#trousers are for wimps

[personinthepalace]

Grover, why is there half a goat in your pants? - Percy Jackson and the Olympians (2023)

All that and still no trousers? - Lockwood & Co. (2023)

[darkphoenix180]

[emlovesatla]

Hold on, THERE'S MORE?!?! *faints*

[oblivious-idiot]

i have no plot points but an urge to write a george x reader fic where they both just bond over something stupid like how neither of them can sleep with trousers and share/exchange pyjama tops with each other <3

[mirabel-on-a-bicycle]

*slut shames my blorbos in a very affectionate and loving way*

[adhuc-spero]

❛ stop changing the subject. ❜

- for George

The kitchen was a very good place for a George that was avoiding something. Even as Lucy's exasperated voice echoed off of walls that had seen better days, he was bustling around the stove, sure to look extra focused by squinting into a pot of…simmering water.

Right, not much going on there yet, but he could 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 to be busier than he was and that was the point.

"Sorry, but that 𝘪𝘴 how conversation works, isn't it? You talk, I talk, something new comes up…" he quipped, words punctuated by a pointless stir of a spoon through the water.

He ducked his head down as if to check the level of the stove's flame. Anything to keep his gaze away from the friend currently staring him down like a vulture to prey. Lucy was almost as stubborn as they came and he already knew getting her to let this go was going to be a pain.

"I mean, I know I've been holed up with my books for a while, but 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 that hasn't changed in that time," he continued.

The heat from the water was already beginning to make his hair frizz and a smear of fog now marred his glasses, but still, he stood at the stove, refusing to face the problem and, by association, Lucy.

[bobbys-not-that-small]

I always accidentally fall into the trap of imagining Lockwood as this cool, tall, serious teen in a swishy coat, and George as the quirky, silly, “trousers are for wimps” when it’s kind of the opposite?

Lockwood who pretends he’s a blue whale when he drinks orange juice with bits, who has a weakness for big hats and wears silly disguises without batting an eye. Lockwood who reads gossip magazines and is awful at accents, and insists on wearing said long swishy coat even though he’s tripped over it on multiple cases.

Compared to George who is actually quite serious apart from when he’s drawing rude cartoons on the thinking cloth, who cares more about his research and a good meal than his appearance. George who considers solving The Problem his own personal mission, who’s very matter-of-fact.

Obviously Lockwood is very serious too, and George can be silly and sarcastic, but I tend to hc them wrong at first until I check myself and remember Lockwood is (affectionately) the more ridiculous out of the two.

[octuscle]

Now open under new management

Edward Parker III let the car window down a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was basically at 0.00. Here in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message was that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car urgently needed a petrol pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car onto the dusty filling station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotlessly clean Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the small store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too focused on not wetting his pants that he didn't notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a sturdy rubber tread. As he pushed down on the door handle, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails black. There was a door at the back, labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, he opened his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the very last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty rubber boots that went well above his knees. Inside, pulled down as far as they would go, were a pair of completely filthy jeans. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the cuff of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was getting coarser and dirtier from bottom to top and the color was slowly changing from navy blue to a kind of beige. What the hell was going on here? Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And he was hit again. He watched in panic as his fingernails became dirty and the calluses moved down from his fingertips. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good shitter. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest? His crisp white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a hairy, muscular chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his left upper arm disappeared and the transformation of his jacket into a dirty, much-worn, rough work jacket was complete. I look like a fucking redneck, were his last thoughts before he grew a badly trimmed goatie, his $100 haircut turned into a self-cut buzzcut that he hid under a bandana he hadn't washed in a long time.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've been shitting! Can't you wait?" yelled Edward. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Hand washing was for city wimps. He stepped into the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the filthy and dented truck standing there at the pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your station," Pete said with a grin. Ed spit out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't open by itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

Inspirations found @pitstainsandpas and @fanofshoes44

[be-my-ally]

His Harley Girl

I suspect, theres a tense change in here somewhere, something I will fix at some point (probably) + I also would like NO comments about my excessive comma usage - in the meantime - apologies for any errors but uh, enjoy! Can you tell I got distracted and this was not my original plan for ironically, a prompt I came up with…?

Written for the prompt: "What are we going to do with [all of them], [this], [these ___ ]?" As always: @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain

summary: 1972-4 Elvis takes you on a motorcycle for the first time. 

wc: 3.9k

warnings: 18+, penetrative sex (p in v), slightly unrealistic positions, teeny bit of fingering with a driving glove on. honestly no plot just smut.

yes, I have used this pic before for Let Yourself Go but uh god its so perfect.

He’d convinced you on with a little coaxing, and you’d hesitantly agreed only when he swore up down and sideways that he wouldn’t go too fast and would stick to the city, where you could easily change your mind rather than heading out onto some sort of lonely highway. Still, you’d been nervous stood waiting as Elvis had pulled on his leather gloves, finger by each long finger before straddling the bike, smiling over at you and leaning back to pat the seat behind him. He reassured you, “It’s the latest model, best damn bike Harley’s ever made. Just hold on and you’ll be fine.” You nod, steeling your nerves again - you’re not a total wimp, you’d been up for in concept - when you were hundreds of miles away from any of the motorcycles. Now you were stood in front of it though, no helmets in sight, you couldn’t help but be a little nervous. He patted the seat pointedly again nodding his head impatiently, although with a smile on his face and you swallow anxiously before clambering on behind him. 

“That’s it honey, nice and snug, hold on tight now.” You wrap your arms around his thick stomach, feeling the sturdy expanse of his sides and chest, you’re trying to be a little respectful what with so many of the boys watching on but you can’t help but run your fingers over his soft shirt, tweaking it the tiniest bit when you feel his little nub of a nipple. He shies away with a little huff of a giggle, shaking his head before he places his hand over yours, tugging them even closer and you’re forced to shimmy forward, resting close to his back. 

“Is this - am I too close to you?” You whisper in his ear, 

“Uh-uh baby, you just hang on as tight as you like - you just go with me, ok?” You mumble the affirmative, nerves skyrocketing as you sit there idling. He hums back at you, shifting slightly in your hold. You hadn’t considered how comfortable, how intimate it would feel with your arms around him, leaning against his back, your inner thighs and exposed legs rubbing against his trousers. The engine roars underneath you, a noticeable humming vibration travelling up your body and you jolt a little out of surprise at the the engine coming to life - you’d been too busy considering the situation to notice his hands coming around to the handlebars or turning the key, and simultaneously out of shock at how quickly you can feel the tremors travelling up your legs, how quickly it’s making you feel a little turned on, a little needy. If Elvis feels the way your thighs immediately clench and release he doesn’t mention it, instead revving the engine, causing you to rut the tiniest bit against him at the sudden increase in vibrations and pulling out and away.

He practically zooms out of the gates, and you know it was mostly for the benefit of any onlookers but it still mildly terrifies you, your hair whipping against your cheeks at the speed. You involuntarily close your eyes, resting against him. It’s not long before you feel him pulling over, coming to a stop, engine reduced down to a gentle hum. You blink, pulling back and looking around wondering why he’d stopped only to feel his gloved hand patting your thigh. He’d turned to look at you as best he could while still staying sat, peering at you from the corner of his eye, trying to see past the frame of his glasses before giving up and using the wing mirror. He makes eye contact with you, smiling, 

“Honey, ain’t much point takin’ you for a ride if you’re just gonna hide in me the whole time.” He’s laughing at you, and although you feel yourself blush you’re still leaning a little bit further back, shoving your hair into a ponytail, giggling as you do, 

“Sorry El - it was just - my hair, it was getting in the way. I swear I’ll keep my eyes open.” He shakes his head at you, his laugh a deep rumble in his chest, 

“Go on then baby, wrap them little hands ‘round me again.” You obediently do so, “I’ll slow down a bit for ya - keep them eyes open for me.” You nod against his back, resting your cheek on him, determined to keep a close hold but also keep your eyes open. 

He shifts back before starting the engine again, bumping against your lap. You exhale with a slight start against his shoulder, tightening your hold around his stomach. The heft of him providing a solid weight, offering security even against your fears being on the motorcycle. Your hands grasp at his jacket, helping to tie your balance with his when you go around the corners - your legs are short enough not to be much help there either dangling freely or just about long enough to rest your toes on the bar down the bottom. Despite the way you’re constantly bumping against him with the movement in the road you can tell he’s driving pretty moderately, and you’re brave enough to look around. It was exhilarating in the best way to watch the scenery fly past, without any barrier between you and it. You quickly realise that you’re thoroughly enjoying every aspect of the drive and that you may have been being a tad overdramatic in your fear of what now feels like a remarkably safe ride. 

Now that you’re relaxed into the ride, you feel safe to lean back a little, resting your hands on his hips at stoplights and relaxing your hold from tight around his stomach to a light grip on his shirt. You’re enjoying yourself, but you can’t help but wonder how much longer he intends to ride around for. Then, he hits a little bump, bouncing you both - your hands clench down on his sleeves and shirt. You dread to think what your face must have just looked like as you force yourself to close your mouth from the feeling of the bounce, you’d been distracted from your low level arousal but it was suddenly back full force and you’d ended up even closer to Elvis than before. You try to ignore it, and you’re somewhat succeeding but suddenly it feels as if all your senses have been heightened. You find yourself staring at Elvis’ back, the way his shoulder muscles move as he steers the motorcycle, the way that even despite his heavy masculinity he has a little dip where his waist sits before on either side there was a small, perfectly formed handle of hip. The woodsy, manly smell of him, both the synthetic musk of his cologne and his natural scent mixing in the soft spring air, filling your nose and lungs. It was all a bit much as you find yourself tracking a bead of sweat down the little patch of neck you can see under his slightly longer hair, completely distracted from the journey or scenery, entirely focused on that tiny attractive little bead of sweat. 

You can’t help but shift around a little, feeling the pooling arousal of butterflies in your pelvis. The seat is comfortable, even with the two of you on there but it’s a comfort bike, designed for long roads down empty highways and powerful the insistent roar of the engine a continually tickling sensation. It’s not slimline, not designed for nipping through traffic, and truthfully it’s clearly modelled for a man, meaning that by this point in the ride you’re starting to feel a slight strain in your thighs at the width it forced your legs to accommodate. Elvis grunts a little with the effort of a tight corner and you can’t help but respond with your thighs squeezing on either side of him, muffling a groan into his back as you lean with him. You don’t have to do much though, it really is a very comfortable ride and you’re safe instead to simply relax, not having to worry about moving your body too much. You don’t think Elvis’ noticed the way that every time the engine revs for longer than a few seconds that you can’t help but rock against him, but then it does suddenly seem to be happening more frequently. You feel like your thighs are getting a work out with the way that you’re squeezing them every thirty seconds, feeling the pressure of the vibrations increase. Somewhat embarrassingly you realise that you’ve made yourself feel pretty close to orgasm just from the ride itself and you’re slightly nervous how to make it clear to Elvis that you want him now as soon as you’re parked up. 

Finally though he’s skidding around the corner and back in through the gates of Graceland. He pulls up around the back, driving straight into the carport, tucking the bike into the side before killing the engine. Elvis looks around, seeing there was less of a gaggle than before but still a fair few members of the mafia/family milling about and waves someone over, whispering to them briefly. It’s only a moment later when they all disappear. 

You get off shakily and he turns to you grinning as he too clambers off; 

“Sure felt like you enjoyed that hon-ey?” He’s got a playful lilt to his voice and a twinkle in his eye under his glasses, you feel like you’re missing something, pausing for a second to consider your reply. 

“Oh, of course I did! We should go again! It really wasn’t that scary in the end.”  He stared at you, crooked smile extending into a teasing grin. 

“No you’re misunnerstanding me - I could feel,” He steps forward crowding you so you’re forced to lean back against the hot metal of the bike, “your lil thighs clenchin’ and squeezin’ “ He pats your leg and you obediently spread them, letting his still gloved fingers toy with the hem of your shorts. 

“Oh,…” You don’t know what to say, “Well, uh, it was just, you know, I mean sittin’ so close to you was - well I liked that a lot, and then it was just so,” you pause trying to think of the right word, “- so rumbly.” He lifts you back onto the bike, but this time sideways, your hands coming to grasp at the back bar and front of the seat to keep your balance as he stepped in between your spread thighs. 

“Rumbly?” His eyes are alight with good humour at the turn of events that have led to you being held here, and you can tell he’s finding it amusing to make you squirm as you shyly struggle to explain your current state of arousal to him. His hand come down to clutch at your hips, thumb automatically gently stroking in little circles, while the other comes up to grasp at your neck, tilting your head up to where he was lowering his.

“Uh-huh, rumbly, could feel it all through m’body.” He smiles, clearly pleased you’d been so affected, before kissing you - soundly, your hands coming off the bike to clutch at him as he expertly used his tongue to his advantage, leaving you breathless when you finally pulled apart. 

“Would you,” He looks around almost tentatively, licking his now rosy lips, and running a hand over his hair, “I’ve sent ‘em all away, we won’t - won’t be disturbed.” You still, eyes wide as you comprehend what he’s suggesting. 

“Out - out here?” You can hear how high pitched your voice is and you internally grimace at it before you continue, not wanting to cause him to lose his playful mood, “If- if you’re sure we won’t - no-one will see?” He grins, evidently thrilled at this outcome, 

“Swear it babydoll, I swear.” He mimes a scout’s salute and you laugh back at him, before your focus is suddenly drawn back to his hand where it’s still raised, still encased in that black leather. You can feel your legs falling open a little further and you would be embarrassed if you weren’t so immediately turned on. 

“Can you - I wanna, I want to feel your, unhh, keep your gloves on?” He looks down at his hand and then back up at you from under his lashes, shit-eating smirk on his face, 

“Oh baby - you like these?” He trails a finger down your face, the smoothness, the warmth of the leather, it’s feel so similar yet different to his soft bare hands making you shift back a little, subconsciously searching for the seam on your denim shorts for a little bit of friction. This is almost immediately proven unnecessary when Elvis is demanding you unbutton them, pushing your shirt up your chest to trail a hand around your torso and down your stomach. You stand up abruptly, and tug your shorts off, throwing them down and off somewhere, you couldn’t care less where they ended up so long as they were off right now. Once again he laughs, “God, you eager honey?” He pushes you back onto the bike and you compliantly go, immediately spreading your legs again, “That’s right baby,” He hooks a finger into your panties, pulling them to one side, stroking down your mound and labia you jerk your hips at the feel of that soft, quickly slicked, leather, the fabric making his solitary index finger feel three times the size it was normally. He teases you, leaning down to kiss you again while his other hand explored what it could in this position but you’re forced to pull back, gasping, when he begins to circle your clit with it, the seam running along the fingertip catching it just so. 

“Just lemme,” He pulls the panties further away, crouching down to look directly at your pussy, “Oh, oh yeah honey, that is eager,” he pauses to chuckle to himself in anticipation of his next comment, “That’s one eager beaver right there hon.” You can’t see from the angle he’s crouched at, but you can hear in his voice the grin at his joke. He strokes a second finger with the first, padding at your entrance and when he pulls them away he holds them up to show you the slick stains down the black. “See doll, it’s practically drippin’ already.”

“Oh god, Elvis - god,” You moan, trying to lean further back, flop into an easier position, he swears as he catches you before you can fall, 

“Fuck - you gotta watch where you’re going baby,” He pulls you forward again, dragging you off the bike, balancing you half on his thigh that he jutted out, so that you’re stood tucked against him on your tippy toes and half simply holding you up.  He’s not normally quite so…so… fired up, normally gentle and content to spend his night cuddled up, soft and slow missionary - he doesn’t normally kiss you, thrusting his leg between yours, and tugging at your lip before manhandling you with a grip on your waist and side and pushing you to bend over. You end up resting against the seat, the still warm metal and leather digging into your stomach where you’re almost completely bent over. You squirm, feeling the breeze of the outside air tickle over your exposed pussy and legs. He runs his hand up and down your leg unabashedly feeling you up before pausing, 

“No. Sorry honey that ain’t gonna work. Gotta -“ He’s momentarily distracted by rubbing over you again, at finding exact way to twist his meaty gloved finger to make you moan the prettiest. “Gotta - ‘s not, wanna look at you doll.” You nod frantically agreeing with him, 

“Yeah - Yes Elvis, wanna see you too, wanna see your face.” He grunts with the effort of pulling you back up, holding you on your tip toes for a second hugging you against his side again. 

“Hmm, let’s get these offa you.” He pulls the panties down and you wriggle your knees to send them to the floor. He lifts you, with strength that you hadn’t realised he had, directing you where to place your feet. “C’mon darlin’ that’s it, just like we were before, just, just the other way - get your yittle foot over.” You end up straddling the bike and you can feel hot metal digging into your back. You can lean back a little and your head rolls to the side, tucked into your shoulder as you watch him first remove the gloves, finger by finger, before undoing his pants, shoving them low enough down that you can see the way his cock springs up, ready for action. Clearly the ride hadn’t only been arousing for you. Next thing you know he’s clambering up behind you, hands on your thighs, pulling your legs over his where he’s also straddling the bike, hiking them up, and pulling you up with it.

The engine is still hot and your hands are sweaty as they go behind your head in an attempt to find purchase to grip, your sweaty fingertips sliding over the metal. The feel echoes the slipperiness of your, “Jesus, drippin’ lil yittle cunt” and the way his cockhead bumps and slides around your folds, in  all the slickness that’s gathered there. You quickly, when he grabs your hips and tugs you closer, one hand going to your shoulder, realise its no good trying to find a grip on the bike, instead reaching for Elvis’ arms, his shoulders, anywhere that you could get a decent grip on. You don’t realise that you’re begging as you do, pleading with him to stop playing and do something, anything - but please now. 

A moment later and he’s pushing into you, there’s a gentle but slightly burning stretch for a second, but then you’re wrapping your legs around him, trying to tug him deeper, and he’s leaning forward, thrusting into you with deep slow ruts. You find a little part of your brain suddenly worried about how loud you were being - you trusted that he wouldn’t let anyone see you like this, but he hadn’t made it clear if anyone was still about to hear you but its quickly overridden by your mind going blank to all but the sensations, garbled shouts and moans falling from your lips. Elvis is talking, praising you, almost the whole time, muttering that,

“You’re too fuckin’ perfect, couldn’t even get ya into my own damn house, just had to have ya right here.” He suddenly loses his grip a little bit, and he falls forward, his glasses slipping off his nose and falling god-knows where. You can’t help but reach up to stroke his cheek, even as he leans against you. Feeling the weight of him, supported barely by one arm clutching at the seat, encasing you. He presses down on you, even as he rolls his hips into you, his tummy - his thick body, still muscular from his recent tour, his shirt from where he was still essentially fully dressed, pressed against you. A lesser woman, one who was less enamoured, less in love, less turned on, might have complained - told him he was crushing her, to get off. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain - in fact, noises to the opposite effect were escaping your mouth. He wheezes, apologising,

“Sorry doll I’m not, not gonna last long baby, I’m, god, feelin’ you ruttin’ gainst my back I was almost there back on the ride.” You squirm, hips moving of their own accord as you feel, with each of his impossibly deep thrusts, that you’re getting closer to your own orgasm - ironically something that you had similarly been close to since rutting against his back. You regret as he pounds into you with some skill, not just mindlessly pumping but searching out the best spot - the spot to send you over the edge, that you can’t get there without more. You’re about to say so when he blinks at you, sweat travelling from his brow, pink flush on his cheeks, pushing himself up a little further “I’m close mama, I’m close - want you to go with me,” He shoves his hand between the two of you, stroking up your folds and circling your clit, you grind down on him, feeling your walls clench down, and his resulting groan, as he brushes a fingertip over it - the uncertainty of the pressure, combined with his internal stimulation finally send you teetering towards the edge. And though he maintains a steady pace, you can feel when, as your head rolls back and you’re careening into your orgasm,  he moves his hips for the right amount of stimulation for himself, speeding up to fuck you through your own orgasm as he chases his. You’re shaking, quivering as it overcomes you, lost in a sea of your own sensation and oblivious to his orgasm hitting until he’s tragically pulling out, pumping himself once more before shooting across your stomach. 

He sits there for a second leaning on you, catching his breath, his weight a comforting presence as you regain feeling in your toes. Your back is slipping all over the leather in a combination of your own slick and sweat as you squirm and a moment later feel Elvis’ cock twitching against your sticky core. He pulls his scarf off from around his neck, using it to quickly wipe his cum off your tummy, and giving you a gentle wipe, although you’re not convinced silk works the best for that when he pulls it away and it stays connected by a thin web of your slick for a moment. You meet his eyes when he pulls it away to look at it, before tucking it into his pocket and climbing off the back - pulling up his trousers. 

“C’mon darlin’ anyone could see ya out here,” He winks at you, his blue eyes sparkling and a very smug expression on his face, and you let out a shocked, tired, giggle, still shocked that you’d even agreed to this outside. He reaches for the handlebars, handing you your panties where they’d been hanging off of them, like a tassel on a little girl’s bicycle. 

“Oh - thank you.” You giggle, honestly feeling a little keyed up with the adrenaline of the activities of the afternoon, and he looks down at you playfully, helping you up and into the pants, but doesn’t bother with finding your shorts, he simply helps you pull down your shirt to somewhat cover yourself. It’s not like there’s much point being modest out there after having just done that. He kisses your cheek, turning you to face the rest of the carport, unable or unwilling to let go of you and wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning down to whisper in your ear, this time his chest to your back. 

“Look around baby, which one shall we go out on next?” It’s like you’re looking around the cars and motorcycles for the first time, suddenly taken aback at the sheer volume of them - at how many there were. “Why don’t you pick a couple - what about that one over there? It’s another Harley baby, or uh, over there’s one of my Hondas?” You try to see where he’s pointing at, uh, totally different bikes - you can totally tell exactly which ones he’s pointing to. 

“Bu-ut, what are you - what are we gonna do with all of them?”

He laughs, his head thrown back with the force of it, “Guess we’ll just have to go for a ride…on ‘em all.” 

[runillholdhimoff]

george “trousers are for wimps” karim

[worldofkaeos]

@solticeenery @trousers-are-for-wimps

LockNation never sleeps. Ghosts walk the streets, agents run wild, and people obsessed with a bunch of teenagers fighting ghosts stay up, the older ones wondering if the Problem was real and the young ones hoping they had Talent.

[darkphoenix180]

Poll was suggested by @rainysaturdayafternoon (I hope you don't mind me tagging you. I just wanted to give you credit for the poll idea).

[bella-rose29]

episode 2 commentary - Let Go of Me

major spoilers for show and books, swearing, me obsessing over lockwood's hands probably (edit: definitely, and George's)

why did I immediately think jellyfish

omg the flowers

Luce you really shouldn't have taken that

just like @demigoddess-of-ghosts said, why tf are deprac asking if there's anyone else there when Lucy is quite literally screaming 'lockwood'

"miss lockwood" and "lockwood's my partner" 🤭

"we called your mother" ok well her mother is a Bitch so that wasn't a good idea

"rest up until he's given you the all-clear" like fuck she's gonna do that

omg the flowers!!!

ooo spooky green lighting

omg the ghost lock victims ward 🥲

I would love to know what they were planning on doing with this scene actually bc I feel like it sets up some sort of ghost lock victim storyline for the future - maybe using them for science? idk I'd just love to know

oof lockwood's hands

just this whole scene of lockwood

hands

barnes is not fucking around lol

HANDS

HANDS

the way he sits back in the chair has me WEAK

THE JAW MOVEMENT

can you tell I'm going feral

George's lil run omg

George is so neurospicy I love it

George your posture needs sorting out my love 😭

"You're meant to say no, Lucy" well it's difficult to say no to lockwood when he looks at you with his beautiful eyes and smile and-

"I'd say like a house on fire" 😭

my poor baby looks so tired :( and he definitely needs a shower oh dear

I didn't think I would hear lockwood with his queen's English call someone 'mate'

I love that George just says straight up facts

"posh one who thinks he's god's gift" sounds about right

"his weird mate with zero social skills" also sounds about right

I love that they included the tapes for norrie bc actually it's a great way of adding to the narrative (bc we don't have any voice overs) and we get lucy's view on stuff

and we see her survivor's guilt too - "like how I should have helped you" omg 🥲 (excuse me while I go cry in a corner)

ruby stokes the woman you are

"no it doesn't, it looks like I cooked it in an active volcano" pfffft George I love you

"Andrew lockwood"

"girls are funny about baths" he's trying goddammit

HIS SMILE

"she's not unhinged" "you're hardly the best judge of these things" "you need normal people around you" "you really think you're normal?" your honour I love their friendship

"the world's mad, and normal never fixed anything" gonna make it my motto

"let me... sleep on it" BOY YOU DON'T EVER SLEEP

oh Luce

okay but these special effects are so fucking cool

hang on why the hell did Lucy go to sleep holding the ring

Jesus Christ that scared the shit out of me

ooo green lighting!!!

pfft goes to hold his hand to wake him up

HIS FACE WHEN HE WAKES UP OMG 😭😂

also: NECK and THE FACT HE SLEEPS WITHOUT A SHIRT

I love the disgruntlement of george

WHITE T-SHIRT LOCKWOOD

"trousers are for wimps" ICONIC

omg I love that we get to see George's Touch!!! also his hand??? brb gonna go melt

LOCKWOOD'S HANDS AND FOREARMS WITH THE CHAINS

FOREARMS

omg Georgie it's not a wasp I'm sorry

ARMS

I am dying how the hell did Ali manage to make his voice say "oh shit" like that

LOCKWOOD HAS A RAPIER I'm gonna faint

"I can't believe you stole a Source" GEORGE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK

yeah Luce call him out

"we need to destroy her source and move on. let her go" I have so much to say about this omgggg bc on the one hand the episode is called Let Go of Me and rn I'm 1/3 of the way through this episode and they've repeated those words in different ways so many times it's unreal. and then on the other hand (spoilers for the books) there's the way that Lockwood isn't doing this himself, because he hasn't destroyed the source in his house and let his own ghosts go 😭

omg George loves an experiment you can hear the joy in his voice

NOT THE WAY HE PHYSICALLY MOVES TO PROVE HE'S ON LUCY'S SIDE omg they're becoming friends even if they don't know it yet

ARMS

OH LORD THE HOODIE??? I wanna steal it

NOT THE WAY HE HANDS HER THE RING AND LETS HIS TOUCH LINGER AND LUCY DOES THE SAME OMGGGG

THEY LITERALLY JUST STROKE EACH OTHER'S HANDS I CAN'T TAKE THIS

his smile omg

ruby stokes the woman you are omg

lockwood's face omg he's so conflicted bc on the one hand he's worried but on the other he's trying to not say yes when she goes 'you love me don't you?'

lockwood immediately pushing her aside

HANDS

HANDS

lockwood you need to stop taking sole responsibility for things

the sadness in his voice when he says 'this place is all that's left of my parents' omg

"Jesus, lockwood, we're screwed!" yep (also the way George says it is so funny help)

HANDS AND RING

barnes isn't taking any shit omg

such an ominous phone call

George's prison outfit (I can't remember who called it that)

omg I want lucy's playsuit

PINK SOCKS

also lockwood get your shoes off the table you heathen

no bc I actually want her playsuit

HANDS

HANDS AND RING AAAAA

:3

HANDSSSSS

"not a braying gallery for bellends" George I love you

BOBBY!!!

Lucy going straight in with the hard facts I love her

omg the scoff

THE SIDE PROFILE OF LOCKWOOD IS KILLING ME

kipps is such an arse

THE STANCE HE TAKES WITH THE SPARE HAND AND UGH

AND YOU NEED A LADDER

the way he says "yes you do" has me in a chokehold

the sMIRK

"irrelevant prick" love it

when the mutual friend leaves and you're left with the one you don't get on with

George you might be a weirdo but I love you for it

Lucy getting the juicy gossip and immediately becoming besties with george

ok well your mum is a bitch

oh lockwood wtf are you doing

"he's a little shit sir"

lockwood why

he looks so proud of himself I can't help it

"you're our biggest asset" oh boy

the regret on his face oops

"my judgement's been a little off recently" yeah bc you just met the love of your life

ok but women with swords 👀 bonus points if they're angry

HANDS

pink socks again

barnes once again not taking shit

she is a child sir you can't just spring that on her

omg Lucy :((((((

"let me go" - is that another reference to the episode title I see?

"lockwood's a charlatan" pfft

DONT YOU TALK ABOUT MY LOCKWOOD LIKE THAT

"they always make the most boring, unimaginative moves possible, don't they" - it's giving Cameron saying that everything is basic

lockwood read the room (cab)

"You were brilliant" boy's in love

"can we talk about this in the car" *taxi drives away*

"you might be able to turn your feelings on and off like a tap, but I am drowning here, lockwood" 😭

"You know sometimes I just... I just think I'd be better off dead" oh Luce 😢

also lockwood's reaction to that omg he pauses for a while and is all glassy eyed and then: "I understand that"

never mind them I am drowning here (in my tears)

"We need you, and it's not because you're an asset" "why then?" "because... because you're..." *looks away and clenches jaw* "Lucy Carlyle" *smiles really widely (I feel like he was considering telling her his feelings)

"we can't let you go" ANOTHER REFERENCE TO THE EPISODE TITLE

"that's why I went on tv, silly" WHERE IS MY BUCKET??? I DONT KNOW WHY HIM SAYING 'SILLY' LIKE THAT PAIRED WITH HOW HE WALKS TOWARDS HER MEANS I NEED MY BUCKET BUT I HAD TO PAUSE THE EPISODE TO MELT A LITTLE

"We're lockwood and co. you, me, and George" FUCK YEAH YOU ARE

"please stay" 🥺 (anything for you my love)

"so you'd look cool" lol

greeeeeeen

"you're more of a liability than an asset, Lucy" HE SAYS WHILE LOOKING AT HER WITH HEART EYES

oh Georgie

OMG HE HAS A PLATE OF BISCUITS AND A TINY GLASS OF MILK

GEORGIEEEE NO DONT YOU HURT MY BOY

green lighting!!!

"I'll take him" says boy with immense confidence

"can I offer you a cup of tea while you ransack my house? one lump or two" *throws torch and misses*

HNNNNNNNN THE NOISE I MADE WHEN HE DOES THE RAPIER THINGY AND GETS INTO HIS STANCE AND TWIRLS THE RAPIER AND PUTS HIS HAND UP

AND THEN WHEN HE DODGES THE TORCH??????? SIR WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BE THAT FINE DODGING A FUCKING TORCH?????

oh my god the still I paused it on to write the above comment is gonna make me pee myself with laughter 😭😂 I wish I could screenshot to show everyone

ooo I might be completely delusional but Lucy smashes the mirror with her elbow in this scene (and the camera pauses on it for a good couple of seconds) and then plays a part in smashing the bone glass later on??? am I delusional or am I making connections???

Georgie omg

LUCY PICKING UP HIS GLASSES!!! I love this omg I would be lost without mine

HEHEHE STAB THAT INTRUDER

fuck me that neck crack was hot (also could lockwood fuck me please?)

green lighting!!!

also how did I never notice the stairs were spirally?

George you are so funny and I love you

I AM SORRY. WHAT. EVERYONE GO WATCH THIS FIGHT SCENE AND STUDY THE WAY LOCKWOOD FIGHTS/MOVES THE RAPIER IN HIS HAND BECAUSE- I need my bucket holy shit

George hauling those chains around like it's nothing 👀

green lighting!!!

yeah you better run bitch

"we should have people round more often" lolllllll

lockwood can kick me-

"why are you making that face?"

"that's not your normal face, that's your 'I know something you don't' face"

sweaty lockwood

George's face when she pulls the ring out is so funny to me 😂

"you lunatic" *lockwood grinning widely* I love their reactions

aww let Georgie swear :(

[paulinatheswiftie13]

These scenes definitely follow each other!

Lucy waking up and realizing Annabel Ward's ghost is IN HER ROOM.

Lucy running to Lockwood's room.

Lucy telling ''She's here''. to Lockwood.

One of them (I bet it was Lockwood) threw the shoe on George's door to wake him up.

''No trousers?™'' (also Lockwood put on a white t-shirt that had been thrown on the chair in his room before)

''Trousers are for wimps.™''

They are going upstairs.

They are waiting for Annabel's ghost. (Lucy has closed eyes - is she using the Touch?)

Aaand they are preparing for confronting Annabel Ward's ghost.

[dramaaddict]

Lockwood & Co. Episode 2 | "Trousers are for wimps."

[adhuc-spero]

💭 + entertainment (for george)

anyone who has spent more than two minutes, tops, with george cubbins is certain to know where his passion lays. the problem; how it began, why certain things help, what the reasons for covering it up are. his questions are endless and only grow with the more answers he digs up.

still, there is more to him than just his interest in the paranormal. george is a curious person in general and had always loved to learn. he boasts a great deal of random fun facts that don't often get shown off due to his chatter about the problem, but they're there. before his work at agencies began, he was quite big on documentaries. he'd watch any he could get his hands on regardless of the subject matter, eager to eat up the new knowledge.

he finds joy in cooking as well. for as much as he will playfully gripe and complain about being the only one who knows how to cook at lockwood & co., he's all too happy to have a willing audience of testers. there's something very satisfying to him about learning and perfecting a new recipe; he considers it a victory if he mixes a recipe up and it is deemed to be better than the original recipe. because he enjoys it so, he can be found cooking even more often in times of stress. the greater the dinner spread is, the more frazzled he is likely to be.