#lockwood and co fan fic

[patiencetakestyme]

The Betrothal in the Brothel, Chapter 1

A/N: I took the weekend off, but I'm back! This is my third fic in a series of three.  You can find the links to the other two in my profile, “What She Deserves,” and “A Fair Price to Pay.”  But you do not need to read the other two to read this one; it stands on its own.  

I saw a post theorizing what it would look like when Lucy, Lockwood, and George started to lose their Talents and were forced to retire.  Needless to say, it prompted a question that left me contemplating an answer.  This fic is my answer to that question, and it's my final happy ending for the Locklyle I have maintained throughout this series.  I hope you enjoy reading it!

Lockwood was the first to lose it.  His eyesight faded, eventually becoming so poor that he required yearly eye exams and glasses.  

Next was George.  He barely noticed it at first; towards the end of his days as an agent, he spent far more time in the archives than he spent in a haunted house.  

Last, surprisingly, was Lucy.  It was surprising, given that she was actually the oldest of the three; the difference in their ages was only a matter of a few months—so few that they could be counted on two hands—but, still, it felt noteworthy, especially to George and his curiosity, which, of course, knew no bounds.  

It took time—years, even, after the debacle at Fittes.  The Problem had, theoretically, been fixed.  The barriers in place on the Other Side had been removed, by none other than the agents at Lockwood & Co.  Lockwood had not trusted anyone else to do the job and do it well, and Barnes, in his desperate need for help, was not in a position to object or make a counteroffer.

Being uniquely and singularly qualified—as the only living agents to travel to the Other Side previously and live to tell the tale—they had finished the work and had been compensated nicely for their efforts.  Ghosts, for the most part, were now free to pass on to whatever awaited them after death.  

However, just as it had been prior to Marissa Fittes actively attempting to use the Other Side to prolong her life, sometimes, ghosts simply chose to remain behind; while there were far fewer ghosts plaguing London in the time after the Problem, it was still, in some ways, a problem.  

They continued serving as agents for as long as they could.  Lockwood was twenty-five when his Talent completely disappeared, several years older than Kipps had been when he had already completely lost his Talent.  Lockwood was never one to hesitate to remind them all of that.  Still, he only chose to issue this reminder once he actually started openly admitting to the fact that he was losing his Talent.  

He started noticing it around the time of his twenty-fourth birthday, but he kept quiet on the matter for quite some time.  At first, he told himself that he couldn’t be certain that he was losing his Talent—that that was truly what was happening—but, while he wanted to categorize this as a misunderstanding, he knew enough to call it what it was:  willful ignorance.  

His whole life had been built around being an agent.  He literally couldn’t remember a time prior to picking up a rapier.  

And worse yet, his relationship with Lucy had been, thus far, nearly completely defined by their status as agents.  They had always worked together:  fought together, protected each other.  What would happen when he was no longer able to carry his weight?  

He feared the impact it would have upon their relationship.  They had been together since the days that had followed the debacle involving Marissa Fittes—idly, an internal reminder went off in the back of his mind; their seven-year anniversary was approaching, and he needed to do something about it—but was that likely to change once she knew the truth:  once she knew he had lost his value to her as an agent?  

He dreaded telling her, but, ultimately, she reacted as he—well, not as he expected her to, but as he should’ve expected her to.  

One evening, upon returning home to Portland Row after a case, he decided the time was right to tell her.  The house was quiet; George, Holly, and Kipps were still out on an assignment, Kipps equipped with the goggles Lockwood himself would soon require to successfully carry out his duties.  

There had been a close call on this given night.  He had sensed a ghost—he could’ve sworn he had been able to feel it—but he couldn’t, for the life of him, see it.  He could sense when it moved, but he could not see the actual glow of the thing.  It was horrifying; it was as if he were seeing a movie on a several second delay, and he was constantly stuck a handful of frames behind the rest of the audience.  

Lucy had very nearly paid the price.  The ghost cornered her, and it was only through the directive actions of her trained eyes that he was able to position himself to make a counterattack.  

It was time to tell her, and he knew it.  There could be no more avoiding the matter.  

“Luce,” he called out to her as she exited the attached bathroom.  She had been sharing the master bedroom—his parents’ old room—with him for quite some time.  He could hardly remember a time, now, that she hadn’t called this room home.  Like every other evening they spent together, she emerged from the bathroom dressed in her pajamas and ready for bed.  

He was already tucked in, under the comforter, waiting for her to join him.  Already, from the tilt of her head and the quirk of her eyebrow, he got the sense that Lucy had questions.  It was uncommon for him to be in bed before she even got out of the bathroom, unless, of course, he was in a bit of an emotional state, which happened from time to time:  when he thought back on all the hardships they had faced, when he thought back on all the family members he had lost, when he thought back on their time spent on the Other Side.  Really, there were a plethora of options, when it came to their trauma.  Still, he wasn’t one to dwell, and, even if he was in such a state, he wasn’t one to show it often.

So, she probably knew to be concerned.  But did she suspect what he had to tell her?  It was hard to hazard a guess; Lucy could be a tough one to read.  

“Yeah?” she asked, pulling the covers back and crawling into bed so that they lay facing each other.  

His eyes trained on her face.  He loved her so very much.  The last thing he wanted to do in the world was disappoint her, and he feared he was about to do just that, but there was simply no other choice:  he was losing his Talent, and she deserved to know.  

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he started, knowing that apologies always helped ease the awkwardness of a situation.  “I…I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”  

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips.  “You came through when I needed you.”  

“That’s not—it wasn’t—” he stuttered:  yet another action that was unlike him.  He released a deep breath and attempted to start again.  “I’m losing my Talent, Lucy.  I couldn’t see the ghost—not fully.  It was barely a shadow to me, and I couldn’t follow its movements to save my life—or yours, apparently.”  

Even he could hear it:  the self-deprecating nature of his tone.  He hated himself in that moment, and in a way he only allowed himself to express in Lucy’s presence, he let the full-force of that dislike push through.  He trusted her in a way he didn’t trust anyone else; he allowed himself to be honest in front of her in a way he didn’t in front of anyone else.  

“I know,” she answered, her eyes not stirring from his.  She didn’t seem worried or judgmental or even angry that he had waited to tell her; she, honestly, just seemed as if she wanted to take some of the burden off of his shoulders.  “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”

“How long have you known?” he asked.  Abruptly, he moved to elevate his head so that he could see her better; he brought a hand up to cradle his head and used his elbow to prop it up.  

“Since…” she trailed off, her eyes squinting, as she seemed to try to remember the specifics.  “Maybe the Brixton Banshee case?  Although, I’m still not happy with the paper for assigning that particular name to that particular case,” she meandered, her eyes coming back to his.  “Just because the ghost was a wailing woman, crying over the loss of her children, doesn’t mean she deserved to be called a banshee.”

“You’ve come so far, Luce,” he started, and even he could hear the irony in his tone.  “From your screaming match with Holly in Aickmere’s.”  

“I’ve grown, truly.”  She saw his bit of irony, and undeniably raised him.  “Anyway, you didn’t hear her, which isn’t exactly uncommon for you, but I noticed that you missed a few easy jabs at her with your rapier, which is uncommon for you.

“I don’t think I walked away from that case knowing you were losing your Talent.  I can’t pinpoint an exact moment when I felt that way, if I ever felt that way,” she continued, shaking her head.  “But I just remember being concerned about you—about whether you were maybe sick or off your game.  And then, one day, it just…clicked.”  She paused; her eyes found their focus, as she seemed to return to the present—to the conversation at hand.  “Can you see them at all anymore?”

He nodded, but he could admit that he felt a lump developing in his throat.  “It’s exactly as Kipps used to tell us:  I can sense them, but I can’t see them, and that’s somehow even more terrifying.”  Pausing, he worked to gather his thoughts; he knew he had more to say on the matter, but it was almost as if it were evading him.  Ultimately, he knew his issue:  he feared being brutally honest about it.  

His inability to see ghosts rendered him pretty useless as a leader.  Lockwood had always been their leader.  To face down not being their leader…  He wasn’t sure what his next steps should be, and that was utterly terrifying.  

“Luce,” he started again, his eyes coming back to focus on her.  Seeing her there, laying in front of him, in the bed they had shared for nearly seven years at this point, he started berating himself:  if he couldn’t be honest with her, who the hell could he be honest with?  “If I can’t see ghosts, I can’t be the leader.  I can’t lead us properly when we’re out on a job.  I can’t do anything.  My purpose, my entire life, has been about fighting ghosts.  If I can’t fight them, what am I to do now?”

She shrugged, her expression as casual as ever.  “Retire.”

“Retire?” he asked; his tone was dripping with indignation.  “Lucy, that’s—”

“I mean it,” she cut him off.  The lack of irony in her tone had him hesitating.  “We’ve worked hard, Lockwood.  We’ve done our fair share.”

He continued to hesitate.  There was an implicit conclusion to be drawn from her statement, but he was nearly afraid to ask for verification.  Knowing he had no other choice—he needed to know—he found his courage.  “We?”

She shrugged, again.  He found that he was beginning to hate the maneuver; it was far too casual to competently convey the complexities of the current conversation.  “I’ll retire with you,” she stated, as if it were obvious.  “I’m certainly not going out and looking for another agency to join.”

“Certainly, your loyalty to me has rendered you unwilling and unable to join another agency—” he started, with a fresh batch of irony.

“Oh, I suppose,” she interrupted, with a feigned and dramatic sigh, and he found himself marveling at just how well she was able to top him in packing a punch in a conversation.  “But truly,” she continued, imitating his posh accent—badly; at the very least, it appeared he was not the only one to struggle with mimicking accents.  “What if this hypothetical other agency employs a supervisor?”  She scrunched her nose and shook her head in distaste.

He laughed, temporarily unable to resist the pull of the conversation.  “Of course.  That would truly be the worst of fates,” he responded, doing his best to simply focus on her use of irony and neglect the fact that he had, on some level, been looking for some genuine promise of loyalty in this conversation.  

It was strange; he almost felt as if he had fallen ill.  His inability to see ghosts left him feeling vulnerable, and when he felt vulnerable, he locked things down; he wanted his friends—his family—nearby, closer than ever before.  He had been looking for a reassurance of her loyalty in this conversation, but he understood that Lucy, by nature, tended to avoid that sort of sentiment.  She would listen to him while he expressed his emotions, and she could even express her own on occasion, but she did tend to go for diffusion over compassion.  

He knew this, of course—knew her well enough to know to expect it.  But he could still lament the loss of that reassurance he so desperately needed.  Regardless, he had no choice; he would proceed with the conversation, because that was what he must do.  “And becoming a supervisor,” he carried on, trying to find his footing in this conversation once more.  “The next natural progression in our careers—”

“Isn’t something I’d even consider,” she finished for him.  “Sending kids into death traps, monitoring safely from a distance…” she shook her head, her eyes going out of focus, but only for a moment, as she visibly cringed.  “I could never do it.”  

He nodded, agreeing whole-heartedly.  

“Besides, to do either of those things, I’d have to leave Portland Row—leave during the day…or night, whatever—and go work somewhere else,” she started again, shrugging once more.  Her eyes ran to take in the whole of the room before coming back to meet his, which had snapped up to meet hers sharply.  Was it possible his dose of compassion was forthcoming after all?  “Leaving you and George?” she asked, with another shake of her head.  “I left once.  I’m never doing it again.  No, it isn’t in the cards for me.  So, yeah, if you’re ready to retire, I’m retiring too.”  

He didn’t know how Lucy managed it, but she always did come through in the end.  She’d lead him astray in a conversation, and he’d think he was done for—that he wasn’t going to hear just what he needed to hear, or that she wasn’t going to reach out and grab his hand at just the moment he needed it.  And, somehow, she’d come through at the eleventh hour; she’d say just the right thing and reach for him just at the right moment.

He knew, partially, that this evasive behavior was simply a product of her poor childhood.  She had never properly learned to experience and express her emotions.  He had no real room to talk in that area, but he did consider himself at least advanced in the awareness he had with his emotions.  It was expressing his emotions—particularly when it involved people other than Lucy—that was the bother for him.  Either way, they both had something to learn here, and they were both working on learning it—together.  

“We have the money,” he started again, mirroring her preferred method of expression in this conversation:  a shrug.  “Barnes paid well, considering we ended the Problem, and all.  And we’ve been quite frugal.  With all of our successes over the years, we have quite a bit saved up.”

“Enough to account for George’s monthly Arif’s budget?”

Lockwood winced.  “George may have to restrain himself, but only slightly.  After all, we’ll all have to make some changes.  That’s what one does when they retire.”  

He smiled, but it was false—misleading.  He spoke with confidence, with charm—as he always did.  But what did he know?  His parents had never lived to see retirement.  Hell, he had never anticipated living long enough to see retirement.  He was doing nothing if not playing a guessing game.  But, alas, did he ever do anything different?  As long as he appeared to have everything under control, he knew those around him would follow.  He had to keep strong—for them.  

“We will be fine,” he continued, as much for his benefit as for hers.  “If all else fails, we can always engage in some freelance work.  We do have the best Listener in the country, after all,” he continued, his irony returning to the conversation.

But she didn’t seem to be having it; she shook her head, the severity of the subject matter still clear upon her face.  “If you’re done, I’m done.  I’m not working without you.”  

He wouldn’t exactly say that he had been baiting her with his comment, but, if he had, and if it had been a test, she would have passed with flying colors.  

He loved her in that moment.  He loved her in a lot of moments—they were, after all, in love.  But especially in that moment, he loved her.  

[cameronspecial]

Masterlist

Welcome to my writing! Hope you find what you are looking for and if you don’t, then requests are open for business. Also just comment or send me a message if you want to be a part of any of my taglists.

Rafe Cameron | 2

Drew Starkey

Zach MacLaren

Anthony Lockwood

George Karim

Evan Buckley

Tom Holland

Peter Parker

[pearlcaddy]

lockwood & co appreciation week 💀 favorite ship

Locklyle [insp]

[jesslockwood]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist

Chapter Two

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Ex-Detective!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of Fluff, Swearing, Talk of Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, small details of a death/ murder.

A/n: OMGGGG here's the second chapter, and where everything just goes to shit lol. I love causing pain Let me know what y'all think so far!!!

!!! PLEASE REMEMBER TO REBLOG !!!

It's a free form of "payment" for my hard work for the time and effort I put into my works

Thank you and enjoy ❤️

Lockwood opens the door, surprised to see you standing there in the rain, drenched and shivering. It was nearing dusk, and the haze of the rain and light fading from the day, and the street lamps started to turn on, the glow of them lit up your face.

It had only been two days since he last saw you, and even standing there soaked with your converse full of water sloshing when you leaned onto either foot, holding a grey duffle bag, you took his breath away. It was just the same as your badass move in the house during the ghost fight, even when he saw you getting fired up over his endless and harmless flirting. 

Lockwood finally looked into your eyes, and it wasn’t just the rain that was pouring onto your face, there were tears coming out of your eyes. 

He wanted to bring you into his arms to comfort you, and never let go. That is until he's brought out of his thoughts, when Lucy and George shove their way into the small entryway, to see the same sight he saw. 

“Lockwood Let the poor Detective in!” Lucy says, before making a path for you to step inside. 

When you planted your feet into the home, Lucy maneuvers to shut the door behind you. The home wasn’t what you expected three agents under a small agency to have. To be quite frank, It was quite a bit nicer than you expected.

“Uhh, I’m not a detective any longer, actually.” you blurt out. It seemed as the three heads turned right towards you all at once with the same shocked expression.  

They all turned to look at each other like they were having a private conversation with their eyes. 

“Uh, then uh- Y/n What brings you here?” Lockwood asks with his soft puppy-dog-esq eyes.

That was probably the first time you’ve ever seen Lockwood stumble over his words.

“I needed a place to stay for the night? I can crash on a couch or whatever…” you pause swallowing, “I’d be leaving tomorrow by train, out to the countryside where my mother lives… since I’ve got no job, or job prospects.”

You start drawing circles with your feet. Waiting for their answer.

“Of course you can stay, for as long as you like, actually!” she said through gritted teeth, giving a side eye to the other agent you haven't met, with a curly black mop of hair on his head.

“Just don’t go giving her a job now.” he mumbles, pretty loudly, rolling his eyes, before walking off. 

Before she gives him another glare, “Here, follow me, We should get you dried off, and you can sleep in the attic with me.”she says before dragging you up the stairs. 

Lockwood gives you a sympathetic smile, before he's out of sight.

“Ignore George, he was the same way when I was employed here.” she mentions, before opening a door to a bathroom, giving you a towel. You start to squish the water out of your clothes. 

“I’ll give you the Tour later.” she says, “c’mon I'll show you the attic.”

You got upstairs basically being dragged by Lucy.

It had been a couple of hours since you had entered 35 Portland Row, and Lockwood was sitting in the library, trying to distract him from what just happened. He liked you, but he definitely didn't want you to get involved in all the mess that always seemed to trail behind the three who already lived there. 

 However, the real issue was, he didn't want you to go. He’d miss your banter too much, and especially your wit, and how you weren't charmed by his antics.

He could help but smile, just thinking about how fired up you had gotten over the conversations you've had.

He’s pulled from his thoughts, when he sees you entering slowly through the doorway. 

“Hey.” you whisper.

“Hi.” Lockwood greets you, putting his book down, and sitting up straighter. 

You didn't seem to be soaked anymore, and you were wearing an extremely long t-shirt, with some yellow fuzzy socks on your feet.

“I uh…” you pause, “I just wanted to thank you… and to say goodbye.” you say solemnly.

Lockwood was contemplating his next words as you sat down across from him. 

“We’re the reason you got fired… isn't it?” 

your eyes widen like a deer in headlights, as you gulp before choosing your next words. 

“It’s my fault really… I shouldn’t have helped you…” you say with tears starting to form in your eyes, “There were other reasons too… but it doesn't matter now.”

You take a shaky breath before telling him, “Don’t blame yourself.”

He looks at you with sympathy, before, gently and slowly placing his hand on yours.

“I’ll be okay. My mother moved out to the countryside after my father… She probably needs my company anyways…” you say trying to avoid mentioning it.

You get up to your feet, feeling claustrophobic from the weight of talking about it boxing you in.

“Stay safe, Lockwood.” you say before heading out of the room, to bed. 

The next day, you creep out of Lucy’s bed, that you both had an almost sleepover in.

You couldn't remember the last time you had giggled like that in the early hours of the morning, out of your tired mind as she told you so many of her stories such as the ones of the Quill Kipps vs. Lockwood, or the funny mess ups of their agency, or even better, the failings of the Fittes team. You had even told her of some of the pranks you and James had done to Barnes, which he never could pin it on who did it. 

You wished you could somehow stay close by, and become a friend of Lucy’s. You felt if you had the option, the two of you would be inseparable.

You leave a note for Lucy of your mailing address so the two of you could communicate when you had the time to write letters. You really wanted to say goodbye, but you knew it would just make it harder to leave someone you felt already so close too. 

As soon as you headed downstairs, the smell of food filled your senses, and it was delightful. 

 You decided to skip breakfast, and just eat the snack you had stashed in your locker when you were employed instead. You didn’t want any trouble from George for staying around much longer, nor to face Lockwood. You didn’t think you could refuse to linger just to be close to him, which scared you. 

After your father had died, things just shifted. Your mother didn't let people into the house, and rarely went out. She just shut down everything that used to make her eyes light up. For the hope that one day your father would come back. The same had probably happened to yourself. You made a choice to drown yourself in work, but now that was gone, you didn't know what you had anymore to keep you going, and not dwelling. 

You had got your shoes on, that were still damp, before turning to the door staring at it for a good minute. 

You were broken out of your thoughts, when someone spoke up, “You do know Lucy’s right?”

You turned around to see that It was no one other than Anthony Bloody Lockwood. 

“What do you mean?” you ask confused. 

“I mean,” he takes a step forward cautiously like you’d run if he moved too fast, “You could stay for as long as you like.”

You blink a few times, like if you blinked him away, you could maybe have unheard what you just heard.

“I mean, if you want to. You could even work your wage here. You're not an agent so I couldn’t employ you as one without the proper training, but you could do research with George, or even just…something?” 

he pauses, taking a breath, “I just can't let you go home without trying to convince you to stay… even if it's only for a little while?”

You think on it for a moment, with him fidgeting with the silence. Flashes of your fathers warnings come back to you, but you ignore the caution. You had to do it… after that case the fire for being an agent wouldn't snuff itself out.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Lockwood. You train me as an agent, and I’ll stay. I’ll just do research until I get all my grade levels.” you say trying to strike a deal.

He looks conflicted, like there was an angel and devil on his shoulders, shouting at him all at once. 

He must have decided to be the devil's advocate agreeing, “We have a deal. But any seriously dangerous cases are left to myself, Lucy and George, got it?”

You nod pretending to tip a hat to him that wasn't there. 

He laughs, and it warms your heart.

You take off your damp shoes, as he guides you towards the kitchen.

He yells off towards the direction of the kitchen before the two of you enter, “Hey, George, we're going to need another plate for our new colleague, Y/n!”

You had been staying there for a week by now, and you were ignoring the side eye George kept giving you, as you followed him like a lost puppy, to the library every day. He seemed just annoyed with your presence and the more you ignore his ignorance the more of a bad mood he seems to be in. 

You were glad you at least had Lucy on your side completely, with her giving you the tour of the house, minus what was behind the mystery door, which she defended that it should be Lockwood to show you since it was his home. But she shared a lot of things with you, like a sister would, to confide in. It was nice to have that, since you never had any siblings.

Lockwood was iffy. You didn’t know exactly where he stood half the time. He still seemed conflicted and you couldn't pinpoint the whole reason why. You thought it was just his complex feelings on you becoming an agent, but you didn’t think that was the whole truth to it. He was one of the harder people to read. 

During the week, nearing dusk, after Lucy, George and Lockwood had left for a case, you heard a knock at the door, as you were in the kitchen researching the next case they had lined up.

When you opened the door, you saw James, looking slightly stressed, holding a file folder in his hand. 

“James? How did you-”

“-Find you? There was a rumour that started from Kate that you've been hanging around the George Karim kid, and that you were living here.” he smiles trying to be genuine, but you knew something was bothering him.

“Kate may be a gossip monger but she got it right this time…” you mention, before asking, “So why are you here, out of the blue, other than to check up on me?”

“Since you couldn't access your Dad’s file… I may have flirted with the files clerk to get it.” he says looking guilty, since he knew that was a reason why you got fired, for trying to access it. 

“Don't worry it’s a copy, so you can keep it. Edith copied it for me… just now I'm going on a date with her because of you!” he half jokes trying to lighten the mood a bit before handing it to you.

“Do you want me to stay, or-” 

“I think I need to face this myself.” you say, before he nods giving a small smile, taking his leave.

You looked down at the file like it was death itself. 

You gulp, before closing the door, and heading to the library to read it. 

You were in utter shock. You couldn't believe the piece of paper in your hands and what it said. The pain you felt was even worse than before, causing you to choke up, like you couldn't breathe.

You hyper ventilated for a minute, before sobbing your eyes out. 

It was his fault. 

You could barely fathom all the anger you had inside of you, stretching its way out from the pit of your stomach over your heart. 

You hated his guts. He destroyed everything you had hoped and dreamed for. For your father to come home. To even just have a father. But it was taken all away, and the hope was buried with him.

Now he was six feet under because he was slaughtered by a black market seller, trying to protect him because he wouldn't go. Your father had to have warned them. But it says that he insisted on staying, when your fathers death could have been prevented. If only he hadn’t stayed or convinced his colleague to stay.

Your father was dead, because of Anthony Lockwood. 

You would never forgive him for this. You didn’t think you ever could.

He was the leader and he led someone into their death. An innocent man who had a family waiting for him to come home and to be reunited with. 

The only thing you were given was an empty coffin to represent his body and all it symbolized was the complete emptiness you had from that day on. 

There was no question, once you became a full fledged agent you had to get out of here.

Far away as possible to Lockwood and co, and Anthony Lockwood himself who destroyed everything you had held dear. 

Taglist: @waitingforthesunrise

[grasslandgirl]

you should never know how easy you are to need

hello and welcome to the silly little collage shuffle I made for my silly little hanahaki cot3 fic 🫶🏻🫶🏻 they are so special to me !! (fic summary and details below the cut)

you can read the fic here on ao3 !!

cot3 // Lockwood/George/Lucy. 8k. Hanahaki au.

Hanahaki doesn’t create a lot of ghosts. They’re relatively rare, and when they do manifest, they tend to be fairly placid. Technically, they have their own subcategory of Type One, but Lockwood’s never personally seen one on the job.

Hanahaki death glows, though. He’s seen more of those than he can count.

They’ve usually got the shadowed remains of plant matter spread out around them, so the death glows are distinctive. Once, he could see every petal of a wide rose bloom, glowing in neon green right next to the fellow’s fingers. Body long gone, flowers long dead, but the glow was still pressed into the pavement. Lockwood avoids them, as best as he can. Whenever he sees one, it just makes him grimly thankful that neither Lucy or George have as much strength in Sight as he does. That they won’t be able to see his death glow this brightly when his time comes.

It’s bad enough he’ll have to leave them due to something as drawn out as Hanahaki tends to be. Death by heartbreak, and all. Dreadfully boring.

(and yes the screenshotted lines in the collage are lines from my fic. i am helplessly self indulgent)

“I’m sorry,” he manages to say, but Lucy just shakes her head. 

“I don’t want you to be sorry, you stupid boy. I want you to be alive.”

And how is he supposed to tell her that no one has ever asked that of him before?

[stray-kaz]

Oh Dear, Baby : Lockwood and Co x f!reader oneshot

A/N: This involves the found family as a whole, but heavy on George x f!reader. Sorry, this is probably quite OOC for everyone, I love babies.

The Gist of This: Flo brings an abandoned baby to Lockwood so he can turn him in to DEPRAC safely and without getting her arrested, but Barnes invokes a little known law allowing agency heads to be legal guardians of children under their care until a suitable adult can step in to take over. Barnes drags his feet, simultaneously paying Lockwood and Co, and keeping them out of trouble while they look after the infant.

Warnings: Mention of female chemical sterilisation. Fluff and some sadness.

Thank you, @the-biscuit-agreement​ for giving me “custody” of this idea! I love it and hope I can do it justice.

It was Lockwood’s name being voiced loudly from the other side of the door, but you answered, pulling it open and raising your eyebrows at Flo, standing on the doorstep and awkwardly cradling a bundle wrapped in muslin. Your heartbeat skipped and you pointed at the small package.

“Florence Bonnard, is that a baby?”

“Yeah, sunshine, it is. An abandoned wee boy. Where’s your boss?”

You rolled your eyes at Lockwood being called that and gestured for the baby.

“Give him to me” you said.

Usually, Flo would have waited for Lockwood and would have ignored your order, but something in your tone and in your eyes gave her cause to obey. She passed the sweet, warm weight into your arms and you tugged back the edge of the muslin cover to see his face. A thatch of dark brown hair and impossibly blue eyes peeked up at you.

“Hey” Flo said gently. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”

You met her gaze sharply, but there was no judgement, no malice, just a hint of understanding and sympathy. You shook your head.

“No” you murmured. “It isn’t.”

Flo sighed.

“Look, sunshine, the deal is I can’t take him to DEPRAC because I’ll be detained, at best and at worse, arrested. But Lockwood can do it without blowback. ‘Kay?”

You nodded and backed up into the house, slowly closing the front door. You were just turning, still staring down at the baby, when George paced into the hallway, calling your name. He hesitated when he saw you holding what was plainly a new human child. He glanced beyond you at the closed door and then returned to studying your face.

A year into loving you, George knew three things without a doubt, and one of them nobody else did. One: you loved him. Two: you wanted nothing more out of life than to live long enough to eventually be a mother. Three: when you were fourteen and showing some interest in boys, your agency head had you chemically sterilised.

You looked up and saw him standing a few feet away from you, and felt the colour drain out of your face and your eyes widen.

“Georgie...” you said softly, fearfully. “He can’t be more than six months old! You know what they’ll do. He’ll get shoved into an orphanage and eventually the Talented ones will be weeded out and taken away, and if he isn’t one, he’ll get booted out.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses and sighed heavily.

“I’ll get Lockwood and Lucy” he said quietly, and then without thinking about it, he strode towards you and cupped your face in his hands, lowering his head to press a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll do the right thing.”

You bit your lip and nodded, and walked quietly into the sitting room, standing in the farthest corner and gently swaying with the little boy, your eyes flickering between his face and the open doorway opposite you.

Five minutes later, a wide eyed Lockwood burst into the room, Lucy and George hot on his heels. George pushed between them to stand at your side, his attention distracted by the baby’s blue eyes, which were now locked on his face.

“How do you have a baby?” Lockwood demanded, staring hard at you.

“Flo left him here because if she turns in an abandoned baby to DEPRAC, she’ll likely go to jail. You, on the other hand, won’t.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“This is true” he admitted, resigned. 

He glanced at his watch.

“But, it’s too late to do it now. Should be time to get supplies, though!”

He said this last brightly, and winked at you.

“You and Luce go out to do that and George and I will cobble together a cradle.”

George arched his eyebrows at Lockwood and snorted.

“Oh, we will, will we?” he muttered.

“Having three engineers in the family must have rubbed off somehow, right, George?” Lockwood replied, entirely too cheerful.

“Just shut up, Lockwood, and come help me.”

When you and Lucy arrived at Portland Row, Lucy’s arms held down by shopping bags bulging with nappies, bottles, formula, dummies and clothes. Lockwood swung open the door before you could get to it and beckoned you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

“Come on in, ladies” he said. “Come and see!”

You and Lucy exchanged weighted glances before following him into the bedroom you shared with George. The carpet had been cleared and sat in the middle of the space was an empty drawer lined with a soft blanket, its corners and edges sanded down to smooth roundness. You looked up at George, something stuck in your throat, and he shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, thinking you were disappointed.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice” he mumbled.

You handed the baby carefully to Lockwood and stepped to George, stretching up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him, your fingers sinking into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, Georgie” you whispered, just for him. “It’s just right for Theodore.”

George’s hands landed on your hips and he pulled you away slightly to look you in the eye. Lockwood moved around the room so he, too, could see your face.

“Theodore?” they repeated together.

You smiled over your shoulder at Lucy.

“We named him on the way home” she said, shrugging while staring the boys down as if daring them to argue. “We can’t just keep calling him ‘the baby’ or worse, ‘it’. We decided he needs to have a name. He’s a human, Lockwood, not a Source or a relic. He’s flesh and blood, not plasma.”

George raised an eyebrow and looked over at Lockwood.

“She’s right” he told him. “They both are. He’s a person. Theodore. Strong name.”

You grinned and leaned on his chest, arms around his waist.

“I thought so.”

You woke in the middle of the night and shuffled on your knees to the edge of the bed, only to discover that baby Theodore wasn’t sleeping in his makeshift bassinet. Panic propelled you from the room, socked feet almost slipping on the stairs as you made it to the kitchen, where there was a dim light.

You pulled up short, breathless at the sight before you of George pacing the kitchen, baby nestled in one arm, a half full bottle of formula in the opposite hand. You must have made a sound, for he stopped and glanced in your direction, eyes wide until he saw it was you.

“Sorry if I scared you” he said quietly. “He woke up hungry and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You padded across the floor, leaned down and kissed the sleepy baby’s warm forehead. His eyelids flickered and lips pursed. George watched you closely, knowing that when Inspector Barnes took this baby away, you would be heartbroken.

The next morning, you handed Theodore to Lockwood as he settled himself in the backseat of a cab. You bit your lip hard as you gently stroked the soft dark cap of hair before George grasped your hand and pulled you away from the edge of the curb. He wrapped his arms around your middle and rested his chin on top of your head, hugging you tightly as the cab disappeared, taking Lockwood and your dream with it.

He was back two hours later, carrying both the baby and an official looking document. He didn’t miss the light in your eyes as you jumped up off your chair in the kitchen and took Theodore out of his arms.

“What happened with DEPRAC?” Lucy asked Lockwood, surprised.

He passed her the paper and the three of you gathered together around her to read over her shoulder. You muttered parts of it under your breath as you read.

“...law invoked...infant or young child...under care of agency head...more permanent solution...”

You raised your head and stared at Lockwood, hope fluttering wings inside your chest.

“We get to keep him?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hesitated, then nodded.

“For now, yes. He’s ours” he told you.

You let out a triumphant squeak and flung your free arm around George’s neck, pulling his startled face down to kiss him, your mouth ecstatic and open over his.

“We have a baby!” you stage whispered in his ear.

George nodded, but when you pulled back from him and turned away, he watched you go with dread settling down upon him like an unwelcome visitor. This wasn’t likely to end well for you.

It took a week for Barnes to arrive at 35 Portland Row to check on the home environment the abandoned baby was living in, and when he knocked on the door, no one came to answer it. But he could hear voices from inside, so he tested the door, found it unlocked, and let himself in.

He tracked the voices, steadily getting louder, to the warm kitchen, where he found all four members of Lockwood and Co standing around the Thinking Cloth, all hands pressed down onto the table, and the six month old baby boy rocking gently in a bouncer on the floor, curious blue eyes gazing in the direction of the familiar voices.

Barnes almost laughed out loud when he realised what they were arguing about.

“Theo!” you were insisting, a faint dusting of red in your cheeks.

George’s hand came down on top of yours, covering it entirely.

“I love you, babe, but Teddy is pretty cute” he added, wincing when you glowered at him.

Lucy pushed her hand into the air.

“I agree with George!” she announced.

Next to her, Lockwood shook his head vehemently.

“No, I think Theo is better” he agreed with you.

“So you’ve named him then, have you?”

Barnes finally spoke and all four stopped to stare at him. He noted how you stepped away from George to stand in front of baby Theodore. You crossed your arms over your chest, but still looked small. Small but ready to go to war.

“Yes, we’ve named him. We feed him, change him, cuddle him and wake up in the night to him.”

Barnes eyed you, nodding slowly. 

“Want a baby of your own someday, kid?” he asked.

They all watched you stiffen, but only George knew the reason why. Neither of you bothered to respond, you instead choosing to crouch down and lift Theodore out of his bouncer, tucking his soft head underneath your chin.

“Well, don’t mind me” Barnes continued eventually, trying to bypass the tension. “I’m just here to have a look around and make sure Theo is safe with you four.”

He winked at you and you smiled back, turning in triumph to face the others.

“See?”

It was another whole month before Barnes returned to your home, and when he did, he almost tripped over the largest stuffed zebra he had ever seen, just sitting in the middle of the hall. He looked around him, surprised and a little amazed, to see dozens of polaroid pictures of Theo and his little oddball family stuck to the walls on either side.

Lockwood and Co had experienced a quiet number of weeks at home together, paid comfortably by DEPRAC, Barnes ensured, to keep them away from the dead and keep them safe, them and their ward. Because of this, the house was quiet as he trekked calmly through it, no plans being pawed over on the Thinking Cloth, no chains being oiled, no George nose deep in a book.

Curious, he followed the trancelike sound of white noise coming from behind George’s bedroom door. It was ajar, so Barnes gently pushed it open a little further, leaning against the jamb so he could soak in the image in front of him for a while more.

George and you were facing each other on the double bed, sound asleep, his glasses already leaving indents on his skin. You were both curled like fiddleheads, leaving space in between you for Theo, lying asleep on his back, his head turned toward you. The fingers of one of your hands were loosely tangled with George’s, you having fallen asleep holding his hand, while your other hand was resting lightly on Theo’s tummy, rising and falling with his every breath.

Barnes heard a footstep in the corridor behind him and turned to face Lockwood, who was watching him with a half worried, half determined look on his face.

“You’ve seen them” he said solemnly.

Barnes nodded slowly, and waited.

“Are you going to let us keep Theo?” Lockwood asked quietly.

Barnes took a deep breath in, taking time to hesitate. Then he released it and nodded again.

“Yes, I believe that I am” he said simply, and then turned and left.

Lockwood suppressed a grin as he tiptoed to George’s bedroom door, glancing in at you. Theo shifted a little in his sleep.

“Sweet dreams, Teddy” he said softly. “You’re home now.”

[locklyle1kanij]

Okay it’s time for part two of my Lockwood and Co fic recs, we’re going into the not as known fics and a lot of them are newer and mostly a bit shorter then the other ones i recommend last time.

(and of course they’re all mainly locklyle)

Also spoilers for The Hollow Boy ending if you haven’t read it, bec a lot of these fics have to do with the ending of that book.

Also if you have any trouble finding theses fics just let me know and i can hopefully help you out. ENJOY!!

“A certain step to falling in love” written by: buttonupshirt

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy reads Lockwood's copy of Pride and Prejudice

“A turn of fate” written by: IndecisiveScribbler

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy Carlyle has the worst luck. After getting rejected from what seems like every agency in London, it honestly feels like the world is against her. Fate strikes her with a second chance, though, and she is hired by Fittes as the newest member of Quill Kipps' team. She's prepared to show just how powerful her Talent can be. Anthony Lockwood is having an absolutely terrible time finding a new agent. He and George are struggling, and it doesn't help that Kipps keeps tearing cases away from them left and right. Luckily, he has a plan that will solve both of his problems at once.

I’m other words…

An AU in which Lucy doesn't learn about Lockwood & Co. and gets hired by Fittes instead.

“After the fall” written by: Littlelola

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

THB SPOILERS!! a different way the argument about Lucy leaving L&C could have gone.

“Don’t give up on me” written by: dmh23

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

TCS SPOILERS!! What if after their experience with La Belle Dame, Lucy is absolutely furious at Lockwood for following the Visitor? What if the case forces them to confront their feelings for each other, before their emotions end up causing even more issues for them and everyone around them?

“Drag Me Down” written by: buggybugs

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

After the untimely death of his sister, nine year old Anthony Lockwood is sent to live with a family friend who teaches him how to protect himself. But when a mysterious person drops off a pamphlet when he's seventeen, it's going to change everything. Alongside his untrained psychic powers and newfound friends, George Karim and Lucy Carlyle-Fittes, he'll soon discover that not everything is what it seems. Welcome to Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, where you train hard to become international psychic secret agents....otherwise known as Psychonauts.

[Psychonauts AU, but you do NOT have to play the games in order to read this! The setting and some of the plot points are taken from the game, but a majority of it are worldbuilding things I've created myself to make this concept work so that it can be read by all readers.]

“Give me something to believe in” written by: PiningLikeFineDining

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

A royalty AU where Lucy and Lockwood meet as kids.

(my obsession with Royalty AU’s is honestly pretty concerning lol)

“Glowing Dim As An Ember” written by: LeonaBelle

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lukia doesn't remember her life before she was taken in by Mrs. Karlova. All she knows is she needs to get out of Russia and go to Paris, where she's sure she'll find the key to her past. A snarky conman, Anton, and his comrade Georgiy are her ticket out, with one catch: she has to pose as the Grand Duchess Ludmila. Along the way she finds herself inexplicably drawn to Anton, who seems somehow familiar. Lukia's journey is sabotaged by sinister shadows from her past, and only time will tell if she loses her heart or her life first.

(It’s an anastasia au, and it’s so perfect for locklyle)

“Gutted” written by: Savoirfaire

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

THB SPOILERS!! Lucy is staying away from Lockwood for his own good. Lockwood is too proud to ask her to come back. It'll take a miracle to get them back together. That, or a foot of steel rebar through the stomach.

“Happy endings” written by: Shenanigans24

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

an AU where, Lucy Carlyle is a frustrated writer working a part time job that's leading nowhere. Her problem, she doesn't believe in happy endings. Anthony Lockwood, journalist, isn't looking for a happy ever after. He's far too busy. Both end up for different reasons, at evening classes for writers. Do they deserve their own happy ending? Well first they might have to work together to solve a shocking mystery that sounds as if it belongs in a fiction book.

“I Can See You” written by: scarlettaylor

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy Carlyle is one of the top agents in England, a part of the notorious Fittes Agency. Anthony Lockwood is the founder and leader of Lockwood and Co., an Agency rapidly rising to fame. After the two meet on a case, it seems that fate keeps pulling them together. Navigating being in love as an agent is already a challenge. Hiding it from your respective agencies is a whole other issue.

“just business” written by: menina123

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

THB SPOILERS!! Lockwood’s been looking for a way to get Lucy back all winter, and when DEPRAC decides to host a weekend conference, he finally gets his chance. And if there’s a discount on registration fees for couples (excuse me, pairs)? That’s even better.

(I found this one today and i’m already obsessed with it)

“On The Fence” written by: Mercurial_Rain

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy Carlyle is an art student that stumbles across the Lockwood & Co fencing club while finishing an art assignment. She doesn't expect to see them again, but then, fate will do as it will.

(OMG i can’t believe i forgot about this one!! It’s sooo good!!!)

“The bizarre brink of feelings” written by:

Mirroringdust (MirroringDust)

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

SPOILER FOR THB
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 final 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.

“The Darkness Beyond The Gates: A Halloween Chronicle” written by: worldofkaeos

Finished

Plot Summary:

A day before Halloween, Lockwood and Co. is suddenly tasked with one of the most arduous and dangerous case they had ever encountered. A group of missing agents, an ancient tale of a peculiar girl, and a sudden outbreak of supernatural Visitors in the midst of order, when things seemed to have already calmed down. The stakes are sky-high; will they succeed in their quest and save these agents? Above all: will they make it out alive?

“The Far Side of Paradise” written by: WhimysInkRibbons

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

It's 1930. All around the country, banks are closing their doors as the fallout of Black Tuesday spirals into economic depression. But Hesperide Manor, home of business magnate Marissa Fittes, is a world of glamour set apart. Lucy Carlyle, an aspiring PI, poses as a maid at Hesperide, determined to uncover the secrets of the manor's history in order to trade it for justice for her own. But when her past catches up to her in the form of Anthony Lockwood, the man who betrayed her years ago, she knows a single misstep will cause both their identities to come crashing down. Lockwood has been searching for his parent's and sister's murderer for years, at the cost of his childhood and the girl he once loved. When fate brings them together again in Hesperide, his heart is torn between his growing feelings for Lucy and his desire to put the murderer behind bars. Striking a tentative alliance, Lockwood and Lucy agree to help each other find the answers they seek. But as the days pass, they find themselves both falling for each and becoming more and more entangled in sinister secrets that the wealthy and powerful will do anything to protect.

“the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view” written by: the_one_that_fell

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Not long after the establishment of DEPRAC, it was ruled that all children over the age of seven who possessed any psychical Talents were to go through government-funded training. The day Lucy turned seven, she was shipped off to London to study at Fittes House. There, she met a boy.

“The Lost Months of the Hollow Boy” written by: PininglikeFineDining

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

OBVIOUSLY TBH SPOILERS!!Lockwood begins to realize what a life without Lucy entails, learns more about her through an unexpected visitor, and receives glimpses into her past. Takes place between books 3 & 4.

(If you don’t want to emotional damaged DON,T READ THIS!)(but you should read it tho…)

“What I Know Now written” by: wawabird

Ongoing

Plot Summary:

Lucy closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. Opening them she looked at the two in front of her. As of right now they were her only hope, Mary's life rested in the hands of a socially awkward occultist and his dandy of a friend who would not stop staring at her. Fantastic.
A fun little pre-problem regency au :)

I might make a part three but your gonna have to give me a couple weeks to find more because i’ve name dropped most of my favs i think lol but i will probably eventually make a part three… Also if any of the authors see this post, Thank You sooo much and keep doing what your doing <33333 and of course let me know your fic recs because I LOVE L&C FICS!!

[rachellesedai]

A tiny holiday fic for Lockwood and Co. I've only read the first two books so please forgive any inconsistencies. I just love them so much.

Lockwood & Co Happy Holidays

“What are you doing?”

Lockwood’s cool voice startled me and I teetered on the stool I’d dragged into the living room. I put out a hand and steadied myself, careful not to knock any of the artifacts off the wall where I was attempting to affix a string of lights. Only then did I half turn and look down at Lockwood standing below me, his hands on his hips. I couldn’t tell from his expression if he was amused or annoyed at the transformation I had worked on our little sitting area.

Cut paper snowflakes covered in silver glitter were tacked up in various spots. A few even hung from the ceiling tied to bits of string. An evergreen garland with sprigs of plastic holly wound its way along the shelves and an old-fashioned Christmas village adorned the mantle.

“I found a box of decorations in the basement shoved behind some old sparring equipment. I thought we could cheer the place up a bit.” I turned back to the wall and secured the lights. I bent to step down and found that Lockwood had crossed the room and was holding out a hand to assist me. I took it and hopped down, but rolled my eyes at him. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“No,” he said slowly, “It’s very… festive.”

I peered into his eyes, my stomach tightening as I worried I’d trampled on some old family tradition or brought up an unwanted memory. I opened my mouth to offer to take everything down when George burst into the room. He still wore his puffy coat and his cheeks were red from the cold.

“Did you make this gingerbread, Lucy?” he asked, taking a large bite, “It’s quite g—” George stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening. “What’s all this?”

“Lucy’s done some holiday decorating,” Lockwood said, “It’s quite lovely, don’t you think, George?”

“I thought you hated Christmas,” George stammered, taking in the lopsided miniature tree on the coffee table, “A load of sentimental nonsense, I think you said.”

“I don’t hate Christmas,” Lockwood muttered, at the same time I said, “I should have asked you before putting it up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lockwood said, glowering at George.

I shrugged. “My mum always thought decorations were a waste of money. I guess I was always a little jealous of all those cute little houses covered in pretty lights with their fancy trees and perfect little families inside. When I saw the box I just really wanted to put lights up everywhere and have a real holiday for once.”

I looked away, my cheeks heating up. I hadn’t intended to say all that. The last thing I wanted was for the boys to feel sorry for me. I brushed a bit of glitter off my jumper and wrapped my arms around myself. I studiously avoided looking at either George or Lockwood. The multicolored lights blinked on and off as a thick silence hung in the room.

“Well, I think we could use some Christmas cheer after last week’s job,” Lockwood said, “That abandoned school was enough to dampen anyone’s spirits.”

I sighed. He was right. Dealing with the ghosts of so many children had been depressing, if not terribly dangerous. I risked a look at him and saw that quirky little smile he always used to try and tease me into a better mood.

“A little nonsense will do us some good,” he said, an encouraging lilt to his voice, “What do you think, George?”

“I think it’s fine as long as there is more of this gingerbread,” George said, “In fact, I have something that will make it perfect.”

I looked inquiringly at Lockwood as George hurried out of the room. He shrugged at my unspoken question. “I have no idea.”

I looked around the living room; the glow of the lights reflected off the glitter on my handmade snowflakes. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Lockwood’s fingers brushed mine and I realized he was still standing quite close to me. “If it makes you happy, Lucy, I’m all in,” he said in a low voice. I turned and looked up at him. His eyes were warm and sincere. A riot of butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“I’m very happy,” I whispered. Lockwood leaned in. Our foreheads almost touched.

At that exact moment, of course, George returned. He had shed his coat and was lugging the skull, an old cassette player, and a dusty shoebox shoved under one arm. He was also wearing an alarmingly large Santa hat.

I shook my head, laughter bubbling up as George placed the skull on a chair and put the Santa hat over the top of the jar. “I think we should see just how much Christmas cheer this thing can stand,” George said, plugging in the cassette player.

The shoebox, it turned out, was stuffed with cassette tapes in tiny plastic boxes. George selected one, popped the tape in, and pressed the play button. A slightly tinny rendition of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” filled the room. The skull materialized, an expression of disgust forming for an instant before it dissolved into a sullen green glow.

Lockwood smiled and gave my hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll make some cocoa,” he said.

Soon Lockwood, George, and I were curled up in our chairs, sipping cocoa, and listening to George’s very eclectic collection of Christmas carols. I looked over at Lockwood who had tossed aside his magazine and was leaning back in his chair, regarding me thoughtfully.

Thank you. I mouthed. He nodded, a rather satisfied smile on his lips. I smiled back and settled down to enjoy a rare quiet evening at home. “Happy Christmas,” I whispered to myself, confident this was going to be the best holiday season ever.

[silver-scripts]

You're my downfall, you're my muse

pairing: Lockwood & Lucy

summary: Lockwood goes to grab Lucy’s spectre drawings to add to their report, only to grab the wrong sketchbook and find himself staring face to face with drawings of himself. Or the one where Lockwood is Lucy’s muse

word count: 2.3k

crossposted: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50742568/chapters/128515513

Lucy was sprawled out on her bed, idling flipping through a comic book George had lent her. He’d practically begged her to read it; he said he needed someone to talk to about it, and when Lockwood had declared he was too busy, George turned his bright-eyed gaze to her.

She’d folded to his puppy-dog eyes.

Anyways, she’d found herself surprising enthralled by the plot. She was so engrossed in it that it took her a few moments to hear the gentle knock on the loft door.

“I’m almost done, George! Hold on.”

The door opened, and Lucy didn’t take her eyes off the comic as footsteps entered the room.

But it Lockwood who cleared his throat.

“It’s me, actually,” he said, teetering on his heals. He flexed his fingers in front of his chest.

“Sorry,” Lucy said. “I just figured…” she trailed off. “Anyways, what can I do for you?”

“Holly’s putting together the report for Tuesday’s job. She said you had some done some sketches of the spectres that she wanted to include?”

“Oh, right.” Lucy waved a hand dismissively and returned her gaze to the comic book. “They should be on my desk. You can grab them.”

Lockwood looked across the room at the sprawling mess of papers threatening to spill off Lucy’s desk. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Lucy turned a page in the comic book as Lockwood walked past her, the corner of her eye following him as his lean figure settled before her desk and ruffled through a few pages there.

She glanced up at him through her eyelashes and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. So sue her if she allowed herself a quiet moment to appreciate the curve of his shoulders, the shape of his back. She watched as Lockwood rifled through a pile of papers and a stray sketch feathered its way to the floor, escaping his notice. Carefully, he picked up a small notebook, preparing to move it aside.

Lucy went cold.

“Wait, Lockwood.” She scrambled off the bed in a rush, knocking George’s comic book to the floor. Icy panic filled her veins as she stumbled over to him. Her sketches for work were on the desk, sure, along with the sketchbook she typically ripped them out of.

But there were two sketchbooks. And Lockwood was holding the wrong one.

Lucy suddenly felt very light-headed.

In slow motion, she watched as Lockwood fingered the place-marker ribbon at the bottom of the book and flipped open to the marked page. Her feet felt leaden beneath her. Some kind of chasm had opened up in the pit of her stomach and began to consume her insides. She felt altogether like she was disintegrating from the inside out.

No. The singular word repeated over and over in her brain, blocking out everything else. No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. “That’s…” she started, her mouth painfully dry. There wasn’t a word to fill in the blank, so the sentence trailed off awkwardly. Private, she wanted to say. Stupid.

Lockwood ran a delicate finger down the length of the drawing, letting out a shallow breath.

“Me,” he breathed.

Well, it was that too.

The page he’d opened to was a sketch of him lazing in the library; feet draped over the side of the arm chair, his arm supporting his head as he flipped through one of his magazines. The lighting had been so soft, so hazy, that he looked like he’d walked out of a dream, that night. The fire had danced in his eyes as he read, lit the laugh lines on his face when he snorted at some idle piece of gossip in the news. Lucy couldn’t resist the urge to sketch him, then. She never could.

Before she could stop him, Lockwood turned the page in her sketchbook, and there he was again, rapier raised high in a defensive maneuver against Lady Esmeralda, his brow creased in concentration. His sleeves were pulled high up his arms, drawing an obnoxious amount of attention to the muscles in his forearms. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was biting his lip. Worse yet, his shirt had come untucked slightly in the back, revealing a small strip of skin that Lucy had had trouble tearing her gaze away from. She regretted, now, the care and detail with which she had rendered it, and felt a hazy blush creep up her cheeks at the memory.

The opposing page had a drawing of him in the kitchen, scrawling something on the Thinking Cloth. He had a hand tangled in his hair, which was askew in several places from him tugging at it in frustration. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his brows were furrowed in thought. The early morning light had washed him in an almost angelic glow; the ring of light above his head had even supplied a halo effect.

“Lockwood,” she started, feeling uncomfortably sick.

As if he didn’t hear her, he turned the page again. On it, a sketched version of himself was lounging in the shade of the apple tree in the back garden. It was so rare that Lockwood & Co. had any free time, and when they did, it was often colored with a feeling of unrest, like they should be out doing something. This had been one of the rare days where they not only had free time, but had felt inclined to use it to enjoy a rare sunny autumn day; Lockwood held an apple idly in his hand and was using a knife to cut off small chunks of it at a time. His mouth was spread wide in one of his signature grins, and his eyes were squinting slightly from the sun.

Lockwood — the real one — looked up from the page like he was coming out of a trance. He turned to look at Lucy, and she wished, not for the first time, that she was able to read him. She could sense the emotions of visitors just fine, but her talent with the dead apparently didn’t extend to the living. She could never tell what his expressions meant.

“This is…” he started, his eyes wide.

Lucy’s face felt like it was on fire. “I know. I’m sorry,” she said quickly. She fumbled with the papers on her desk, desperate to busy her hands with something, and flipped desperately through the drawings before she found the ones of the spectre Lockwood had come looking for.

Lockwood had turned the page again when she wasn’t looking, revealing a drawing of him standing with his back to her, coat flapping in the wind. They’d been standing in the front garden of one of their jobs, waiting for night to come. In a panic, Lucy ripped the book out of his hands and tossed it back on her desk.

“Right, well.” She blew her bangs out of her eyes and pushed the spectre drawings towards him, but he looked as if he were ghost-locked. His hands still hung in the air as if he was holding an invisible sketchbook. “Lockwood?” she asked.

He blinked, dropping his arms. He looked at the sketchbook where it now lay haphazardly on the edge of the desk. The tiniest of creases had formed between his eyebrows. Were she not so used to studying his face (and then drawing it), she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “You…” he began.

“Please,” Lucy pleaded, desperate to avoid whatever accusation she knew was waiting on the tip of his tongue. She pushed the spectre drawings towards him again, feeling if he stayed a moment longer, she was going to start crying out of sheer embarrassment. “Just take these and go.”

Lockwood let out a shaky breath. He reached forwards, running a finger over the cover of the discarded sketchbook. Lucy felt her heart roaring in her ears. It would be just like her to make this entire situation worse by throwing up on his shoes.

“You draw me,” he whispered. It felt more like he was speaking the words to himself, simply thinking out loud, than it felt like he was talking to her.

Lucy set down the spectre drawings with a sigh, her hand falling loosely to her desk. She prayed he wouldn’t open the book again and discover just how many of those drawing there truly were. “Only sometimes,” she admitted quietly.

“No one’s ever…” he started, glancing up at her. She’d seen him look at her a thousand times, but the way he was looking at her now froze her in place. It felt like his eyes were looking into the deepest recesses of her soul, had peered straight into her heart and seen the truth in it. It only made her panic even more. It wasn’t hard to jump from the drawings to the obvious conclusion — there was only one reason she’d spend so much of her time painstakingly rendering him again and again.

She could feel her brain already trying to come up with ways to deflect the truth. They were just drawings, after all. She spent most of her free time drawing!

“They’re stupid, sorry. You should see the ones I’ve drawn of George. Or Holly, for that matter.” The words poured out of her in quick succession. “The lighting in this house is just really great, and all, and sometimes it’s nice to not just draw Visitors and floor plans, you know? And-”

Lockwood grabbed her face and kissed her.

If Lucy had known he’d kiss her to shut her up, she would have made more of an effort to ramble on about nothing in the past.

His fingers pressed delicately against her chin and the side of his cheek. The heat from his touch warmed her, the feeling akin to the first sip of tea on a chilly morning.

Lockwood’s gentle, questioning kiss grew hungry when he felt Lucy kiss him back. His grip on her grew desperate, and he took a step forwards, forcing Lucy’s back against the desk. The force of it knocked over her pencil cup, sending various writing supplies clattering loudly to the wooden floor.

Lockwood started at the noise and pulled away, as if remembering himself. His eyes shone, but almost immediately that light grew clouded. He pressed his swollen lips together and took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. He avoided her gaze, and his cheeks flared with color, spreading to the tips of his ears. “That was… unprofessional of me, to say the least.”

Lucy’s immediate thought was that she didn’t care if it was unprofessional. Mostly, she cared that he had stopped. She wanted to grab his tie and pull his mouth back to hers, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She was still leaning haphazardly against the desk, and Lockwood swallowed hard before reaching around her to finally grab the spectre drawings. His arm brushed against hers, and his closeness sent her spiraling.

Say something, she chided herself. But she felt wholly frozen in place.

“Right, well. I’ll just take these.” He nodded at her and turned around, the edge of his foot pressing against the comic book that still lay strewn on the floor. Tenderly, Lockwood bent down, picked it up, and placed it delicately on the edge of her bed.

She knew the moment was breaking, knew she was losing her chance. But what was she supposed to do?

“Lockwood,” she said, her mouth moving before she could stop it. He hesitated. He never hesitated. Lockwood turned, but she hadn’t planned this far. Her face felt hot — some awful mix of embarrassment and attraction — and she was fairly certain her mouth was hanging open. He looked at her expectantly, and words tumbled out of her mouth before she even knew what she was going to say. “Don’t just… leave.”

Lockwood forced a smile. “I just… figured I’d save myself the embarrassment and see myself out.”

“Embarrassment?” she asked. The incredulous lilt in her tone made Lockwood wince slightly, but she was so shocked by his statement that she nearly had to laugh. “Why are you embarrassed?”

His face lifted in confusion. “I just…“ he started. “Got caught up in the moment, I guess. I didn’t mean…” he trailed off.

To kiss me?

Lockwood’s cheeks were flushed, and he looked wholly unsure of himself. He stood at a slight angle, like he was desperate to leave the room as quickly as possible.

And then something clicked in Lucy’s head.

He’s embarrassed because he doesn’t think I wanted to kiss him.

Lockwood shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Lucy just blinked at him.

“It’s okay,” he said tightly. “I can just… go.”

The words settled in the air, and really, Lucy couldn’t believe him. It felt like everyone was always making quips about how she looked at him, so while she’d been terrified when he’d seen the drawings, there’d been a small part of her that had figured he’d already known the truth.

But she hadn’t considered this.

“Gods, are you that thick?”

Hurt flashed across Lockwood’s face, but it was gone in an instant, because with two steps Lucy had crossed the room and kissed him. Embarrassingly, she had to step up to her toes to reach him, but Lockwood didn’t seem to mind. The drawings forgotten, they fell to the floor as he immediately tangled a hand in Lucy’s hair, the other settling on the square of her back. He pulled at her waist, tugging her closer still. He tasted of honey and mint, and a sweetness that melted Lucy to her core.

Breathless, Lockwood pulled away. His eyes were bright, if not a bit confused, as he searched her face. “What…?” he asked. The blush had returned to his cheeks, and it seemed he was having trouble not smiling.

“Why the hell do you think I draw you so much, you idiot?”

Lockwood’s blush deepened as his grin spread wider across his face.

[plattypie-humano]

After a particularly tough case, all Lucy can do is go up to her room, drop her backpack next to her on the bed, and collapse from exhaustion. While she’s asleep, she has this strange dream of what seems to be a collection of memories. She sees seances, kidnappings, grave digging, and the construction of something the same shape as a plate, or perhaps a clock, or maybe even a mirror. Though, that is not only the strangest part. Through someone else’s eyes, she sees a fire, one that destroys a stately house, she can hear voices and screams coming from inside but she can’t get their body to move. After a while of just watching the horrid scene unfold, the head of whoever’s body she is looking from starts to tilt downwards. There’s a packet of matches and an almost empty bottle of alcohol (maybe whiskey, maybe port, she can’t see too well in the dark, either way it’s an expensive looking brand).

One more scene flashes before her. Someone, maybe the same age as her but with the height of Lockwood stands before a mirror. Their face I covered in soot and their hands are drenched with blood that doesn’t seem to be their own. They have a mop of black/dark brown hair that is messy and windswept, their cheeks are red from running and, from closer inspection, they have a sea of freckles scattered over their nose and under their eyes. Their eyes. Oh, their eyes. Lucy could get lost in them. They were chartreuse with speckles of brown nearer the centre. They were puffy from crying (perhaps?) and had bags underneath, as if they hadn’t slept for weeks. Whoever this was, they were angry, their breathing heavy and uneven, visibly shaking with rage. They still had the bottle with them and they had such a grip on it that she thought the neck would just snap off. Suddenly, they drop the bottle to the floor and she can hear it shatter. But she had no time to register that before they punched into the mirror with their right fist, breaking the glass into thousands of pieces and now covering their hands in their own blood and not just a third party.

This causes her to bolt up in bed, finally waking up. Something is heavy against her hand and she sees that her backpack had fallen over while she slept and had tipped Skull’s jar out, rolling it onto her hand.

She wondered why the sensation of the dream was so familiar. It was like sticking your head under the water in a bath and only hearing muffled voices. But it clicked soon enough. Skull hadn’t said one word to her the rest of the day, not even a rude gesture or weird facial expression. He was refusing to talk to her. Any other day, this would have been strange and abnormal, but to Lucy, she thought it was understandable.

After all, she had invaded his privacy.

She had listened to him in her sleep

[desos-records]

Masterlist (Ao3)

*in progress

The Hidden Archive [L&Co]*

-

[Jason Todd]

Blood Stained Glass*

Catharsis

Peach Tea

Written in Skin, Not in Stone

-

Melancolia [Hades Game]

-

Missing in Action [Marvel]

[patiencetakestyme]

The Betrothal in the Brothel, Chapter 4

At the top of the stairs, they stopped, building in yet another line of retreat:  another circle of iron, another line of iron chains; they now had a clear track down the stairs to the safety of yet another iron circle of chains.  

They finished this task quickly and silently before turning to take in the look of the remainder of the room.  From what Lockwood could see, it had served as a combination of a bedroom and an office, not so dissimilar, he could not help thinking, with a barely repressed scoff, as the rest of the building:  a brothel was, after all, a place of work featuring almost solely nothing but beds.  In the far right-hand corner of the room, there was a four-poster bed, situated at an angle.  

Off to the left, pushed against the wall, was a vanity featuring an obscenely large mirror and a drastic number of spider-webs.  Instantly, Lockwood knew the Source was most likely hidden somewhere in the depths of that vanity.  

Across from it was what appeared to be Ms. Campbell’s desk; there were still papers littering the wooden surface, albeit crinkled and decaying, as they were.  At the center of the room was a high-backed, Victorian-era chair; it looked like its purpose was to be attractive, not comfortable.  It, too, featured spider-webs, but not nearly as many as the armoire.

The temperature here was noticeably colder than anywhere else in the house.  As soon as they claimed the landing, he felt the chill hit his skin in a way it hadn’t previously.  His eyes dried out, watering from the onslaught of the cold.  

Sharply, he recalled that he still had not put his goggles back in place after their interlude on the stairs.  Putting them back on, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but something knew they were there:  he couldn’t feel it with clarity, like he would’ve at one time, but he just knew it was only a matter of time until the ghost revealed itself.

He chanced a glance at Lucy.  She, it seemed, was just as alert as he was.  Acutely, something changed:  something was coming, and he could feel it, in a more concrete way than he had been able to a moment prior.  He and Lucy closed ranks; they settled into their circle of chains and waited.  With a pulse he actually felt—albeit, not as strongly as he would’ve felt prior to losing his Talents—she appeared, sitting upon the chair as if it were her throne.  

With the goggles, he could make out the shape of ghosts.  He had become intimately familiar with the articles of clothing missing from the men on the floors to be found down below; he was certainly able to see at least that much.  But the details:  the eyes, the lips, the cheekbones, they could be quite difficult to differentiate.  He knew that this ghost was a woman, and that she had been fairly tall, with her hair pulled in a tight bun at the top of her head, but that was about all the details he could discern.   

Lockwood had never shared the Talent that Lucy had:  he had never been able to perceive the minute motivations of a ghost.  Quite frankly, he didn’t overly care. Their client for this particular case was interested in selling this property so that apartments could be built in its place, but building on previously haunted land was a risky endeavor; it needed to be fixed first.  As far as he was concerned, he was here to secure the Source, and nothing else mattered.  

Besides, given what they had seen thus far, he thought it was pretty easy to figure out the underlying motivations of this ghost:  any men that did not treat her employees well were disposed of.  

Feeling a bit reckless, he poked his foot outside the iron circle.  Sensing him, the ghost immediately stirred, sitting up and at attention.  

“Lockwood,” Lucy whispered, warningly.  “Be careful.  You might be rusty.”

“Me?  Rusty?” he scoffed.  “I take offense at that.  I still practice daily with the cheaper rapiers we keep in the basement, a fact that you are keenly aware of.”  She smiled but said nothing in return; he didn’t need her to:  he had caught her watching him practice on more than one occasion.    

As he moved to stand outside of the circle, the ghost took answering actions; she came to stand and took a floating step or two to approach him.  He could feel it instantly:  the ghost’s attempt at ghost-locking him.  He couldn’t hear her—he had never really been able to hear ghosts, even prior to losing his Talents—but he could feel her; she was trying to wiggle around in his brain, much like Le Belle Dame had done so many years ago.  

He suspected she was going through the motions she had exhibited while still living:  she was most likely, in Lockwood’s opinion, attempting to persuade him to partake in some of the activities once afforded by this brothel.  She approached him, and it was blurry—muddled around the edges—but he could’ve sworn he saw her quirk an inviting finger in his direction.  

While there were not many benefits to the fact that he had lost his Talent, this was one of them.  Yes, the average adult was more susceptible to ghost-lock:  unable to see ghosts, they did not have any indication as to when to make efforts to combat the control the ghost attempted to exhibit when it tried to lock them.  But armed with the goggles and his own experiences of fighting off ghost-lock, he found he was quite up to the task.  

“No, thanks,” he responded, with a shake of his head, a quirk of his eyebrow, and a withdrawal of his rapier.  “I think I’ll pass.”  With a flourish, he pushed closer towards her, baiting her with his rapier; he didn’t mount an offensive attack—not yet—but he put her in a position where she would fear it.  

His plan worked; she retreated, heading towards the vanity as she did so.  Lockwood fought back, pushing her away from the vanity and back towards the center of the room.

Lucy slipped behind him to approach the vanity.  If the ghost protected that area when pressed, it was highly likely that that was where the Source was concealed; this, combined with the immense number of spider-webs evident on the surface of the armoire, made for a convincing argument.  

No words needed to be exchanged to establish the plan; they had done this dance together many times before.  Lockwood went on the offensive, charging forward, his rapier positioned to slice through her ectoplasm.  Ideally, she would dissolve for a few minutes, allowing him to help Lucy with finding the Source.  

But Ms. Campbell proved to be a particularly tricky spirit.  He kept trying to corner her—to slice through her with his rapier—but she always evaded him at the very last second.  Alternatively, he now had no other choice but to chase her around the room, jabbing at her periodically and hoping for the best.  

“How’s it going over there, Luce?”

“Perfectly fine,” she answered, the irony dripping from her tone.  “But there’s an endless pile of shit packed in these drawers.  No way to tell which one is the Source.”

“Why not just cast a wide net?” he suggested, as he leapt over the bed and jabbed his rapier forward; yet again, he narrowly missed her.  

Lucy didn’t respond, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she had caught on to his meaning.  She extracted a silver net from one of the pockets on her belt and threw it over the entire armoire.  

Nothing happened.  Actually, that was not true; the ghost not only failed to disappear:  she charged.  It was Lockwood’s turn to just narrowly miss her strike, as he dodged out of the way at the last second.  

“Guess that’s not going to work, then,” he conceded, as he once again resumed his dance with Ms. Campbell around the room.  

“Nope.”  But Lucy had already cast off the silver net and settled back into the work at hand:  picking up individual items within the drawers to see if any prompted a particularly contemptuous reaction from the ghost.  

Lucy’s survey of the vanity was undeniably going to take several minutes.  While some agents that had lost their Talents may dread the position they were currently in—under attack, with minimal context as to what the Source could be or how to contain it—it perfectly suited Lockwood’s needs.  

He waited a few moments more, until he could be certain he had found and secured his rhythm in the conflict with Ms. Campbell.  Once he felt assured he had reclaimed his confidence in the fight—and that, therefore, it was safe to divide his attention—he sought out pursuing his other goal:  the goal that was far more important than defeating this ghost.  

“Lucy, I’ve been thinking—”

“Oh, marvelous,” Lucy responded, her tone leaving her meaning ambiguous.

“You found the Source?”  He hesitated, turning slightly to get a better view of what she was doing, but he was surprised to find her still rummaging through the contents of the armoire.  

“No, I just know you well enough to be concerned when you start with ‘I’ve been thinking.’”

He released a humorless laugh; he couldn’t help it—she wasn’t wrong.  “Would you like me to abstain from proceeding?” he asked, all the while sending another pointed jab Ms. Campbell’s way.  Yet again, she evaded it.  

“No, might as well,” she started, with a shrug Lockwood just caught out of the corner of his eyes.  “Not like we’re busy or anything, is it?”  

“Fair.  This is a cakewalk compared to Winkman—”

“Or Hell,” Lucy added.  

“Yes, again, fair.  Anyway,” he paused, drawing in a breath to quell his excitement.  “I think we should get married.”

There was a loud clatter.  Lockwood was not fazed; he cast a singular glance over his shoulder and spotted that Lucy had merely dropped an entire drawer of contents from the armoire.  Nothing overly unexpected there; he turned back, giving Ms. Campbell another jab or two as he awaited Lucy’s response.  

“You think we should get…” she trailed off, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shaking her head, as if she were very confused.  “What?”

“Married,” he repeated, not changing his tone or his disposition in the slightest:  he was nothing but his usual picture of calm confidence.  

“Why now?” she asked, and this, admittedly, did throw him for a loop.

“Do you mean why am I asking now,” he started, but paused as Ms. Campbell made another lunge for him.  Once that matter was taken care of, he resumed his course in the conversation.  “Or why do I think we should get married now?”  

“Both—neither—I don’t—ugh,” she stopped, fisting her hair in both hands.  “Lockwood, why are we having this conversation now?” she asked, with a nudge towards Ms. Campbell, just as she mounted another counterattack.  

Lockwood deflected it with ease.  “This is how we’ve lived our entire life together, isn’t it?” he asked, his smile stronger—more confident—than ever.  He threw in another shrug for good measure.  “There’s no better way to ask you to marry me, in my opinion.”  

“And…why now?” she asked.  Lockwood idly noticed that she had completely abandoned her search for the Source.  He couldn’t blame her; his attention was also definitively divided.  “We’ve been together…” she trailed off, and he was fairly certain she was attempting to do the math.  

“Fourteen years,” he supplied, kindly.  “We’ve been together for fourteen years.”

She nodded, signaling to him that, while she may have sought confirmation on that number, she had, at her core, remembered it.  

Ms. Campbell launched another attack.  Having had enough of the ghost—for the moment being, anyway—he stopped deflecting and sought to go on the offensive once more.  With an aggressive swipe of the rapier and, of course, a little added flair thrown in, he pierced her ectoplasm and sent her dissolving—for now, at least.  

Lucy had his full and undivided attention in a matter of moments; he turned to face her and started to approach her, his eyes trained on hers, his heart hammering in his chest in excitement.  Lockwood walked right up to her, grabbed her hands in his own, and allowed his full and unfiltered excitement and anxiety to reflect upon his face.  He didn’t often let people in, but when he did, it was often her, and it was often in moments such as this.  

“Honestly?” he asked, with yet another accompanying shrug; perhaps her favored method of expression was rubbing off on him after spending fourteen years together.  “I don’t know why I’m choosing to ask now.  I guess I just figured…” he trailed off, his smile coming back, albeit still slightly nervous.  “Why not now?  I don’t know why I’ve waited so long.  I suppose I always just sort of felt like we were already married, in standing if not in title,” he admitted, with a small laugh.  “But I know I don’t want to wait any longer.  I want the title too.”  

“Lockwood, titles aren’t really…” she trailed off, with a small shake of her head.  

“I know,” he started, with a nervous laugh.  “Titles aren’t really your thing,” he finished for her, nodding in understanding.  “Maybe that’s why I waited so long to ask.  Maybe I didn’t want to put you in that position.  I know what your childhood was like,” he conceded.  “I know why you’re hesitant about marriage.  But if you’ll let me,” he continued, taking another step to pull in close to her.  “I’d love a shot at changing your mind about that particular title.”  

Lockwood released an anxious breath; even he could hear how shaky it was upon release.  He kept his eyes glued to hers, even as hers wandered the room in thought.  

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” she asked, her eyes coming back to his.  He couldn’t believe what he saw there:  was he mistaken, or were there tears gathering in the corners of her eyes?  

He released another nervous laugh.  “Lucy,” he started, managing to find a way to step in just ever-so-slightly closer to her in the process.  “Did we not just establish that we’ve been together for fourteen years?  We’ve fought countless ghosts together.  We took down Marissa Fittes together.  We ended—well, at least reduced—the Problem together.  We’ve been to Hell together—twice.  

“I’ve seen you at your best and I’ve seen you at your worst,” he continued, with a slow, confident nod.  “It isn’t that you can’t do anything to surprise me at this point—you surprise me literally every single day—but certainly, there’s nothing you can do to scare me off at this point.  

“You are it for me, Lucy,” he stated, echoing a statement he had issued to her many, many times before.  But just like every time he had said it before, it was of utmost importance that he say it in this moment, and say it again; he wanted to leave no room for doubt in his words.  “And if you say no—if you just want things to stay the way they are right now—I’ll gladly accept that.  I’m extremely happy just living my life with you.  I would be very satisfied living out the rest of our days, retired together.”

She scoffed, as her eyes ran to survey the room.  “Retired?”

“Well, we gave it a shot,” he conceded, his own smirk returning at the familiar shift in tone.  “It didn’t stick.  And,” he emphasized, pushing forward before she had a chance to question it further.  “If you want to give this a shot too, I’m ready,” he finished, with a resilient nod.  His smirk had faded; his sincerity had returned, as his eyes remained locked with hers.  

Suddenly, her eyes shifted, and he knew without one word exchanged that their company had returned.  With a flourish, he withdrew his rapier and entered the fray with Ms. Campbell once more.  

He could hear Lucy rummaging around in all the items she had dumped upon the floor.  Lockwood held the line, engaging Ms. Campbell in combat and reading her for any shifts in demeanor.  He just had to wait her out; something would eventually cause a reaction, and he would know, then, that they had found the Source.  

“I still don’t understand why we have to get married,” Lucy complained, even as she tossed a few antiques over her shoulder.  “What difference does it make?”

“None, I suppose,” Lockwood conceded.  

“Then why do it?”

“I want to,” he answered, with a shrug, even as he brushed off another attack from Ms. Campbell.  “Do you?” he asked, when he suddenly realized he had not actually thought to ask her that.  

She was silent for a while.  She maintained the pretense of shifting through shit from the armoire, but he knew it was more than just that.  Every second that passed, he knew she was mulling over his question.  He didn’t mind the delay; it meant that whatever answer he received would be well-considered and, more importantly, final.  

That didn’t mean his nerves weren’t with him.  The fight did not bother him; he had learned Ms. Campbell’s attack pattern by this point.  What worried him was the crushing of his soul that would result if Lucy said no.  

“I think I do, yeah,” she finally answered, and he nearly dropped his rapier; he only salvaged it at the very last second.  “And, honestly, that might be the part that scares me the most.”  

“Lucy,” he started, his tone straightforward and to the point.  Seeking another short reprieve, he threw a salt bomb at Ms. Campbell.  Her ectoplasm fizzled, but she did not fade; she merely struggled for a few seconds.  He used every one of those seconds to his benefit.  He swept over to Lucy in two long strides, scooping up her hands, complete with the ring that still lingered there as a result of her rummaging through the trash.  “Do you trust me?” 

She stared at him, but she didn’t hesitate for long.  “With my life.”

“I trust you, too.  I’d never willingly hurt you, and if you give me a shot at this, I promise to do everything in my power every single day to make sure it doesn’t turn out like your childhood did.”

Lucy did not speak—not at first.  Several seconds of silence ensued, and Lockwood counted every single one of them:  not only as a result of his anxiety, but as a method of ensuring he could guarantee that Ms. Campbell was still struggling with overcoming the salt bomb.  Just when he thought he might be getting close to running out of time, finally—finally—she spoke.  

“Ask me again,” she demanded.  

He didn’t hesitate.  “Lucy, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes locked on his.  

His smile erupted; he was genuinely unable to repress it.  “Let’s secure this Source and get the hell out of here.”

But glancing back at his old sparring partner, Ms. Campbell, he began to suspect they may have made more progress than they had given themselves credit for.  She was still struggling through her foibles with the salt bomb, which seemed out of place, given how avidly she had fought previously.  With a flourish, he turned, nabbing the ring from Lucy’s hand.  

“Think this is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered, sounding frustrated.  “In the old days, I would’ve been able to feel it from across the room.  But now…” she trailed off, with a groan.  

“I know,” he conceded.  “The goggles help, but they can’t do everything, can they?”  He glanced back over his shoulder at the delightfully screeching Ms. Campbell.  “Let’s give it a shot, shall we?”  

As if she had read his mind, Lucy had already started shifting; the ring was encased in silver netting before he had even finished the suggestion.  Sure enough, in a matter of seconds, Ms. Campbell had dissolved—this time with a finality that implied it was for good, or at least, for as long as the silver netting remained intact.  

They turned to face each other, and Lockwood could tell that Lucy feared a lapse into an awkward silence.  Nearly immediately, she asked, “what now?”

“What else?” he asked, holding his hand out for her to grasp; she accepted the invitation immediately.  “We go home—together.  And maybe,” he started, with a tisk of air released between his teeth as they started to disembark down the stairs.  “You can start working on a way to install these lenses in my glasses, so I don’t have to wear these dreadful things,” he finished, with a delicate prod to the goggles in question.

Begrudgingly, though, he could privately admit that he was grateful for the goggles.  Even now, their value was priceless; the first thing he noticed as they approached the landing for the third floor was that the men that had previously occupied this floor had now disappeared.  Perhaps, without the presence of their murderer, they were now free to move on.  

Lucy scoffed, bringing his attention back to the conversation.  “You’re lucky I love you just as you are, Lockwood.  You’re quite obsessed with your appearance, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, even as he removed his goggles and strapped them to his own work belt.  “You love me for it, as you’ve just confirmed.”  He paused his progress down the staircase, as a snarky idea occurred to him.  “I suppose I could be like George instead, if you would prefer?”  

“Ugh,” she scoffed, yet again.  “You know my answer.”  

“Yes,” he answered, unable to check his smile as he thought back on the answer she had already given him tonight.  “Yes, I think I just might.”  

A/N:  And that’s it!  I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, and if you have enjoyed it, I’d very much appreciate it if you would consider checking out my series of young adult supernatural/fantasy novels!  You can find it here!  Thank you for any and all support!  

[kengi-bengi]

for anyone wondering what the hell ive been doing for the past few months- [aside form college and work]

Ive been making a novels length of a ghost-lock fic for Lockwood and Co...

curently the halfway point is already at 100k.... if any of you are old fans, you know I've only ever posted liek 1 fic, and it was only 30k...

[pearlcaddy]

locklyle week 2023 🍞 love languages yearoftheotp ♡ hurt/comfort Something In Your Soul That We Could Recognise Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood Tags: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Suicidal Thoughts (nothing explicit or super heavy--emphasis on the comfort), Cuddling

Summary: Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but it’s obvious to Lucy from the first moment she sees Lockwood that morning. His every movement is slightly slower than usual, like someone’s sewn lead into his skin and weighed him down. Lucy realises Lockwood is having a hard day and offers him comfort. The offer is not optional.

[jesslockwood]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist 

Chapter Three

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Detective!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Angst

A/n: hello friends! I'm sorry I haven't posted in forever!!! its going to be a busy summer for me as its my last year in my acting program, and I have professional Shakespeare shows coming up (auditions and rehearsals) soon. I really hope to be active but im not sure how active I will be but I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Add yourself to the Taglist

In all of Anthony’s life, he wanted people to love him. He wasn’t sure why but the praise of others and the showering of adoration towards him just gave him the feeling of being loved. Maybe it was because that’s what his life was missing, love. 

The current problem with wanting to be even just admired, was that you wouldn’t speak to him, unless absolutely necessary or with someone else in the room. He couldn’t pin point what had changed, but it put him in a grouchy mood. 

He had even snapped at George and Lucy at one point, because of it, which he felt bad about.

He just couldn’t understand why you would all of a sudden you just seem to loathe the mere presence of him. 

That was until he saw you having a conversation with none other than Quill Kipps in the library. That made Lockwood want to explode. He did his best to keep his composure, but how could he? Especially when someone he cared for was talking to his rival. 

You had laughed at something he said, before Anthony made his way over. 

“Tony! I see you have a new agent in training on your hands.” Kipps seemingly tries to antagonize him, “I thought you had enough troubles trying to keep your agency afloat, Being such a small and insignificant one.” 

Lockwood grits his teeth, and his fist goes into a ball, clenching it so tightly. 

“Anyway, my offer still stands.” He says directed towards Y/n in a overly confident tone before making his leave.

Anthony tightens his jaw even more if that was even possible to do so.

You shake your head while smiling, as Kipps leaves and Anthony notices. 

“When’d you get so chummy with Kipps?” He asks with an intensity that you can only describe as uncomfortable.

You ignore his prompted stare down, and shift over a book, and open it to start your next reading.

He keeps staring waiting for you answer.

“When did you get so controlling with who I talk to? Last time I checked you were my boss, not my boyfriend.” You say not even meeting his gaze, ignoring the way saying boyfriend made your body tingle.

He looks genuinely shocked, and hurt, when you spew the words with venom at him, wth a fiery anger, but you had to hate him, or else you’d hate everyone else around you. The problem was that hating everyone wasn't an option you wanted to explore, so your anger had to be directed towards Anthony Lockwood. That was or else it would consume you.

George walks towards the two, carefully, as if he could be the detonator to explode one of the two colleges of his on each other.

“I uh, found the paper in the archives we were looking for, Y/n.” He says before carefully setting it down on the table the two of you were working at.

George had noticed the tension in the house between Lockwood and Y/n, he knew Lucy could feel it too, as she kept trying to get Lockwood and Y/n to avoid each other as much as possible as she tried to figure out what triggered all this, for lack of a better term, teenage angst in the house. 

Well it felt like more than just teenage angst. It felt like a rage radiating off of the two directed towards each other, as if they were two old miserable manifestations bickering like an old couple while trying to murder everyone in the way that ticked them off.

Yeah that was more of the level of tension that was going on, especially when Lucy or himself got caught in the crossfire of the two. He actually didn’t hate Y/n, he had gotten to tolerate her during their times in the archives, but he couldn’t get a good reading of why she acted the way she did towards them, but mostly Lockwood. He was so curious of what was making her tick, or ticked off, pun intended.

Even Lockwood was making things feel off. He had been pissed almost every single day these past couple of weeks, and had even bursted with anger towards himself and Lucy.

George started to think of all the ways he could figure out what was wrong, and deiced to let Lucy in on his plot when he got home, to figure out what the hell these two had tasted to be so bitter to everyone.

George had come out of dreamland to find Y/n and Lockwood bickering.

“At least I talked to someone who wasn’t a stuck up prick for once!” Y/n almost yells.

“I think you’ve got it all wrong, love, you did talk to the stuck up prick, he just left with what’s left of his dignity, from the last time he was here!” Lockwood raises her one.

“Guys, Guys!” Lucy comes rushing In to break it up, “Maybe let’s try to not get kicked out of the archives? Y/n let’s uh, go get lunch, there’s this place I've been meaning to take you to.” 

Y/n gives Anthony one last glare before, picking up her jacket and heading out with Lucy.

“Well, that was awkward…” George mumbles faintly, before giving Lockwood a disappointed look before getting back to work.

“Urgh! He such a pompous ass!” You rant to Lucy, in between shoving pizza in your mouth. 

“Lockwood can be… selfish. But it’s really more because he wants the us and the whole agency to benefit… trust me I know it all too well.” She tries to console you, and you can see the genuine hurt in her eyes from it. 

If he could hurt Lucy, and get others hurt, even killed… who knows what the guy could do to you. Maybe the Job Kipps offered you wasn’t such a bad idea. 

It especially felt good to know it would make Lockwood infuriated. Maybe this was a chance to get a back at Lockwood a bit. Not to the degree you wanted, but it was something.

You make small talk with Lucy while eating, coming up with a plan in your head of how to piss him off the most.

To say Lockwood was pissed was a total understatement. He was enraged.

George and Lucy even seemed to tiptoed around Lockwood as of recently, and Lockwood felt nothing but isolated, and that led him to be able to sit and stew in his anger even longer. 

The both of you seemed to avoid each other physically, which made Lockwood all the more furious. The only time you’d see each other was for training, which George and Lucy had taken over most of that, and cases.

Today you had to train with your rapier again, and that was the main thing Lockwood oversaw.

“C’mon again!” He yells, as you missed one of the practice targets. 

You glare daggers into his direction, as he seemly does the same. 

“I would be a lot better if I didn’t have the constant screaming in my ear.” You mumble sarcastically.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that? Maybe you could actually try this time?” He says before smirking and leaning back to where he was sitting seeming satisfied with ticking you off.

“I’d like to see you do better.” You taunt stalking towards him, “The best I’ve seen in action was the Fittes team at a case I was working.”

He clenches his jaw, looking at you with an intense fire behind his eyes. 

“You’re more show than skill.” You smirk as his face turns even more sour. He gets up and moves right into your personal space. 

“Really? If you think I’m all show, then lets put it to the test, Love.” He pulls his rapier out and backs you into the wall.

You visibly gulp, not because of his challenge, but the sheer proximity of how close his face was to yours. 

He stares into your eyes, with his full of an emotion you couldn’t quite pinpoint. He had a anger but there was something else behind it. 

He shakes his head and scoffs, turning around walking away.

That made your whole body burn with fury. You knew he was one of the best from stories you had heard, but boy did that make you want to try harder to be better. 

“Like I said, all show.” You mumble loud enough for him to hear. 

He stops on the spot, turning around about to say something, and before he can Lucy is running down the stairs with a small stack of letters in her hand. 

“Hey, Y/n You’ve got mail.” 

You give Lockwood a victory smirk, and he gives you a glare saying ‘this isn’t over’.

“Thanks, Lucy.” You take the mail form her, before looking it over, until stopping on one letter in particular. 

“Crap…” you mumble to yourself, opening it quickly. 

Lockwood and Lucy seem intrigued to know what had gotten the rise out of you.

You skim over the letter, or well, the invitation. Your grandparents wanted to see you, and you knew that they rarely did unless it had to do with their agenda. 

You started to feel ill, hoping it was you actually getting sick to get out of it, instead of the idea of visiting them. 

“What is it?” Lockwood asks slightly worried as you lean to grab the wall. 

You want to throw the letter out, but you hand it to Lucy, “You can read it amongst yourselves, if you wish, Especially since I think I’m going to need you to accompany me.”

They give each other a look, as you head upstairs and They both follow you up quickly, if not seconds later. 

George seems intrigued to what is going on, and comes out of the sitting room area, with his usual cleaning gear on, and duster in his hand. 

Lucy starts reading aloud, “Y/n Y/l/n and Lockwood & co, You are formally invited to The Saunders Ball, this Friday. Please wear formal wear and please arrive early to meet and dine with The Saunders.”

“How in the bloody hell do you know the Saunders?!” Lockwood almost yells.

George pipes up, “And why would one of the oldest of richest families in London want dinner with with us?”

“Blood Relation, to me, unfortunately.” You say, wishing this wasn’t their reaction. 

Lucy and Lockwood sit there with their mouths ajar, while George looks like he’s going through every probability in his mind.

“Look, there’s no need to come. I can face my grandparents myself-“

“There’s no way were passing this up. It’s an opportunity for the company to find more clients.” Lockwood pipes up.

Your jaw clenches as try you to smile to pretend to be pleased that he wants to come. 

“Great. does everyone have formal wear? Or do we have to go shopping?”

Lucy shakes her head no, and you give a light smile, before grabbing her hand.

“Let’s go then, my treat.” You say before running out the door with Lucy. 

Lockwood gives one last glance at the door, before standing up.

“C’mon George, Lets go find out all we can about the Saunders.”

Lockwood wouldn’t try to dive into your history if he could help it, but he needed to know anything he could about who’s doors he was about to step into and how to best be prepared to gain new clients. 

Lucy had told you a bit about her past life, how she didn’t come from much, and her old employer, and briefly what happened to her best friend Norrie.

“Hey Lu?” You grab her attention with the nickname you called her in your nightly talks, “Im sorry.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, looking directly at you as you walked down the street of the shops. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about all this. It’s something my Mum left in the past when she left home from my grandparents. I’ve never really lived rich my mother just came from money.” You sigh as you continue to explain, “We really lived off of my Dad’s pay, and my mother worked part time in a flower shop. It- it’s not really important what they did. But my grandparents- well they only ever summon me if they want something.”

Lucy gives a sympathetic look, with almost an understanding. 

“My grandparents hated my dad, because the took their only daughter away, to live a ‘life of poverty’ and my dad, ‘he couldn’t provide’. Ah, it’s so messed up! Then my parents had me, and all they ever wanted was me to become their ‘Perfect grandchild of the Saunders’ but I never was that, or could be that.” You ramble it all out.

“I’m sorry y/n” she replies, “For all that family rubbish. I- I know the struggle of family too well.” She mentions with an understanding you’ve never felt. 

You felt so heard. You felt so seen even though your pasts couldn’t have been more different. It was so touching.

“Thank you. For being my friend.” You blurt out, as she gives you a genuine smile. 

“C’mon let's check out this shop!” You say while dragging her in and you both giggle. 

Lockwood was tapping his fingers against the table. He was getting George to pull article after article about your grandparents. After Fairfax, Lockwood couldn’t just walk into this blindly, especially at the reaction that Y/n had at the mere invitation of dinner with them. 

The archives seemed to have little to no information so far, other than that they were old money for being a huge lavender supply over the years and that they had a similar social circle to Fairfax; rich and socialites. Their only link to each other was Marissa Fittes and Penelope Fittes.

Lockwood sighed, as he hoped this wouldn’t turn into another Fairfax situation. At this point in time, he didn’t think he could really trust y/n anymore. 

But maybe that was the problem between himself and y/n, that she couldn’t trust him. He never had thought about it that way. He had told Lucy and George about his past, but not y/n, so maybe that’s why she didn’t share much about herself. 

Maybe it was time Lockwood let himself go of this rampant disease of the feeling of resentment. At least to a small degree, just so they all could survive dinner and the ball with one of London's most powerful and influential families. 

It was finally the day to head to dinner and the ball with your grandparents, and you were just pretending to have it all together, but underneath you were an earthquake of nerves waiting to start to rumble. 

You were curling Lucy’s hair with an curling iron, trying to distract yourself from the whole situation. 

“That’s a beautiful necklace you have on.” You mention breaking the almost silence as the record player played a soft tune in the back of the room.

She grabs it, fiddling with it, “Thanks, Lockwood gave it to me, for the Fittes ball.” You freeze for a second, trying to hold your face still in the same way it was. 

You were partly shocked she even mentioned it, because that was the night your father had died at the hands of him.  You were Devastated but wasn’t the only emotion you were feeling, you couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest when she said Lockwood gave it to her. You hated yourself even more for falling into this trap of his charms. 

You were trying to hold a small smile, ads you finished Lucy’s hair. Your eyes started to water slightly, and as you tried to hold your tears in, there was a knock at the door. 

“Luce, Y/n, are you two ready yet?” Lockwood asks from the other side.

“You’re done Lu.” You say before turning around before the tears started to come out and started to go get your dress on. 

“I’m coming out, Y/n just has to put her dress on.” Lucy explains.

“Okay.” He repsonds.

Lucy slips out, and you here her shoes click against the stairs as she walks down. 

You wipe away your tears and start to pull your dress on before hearing your name being called.

 “Y/n?” 

“Yes Lockwood?” You reply.

You start to struggled with he zipper on your dress, as Lockwood starts to speak, “I just wanted to say that I’m- Y/n/n are you okay?” He asks as you made a loud sound as you crashed into the vanity. 

“Uh yeah I just can’t- I can’t get this stupid zipper.” You sigh in defeat, “Can you come in and help me?”

“Yeah, of course.” He says as he opens the door. His breath is taken away as If his lungs were ghost touched. You were leaning against the vanity, with a beautiful red dress on. 

“I know it’s pathetic but that the last case we had this week hurt my shoulder, so you don’t have to say it.” You mention looking away, before meeting his gaze. 

Was he… admiring you? You couldn’t tell for the few seconds he looked at you, before his expression changed as he moved towards you.

“It was my fault, on that case. I should have prepared you more so don’t worry about it. I’m just glad the dresser that hit you in the shoulder didn’t hurt you more.” He said, “That was quick moving, your getting out of the way before it squashed you.“ 

That was almost a compliment and an admittance of fault. What was going on with him? He motions for you to turn around and you do. As he moves your hair out of the way, a shiver runs down your spine, and goose bumps arise on your skin. 

You try to distract yourself at the feeling of his close proximity to you by cracking a joke, “Yeah well, now I can’t zip myself up, or get out of this stupid gown. Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for this choice of attire I truly adore feeling trapped.” 

He laughs a small almost silent laugh, as he grabs the zipper and slowly zips it up. It was agonizingly slow. You couldn’t tell if he was doing this to spite you, or because he was feeling the same weird feelings that you were. 

You shook off the second thought, it had to be to make you uncomfortable. You couldn’t have second thoughts on this no matter how warm it made your body feel. 

You swear you heard him take a shaky breath in before he finished and you turned to face him. You were really close to his face, and you could see the way his eyes looked almost puppy dog like. His eyes trailed your whole face for a few seconds before he took a small step back.

“Shall we?” He extended his arm, before you both descended the stairs, heading out to the car to take you to the infamous Saunders ball. You only hoped that your grandparents didn’t pull some bullshit like they usually did with you. 

You had no idea what was in store for you and your team, and that’s what was killing you. The not knowing.

Taglist: @waitingforthesunrise @rinisfruity14 @uku-lelevillain

[zebra-all-the-time]

can i maybe mayhaps possibly have the context for that au you mentioned

YES SAY NO MORE WAHA!!

So it’s a Demon!Shane and DemonHunter!Ryan AU

In this world demons are all fallen angels and their purpose on Earth is to mess the hell out of humans however they want.

Ryan is a demon hunter, but unlike all the other ones, he doesn’t want to kill them. He was kicked out/left an agency depending on who you ask, but they do not like his dangerous hunting methods.

Ryan’s targeted Shane who thinks that he’s targeted Ryan, Ryan’s plan is to bring out the nice tendencies he’s convinced are hidden inside all demons, the agency wants to interfere so bad, other demons don’t trust Ryan around Shane, it’s a whole party!!!