. Sitting down, breathing, thinking, just existing was too much to bear. He felt like his body was shutting down, giving up on him too. He knew it had to end eventually. He didn’t think it would end like this, but it was better that way. To leave this world behind.

He sat down on the kitchen floor, his vision blurry. He was staring off into space, his lungs hurting, his breathing hoarse and shallow. All he could see was the ectoplasm burn from the room upstairs. Jessica was glowing in the middle of it, her arms open, welcoming him into the darkness. The ache spread from his lungs to his heart but he also felt relieved. He would join them and everything would be better. She had a warm smile on her face, the one she always wore when she tucked him into bed every night. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were focused on something right next to him. He turned to look. y/n’s bag was settled against the next chair, packed with what could be qualified as an amateur surveillance kit at best. He frowned. Why would she leave her stuff here if she had planned on leaving? She wasn’t the kind to travel lightly. She always had a bag full of useless stuff “just in case”. He never understood her logic but he had always seen her with a heavy bag. Maybe she wasn’t gone after all. A glimmer of hope sparked. But then where were they? The ache clenching his heart turned to anxiety. What if something bad had happened to them? The whole Dufour case could have taken a dark turn. Relic-men could have gotten to them. He needed to find them. He wouldn’t leave this world without knowing they were safe.

His thoughts were racing. Adrenaline had replaced apathy. He didn’t know where to start to look for them and with every passing second they could be further into trouble. He frantically read the notes on the Thinking Cloth, searching for any indication of where they might be. His eyes couldn’t focus. He wouldn’t be of any help if he felt this way. He tried to remember the exercise George had made him do that one time he found him in the same state. He closed his eyes and focused on the air coming out of his nose. He breathed in deep, keeping his attention on his stomach rising. Breathe in. Breathe out. He looked down at the table. There was a map with different places circled. He wrote them down and walked out of the kitchen. He intended to check them all, even if it meant walking through every single street of London.

He headed for the door with a new determination. He put one foot outside and was immediately stopped in his tracks. He stood in the doorframe and watched as a car parked in front of the house. A tall gentleman got out and went to open the first backdoor. George got out the best he could with his hands in handcuffs. Lockwood felt instantly relieved. Though it was bittersweet. Seeing his best friend arrested wasn’t what he enjoyed the most. That was until he heard him give the man a piece of his mind before comparing him to an elderly turtle with all the grace George was known to be capable of. Lockwood couldn’t help but smile. They were alright. They were safe. y/n got out of the car shortly after. Though her handcuffs were already off. She slammed them against the man’s chest before heading towards the house. Lockwood realized he should have known better than to worry himself sick over her safety. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and she had already proven that a thousand times. Before George or y/n could cross the iron gate, the man called them back in a voice that seemed unnecessarily loud.

“This isn’t over. Consider yourself under constant surveillance. If I catch any of you out of line I’ll have you thrown in jail. Am I understood?”

Neither of them reacted. y/n climbed the few steps, glaring at Lockwood. If looks could kill, he would have been dead in an instant. She bumped hard into his shoulder as she entered the house and headed immediately for her room. George reached the door. He didn’t look bothered at all. He frowned at him, indirectly asking what was going on.

“We have a lot to tell you.”

---

[back to reader’s pov]

It had been an hour since Barnes had dropped them off. She hadn’t moved from the foot of her bed where she was sitting still. She kept replaying the day in her head, trying to make sense of what they had been told.

The ride to DEPRAC had been a silent one. George didn’t look particularly worried, but y/n had a hard time keeping it together. She bounced her leg fast the whole way there. She was worried they took the accusation from the papers literally. Or maybe they were in trouble because they both tried to break into a supervisor’s office. George would be fine since he didn’t succeed. But she was a criminal. What if she was arrested for good? Was this really how it was going to end?

As soon as they arrived, they were separated. Inspector Wade led George in a different room than her and she was left alone with Inspector Barnes. He sat across from her while putting down a manila folder in front of him. He didn’t open it right away.

“Why were you fired from Fittes, miss y/n?” he asked her instead.

She didn’t know how much he knew about her already. She wasn't sure if the real reason had been written down in her personnel file.

“I broke into a supervisor’s office.” She reluctantly admitted after a few minutes.

“Why?”

“I thought she had something to hide.”

“And what would that be?”

She had the feeling he already knew what she was going to say. He wanted to see if she would say the thing he expected. But she couldn’t tell if he believed her.

“I thought she might be stealing sources.”

“You got that theory from your good friend Karim, didn’t you?”

She nodded, but he hadn’t waited for her answer to continue.

“You see, when I read the paper yesterday I thought that giving the front page to an article that seemed mainly exaggeration was a little excessive. But then later in the day a woman working at Fittes came by to report two ex-agents.”

She actually did it she thought. She couldn’t think of a word rude enough to describe her. She was already picturing herself back in that same interrogation room in a couple of days with a murder charge. Barnes must have seen right through her.

“I need you to remain calm for the moment, miss y/n. I had no choice but to bring you here to interrogate the both of you separately. Though I’ve been through your record and I found it very surprising that someone like you could be accused of such things. You rose through the ranks quickly, got to be part of several leading teams, including Mr. Kipps’, and even won several distinctions. Not one step out of line in your whole career.”

She remained silent. It didn’t mean much that she had been exemplary now, she ended up in handcuffs anyway.

“Something didn’t sit right with me. I could be wrong though. Maybe you’re just talented in more than one way.” She shot him another angry stare. He looked unaffected. “I need to hear your version of what’s going on. So I’m asking you to tell me everything you know.”

“How can I be sure you’ll believe me?”

“You won't know until you try.”

She hesitated. A part of her thought that it might not even be worth it. But on the other hand, she didn’t have much to lose.

She told him everything starting with her growing suspicions. The insistent tone Dufour had when she offered to bring back the source. The meet-up she had witnessed. The chase. The rumors Kipps had told her about. She tried to go into great detail. A voice in her head kept whispering that no one would believe her. But the whisper quieted down when she noticed Barnes listening intently, taking notes and rummaging through the folder he had brought. He took out three pictures.

“Do you recognize any of these men?”

“No… I’m sorry I was far away and I was hiding. I didn't get a good look at them.”

“And where did you say the meet-up took place?”

She took a second to answer. She had a hard time acknowledging he actually believed her.

“Um… It was near the Thames, around Scotland Yard I think.”

“Did you hear anything worth mentioning?”

“Well I did see Mrs. Dufour selling the clock we had taken from Mrs. Overton’s house. I heard her negotiate the share she would take on its price but-”

The other inspector entered the room before she could finish her sentence.

“Sir, I think you should hear this.”

“Excuse me.”

Barnes left the room with Wade, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She was deeply confused and didn’t know how to feel about her situation. There was an official report against her, that part was not good. But the inspector in charge didn’t seem to believe she had anything to do with it. She wanted to think there were some positive aspects, but she doubted she could actually trust the man who had arrested her. She remained alone for quite some time, impatiently waiting. She felt like she had been there for several hours already. Though without a clock or natural light it was hard to tell. Eventually, the inspector came back. He didn’t ask her to finish what she had started to say before getting interrupted.

“Do you have any contact with relic-men on a regular basis?”

“Aside from the time one of them chased me down to slit my throat, I prefer to keep a safe distance.”

He got up.

“Are we done?”

“Not quite.” He didn’t explain further and simply asked her to come with him.

She followed him down a corridor lined with a dozen doors. None of them were numbered. It must not be easy to locate anything in this gigantic building if rooms didn’t even have numbers on them. Barnes selected one of them seemingly at random and opened it. It looked like the same dark interrogation room she was just in. Sitting at the table was George, who didn’t seem to notice them coming in, too busy telling inspector Wade about something that required a lot of gesturing, probably one of the many theories they had been working on since their research. There was an extra chair next to him. Barnes told her to sit down. Only then did George look up and smiled at her.

“y/n! We were just talking about what we learned at the furnaces.” He exclaimed before going back to what he was saying.

The inspectors shared an exasperated look before interrupting.

“Mr. Karim, we appreciate your input but we have more pressing matters to discuss.” Barnes said in a serious tone. “There are strong accusations against you and they are not to be taken lightly.”

“But you believe us?” y/n asked tentatively.

“I believe that you make the perfect suspects.”

She gaped at him while George was outraged, telling them to learn how to do their job. Barnes raised one hand to silence them.

“However… I think there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

“I’m glad to finally hear you admit it!” George said, leaning back into his chair.

“Thanks to your testimonies we can safely assume that your case is linked directly to the recent surge in relic dealings. Whether you have anything to do with it or not remains to be proven, but so is your innocence. For now I want you to lay low and not do anything stupid.” He turned to George, then to her. “Am I understood?”

Her frustration came rushing back. Yet another person telling her she shouldn’t do anything.

“So someone I saw commit a felony with my own eyes is putting the blame on us and you expect me to let it slide?”

“I trust that you’re smart enough to realize that the stakes are higher than you think. There are powerful people ready to sink you to protect themselves. It isn’t to be taken lightly. One more mistake would only make their case against you stronger. Believe me if you want to get out of this unharmed you’d better take my advice.”

She looked over at George. His expression was inscrutable.

“I also need to drive you home in handcuffs to keep up appearances.”

At first, she thought it was the inspector’s poor attempt at a joke. Her smile faded when he actually handcuffed them.

“Why would you need to do this? We’re not under arrest.”

“I need certain people to think you’re in more trouble than you really are.”

“Does that have to do with my Scotland Yard theory?” George asked.

“Maybe.” Barnes admitted at a volume barely above a whisper.

This morning, George had suggested the idea that the meeting y/n had witnessed happened so close to Scotland Yard, a risky and quite frankly stupid place for dealing stolen relics, because an officer working there was part of the deal. That would explain how Dufour could have filed an official complaint against them without any tangible proof of their link to relic-men. He had a satisfied look on his face and put out his hands graciously to be handcuffed. He undeniably loved to be right. She wasn’t as forthcoming. The idea of being paraded through the building as someone officially under arrest didn’t sit right with her.

The walk back to the inspector’s car had been humiliating. A few people stared at them as they walked by like they were putting on a show for their entertainment. Not only was she asked to lay low, she also had to pretend like she was guilty. It was infuriating. On the way back to Portland Row, Barnes felt the need to remind them yet again to keep a low profile.

“I’ll keep you updated if anything new comes up, but in the meantime-”

“Yeah yeah ‘don’t be stupid’, you’ve gone over that part already.” George interrupted.

y/n remained silent, picking at her handcuffs to distract herself.

Once they reached their destination, Barnes yelled something to maintain the illusion. His acting skills were terrible. Lockwood was standing in the doorframe, smiling. She couldn’t believe him. He was the one to tell her that this whole thing would blow over and that it wasn’t a big deal. Now he saw them getting out of a police car in handcuffs and he was smiling? She bumped hard into his shoulder as she entered and went straight to her room.

The sun was starting to set. She felt numb. This whole situation was getting too much to bear. Maybe she should just go back to her parents’. The thought had briefly crossed her mind this morning. It had been quickly chased by George’s enthusiasm but now that she was alone she considered it more seriously. She’d be away from trouble and rumors there. She would do what she was asked, laying low and fleeing, leaving DEPRAC to handle Dufour. Lockwood would keep his precious reputation intact. He’d have one less thing to worry about. She wouldn’t drag George into her mess. Everyone would be better off with her gone.

She jumped at the rapid knocks on the door to the attic. After a few seconds, the door opened and hesitant footsteps started to climb the stairs. Lockwood appeared. He tried to smile at her. She didn’t smile back. They remained in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. She hadn’t moved from her bed. He was standing awkwardly near the stairs.

“I wanted to see if you were okay…”

“You said to do nothing because it would blow over and the next day I got dragged in handcuffs for an interrogation. How do you think I’m doing?”

“You got out of those pretty quickly…” He joked quietly. “You’ll have to teach me that, it’d be useful.”

She simply stared back.

“I’m sorry. For unsuccessfully lightening the mood and for the way I acted.”

She didn’t say anything. He would have to do a lot more than that to earn her forgiveness.

“George told me everything that went down at the station. I want to say that the positive thing is that this Barnes inspector seems to be on your side. But it might be early to talk about silver linings.”

She raised her eyebrows. No kidding. He shifted slightly closer to her.

“I was wrong. I should have been on your side from the start. I don’t think you should listen to Barnes. Or leave town…”

She hated how he apparently had the ability to read her mind. He took one more step closer.

“George and I need you if we want to stop this. Please help us.”

She remained silent. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Or rather… please forgive me.” He concluded with a thin smile.

She looked up at him and was surprised to see him look so honest. His eyes were softer than they had been the night before. His smile was almost shy. It wasn’t far from his usual grin and yet it felt like it was a world away from what she was used to. She wanted to believe him. She nodded slightly. He relaxed instantly, letting out a long sigh. A satisfied look took place once more upon his face.

“Wait, no.” y/n said, renewing the tension that had left the room for a second.

“No?”

“You can’t just walk in here and perform your usual charming act hoping it’ll work again.”

“What do you mean?” Lockwood asked, confused.

“You know exactly what I mean. You act all sweet and flash your signature smile to get everyone to agree with you. You do this with every client we have. Hell, you even did it to me to get me to work here!”

“What? That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is. You acted all nice and sweet-”

“I was comforting you! I was offering my help. I didn’t lie to you or trick you to get you to work here!”

“In hindsight it’s what it feels like.” She finally admitted, dropping what had been on her mind for the past few weeks. There was a long pause. He stared at her in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry you think I’m capable of such a thing.”

He went back downstairs and didn’t bother to close the door.

The relief she felt was bittersweet. The truth was out, and she hoped it would help clear things up between them. Once the tension eased, she would maybe understand Lockwood’s intentions. Though that was a stretch, and she felt terrible, like she had crossed a line.

It was only because she was starving that she eventually came downstairs to help with dinner. George had her chopping onions, Lockwood was nowhere to be seen.

When he eventually made an appearance, they ate in silence. The few times they spoke, they barely said three words or they gestured vaguely. George poured himself a glass of water and Lockwood held out his hand to grab the bottle. She put out her glass but he deliberately put down the water away from her without serving her. She glared at him.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I have ulterior motives.” He shrugged.

He could be so infuriating.

“I learned a little bit more about this whole relic-dealing.” He said to change the subject. “Apparently this whole thing is happening because of one man who is singlehandedly raising the demand for haunted objects. He’s paying handsomely and it’s enough to make everyone go crazy.”

“Then following Dufour would definitely help us learn more about this man.” George answered.

“Maybe… I think we might have to think bigger. To aim for the leaders directly and not just for the leg men. We should probably start by collecting more information about what’s going on in town, in higher society, maybe some events or gatherings that could help us identify this man.”

“Sure I could go back to the Archives tomorrow.” George agreed.

“Yesterday you didn’t even want to hear about this and now we should just follow your every order?” y/n interrupted.

“What do you want from me? I tell you to let it go, you yell at me. I tell you we should get involved and you yell at me again.”

“Because we should always do what you decide!”

“Fine, what do you suggest we do then?”

“I have to think about it…”

“How surprising!”

“Oh shut-”

“Enough!” George slammed his fist on the table. “I’m sick of having to listen to you fight. Apologize to each other and let’s get this over with.”

y/n and Lockwood stared at each other in silence. Neither of them went first.

“Fine.” George said, standing up. “I won’t do any more research then. Until you both apologize, I’m on strike.”

He ignored their protests and went up to his room.

“See what you did?” Lockwood blamed her. “I don’t understand you y/n. I thought you’d be glad I joined you on your revenge mission.”

“You’re so used to getting your way that you can’t imagine things might be more complicated than that.”

“Then tell me what I’m doing wrong! You didn’t accept my apology… I mean, what more do you want?”

“I want you to realize that my career was my life and it was taken away from me. I’ve never felt more powerless than when I got fired and now I can’t even make my own decisions because you decided that you know better than everyone else. And the fact that you don’t even let me decide what to do about something that only concerns me and George…”

She broke off, not sure how to finish her sentence. He didn’t seem sure of what to say either.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more attentive to this.” He sat in the chair next to her. “I guess I always saw Fittes like a prison and couldn’t see how getting fired from there was a bad thing. I’ll make sure to listen to your opinion… if it’s worth listening to.” He winked at her. She felt acknowledged for the first time since her troubles had begun. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an improvement. She smiled back at him. Though, she felt like there was more that he wanted to say. He hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he had in mind.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but the relic-dealing case isn’t just about you and George anymore.” He said cautiously. She frowned.

“People are dying over it.” He continued. “Dozens of sources are being stolen from any place that might have something of value and aren’t secured properly. Because of that some of them broke and let out a visitor that killed people nearby.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to stop this, y/n. Some relic-men managed to get their hands on relics that contained spirits that broke free when they mishandled the sources. This type of ghost will kill the first thing it sees as soon as it breaks free.” He grew more passionate as he explained what he knew. He was staring at something in the distance, his gaze focused, like he was looking through a window to the past. There was turmoil in his voice. It was unsettling, he was usually either indifferent or very professional when talking about visitors.

She listened intently, hanging on to every word. She realized she was staring at him when he suddenly stopped talking and looked down at the table. He looked haunted. She had never seen him so vulnerable before.

“How do you want to proceed?” She asked, trying to make him think of something else.

He looked back at her and blinked in surprise.

“I thought you didn’t want to take orders from me anymore?”

“Vulnerability’s a good look on you.”

The faintest blush appeared on his cheeks. He almost looked shy. She didn’t think it was possible for Lockwood to look anything other than proud and annoyingly attractive.

“I hope this isn’t another one of your acts to get me to forgive you.” She teased him. Though a part of it was true. She still didn’t know if she could trust his puppy eyes. She was about to get up when he took both of her hands in his to make her look at him.

“y/n, I need you to know that I never had the intention to trick you or charm or whatever you want to call it. I was always honest and I meant everything I told you.”

She could get used to seeing him like this. She actually felt like she got to see him for who he really was. And she loved this version of him. The real him. She took back her hands at the thought.

“Even when you said I was pretentious and helpless?” She said to ease the tension she was feeling.

“I meant the nice things.” He corrected. He laughed lightly and looked deep into her eyes with the same warmth from a few weeks ago, when he comforted her in the library. She had no idea how he could maintain eye contact with so much intensity in his gaze. She wondered if the oven was still on with how hot the room was getting.

“Though I wasn’t completely wrong when I said you were pretentious.” He winked.

“You’re the worst!” She laughed as she pushed him away and got up to go back to her room.

“I’ll tell George to get back to work on my way up.” She gave him one last smile before opening the door to the kitchen.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Screaming filled her ears and she was paralyzed with fear. It was coming from everywhere, surrounding her and nulling her senses. At first, she couldn’t see anything. The place was pitch black and horribly cold. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. She had no idea where she was. It looked like some sort of warehouse, with industrial equipment resting under a thick layer of dust. Spiderwebs covered every inch of them and climbed up to the ceiling. That wasn’t a good sign. The screaming intensified. It sounded like a group of teenagers. Her psychic senses, usually sharp even under pressure, were blurry and didn’t give her any indication on what was going on. She noticed a door in the corner of her eye and tried to run to it but her legs refused to work. It was like she was fused in place, unable to move. She panicked as the screaming got closer. But the threat passed right through her. She felt a freezing bolt of energy crashing into her before opening two tall doors wide. A group of agents tried to close them back, they were losing control of the situation. y/n was forced to watch the scene, unable to help. One of them, she assumed the leader of the group, shouted orders that were barely audible above the wind that had risen up. The group went back through the doors, struggling to keep them close. At the last minute, two girls appeared right before they shut. One of them was injured, but she was too far for y/n to see her face. The second girl took off her jacket to tend to her wound. She looked like she was screaming at someone outside but y/n couldn’t see anything from where she was. She desperately wanted to help but her feet did not move. Suddenly the girl looked right at her. It was her. The one who had been haunting her dreams for weeks. She had accusing eyes and said something to her that she couldn’t make out. Then she started screaming. Louder than the wind, louder than the screams of her teammates, louder than y/n’s own screaming.

She bolted up in bed, her throat sore and drenched in sweat.

#ukuwrites #who follows the rules anyway #lockwood and co fic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co imagine #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co

87 notes · View notes

mycurrent-hyperfixation · 2 years ago

Text

Sick & Tired (Locklyle One-Shot)

Summary: George is sick and tired of nearly dying because his friends can't admit they're in love with one another. And he's about to tell them as much.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

Tags: fluff, pining, angst

Warnings: Mild spoilers for the books!

A/N: Heyo, me again. Thanks to those who left such lovely comments on my last fic. I know this fandom is a lot smaller than the one's I normally write for so I'm absolutely loving the enthusiasm when it comes to our shared obsession with this lovely little pairing. Hope everyone is having a good week. Like always, let me know if y'all want to be added/removed from my taglist! Love you all x

George didn’t particularly consider himself to be one of the most observant people he knew.

He was smart, sure. Witty, resourceful, diligent, clever. But when it came to being observant to the other people of his species? Well, he could not quite summon the same enthusiasm he had when observing the dead.

Yet, next to Lockwood and Lucy, George could almost be considered the most perceptive person in the world. He could not understand how it was that the two of them were some of the smartest people he knew, and the dumbest.

Take Lockwood for instance. Just last week George had borne witness to Lockwood’s theatrical monologue as he recounted and solved each mystery of the case they had been on: the real reason of that strange man’s appearance on their doorstep, the true cause of death for the woman’s spirit they were fighting, and the unborn child in her belly. There had of course been some flourishing of his sword, some unnecessary swishes of his coat as he had danced with the ghost before Lucy had sealed the Source. But George was sure that everyone in that room – including Inspector Barnes who had arrived at the culmination of the flourishing and the swishing with a notable roll of his eyes – had been awed at Lockwood’s ingenious in that moment.

Sure, George had been the one to give Lockwood all the puzzle pieces in the first place. But even he had to admit that Lockwood had beaten him to the punch…on that occasion.

Yet, at the same time, it was a stray glance from Lucy that had nearly had Lockwood dropping his rapier mid-battle. A smile thrown his way that had him suddenly choking on his tea once they had arrived home afterwards. A whiff of her perfume that had him missing a step on the staircase and tumbling down to the landing.

And then there was Lucy. By all accounts, she was usually far more composed out of the two in any given situation. Her unparalleled Talent paired with her untameable curiosity made for an excellent co-worker. Even more so because of her lightning-fast reflexes and quick-thinking.

But she too seemed to suffer from the same affliction as Lockwood: idiocy when in the others’ presence.

Yes, it had been her that had saved all of their lives the other day when she had heard the Poltergeist creeping up behind them in the shadows whilst they had been distracted by the Cold Maiden. But it had also been her who had blushed profusely and stumbled over her words in her report to DEPRAC afterwards when Lockwood had casually complimented her. It had been her who had pulled Quill away from the grips of a Limbless that night. But it was also her who had quite unsubtly tripped Quill on his way out the door after he had thrown one of his usual snide comments back at Lockwood.

It was maddening, really, working with a pair of smart imbeciles.

Worse, even, since he also had to live with them.

And so George’s morning (early afternoon) went like every other as he made his way down from his bedroom. When he entered the kitchen, he had expected to be greeted by a round of applause for having remembered to put his pyjama bottoms on. But instead, he was met by Lockwood and Lucy mooning over each other like usual.

‘Mooning’ was likely the wrong word for what he witnessed, George knew. It could probably be better described as furtive glances thrown between them when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Either way, George was sick of it, and so dramatically rolled his eyes as he went to put the kettle on.

Whilst George would usually resign himself to eating his toast whilst fighting off his gag reflex as he looked upon the stupidity of his clueless friends, that particular morning saw him lacking in most of his patience.

The night before had held its usual amount of Lucy and Lockwood’s pining as the three of them, accompanied by Holly and Quill, had investigated a supposed Type Two in a very small and very cramped cottage. In hindsight, all five of them likely didn’t need to be there. But George’s research had uncovered the site to be built on the land of an executioner’s lot, so they had decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

In the end, it had meant that the working conditions that night had been exceptionally…close. Matters only worsened when Lockwood had the bright idea of pairing Lucy and Quill together for the initial sweep of the house. George had seen it, the very moment when Lockwood discovered his mistake as Lucy had to quite unceremoniously brush completely up against Quill to make her way out of the room. George could’ve sworn he had seen a vein nearly burst in Lockwood’s forehead a split second before the boy’s usual charming smile returned to his features.

What ensued that night could only be described as a complete shitshow.

George liked to think that their relationship with Quill was better now – not the best, but better. He did still consider Quill a massive tosser after all and that would likely never change. But even George had to admit that the night’s mishaps were not entirely Quill’s fault. Although the boy definitely did not help matters when he returned to the kitchen with Lucy laughing at his heel. George had turned back to Lockwood in that instance and had seen his jaw completely tensed.

Lucy was all but repulsed by Quill, and everyone in that room knew it. George knew it. Holly knew it. Hell, even Quill probably knew it.

And Lockwood knew it. George was completely sure.

Yet there Lockwood was acting the love-sick idiot for the rest of the night. He swiftly changed up the pairings, sticking Quill with a not-so-happy George instead. But things only seemed to get worse from there.

When the Type Two ghost did finally arrive – with a few unexpected friends – all hell broke loose. On most days, five agents should have been enough to deal with the situation, but Lockwood was seemingly anyone but himself that night. He was slow, his rapier movements lethargic. His orders came out stuttered, unsure of himself. His focus was distracted. Where he should have been looking at any of the ghosts that now surrounded them (he had quite the array to choose from after all), George could tell – even from beneath Lockwood’s sunglasses – that the boy couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at Lucy every chance he got.

So the night had been a long one, full of salt bombs, ectoplasm dodging and several bouts of running away. In the end, it had been Lucy who had screamed the order to find the Source. Lockwood had acted like the thought had never even occurred to him.

So George’s patience had been worn thin that morning, grains of salt still embedded into his hair. Lockwood and Lucy were sitting side-by-side at the table, quietly sipping their teas as Lucy’s bread toasted in the toaster. Neither of them had spoken to each other about the night before, the tension in the room was enough to tell George that.

“I’m sick of this,” George mumbled louder than he had intended.

“Sorry, what was that, George?” Lockwood asked, looking up as if he had genuinely not noticed George’s presence in the room.

“I’m sick of this,’ George said again, louder this time.

George did not particularly want to die because his friends could not communicate with one another, and so he decided in that moment that he had had enough.

“Of what?” Lockwood asked, his eyebrows furrowing. Lucy’s toast popped out of the toaster and, as if autonomously, Lockwood rose from his chair, placed the pieces onto a plate and began buttering them.

“Of last night!” George burst out. Lockwood and Lucy stood still before him, both of their eyebrows furrowing now. “Of every night! Of every moment of every day and how you two as so goddamn stupid!”

“I’ll agree that last night did not go according to plan,” Lockwood began. “But I would hardly say that that warrants this-”

“According to plan?” George said. “What do you mean according to plan? Last night was a complete shitshow. It took us five hours to contain three ghosts! And all because-”

“Well it’s hardly that simple-” Lockwood tried. He knew where this was going now and tried desperately to get George to meet his eye.

“Because you two can’t just talk,” George continued. “It really shouldn’t be that hard! But no, Lockwood, you’ve instead got to bottle it all up like normal and then get wildly jealous when Lucy talks to anyone of the opposite sex. We could’ve been out of that house in an hour last night if you had just focused. Quill repulses any girl within a mile radius. I don’t understand how you can possibly think that Lucy has lost all of her braincells and is suddenly interested in him!”

Lucy and Lockwood’s mouths were now resolutely hanging agape.

“You thought…” Lucy began, turning to face Lockwood.

“Oh, please,” George continued, seemingly unable to stop himself now that he had begun. “Don’t pretend like you aren’t exactly the same. I remember how you acted when Holly first joined the team. You practically brought Aickmere’s down on us with your outburst near that Poltergeist!”

Lucy’s mouth snapped closed as she averted her gaze to the floor.

“I get it,” George said with a sigh. “Life’s hard. Feelings are hard. But I’ve had to put up with the two of you pining after one another since Lucy first set foot in that door. And frankly, I’m sick and tired of it! We have dangerous jobs, we live dangerous lives. One of you could die tomorrow and then where would you be? So just…talk!”

George was breathing heavily now, his panting the only sound that filled the room. The tension in the air was thick; so thick that he could likely slice his rapier right through it.

“Now,” George continued. “I am going to finish my tea upstairs, alone. Then, I’m going to the archives and when I get back I don’t want to see any more pining one way or the other, please.”

And with that, George left. How he so wished to listen by the door and hear what was to come next. But he had done enough damage for one day and so retreated back to his room.

When George returned back home later that evening, he became nervous when he opened the door and was greeted by complete silence. There was no laughter, no talking, not even the kettle was being boiled and, at that time of day, that was a rarity.

A sense of regret washed completely through George as he closed the door behind him. What if he had only made things worse? What if he had ruined everything? What if Lockwood and Lucy had decided against finally getting together and putting George out of his misery?

His dread only got worse as he walked down the hallway. But as he passed the library, the door only barely ajar, he stopped in his tracks. Tentatively, so as to not make any noise, he pushed the door slowly open.

On the couch in the corner – laying in a position that did not look awfully comfortable – was Lockwood quite soundly asleep. And then there, wrapped within his arms, was Lucy, her head resting against Lockwood’s chest as she too slept.

George smiled to himself, left the room and went to put the kettle on.

---

Taglist:

@alicetweven @theh3aven @manamitoyota @mimiluvsualot @cherrypieyourface @kaqua @c0untryclub @goldencherriess @emotionaldreamer @givemethesleep @milkiane @miscreantsnopossoms @legendaryfestsoul-blog

#lockwood and lucy #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood #lucy carlyle #locklyle #lockwood netflix #lockwood x lucy #george cubbins #george karim #holly munro #quill kipps

56 notes · View notes

synestheticwanderings · 10 months ago

Text

Turncoat

Resigning was the right thing to do. He knew it in his bones. Still, it felt like he had just cut off his own hand.

Quill Kipps tries to find his way in the world after his Talent fades.

Written for Lockwood & Co. Angst Week 2023 Day 7: Use Your Senses talents | darkness | silence

part of the tin soldier series

1. Shedding

Quill ground his teeth as he filled out the forms on his desk. He had waited one month, then two, before filing to transfer Kat Godwin and Bobby Vernon off his team. Despite his promotion after their work on the Chelsea Outbreak, Quill could see the writing on the wall: the cases they were assigned were less and less prestigious, a waste of the two agents’ respective talents. The Dagenham slaughterhouse case had been a bloody joke, but it was the Rotherhithe sewage works that was really the final straw. It was a shame. They worked well together. But Bobby would be fine wherever he went, and his research skills needed to be put to use on real cases. He worried more about Kat, who was getting older and needed a supervisor who could shepherd her through the transition. But she still had some time left. She deserved cases that actually utilised her Listening.

Running a hand through his hair, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. He knew he was being disciplined, and why; Fittes didn’t take kindly to those who didn’t fall in line. But after Ned’s death, after the deaths of so many agents, it wasn’t even a choice to follow Lockwood & Co. into Aickmere’s. He was grateful that Carlyle had stuck her neck out for them, cajoled Tony into teaming up again. There’s no way either team would have survived alone. And they did more than survive—they succeeded. They found the source and stopped the Outbreak. He had done his job and done it well. He’d do it again. But it didn’t mean that Kat and Bobby had to go down with him. He did the right thing then and he was doing the right thing now, letting them move on without him.

So why did it all feel like shit?

Read the rest on Ao3

#kipps appreciation weekend #quill kipps #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #my fic

15 notes · View notes

lockwood-fic-recs · 9 months ago

Text

Slowly, and Then All at Once

by ConYamArtist on ao3

Rating: G | Category: F/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy, Lockwood&George, Lockwood&Holly

The first time it happened, he’d been twelve and still working for Gravedigger Sykes. That time, it had been triggered by death-glows at a cluster haunting that had killed almost ten people before an agency had been called in to get it sorted.

Sykes had only grunted, dosed him with children’s paracetamol, and tossed him his first pair of sunglasses. They were scratched and comically large on his pre-teenaged face, but did the job and prevented another attack for over a year.

Or, missing scenes throughout canon as Lockwood struggles with chronic migraines. Also as he falls in love with Lucy Carlyle (to use a possibly overused turn of phrase) slowly, and then all at once.

13 notes · View notes

neewtmas · 2 years ago

Text

Day 12 of the Lockwood and Co Advent Calendar

Hello! Today is the 17th, meaning only one week is left until Christmas Day! For the 12th and last day (the 24th) I wanted to do something special and somewhat more personal.

Which means I'm gonna do a little personalised blurb as a little Christmas present for anyone who wants one!

How it works:

Here is a prompt list with the categories Fluff, Angst, Funny, and Other. You can choose up to three prompts off that list (or think of some yourself).

Then you send me an ask with the prompts you picked + the Lockwood & Co character you want + any special requests if you have them (for example who the prompt should be used for, etc.)

You can choose how personalised you want it to be, just include your pronouns, your name, parts of your appearance, etc. in the ask and I will try to use everything you included (this is optional)

You can send them in until Friday, the 22nd

Depending on how many I get, they will be posted over the course of the 24th and 25th and maybe the days after that

Tagging everyone I can think of to spread the word (I'm so sorry you must be so sick of me by now I promise you this is over in a week): @maraschinomerry @tangledinlove @wellgoslowly @givemea-dam-break @waitingforthesunrise @quillkippsisalilbitchandilovehim @oblivious-idiot @locklylemybeloved @demigoddess-of-ghosts @jesslockwood @losticaruss @smol-being-of-light @strawberrycowgirly @strawberryloveyyy @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @lewkwoodnco @wordsarelife

#lockwood and co advent calendar #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader

40 notes · View notes

myheartbelongstogilbertblythe · 10 months ago

Text

Hey everyone! New to Tumblr here. Like I've had this blog for like a week, but I decided today is the day I want to make a pinned post. I write fanfic and occasionally I draw. Probably won't post any art on here... but we'll see! I love listening to music and making playlists. I write mostly angst, fluff, and/ or crack stuff, and when I write fanfic, I like to take a sledgehammer to canon and reassemble the pieces. I write original fic too, and I definitely have trouble balancing the two sometimes (heck i have trouble balancing my fanfic projects alone) but I really like reading/writing fanfic and being part of the fandoms/ community, so I'm still here. :) Plus, sometimes ideas take hold of me and don't let go.

About Me:

-Rowan_Wood72 over on a03 (you can call me Rowan--> it's my pen name over there and on here)

-she/her

-loves lockwood and co, artemis fowl, hunger games, spider-man, percy jackson, and the flash

-INFJ

-likes collecting little rocks and carrying them around in pockets

-loves flannel, converse, and jeans

-so many WIPs. Like, it's not funny. I do love all of them though and I do want to finish them at some point. It might take a while, though.

-I like camping and travelling. I especially love forests. Forests are my happy place (or one of them anyway)

Current WIPs (some are posted some are not yet)

of wizards and ghosts (lockwood & co. / HP crossover)

Lucy and Lockwood find a destroyed horcrux and are accidentally transported into the wizarding world.

Lockwood and Co. and the Curse of Tom Riddle's Soul (another harry potter crossover but longer this time!)

Lockwood and Co. get a letter from Filch asking them to exorcise Peeves, except Dumbledore finds out first and tasks them with helping him find/ destroy horcruxes instead. (Basically taking ideas from of wizards and ghosts and exploring them on a much bigger/ slightly different scale)

a band AU lockwood and co fic (name TBD)

Lockwood's and Kipps' bands have to team up after both of them lose members. Then Lucy joins the band.

Draco Malfoy and the Curse of the Meddling Trio (crack taken seriously)

After Harry eavesdrops on Snape and Dumbledore, the golden trio kidnaps Malfoy to stop him from killing Dumbledore (because none of the adults are actually DOING something about this situation!).

The Box (crack taken WAY seriously to the point where idk if it's even crack anymore)

Harry accidentally brings Snape back from the dead after the Battle of Hogwarts and spends the rest of the story justifying it/ trying to figure out why the heck the fates picked Snape of all ppl.

Note: so basically all of these are crack with fluff and angst is the message here

2 notes · View notes

worldofkaeos · 1 year ago

Text

Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

@cate-deriana Thank you so much for the tag!! tbh i havent written in a long time (writer's block + burnout) but this was funn

1 . How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I just finished reading Lockwood and Co and was surviving solely on fanfictions, but i still missed the characters too much and theyve become so real to me i couldnt survive without them!! And then I had this lovely cosy scene play out in my head and it felt warm and lovely like home, and so I started to write it, on my notes app, and it felt really good. And it wasn't meant to be posted or anything, just for me to experience the world again. Then, regularly I would write short scenes of them and daydream, and it was really fun. By the time exams were approaching I had built a solid idea out of that short snippet I first started with, and when exams ended all I could think about was that idea, I spiralled so much I wrote secretly in school and on the train I would source for inspiration, and at night I'd write with spooky music and get vivid images flash across my head for new ideas. I have dreams about it too. In the end I wrote 37k in 2 weeks, even with school and while I was on holiday, and I thought it would be the end but I had more ideas!

Boy, am I long-winded.

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

1 (Lockwood and Co.)

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

not even a year! I wrote 7 months since last august and stopped

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Read, definitely! I've learnt a lot from reading, and played around with writing styles. Also, I've gotten a better insight of characters this way and inspiration ✨

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I actually know that I'm writing when I write 😂 so yes, now I'm less long-winded, more to the point, and writing style changes. I guess in the past I didn't really care for the writing part, I just wanted to experience the world as much as possible through writing which is why my writing is sooo long-winded.

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I've once searched how long a body decays if kept at refrigerated temperature in a damp environment. Oh, but I had this incredibly in depth research of a cathedral, I drew out maps and went on 360 virtual tours to learn about them.

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

Anything! I love it most when people point out a certain part in what I write and talk about it. I get really excited like yes I love that part too! It makes me more confident about my writing.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Crack where the characters are in a tea shop in china, and I used some chinese (with horrible english translations) for a ghost.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Angst, anything with a lot of emotions, I am bad at them because I make myself too sad thinking about it 😂

10. What is the easiest type?

Crack, casefics, action, horror!

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

Notes on my phone when i want something quick, but usually google docs on my phone or ipad. In the same account with all my work. Yes, I am messy.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

Detective x Paranormal investigation AU, AUs playing around with lore. Mainly very long AUs

13. What made you choose your username?

Since I was young my friends said I was Kaeos because my name is Kaelyn and I am chaotic

no pressure tags!: @synestheticwanderings @waiting-for-my-hogwarts-letter @menina89 @dangerously-human @almostlikequake @cats-and-metersticks @nomolosk @itripandfallalot @the-biscuit-agreement

#kaeos answers #fanfiction

5 notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 1 year ago

Text

jealousy, jealousy ; anthony lockwood x reader (part 2)

➻ i'm a big valentine's fan can you tell... (also thank u sm for 20 followers?! in like a week or 2?!!!)

➻ word count: 2008

➻ synopsis: you're at Fittes' Valentine's Day ball with Lockwood but things don't go quite as you intend. maybe all that's needed for the both of you to confess is some good old-fashioned jealousy

➻ warnings: ooc + villain kipps, kissing without consent + implications of sexual assault (just kissing), swearing, angst + fluff

➻ (PART ONE HERE)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Lockwood thought he’d never seen someone more stunning. He knew you were beautiful — he’d spent enough hours staring at you in Arif’s to deduce that fact, but this was the first time he’d ever seen you not in your work uniform and your practical tied-back hairstyles.

Now, though, you were on a whole new level. Your red dress was simple but classic, grazing the floor beneath your white heels. The red spaghetti straps were hidden by your hair, extending past your shoulders in gentle waves, a frilly white barrette keeping it out of your face. Lockwood was, very unusually, completely lost for words.

“You look…” He stuttered, grappling for any words that could encapsulate the feelings in his heart.

“You’re a total knockout,” Lucy interrupted, and Lockwood nodded, grateful for the words supplied. Even George looked mildly impressed, which you took over the exasperated expressions you got when you were serving him at work. Truthfully, the source of those looks was usually Lockwood and his habit of abandoning work the moment you entered his periphery, but George wasn’t above lightly blaming you for it.

You kept Lockwood & Co meeting your family to an absolute minimum, but still not short enough to avoid your mum giving you several pointed looks.

“He’s cute,” She mouthed and you flushed almost the same colour as your dress. You tried to shut her up before anyone noticed and you thought you’d succeeded, but Lucy’s teasing eyebrow raise had you burying your head in your hands.

Soon as you could you’d ushered Lockwood & Co out of your house, waving goodbye to your parents and trying to silence all their embarrassing conversation by talking louder to your friends. Lockwood, much to your chagrin, was extremely fond of them and had made premature plans to see them again, delighting in your embarrassment at their insistence of telling childhood stories.

Still, you arrived at the Fittes building far too quickly for your liking, and you subconsciously grabbed onto Lockwood’s arm to keep him close. He looked down at you, eyes soft as they searched yours. He gave a quick pat to the arm holding his, offering you silent support.

“It’ll be fun, hey? Promise if it sucks we can ditch whenever you like — I doubt George will last that long anyway.” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice not to waiver.

You looked around in wonder as you entered the great hall where the ball was being held. It was decked out in red and pink, hearts and cherubs tastefully adorning each surface. You were astounded by the opulence of not only the room but its inhabitants. All of the agents invited were similarly dressed up to the nines, though you personally didn’t think anybody compared to Lockwood in his perfectly tailored suit.

The four of you wandered around the party for a while, and you were admittedly shocked at Lockwood’s charm and easy conversation. You knew he was a good talker — you’d been told off a ridiculous amount of time at the store because Lockwood had kept you entranced with a story or a joke, but he could seemingly keep an endless conversation with anyone he came across regardless of their age or occupation. You followed him around like a lost puppy, smiling nicely when you made eye contact and giving your name when someone cared enough to ask. The moments you liked the most though were between the endless list of people to greet, where Lockwood would crane his neck down to whisper what he really thought about the previous acquaintances and you could make a joke in return.

You were surprised by someone calling your name. “You look stunning tonight.” The voice belonged to Quill Kipps. You smiled at him, paying him a compliment in return. You rather liked Kipps — you knew there was some rivalry between him and Lockwood but it was frankly none of your interest or business, and Kipps had always been perfectly lovely to you. You could feel Lockwood glowering beside you and sighed, hoping there wouldn’t be a confrontation in the middle of a ball. Though you couldn’t say you minded the protective — and maybe slightly possessive — arm he’d snaked around your waist, holding you closer to him and further from Kipps.

You made slight smalltalk with him, but the conversation was short lived since neither boy was prepared to speak any kindness to the other. You waved softly as Kipps promised to see you later, and you scolded Lockwood when you were out of his earshot.

“Today is a day all about love and you’re staring down Kipps! What is that all about?”

“I can tell you our tragic angsty backstory later, love, do you want to dance?” You thought Lockwood was smarter than he was sometimes given credit for as that was possibly the most effective redirection tactic he could have tried, and you were soon on the dance floor together, swaying softly to the cheesy, old fashioned love songs that had been playing all night.

You couldn’t believe what was happening to you. Firstly that Lockwood had asked you here at all; it was your first time seeing each other out of the confines of the cafe and it was all going so well — the two of you got on like a house on fire. Secondly, that you were then slow dancing with him. His hands sat on your waist, warm against the silky fabric of your dress. In turn, yours wrapped around his neck, and neither of you could contain your smiles. You thought in the back of your head, trying not to jinx it, that he might even try to kiss you — and you doubted you would say no to him.

You’d settled into a comfortable silence, dancing amongst the sea of couples, and you wondered if Lockwood was having the same thoughts you were. You didn’t get the opportunity to ask him, though, as George and Lucy were at your side, raving about some high level agency figure that they were desperate to meet. You saw the way Lockwood’s eyes lit up at the name drop and drew your hands back, not wanting to be the reason he gave up an important introduction.

He hesitated for a moment, looking at you. You gave him a soft smile, encouraging him to leave.

“C’mon, Lockwood! Your sappy slow dance can wait, when are we going to get this opportunity again?” George whined and you both flushed at that — any romance sucked out of the mood. Lucy smacked him in the side but the moment was gone, Lockwood holding back a groan.

“What about you go get us some drinks while we do this and we’ll be back before you know it,” Lockwood suggested and you nodded, trying to look cool and unaffected. You said a quick goodbye before you split away from the group, heading to the other side of the ridiculous foyer.

You went to the bathroom, taking full advantage of the luxurious facilities and making extremely awkward eye contact with a woman in the mirror as you washed your hands, shrinking as you noticed how much more glamorous she was.

With Lockwood you felt like you somewhat belonged, his touch grounding you and dissolving a large part of your nerves. But now he was gone, and you felt terribly alone and like everyone who looked at you could tell you weren’t supposed to be here.

Those were your musings as you made your way to the drinks table, intending to make one for Lockwood and yourself as you’d promised. A hand laid on your shoulder from behind you, making you jump slightly.

“I meant what I said before,” Kipps said, turning you gently to face him. “You really look amazing tonight, but you do every day.”

“Oh.” You blushed, “Thank you, Quill. That’s very kind of you.”

“Care for a dance?”

“Uh, I don’t know if—” Your protests were ignored as you were swept up in his arms, limbs stiff from your discomfort. He kept trying to make conversation but you weren’t much use, suddenly uncomfortable with someone you were used to calling a friend.

“I really like you,” Kipps said and your mouth dropped open.

“Have you been drinking?” You asked, trying to ease yourself out of his grip — unsuccessfully.

“Only a little. For confidence. Look, I want to be with you, for you to be mine. What do you think?” You could feel the colour drain from your face, your feet faltering beneath you.

“Quill, you’re really lovely and all but —” He was kissing you. Why was Kipps kissing you? And why couldn’t you get him to let go?

“Lockwood!” You heard Lucy call behind you, and you managed to wrench yourself away from Kipps long enough to see Lockwood storming out of the hall. Panicking, you shoved Kipps away, pushing through the crowd to try and find the boy you’d arrived with.

The winter air outside was aggressive and sent goosebumps up your uncovered arms but you disregarded it, catching up to Lockwood.

“It wasn’t what it looks like, Lockwood, I promise!” Lockwood whipped around to face you, coattails flying with the wind. For a moment he looked frightening and you faltered slightly, shrinking back from him.

“Wasn’t what it looks like? So you weren’t just making out with the only person I really hate? While you were here with me? Yeah, right,” He said, breathing ragged. You hated seeing him angry, you just wanted to hold his face and explain everything, but you figured he wouldn’t be very receptive to it right now. “And to think I really thought I had a chance.” You didn’t hear what was whispered under his breath, your own temper bubbling after being yelled at so unjustly.

“God, Lockwood, can you get your head out of your arse for one second? Do you really think this is how I wanted the evening to go? Being felt up by Kipps because he’s had too many drinks to realise he’s not the guy I like?” You could see Lockwood’s eyes soften a bit, his guilt flaring up. “Yeah, not plan A. All night I have felt stupid and out of place in this big fancy ball and I was fine with it because at least I was here with you, but now you’re yelling at me and acting like you’re the one that’s been hurt, all because you’re jealous?”

“Me? Jealous? I—” He spluttered, but you weren’t finished.

“Clearly you are jealous of something — why else would you be acting so childish?”

“Fine!” He yelled, “I am jealous! I’m jealous of Kipps because I’ve been trying to work up the courage to kiss you all night after pining for you for months. I’m jealous because I like you so much that I can’t stop thinking about you and George is sick of hearing about you and—”

“Lockwood?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” You cupped his cheeks, pressing your lips to his. What you meant as a quick show of affection and method of stopping Lockwood’s rambling quickly turned into something more, something hungrier as Lockwood brought you into him. Whilst Kipp’s arms around you were threatening, restricting, Lockwood’s were warm, comforting, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, adding as much intensity as the both of you could handle.

Behind you, you could hear the telltale sound of a salt bomb and pulled away enough to laugh against Lockwood’s lips.

“You did not just fight a ghost while we were making out,” You giggled, pressing another peck which he chased after hungrily.

“Can’t have you getting ghost-touched when I’ve finally got you in my arms.” You both smiled, lacing your hands together as you prepared to go sort out the mess that had been left behind.

You supposed your Valentine’s Day had turned out alright after all.

115 notes · View notes