#lockwood and co angst week

[lco-fan-weeks]

We are absolutely gutted by today’s news that Netflix won’t be renewing Lockwood and Co for a second season (i’m crying, you’re crying, we’re all crying here)

HOWEVER

we will still be moving forward with angst week!!! Let’s turn that anger into writing motivation! Our favorite ghost-fighting trio aren’t going anywhere, and neither are we!

[fandomscraziness22]

“Which agency are you from?” he asks, speaking into Lucy’s face, though he’s asking both of them. Lockwood spends a moment too long trying to think up an answer, and it’s a moment he will never get back. or, lucy gets pulled into the winkman's grasp a little bit earlier, and lockwood is forced to watch. canon divergent from ep 5

my first fic for @lco-angst-week is here!! love me some physical hurt

[victhinks]

(She Hopes) I'm Cursed Forever

Lockwood & Co. Angst week Day five: Scars Make Us Who We Are | accidents ; @lco-angst-week

Also posted on AO3

TW: Chronic Pain, Self-Esteem Issues

Their meeting was scheduled for today. The Visitors were being dealt with today — headache or no. 

OR

Lockwood has a headache and goes on a case regardless. It goes about as well as can be expected.

There it was again, the sharp stabbing sensation behind his left eyeball promising agonizing hours of exasperation and discomfort ahead. It always started with a twinge of sharp pain, enough for him to wince visibly but gone again after only a moment. Then, the real fun would begin: the slow buildup of dull pressure reaching from his forehead to his temples, making him feel as if his head was being squished together relentlessly, but slowly.

The pressure was not too bad. Lockwood could ignore it most of the time, focus enough on his tasks to make the pain fade to the back of his aching head because he had things to do and there was only so much time for a break, especially since the headaches had become such a common occurrence he could not afford to stop his work every time one of them hit. He’d never get things done that way, and there was nothing that could make him give up on his agency now that it was going so well.

Push through it. It’s not that bad.

There had been considerable stretches of time — a couple of weeks, sometimes even a month! — where the headaches left him alone. Lockwood had tried more than once to discern what exactly triggered them, but turned up empty each and every time. His best guess was stress, which was unfortunate, considering there was no way to avoid it in his profession and the life he led. Pity. Guess there was nothing to do but to push through.

It had been a while, against all odds, since he’d had one. This particular plague of inconvenience had left him alone for nearly three weeks and Lockwood fell trick to the same illusion he did each time when they were gone for a while: assume he had been magically cured and did not need to worry about his chronic headaches ever again, free at last from this recurring torment. Like a fool. 

Alas, he was not.

The sharp pain behind his eye gave it away and Lockwood jostled the papers in his hands as he flinched, grimacing. The dull pressure was building, creating the feeling that something was pressing down on him, squeezing his brain like a sponge. Great.

Other than the fact that his illusion of a miracle healing had been shattered, Lockwood was displeased because there was an important case he was preparing to set out on with Lucy and George.

It was no matter, of course. This would not stand in the way of his duty to the agency, especially now that they needed the money desperately.

Lockwood groaned quietly, setting down the case file on the kitchen table and rubbing his forehead. This case would be a pain. What were esteemed to be three Type Two’s haunted the old family home of Mrs. Tillberg and she was willing to pay handsomely for their containment. The job came with the warning that the Visitors were quite strong and should therefore only be taken on by professionals. 

When Lockwood had seen the advert in the paper, he had immediately thought it to be the perfect job for them. They could tackle their problem of money and publicity in one neat packing. It was a gift he was unwilling to refuse and the others had agreed.

Their meeting was scheduled for today. The Visitors were being dealt with today — headache or no. 

It was unfortunate that the headaches came on stronger after leaving him alone for as long as they had now. Well, it did not matter. He could deal with it, had done so before and would do so again.

“This house is huge,” Lucy commented when they stood in front of Mrs. Tillberg’s mansion. George hummed in acknowledgement, diving into an explanation about the layout and arrangements of the rooms, pointing to different windows occasionally. The only thing Lockwood noticed about the mansion was the unsettling brightness of the white bricks. It seemed as if they were shining. 

He was not feeling too well, pushing the nausea whirling inside of him to the recesses of his mind to ignore for the moment. The right side of his brain felt like it was being carefully carved out with a spoon and the mental image the pain produced in him was enough to make Lockwood swallow thickly. Beyond all reason, he hoped this job would be done quickly.

“Let’s go, this should be fun,” George’s monotonous voice cut through the haze in his mind and Lockwood started moving towards the front door, wondering if he had missed the appearance of Mrs. Tallberg and her giving them the key. “Lucy, after you,” George spoke again, stepping to the side and allowing her to approach the door. Lockwood remained standing on the porch, puzzled.

The dull pressure in his head was morphing into a pulsating sensation, which meant he would soon have to deal with a sharp pain in his head. It would be impossible to ignore then and leave him unable to think clearly. 

There was still time before that set in, however, and with a bit of luck the case would be all over by then and he could retreat to his room to be dead to the world for a few hours until the pain lessened. 

Lucy had crouched in front of the door and pulled something out of her pocket when Lockwood turned his attention to his surroundings again. He wanted to ask what exactly she was doing, when she rose again, giving George a sly smirk before opening the front door with ease.

“Did you just pick our client’s lock?” Lockwood asked her incredulously and Lucy turned around, her smirk turning into a sheepish smile. 

She was so beautiful, so amazing. Her smile was a radiant sun warming the depths of his heart that had frozen-over years ago. With his entire being, over and over again in every little thing she did, Lockwood found again and again that he loved—

George chuckled heartily, the sudden noise making Lockwood flinch. The pain was on the way to become a distraction, he was already distracted. “I told you Mrs. Tallberg had to cancel and gave us permission to use more unorthodox methods,” George explained, stepping into the house quickly.

“As long as we don’t set her house on fire,” Lucy added with a chuckle, following after him. 

That debacle was something neither of them would forget anytime soon.

Lockwood muttered his approval and stepped over the threshold as well, following the two of them. He tried to remember the details of the case — place and reason of death, lives lead, prior purpose of the house — but he came up empty, unable to remember any details despite reading over the file carefully before setting out.

It was as if an invisible wall had been put up between him and the things he wished to know, the knowledge he wished to remember, and he could not break through it. He could not think properly. 

This was not good. The worst of his headaches were accompanied by a sort of fog in his brain, making him unable to comprehend things properly. He saw everything, but he could not truly process and respond to things, needing an extra few seconds before understanding what was going on — for his brain to connect the dots, as it were.

The temperature dropped suddenly, making Lockwood’s head throb painfully. (Temperature changes were a trigger evidently, good to know.) 

Lucy drew in a sharp breath. “I sense something,” she said in a hushed voice, closing her eyes to Listen. Lockwood stepped around her, going further into the room and looking around, trying to See.

He entered a large sort of sitting room, filled with paintings on the walls, an armchair and a sofa standing around a little coffee table. 

His gaze landed on a death glow so bright and blinding, the pulsating pain in his temples turned suddenly into a sharp, stabbing sensation, which stole his breath and made him double over in pain, his eyes shut tightly. A moan of pain escaping him unwillingly. 

It was swallowed by the sound of loud knocking on the walls, a drumming so deafening Lockwood felt it echo in his skull long after it had stopped. He was out of breath already and the Visitors had not yet appeared. This would be a long night.

Keep it together. You’ve had worse. 

They all drew their rapiers in preparation for a fight. Lockwood was unsteady, hands shaking slightly and vision swimming dangerously. His usually so clear and important vision was troubled by waves and stripes, strange patterns seemingly imprinted on his eyes. They were dancing, hindering his sight and he blinked furiously to clear them away. He had to see, needed to See!

It was no use and he had to strain his eyes to make out what was in front of him. The death glow was so bright, it made his eyeballs ache and water from the stab of pain it sent through his skull. It was all he could do not to close them and bury his head in his hands, away from the aggravating light causing him pain.

“Lockwood!” Lucy’s cry made him straighten immediately, turning all his attention to his surroundings and ignoring the waves of pain washing over him at increasing frequency. He stared numbly as a Visitor charged towards him — a short, round woman with a face that seemed to have contained radiant happiness while she was alive but was now disfigured distastefully through a mixture of rage and betrayal — and regained control of his mind just in time to remember how to defend himself.

He pointed his rapier at her, taking a startled step backwards on instinct. Lockwood managed to draw her back with a few hasty flicks of the iron, but his unsteady footing made him fall and he landed flat on his back on the hard tiled floor.

The force of his fall knocked the wind out of him, making Lockwood take a few gasping breaths as the dull sting traveled from his upper back to the base of his head. It made him cry out in pain. For a short moment Lockwood was blinded by the burning ache. 

It was all it took for him to drop his rapier, leaving him defenseless against the Visitor inching closer to him once more. When the pain subsided enough for him to open his eyes without withering at the radiating light of the death glow on the edge of his vision, he saw her towering over him. Her haggard face mere inches from his own, he could see her clearly now, dirty, twisted and angry. 

Their enraged faces were what stayed with him the longest. Lockwood could forget about the house they died in within the day of getting the money for a job well done. The death glows he saw stayed longer, lingering in his mind for maybe a month or until the next case, where he would see others, making the previous ones flee his thoughts. But their anger — the furious expressions on the faces of the Visitors — could never leave his head. If he thought of it hard enough, he could recall every face that ever made that expression of uncontained fury at him.

She was closer still now and he tried to remember his training. His thoughts came sluggishly, incredibly slow considering the urgency of the situation and he could do nothing but panic, puffing out frantic breaths as he squirmed on the ground.

On instinct, his hand was moving hurriedly to feel for his rapier.

A flash of silver above him caught the light of the death glow and made him close his eyes against the wave of nausea overtaking him. Light was a curse, it felt like a ray of ice shooting through his eyes. George had rushed in to charge at the Visitor and draw her away from him. Lockwood starred as George made complicated movements with the iron, edging her further away.

His hand met something cool and he was momentarily relieved before he felt a sting against his palm. When he looked, Lockwood saw the blade of his rapier stained red lightly with his blood. 

The cut hardly registered, nothing but a faint twinge in comparison with the tidal wave of agony in his head. Lockwood drew himself up regardless. He had a job to do and he was failing his team.

There was a faint glowing of a different visitor appearing and he breathed deeply through the pain, readying himself for their attack. They drew closer and he flicked his rapier at them, taking a few steps back. 

A loud crash vibrated through the room and Lockwood choked, losing his footing for the second time that night. He fell forward, making the Visitor disappear into nothingness with a lucky stroke of his rapier and collapsing to his knees, head bowed and breaths shallow. 

He needed a break, needed to retreat and collect himself again — a safe space to catch his breath.

There was so much noise around him, things shifting, people talking and he longed to curl up into a tight ball and hide until this all was over. It was too much and Lockwood did not know what to do. He had a vague feeling about needing to go somewhere, but his mind was not working properly to tell him where and it frustrated him to no end, making his eyes take on a shimmer of wetness. Every noise hurt terribly.

“Chains!” George’s scream cut clearly through the haze in his mind — making him whimper — but giving him a thought he could latch onto. Chains, the circle. He would be safe there, he could have a respite. 

As Lockwood heaved himself up, concentrating all his energy in dragging himself to the safety of the circle, Lucy and George were still occupied by the Visitors. They were fighting one each and Lockwood got the feeling that there was something missing in the scene, something he had forgotten but could not quite place.

A new faint light materialized behind Lucy and he regarded it with confusion. How many visitors were mentioned in the case file? He could not remember and simply watched uncomprehendingly as a Visitor appeared behind Lucy.

She had not noticed them and neither had George, busy with his own engagement.

The Visitor drew closer to Lucy and Lockwood felt a sudden dread overtake the nausea within him. This was bad, somehow. Lucy was in danger! Three Visitors and there were only two of them.

Lockwood launched himself forward despite the warning protests of his body, and charged at the third Visitor, drawing them away from Lucy’s back with his rapier. When her eyes met his, he saw surprise and gratitude flash in quick succession before her gaze settled on determination.

“Keep them away,” she told him, motioning to the two Visitors, “I’ll contain the sources.” He had no time to object as Lucy ran towards a wall, leaving him to fight or at least stall for time. The movements of his rapier were less than precise and more than once, he feared the two were closing in on him dangerously.

Lockwood’s breathing was erratic again. The movements he had to make hurt his head and the brightness of the death glow was making the nausea overwhelming. All his movements were made on pure instinct, his head was entirely empty but for the pain he desperately tried to ignore.

He was about to slice through one of the Visitors when they all disappeared suddenly. The surprise made Lockwood stumble again and had him falling unceremoniously to the ground. At least he had not braced himself against the blade of his rapier.

“I’ve got them,” Lucy exclaimed, standing next to an iron net, which was draped over a painting. 

It was over, at last. The job was done. 

They took a cab home. George had insisted, with a warning glance towards Lockwood and he had not objected, wanting more than anything to stop moving for a while and exist in silent darkness. 

The pain did not subside. It remained stabbing through the right side of his head, making him wince, making it hard to think.

George led him through the front door of 35 Portland Row, having him sit down on the sofa in the living room. “Stay,” he told Lockwood firmly, but in a quiet voice. He had not turned on the big lights, instead having the small lamp on the shelf by the sitting area illuminate the entire room in warm yellow lighting.

“Give me your hand,” Lucy advised him, now kneeling in front of him and Lockwood wondered how scattered his mind was to be unable to tell when George had left and Lucy appeared. 

He held out his hand for her numbly. She took it gently, turning it around so his wounded palm was facing up. Ah. He had entirely forgotten about that.

She set to work dressing his wound, disinfecting the cut and wrapping bandages around it. Lockwood tried to protest, wanting to argue that he could do it himself, but when he tried to form the sentence, he lost the words and had to admit to himself that he was not much use for anything in his current state. He closed his eyes, willing the darkness to elevate the pain in his skull a bit.

“How bad is it?” George asked him, voice low. He was concerned, so much was evident. Lockwood gave an uncommitted hum and opened his eyes to find George glaring at him in a nonverbal threat of ‘don’t fuck with me right now’. 

Lucy rose, taking a seat next to Lockwood. “What’s going on, George?” she asked inquisitively with a glance at him. 

She deserved an explanation, of course. Lockwood had become completely unreliable — a burden — on a case and put them all in danger. This could have gone terribly wrong and it would have been his fault!

“Lockwood gets headaches. He’s all snappy when he has them, but they usually don’t affect his days much. Sometimes, they’re worse, like this one,” George explained bluntly, “So answer me, Lockwood. How bad is it?” All this was delivered decisively but very quietly in George’s soft voice. He knew him too well.

“Not good,” Lockwood murmured, having no fight left to muster denial or resistance to George's inquiry. It was bad and he wanted to crawl into bed and lay there for a while until the storm in his head passed over. 

George leaned back while sucking in a sharp breath. It was unusual for Lockwood to admit he was not feeling well, even less common for him to give in so easily. Less his words and more the fact of his immediate surrender spoke volumes of the pain he was in. 

George nodded, mind racing through Lockwood’s usual headache remedies. “I’ll grab some water with ice,” he whispered, giving Lucy a profound look. She understood.

Lockwood muttered a small ‘thanks’ to George and sighed shakily. He turned to Lucy, looking at her through half lidded eyes in a mixture of pain and guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice hushed. 

Sorry for putting you in danger, sorry for not being able to help when you needed me. Sorry for being a disappointment, so sorry for not being good enough. Sorry for being incapacitated every now and again by these headaches—

The two of them did not deserve to have to deal with him in such a state. He had not wanted them to see him like this, had not wanted them to think less of him because of it.

Lucy looked at him with a slight frown. “This is not your fault, Lockwood,” she began, before cutting off, deciding this conversation should be held when he was in a clearer state of mind and in considerably less pain, “just tell us next time, alright? I hate to see you pushing yourself until you get hurt like this.”

She reached her hand out to his head slowly, fingers brushing against his temple in a feather-light touch until they moved up to his hair, stroking through it softly. Her motions against his head were so gentle, Lockwood wanted to cry at the infinite care she demonstrated to him, the consideration poured into her motions for his benefit.

“Luce,” he whispered, voice cracking with emotion. She shushed him.

“I know. It’s alright, I’m here,” she said, continuing the movements in his hair. They would continue for as long as he needed them to, Lucy was more than happy to keep him  company and offer relief in any way she could.

Lockwood leaned into her touch. He could feel Lucy's dimm smile in the way she shifted closer to reach his aching head better, squirming a bit to get comfortable. I love you.

[anthonyjlockwood]

His long-engrained desire to keep his new family safe wars with his more recently realised one to be honest with them. But after what happened today, with the boxes and the gentle, patient way George studied the things from his past and the love and concern shining in Lucy’s eyes, Lockwood isn’t sure he can keep them out any longer. They’ve stuck with him this long, Lucy and George, and they deserve to know the truth. Lockwood owes them the chance to see his secret place, the monuments that commemorate the hardships of his past. The tombstones he refuses to let crumble away.' He goes to visit there more often than he’d like to admit to even himself, and Lucy and George should see it too. 

my fic for @lco-angst-week day one, The Universal Problem, is up now!! 💕

[alphacrone]

Angst Week Day 2 - @lco-angst-week

miscommunication | betrayal | arguments

X-posted on AO3

TW: minor internalized misogyny, low self esteem

Book Spoilers up to Book 4

Lucy had done her best to avoid Lockwood & Co. for months, but today the universe was not on her side. 

First she’d woken up to no electricity. The entire neighborhood was blacked out, their landlord citing some mess Bunchurch agents had made tackling a haunting. Power lines were damaged, at least one agent was in the hospital for severe electrical burns, and Lucy was stuck showering in the dark. 

Since her only real appliance was an electric hotplate, Lucy took this as a great excuse to buy her breakfast at the Thai restaurant down the block. Of course, she realized belatedly, they also had lost power and were closed. So she found herself hiking out of the area until she found unaffected businesses and bought herself a couple sausage rolls and a coffee…

…which was then spilled all over her front by a harried man in a suit who was careening down the pavement without a care for anyone in his way. He offered no help, no apologies, leaving Lucy wet, stained, and very, very unhappy. 

By the time she’d replaced her coffee and eaten her rolls, Lucy had managed to wander into the area between Streatham and Lambeth Cemeteries. Both had been cleared out ages ago and posed no real danger anymore, but most of the locals had never quite returned to those few streets, leaving them mostly empty and run-down. One of the buildings there had been converted to an outlet for Satchell’s overstock, cheap but poorer quality than the full-price items. It was the only reason to come to this part of town really, unless you were one of the unlucky souls who dared to live here. Lucy had considered leasing a flat along Smallwood Road when she’d moved out, but the landlord’s wandering eyes had given her pause. 

That was when she heard familiar laughter—a bright, tinkling, feminine sound. Lucy’s heart skipped a beat and she ducked behind a cluster of trees. The last person she wanted to see while coffee-stained and in her ugliest joggers was Holly Munro . 

A boy’s voice joined Holly’s and Lucy’s blood ran cold. Scratch that—Holly was the second-to-last person she wanted to see right now. 

Anthony Lockwood was the first. 

Lucy peeked around a tree trunk to catch a glimpse of the duo. They had clearly just come from the surplus store, arms laden with bags. Holly looked as pretty and perfect as ever, dressed in a floral romper and baby pink cardigan. Her dark hair bounced in a tidy ponytail, pulled back with a yellow ribbon. She was laughing at whatever Lockwood was saying, hand covering her mouth in such a delicate, polite way it made Lucy feel sick. 

And Lockwood—he looked thinner and paler than he had those months ago, but was just as handsome as ever. He was smiling, bright and genuine, and talking animatedly. Lucy thought he might be telling Holly the story of how he uncovered Harold Crisp, the mass-murderer. It was one of his favorites, despite it sounding to be 90% exaggeration. 

Though, Lucy thought bitterly, Holly wasn’t the type to laugh at such a gruesome story. Lucy herself was, and she had found the story amusing when it wasn’t horrific. But she supposed that was something boys liked about Holly. Girls weren’t supposed to laugh at gross things. 

Girls also weren’t supposed to walk around in stained shirts or hide behind trees to avoid awkward encounters. Lucy had never been good at being a girl. 

“-so then George thought he’d found the bones the goose’s spirit had been attached to, but they turned out to belong to a badger!” Lockwood was saying as he and Holly drew closer. Lucy bit back a smile; she fondly remembered the case with the goose spirit that chased them into the pond, especially the way George screamed when a living goose appeared. “I would’ve been ghost-touched by a dead bird if it hadn’t been for- well. It would’ve been an embarrassing way to go.” 

A lump formed in the back of Lucy’s throat. She’d been the one to cut off the goose’s warpath towards Lockwood, barely getting her rapier through its head before it could touch him. He’d given her such a bright, excited smile then, she could still remember the way his eyes had glinted in the light of the ghost-lamps that littered the park. 

Holly’s laughter faded and Lucy heard her say, “You can talk about her, you know.” 

Lucy’s heart thudded in her chest. Lockwood sighed. “I’d rather not.” 

“She was your friend, Lockwood,” Holly said. “You’re allowed to miss her.” 

“Friends don’t just leave in the middle of the night. Clearly she was never my friend.” 

Lucy swallowed roughly. She knew he was angry but this…

“You know that’s not true.” Holly’s voice had gone soft, almost too quiet for Lucy to hear. 

“Whatever,” Lockwood said brusquely. “She made her choice. With you and George at my side, we don’t need her.” 

Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes. Leaving had been for the best, had been the only way to protect Lockwood, but realizing how irreparably she’d damaged her only remaining friendships was more painful than she could have ever imagined. Lockwood hated her. 

Lucy understood. She hated herself, too. 

With one last glance at Holly and Lockwood, Lucy slipped from behind the tree and silently turned down a side street. As soon as she was out of sight, she broke into a sprint, and didn’t stop until she got home. It was only then that she allowed herself to cry.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t until Lucy was gone that Holly spoke again. 

“I know you’re angry about what Kipps told you,” she said more sternly. “About Lucy taking solo jobs. She shouldn’t be working alone, I agree, but you either have to accept it and move on or go talk to her .” 

Lockwood glanced to the side, where someone had just turned the corner onto the next street over. He could have sworn he’d seen Lucy, but there were plenty of girls in London with short hair and blue jackets. He saw her everywhere he went these days, on every busy street, in every crowded station. Holly gave him tired, worried looks every time he lingered too long at the furnaces, just hoping to run into Lucy, or at least catch a glimpse of her from a distance. The only news he ever heard of her came from Kipps, who seemed to be at the center of Fittes’ web of gossip. Even he hadn’t seen or spoken to Lucy in months and the lack of first-hand information drove Lockwood mad. 

“Do you really think she’s going to take advice from me? ” He asked with a frown. “What am I supposed to say, ‘Hey, Luce, haven’t heard a word from you since you snuck out in the middle of the night, but I’ve been keeping tabs on you like some horrible stalker and I think you shouldn’t be taking solo jobs because you’re far too reckless—why yes, I am a hypocrite, thanks for asking.’” 

Holly sighed. “Well something has to change. You were downright mean to George yesterday when he made that joke about Listeners losing their minds.” 

“It wasn’t funny,” Lockwood snapped. Holly raised an eyebrow. 

“Let’s get these bags home,” she said, understanding this was a losing battle. “My feet are killing me.” 

Lockwood let her lead the way, lost in thought. George’s joke hadn’t really been a joke ; it had been a cruel truth disguised by a poor attempt at humor. George was angrier at Lucy than Lockwood was for leaving, and angry at Lockwood for letting her go. But more than anything, George was worried about Lucy and her growing, uncontrollable powers. They all were. 

Holly was right. Lockwood either had to give up on Lucy entirely and move on with his life or talk to her. Both were heinous, painful options, but the answer was clear. 

There was no universe in which Anthony Lockwood gave up on Lucy Carlyle. 

[penultimatestalematewithdeath]

Lockwood, the absolute bastard, sat there scratching his nose, shuffling his feet back and forth. “Look, Luce…”

“Don’t you ‘look, Luce’ me,” Lucy said sharply, standing and walking up to him. “You opened my fucking mail?”

Lucy finds a Fittes recruitment letter addressed to her in the trash.  She confronts Lockwood, furious that he opened her mail and threw it out without asking.  Old memories resurface.

Lockwood & Co. Angst Week Day 2: Treasure Your Relationships | Arguments

My fic for day 2 of @lco-angst-week!  I had a lot of trouble with this prompt, but I’m excited to see what y’all think!

[futurearchaeologyprof]

Day 2 bb

SPOILERS FOR THE HOLLOW BOY

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud, Lockwood & Co. (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: George Cubbins & Anthony Lockwood, George Karim & Anthony Lockwood Characters: George Cubbins | George Karim, Anthony Lockwood, Holly Munro (mentioned), Lucy Carlyle Additional Tags: lucy and holly are in it for literally 2 seconds each, Angst, Miscommunication, Betrayal, Arguing, Spoilers for Book 03: The Hollow Boy (Lockwood & Co.), Set Between Book 03: The Hollow Boy and Book 04: The Creeping Shadow (Lockwood & Co.), let george karim/cubbins say fuck, How Do I Tag, shoutout to jessica somehow making it in this fic Series: Part 2 of Lockwood & Co Angst Week (2023), Part 1 of Happy you were mine, it sucks that it's all ending Summary:

George tells Lockwood that Lucy left

posted for Lockwood & Co Angst Week (2023) Day 2! Prompts were miscommunication | betrayal | arguments

[mirroringdust]

At the bizarre brink of feelings

For Lockwood and co angst week, late fof day 5, injury @lco-angst-week The next chapter will address the prompt for day six.

SPOILER FOR THB - AU

What if Lucy never left after the Hollow Boy and what if her vision became true but in a completely unexpected way? Lucy and Lockwood face a situation that they can't really understand and a ghost they can't really capture in the usual way. On their finaly way to fight it, they are trapped in the tunnel, the others already lost. The manifestation pushed them to the brink of their feelings and the only way to not get lost is to admit them.***

It was absolutely not the right moment, but it would never be. And something in the bizarreness of this moment made it easier. It would be more bizarre than before, but it would not completely change something normal. For this situation was certainly not normal. Lucy had not slept for days, and all her energy only came to her in small drops. She was unable to do more than stand and take in the moment before her, unable to think beyond the next step to stay alive. At least the thought crossed her mind that they might not even make it out alive. And the strangest thing was that she could not even bring herself to care. No spirits in her veins to ignite even the smallest spark of matter at this moment.

[l-herz]

Hi. I wrote a fic for Lockwood and Co angst week 2023! Day 5 Scars Make Us Who We Are using the prompt "Hospitalization". (you can check out the prompts here @lco-angst-week)

It's set during Book 5: The Empty Grave!

It's about exploring the immediate aftermath of the attack on George thought the POVs of Lockwood and Co. If you like it pls share, kudos, comment:

[ohmyoverland]

a vigil shared, a vigil halved by ohmyoverland

Lockwood & Co ficlet, pre-canon Flo & Lockwood, mild hurt/comfort @lco-angst-week Day 1: The Universal Problem (Missing Scene)

There was no attempt made to open the envelope neatly. One end was ripped off with teeth, and when tipped into her hand, a single bass key fell out. Flo turned the key over and over in her palm, as if making sure it was real. Lockwood had several spare keys of course, all tossed in a dusty drawer somewhere back in the kitchen. He had never trusted anyone enough to give them away before.

Read on Ao3

[krash-and-co]

WAIT I THOUGHT ANGST WEEK ALREADY HAPPENED, GUESS I STILL HAVE A CHANCE

I will apologize in advance

[lco-fan-weeks]

Thank you all for a wonderful angst-filled week!

We had such a (good? sad? tearful?) time reading all your incredible fics this past week. This fandom is so talented, and we loved seeing all the ways you interpreted the prompts!

Collectively, we wrote 90 fics and over 290,000 words!!! That's insane!!! And here were some of the tags used for those fics, which is always interesting to see:

Again, we thank you all so much for participating in angst week! You should pat yourselves on the back for all your hard work!

[fandomscraziness22]

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, you think. And then, He’s all I have left.

So you go to him. You hold him, and he holds you—the little six-year-old who shouldn’t have to bear this. Who should be in his mother’s arms, who should be tussling in the backyard with his father.

As he cries, full of understanding, so wise for such a small person, your resolve hardens. It’s up to you now.

or, Jessica watches Lockwood through the years

Angst week is almost over! Heres my day 6!

@lco-angst-week

[victhinks]

Don't Leave, I Love You

Lockwood & Co. Angst week Day two: Treasure Your Relationships | arguments ; @lco-angst-week

Also posted on AO3

TW: Suicidal Ideation, Self-Esteem Issues

“Please, Luce,” Lockwood said desperately, trying to persuade her to stay. Lucy huffed, angrily collecting her belongings from across the room. She wanted to leave this time for real and his heart seized painfully at the thought.

The case was doomed from the start. 

The houseowner, Mr. March had given them false information and the mostly harmless Type I had turned into at least three very powerful Type IIs, which left George, Lucy and Lockwood completely out of their depth. 

Lockwood had packed according to the information presented to them, so their equipment was insufficient and they barely got out with their lives. It was foolish on his part, of course. Stupid, stupid, to pack only the bare minimum and be entirely unprepared by any change of scenery with unprecedented dangers.

It was entirely his fault, forgetting the first rule he had set himself: Keep them safe, no matter what. Lockwood had put them all in danger. And it was only natural that Lucy had finally had enough. That did not make this anymore easy.

“Please, Luce,” Lockwood said desperately, trying to persuade her to stay, as Lucy huffed, angrily collecting her belongings from across the room. The wardrobe had already been emptied, all her clothes stuffed in a suitcase. Now only her small trinkets were missing, which she hurriedly accumulated to dump them in her backpack and leave. She wanted to leave this time for real and his heart seized painfully at the thought. 

“Please, Luce,” he pleaded again. The loss of Lucy would be unbearable for him as well as the agency. They needed her, he needed her. The helplessness of the situation hit him full force and Lockwood felt a shimmer of wetness collect in his eyes.

Lucy’s room could not go back to being ‘the attic,’ bare of her possessions. 35 Portland Row could not go back to being just him and George. And how long before George realized what a fuck-up he was and decided he’d had enough, too. Lockwood blinked away tears as he racked his brain of what to say to get Lucy to stay, not to leave him—

From his place in the center of the room he had a clear view out of the windows and onto the sunset. The sky seemed dipped in gold, bright enough to seem surreal and alter reality somehow. “It’s nearly curfew,” he said by way of argument. 

Lucy scoffed, not turning from her task of collecting her things. The pictures of her and Norrie were missing already, undoubtedly tucked safely between the pages of one of her books. “I can handle myself,” she said sternly.

It was evident that she could. Lockwood had been certain of it since the moment he met her. Her talent was spectacular, no doubt, but that did not mean she could safely navigate the haunted streets of London at Visitor-primetime. 

“Not against all of London at night,” he countered resolutely. It was reckless to try (he knew, he had) and she would likely end up hurt or worse and Lockwood could not bear to think of that. She is hurt already. He recalled her being flung against a wall by one of the Visitors and clutching her side on the way home. “And not when you’re hurt. How’s your side?”

“I’m fine,” she hissed, finally turning to set her eyes on him with a glare. “I don’t need you fussing over me when you’re the reason I’m hurt in the first place!” — Lockwood swallowed thickly, trying to push the shame and guilt to the back of his head — “I can’t do this anymore. This entire agency was a mistake, Lockwood. You’re just an amateur and it’s only a matter of time until someone gets seriously hurt because you’ve been careless again.”

Lockwood let her words sink in, crawl into his heart and rip him apart. Their profession came with a risk, they all knew that, but Lucy was right (of course she was). It was his name at the door, his agency. All that happened was his fault, in the end. He was responsible for them, he had to ensure their safety and he knew that was a weight he could hardly shoulder. How could he, when he passed that closed door every day and fought against the thoughts telling him he’d be better off at the bottom of the Thames. 

His agency was the only thing keeping him afloat. 

“I’ll do better. I swear, I’ll try,” he promised in a soft voice, willing Lucy to give him another chance. “I promise, this will never happen again.”

With a sigh containing all her disappointment and frustration, Lucy closed her suitcase. She was packed. Looking into his pleading eyes, she said coldly, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lockwood. It makes your words all the more hollow.”

He squeezed his eyes shut in an unusual display of hurt. Better than the alternative of having Lucy witness his tears. She was going to leave, he would lose the person he loved most in the world, at last. If this was it, he might as well lay his bruised heart at her feet. 

Lucy was gathering up her bags.

“Wait,” he breathed before clearing his throat and willing his voice not to break. “I cannot stand to watch you leave, Lucy. I—” he could not go on, emotions choking him. “I—”

“You what, Lockwood?” she nearly yelled at him, exasperated and impatient. Him trying to get her to stay did not make matters any easier for her. She was leaving her new family, after all. The second one. And it hurt, but she could not keep doing this anymore. It had become too much.

Lockwood took a deep breath and exhaled unevenly. “I love you,” he said, so quietly she nearly missed it. There it was, his heart in her hands, his walls torn down. He felt nauseous for how vulnerable he had made himself, for her— for Lucy.

She stepped back, letting her bags fall to the floor with a loud thump and stared at him with wide brown eyes, her mouth hanging open slightly in shock. 

A tense silence stretched between them and Lockwood was sure she could hear his heart form how loud it was beating behind his ribcage. 

Lucy’s gaze did not falter for a second, fixated on him and seemingly aimed right at his soul. “I don’t believe you,” she said softly.

And Lockwood could not breathe. 

“What?” he gasped, heartbreak evident in the strangled sound of his breaking voice. No, how could she not see.

Shaking her head slowly, Lucy composed herself, recovering from Lockwood’s confession. She set her jaw and picked up her bags again resolutely. “You are only saying this to get me to stay, but I can’t—” she broke off with a shaky breath. 

On her way towards the stairs, she halted next to him. “Here,” she whispered, leaving the necklace he had given her in the palm of his hand. Lockwood’s heart broke all over again and he clutched it to his chest tightly. “Goodbye, Lockwood.” Not again, please. He could not do this again.

As Lucy’s footsteps faded into nothingness on the stairs behind him and the front door shut softly, he allowed the tears to escape his eyes at last. 

This was why he kept his emotions under lock and key, buried in the recesses of his heart. They destroyed him, left him shattered and bleeding all over the halls of the enormous house he owned. Alone. ALways alone, in the end. 

Living under a thin blanket of apathy was better than this. Feeling nothing was better than the agonizing pain in his chest at her goodbye. ‘I don’t believe you.’ After so long, he nearly thought himself incapable of love as well. How could he blame her?

He heard the Thames calling to him. Wouldn’t it be nice to leave this all behind? In the end, what kept him from jumping? He wished he had jumped.

Instead, he fell to his knees in Lucy’s old room and gripped the bedsheets tightly. They still smelled like her — Lucy, his Lucy — and he tried to anchor himself against the sobs wracking his body and tearing him apart. The necklace was tucked away safely in his breast pocket, resting over his shattered heart.

[anthonyjlockwood]

Lockwood looks terrible, like he’s gotten five minutes of sleep if he got any. The bags under his eyes are emphasised greatly by how pale he is – and his eyes themselves are wide and lifeless. His mouth is agape, like he wants to speak but doesn’t know what to say, and George’s heart rate picks up in his chest as he watches, because he’s never seen Lockwood out of sorts like this.

Normally, his friend makes it a point to keep his composure under any circumstances. As their fearless leader, he’s always tried to deliver any bad news the same way he would good. Nothing throws him; he runs towards the scary and unfamiliar armed with nothing but a rapier on a good day. But this, whatever this is, looks like a battle that Lockwood wasn’t prepared to fight. He looks the way he did when Lucy first asked about Jessica’s room; the way he’s always done when she’s disarmed him with a question he wasn’t expecting to answer or triggered a thought he wasn’t expecting to have. There’s a split second, sometimes, where this rare shaken version of Lockwood shines through. And George knows that normally, he shakes those seconds off without much of a problem – not one that George is privy to, anyway – but this time is different.

It’s the same thing he’s been feeling all morning, emphasised once again as he looks at Lockwood. Something has changed. Something is different.

Something is wrong.

my fic for @lco-angst-week day two is up now!

[alphacrone]

Angst Week Day 1 - @lco-angst-week

missing scenes | AU | canon divergent 

X-posted on AO3

No book spoilers.

TW: discussions of death, injury, gun violence, blood, implied suicidal ideation

-

“I seriously hope you don’t have a soulmate,” George told Lockwood one evening after a particularly grueling job. “Because you are going to get them killed.” 

Lucy shot George a nasty look, but Lockwood laughed it off. “I’m not that reckless, George.” 

“Sure,” Lucy said bitterly. “And the sky’s not blue.” 

Lockwood rolled his eyes and grinned. He was certain he didn’t have a soulmate, else he’d be dead by now. The universe was set on taking away everyone he’d ever loved; his soulmate would’ve been on that list. 

“I hope Kipps is your soulmate,” George told him. “Then at least there’d be a silver lining when you managed to off yourself.” 

That made Lockwood laugh even harder. Lucy scowled and went oddly silent. He hoped she was just angry about the job and not jealous over Kipps. Lockwood couldn’t handle it if she wanted to be that bastard’s soulmate. 

Experts claimed soulmates were an unfortunate byproduct of The Problem. Whatever had twisted and torn the fabric of space and time between the world of the living and the other side had also played a cruel trick on humanity, linking souls at random. Most of the population never knew who their soulmates were as there wasn’t a reliable way of testing it, not without risking death. George had spoken of cases of near death experiences bringing soulmates together, but those were few and far between. Soulmates generally only found each other in romances and tragedies, and Lockwood did not want to live in either. 

“You should be more careful,” Lucy told him as they returned home, kicking off their shoes in the hallway and tossing their rapiers into the umbrella stand. “For yourself, if not for your soulmate.” 

“You and George worry too much,” he said. “I think I’ve been just the right level of reckless since the Bickerstaff ordeal.” 

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “You just jumped from the top story of a house to, and I quote, ‘defeat a Visitor with the element of surprise.’” 

“And it worked!” Granted, he could have just thrown his rapier or silver net down, or let Lucy and George handle it from the ground, but where was the fun in that? 

With a sigh, Lucy turned to head up the stairs. “George is right,” she told him as she left. “Your poor soulmate…” 

That evening, in the comfort of his favorite armchair in the library, Lockwood pondered what Lucy and George had said. Was he really putting some poor person’s life at stake when he took risks in the field? It seemed unfair of the universe to link the lives of two strangers, especially when at least one of them was an agent. 

Sometimes Lockwood wondered if his parents had been soulmates. Maybe if they hadn’t been, one of them might have survived. Nothing about this soulmate business seemed good or right or fair. What was the point of entwining souls like this, only causing misery and strife? In old stories, the term soulmate was something beautiful, souls that were meant to exist together, souls that were meant to love each other. Now they were a worry at the back of your mind, a fear that kept children up at night. Love was never part of the equation. 

It was a fear that kept him at night too, sometimes. Not for himself, but for Lucy and George. What if their soulmates were agents as well, or relicmen or nightwatch, doomed to the same dangers that came with their professions? Would either of them simply die one night without a word? It was too painful a thought to linger on too long, so Lockwood let himself live in a world without soulmates, where a person’s death was their own and no one else’s.

In the end, however, he would be forced to understand that this was not the truth of the world. 

-

Lockwood had been shot. 

Of all the ways he’d imagined his own death, Lockwood had never actually thought a gun would be part of the equation. Ghosts had no need for firearms and relicmen preferred weaponry that could double as tools of the trade. Even in the moments he’d considered the Golden Blade might be his end, Lockwood had assumed it would be with that stupid gilded rapier of his during some heroic duel to the death. 

The fall was more in line with how he’d imagined it would all end. The crash landing in the bowels of the catacombs was a nice touch, very on brand. But this did not kill him, so Lockwood trudged forward, following the screams of his friends. His bullet wound screamed in agony, but he wouldn’t let himself succumb to that until he knew Lucy and George were okay. 

His timing was impeccable. Lockwood took a leaf from Lucy’s book and chucked his rapier at Bickerstaff’s spirit, giving the others time to conceal his source again. They were both whole, both up and moving and alive. The moment the danger had passed, Lockwood fell to his knees. He could go now. He could rest. 

But when he said something to this effect, propped up between his friends, Lucy made a distressed noise and held him closer, supporting his abdomen with her hand. It was warm through the thin, bloody fabric of his shirt. 

“We won’t let that happen, will we George?” Lucy asked. Lockwood could barely grasp her words, as distracting as it was to have her hand on his stomach. 

“Never,” George said, and the intensity in his voice startled Lockwood. It had been a long time since anyone had cared if he lived or died, and now he had two of them. 

Unfortunately for them, Lockwood could feel himself fading. He’d never come this close to death, despite his best efforts, but he knew it was fast approaching. He hoped George and Lucy would be okay when he was gone; at least they had each other. 

Suddenly, the left side of Lockwood’s body went cold, and distantly he realized Lucy had pulled away. He looked over, vision blurring, and saw she’d slumped to her hands and knees, body trembling. 

“Luce?” He whispered. She didn’t respond. 

“Lucy?” George spoke more loudly, more urgently. “Luce, what’s wrong?” 

“I…” Lucy’s face had drained of color and her elbows buckled, sending her face-forward into the stone floor. “I think I’m dying.” 

“What? Were you ghost touched?” George surged forward, jostling Lockwood in a way that made his bullet wound blaze in agony. He and Lucy groaned out in unison and for a moment Lockwood’s vision went white. He slumped against George, unable to hold himself upright anymore. 

“Oh, shit,” George whispered. “Where’s Kipps. Kipps?!”

Suddenly Lockwood found himself lying on the dusty stone floor of the catacombs. George scrambled off, shouting for Kipps, shouting something about the keys to a pair of handcuffs, and Lockwood turned his head to get a better look at Lucy. 

Her eyes met his, distant and unfocused. Her breathing was labored, chest rising and falling in a painful staccato. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Lockwood understood. 

“What’s wrong with her?” He heard Kipps ask. “Ghost touch?” 

“No,” George replied. “Worse. They’re soulmates.” 

“Shit.” 

Shit was right. All this time, Lockwood’s soulmate had been some poor, faceless sod somewhere in the world, collateral damage in Lockwood’s personal quest to join his family sooner rather than later. But now it was Lucy, and he realized that every stupid, reckless thing he’d ever done had put her in the line of fire. It was inexcusable. It was monstrous. 

Tears welled in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out. “Luce, I’m so sorry.” 

Someone was lifting him into their arms—Kipps, he thought distantly, since he could see George pulling Lucy to her feet—but Lockwood didn’t care. They could throw his body in the Thames for all he cared. He just needed Lucy to be okay. 

“We’re not tossing you in the Thames, Tony,” Kipps said, and Lockwood realized he’d spoken aloud. “That would only kill Lucy faster.” 

Kipps had a good point. Lockwood supposed a broken clock was still right twice a day. 

“You’re awfully rude for someone who needs my help,” Kipps said lightly. Lockwood couldn’t tell where they were going, but it felt like up. Surely he wasn’t already dead. Heaven didn’t exist and if it did, he certainly wouldn’t be let in. 

“Shut up,” George said and Lockwood realized he must have said that aloud as well. “No one’s dying tonight.” 

“Except Joplin,” Lucy wheezed. 

“Ah, well, yes,” George agreed. “Except Joplin.” 

Lockwood laughed as his vision went dark. 

-

The trip out of the catacombs and to the hospital was a blur. DEPRAC had arrived quickly and taken care of Winkman and his men. Lockwood knew he and Lucy and Ned had all been loaded into ambulances, though there wasn’t much anyone could do for Lucy in her state. George and Kipps were waylaid by Barnes, but George threw such a fit that he was allowed to ride in the ambulance as well. The pain and fear in his face chilled Lockwood to the bone, so he closed his eyes and let the darkness overtake him again. 

When he next came to, Lockwood was in a small room divided by a curtain. Someone was in the other bed, but he couldn’t see them, could only hear the beep of their heart-rate monitor. It beeped in tandem with Lockwood’s, slow and steady. 

Before long, nurses came in and took his vitals. They gave him water when he asked and explained that he was a very lucky boy, that he’d flatlined during surgery and had to be resuscitated. Fear and guilt pooled in his gut, and Lockwood tried to ask after Lucy, but it came out a jumbled croak of words. 

“Your friend should be back soon,” one of the nurses told him. “The one with glasses. He’s been by your side all day.” 

George was here. George would know where Lucy was—how Lucy was—and would be able to tell him everything he needed to know without sugarcoating it. Lockwood thanked the nurses and they left again, promising to bring him some juice. 

They were right; George arrived not long after, sipping on a Styrofoam cup of tea. He looked haggard and half-dead himself, eyes bloodshot and clothes still covered in blood and gravedirt. He gave Lockwood a small smile when their eyes met, then immediately scowled. 

“I can’t believe you got shot,” George said in lieu of a greeting. “Of all the stupid, reckless things you do on a daily basis, I never expected you to get shot.” He took his seat next to Lockwood’s bed, setting his tea aside. 

“I promise I wasn’t trying to get shot,” Lockwood said. Speaking was getting easier, but his chest still burned something fierce where the bullet had entered. “Lucy, is she-?”

George’s expression darkened. “You know you died on the operating table, right?” 

Lockwood’s heart skipped a beat. He had died. He had died, for a minute. That meant his soulmate-

Ignoring the pain in his chest and the tug of his IV, Lockwood shot up into a sitting position. He gripped his sheets, ready to throw them aside. “Is she- did she- she can’t have-” Everything went numb and cold. Panic fizzled through his veins. Lucy couldn’t be…

“I’ve never watched anyone die before,” George said quietly, looking down at his knees. “She was just…gone.”

The room spun. Lockwood struggled to breath. His hands shook. Lucy had…she had…

“They resuscitated her,” George said quickly, sensing Lockwood’s panic. “She’s alive, Lockwood. They resuscitated her and you and everyone is alive.”

Lockwood fell back against his pillow. The relief was overwhelming. 

“She’s alive,” a voice said from the other side of the curtain. “And can hear everything you’re saying.” 

George grinned and stood, moving quickly to pull back the curtain to reveal Lucy in the other bed. She was still sickly pale and hooked up to as many wires and machines as Lockwood was, but she was here and awake and alive. Lockwood let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Luce,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Lucy smirked. “Yes, Lockwood, I’m sure you were just begging to be shot.” Her tone was joking, but they’d been in a situation a little too similar to that not long ago at Combe Carey. “You couldn’t have known.” 

He couldn’t have, it was true, and he certainly hadn’t begged the Golden Blade to kill him, but there had been so many times before then where he’d put Lucy’s life in jeopardy. He should have cared more before when his soulmate was just a shadow of an idea, but the selfish part of him knew it only mattered now because it was Lucy. 

“Killing you is unforgivable,” he said softly. “You should be angry with me.” 

“Oh, trust me, I’m fuming,” Lucy said. “As soon as we’re out of here, we will be having words. But not because you nearly killed me, Lockwood. Because you nearly killed you—again.” 

George moved his chair to sit between their beds, smiling softly. “We’ll be getting a lot more jobs after this,” he said, taking off his glasses. He rubbed the lenses with the hem of his shirt, but it was so dirty it just made a bigger mess. “Better jobs. More dangerous, high-profile jobs. We’ll need to discuss your habit of getting into near death situations.” 

“Never again,” Lockwood said sincerely, struggling to push himself into a seated position. “I won’t endanger Lucy like that again. Not now that I know.” 

Lucy sighed and gave him a sad smile. “I wish you’d take your own life more seriously.” 

“You know what?” George said. “I’ll take it. I don’t care why he keeps himself alive, just that he does.” 

He laughed and so did Lockwood, but Lucy stayed silent, shaking her head. He knew she was mad at him, but Lockwood found her anger and her concern wonderful. It was a warmth he hadn’t known in years, one that sank into his bones and made his heart feel light. If staying alive meant Lucy was alive, that was enough to keep himself safe. 

But if staying alive meant Lucy was happy, then he supposed that was more than enough to truly live.