#lockwood's face in the third gif gets me

[pearlcaddy]

locklyle + hands: part 1 [part 2]

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Punch At First Sight

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You and Lockwood have met a few times before, however after a punch to the face for the third time, Lockwood, which a push from Lucy, decides to make things different.

Disclaimer: Multiple uses of the f-word. Mentions of accidental violence, ghosts, Kipps being a dick, a slap across the face. Fluff, angst, hints of jealousy, and Lucy giving Lockwood a needed talking to. Not Proof Read.

It was meant to be an easy case. 

A couple of type ones haunting an abandoned building just outside of London. The local ghost hunters had all created that big of a myth they had scared themselves away. And the cost of a Fittes agent was too high of a price for the type of ghosts they had. So, Lockwood and Co were the business chosen. 

Only, it would have been nice to know if one of the previous agents had reached out to an old friend to take care of the job as well. 

But, no. 

Instead, whilst listening out for the ghosts, Lockwood stepped around a corner and when getting ready to attack what he thought was a ghost, he was met with a punch to the face and then a voice calling out; “Oh my god, you’re human.”

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

Then, through watered eyes, he saw the outline of the person who had punched him and it seemed she had clear enough vision in the dark to recognise him. 

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

“Holy crap. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Why are you even here?”

“The same as you, I’m guessing. Unless you tend to sneak into abandoned buildings at two in the morning.”

“Sophie didn’t even tell me they hired someone else. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lockwood managed to stand up straight this time just as Lucy and George came running round the corner. 

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

George looked from Lockwood to you. “Y/n?”

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“She was hired.” Lockwood explained just before Lucy spotted him. 

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Lockwood said, with a slight smile as he looked at you. 

Then came a scream. 

“Considering we’re all here and considering no-one else was hired to do this job-” George began. 

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished. 

“And since we’re here with minimal weapons.”

One of the ghosts, a woman, came floating through a wall and turned to look at them. 

“Run?” you offered. 

“Run.” Lucy replied. 

Making a break for it, you all tried to outrun the ghost before another one of her friends joined her, pushing all four of you down a different corridor. 

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

By the time the sun was beginning to rise over the city, you all made it back to Portland Row where a fresh bruise had made its way to decorate Lockwood’s face. 

“You have a hell of a punch.” Lockwood said before prodding his own bruise in his reflection of the pan on the stove. 

You chuckled, pulling a bag of peas from the freezer before closing it and walking over. “Quit moaning. It could have been worse. Here.”

Standing, Lockwood seemed to have grown even taller than you. Taller than when you’d both last met. 

Looking at you, you watched as his eyes closed at the cold contact of the bag as you pressed it to his face. 

“Hold it there for a while. It should help with the swelling.”

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

You narrowed your gaze a little and clicked your tongue. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Have I?” Lockwood seemed to think for a moment before, “Oh, yeah. Suppose I have. But it is true.”

“Hey, the first time was an accident. I thought you were trying to-”

“The first time is an accident, three times is a pattern.”

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.” you said before, “Maybe? Can never be too careful when hunting alone.”

Lockwood’s demeanour changed for a moment. “Alone? You’re hunting alone again?”

“Relax. I’m safe enough.” 

You moved backwards and began to tidy the kitchen a little to give yourself something to do whilst Lockwood leaned back against the kitchen counter, lowering the frozen bag from his face so he could watch you more closely. 

“Are you?”

“Yes, Lockwood. I’m fine. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You held his gaze for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head until it landed on He’s just a friend…

From there, you shifted yourself from the kitchen table and placed the empty glasses in your hand in the sink beside him. 

“Move here.”

“What?”

Lockwood stood tall once more and turned to face you properly. “Move in here. Lucy got a deal when she bought her bed, so she’s got a second one spare. We can set it up on the other side of the loft. I don’t like the thought of you hunting alone.”

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

“What happens if something happens to you? Look, I can put you on the payroll so it won’t be a favour. You’ll be working with us. And you’ll have a team behind you. You’ll also be safe. Please.”

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

Looking up at him, you saw the desperation in his eyes. 

It wasn’t often he opened himself up or let himself show any kind of vulnerability but when he did…

“Okay. Fine. But you can’t hover over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.” 

“Why did George kick you out of the Archive room in the last case we were in together?”

Lockwood thought back and when he didn’t answer, you answered for him. 

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

“But before anything is written, the others have to agree. Lucy, too.”

“She will. I know so. It’ll be nice for her to not be outnumbered.”

You moved in three days later.

Lucy had prepared the spare bed for you and even decorated the walls behind your bed with a couple of pictures she found in some old boxes that had yourself, George and Lockwood in them. 

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do, but I thought I would do something to help at least.”

“I love it.” you smiled, dropping one of the boxes onto your bed. “Thank you.”

Over the following week, yourself and Lucy got to know one another, sharing stories late into the night when researching cases and in desperate need of a break. 

Lucy came to learn what Lockwood meant by the punch when you all met not being the first time. You came to find out what brought Lucy to London. And you both came to discover that, with the right planning, you could both scare Lockwood and George. 

Only, one night, George and Lucy decided to tag team which also gave them a chance to talk about you and Lockwood. 

“Do they know? They have to know.”

“Don’t bother.” George sighed. “Three years and nothing has changed.”

“They’ve been like that for three years?”

George just nodded. 

“Seriously?”

“You know I walked into the kitchen yesterday and they were slow dancing in the kitchen and…it was like nothing happened.”

“Yeah…” 

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked. 

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

“Maybe,” Lucy nodded. “But that was then. Now you’ve got me. Tag-team. What do you say?”

“Well, considering it would take an earthquake to wake them both up from whatever coma they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in…sure. Why not? But how.”

“I haven’t got that far into the plan yet.”

But it didn’t take too long. 

After six months of living with each other, the plan practically made itself. The chemistry between yourself and Lockwood was palpable and even more so when you were outside together. 

Like when you and Lockwood were in the library with George and Lucy where Lockwood was standing behind you, reading the section of paper you were pointing to, his arms caging you in from where you sat, when a group of Fittes Agents waltzed over. 

“You might want to give your girlfriend a little breathing room, Tony. After all, PDA can be off putting especially in such a public place.”

Standing, and not denying it, Lockwood practically burned Kipps a hole in the ground for him to fall through. 

“Relax, Tony. Just having a little fun. So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Kipps couldn’t help but widen his smile. “You’re not. Well then, Tony.”

However, you were up like a shot standing beside Lockwood. “But I would be very careful in your next choice of words. He might not be my boyfriend but he is my friend.”

Closer up, Kipps seemed to recognise you. Or at least, that’s what his face told you. 

“You know, for all the people in the world, I wouldn't have considered one of the best rogue agents being best buddies with our very own Anthony Lockwood.”

“And why not?”

“Although, rogue is very fitting for Tony. After all, it was breaking the rules that got him into trouble in the first place. Sweetheart, if I were you, I’d walk away whilst you still can.”

The only thing anyone could remember was hearing the contact of your palm across Kipps’ cheek and the red mark left in its place. 

“Fuck you.”

It took a moment to get over the shock before Kipps and his team walked away and you relaxed a little before grabbing your jacket and telling the others you’d be back. 

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Lockwood. I’ll be back in five.”

It was in those five minutes that one of Kipps’ team found you by the vending machine. 

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

“Why? You didn’t say it. And I’m guessing you’re assigned to be with him.”

“Still, I could have said something to stop him and I didn’t.”

“Something tells me even if you did, he still would have said it anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

Meanwhile, across the room and up a level, Lucy spotted you talking to Victor. Even laughing every once in a while. And when Lockwood joined her, she saw the pain in his eyes before a brick wall came up. 

“We should be getting ready. George found something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

For the rest of the day, Lockwood seemed closed up. Especially towards you. 

“What is your problem?” you eventually asked him. 

“Nothing.”

“Lockwood, I heard you snap at Lucy earlier.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “A mistake. And she’s never made one before.”

“One that could have put one of us in serious danger-”

“We were outside the perimeter.” You could have laughed, until Lockwood asked you a question you weren't expecting. 

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

“Kipps? You did see me slap him, didn’t you-”

“Not Kipps. Vinny. Or Vincent or…whatever his name is.”

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded. 

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you’re fraternising with the enemy.”

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did. 

“You know what, fuck you, Lockwood. What I do with my time outside of work is no concern to you. You know what, do this yourself. I’ll go and help George.”

A few minutes later, Lucy walked inside the room to a very grumpy Lockwood. 

“What the hell did you do? Fraternising? This isn’t Bridgerton, Lockwood.”

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

Sighing, Lucy did as she was told, but not before telling Lockwood a couple things he desperately needed to hear. 

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

Picking up some of the iron chains and laying them down, Lucy explained. “It might not be Victor, but one day it will be someone. And it probably won’t be long before they come along and whisk her away from your grumpy arse because you’re too stubborn to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That you like her. Love her, even. If my gut feeling is right. And it usually is.”

“Lucy-”

“Look, you can go on being an arsehole because you’re scared. Or you can talk to her. All I’m saying is do something about it before somebody else does. Both me and George have seen the way you look at her. It’s more than you want to admit, Lockwood. But one day you’re going to have to, or else you are going to lose her and all you’ll have is a bruised eye and a broken nose once every couple of years, if that.”

Lucy didn’t say anything else after that but Lockwood did apologise for snapping at her earlier which she forgave him for after calling him a frustrating bastard. From then, she watched as you all completed the job together and that look that she often saw in Lockwood’s eyes, returned when he looked at you. 

Yet, by the time you had all gotten home, he still hadn't apologised to you. So, with a hard nudge from Lucy, Lockwood finally made his way to find you. 

“Do something before somebody else does, and that includes apologising. And she’s in the Library. Goodnight.”

Lockwood stood outside of the Library door for a while, trying his best to find the right words so he wouldn’t end up with a broken nose, despite how much he probably deserved one. 

You had lit the fire to try and cancel out the cold that had seeped in through a forgotten open window, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was midnight, not 6 in the morning. 

“Hey.”

Looking behind you, you tried your best not to roll your eyes at Lockwood as he walked inside. 

“I’m just looking over some old cases. Just so you know that I’m not fraternising with the enemy by reading a book.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that.” Lockwood began. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just…I guess I panicked.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“Really, really sorry. For the fraternising comment and the bullshit excuse.”

You took a minute and it was the longest minute of his life. 

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know, that’s why I forgave you. But a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.”

Lockwood smiled. “Okay. One tea coming up.”

Only, as he walked away, you answered his question. 

“And I’m not…fraternising with the enemy. Victor and I were just talking. I think you’d like him. I think he might hate Kipps just as much as you do. And, no.” you shook your head. “I don’t like him. Just so you know…”

Lockwood nodded and for a moment, turned to walk away until Lucy’s words echoed again in his head. 

“Do something about it, before somebody else does.”

So he did. 

Sighing under his breath, he took the jump, turned around and reached for you. 

Taking your head in his hands, he cupped your jaw before bringing your lips to his. At first, it shocked you and for a split second, he thought he was about to get his nose broken for good this time. 

Until you kissed back. 

You felt yourself stumble a little but Lockwood caught you, holding you close to him before his forehead came to touch yours, your eyes still closed. 

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologise.”

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

“So you’re not going to break my nose.”

“Not this time,” you laughed a little. 

“Okay…then I’m gonna jump. I like you. Well, I more than like you. Like way, way more. And I…I want to do something about it before someone else does.”

“Like Victor?”

“Yeah,” Lockwood laughed a little. “Like Victor.”

“Then…good. I’m glad you finally jumped.”

“You are.”

You nodded. “I mean, you have terrible timing but yeah, I’m glad you jumped.”

“Good.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me again or am I gonna have to-”

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice. 

[gaintsnowflake]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀

PARING - george karim x reader

ONESHOT -  in which you give george a book with notes written in the margins

TRIGGERS - none

A/N - this is very fluffy! First time writing in second person, I wanted to write in third it just didn’t sound right so I decided to try something new. I apologize for grammor and spelling mistakes, I am my own editor so I am unable to get everything

WORD COUNT - 0.9k ( short but sweet )

masterlist

GEORGE UNWRAPPED the present, tilting his head as he found a book with an unfamiliar title. On top of it was a card with neat handwriting.

"What does it say, George?" Lockwood asked, curious to not only who got him the gift but what the note said.

This gift that George was holding appeared this morning outside. It came nicely wrapped, in brown paper with a rope ribbon, with the words 'for George' written in cursive. None of the four people who lived in the house knew who it came from, well that's not exactly true, but that is what George believes.

It was odd, that the stranger, knew that it was Georges's birthday, and even weirder how they knew no one was home. It was left for the group to find after they left to go take George out for birthday breakfast.

"It says something about how they hope I enjoy the reading, and to make sure to read the marginalia," George looked up from the note, a very puzzled look on his face.

"Marginalia?" Lucy asked, unsure of the words meaning.

"Notes in the margins," Lockwood clarified, reaching out to inspect the book.

George gave it to him as you looked on, attempting to look as puzzled as the others.

"Does the handwriting look familiar?" you asked, moving slightly in your seat next to George to get a glance at the all-too-familiar note.

"I don't think I have seen it before, definitely not yours, it would take you ages to write this neat," he commented showing you the note fully.

He was right, the lettering on the note was very neat and precise unlike yours which was rather sloppy and quick. But what he didn't know was how long it took you to write as neatly as shown on the note.

Before you could make a comment back, Lockwood gasped and Lucy slapped her mouth shut, drawing the attention of them, who were very much reading the notes at the very back of the book. They looked at the both of you, eyes wide.

You made sure George wasn't looking at you before giving them a threatening look.

"What? Does it say who wrote it?" George asked, making you look at him much calmer than at the two.

"No, no, just a character died," Lucy lied, well attempting, as she failed because of her terrible lying.

Lockwood shut the book quickly and started talking to George attempting to cover up the lie.

He did rather well, given George told him to shut up and took the book back without looking inside it. You felt your anxiety briefly go away since he didn't even attempt to open the book in front of the group.

"I am going to excuse myself, I have research to do and now a book to read," he commented before getting up and grabbing the note that lay on the table in front of you as he started to leave.

"What? Georgie, it's your birthday, why are you researching?" You ask, taken aback by his sudden rush.

"Because if I don't do it it's not going to get done," He comments before fully walking out of the room.

You waited until you heard his door close to question the two in front of you.

"What did you read?"

"Lockwood you owe me doughnut," Lucy said ignoring your question.

"y/n," Lockwood drew out your name, "You were supposed to wait for him to ask you out. Now I owe Lucy a doughnut."

He sighed as you gave them a questioning look, before realizing that they had been betting on you and George.

"When did you drop that off anyway? You were in front of us when we left and you were the last when we got back," Lucy asked, taking a biscuit from the table.

"You guys were betting on us?" You asked, avoiding the question.

Both Lockwood and Lucy looked at each other before standing up and spilling bullshit excuses to leave. You only smiled as you were the last left in the kitchen.

--

George was nearly done with the book, it was about eleven at night, just under five hours from when he started it. George attempted to get the research done, but the mystery book was busy taunting him, forcing him to read it. Now here he sat when everyone else had gone to sleep.

He found himself laughing or smiling at the comments in the margins, writing some of his own notes as a response. Now here was watching as the main character finally kissed the love interest. Only for him to see a small note written in the margins in half-familiar handwriting. The neat handwriting blended in with another, the handwriting of his best friend, or crush if you will.

"This should be us - y/n"

His breath stopped as he choose to read the rest of the notes on the page, realizing the more they went the more the handwriting blended with yours.

He kept reading the book, curious to see the rest of your notes. His breath hitched as he read the epilogue. It was a wedding scene, it took place after the war the book was based on. The soldier had finally gotten his love interest.

The words written next to it were something that startled him, as he heard your voice read in his head, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

His brain stopped as he read the words that soon followed. It was a sappy love confession, where you wrote about all of your happiest memories with George.

Without skipping a beat, George left his room, forgetting that he was in nothing but a baggy shirt, that thankfully went down to his low thigh. He dashed to your room, nearly running. He didn't even knock as he knew that you were long asleep.

He shook you awake with his one hand, calling out your name just barely above a whisper, with the other he grasped onto the book.

"What? Georgie? What's go-?"

"Yes, the answer is yes."

"What?"

He held up the book as your mouth opened in an o-shape.

"Yes."

Without waiting for another word, you took your opportunity and kissed him. Thankfully he kissed back.

"I am so glad you read the MARGINALIA."

[lewkwoodnco]

and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind - Lockwood x Reader

will you love me like you loved me in the January rain? will you love me like you loved me and I'll never ask for more.

and I never minded being on my own, then something broke in me and I wanted to go home to be where you are but even closer to you, you seem so very far and now I'm reaching out with every note I sing and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind wraps itself around you and whispers in your ear tells you that I miss you and I wish that you were here

I didn't choose this town. I dream of getting out. There's just one who could make me stay...all my days.

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST part 1: I Can See You

a/n: WOOOO almost a month since my last fic (tl;dr got terribly sick, got my a level results, scholarship apps, trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life until I remembered, oh, right, I hate doing that, so now its back to fic writing) anywaysss watched miss peregrines home for peculiar children while i was sick and omg. the end credits song??? deCEASED. anyways heres a fic inspired by that song which you should definitely listen to and i definitely wont cry if you dont cbnjvfkjva bye going to get chocolate cakee

warnings/tropes: reader (unexpectedly) missing lockwood desperately after moving away, pining for someone w every fiber of your being, handling grief (NO major character death tho), angst, no happy ending :/// but some snippets of humour!

word count: 6.3k! (my longest fic yet!)

"You won't believe what they're doing at Fittes."

 She slid into a seat at Portland Row's kitchen table, oblivious to the fact that she had just stolen George's seat. George glared at Lockwood for a minute, who looked appropriately sympathetic yet slightly distracted, before picking another seat.

"Hi Y/N, how nice to see you. Again. For the third time this week. Please, make yourself at home."

"Oh, Georgie, you're so sweet." She was too distraught to pick up on George's sarcastic tone or his eye roll, though Lockwood spared him an apologetic glance. She slammed a letter onto the table, upsetting the salt and pepper shakers, which Lockwood started curiously scanning. "Unlike my daft supervisors."

There was always a flurry of activity whenever she visited Portland Row. She somehow always had so much to say, and she had to say it within the first five minutes of her being there. That usually meant Portland Row's own activities would come to a brief halt, but her news was more often than not too entertaining to incite many grievances from the inhabitants.

After their joint case involving Winkman, Lucy and George had felt the air shift between them, in a way they couldn't quite put their finger on. Something had obviously happened, especially since she had started stopping by Portland Row. They'd exchange a few obligatory insults, share the highlights of their week, and somehow not bite each other's faces off. Over time, the insults faded into the background, but they still threw in the occasional jab when things started seeming too friendly. Why they were still pretending to get into tiffs when Lockwood had slipped her a spare key was completely lost on George and Lucy. 

One unfortunate consequence was they became stuck in this weird limbo. Neither friends nor enemies, but something more rather than in between. And yet, some part of them always hesitated, and so they remained as the two singular, lonely entities they had always been. That wasn't to say they didn't have it in their hearts to feel appropriately outraged for the other when the circumstances called for it.

"Layoffs?”

"Layoffs!"

"What the hell are they laying you off for?"

"Exactly! Never mind that my team has the lowest mortality rate, or that we've never caused destruction worth any more than 500 pounds - no offence, Lockwood."

"Er, yes. At least they're giving you a decent severance package."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing to say, and this time the egg cups went down as well.

"Overrated ass agency with fuck ass headquarters in the middle of London that I never wanted to spend the rest of my career at anyway, fuck Fittes bitch fucking Rotwell's wannabe-“

"What about Kipps?"

Her face twisted and the others braced for impact a third time. "If they don't put his head on the chopping block, I will-"

After a few cups of tea and a few more rounds of nonsensically excessive swearing, she had finally gotten her disappointment under control.

"Maybe a little rapier practice will take your mind off things?"

She pulled a face. "But my shoulder's so tired."

"Your shoulder's been tired for three weeks now. If your break goes on any longer you'll forget everything I've taught you about grips."

"Aw. Oh no."

"Yes, yes, you're very funny."

"What a tragedy."

"You could at least try to pretend like you care."

"I care! I so care. Of course I care. I've got the hottest instructor this side of the Thames."

"Only on this side of the Thames?"

"Yeah, 'cause he's also a dork ass loser who wears confetti-coloured socks."

Still, she joined him in the basement for a little bit of practice, just to refresh her memory. After that, they tried to venture into some basic lunges, which was where things started going downhill again.

"It's no use." She drove her rapier into the stand and started pulling her wrist brace off, despite Lockwood's deflating encouragement. She sat propped up against the wall, frustratedly combing through her sticky hair. "I'm hopeless at this. Maybe Fittes did know what they were doing when they laid me off."

Lockwood sighed. He put away his own rapier and joined her on the floor. "You're not the only employee they've dismissed. You just got...unlucky."

"Now I feel worse."

"My point is, things will start looking up once you move on." He fiddled with her wrist brace. hesitating. "You do know what to do next, don't you?"

She sighed. "I'll start sending out applications tomorrow. There's this agency in Canterbury I've worked with before. Maybe they'll consider having me full-time."

If she notices Lockwood being mildly taken aback, she doesn't remark on it. He manages some strangled response of approval, and their rapier practice session ends there. It's too late for her to return home by then, so they wash up and get ready for bed. It's clear the day has taken a sizeable chunk out of her when she almost immediately falls half-asleep. Lockwood worries over their conversation in the basement. He glances at her relaxed face. Yeah, she was probably still awake.

"Y/N. Y/N."

"Mm."

"You awake?"

"Mhm."

"I just wanted to tell you that...I was perfectly serious that time. When I said you could come work for me. In case you were wondering. Y/N?"

She doesn't respond, and after a few minutes, her breathing evens out again. He isn't sure if she's heard her, and is even less sure why she's doing everything in her power to stay away from Lockwood & Co.

One cold, January morning, she had been at the Archives with Lockwood & Co. where they were doing some research on their latest joint case. By the time that January morning had turned into a chilly January afternoon, George was telling Lockwood off for leaving one of the maps behind at Portland Row. Naturally, Lockwood was sent to fetch the missing materials, who, not-so-naturally, enlisted her help. 

As reluctant as she may have appeared to join Lockwood on this errand, she rested her buzzing head against the soothing, cold glass of the cab gratefully. She had been a little distracted all morning; working at a slower pace, fiddling with the large volumes disinterestedly, staring off into space. She was simultaneously irritated and relieved that Lockwood had noticed. She stared out at the foggy streets of London with her own foggy eyes, trying to make sense of the day.

She had decided to wait on their front porch while Lockwood nipped in to get the papers. While waiting, a sharp rap on their tin awning startled her. Peering up at the sky, she watched the first raindrops of that January shower land in Portland Row's garden. Soon enough, it started to pour generously. The delicate, almost curious winter daffodils drooped their heads under the violent force that was the rain coming down in sheets. In the grey of the clouds and the streets, their yellow petals made her dream of something half-happy.

Tentatively, she walked down the path and stepped into the garden. And then another step. And then another. She was frolicking in the rain for the first time in her life, and there was no one around to stop her.

She felt the rain pause, and turned to see Lockwood holding an umbrella over the two of them. She wrapped her fingers around his on the handle and, with a bit of difficulty, closed the umbrella over their heads. It was only a matter of seconds before the heavy raindrops started weighing his coat down and flattening his otherwise perfectly coiffed hair. She watched the hues of curiosity and amusement shift in his eyes, all of them tinged with the mauve of love. She watched him love her wholly, unabashedly, asking for nothing.

She felt sorry for ruining Lockwood's nice clothes only for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck, clutching him a little stronger than what was strictly necessary. Papers forgotten, rain soaken, daffodils smitten…she never wanted it to end.

And that was when her life started to fall apart. Being laid off by Fittes had drastically changed their dynamic, and hardly for the better. It was no longer banter from one agent to another - it was one agent and the bad habit he had picked up over the months, one he didn't seem too keen on kicking anytime soon. She didn't ask to stay, and he didn't ask her to leave. And so she spent the rest of her days of unemployment at Portland Row, helping out however she could, filling out and mailing her applications.

Which brought her to her next problem - letters of recommendation.

She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through the advertisements in the newspaper while nervously shredding its bottom corner. She didn't even look up when Lockwood placed her mug of tea in front of her. He shifted it right on top of the ad she was picking apart.

"Oh. Thanks."

"How's the job search going?"

"Not good." She sighed. "A lot of them require a letter of recommendation."

He slid into the seat next to hers, resting his chin on the back of the chair. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation."

"From my previous employer."

"So? Go over to Fittes and ask for one."

"I don't know," she said, disintegrating the final scraps of newspaper. "Seems a little awkward to go back there after they laid me off."

Lockwood took a look at his watch. "I've got a client meeting at 2, so we should leave after breakfast."

He was already climbing out of his chair and talking to George about the stove misbehaving again by the time her brain caught up. "Hang on, we?" 

Lockwood seemed to very conveniently not hear her. "Y/N, if you're not going to drink your tea, we should leave now."

She crammed the last of her toast into her mouth while shrugging her coat on, and joined him outside where he was counting out some coins in his hand.

"Should be just enough for the two of us."

"Just enough for what?"

"The bus. Lovely day, isn't it?"

The trip to Fittes was one of the worst she'd had in her life. She almost felt ashamed for getting laid off and was driving herself crazy obsessing over it. Halfway through she felt a warmth settle over her hand, and glanced down to see Lockwood's palm covering her own. He was looking out the window as if nothing had even happened, and she was looking at him. She couldn't quite tear her eyes away from the sight.

When they reached, she went up to the customer service counter while Lockwood hung back. He looked around the first-floor lobby languidly, watching everyone hurry about their da- hang on, was that Barnes coming out of a conference room? 

Lockwood smiled at him while Barnes averted his gaze and started walking out a little faster. Yes, that was most definitely Barnes. He started walking towards him and was just about to call out when he was interrupted by a slightly heated voice coming from the customer service counter.

"What do you mean you don't offer letters of recommendation?!"

A few days after they were almost-but-not-really kicked out of the Fittes headquarters, she and Lockwood were in the library reshelving some books a little before lunchtime. George and Lucy were in the kitchen, so for a while all that could be heard was the smooth sounds of books being pulled off and being put onto the shelves. Lockwood glanced at her and cleared his throat, forcefully injecting a certain nonchalance into his voice.

"I was talking to Barnes the other day."

"Hmm?"

"I think I managed to convince him that we're a big enough agency now to need health insurance."

"Health insurance? Well, don't tell George, or he'll fling himself off the roof at the first chance."

Lockwood stifled a laugh, turning it into a cough though his voice was still comically strained. "Don't go giving him any ideas, now." 

They continued rearranging the books in silence until he steeled himself enough to pick up the conversation again.

"So, what I wanted to say was...if you wanted to join Lockwood & Co... you wouldn't have to worry about your mother. Not anymore."

She paused her shelving and frowned at him. "Why do you want me to join Lockwood & Co. so badly?"

"I think you'd be...a valuable member of our team."

So close, yet so far from the few words she wanted to hear. Please join us, Y/N. Forget about all these other agencies. I'd miss you more than I could bear if you left. Go on. Say it.

"Is that all?"

"I...I suppose."

She turned back to their task, disappointed. "I've been wanting to leave London for a while now. To get out, explore...see what's out there."

He stilled for a moment, before bowing his head regretfully. "I see."

 Ask me to stay. Please.

They were sitting cross-legged in the garden on Lockwood's coat, the winter daffodils now resting their tired heads on their knees. She squinted up at the sky, now that the rain had come down to a light drizzle.

"My mum never let me go out in the rain." She smiled bitterly at him. "The rest of my friends would go out into the street in their...raincoats...wellingtons...and I'd watch them from the kitchen window. She always said I'd fall sick. And I'd always think...how terrible would it really be if I did?" 

She stared at the ground and tried very hard not to cry. "I was a kid. I just...I just wanted a bit of fun." She pressed a shaky hand to her eyes, then dragged it up to her forehead. "And now, all I want..." 

The silence filled in for the words she didn't say.

"I never thought I'd miss that."

She glanced at his face anxiously, trying to gauge his reaction. In a way, she mused, Lockwood, and whatever this was, was not all that dissimilar from the rain. It was some wish for a sickness for a fleeting moment of peace. A fleeting moment of being wanted.

He blinked away the raindrops weighing on his eyelashes. "You won't have to. She'll be alright."

"How do you know?"

He stared at a limp daffodil, whose head was being cradled by the bend of his knee, and sighed. "I don't. But some things you just have to...believe."

"I'm sick of believing."

"Then I'll believe for you."

She never knew what it was like to have someone hold onto faith when she couldn't. To have someone hold her up when her knees were buckling under her, to do what she wasn't strong enough to do herself. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. 

"You don't have to do that."

"Someone's got to do it. I'll do it for you."

It was around this point that Lockwood suddenly started getting a lot busier. He somehow never had the time to stay in the same room as her for longer than a minute, and any short passing conversations they shared felt stunted. Other than a cursory smile when they passed each other in the hallways, Lockwood seemed further to her than ever, with his cool demeanour that was somehow forever occupied with matters greater and more important than her.

After a few days of struggling with her applications on her own, Lucy suggested that she pay a visit to DEPRAC for a letter of recommendation. Thankfully, her request for the letter was successful, but her joy was short-lived, barely lasting the bus ride home.

She watched the hopelessly in love couples on the bus whisper to each other, hold hands or even just enjoy each other's company in silence. There was a guy with his hair styled in an unnervingly familiar way. It triggered a sick image of Lockwood sitting on this very bus, next to a girl with lazily attractive eyes and hair prettier than hers could ever be. It made her feel nauseous.

When she returned to Portland Row, she walked around the seemingly empty house, perplexed, until she finally found the three of them pouring over a large book in the library. Lockwood was fiddling with the shirt sleeves folded at his elbows and was the first to glance up as she gently pushed the door open.

"Hey," she smiled at them faintly, avoiding Lockwood's gaze, trying to keep the worry gnawing at her synapses at bay. She stepped inside, 

leaning over the huge book, tracing the letters with her eyes interestedly. 

"Is that the -" 

Lockwood slammed the book shut, cutting her off and sending Lucy into a coughing fit over the dust it released.

"Y/N! Find your way to DEPRAC alright?"

 It was a heavy book, she kept repeating to herself, of course it was going to take quite an effort to close it. However, from the way his forearms flexed aggressively as he stuffed the book back into its cloth cover, she wasn't entirely convinced.

"...yes. I took the bus."

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it?" The three of them exchanged a look while Lockwood firmly tucked the book in. The grey skies peeking through the curtains looked hardly lovely. George finally caved, glaring at Lockwood.

"We were just finalising our plan for next week's case."

"I used to draw up mission plans for my team at Fittes. Maybe I could -"

"I think we're fine." Lockwood crossed his arms, his expression unnaturally surly and his jaw set in a way that gave her a sinking feeling. George threw the book at him, who only barely managed to catch it at the last second. 

"Told you we should have waited for her."

Unfortunately, matters refused to ease up over the next week. And so she somehow learned to live without him. One morning, she decided to get an early start to the day since she was going to be accompanying Lucy to the DEPRAC headquarters to submit some company paperwork. She paused at the foot of the stairs when she heard a bit of a ruckus in the kitchen, followed by some soft swearing. She crept towards the kitchen to see Lockwood scrambling to gather up an upturned first aid kit while a dark red patch swelled on his socks, still in the same attire as when he left for a solo case the previous evening.

He looked at her furiously, trying to hide his injured ankle behind the kitchen table. He seemed to become further incensed by her helping to set the first aid kit right. "Leave it. I can do it on my own."

"I'm only trying to help! Don't look at me like that, you got yourself hurt in the first place."

He spoke emphatically through gritted teeth. "I don't need your help."

"Lockwood, your sock is nearly soaked through with blood. So shut up."

Maybe the blood loss was starting to catch up to him, but for once, Lockwood did as he was told. He certainly wasn't happy about it, but he allowed her to peel back his sock and wince at the sight of the wound. As she cleaned and dressed the injury, she couldn't help but be reminded of old times when they would snap at each other, her more than him, whenever they were within ten feet of the other. It was almost nostalgic but slightly worrying to be back to square one.

When he could hold himself back no longer, he pried the bandage roll out of her hands with an unexpected gentleness, shakily winding it messily around his ankle. When he was done, she put it away with the first aid kit, and when she returned, his nose was buried in the day's paper, once again as distant as an island.

Soon after that, George and Lucy joined them for breakfast, and George almost immediately picked up on 

"Lucy, George won't leave me alone!"

"Lockwood's a pent-up git that never says what he feels!"

Lucy gave them a sidelong glance. "...right. Y/N, ready to -?"

Eyes watering, she chugged the last of her tea and clambered out of her chair, but Lockwood beat her to it. He folded the newspaper sharply, and straightened from his seat, albeit a tad unsteadily.

"No need. I'll come with you, Luce." She and Lucy exchanged a glance, and she slowly sunk back down into her seat. Lucy took in the ectoplasm on his trainers, his slightly charred shirt and the purple under his eyes.

"Are you sure? You look a little...tired."

"I've been out all night. One more trip isn't going to kill me." He patted Lucy firmly on the shoulder, his grip looking a little painful as he swayed imperceptibly, voice trailing off as he started shuffling towards the door.

His limp was unmistakable now, but the three of them knew better than to question him when he was in a mood like this, with his uneven voice and rough words dangerously close to becoming slurred. "Come now," he was saying, "let's not bother Y/N with Lockwood & Co. matters." His shifty eyes finally settled on her for the first time that morning, but she didn't like the brooding spite behind them. "Not when she has all these important applications to fill out."

The silence that followed prickled uncomfortably. Lucy scoffed and stepped out, Lockwood following her determinedly. There was some muffled argument in the hallway, then the sound of the front door opening and closing, and then silence once more. She stared at the dregs of her tea stonily, hating the way her face burned with shame. When she finally looked up, George had left, but there was a sympathy jammy dodger within reach.

It was getting dangerously close to half an hour in the rain, yet still the heavens beat down on them ruthlessly. They had retired to the front steps just outside the awning, now almost completely drenched. She shuffled her feet nervously, trying to scrounge up some warmth, while the rain flowed down Lockwood's nose freely. He was staring at the rich dark earth at his feet, like he had forgotten where he was, his coat long forgotten. She stood up and jabbed him between the shoulder blades sharply, making him snap his head up.

"It's getting cold. I'm going inside." Lockwood blinked, raindrops decorating an eyelash or two, and nodded after a moment. She sighed impatiently.

"Don't you want to come inside too?"

"...I'm not cold."

"No, but you'll fall sick if you stay out any longer."

He rubbed his face wearily, his back muscles shifting mechanically under his translucent shirt. "I'll be alright."

She bristled instinctively. The raindrops somehow got even louder as they pelted the tin awning. "I'm serious, Lockwood."

"So am I."

"Then come inside before you catch something awful."

"I'll come inside when I want to."

The torrential downpour continued unabated, viciously attacking their home's exterior. The rapping of the raindrops against the tin rung in her ears like anger.

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

He finally looked up to meet her eyes, his own filled with a despair she had rarely seen. "I want to be alone."

It was the night of the big case that Lockwood & Co. had been preparing for for a week now, but two of its three members had come down with the most awful stomach bug she had seen. Apparently, there was something off with Arif's doughnuts that day, and now Lucy and George were down with food poisoning. She was in her room, listening to Lockwood wear down the floorboards outside her room with all his pacing. Finally, he stopped in front of her door, and after a moment, gave a short knock.

"Come in."

He opened the door to reveal a fully decked-out Lockwood extensively decorated with flares and lavender. She raised her eyebrows.

"Wow. That is...wow."

"George and Lucy are down with food poisoning," he began impatiently, "and I could really use an extra pair of eyes." He softened his stance at the critical look in her eye, taking on a more apologetic demeanour. "...please."

"But I don't even know how to use a rapier."

"Not much room for one, anyway. It's a two-room cottage."

She toyed with the idea of saying no. The idea of watching the hope in his eyes flicker out, of watching him go do the job...alone...without anyone's help...without anyone to help him if he got injured, or worse-

"Fine. I'll meet you downstairs in two minutes."

The cab was waiting for them by the time she was hurrying down the stairs, and she flipped through the summarised research report on the way there. She winced at the circled deduction that the Visitor was likely a Fetch, which Lockwood picked up on.

"Is something wrong?"

"...no." With some difficulty, she tore her eyes away from the report and closed the file. In all her years of experience, Fetches were the one Visitor that she still struggled with. It didn't help that her encounters with them had been few and far between. She glanced at Lockwood, who was staring out the window coolly as if barely nonplussed by the anticipation of coming face-to-face with one of the most dangerous Visitor types.

The taxi driver was quite a bit intimidated by Lockwood's superfluous attire, and so refused to go any further than the foot of the hill at the top of which the cottage was located. As they lugged their equipment up the hill, she felt her frustration towards Lockwood swell and swell until it finally reached a breaking point. She dropped the duffel bag she was carrying with a clatter, making Lockwood stop and turn around to face her.

"What's wrong?"

"Why have you been so off lately?"

His features hardened and his jaw set like it had so many times before. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Obviously."

He stared at her hard, before dropping his own duffel bag. The tension over the past two weeks had clearly come to a head and it was happening right there on the hill in near-darkness. "I thought we were a team."

"We are."

"Well, it sure as hell doesn't feel like it."

"I just want to be independent."

"No, you don’t. You want to be alone."

“That's not true!” She hesitated. "That's not fair." At that moment, she felt so terribly small and insignificant, in a way she hadn't felt since having a particularly cruel supervisor in her first year of being an agent. Her eyes prickled unpleasantly, and she was suddenly engulfed with memories about that January shower. Oh, no, she thought. He was never going to hold her like that again. 

She shook her head as if trying to shake some sense into herself. "I don't...I don't want to be a burden. I can do this on my own."

"You want to do this on your own."

"How could you possibly think that?"

“All I see is someone too scared to stick their neck out for something real for once in their life."

“What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't think you know what you're running from!"

She looked around in despair as if searching for some way to make him understand. "I'm not running from anything."

He stepped closer to her, and it was all she could manage to not burst into tears with his face twisted something ugly with hurt.

"You're running from me."

I'm not, she wants to say, but the words get caught in her throat. The silence rings out harshly between the two of them until Lockwood picks up his bag and resumes the trek uphill. After a moment or two, she follows him.

When they reach inside, they go through the motions of setting up their chains and investigating the areas of the Visitor's appearance, the way they've done hundreds of times before. Eventually, they split up and pace their corresponding rooms, the malaise growing stronger in the air by the minute.

After an hour or so, she felt it. A prickling in the hairs at the back of her neck. Waves of nausea washed over her and she felt paralysed by fear. She knew that when she turned, she'd be faced with something too terrible to comprehend. But she's too weak to brave seeing something so terrible, and so she doesn't turn. At that moment, she unravelled, and covered her eyes with her hands like a child, gasping with sobs that she struggled to suppress.

Suddenly, the cold breathing down her neck was replaced by intense heat as the hiss of a flare eating through a Visitor filled her ears. She felt rough hands desperately clutching her wrists and peeked through her fingers to meet Lockwood's panic-stricken gaze. Panic-stricken over her. His eyes shifted to the Visitor behind her and lobbed another flare at it in the nick of time. 

She started creeping along the walls, running her hands over every nook and cranny until she came across a picture frame radiating strong feelings of anxiety. She scrambled for the iron still folded in her pocket and threw it over the frame. The Visitor instantly evaporated, leaving Lockwood staring at the corner it had just been occupying with a haunted look in his eyes. When he had regained proper control of his senses, he turned to her.

"I didn't know-"

"I thought I'd be able to manage it, okay?" She avoided his gaze. "I'm sorry. Can we just go h- go back now?"

The ride back was somehow even quieter than the ride there, both of them burdened by thoughts that would clearly never see the light of day. He paused at the hat stand near the front door while she shrugged her coat off.

"Y/N-"

"I think I'll go to bed now. Goodnight, Lockwood."

She cut past him brusquely, heading straight for her room, though it would be many hours before the buzzing in her head quieted enough for her to fall asleep. As she got undressed, her mind drifted back to when Lockwood was standing right in front of her, holding her wrists with a long-forgotten gentleness, and the close shave with the Fetch. Too close of a shave. Tonight could never happen again. She had to make sure of it.

Over the next few days, their relationship returned to being suspiciously amicable. Perhaps it wasn't as glaringly obvious to the others with the distraction of their stomach bug, but George's squint at her when she handed him a glass of water was enough to see that he was onto them.

She had been in the basement polishing their iron chains when Lockwood knocked on the door. She put the chains down for a moment as he pulled out a minimalistic envelope.

"This just came for you in the mail."

It had the address of one of the agencies she had applied to written on it. She nervously ripped it open and started scanning the contents before she remembered where she was. She looked at Lockwood, who had a cool expression of polite curiosity.

"So? Did you get it?"

"They want me to start next week." Lockwood's lips curved into a half-smile, and it was the first smile he'd given her in weeks that reached his eyes.

"That's...that's amazing. You deserve it. That is, if you're going to accept it."

"It's a rather decent offer. Think it would be quite a shame to pass it up. Don't you?"

He gave a slight pause. "Of course. Yes."

"...but?"

He shook his head and gave a short laugh. "It's...it's silly." He was staring at a patch of grease on the floor which he was very focused on rubbing out with his shoe. "I've known you for...for as long as Lockwood & Co.'s been around." He looked up from the floor to meet her gaze, his eyes open and honest. 

"I don't know if I can do this without you."

She looks into his flighty brown eyes and drinks in as much as she can of him. Next week, she'll be in a different town, at a new job, meeting new people until he becomes just a distant memory, some dream she had once upon a time, and she'd be freed from her shackles of longing. But now, in his eyes she sees the two of them spinning round and round, forever together in a January shower in some universe.

"I should start packing."

Her goodbyes were fairly uneventful. They exchanged promises to write, to keep in touch. Lucy and George waved her off from their front door. Lockwood didn't come down from his room. Now she was in her new home, miles away from any feelings that may have tethered her from Portland Row, and all that was left to do was sit and wait and try to forget.

Except. Except.

Here she was, lying on her bed with an all too familiar weight on her chest. Those feelings she had promised to bury with the winter daffodils were here - travelled miles to plague her mind with restless thoughts of which nothing could ever come. How was it that all this distance only made her crave Lockwood even more? He stained her mind and hung from her lips like a broken promise, like an unheard prayer. It was there when she woke up, it was there when she went to sleep, it laid next to her and embraced her like a lover till she couldn't breathe.

Three months later, she still hasn't moved on and has almost entirely given up on any hope for sleep. She replays her memories of him like a tired VCR, and every night the image grows fainter and fainter. What, exactly, did his voice sound like? Did he have dimples? He had a scar on his collarbone, she was fairly sure. But how did he get it? She waits for the sky to light up for those few short hours after her work for the day, but be it day or night, the sadness remains.

For years she had been so strong, so tough, so ready to do anything and to do it alone. Too independent to even work properly with his agency. But after meeting Lockwood, it all felt like a farce, like she had just been pretending and hoping and closing her eyes through as many horrors as she could handle until she finally reached her breaking point. Something had snapped in her soul - some ill-gotten desire to fasten herself to him from the moment she had kissed him after Winkman's. To have him be her home.

Even so, she still had a job to do, so she carried these feelings around with her. There was this one particular case where her team was tasked by the city council to clear out an old, abandoned mansion of any Visitors. She had been creeping through the third floor when she saw him standing there, in the shard of moonlight peeking through the rafters. Lockwood was standing mere feet in front of her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows without his coat, whole and uninjured.

"Lockwood!" She closed the distance between them. "What are you doing here?"

He turned to face her, smiling mildly as if she had done nothing more than greet her. Y/N, he was saying. His voice reverberated differently than what she was used to, but she put it down to the weird acoustics of the mansion. 

Why did you leave me?

"...what?"

Why did you go away? You've made me sick with worry.

"I...I have?"

Day in, day out, you're all I think about.

"No...no, that can't be right. That's me, not you."

Are you sure? Think harder. What do you remember about me?

"I don't know, I don't know. Why are you doing this, Lockwood?" Something was very, very wrong. What was he of all people doing here, and why weren't his lips moving when he talked?

How can you be so in love with me if you can't even remember me?

I do! I do remember you! Please don't say I don't.

Why'd you leave me, Y/N?

"Wha...what? I didn't - no - I didn't mean to leave you-"

I wanted you to stay.

"Then you should have TOLD ME!"

But I did tell you.

It still hadn't fully clicked in her brain, but she gleaned enough to tell that this wasn't Lockwood. Some obscene bastardisation of him, perhaps, but nothing of any real substance. She walked back a few steps, keeping her eyes trained on him, and against her better judgement threw a flare at him. It hit the centre of his chest, which began to fizzle up and corrode away at the figment until there was nothing left but the dying embers reflected in her misty eyes. He had looked...so solid. So real. Real enough for her to believe. Oh god, how badly she wanted to believe.

That night, she had barely pulled off much of her excess gear before slumping into bed, which she did not leave for the next three days. Obviously, that hadn't been Lockwood, it was a Fetch. But it only had her memories to work off of. What was it that had happened that made her feel like he had told her to stay? She drove herself mad picking apart every interaction she had had with him since she was 13. What did she miss? Where was the mistake?

Maybe she was just hoping for a mistake.

I miss you. I wish you were here - not miles away in London, here, beside me. I wish it was you lodged in my chest instead of this acrid longing. I'm the one who can't do this without you. Please come back to me. I'm so tired of being strong. Please come save me. I need you here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here. I wish you were here.

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

P.S. until I changed my mind at the very last minute this WAS going to have a happy ending I wrote it out and everything but then deleted and Grammarly won't let me ctrl z my way out of this :(((

[mycurrent-hyperfixation]

Dance With Me, Baby (Locklyle Fic)

Summary: Lucy doesn't listen one too many times and it leads to a situation she did not expect to end up in.

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Lucy Carlyle

Tags: fluff, pining, angst

Warnings: Mild spoilers for the books!

A/N: Another Locklyle fic for this lil fandom. Thinking of maybe doing a part 2 so let me know what you think.

Unfortunately, Lucy could remember every excruciating detail of the series of events that had led to her current situation. And it had all been her fault.

It had started a few weeks ago, when Lockwood had whisked through the door with a swish of his coat and a grin on his face. Lucy and George had been in the kitchen; George making the tea, and Lucy trying against all hope to ignore the Skull’s incessant nagging. Having given up on trying to persuade Lucy to let him out of the jar, he had instead tried a new approach.

“Let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out…”

Even Lucy had to admit that it was certainly an effective tactic, for she had never wanted more than to hurl that jar – skull and all – straight out of the top floor window. Normally, Lucy would have just twisted the lever on the top of the jar to stop the Skull’s never-ending torment. But it just so happened that that very week, George had managed to get the lever stuck open during one of his infamous experiments on the Skull. The experiment had included a bath, a large bottle of resin and the house’s only pasta strainer. What exactly had occurred, Lucy had no interest in knowing. 

Either way, Lucy had come to discover that a ghost truly never needed to sleep nor required to pause for breath. It was safe to say she was at her wits end when Lockwood came bouncing into the kitchen. 

A twitch had developed in Lucy’s eye over the previous few days, partly as a tick from her constant state of annoyance and partly a product of her complete lack of sleep. She tried desperately to get it under control as Lockwood talked. Thus, between her preoccupation with her twitch and the Skull’s persistent chattering, the only words she heard from Lockwood that afternoon were “party” and “invited”. And whilst this would normally be enough to pique her interest to listen further, the only thing she cared about in that moment was finding somewhere in the house to put the Skull where his voice could not reach her. 

It was only that night when Lucy finally got some peace and quiet after her and George had managed to drown out the Skull’s talking. They had wrapped it in a silver net, put it into another silver case and surrounded said silver case with three sets of iron chains. The words from Lockwood’s conversation that afternoon floated dully through her head, but she was too focused on making it all the way up the mountainous stairs to her bed before she passed out to pay them any thought. In the end, the words slipped from her mind just as her consciousness had: instantly and resolutely as soon as her head hit the pillow.

The second strange instance that had contributed to Lucy’s predicament occurred two days later. It was early in the afternoon when Lockwood returned home, a smile on his face and a garment bag slung across one shoulder. But in truth, Lockwood returning home with a garment bag was actually a far more frequent occurrence than one might have thought. He did ruin on average one coat a week due to their line of work; two if the week’s cases were particularly demanding. In hindsight, Lucy should have noticed the logo on the bag – not a store that Lockwood usually frequented for his coats – and queried him about it. But she had only just woken up and George had finished making her eggs on toast and, in all honesty, she couldn’t really bring herself to care.

The third and final event that should have clued Lucy in to what would become a disastrous event happened only hours before said disastrous event occurred. Lucy and Lockwood were sitting quite comfortably across from one another in their respective armchairs; Lucy going over their case book and Lockwood going through his tabloids.

‘I was thinking…’ Lockwood interrupted the silence, his voice oddly timid in the still air. ‘Maybe it would be a good idea to practice…you know…before the party.’

Ah yes, the party that Lucy knew almost nothing about.

‘Yeah,’ Lockwood continued almost hesitantly. ‘You know how I mentioned it the other day? I just think it would be a good idea to learn each other’s…rhythms.’

Lucy had furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and had been about to voice several questions, when something else came out of her mouth entirely.

‘Do you smell burning?’

The next thing both of them knew, two voices were yelling from the kitchen. Lucy and Lockwood both leapt from their chairs and raced towards the commotion. Pushing the door to the kitchen open, they were met with a wall of smoke, George in a frilly apron, and Quill Kipps holding a pair of oven mitts that were very much ablaze.

Later, when both the blaze and George’s anger at the house’s only oven mitts being destroyed had been extinguished – both an unfortunate byproduct of Quill’s attempt at making Yorkshire puddings – Lockwood had approached Lucy once more. 

‘So, about the practice…’ 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lucy said, too tired from trying to save the house from burning down to pay much attention to anything. ‘Can I just meet you downstairs in, like, an hour?’

Lockwood had stumbled out his agreement and Lucy had quirked an eyebrow at his uncharacteristically timid demeanour before retreating back to her room. She really had had no clue why Lockwood was acting so weird over rapier practice.

And so, an hour later, Lucy had learned of her grave mistake. 

‘Dancing?’ she all but blurted out.

‘Yeah, for the ballroom party at Fittes,’ Lockwood said with a quirked eyebrow. ‘You know, we’ll have to sneak away to the Black Library to steal the manuscript since our Orpheus society stint went…badly.’

Now both of them were very obviously confused.

‘And that involves…dancing?’ Lucy asked.

‘Lucy, where have you been? We talked about this weeks ago. We need to make ourselves seen for as much as the party as possible so it doesn’t look like we’re up to anything.’

‘Can’t we just…mingle?’

Lockwood ran a hand through his hair in exasperation.

‘I really don’t see what the issue is. The dance floor will give us the best vantage point to scope out the party without looking suspicious so-’ Lockwood’s gaze shot back up to Lucy, something indistinguishable behind his eyes.

‘What?’ Lucy asked.

‘Do you…’ Lockwood paused, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. Lucy didn’t like where this was going. ‘Do you not know how to dance?’

Now it was Lucy’s turn to throw her hands up in exasperation.

‘Why on earth would I know how to dance? We didn’t exactly have balls up north! I was too busy fighting ghosts and trying to get away from my mo-’ Lucy stopped herself. Lockwood knew of her mother. At least enough to understand why Lucy wanted to stay out of the spotlight. But still, she averted her gaze to the floor and fought the urge to run away.

A silence grew between them then, something thick and heavy and filled with something Lucy could not name. She thought she saw Lockwood’s hand reach towards her, but then it was flicking upwards to run through his hair once more. 

‘I could… I could teach you?’ Lockwood said, his voice far softer now, tentative even.

And so that was how Lucy found herself in one of the strangest situations of her life. 

One of Lockwood’s hands was connected in hers, his other laying featherlight on her waist. She wished that she had not worn such a short top – she had thought it was rapier practice after all – for now, every so often, she could feel his fingers brush against her bare skin. He was avoiding the area, she was quite sure, for his hand was slightly higher than it needed to be. But every so often, his fingers would slip down and Lucy would blush.

And they were dancing.

Well, ‘dancing’ was probably too kind a word, Lucy knew. Lockwood was certainly dancing. Lucy on the other hand could not stop tripping on her own feet and stepping on Lockwood’s.

‘I’m so useless at this,’ Lucy said more to herself than anyone. But she did not pull away.

‘You’re just new to this,’ Lockwood said. ‘I couldn’t dance at one point either, you know?’

‘What, when you came out of the womb?’

Lockwood laughed, and Lucy realised she could feel the vibrations from his chest. They had started their practice as far away from each other as they could possibly get. But now it seemed that, somewhere along the way, they had gotten closer and closer until Lucy found her body almost completely pressed up against Lockwood’s. He was warm, she realised, and somehow smelled even better than he usually did. She turned her head quickly away as she felt another blush creep onto her cheeks.

‘My mother taught me to dance when I was little,’ Lockwood said, his voice soft. Lucy remained quiet, knowing that times like this, when Lockwood felt comfortable enough to open up, were a rarity that could not be interrupted. ‘We would dance around the living room whilst my father danced with my sister. It was more us just being silly rather than anything serious. But it was…nice.’

‘It sounds nice,’ Lucy said softly. ‘Sounds…homely.’

They were swaying softly to the music as they spoke. It was something classical, slow and delicate, from a CD Lockwood had procured. Lucy closed her eyes as she listened to it; the lightness of the piano keys slowly building to something grander. It was nice. To listen to something other than the moans and screams of the dead.

‘You like the music?’ she heard Lockwood say. 

She hummed her affirmation.

‘It was my father’s, but I found it in my sister’s room. She always loved classical music.’

‘Well, she had good taste,’ Lucy mumbled. 

Faintly, as if the feeling were far away, she felt Lockwood’s hand slip down once more, the warmth of his touch brushing against her skin. But this time, he did not remove them. 

And Lucy did not want him to.

When she reopened her eyes, she found Lockwood staring intently down at her. Their faces were close now, close enough that she could hear the softness of his breath. Another blush crept up Lucy’s neck, and although she could feel it meandering onto her cheeks, she could not bring herself to tear her gaze away from Lockwood’s.

‘I think I’ve found my tactic,’ Lockwood said. Lucy furrowed her brow in confusion. ‘If I keep you distracted, you’re much less likely to kill my feet.’

Lucy could not help the laughter that burst from of her. She punched Lockwood lightly in the shoulder. 

‘Prick,’ she said before she, truthfully, accidentally stood on Lockwood’s foot again.

‘See?!’ he said and Lucy laughed once more.

And that was how George found them some time later, dancing slowly in the basement, bodies pressed up against one another, as they laughed in each other’s embrace.

[gay-dorito-dust]

If you're open to requests would you write “are you hurt? you look hurt, are you sure everything’s okay?” from your prompt list with George Karim?

Again my brain is still firmly fixated on a spn x lockwood and Co crossover. They fit perfectly in my minds eye. Also I kinda had to break off the prompt a little.

“Hey Casper, why don’t you quit being a pansy arse and come on out for a friendly chat.” You spoke aloud in the dimly light hallway, progressing slowly as you searched room after room for the damned ghost, “I promise I don’t bite.” You add as you tighten your grip on your shotgun. “Much.”

You were currently on a solo ghost hunt in an abandoned warehouse where sketchy people relocated to do their dealings in and from what you gathered, there had been sightings from said dealers of an ghost that has been killing them off one by one in brutal fashion, but the authorities had all but swept it under the rug; seeing this as an golden opportunity to minimise the already alarming percentage of drug dealings within town.

You, however, had been itching for a simple salt and burn for a long while and weren’t about to pass up the chance of shooting some spectral visitors in the face with a shotgun full of rock salt, rather then fending them off with a flimsy Rapier; You had nothing against them but you preferred the way you’ve been taught to hunt over how people these days were being taunt.

You mean sure, it was effective and surfactant but you’ve always hated playing by someone else’s rules. You missed the tales Dean would tell you during his hunting youth but since his passing all you had left of him was his hunting gear, his hunting journals and the impala; All of which you took extremely good care of.

So when the ghost didn’t appear at your taunt, you began to grow annoyed and started doubting the dealers accounts of what happened. They could’ve been high for all you knew and the ghost they claimed to have seen was merely a symptom of the hallucinate drugs they’ve taken prior. However the sounds you’ve picked up on from your little ghostly visitor told you that there was a legit presence here and it was just fucking with you at this point and finding humour in your frustrations.

“Oh, just come on out so we can get this over with you shitty, fuckin-“ before you could finish your sentence the ghost appeared behind you and was about to make a grab for you when you managed to get out of dodge; taking a chest shot at it with your iron crowbar, causing it to dissipate briefly before coming back for another go at you from up close this time and before you could get a clear shot of it.

The ghost used it’s powers to push into a nearby wall, making a decent dent in it, which sent your gun from your hand and skidding just away aways from the ghost. “Simple salt and burn my arse.” You groaned in pain as the ghost was fast approaching you; Gifting no room for you to get back to your feet before being flung once again into a metal shelving rack which collapsed upon impact with your body and you to yelp in even more pain.

“Give me time to get up you unfair prick!” You exclaimed as the ghost appeared before you again, prepping to throw you for a third time, that was until you managed to act quick enough and grab an broken piece of iron, jabbing it into the ghost as it disappeared and within the short time span that you had; you ran back to your gun just in time to get a shot in when the ghost got uncomfortably close.

“Prick.” You spat as you limped out of the warehouse towards the sight where you found the bones of the ghost you needed to salt and burn- just behind the warehouse funnily enough- though not before parking the impala nearby for easier access for a quick getaway should the situation became too dire for you to handle single-handedly.

You nabbed the gasoline from the back of the impala and dumped the whole canister onto the bones before struggling to set the match alight that soon sent the bones into an fiery inferno. Ending the ghost’s reign of terror.

After concluding the case, you dragged your battered and bruised self back to the Impala, groaning in discomfort as you shifted into the driver seat before driving back to 35 Portland Row, London, aka where the people you’ve considered family were waiting.

By the time you got back to Lockwood and Co, you were barely able to stand from both your injuries and the fatigue that was quick to catch up to you directly after the adrenaline rush wore off. “Ah shit.” You cursed under your breath when you noticed that one of the wounds you’ve sustained was starting to bleed and were quick to press a hand against it as you stumbled in through the hallway.

“Y/n?” George’s voice called from the kitchen as his footsteps were quick and hurried as though he was in a rush to see you. “I’m fine!” You called out but it was too late to hide anything as George was stood across from you in the hallway, his dark, expressive eyes glanced from one wound to another. “Are you hurt? That’s a stupid question because You look hurt.” his rambling came to a stop when he saw the pain flash across your face as you put down more pressure on one of your more concerning wounds, “I’m okay.” You grunted.

“Okay? Are you sure everything’s okay because to me it looks like your bleeding out in the middle of the hallway.”

“It’s tomato sauce.” You defended as George was then set off into another rambling rant as he ride himself of his apron, tossing it onto one of the backs of the chairs before rushing to your side to support your weight as he helped you to the bathroom where the first aid was safely kept.

“George, I can patch myself up.” You whined as you were sat on the toilet seat whilst George pulled out the first aid kit, shooting you an concerned glare as his eyes once again scanned of your form. “Not in that state your not,” he tells you, “you look at though you went at it with a cinder block for a concerning amount of time and won by pure dumb luck.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle which only ended in you wincing in pain. “Stop making me laugh, I’m hurt and blessing all over the toilet seat.” You whined lightly.

“So you’re finally admitting that your not okay and that mysterious red stuff standing the carpet down stairs isn’t tomato sauce? Gee, nice to know and here I thought you were just pulling a belated April fools prank on me.” He utters sarcastically as he pulled together everything he needed before patching you up gingerly.

[archiveoftara]

​​​​​​Behind the Scenes pt.1

So you're playing Lucy and I'm going for a enemies to lovers vibe. So, I hope the turned out well. Idk

Warning: mild language

Part 2

"Please don't give up on us. Don't give up on me"

"CUT"

"Don't give up on me, my ass" you muttered to yourself.

"You know I can hear you." Cameron glared at you.

"That's great. It's wonderful how our feelings are mutual." You exclaimed.

"I can't stand you." Offended Cameron said.

"Then have a seat, lad." You left the floor and went to your trailer straight away.

You shut the door behind you and laid down on the small bed near your dressing table.

Cameron Chapman is unbearable - an understatement.

When you first met Cameron for the screen test he was quite nice. The past few weeks you've seen changes in his behaviour and he's becoming rude each passing day. You can't wait for this to get over and run back home.

"We're ready for the next shot, ma'am" called the spot boy.

Here we go again

*Cameron's POV*

"In this scene, Lockwood is having a panic attack and Lucy is trying to bring Lockwood back to earth" The director explained.

I gave a quick glance to y/n and took a deep breath.

"Lights. Camera. Action."

"He killed him. Lucy he..killed him. He.. he died because of me. I couldn't do anything lucy" I said with all my emotions.

"Lockwood." Y/n said.

"They killed him just like that. What did he die for? He died because of me. He didn't deserve it, lucy."

"Lockwood, listen to me."

"He lost his life because of me, lucy. He sacrificed himself for us."

"LOCKWOOD" y/n said while holding my face in her palms. I can feel her warm breath. The smell of strawberry cologne. Wait, this wasn't in the script.

"Lockwood, get it together, please. We have to get out of here alive. Please, focus." Y/n touched my face with tears in her eyes. I got lost in her eyes. She's so beautiful. I can't hide this secret anymore.

"CUT. Great job. We'll get back to it tomorrow. Pack up for today." The director said and went to his office.

"We're already done?" I muttered.

"Of course. Now will you quit staring?" Y/n said in irritation.

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not that pretty to look at." I said in a taunting voice.

Y/n scoffed and left the set.

Why does she hate me so much?

Why does he hate me so much?

.

.

.

"I'm not pretty?? Who does he think he is?" You didn't realise you were talking to yourself until someone called your name. You looked up and found a guy with his glasses on. You looked a bit relieved as he was your only friend (beside Cameron as he turned into a prick recently) in the whole show.

"Are you okay?" Ali asked you in concern.

"I'm splendid. Couldn't be better." You said with a smile in your face.

"You can't fool me. I know something is wrong with you. There's this new pub down the street. Wanna grab a drink?" Ali said. You smiled in response.

"Then he said 'you're not that pretty to look at'. I know I'm not drop dead gorgeous but making fun of someone's appearance is the new low for me." You complained to Ali.

"I think we should go home. It's your third bottle of tequila. Let me help you-"

"Nope. I'm fine. I can help myself just fine." You stuttered while trying to get up from the bar chair but you fell on the ground in the process. Do you see those stars? Oh, that's a guy. Who are you? Before you could realise everything turned black.

.

.

.

You woke up from the sound of dishes clattering. What is this beautiful smell? Is that pancake? I hope it's a chocolate pancake..wait a minute. I live alone. I'm still in my bed. Then, who's in the kitchen?

You looked under the blanket and found yourself naked. Shit. What happened last night? I can't remember. You started to look for your purse. You know what? I should probably look for my clothes first. You covered yourself with the blanket and looked around the room. This room doesn't look familiar. Where am I?

"You're awake."

You looked up and thought you were dreaming.

"What are you doing here?" You gulped.

"Y/n you're in my room. This is my flat." Chapman said in a delicate tone.

"Why..why am I..in your room?" Oh goodness, I'm gonna lose it.

"Y/n, calm down. Nothing happened. I promise. It's not what it looks like. Last night, I found you in the pub absolutely sloshed. Me and Ali were wondering what to do since we didn't want to leave you alone at the hotel. So, we decided to bring you to our flat.." he said, avoiding my eyes.

"That doesn't explain why I'm naked." You tried your best to hide your embarrassment.

"You said you were feeling hot and took off your clothes." Chapman tried to hide his smile.

"What's so funny, Chapman?" You glared.

"Actually, it's quite funny. Last night, you were so funny. Sorry." Cameron looked down again. "Well, why don't you get changed and come for breakfast?" He said and left the room.

.

.

.

"The pancake tastes so good." Relishing the sweet goodness. "I didn't know you could cook so well, Chapman."

"You were too busy fighting with me to know that, y/n" Chapman lightly chuckled.

*Cameron's POV*

"Um.. I want to say something." I said while playing with the string of my hoodie.

"Yeah go ahead." Y/n said as she stuffed her mouth with pancakes.

"I know this might not be the best time to say it. I don't know how I should break it to you." Come on, Cam. You can do it.

I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing

[hyperion-moonbabe-art3mis]

Caught In Between 34. The Final Location

Summary: Athena Dumont has finally found a place to call home after many years of foster homes and traveling. She had finally tamed her supernatural side and just wanted to live a normal teenage life. She quickly discovers that there is nothing normal about her hometown, Mystic Falls and gets sucked right back into the supernatural world.

Post Date: 02.16.21

Word count: 2.6k

Based off: 04x17 “Because the Night” || 04x18 “American Gothic”

Masterlist

CIB Masterlist

A/N: This part is quite a doozy for Klaus and Athena. I decided to stick the two eps together because the 04x18 scenes I picked were fairly short and I wanted to share the piece of info that reveals a bit about them. I hope you enjoy!

Even though I wasn’t present for the little party Elena decided to throw. I thought it’d be nice to help Caroline clean the Salvatore house up. After I got ready I head over. As soon as I made my way in I could see why Caroline needed my help.

“It looks like a tornado blew through here,” I say walking into the house.

“Tell me about it,” Caroline says taking a sip from a random cup. 

“Well, what can I help with? Well, I mean where can I start?” I ask.

“Anywhere. The trash bags are in the kitchen,” Caroline says. I head to the kitchen and grab a trash bag. As I head back into the main room I hear a voice I’m not particularly keen on hearing. 

“Tyler made it his life’s mission to kill me. You can’t hate me for driving him away,” Klaus says.

“She can and so can I,” I say walking into the room. Klaus looks up at me, almost with a guilty expression, but I just write it off as Klaus being broody.

“Hello, love,” Klaus says almost returning to his normal self.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to spiraling, so go away,” Caroline says.

“Actually, I asked him to be here. We need his help. I think Silas is in Mystic Falls,” Stefan says walking up next to me. Stefan explains the situation to us as we continue to clean up.

“So some blood went missing from a few hospitals. What about Elena? Don’t vampires with their humanity off tend to overindulge in human blood, or were you the exception?” Klaus says turning to Stefan.

“It’s not Elena,” Stefan says.

“Well, let’s just say for a moment that it was Silas. I’m struggling to see how this affects me,” Klaus says sitting down.

“Look. Silas wants to die and be reunited with his one true love, but he’s supernatural, so if he takes the cure and dies, he gets stuck on the other side,” Stefan explains.

“How Shakespearian,” Klaus responds taking a sip of his drink.

“But if he destroys the other side altogether, he can take the cure, die, and pass on, but in destroying it, every dead supernatural being will return to our side,” Stefan explains further.

“That means every werewolf, every witch, every vampire,” Caroline starts.

“Every hybrid,” I add.

“I wonder how many of those you personally killed. Care yet?” Caroline finishes.

“My interest is piqued. How do we stop him?” Klaus asks.

“Bonnie said Silas needs to complete 3 massacres to do this spell. Before Professor Shane died, he convinced the pastor to blow up the council. Next, he had you kill your hybrids, and now he only needs one more massacre. So if he’s here, that’s what he’s doing. We need to find him,” Stefan says.

“So what’s the play?” I ask.

“We look to see if  Shane had any info we didn’t know,” Stefan says. We all nod and head to Shane’s office.

“What are we even looking for?” Caroline asks as we walk in.

“Well, If Shane really was working with Silas, chances are he was helping him plan his next move,” Stefan says as we look around.

“Where, on his evil villain to do list-- steal blood, perform 3 massacres, pick up dry cleaning?” Caroline says.

“Actually not to nit-pick, but we evil villains usually use minions to pick up our dry cleaning, that sort of thing,” Klaus says.

“Why is he necessary again?” I ask.

“I second that,” Caroline says.

“Well, we don’t know what Silas can do, so if we do have to go head to head with him, an original hybrid who can’t die might come in handy,” Stefan explains.

“Would a hybrid who doesn’t want her friends to die be a good enough substitute? Cuz you got one right here,” I say raising my hand.

“Sorry love. But I’m not letting you go head to head with another immortal being,” Klaus says.

“Was I asking you? Was I asking him?” I ask looking at Caroline and Stefan.

“Besides the point. Stefan and I work well together, or at least we did in the Twenties,” Klaus says.

“Well, granted my emotions were off,” Stefan says.

“And that’s why you were way more fun. Just as Damon is probably relishing in Elena’s emotionless company in New York,” Klaus says.

“My brother knows what he’s doing,” Stefan says.

“Does he? Don’t underestimate the allure of darkness, Stefan. Even the purest of hearts are drawn to it,” Klaus says looking over at me. “Still, I’m sure it will all be fine,” 

“I think I found something,” I say looking at the book I have in my hand. “‘Symbolic Figures in the Dark Arts’ Didn’t Bonnie talk about expression triangles?” I say bringing the book to the desk and pointing to the picture on the page I had open.

“‘In some schools of magic such as expression, human sacrifice can be used as a focus for power. It’s rumored that the addition of two supernatural sacrifices compounds the mystical energy creating an expression triangle,’” Stefan reads.

“Humans, that was the council fire. Demons, Klaus’ hybrid failure,” Caroline says.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it a failure. What’s the third?” Klaus says wanting to move past the statement.

“Oh, no. Witches,” Caroline says.

“Great. I can’t believe Bonnie is gonna go through with this,” I say.

“Well, we need to figure out where it’s gonna happen. I’m gonna see if I can find or contact Bonnie,” Stefan says and leaves the room.

“Is there a map?” Caroline asks. We look around and Klaus finds one and sets it on the desk.

“There’s been two massacres. Pastor Young’s Farm,” I say and Caroline points to where it is on the map and I make an X.

“And the old Lockwood cellar. Where you spitefully slaughtered 12 of your own hybrids is here,” Caroline and  points to the cellar. I make another X and draw a line to connect them.

“According to the book, the expression triangle is equilateral, putting it here,” I say drawing an X and two lines to find where the witch massacre would happen.

“Somebody’s been skipping their geometry classes. There are actually two places where the massacre could be,” Klaus says and draws another triangle below mine.

“Well, you didn’t let me finish,” I say.

“Hey. What’s going on? Did you find Bonnie?” Caroline asks as Stefan walks into the room.

“No, but I talked to her dad. I think I found Silas,” Stefan says. We all split up to find which location where the massacre was taking place.

“I just want to see where we are,” I say as Klaus and I walk through the forest.

“You know, when we split up, you did have the option of going with Stefan and Caroline,” Klaus says.

“I don’t think so. If I recall the conversation correctly. You said ‘Athena and I will go together’ and then you whisked me away...again. You know is this just another one of your little ploys to get me talking to you alone, and not about Silas or the cure, right?” I ask but get no response. “Do you know how to read a map?” I ask.

“Yes, and do you know who taught me? My friend Magellan,” Klaus says.

“I didn’t know you could make multiple friends. Was he drawn to your darkness too?” I ask.

“Actually, I was referring to Damon and Elena when I said that, but clearly it struck a chord with you,” Klaus says.

“It’s because it’s not true. There’s no allure to darkness,” I say.

“Really?” Klaus says and turns to me.  “So you’ve never felt the attraction that comes when someone who’s capable of doing terrible things for some reason only cares about you?” Klaus asks me.

“Are you referring to you and me?! Because I never knew this side of you until you decided to rain all hell on my family and friends. And before you say anything about Ray’s pack, they were my family. They’re the ones who helped me become the person I am today. The fearless werewolf you decided to make a hybrid of your own will, not mine. So no, I don’t know the feeling you’re talking about, because the man that I knew you as was the one who loved me unconditionally. I heard the stories, but I only saw the good in you, until you decided to mix me up in your supernatural--I don’t even know what this is,” I say feeling a tear fall down my face.

“We’re here, although judging by the lack of witches, here is not the correct location,” Klaus says. We start to head to the other location where Caroline and Stefan went to.

“They’re linked. Bonnie’s gonna kill them,” Stefan says.

“Not if the witches kill her first,” Klaus says.

“Klaus we need to save her,” I say after he pushes Stefan against a tree.

“How? The only way to stop the witches is to kill them, and then Silas gets what he wants,” Klaus says.

“Spirits, take her soul. Free her from darkness,” One of the witches says holding a knife above Bonnie. Caroline doesn’t hesitate for a moment before stabbing the witch with her own knife, stopping the ritual.

“No!” Klaus yells. All the other witches die, completing the expression triangle.

“The triangle is complete,” Bonnie says. We quickly get Bonnie and head out of the location. After we made sure Bonnie was safe, I headed back to my house, trying to take in what happened tonight.

“Hey. How’s Bonnie,” I say answering the phone.

“She’s fine. But she doesn’t remember anything past the island,” Stefan explains.

“I’m just glad she’s ok,” I say.

“Me too. I’m gonna let Caroline know,” Stefan says before hanging up. 

The next morning I was going to head out to check on Bonnie until I noticed an unnatural amount of messages on my phone from Klaus. Knowing he wouldn’t leave me alone with this many messages, I thought I’d go see what he wanted.

“I got you messages...All of them. This better be life and death,” I say walking into Klaus’ mansion.

“Go away,” I hear Klaus say.

“Klaus? Where are you?” I say. I walk towards where I heard his voice until I saw him clenching the piano seat on the ground. “What happened to you?” I ask as it looked like he was in pain.

“I need more time. Stop hounding me!” Klaus yells.

“Excuse me? You messaged me more times than I can count,” I reply.

“Athena. Is it really you?” Klaus asks shakily.

“Of course it is,” I respond. Klaus sighs in relief. He struggles to sit on the piano seat but manages to anyways.

“Prove it to me,” Klaus says.

“I really don’t have time for you to want to solve our relationship problem right now. I have more important things to deal with,” I say before turning around.

“Wait, please. Silas. He stabbed me with a white oak stake. There’s a little piece of it stuck inside of me,” Klaus explains.

“Why would Silas attack you?” I ask.

“Well, I was in no position to ask questions. Suffice it to say, I’m hurt. So you can understand why I called you,” Klaus says.

“I’m not really sure what I could do to help you,” I respond.

“If I die, you, Caroline, Tyler, all of your friends die with me,” Klaus says.

“Fine, just tell me what to do,” I say.

“Well, it’s quite simple, really. I need you to cut the stake out of me,” Klaus says pointing to the already bloody shears on the floor. I pick up the shears and Klaus turns around so I could start to try and get the stake out.

“I swear there’s nothing in here,” I say before digging a little deeper. Klaus screams and slams his hand against the piano. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry... You know what, I’m not,” I say ripping the shears out. “I’ve already got my hands full with helping my friends and you trying to pine for me is not helping. So if you want my help, stop getting in the way,” I say. I move to the couch as Klaus struggles to try to get the stake out himself.

“I can feel the splinters moving towards my heart. Help me!” Klaus yells.

“Will you stop getting in the way?” I ask.

“You really think I’m just going to stop getting in the way when your life could be in danger?” Klaus asks.

“And you know how many times my life was in danger because of you? If you want to get in the way, why can’t you just do something decent for once?” I ask back.

“Because Tyler Lockwood tried to kill me,” Klaus says.

“We’ve all tried to kill you. Hell, I even put you down for a time. But you’ve tried to kill most of us. Why are you going through all this effort to keep me safe when I don’t even need you to. You made me who I am, so why am I not strong enough to protect myself?” I ask. 

“Because I can’t lose you again!” Klaus yells.

“And I’m strong enough to protect myself, hybrid or not. Why can’t you see that?” I ask.

“Because I lost you the first time I met you! You...you we’re in my arms and I let you slip away,” Klaus says.

“Because I wanted to,” I responded.

“No...no. The first time we met. The very first time,” Klaus says confusing me.

“What do you mean? I didn’t even know who you were when we met,” I say. 

“It’s gone,” Klaus says quieter, ignoring my question.

“What?” I ask.

“The pain. The pain is gone,” Klaus says feeling his back. “Oh, see, it was never there. He got in my head. Silas got inside my head,” Klaus says shakily. “You took my mind off it. You brought me back, Athena,” Klaus says cupping my cheek with his hand.

I move his hand off of my face, “If Silas can make you of all people, believe that you’re dying...what can he do to the rest of us?” I ask. Klaus goes to clean himself up, leaving me to process and figure out what Klaus meant by the “very first time” we met while I cleaned myself up.

“I’m heading back to mine,” I say walking past Klaus.

“Hey,” He grabs my arm and pulls me to face him. “Thank you for helping me,” Klaus says.

“Of course. Just don’t think I’ll come running every time you scream for help. And don’t spam my phone either” I say.

“Promise,” Klaus smiles.

“I just have one question. What did you mean by the very first time we met? When was that? I remember the first time we met, we bumped into eachother when I was leaving a cafe,” I say.

“My love. That is a story for a different day, but I promise I’ll tell you one day,” Klaus says and kisses my forehead.

“So you’re just gonna leave me guessing?” I ask.

“There are more pressing matters right now. But I promise I’ll tell you soon,” He says. 

“Fine. But you can’t break that promise, seriously,” I say.

“Promise. Can I ask you a question?” He asks and I nod. “Will you ever love me again?”

“Uhh...I--I can’t really answer that question right now. That’s pretty loaded. But I’ll think about it. I uh guess,” I say and head out.

🏷: @tristanacarry​ | @commentaryfanfic​ | @april-14-blog​ |  @simonsbluee​ | @awkwardspontaneity​ | @keiko0​ | @xetherealbeautyx​ | @vxidnik​

[natebuzzlover344]

First of all, i’m sorry for my english and grammar. And this is a chapter of one of my wattpad stories named “Cliché”

It’s a Mitch Rapp fanfiction, if you like it i will continue to translate it in english.

I don’t own this gif (take it from pinterest)

I stand in front of the mirror looking at my sad reflex. My skin is whiter than milk, and the dark circles around my eyes look awful to me, the redness of the bruise around my eyes has been pierced by small thin veins.

I'm in a tough, tough time. I do not feel well. It was as if all evil had come upon me. I take a foundation with two shades darker from the cherry blush on the table. I need to have a little color, I look like a corpse.

I pour a few drops into my palms and start stretching in front of me. My blue eyes, like the sea, watched as my face began to come to life.

At just twenty-three, my embers-black hair begins to turn white at the roots. The stress is too great. I'm surrounded by people, but I feel lonely. Empty inside.

After applying a layer of mascara on my long lashes, I get up from my chair and take my red dress off the bed.

The bitter taste of sadness is the only aroma I have been feeling for more than three years. The judgment of the people around me depresses me, as if cutting me in the flesh.

My name is Jenna Lockwood and I'm probably the most fake person you've ever met.

After I put on the dress, I look in the mirror and struggle to smile. The red dress fit perfectly on my waist, and the square neckline highlighted my golden necklace, received as a gift from a good friend. I untie my hair and let it fall, reaching close to my hips.

Now that I'm ready, it's time to leave for a new white night in which I will hide my sadness and insecurities behind a mask. White Nights for black days.

I walk in the door of the club excited by the colorful strobe lights and the catchy music that sings so loud it seems to shake the club. The smell of liquor and expensive perfume was all that pleased my nasal senses. People dancing perfectly to the music, lovers making obscene signs without inhibitions, drunks and drunks falling on the stairs in the bathroom, that's my world. The world without prejudices.

I make room using my elbows through the crowd to reach the bar on the side of the club. It seems that the handsome blonde with long hair up to his ears was working hard flaming a few glasses.

“Ohoo, my man!” I yell at him to hear the music and I lean over the bar to clap with him.

He has been my friend since childhood, somehow our friendship lasted despite the years. Although he does not agree with my lifestyle, he understands my pain and respects my decisions.

"Lanna, I thought you'd miss the party!" Michael replies with a wide smile on his face.

The blonde returns to take the bottle of bacardi, already knowing what I usually order, but tonight I thought of drinking something new.

"Why don't you make me a margarita?" I ask, raising both my eyebrows.

Michael smiles at me and takes a glass of daisy from his stand, then greases the top of the glass with water, then dips it in salt and then pours tequila and triple dry.

I could already feel salivating seeing the beautiful pale green liquid poured into the glass. To make matters worse, Michael squeezes another lemon and hands me my glass.

I take the money out of the black envelope but Michael stops me.

“You know the start is from me!” he says friendly.

“ I always forget, some interesting people?” I ask, sipping my glass.

"About that, I understand that friends of the owner will be coming tonight, some dubious ones, be careful ..." Michael informed me, looking around.

I nod and offer a kiss on the cheek. I wink at them, then walk away to the bar and join the crowd of people dancing as if there were no more tomorrow.

I begin to move to the rhythms of the song Feel so close, occasionally sipping from my glass. The taste of tequilla caresses my taste buds.

A tall man with an enviable athletic body had appeared in front of me. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans of the same color, torn, accessorized with a chain. His beard was a little overgrown, and his hair was quite long with a gorgeous brown.

I approached the charming man in the rhythm of the dance, putting the glass of daisies around his neck, then leaving it on a nearby table.

The mysterious brunette moved in decline with me, giving me a small smile. He wasn't the kind of boy you'd see everywhere, he had a unique face that stood out from the rest of the males around here. The rhythm of the music pushed me closer and closer to him.

I took the opportunity to look at him closely and feel my amber-colored eyes soften in his eyes, not to mention the small drops of honey that were hiding in his iris.

“I've never seen you here and believe me I come very often!” I whisper in his ear to hear the music.

“It’s the first time, this pleace is awesome!” He replied very excited.

The guy grabs my hand and spins me around, and with a strong pull I get to stick my chest tightly to his. I notice a few strands of hair settling over his eye so I reach for his hand and place his hair on his back.

It had been a while since we had been dancing, the songs seemed to change from second to second.

The rest of the evening I felt like in a story. I danced until I felt my sandals tighten and the kamikaze shots flowed incessantly around our necks. I was at the entrance of the club, the cool summer breeze drying the drops of water that flowed on my body. The handsome brunette takes a pack of cigarettes from his jeans pocket, then carries a cigarette with an orange filter in his mouth.

"My name is Lanna, I think you should know that we've been dancing for more than five hours," I say sarcastically.

“I’m Mitch, very glad to meed you, ma’ lady” he say very charming.

I watched him curiously as he drew so pathetically from the cigarette that it was almost over. It seemed to me that he was stressed, I had never seen anyone smoke a cigarette so quickly.

As soon as he throws the cigarette in the ashtray, he lights another cigarette. The silence of the night put me back in my bitter thoughts, I didn't want peace anymore. The silence depresses me. I stared blankly under the starry sky, searching for a lifeline in my own thoughts.

"Look up!" he tells me with a smile.

His voice instantly woke me from my thoughts, as if it were a crack that pulled me out of my trance.

I conform quickly and feel him wipe the underside of my eye with his fingertips.

"Your mascara had spread," he announced, smiling.

"Oh, thank you," I say through gritted teeth.

I look back at a fixed point and am blocked again by thoughts. I have become addicted to noise, the silence is stifling.

Two young people in love leave the club. A couple who have been visiting the area for more than half a year. I always tried them with admiration, in their case it seems that love and fun are on the same waterline.

This time they didn't come out with a smile up to their ears and holding hands. They seemed to be arguing.

"I'll put my hand in the fire in a few seconds because the guy will slap him," Mitch says, laughing as he looks at the two of them.

I see the skinny blonde slap him hard on the face, turning her head completely.

"She's going to leave now," Mitch continued, as if anticipating the couple's every move.

Indeed, the girl walks away, but the man grabs her arm and turns her away. The variety continues to quarrel, vaguely hearing the girl's tickled voice screaming at him. Probably fed up with the conversation, the man hurried back and entered the club nervously, leaving the girl with his eyes "in the sun".

"Sad show," He commented, lighting a third cigarette.

I take a pack of slim cigarettes out of my envelope and light one. I watched the blonde sit on the curb and cry with her head in her hands.

I never felt the taste of love, I had a few relationships, but I didn't bother. I didn't think anyone would ever love me, after all, if I don't love myself, what can I expect from people?

"I didn't think love hurt," I say, looking at the girl as she wipes her makeup off her face.

"It hurts harder than anything," He says seriously.

“Love shouldn't hurt ... Loneliness hurts, rejection hurts, losing a person hurts, envy hurts”

“Did you list some examples, or did you say what hurts you?” he asks, looking me straight in the eye.

His question had hit me in the head, keeping my mouth wide open looking at him confused. His question was like a slap in the face.

"Forgive me, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.You've changed since I went out, what's the matter with you, Lanna?”

Mitch kept in touch, emphasizing everything with his hand over mine. I look at him confused, trying to convey a state of frustration, then I start laughing amused. Confusion had appeared instantly on his face.

“Sorry, but I remembered those cliché scenes when the guy asks the girl if she's fine-“

"She's lying to him, telling him she's fine," he continued.

“Exactly!”

"Then let's do something else, what would you tell me Maybe we won't meet again, maybe the roads will bring us back again. Maybe we will become the memory of a pleasant night. We don't know what life has in store for us. You have nothing to lose.

His realism intrigued me. It implied to me that he was open-minded. I sigh, as if without that sigh I wouldn't have had the strength to speak.

“Have you ever felt depressed?" Instead of reassuring you, does it feel like eating live? I ask, sitting down on the metal bench next to me.

“ Yes, I have moments, but all these worries have a cause.”

“ I feel like I want to break up, like me. Sadness, suffering, hot tears and annoying looks.” I say sad

"Have you ever thought we'll drive too much?" he asks in a melancholy tone.

“We think too much about everything, every look, every text.”

“Maybe we should blame ourselves, maybe we will break our hearts, but personal mistakes that are just the basis of suffering. We build the walls ourselves.”

His words seemed to caress my soul, opening my eyes to new perspectives. Is it my fault for these cruel states? For years I threw the arrows of blame on my mother.

Stubborn by nature, I did not want to attest to the fact that I could be the creator of my own agony.

I watch the sky light up, helping the sun to reveal its hot rays, indicating to me that I should go home.

"And another night has passed," he sats, looking at the beautiful sunrise painting the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red.

"I think I should go home," I say, taking my phone out of the envelope and ordering an uber.

"Let's smoke one more cigarette," he says, as if he doesn't want tonight to end.

His words form a smile on my face. I take out a new cigarette and hold it to my lips, and he lights it with a lighter. Our eyes meet, and for a few seconds I forgot I had to smoke.

Looking at him more closely, I noticed small scarred cuts running down his rough face. I was so curious about him. What he does, what his passions are, what brings a smile to his face. On second thought, I didn't want this night to end either.

"I know it may sound cliché, and you may already know that, but you're very beautiful," he says, lost in my eyes.

I thank him and see a blue bay parked right in front of us. Looks like my uber has arrived and will break me from this desired moment.

"Looks like my car has arrived," I say through gritted teeth.

“I really liked this night, Lanna, I hope we meet again, maybe life will last with us” he blushed sincerely kissing my hand.

"I hope so."

I say goodbye to the man who gave me the most beautiful night and I get in the car, looking nostalgically as I walk away from him.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Nancy you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Pandora Lightwood!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

We’ve been without a Pandora for a while and I think it’s because we were waiting for your portrayal of her! You’ve gone so in-depth to her character and have given her (someone who’s already a lively character) such life and we’re so excited to see you develop Pandora!

application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hola, I’m Nancy. Age and I use female pronouns but if someone calls by a male pronoun I won’t be mad about life. I live in the Eastern part of the US.

ACTIVITY

I would say I’m about an eight when it comes to activity. I try to be on once a day and post at least a reply or two. Some days it’s a lot more, but other days it’s all I can do.

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

A friend recommended the group to me.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

I think I always related the most with Luna Lovegood. She was quiet and considered to be the weird kid, but had a kind heart for everyone and always believed the best in those even the ones that tried to make her life harder which I get.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here you can tell us everything else you have in mind like questions, concerns, notations or anything else you can think of.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Pandora Stella Lockwood. Pandora means All Gifts in Greek and Stella is star both of which I really feel is fitting for Pandora.

FACE CLAIM

I actually really love Lily James for Pandora.

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

Ever since reading the books I’ve always been interested in the people that created someone as unique and interesting as Luna Lovegood is. Having a chance to delve into one’s personality and connect with her the only way a character and writer can really interests me. But not only that but Pandora herself is just an interesting character with her sweet and tender deposition but the fact that she’s willing to get involved in the war though in order to help others really speaks volumes for the type of person that she is. I just think that she’s an interesting, brilliant, loyal, tender woman that just wants to put positivity into the world.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Pandora has always found sexuality to be an interesting concept that people seem to put so much emphasis on when at the end of the day does it really matter? For her it doesn’t. She just wants to love who she loves no matter who that is. Of course at the end of the day we know who Pandora ends up with, which she is more than over the moon in love with whenever we get to that point, but before Xeno she absolutely didn’t mind just dating to date it didn’t matter the gender to her. She uses female pronouns though.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-A MOODBOARD

-AN AESTHETIC

-A MOCKBLOG

-EXPAND ON THE TRAITS

✓ Ingenious

-Clever, original, and inventive: Pandora has always been a curious child that was quick witted and adventurous. She was the child that never backed down from asking adults a million and two questions all while out thinking most of them.

✓ Good-natured

-kind, friendly, patient: No set of words describe Pandora better than those. Pandora is the type of woman that will do anything to support a friend (or even an acquaintance if we’re being honest). She gets an enjoyment out of taking care of people and giving them someone they can count on.

✓ Idealistic

-unrealistically aiming for perfection: Pandora is the definition of someone who aims for perfection. If you ask her what she wants to see in the world it would be world peace, the hunger problem being solved, and the list would go on and on.

✓ Free-thinker

-a person who rejects accepted opinions, especially those concerning religious belief: Pandora is easily a free thinker. She’s not someone that easily conforms to anyone else’s beliefs. The young woman is the type of person that sticks to her own beliefs and isn’t easily swayed by anyone else’s.

✕  Disorganized

-Not properly planned or controlled: Pandora has absolutely no ability of sticking to any kind of plan. Really if she’s even somewhat on time it’s a good thing. She just sees the universe in a wider way that makes focusing on “small” things such as time and putting things away in a supposed proper place. She thrives the best in a chaotic environment.

✕  Detached

-separate or disconnected: It’s easy to see how Pandora can be detached from the reality of the world. She can be easily lost in her own mind and her own view of the world which won’t allow her to really connect with how things can be.

✕  Impulsive

-acting or done without forethought: What fun is there in planning an adventure? Not that Pandora really does it on purpose. She just has a freedom about her that doesn’t agree with planning a moment ahead of time. She enjoys the way the world works when she just allows the fates to decide what happens moment to moment.

✕  Fearless

-lacking fear: Pandora knows that living a life full of fear was never a way to live. At the end of the day something happens to everyone. Why fear the future when you can just live in the moment and be happy?

-A FEW HEADCANONS

-Pandora has had a furry grey cat named Phoebe (Fifi for short) since her third year at Hogwarts. Wherever she goes in her apartment there is surely a grey cat following very closely behind her.

-Pandora is a sentimental person. She appreciates every little gift given to her even if it was some random last second present the person didn’t put a lot of thought into. Although her absolute favorite gifts were always the ones that someone would make by hand for her.

-Pandora has a soft spot for every animal, but her favorites are pygmy puffs.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS

-I don’t know so much as a plot point but I would love nothing more than to be able to explore Pandora’s background such as her family background and exactly what happened to make Pandora the type of person that she is. I think it’d be an interesting series of self paras there.

-I think it’d be interesting to explore her friendships with characters that don’t share her same view of the world. I just imagine that she makes sure to surround herself with interesting people that make her think.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

-I would like to invent a potion that would be able to give peace to the person that would consume it. Of course I would want to give it to absolutely everyone, but giving the ability to be calm with one’s self is something that is enviable.

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

-If I’m going to go deep into the Forbidden Forest I’m taking Xeno with me. He’d be someone who would know the plants and creatures enough to make sure I don’t accidentally eat something I shouldn’t, and his company isn’t the worst. As for an item I’d lean towards taking some kind of picnic just to make sure I have something to eat.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

-The kind that require me to be cruel to anyone. I don’t want to cause anyone pain if I can avoid it, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. At least when they bring pain to others that don’t deserve it.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

-That I’m intentionally cruel and get an enjoyment out of causing pain to people.I don’t mind being called crazy or zany or anything else, but cruel isn’t one of the words I want associated with me.

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Pandora wouldn’t react kindly to the Death Eaters taking over the ministry. She knows it’s only a matter of time for someone like her to become the target, but it’s not herself that she’s even worried about it’s everyone else. It’s what’s causing her to consider to join in the fight and do what she can for the betterment of the entire community.

WRITING SAMPLE

Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.

No statement tended to be truer for Pandora. It was almost a daily occurrence that the young blonde found something else missing, and almost equally of an occurrence that she would locate something that had supposedly been missing for weeks to months. She knew that some of the reason was the chaotic sense that she tended to live in. Nothing in her small flat tended to have a true place which left it all in a crazy mess and items being easily misplaced. For some that may have been a problem or a cause of anxiety, but for Pandora it just made things more interesting.

Was it Monday? Or Thursday? Pandora pondered as she sat on the edge of her bed glancing out at the bright view from her windows. It was a peaceful day whichever day of the week it was, or at least it was a peaceful day in the muggle world. It would have been all to easy for Pandora to slip into the muggle world blending in, but there were too many connections keeping her from running away. And maybe it was also her deep love of figuring out new and interesting spells that would give her away. With a small sigh she stood up finally deciding that she should figure out what the day would hold for her.

With a mindless flick of her wand as she stepped sleepily into the kitchen she watched as her teapot moved from the counter to the stove and water poured itself into it. Before she knew it though her tea was in her hands allowing her to have a true start to her day. Most days Pandora just flitted about the city seeing what the day would bring. Today though something new was calling to the woman. Whether it was something that would be finished was another question, but she was still excited just to get started. It was a strange feeling that she wanted to explore as much as possible.

She had never much considered writing, but there was something about it in that moment for that day that felt right. It was a feeling that she often dreamed of feeling. But it was apparently going to have to wait. She shook her head at herself as she sat down at her desk trying to locate the parchment that she knew was somewhere. Once she found that though she would be on her own to start, until then though she might as well go out and figure out something new to do with her day.