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be sure to opt out of this in your visibility settings immediately! and remember, you have to opt out for each blog, not just your main!
go to your blogsâ settings (again, you have to do these steps for each blog, not just your main blog)
scroll until you see âvisibilityâ and choose that
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tagging some mutuals to get the word out ïżœïżœ @multifandomsimagine @pegxcarter @moremaybank @gladerscake @goldenroutledge @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @drewstarkeyslut @drudyslut @tangledinlove @rafeandonlyrafe @mvybanks
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Shayma and her family needs help relocating to safety outside of gaza. Sheâs only 25 and holding together two of her passed sisterâs children who are mentally drained after the passing of their mother and their other sister.
If possible please donate to her GoFundMe and share, sheâs the sweetest girl and deserves the world. Her Twitter is @dpechesmode.


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Iâm glad you found them cute!! I was worried theyâd be annoying đ
So I am glad!!
Just a Night at Portland Row
(pt.1) (pt.2)
Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader
Warnings/Tags: Literal romcom, These people are silly, Everyoneâs so sillycore here, teary confessions, someone accidentally confesses, nothing dramatic happens heâs just silly, Childhood friends to lovers, Lockwood is kinda stupid (affectionate), no smut or suggestive content, Lockwood and co and reader friendship, whether or not what Lockwood says at the end actually happens is up to you!!
Notes: I have quite a few issues with this one, and Iâm not entirely satisfied with it, but I think itâs one of the better ways I could go about it. I also put all the flowers meanings at the bottom, so if you were curious I did in fact plan the flower meanings (I am a nerd). This finale has gone through about 20 revisions on the first day alone, so if anything seems jarringly out of place, I am so sorry đ I was all over the place with my ideas.
Summary: Just before supper time, you and Lockwood have a heart to heart, and it starts as it always has: with flowers, with tears, and a little funny thing called love.
word count: 2.4k+
âGeorge,â Lockwood says seriously. Itâs the first time George has ever seen him so serious about something that isnât Lucy or him dying and it shocks him how quick he is to steel himself for whatever it is. âI need you to get Lucy to bring them down here, if you can, please.â
Now, âthemâ is obviously referring to you, whoâs laughing away upstairs with Lucy so loud they can hear it ring through the vents. If this wasnât something George has genuinely been excited for, he would have smacked Lockwood upside the head for using that terrifying tone. âDonât say it like that, prick. Thought someone was dying there.â
Lockwood grins at him from where heâs messing with the bouquet stood up on the table. The paper wrapping hasnât been removed, courtesy of the empty vase and that water would most likely melt it; ribbon still intact. They stand, not quite fully in bloom (which is the best way to buy flowers, because otherwise they wilt right away) but just on the precipice of it. Itâs packed with other, smaller additions, but at the heart of it, well. Maybe Lockwood did know something about the language of flowers.
âHowâd you even pick them out?â George asks instead, watching Lockwoodâs grin wobble.
âI made friends with the shopkeeper. He wouldnât tell me what any of them meant, but he said they were good flowersâ like the carnations. One of them though⊠these white ones here, just felt familiar somehow.â He kept messing about with the bouquet, meddling with any loose leaf or bud. âCan you please go get them? I want them to be able to see the flowers before they wilt.â
George does swat Lockwood for that, but he goes upstairs to get you. You and Lucy have moved to her room on Georgeâs urging (he made Lockwood wait outside before coming in to make sure you didnât know) and were lying in her bed on your stomachs, reading and sharing books. Lucyâs the first to look up at him, raising a brow as she nudges you.
âGeorge? Everything ok?â You ask, propping yourself up to sit criss cross on the mattress. âHas Anthony come back yet?â
âHe has,â he says simply, âHe says he needs you in the kitchen. Lucy should stay since she must be tired from the case yesterday.â
From behind you, Lucy has a moment of realization that has her tucking her lips to hide a smile. Quietly, she puts a hand up to her forehead in a salute to George.
âYou should go check,â she says, âWho knows what kind of trouble he might be in.â
âA lot of trouble,â George adds, nodding slightly along. You narrow your eyes in suspicion, but you get up off the bed.
âIâll save your place!â She calls just as youâre headed down. George walks 2 steps behind you to hide his expression before he can school it, feeling giddy with nerves that arenât even his to have. He wonders how Lockwoodâs doing, stopping just at his bedroom door.
You turn back, asking âYou arenât coming?â
âIâm sure youâll be fine.â He rocks gently on his feet and pulls his hands behind his back, reassuring you with a calm nod. âOff you go, Lockwoodâs probably burnt himself making tea by now or something.â
âIâd hope notâŠâ you mumble, each step down like a crescendo in the worldâs most suspenseful piece of musicâ every floorboard creak like the lead instrument and your heartbeat acting a steady base. On a sheet youâre sure it looks hideous, but it levels out when you open the door and Lockwoodâs waiting there by the counter, looking like heâs straight off a magazine. The silence creeps in, but the piece rises to new heights as the sound of everythingâ the floorboards, the ventsâ suddenly dulls out.
You step into the kitchen, and let the door shut behind you.
There is your Anthony, standing there in the middle of the kitchen with a bouquet full of dazzling pink tulips, red roses, and spots of white jasmine flowers. There is Anthony, the boy youâve known and loved for yearsâ looking at you like he always does: like youâre the whole world and sky and everything he wakes up for.
Neither of you speak for a good minute, but itâs not without trying. Lockwood spends that pregnant pause fumbling for words, beforeâ
âI love you,â He says.
The words come rushing out his lips, hurried and desperate. It shocks you how simply he puts it, like a sudden rest in the notes that takes you by surprise. He looks surprised too; horrified, really, that heâs just blurted that out. He swallows thickly, steeling his expression into something determined.
âIââ you pause, the words caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears. You think you tear up, but you canât really tell when the whole world narrows down to Anthony Lockwood across from you in the kitchen of Portland Row, professing his love in the spur of the moment. You grow warm with affection, taking a step closer to him as the music of your singing heart drowns out everything but his words.
He takes a deep breath, his face pale with fear as he swallows and says quietly,, âToday, when I went down to the shops to get you these flowers, I met the really old man tending to them. Donât look at me like that, he was really old, alright?â
âAnthony,â you scold quietly, tutting at him as you wrap your hands around his.
He bites the inside of his cheek before he keeps going. âAnyways he isnât the pointâ I brought him up because he made me realise that I wouldnât be able to live with myself if I never gave telling you a shot. He lived loving someone else until they diedâ even after they did, and if⊠if there was a chance I could have that with you, I wanted to take it. I canât promise you that Iâll be alive for as long as you will be, but I can promise you that I will love you for everyday I live and breathe if you let me.â
âAnthony,â you start, breathlessly. You take his face in your hands and he puts the bouquet down to cover your hands with his. He looks so scared like this, fragile like glass in your hands and pale with nerves.
âI canât promise you forever,â He says solemnly, âBut I can promise you my heart for as long as it beats.â
You take a deep breath through your nose, and will yourself not to kiss him. Years down to minutesâ minutes to seconds. The silence hangs like a winding note. You glance back quickly at the bouquet, picking out one of the jasmine flowers before sliding it behind his ear and resting your hands on his face.
âDo you remember the first flower I gave you?â You ask just as quietly. He shakes his head, cheeks rubbing against the skin of your palms. âWe were⊠quite young at the time, and I must have been mad, because I stole it from the neighbourâs garden. Yes, the grumpy one, you remember her. Well, I ran straight over from all the way from home with this crumpled little thing in handâ stop giggling. Iâm telling you an important storyâ and you lit up like a light. Cheeky little thing you were, finding a way to give it back to me when I got scolded the same day for stealing and I was awful sore about the whole thing.â
âYou looked all sad,â He cut in, voice hoarse in a mumble, âIt made me happy, so I wanted it to make you happy too.â
You laugh, just as breathless, âAnd it worked, Anthony. Itâs still one of my favourite flowers. Did you know that? They were the first flowers I read up on when I learned flowers could have meanings.â
âWhatâd you find?â He asks, the nerves fading into a hopefulness that fills his eyes with stars. Itâs helplessly endearing where you see them shine, nearly nose to nose with how close youâre holding him.
You hum and close your eyes, pushing your forehead against his. âWe gave each other white jasmine flowers, that day. A lot of people say they mean purity or innocence, but the one that stuck out to me was that people say it meant âeverlasting loveâ too. When I look back on it now, it mustâve been fate.â
âCause I always loved you and you probably realised that with how stupid I get about you?âHe wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.
You chuckle quietly, just as helplessly lost, âNot quite. I didnât even think there was a chance you could love me back, though that does make everything a bit easier⊠because Iâve always loved you, Anthony.â
Like a child on Christmas day, Lockwoodâs eyes grow wide; heâs helpless to the grin that splits his face. âReally?â
âIâm no liar, Anthony, and certainly not about this,â you laugh, unable to help yourself as you tip back and rest your nose lightly against his.
âNo likeâ you mean it?â He asks, voice cracking with hope as he searches your face, âYou love me? You love me?â
Youâre helplessly endeared, helplessly in love and helplessly lost to it, so you just whisper back with a grin as wide, âYes, Anthony. I love you.â
What little space between you both is gone in a second when he pushes his lips against yours. Itâs a desperate thing, all relief and comfort and love pouring out. At some point, youâre both smiling too wide and too much for it to be anything more than just pushing your lips against each otherâs and you pull away with a wet laugh.
He grins wider, and you didnât think it was possible but he manages it. âIâm so glad, because if I had to go back to the shopkeeper with a terrible story about how I got rejected by the love of my lifeââ
You giggle and swat at his arm, wrapping your arms around him, âOf course thatâs what you worry about. This is all a publicity stunt, yeah? To boost your ego.â
âOf course,â he says, with no weight to the words as he sniffs and blinks away the last of his tears, âThough that just means we should make it a bigger stunt and get married. Iâll even invite Kipps just to rub it in his face.â
You hum, helplessly amused, when the door slams open and George shamelessly walks in with at first his usual deadpan, then a pleased expression. From behind George, Lucy is brimming with happiness, smiling cheek to cheek.
âGross,â George says, simply and without malice. He steps around you and Lockwood, patting you both on the back sincerely and pulling out pots and pans. It occurs to you a little late that heâs starting on supper. âTook you both a while to actually confess. Mental, the two of you.â
âIt was cute,â Lucy says kindly, taking you from Lockwood (he does pout lightly, but she just sticks her tongue out at him) hugging you dear. âGeorge just means that weâre both very happy you two finally got together. He was starting to go bald actually from pulling his hair out too much, look at his hairlineââ
âYou canât even pretend like you werenât too, Lucy.â George sends her a glare as she separates from you. Lockwood quickly fills the space at your side again and all but wraps himself around you. Lucy pats him on the back with a congratulatory smile.
âYou canât go bald before my wedding, George, thatâd just ruin it,â you say, clicking your tongue as you reach over (not without struggling over Lockwood) and pat his curls into place. The pot nearly slips out of his hands while Lucyâs eyes grow big as saucers.
âWedding?!?â They ask simultaneously. Lockwood giggles into your neck, the cheeky bastard.
âThis one here,â you gesture at Lockwood with a look, âsaid we should get married since this whole thing is a publicity stunt or whatnot. Said he might even invite that Kipps bloke he hates.â
âThat is the lamest proposal I have ever heard,â Lucy immediately cuts in, the most disappointed scowl pointed at Lockwoodâs head.
âIâve got to agree. You could absolutely do better than that, Lockwood. Also, Quill Kipps? Do you want to have start a fight at your wedding?â George asks, his back turned to everyone. You pull away from Lockwood to pick up the flowers, but not without him frowning as you do. He stops frowning as soon as you smile at him, though, before he turns his attention to Lucy and George when they both pretend to gag.
âI gave them flowers, a really sentimental bunch I think, then I had a good speech,â He says to Lucy first, who raises a brow at him.
He turns to George next. âI need to rub it in his face that heâs probably miserable and forever alone.â
âI thought it was gonna be a publicity stunt, not a revenge plot,â You mutter, clicking your tongue.
âIâm not letting you have a lame wedding, Lockwood, because that means theyââ she points to you ââ will have a lame wedding and I will not let that happen.â
âBut youâd let me have a lame wedding if it was just mine?â His face is scrunched in offence as he âdiscreetlyâ wraps himself around you again.
âYes,â Lucy and George say simultaneously.
âIâd marry you at a lame wedding.â You play with his hair where you can reach it, pressing a kiss to his forehead where heâs dumped it again on your shoulder. Lucy and George gag, Lockwood beams so bright youâd think he won the lottery that night.
They manage to convince you that itâs too dark out to leave (it was past curfew, the sun had set already) so you spend the night recounting everything you can with them until the stars had gone to sleep and the sun started rising.
The next day, he brings down the bouquet of carnations youâd first given him, and you mix both the bouquets into one. A year later, Portland Row becomes home to not only to the people living in it, but a garden full of flowers blooming with love, laughter, and a lot of hard work. White Jasmine flowers bloom on the veranda and a house of three becomes home to four.
A/N: Finally finished this series!! Whew, that was⊠hmm!! And just because I couldnât add it to the story without it getting clunky, have these idk, headcanons? fun facts?:
Reader tells Lockwood all about the flowers after, and informs him about why the Jasmine flowers were so familiar
The grumpy neighbour reader stole the white jasmine flowers from was actually the old man gardenerâs wife
Lockwood goes back to tell the old man, and they have a laugh about the whole thing
It is so hard to get one straight meaning for a flower, but if you dig enough you can find flowers that mean so many cute things:
Red carnations mean deep love and affection
Pink tulips mean caring and affection
White Jasmine flowers can mean many things but for this story I went with: Eternal love, persevering love, and new beginnings
Everyone knows red roses, but I also like to think Lockwoodâs bouquet had thornless red roses because they mean love at first sight
Yes he one upped the reader even without knowing what all the flowers mean because heâs a competitive little freak (affectionate) and I love him
This series has been very dear to me, and I am especially thankful to @tangledinlove <3 Thank you for your kind reblogs, I hope you know I read them and always look forward to seeing how you find each part in the series even if I donât respond to them <33333
Also @milesmorals asked me to tag her too!!
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I just saw this but thank you!!!
Just a Morning at Portland Row
pt.2 : Just an Afternoon at Portland Row
Finale: Just a Night at Portland Row
Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader
Warnings/Tags: Nothing, just a lot of romcom cheese, Pining, Idiots in Love, Lockwood and Reader donât really interact in this much, but they do, just not directly, George and Reader friendship, Lucy and Lockwood Friendship, George and Lucy being the lomls
Notes: George being silly, Lockwood doesnât actually show up until after the cut, Lucy being the loml and being silly, might do a part 2 if I feel like it, sorry if theyâre a bit ooc, I havenât actually written in a while so I might be rusty.
Summary: You donât live at 35 Portland Row, but you visit daily. Some part of you might be able to make the excuse that youâre doing it simply to make sure your longest childhood friend doesnât die of self-neglect, but your better majority, and unsurprisingly George Karim and Lucy Carlyle, know better than that.
Word count: 1.6k+
The sound of a whistling kettle flits down the hall, and you quickly pull it off the stove. You listen for a moment telltale footsteps creaking around 35 Portland Row, and are relieved when only silence calls back. Itâs too early in the morning for any of them to be awake, if what Lockwood had told you yesterday about another case was true. It seemed so when nobody came down to check on the kettle, and long after, youâd made your tea and settled down on the dining table. You ran your hands over the thinking cloth, pressing on the spaces between the ink and hovering gently where there was any. Georgeâs caricatures of the other two made you giggle, and Lucyâs sarcastic comments tickled you funny. Lockwoodâs was especially interesting, because he would write to you as if he was sure you would be reading it.
âbread in the bread bin about to go bad, try not to eat itâ Heâd written, right beside where heâd carefully written your name. The ink on this one was new, so you know he wrote it recently. A chuckle works its way out of you, and you fish a pen from somewhere on the table to write, âthrew it out already, got you a new loafâ.
Youâd always reply to Lockwood wherever and whenever he addressed you, and you wondered if he did it because his fleeting subconscious brought you up like yours did him. A smile wiggled its way to your lips, and you pulled your shoulders back to look down at the cloth.
âYouâre already here,â someone said sleepily, the voice familiar as his handwriting. Looking up you spot George sleepily yawning, a palm to his eye and his glasses in his other hand. âDid you make yourself some tea already?â
âI did, might need to put on the kettle again, though. How are you already awake? Lockwood told me you lot were on a case last night somewhere far.â You pulled out of your seat just as George pulled into his, sleepily resting against the thinking cloth.
âHe and Lucy dealt with it, as far as I know they came back after I fell asleep,â He said, tapering off into another, shorter, yawn. His curly hair was all over, and he had forgone his trousers again, but you werenât one to tell him off for it. Often Lockwood would liken it to geniuses and their âweird habitsâ, George being the brains of the agency and all that.
âI saw their coats by the door this morning, dripping all over the floor,â George scoffed at that, picking his head up off the table just to thump it back down, âI mopped it up though, no need to worry.â
He looked grateful, especially as you pushed him a cup of hot tea and a donut.
âLockwood should marry you for how much you pick up after him alone, at this point. Never mind all the times you guys act like youâre already basically married,â Heâd said. Casual as he might have been, you find yourself choking on air.
âItâs not like that,â you cough, brows furrowing as George gives you an exasperated frown, âCome off it, itâs not like that. I doubt heâd⊠yâknow.â
He rolls his eyes and tears off a chunk of donut; you take the out when he chooses to say nothing more. Changing the subject is easy with George, but he often makes pointed statementsâ when he notices something, he just has to say it.
âYou brought some more flowers today, yeah? Are the red carnations for Lockwood?â Heâd asked, sipping on his tea, more awake than before. As he ate youâd been rushing about the kitchen cleaning up what you could, so you close the cupboard just as he adds, âDo you reckon heâll pick up on it this time?â
You freeze where youâre pulling a chair out for yourself, worrying your lip between your teeth. âHe hasnât before. I just⊠I donât think he will. Get it, I mean. I justâ I donât know. What do you think, George?â
He hums at you, and shuffles to give you a quick pat on your shoulder. âI think you should just tell him at this point. Heâs either being intentionally dense or is just being stupid about it.â
âHas heâŠâ you gesture lamely with your hand, arm propped up on your elbow before you slump back in your seat, âHas he said anything about⊠maybe, liking me back?â
âHe doesnât need to, he makes it clear enough anyways. Heâs always banging on about you,â He says, clearly frustrated. You give him a pointed look he doesnât break, unimpressed as he always is. You sigh. Itâs frustrating, but you know George wouldnât say anything that wasnât objectively the truth. âWhatever happens, if you do tell him, itâs not going to be as bad as you think.â
You sit in silence for a while after that, George scribbling on the thinking cloth as the seconds pass on by. An hour into your visit, you pull yourself up and out of your chair and head for the front.
âTell Lucy and Anthony I said hi, please, George. Iâll be heading off now,â You say from the kitchen doorway, he nods your way with a wave, focused on the thinking cloth.
âDo you want me to tell himââ
âNo, thank you, George,â You hissed, cutting him off. A grin finds its way on Georgeâs face just as you run off.
An hour later, Lockwood finds himself in the kitchen just as Lucyâs finishing up her breakfast. George had woken up way earlier and had likely dove back into his research if his absence meant anything; you had been gone for an hour as Lockwood passes the doorway. Lucyâs grin turns teasing and Lockwood slumps into his chair.
âDid you see them before they left?â He asks Lucy, who hums a ânoâ with a knowing grin as she sets down the papers. She reaches over to his side of the table, tapping on the cloth, before pulling the papers back up to her nose.
Pouring himself a quick cup of tea, Lockwood settles down to find where youâd earlier written âthrew it out already, got you a new loafâ and smiles. His hand traces reverently along the curves and lines of your inking, and canât help his chuckle at the little smiley face at the end.
âWhatâd they say today?â Lucy asks, folding up her paper and propping up her elbows. Her teasing grin hasnât once dropped.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â He quips, pulling his shoulders back. Lucy doesnât look willing to let up, wholly bemused.
âI bet you itâs something not at all even funny enough for you look as giddy as you do,â She grins, rushing out of her chair to read it before Lockwood can cover it up. Her jaw drops when she finds it, turning to Lockwood, whoâd turned away and refused to meet her eyes.
âLook at youââ She starts.
âStopââ
âGiddy over the fact they went and fetched us bread?â Lucy gasps, wholeheartedly teasing Lockwood as he fumbles for words. Oh, if only you were here so she could do the same to you. âLike a schoolboy, you are, yeah?â
âLucy,â he groans, hiding his face in his hands as he dumps his head on the table, âItâs not like thatâ I just. Itâs a kind gesture, alright?â
âGeorge makes us dinner everyday but you donât kick your feet and giggle when he writes to you on the thinking cloth do you?â She goads, relishing in the way Lockwood looks up to glare.
âGeorge calls me a dick when he writes to me on the thinking cloth,â He pauses just as your name runs out his mouth, frown softening, âThey wouldnât do that.â
Lucy rolls her eyes as she stands up, bringing her cup to the sink. Her hair is combed, but sheâs still in pyjamas, so itâs likely sheâs just woken up too. Lockwood reckons she hadnât caught your visit, but he asks anyways. Lucy shakes her head just as she settles back down in her chair.
âAsk George, he probably woke up early enough.â She takes a generous bite out of her toast, the crunch of it waking Lockwood up. Last night had been exhausting, but luckily theyâd gotten it under wraps. Lucy headed straight up to bed when they got home, but Lockwood had stopped by the kitchen to write you a note on the cloth just before he scrambled up the stairs to his room and passed out in his bed. George had been quiet when they got back, so Lucy was most likely right. Lucy shoves a plate of cheese on toast his way, and he takes it gratefully.
âIâll just ask him later,â He says around a mouth full of toast. âHave you seen George today, actually?â
Lucyâs grin widens into something mischievous and cheshire, but she tucks it in quickly and simply hums an affirmative. Lockwood narrows his eyes at her, and she looks away.
âWhatever you two talked aboutââ
âNothing!â She cut in, holding her hands up. âGeorge says they left you flowers though, red carnations.â
Lockwood feels his breath escape him at the thoughtâ you bringing him flowers? Damn his sleep schedule, he would have woken early just to see you give them yourself if heâd known. The thought of you and your care for him leaves him warm and defenceless; vulnerable in all the ways only you can make him. Itâs so so sweet it has him pushing a hand on his lips to stop his grin from splitting his whole face open.
âGod,â Lucy laughs, watching him with unfettered amusement, âYouââ
âWhere did George put them?â He cuts her off, earning a laugh at the grin he canât hold back. Some part of him wants to make the excuse that heâs this happy and giddy because of how kind a gesture it is, but more than a majority of him knows thatâs just not true.
When Lockwood finds the flowers in the library, he knows even in the deepest recesses of his denial and ache, that itâs not the kind gesture leaving him helplessly lost in love with you. Now if only he could find a way to admit that to your face.
A/N: Sorry if this isnât the best, kinda just let my brain write and lightly edited it after.
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I am sorryyy,,, To the followers of this account and my few moots (Ily⊠Iâm so sorry I was goneâŠ) I have moved around accounts,,,
I kept neglecting to mention it here because Iâm in a very rocky stage of, well, everything! My gender, my self expression, etc. (18âs only magical for how it confuses you, Iâve found) and I felt bad having so many neglected fics (about 12 in my drafts). Iâve also long left the Lockwood and co fandom due to no longer having that same spark of wonder for it, but have been, bouncing around too often in fandoms to really warrant linking this account to any of my many side accounts. Trust me, the pipeline is so weird I genuinely donât think itâd be a good idea to show you guys my new accounts đ (not because I do nsfw now or something, heavens no!! Itâs just on another side of the interest spectrum that just⊠makes no sense)âŠ
That said, I will tey to be more active here again, but I donât think I will write any more about lockwood and co :( Iâll update my pinned to reflect that change, and while maybe Iâll pick up my old fics, I doubt itâd be soon.
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portie its been so long when do u return from war (hiatus)
OMG LOVE IM SO SORRY I JUST SAW THIS TODAY đ MY LIFEâS BEEN SO CRAZY đ
Schoolâs been kicking my ass so I went and hyperfocused into school ;â; then my birthday came and went and before all of that, I had gone on a 2 week trip and came back just a day before school started. Then I got ill in the middle of school, which knocks me out for a good week or two, and Iâve been playing catchup for the whole of the month.
So all in all, I am so sorry I am seeing this basically a month later đ
I am returning from the war soon hopefully, Iâm getting my bearings and Iâve got one foot planted firm in terms of catching up to my classes!! Hopefully this keeps up in time for me to start writing again but weâll see. I hope youâre doing well Love đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶ Thank you checking in and Iâm sorry Iâve basically been MIA đ
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Hello!! Just a little update in case any of you were wondering!! When I said a few days I actually meant a week or two,,,, I should have elaborated đ Iâm writing but the postingâs been put off!! my ass just FORGOR to mention đ Sorryyyyy,,,,
#portie goes on a ramble#portie non-fandom posts#portie is talking to themself again#portie writes fanfic
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Hope you take care at college!! Kick ass and take names!!! And also hydrate and eat well if you can <3 So honoured to be on here
Fic Recommendations
a/n: another update... probably my last one for a while, college starts in like 3 days so yeah :) give some love to the authors and I completely understand reading a fic without reading tags (I do it all the time) but please please pleeeeeease read the trigger warnings. Also idk if you like... tag authors in these anymore, bit I am going to.
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Hear the Crackle of the Radio, I Know I'm Home - Lockwood x reader - @writtenontheport
drives me crazy series - Lockwood - @tangledinlove
heart eyes - Lockwood - @tangledinlove
I Need You - Lockwood - @genieofthebooks
Walk Me Home? - George Karim - @writtenontheport (every part)
ACOTAR
My Fearless Mate - Azriel - @k-daydreams
Spiders - Azriel - @danikamariewrites
Stitch up - Azriel - @florence-end
blushing - Lucien - @honeybeefae
Unexpected - Lucien - @profound-imagination
A voyage come to rest - Azriel - @unknownbyme
Shattered under your skin - Azriel - @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet
No More - Azriel/Tarquin - @redheadspark
Outer Banks
intimidated - JJ - @goldenroutledge
The Witcher
Home - Geralt - @lightning-hawke
The Summer I Turned Pretty
Dating Cam Cameron - @kaicubus (cam needs more love!)
taylor swift? - cam cameron - @suckerforprettyboys
Criminal Minds I know I have a spencer reid problem
Stardust - Spencer Reid - @imagining-in-the-margins (Im so sorry in advance)
New Traditions - Spencer Reid - @railingsofsorrow
the nice guy - Spencer Reid - @ebullientheart
afternoon nap - Spencer Reid - @in-another-april
tenesse whiskey - Spencer Reid - @evansflowers
im sorry - Spencer Reid - @gizmo-writes
meeting the team - Spencer Reid - @tinyluvs
meeting Diana - Spencer Reid - @tinyluvs
dad reid - Spencer Reid - @radiant-reid
JJ x Daughter!reader - jj - @tacotruckxveniceb1tch
Father Figure - Spencer Reid - @imagining-in-the-margins
Viral Video - Spencer Reid - @imagining-in-the-margins
Anticipation - Spencer Reid - @imagining-in-the-margins
I won't let go - Aaron Hotchner - @0and0its0doctor0
running to safety - Spencer Reid - @gizmo-writes
You're Losing Me (pt 2) - Aaron Hotchner - @14buddy22
glasses Reid!! -Spencer Reid @luveline
Hair cut - bau/derek - @luveline
fainting - Spencer Reid - @luveline
Harry Potter
seven minutes in heaven - slytherin gang - @azrielscrown
Neville Longbottom blurb - @sarahisslytherin
IF I CANT HAVE YOU BABY - Mattheo Riddle - @earthgirl616
Theo Nott - @veryberryjelly
baby, won't you be my girl? - Theo Nott - @azrielscrown
Pretty Crier - Mattheo Riddle - @ancientparsnips
Theo blurb - theo nott - @suugarbabe
butting heads - Lorenzo Berkshire - @s1ater
Theo Nott HC - @evergone
LOVEBITES AND POTIONS - Theo Nott - @caramelcal
romance by the season - Theo Nott - @anakinellie
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Just an update for the lovely request senders <3 I have your requests Iâm just working through them!! For one of them Iâm half done, though I am yet to start on the other,,,
Promise I will post fics soon, just working through some irl stuff so I barely have time or motivation to write,,,
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LOVEEEE đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶ HELLO!! WELCOME BACK!!!
One day you will find a Lockwood cat irl of your own!! You just go âpspspspsâ and 10 will suddenly appear one day Iâm sure of this
ALSO FRIENDS MAKING BETS!! YES!! I FIND IT SO FUNNY!!! Nobody will ever know you better than friends who live with you (real)
ALSNDIFNSKENEJFNFSKEB HEARING THAT FROM YOU IS AN HONOUR I LOVE YOUR WRITING đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶ Every time you say it is like getting hit with a dose of serotonin like a shot of expresso to the veins, thank you đ€đ€đ€â€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïžâ€ïž
I HOPE YOURE DOING AS AWESOME AS YOU ARE <3 THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS GIVING THE MOST SUPPORTIVE FEEDBACK đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶
Hi can you do a lockwood fic where youâre in the library late at night and you decide to play classical music and he asks you to dance (kiss on hand as a greeting, lucy recording and having a bet with george, etc) thanks!
Hear the Crackle of the Radio, I Know Iâm Home
Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, sleepy Lockwood, dancing but itâs more like just staying in each otherâs arms for the sake of it, repetition, Iâm a SUCKER for fluff
Notes: Thank you anon for this sweet little request, I absolutely adored writing it!! I didnât know how to incorporate a classic piece at first (considering their technology would be quite behind and they donât have access to boomboxes or speakers) but then I remembered the old radio my family used to have. Lovely thing it was, I miss the crackle of it dearly!
ALSO, I MISREAD YOUR REQUEST SO BAD ANON. IM SO SORRY đ -added after posting LMAO,,,,
Summary: Itâs a quiet day in the libraryâ until Lockwood comes and forces you up from your seat to dance with him.
The static of the radio fades away into the crunch of violin and piano compositions, coming through gently and filling the room. Thereâs an air of old books and frail paper about you as you handle the fragile pages. The paper is old under your fingers, the texture familiar in your hands; the library smells of the past and sounds of it too.
You didnât expect anyone else to be awake considering they all just got back home after a long and tedious case, but Lockwood comes into the library with a sleepy smile and you find yourself pleasantly surprised. Heâs in a loose white T-shirt and the pyjama pants you bought him not too long ago, looking just about ready to pass out as he makes his way over to you. Much like a cat, he smiles patiently as you put away your book before unceremoniously dropping himself into your lap.
âAnthony,â You laugh, moving him around into a more comfortable position. Heâs like putty in your hands, he is; sleepy and warm and all too happy.
âI checked, and you werenât in bed,â He mumbles, his face resting in the space between your head and collar. His eyes peer at you from behind his lashes, hooded with exhaustion that has him blinking slowly. â âJust wanted to make sure you were alright.â
âI am very alright, now that you lot are all home.â You press a kiss onto his head, a hand combing through his hair. âI was about to head to bed, actually. Have you checked on Lucy and George?â
âAlreadyââ he yawns here, stretching out all his lanky limbs ââdid. Theyâve both headed into their rooms already.â
He leans into your touch and into you, relaxing in your arms. He snakes his arms your waist and his lips end up on your jaw. If Lucy or George were here, they might have had half the mind to call you both out on your lovesick behaviour. Since it was just you two, though, that goes unspoken. You hope Lockwood ignores the quick beating of your heart just as Lockwood hopes you canât feel his smile on your skin growing coy. The world filters back in around you with every breath; library pages and the sound of something slow and relaxing.
âLetâs dance,â Lockwood mumbles, not pulling himself up. âThis is our song.â
It is not your song; you donât have one, (yet, you secretly hope) but you indulge him with a laugh. âGet up then. I canât dance if youâre on me now, can I?â
It takes a solid minute for him to make good on that, at which point you think heâs fallen asleep before he blows into the skin of your neck and you swat him. Itâs a giggly affair getting up, books left forgotten on the table and the radio drowned out by your joy. You take your places in the center of the room, Lockwood more awake as he gazes lovingly into your eyes. The piece rises to new heights as you both begin dancing slowly, a bit off beat with the music, but in tune with the rhythm of your hearts.
With one arm wrapped around your lower back, and the other in yours, itâs more of a sway than a dance. And yet you sway, to and fro, to and fro, as the music swells and softens through the radio crackle. His eyes trace your face with such tenderness and care; smiling subconsciously as he sways with you.
When youâre on the job, Lockwood is doing little more than burning himself into ash and soot to protect you all; ghoulishly hollow in all the ways he has already given himself up for you, George, and Lucy. You scold him for it, all of you, and he does try to make it better, but sometimes you can only be thankful of what you have still. This look of his is one of them.
This particular look is reserved for you alone, made of gentle edges whittled down by your persistence to get close; the walls around his heart so low theyâre all but flattened. This particular look is full of something more than just ash and hollow soot: itâs full of warmth and giddy happiness. This particular look is one you canât help but cherish.
âYou look lovely today,â He hums, peering into your eyes as he masterfully dodges stepping on your feet. His hair is messy and crumpled from where youâd ran your hand through it, making him all the more endearing.
âAnd you look like youâre about to pass out,â you tease, squeezing his hand.
âHow do I look like besides that, though?â
âGorgeous and radiant,â You playfully coo, laughing when his face splits into a wide grin.
Nothing else is said after as you both fall into the rhythm of being near each other. To and fro, to and fro, you sway; to and fro. The smell of old books and the sound of a crackling radio all fade into the background as you and Lockwood slowly but surely lean in to rest your foreheads gently against one anotherâs. He pushes his nose into yours, humming along to the song, and like instinct your lips fall into each otherâs. The world sways as you do, to and fro, to and fro.
Kissing him tastes like warmth and joy bottled up; feels like sinking into your bed and hiding yourself away from the world. Kissing him feels like everything is going to be all right.
A camera click startles you both and you quickly pull away (still in each otherâs arms) to find Lucy at the door. Sheâs grinning ear to ear with a twinkle in her eyes as she leans back out of the doorway and yells,
âGeorge! I won!â and leaves.
You and Lockwood stay there standing, before slowly falling into a fit of giggles and deeper into each otherâs arms. From beyond the door, Lucy and George race down the steps in a thunderous manner, and suddenly the whole of 35 Portland Row is awake well past midnight. You wouldnât have had it any other way.
Your song plays again the next day in the library, and the smile that takes you over has Lockwood kissing you again just for how beautiful you are to him. The world settles in your kisses, and when you dance you do little more than hold onto each other and sway; to and fro, to and fro.
A/N: This actually gave me some nostalgia, because I used to love the radio (the old classic ones they donât make anymore) and I loved when we used it. Iâm also SUCH fan of swaying with someone you love gently, and justâ UGH.
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Hii!!! So my ten year sister made some sticker packs on Etsy, and she'd really appreciate it if you could buy some! They're downloadable stickers! So you can print them out. And if.. you aren't able to buy you can always reblog! To help other people see it too! She'd really appreciate it, art has always been her forté, and she drew these on her iPad herself! And she spent a lot of time on them so yeah <33
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SOBBING. BITING MY NAILS DOWN. PATHETICALLY CRYING. THIS IS SO GOOD.
This cat is me after crying my eyes out. I love this so much. đđđđđđđđ
Theyâre both so stupid reckless, and theyâre both so stupidly in love. UGH. I LOVE THIS SO MUCH.
I canât even point out a favourite moment, this entire thing was a lovely read đđ«¶đ€
Hi!!!! Your L&C fics are my favorite thing ever, your writing is absolutely incredible, I'm a bit obsessed I think XDD
Apologies if this request is too specific, but I would die for a Lockwood x reader fic where the reader makes up their mind to do something stupidly reckless for a case, something even Mr. Reckless himself can't support, especially not when it's YOU. He begs you not to, you do it anyway, get badly injured, but he's still there to patch you up after all of it.
Have an awesome day!!!!!
a/n: my day is absolutely awesome so far, i hope yours is too!! and thank you so much, i'm so so glad you enjoy my stuff!! i hope you enjoy <3
warnings: language, injury gn reader
You knew the case was going to be a bad one from the get-go, you just didn't know how bad.
Everything had seemed fine when you and the other members of Lockwood and Co met with the clients, a pair of men who owned a nearby butcher's. A Type Two haunting the place, nothing you couldn't handle. George had even found a lot a decent information on the place that could help you guys figure out where the source was. The notion of it being in a butcher's made you uneasy, and you knew very little about the Type Two, though Lockwood was sure you'd all be fine.
But, standing in the shop, facing a ghost you can't see, you know you're fucked.
It's just your luck to be faced with a poltergeist, honestly.
Unlike other Visitors, poltergeists can't inflict ghost touch which, in the long run, is very handy. If ambulances can't get to agents on time to give them an adrenaline injection, then it can lead to loss of limbs or death. It sounds like a positive, right?
Well, staring at the carving knife floating a few feet away, you would much rather be faced with a Wraith or even a Rawbones.
The thing is, poltergeists have no physical form so it's harder to look for a source, hence George and Lucy scrambling around in the backroom, clattering about as they rush to look.
Ahead of you, the knife hovers in midair, its sharp, gleaming point slowly turning as if to decide which person to dart at: you, Lockwood, or Lucy and George. It's like a horrible version of Spin the Bottle.
"So, this lovely Visitor was the old butcher?" you say, keeping your voice light. Poltergeists feed off negative emotions even more than other Type Twos.
Lockwood nods, rapier in hand as he looks around the rest of the room, rooted in place. "That's what George says."
"What reason does it have to be haunting the place?"
"Killed by an angry employee, I think."
You hold back a grumble, forcing down your anger at stupid people from the past. If they'd known how many problems they'd cause in the future, would they still have been such idiots?
Probably.
"Watch your back then," you joke. "You have three employees. Keep us happy, will you?"
"There's only so much tea I can make."
The knife rises in the air slightly and you falter back a step as its sharp end points at you.
"I think I'm the favourite," you mutter, trying to keep your fear in check. It's not often ghosts threaten you at knifepoint. "Lockwood, you go help Lucy and George look for the source. I'll keep its attention."
"No way." He looks at you incredulously. "We're doing this together."
Palms sweating, you say, "Your rapier isn't going to do much against a ghost we can't see, and not all of us can look for the source because then none of us stands a chance."
"I'm not letting you face it on your own," Lockwood insists. "Not a chance. The thing's got a knife, and it can do much worse."
But Lucy shouts something from the backroom, drawing Lockwood's attention. Through the buzz of fear in your ears, you think she says they might've found something.
"Lockwood, go!"
"(name), I'm not just going to leave you to -"
The knife whizzes in the air, lodging itself in the wooden doorframe, awfully close to your shoulder. It's like the Visitor wants Lockwood to stay, but you aren't going to let him. He's the leader of Lockwood and Co, the face of it. The company needs him. But not you. You're expendable.
Your Talent isn't anything special, not like Lucy's, and your research skills are nowhere near the standard of George's. All you're good at is using a rapier and sweet-talking DEPRAC when cases go tits up. Lockwood can easily fill in for you.
"Lockwood," you grit out, trying to keep the frustration at a minimum. "Go."
He's about to argue, but George calls for help - whatever they've found is stuck. He doesn't move.
Before you can think about it, you rush over and shove him in the direction of the backroom, and he stumbles, falling into the door. He barely gets his footing before Lucy's dragged him through.
"(name)!" he shouts, but he doesn't appear. Thank god for Lucy.
"All right," you murmur, turning to look at the knife in the doorframe. "Just you and me, now, Polty."
Slowly, threateningly, the knife dislodges from the frame, shining in the dim lanternlight. From the far wall, a knife rack trembles on its hooks, and more come free. Your heart is in your throat. Maybe you'll end up like a ghost you've defeated before, an old man who'd been jumped and stabbed endlessly.
Hopefully, you'll be an easy ghost to get rid of.
The carving knife comes flying at you, and you barely deflect it with the thin blade of your rapier. Another knife darts across the room, and you duck out of the way, though it nicks your ear. You can feel the little dribble of blood sliding down the skin already.
"Do you guys mind hurrying up a bit?" you call, eyeing the large collection of knives hovering. "Not to rush you or anything, but, you know, I'm not the biggest fan of being threatened by knives."
"Almost there!" Lucy shouts. "George got his arm stuck trying to get the source out. We're trying to get him unstuck."
Swallowing, you say lightly, "Yeah, sounds fun. Maybe speed it up a little."
You can hear a little arguing, likely Lockwood trying to come back out to help but getting told off by Lucy. You almost smile. Almost.
This time, the small knife that launches at you catches your shoulder and you resist crying out in pain. If you do, Lockwood will definitely come running out, and you can't afford that. They need to get the source.
Blood oozes down your arm, staining your jumper. Your grasp on your rapier weakens, and you swap the blade into your other hand, although this hand is considerably worse with it.
"It's rude to stab people," you grumble.
The next knife is deflected clumsily from your face, half from the inability of using your other hand and half from the pain in your shoulder. You'd pull the knife out, but you know it'll make things worse. At least it hasn't hit anything vital.
You can feel the presence of the poltergeist, thick and hanging over the whole room like a blanket. It isn't the most powerful one, not like the ones you've heard Fittes agents dealing with, because, even though its presence is everywhere, its focus is dealt solely on you. If it were stronger, it'd be targeting the others, too.
"Go on then, give me your worst."
Another knife, another dodge. It feels like it goes on forever, on and on and on with the same knives over again. The blood from your shoulder has reached your hand now and, god, how you wish you could throw a salt bomb at this thing. Your fingers itch to hold one.
"Hurry up!"
Mistake. You regret speaking immediately, having let out a little too much frustration, and the poltergeist feeds on it. The knives tremble in the air, every point staring menacingly at you, and the one hanging in your shoulder tears out, bringing with it another gush of blood. You can't help the cry that escapes your lips this time.
"Get the silver net, hurry!" Lucy's voice shouts.
The world moves in slow motion. As the knives fly in your direction, gleaming, one covered in blood, your heart feels like it ceases all functions. This is where you die. You'll never be able to dodge all of them in time.
Then the first blade sinks into your shoulder, just inches below the first puncture, and you shut your eyes.
You'll miss Portland Row and your friends. Maybe you didn't cherish their antics enough - the way George sings in the shower in the mornings, waking you up, or how Lucy will blast music at full volume while hacking away at the dummies in the basement for rapier practice. Most of all, you'll miss Lockwood. His smile, the way his eyes sparkle when he realises you've bought him a new magazine from the shop, the feeling of his fingers brushing yours as he passes you a mug of tea after every case.
There isn't much you regret, but you regret not telling him how you feel about him. About the nights you spend thinking about him, wishing for something more between you both.
Metal slams to the ground. The heavy pressure sitting on your shoulders dissipates, and silence ensues.
Slowly opening your eyes, you startle, seeing a dozen knives scattered on the floor right in front of your feet. Droplets of blood drip from your fingers, forming a little puddle on the floor. You're breathing heavily, much more than you should be, and your body is trembling.
The others stumble into the room, eyeing the blades that have fallen before you. Lockwood is the first to notice the blood soaking the sleeve of your jumper.
He practically leaps over the counter to get to you. "Lucy, George, go get rid of the source and get us a night cab. Quick."
Wordlessly, the two sprint from the shop and into the night.
"You're okay," Lockwood says.
You almost believe him, falling for the assured tone of his voice, but you feel a little woozy. Knees buckling, you drop to the floor, but he catches you with gentle hands, slowly lowering you down so you can sit after kicking the knives away.
"You're okay," he says again, though it sounds like it's more for himself than for you.
"I'm fine," you say, smiling albeit weakly. "Polty didn't stand a chance."
"Polty?" Lockwood parts from your side, grasping his bag from the corner and digging in it for a first aid kit. "You named the ghost?"
Nodding, you lean your head back against the wall. "He was my best mate."
There's a small laugh. "I don't think Lucy will appreciate that sentiment."
He's beside you again before you can even really process it, gingerly touching the ripped hole in your jumper. There's a lot more blood there than you initially realised.
"Do you think you can get your jumper off?" Lockwood asks. "I need to see the cuts."
Normally, you would've made a comment at that, but your throat feels awfully dry. "Take the knife out first?"
He goes pale, eyeing the - thankfully - small knife stuck in your arm.
"This will hurt. Hold onto my arm."
And you do. You weakly wrap your hand around his forearm, bracing yourself for the pain. He begins to count down from three, but he yanks the knife out on one, and you shout in pain, squeezing his arm.
"You pulled it early!"
"You would've made it harder to get out if I'd counted down the whole way." He looks a little bad for doing it, but you can understand why he did it. "Jumper?"
With his help, you manage to pull the thing off, hissing as you move your injured shoulder. Your T-shirt is stained at the sleeve, too, and partially at the neckline. It stings to pull it from the wound, but, soon enough, the cuts are visible. They're neat little things, nothing more than small slits in your skin, but they go deep. Lockwood will only be able to do so much.
With shaking hands, Lockwood pulls some things out of the first aid kit. You're too sore to really notice.
"You're an idiot, you know that, right?"
His voice shocks you out of the daze you were slipping into. "Hmm?"
"You shouldn't have done that alone. Look what's happened."
As he brings an alcohol wipe to the gashes, you wince at the sharp sting and the pressure he applies but say, "And what should I have done? Let you be the one to do it alone? We both know that you wouldn't have let me help, Lockwood. And you're more important in the grand scheme of things. I think I would've made quite the sacrifice if it had come to it."
"Don't say that." His voice wavers slightly, so quietly you barely hear it. "You're important to me."
He applies more pressure to the wounds, then he places wound dressings over them before grabbing a water bottle from his bag and soaking a tissue. Gently, he takes your arm in his hand and cleans away the slowly drying blood. It's messy work - the tissue keeps flaking apart, but it does the job and, soon enough, your arm is only faintly stained with your blood. He cleans the little bit of blood away from your ear quickly, placing a little plaster over the cut.
"I wasn't going to let you do it," you say, gratefully swallowing the painkillers he hands you. "You would've killed yourself to save us."
"And you didn't just try practically the same thing?"
There's an undertone of anger in his voice, but it's weak, taken over almost completely by his concern.
"(name) -" He hesitates, looking away from you. His ears are tinted slightly red. "You can't just be reckless like that. Not when..."
His fingers brush yours as you say, "When what?"
You can feel the tremble in his fingers. Although you're the one with stab wounds that still need medical attention, you worry. His smile, that cocky grin you've grown so fond of, is nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by parted lips and heavy breathing. The pulse you can feel in his fingers is erratic.
"Not when you mean so much to me. I can't lose you."
The words take you aback. For a moment, you're acutely aware of his skin touching yours, of the sound of his breaths, and the way the light accentuates the features on his face. His cheekbones look sharper, and his eyes glimmer, darkness set alight with little stars.
He mistakes your shocked silence for rejection. "A night cab should be here soon, then we can get you to a hospital and -"
His words falter when your good hand touches his cheek. Slowly, his gaze turns to your outstretched arm, gradually making its way up the limb until he's looking at you - your eyes, your lips. This is the most nervous you've seen him, and it makes you feel a little triumphant. Not many people make Anthony Lockwood nervous.
"I'm okay," you promise. "You've patched me up, and we're going to get me taken care of, yeah? But, first..."
"But first?" His eyebrow quirks, and he watches you closely.
It's something you never would do in normal circumstances. Really, you're probably not in the right state of mind, but you've wanted to do this for months. And Lockwood doesn't stop you.
When your lips touch his, you feel a sense of completeness. Like your soul has been made whole. It's as if they're the missing piece to a puzzle you've been trying to finish all your life, finally found after years and years of searching.
One of Lockwood's hands holds the back of your neck, his touch gentle, giving you enough leeway to pull away if you so wish. But you don't. You won't. No, instead your clutch his shirt with your good hand, holding him close. You never want this to end, this feeling of finally being whole. Your heart is racing, and it feels as though your very being is going to implode from pure elation.
Carefully, reluctantly, he pulls away, but his face stays close. His eyes search yours for any glimpse of regret, but he finds none, and he grins, at last. The smile sends a shiver down your spine, and you find yourself smiling, too, despite your pain.
"You don't know how long I've been waiting for that," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper.
You can feel his breath on your lips. "I might have an idea."
And then he's kissing you again, snatching your breath away.
Silently, you're thanking the poltergeist for the wounds, a thought that almost makes you laugh.
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After writing on this dock for over two weeks with 4 days break, I think I finally have to slow down đđđ
As is, I donât plan on abandoning the series (plural) I have, but I wonât be writing (as much)!! Iâll be reading more actually, as there are lovely fanfics in this fandom and Iâd love to get around to reading them!! đ„°đđ«¶
Ok, thatâs it, Portie out >:]
P.S. Letâs hope I remember to reblog, Iâm too used to the kudos system on AO3,,,
P.P.S. By âI wonât be writingâ, I mean that as in⊠for a few days I will not be!! Requests are still open, I might not get to them as quickly, but I will still write in general!!
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I am putting something in them yes đđđ (cinnamon and sugar)
Thank you for the comment though! Glad you enjoyed it!!
Hi can you do a lockwood fic where youâre in the library late at night and you decide to play classical music and he asks you to dance (kiss on hand as a greeting, lucy recording and having a bet with george, etc) thanks!
Hear the Crackle of the Radio, I Know Iâm Home
Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, sleepy Lockwood, dancing but itâs more like just staying in each otherâs arms for the sake of it, repetition, Iâm a SUCKER for fluff
Notes: Thank you anon for this sweet little request, I absolutely adored writing it!! I didnât know how to incorporate a classic piece at first (considering their technology would be quite behind and they donât have access to boomboxes or speakers) but then I remembered the old radio my family used to have. Lovely thing it was, I miss the crackle of it dearly!
ALSO, I MISREAD YOUR REQUEST SO BAD ANON. IM SO SORRY đ -added after posting LMAO,,,,
Summary: Itâs a quiet day in the libraryâ until Lockwood comes and forces you up from your seat to dance with him.
The static of the radio fades away into the crunch of violin and piano compositions, coming through gently and filling the room. Thereâs an air of old books and frail paper about you as you handle the fragile pages. The paper is old under your fingers, the texture familiar in your hands; the library smells of the past and sounds of it too.
You didnât expect anyone else to be awake considering they all just got back home after a long and tedious case, but Lockwood comes into the library with a sleepy smile and you find yourself pleasantly surprised. Heâs in a loose white T-shirt and the pyjama pants you bought him not too long ago, looking just about ready to pass out as he makes his way over to you. Much like a cat, he smiles patiently as you put away your book before unceremoniously dropping himself into your lap.
âAnthony,â You laugh, moving him around into a more comfortable position. Heâs like putty in your hands, he is; sleepy and warm and all too happy.
âI checked, and you werenât in bed,â He mumbles, his face resting in the space between your head and collar. His eyes peer at you from behind his lashes, hooded with exhaustion that has him blinking slowly. â âJust wanted to make sure you were alright.â
âI am very alright, now that you lot are all home.â You press a kiss onto his head, a hand combing through his hair. âI was about to head to bed, actually. Have you checked on Lucy and George?â
âAlreadyââ he yawns here, stretching out all his lanky limbs ââdid. Theyâve both headed into their rooms already.â
He leans into your touch and into you, relaxing in your arms. He snakes his arms your waist and his lips end up on your jaw. If Lucy or George were here, they might have had half the mind to call you both out on your lovesick behaviour. Since it was just you two, though, that goes unspoken. You hope Lockwood ignores the quick beating of your heart just as Lockwood hopes you canât feel his smile on your skin growing coy. The world filters back in around you with every breath; library pages and the sound of something slow and relaxing.
âLetâs dance,â Lockwood mumbles, not pulling himself up. âThis is our song.â
It is not your song; you donât have one, (yet, you secretly hope) but you indulge him with a laugh. âGet up then. I canât dance if youâre on me now, can I?â
It takes a solid minute for him to make good on that, at which point you think heâs fallen asleep before he blows into the skin of your neck and you swat him. Itâs a giggly affair getting up, books left forgotten on the table and the radio drowned out by your joy. You take your places in the center of the room, Lockwood more awake as he gazes lovingly into your eyes. The piece rises to new heights as you both begin dancing slowly, a bit off beat with the music, but in tune with the rhythm of your hearts.
With one arm wrapped around your lower back, and the other in yours, itâs more of a sway than a dance. And yet you sway, to and fro, to and fro, as the music swells and softens through the radio crackle. His eyes trace your face with such tenderness and care; smiling subconsciously as he sways with you.
When youâre on the job, Lockwood is doing little more than burning himself into ash and soot to protect you all; ghoulishly hollow in all the ways he has already given himself up for you, George, and Lucy. You scold him for it, all of you, and he does try to make it better, but sometimes you can only be thankful of what you have still. This look of his is one of them.
This particular look is reserved for you alone, made of gentle edges whittled down by your persistence to get close; the walls around his heart so low theyâre all but flattened. This particular look is full of something more than just ash and hollow soot: itâs full of warmth and giddy happiness. This particular look is one you canât help but cherish.
âYou look lovely today,â He hums, peering into your eyes as he masterfully dodges stepping on your feet. His hair is messy and crumpled from where youâd ran your hand through it, making him all the more endearing.
âAnd you look like youâre about to pass out,â you tease, squeezing his hand.
âHow do I look like besides that, though?â
âGorgeous and radiant,â You playfully coo, laughing when his face splits into a wide grin.
Nothing else is said after as you both fall into the rhythm of being near each other. To and fro, to and fro, you sway; to and fro. The smell of old books and the sound of a crackling radio all fade into the background as you and Lockwood slowly but surely lean in to rest your foreheads gently against one anotherâs. He pushes his nose into yours, humming along to the song, and like instinct your lips fall into each otherâs. The world sways as you do, to and fro, to and fro.
Kissing him tastes like warmth and joy bottled up; feels like sinking into your bed and hiding yourself away from the world. Kissing him feels like everything is going to be all right.
A camera click startles you both and you quickly pull away (still in each otherâs arms) to find Lucy at the door. Sheâs grinning ear to ear with a twinkle in her eyes as she leans back out of the doorway and yells,
âGeorge! I won!â and leaves.
You and Lockwood stay there standing, before slowly falling into a fit of giggles and deeper into each otherâs arms. From beyond the door, Lucy and George race down the steps in a thunderous manner, and suddenly the whole of 35 Portland Row is awake well past midnight. You wouldnât have had it any other way.
Your song plays again the next day in the library, and the smile that takes you over has Lockwood kissing you again just for how beautiful you are to him. The world settles in your kisses, and when you dance you do little more than hold onto each other and sway; to and fro, to and fro.
A/N: This actually gave me some nostalgia, because I used to love the radio (the old classic ones they donât make anymore) and I loved when we used it. Iâm also SUCH fan of swaying with someone you love gently, and justâ UGH.
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Hi can you do a lockwood fic where youâre in the library late at night and you decide to play classical music and he asks you to dance (kiss on hand as a greeting, lucy recording and having a bet with george, etc) thanks!
Hear the Crackle of the Radio, I Know Iâm Home
Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader
Warnings/Tags: Fluff, sleepy Lockwood, dancing but itâs more like just staying in each otherâs arms for the sake of it, repetition, Iâm a SUCKER for fluff
Notes: Thank you anon for this sweet little request, I absolutely adored writing it!! I didnât know how to incorporate a classic piece at first (considering their technology would be quite behind and they donât have access to boomboxes or speakers) but then I remembered the old radio my family used to have. Lovely thing it was, I miss the crackle of it dearly!
ALSO, I MISREAD YOUR REQUEST SO BAD ANON. IM SO SORRY đ -added after posting LMAO,,,,
Summary: Itâs a quiet day in the libraryâ until Lockwood comes and forces you up from your seat to dance with him.
The static of the radio fades away into the crunch of violin and piano compositions, coming through gently and filling the room. Thereâs an air of old books and frail paper about you as you handle the fragile pages. The paper is old under your fingers, the texture familiar in your hands; the library smells of the past and sounds of it too.
You didnât expect anyone else to be awake considering they all just got back home after a long and tedious case, but Lockwood comes into the library with a sleepy smile and you find yourself pleasantly surprised. Heâs in a loose white T-shirt and the pyjama pants you bought him not too long ago, looking just about ready to pass out as he makes his way over to you. Much like a cat, he smiles patiently as you put away your book before unceremoniously dropping himself into your lap.
âAnthony,â You laugh, moving him around into a more comfortable position. Heâs like putty in your hands, he is; sleepy and warm and all too happy.
âI checked, and you werenât in bed,â He mumbles, his face resting in the space between your head and collar. His eyes peer at you from behind his lashes, hooded with exhaustion that has him blinking slowly. â âJust wanted to make sure you were alright.â
âI am very alright, now that you lot are all home.â You press a kiss onto his head, a hand combing through his hair. âI was about to head to bed, actually. Have you checked on Lucy and George?â
âAlreadyââ he yawns here, stretching out all his lanky limbs ââdid. Theyâve both headed into their rooms already.â
He leans into your touch and into you, relaxing in your arms. He snakes his arms your waist and his lips end up on your jaw. If Lucy or George were here, they might have had half the mind to call you both out on your lovesick behaviour. Since it was just you two, though, that goes unspoken. You hope Lockwood ignores the quick beating of your heart just as Lockwood hopes you canât feel his smile on your skin growing coy. The world filters back in around you with every breath; library pages and the sound of something slow and relaxing.
âLetâs dance,â Lockwood mumbles, not pulling himself up. âThis is our song.â
It is not your song; you donât have one, (yet, you secretly hope) but you indulge him with a laugh. âGet up then. I canât dance if youâre on me now, can I?â
It takes a solid minute for him to make good on that, at which point you think heâs fallen asleep before he blows into the skin of your neck and you swat him. Itâs a giggly affair getting up, books left forgotten on the table and the radio drowned out by your joy. You take your places in the center of the room, Lockwood more awake as he gazes lovingly into your eyes. The piece rises to new heights as you both begin dancing slowly, a bit off beat with the music, but in tune with the rhythm of your hearts.
With one arm wrapped around your lower back, and the other in yours, itâs more of a sway than a dance. And yet you sway, to and fro, to and fro, as the music swells and softens through the radio crackle. His eyes trace your face with such tenderness and care; smiling subconsciously as he sways with you.
When youâre on the job, Lockwood is doing little more than burning himself into ash and soot to protect you all; ghoulishly hollow in all the ways he has already given himself up for you, George, and Lucy. You scold him for it, all of you, and he does try to make it better, but sometimes you can only be thankful of what you have still. This look of his is one of them.
This particular look is reserved for you alone, made of gentle edges whittled down by your persistence to get close; the walls around his heart so low theyâre all but flattened. This particular look is full of something more than just ash and hollow soot: itâs full of warmth and giddy happiness. This particular look is one you canât help but cherish.
âYou look lovely today,â He hums, peering into your eyes as he masterfully dodges stepping on your feet. His hair is messy and crumpled from where youâd ran your hand through it, making him all the more endearing.
âAnd you look like youâre about to pass out,â you tease, squeezing his hand.
âHow do I look like besides that, though?â
âGorgeous and radiant,â You playfully coo, laughing when his face splits into a wide grin.
Nothing else is said after as you both fall into the rhythm of being near each other. To and fro, to and fro, you sway; to and fro. The smell of old books and the sound of a crackling radio all fade into the background as you and Lockwood slowly but surely lean in to rest your foreheads gently against one anotherâs. He pushes his nose into yours, humming along to the song, and like instinct your lips fall into each otherâs. The world sways as you do, to and fro, to and fro.
Kissing him tastes like warmth and joy bottled up; feels like sinking into your bed and hiding yourself away from the world. Kissing him feels like everything is going to be all right.
A camera click startles you both and you quickly pull away (still in each otherâs arms) to find Lucy at the door. Sheâs grinning ear to ear with a twinkle in her eyes as she leans back out of the doorway and yells,
âGeorge! I won!â and leaves.
You and Lockwood stay there standing, before slowly falling into a fit of giggles and deeper into each otherâs arms. From beyond the door, Lucy and George race down the steps in a thunderous manner, and suddenly the whole of 35 Portland Row is awake well past midnight. You wouldnât have had it any other way.
Your song plays again the next day in the library, and the smile that takes you over has Lockwood kissing you again just for how beautiful you are to him. The world settles in your kisses, and when you dance you do little more than hold onto each other and sway; to and fro, to and fro.
A/N: This actually gave me some nostalgia, because I used to love the radio (the old classic ones they donât make anymore) and I loved when we used it. Iâm also SUCH fan of swaying with someone you love gently, and justâ UGH.
#portie writes fanfic#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x you#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood x reader#lockwood x you
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I just came up with the cutest idea I will ever come up with and thatâs: what if, in order to be able to sort of hold hands with his ghost gf, Lockwood bought something really fucking stupid that they could both hold onto???
Like, sayâŠ

Iâm going insane, the idea is taking over me, Iâm laughing and giggling and kicking my feet
LIKE. I KNOW HE WOULD USE SOMETHING MORE MEANINGFUL. BUT WHAT IF HE JUST BOUGHT A PLASTIC DINO GRABBER???
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Youâre one of my greatest supporters Love, thank youđ€đ€đ€đ€đ€đ€đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶đ«¶
The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend
Pt. 2 (Prologue) (Pt. 1)
Anthony Lockwood x fem Reader
Warnings/Tags: A bit of angst in that being a ghost is probably lonely LOL, Lockwoodâs a bit more levelheaded here, purely just setup, SLOW BURN!!!, How do you write romance with ghosts, Lockwood is in love with you, Heâs a bit stupid about it really, OH YEAH WAIT I FORGOT TO ADD: Reader is literally a ghost LMAO
Notes: IâM SO SORRY IF THIS PART IS A BIT,,,, DISAPPOINTING,,, I know this part isnât fluff heavy, but I was struggling so hard figuring out how to make this fluffy like I usually do,,, but most of my fluff is exploring physical touch as a love language and if Lockwood touches the reader here he will literally DIE. That is not metaphorical it will kill him⊠she is a literal ghost đ
Summary: Lockwood introduces you to the library, which, in the future will become your regular haunting. Heâs also pretty sure he would do about anything for you to smile, which might not be the best thing to say to someone you just met so he doesnât say it!
Word Count: 1.3k+
Lockwood presses the clamps of the silver-glass case open, taking out your necklace and gently laying it on the cushion of his chair. It sits there, on a plump throw-pillow, glimmering in the dark of the room before you appear. Miasma seeps into his bones with a cold chill, but his heart beats three times faster and his cheeks warm at the sight of you.
(In the future, Lockwood would have trouble separating those feelings during cases after spending so much time around you. It was a bit troublesome, but heâd never complain about itâ it wasnât your fault, after all, that your mere presence in the living world brought about a form of death.)
Disorienting as it was, Lockwood is quick to adapt as always and shoots you a grin oozing with charm. It takes you a moment to relax at the sight of it, lips falling into a small smile as you settle to the floor. The silence is thick, but not uncomfortable, and Lockwood is glad about that. He hopes the quick beating of his heart isnât audible from where you are, or it would quickly become a very uncomfortable silence.
âLucy and George are, um, upstairs for now,â He says to break the silence, resting his hands on his hips. âLucy said something about changing out of work clothes and⊠well, George could be doing anything from reading to doing yoga in the nude, so no idea what heâs up to.â
You smile cheekily at that; a blinding thing when you glow so brightly in other-light. Lockwoodâs sure that even without it, your smile would still outshine the moonlight that drenched you when youâd first met. It made him wonder for the first (of many times) what it would have been like if youâd met when you were alive. He wills the thought out of his head and instead focuses on you now as you are, ghostly and all. Really, he was lucky to have met you in general.
âI have a question, if you donât mind me asking.â He shakes off his jacket and moves to rest it on the back of the chair, gesturing for you to sit. âThough it might be hard to answer now that I think about it.â
You look amused at the gesture and pick up the throw pillow and necklace to put aside, sitting down. Your eyes scan about the room, widening as you gesture to a book on a nearby table and mime writing with a pen. He picks up on it quickly and whips a pen out from one of the many nooks and crannies of the messy library, picking up an empty notebook George must have left here.
âBrilliant thinking,â He says, beaming. Sliding it over to you from across a small table, he rests his hand on the wood of it and leans on that arm, resting the other hand on his hip. Itâs a mindless thing that makes you watch him for a moment longer than usual, but itâs enough to make him feel a bit coy. Something about your eyes leaves him rather helpless, but heâs not complaining.
The pen seems to lag behind as you drag it across the page; just for a second, just enough to make something about it seem wrong. It only makes Lockwood feel rather curious, not at all put off. You put the notebook down on the small table but keep the pen closer as you slide him the open page.
âAsk away,â youâd written. Your ghostly hand draws the notebook back as you smile lightly up at Lockwood from where youâre sat. Something about it is so soft that it has him weak, clearing his throat as he tries to remember the question.
âDo you know how long you were there for, at the Thistlebrowsâ?â He watches your lips purse into a thin line, before you scribble an answer back that you turn for him to see.
âNot really,â youâd written, something so distinctly lovable seeping into the way you write, âOnly that it felt like an eternity before I met Pepper. It was rather lonely before her; I lost track of time.â
That made sense, with what he knew about type threes. Lonely sort of ghost, Lucy once described; George had backed that up with, They wait forever for someone to be able to notice them, of course they would be. Right now though, he sees the glimmer in your eyes dull and the smile on your face flatten. It must have been a terrible afterlife to live alone for so long; it must have been doubly terrible to have the only person who could hear you taken away. The thought wraps its horrid fingers around his heart as he watches you hover the pen over the page as if frozen in time; your eyes focused on Pepperâs name.
Something lurches in his gut, urging him to say somethingâ anythingâ that might make this better. This is something that will follow him for every day that he knows you, and every single time it will feel like it will be the death of him as much as your gorgeous eyes.
âPepper was very upset at being sent away, you know?â He says quietly, watching as you turn up to him in surprise. âHer grandparents told us about it, said you were her best friend.â
You drop your eyes back onto the page, a little smile playing at your lips as you write. Lockwood could live off your smile for the rest of his life (and afterlife) if youâd let him, the beauty of it beyond description. It wasnât strange to feel so proud of making someone smile, right? Especially if said someone was the most beautiful girl dead or alive.
âHer parents were deathly protective of her, barely let her outside. I was her only friend.â Lockwood knew tacitly that she was yours too, but chose not to bring it up.
âWe could send her letters, if you want?â He suggests, taking long steps over to the chair across. You eye him cautiously, and he finds it a bit (correction: quite a bit) endearing. âWeâd give them to her grandparents to send for us, of course. If her parents are that dour, Iâd doubt theyâd let her read a letter from some random agency housing ghosts.â
With your brows raised and the impression of a smile, you write to him âMaybe you arenât that dull after all.â
He huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, leaning deeply into the chair. âI think youâll find Iâm actually quite brilliant.â
He canât hear it, but your shoulders ruffle in a bit of laughter and heâs struck frozen by your beaming face. Maybe it was simply the effect of a type three, but Lockwood was feeling the exact opposite of ghost-lock; a heart threatening to beat out of his rib cage, and a warmth filling his lungs despite the cold air. Miasma and thick quiet be damned, your presence brought him something warm and comforting in all the ways he could never explain.
Before you could write back whatever clever reply you wanted to, footsteps heavy and full ran down the stairs (echoing through the walls, they were so loud) and startled you both. Lockwood sends you a smile as he raises from the chair.
âGet ready; if thatâs George youâre about to be questioned for the next hour at least,â He grimaces playfully. Your smile blooms as the warmth in his chest does, unfurling like other-light and a warm haze in his heart.
(George, who actually can hear you when he holds your source, does proceed to ask you questions for at least an hour that day alone. Lucy, who can hear you just fine, told him off if he said anything a bit too insensitive. Lockwood? Well, he asked so many questions too that Lucy begged him to just learn sign language with you so he could ask them himself. The way his whole face brightenedâ you were sure it made your dead heart beat.)
A/N: IM SORRYYY,, I know I know,,, I said this part would be more⊠MOREâŠ. BUT I JUST⊠UGH⊠I LOVE writing plot important scenes đ€đ€đ€đ€ My ass just keeps wanting to establish shit before I head into the next interesting part (LIKE IK,,, ITS KINDA BORING BECAUSE THEYRE JUST HAVING A SMALL CONVERSATION,,,, BUT HEAR ME OUT,,,) Iâm all out of lies⊠I just love writing soft fluff Iâm sorryâŠ
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