#(so we can have more lucy carlyle)

[soup-sponge]

can we agree that lucy carlyle is the prettiest girl in the world.

sorry not sorry for cropping lockwood and kipps out of these this aint about them

[beautifulmakkaris]

following on from this post i made about the angstification (affectionate) of the lockwood & co books when adapted for the show, i just finished reading the hollow boy and want to share some locklyle moments i can’t wait to see when we get season 2 (✨manifesting✨) with the netflix layer of drama added on top:

lockwood leaping to rescue lucy from the ghost of robert cooke and getting a concussion - probably going to be on the literal brink of death with bonus points for lucy’s guilt complex

lucy being sympathetic towards ghosts because of their desire for connection being linked to her terrible upbringing and the loss of norrie as the person she could confide in vs lockwood having no sympathy because of how he lost jessica

the locklyle argument in his bedroom when lockwood is injured and lucy brings him his breakfast but with the tv show!tension bumped up to 1000

lucy and lockwood working together during the carnival - again, tension ramped up to 1000 and presumably with them being in much more danger

lucy arguing that they should make use of kipps and his team because its common sense to work together being turned into more jealous!lockwood content because he sees it as her wanting kipps around during a dangerous case

the ghost pretending to be a dead lockwood - i mean, it’s angst central in the book, just imagine what the writers can do with it

lockwood going to find lucy in the basement of the department store, we don’t see it in the book bc its lucy’s pov but you know that man was desperate to find his wife no matter what

LOCKWOOD!! GIVING!! LUCY!! HIS!! COAT!!

lockwood admitting to lucy that he wants to take care of her and has been avoiding her out of fear of losing her

lucy resigning from lockwood & co, especially after how many times in season 1 lockwood literally begged her to stay, honestly just rip out his beating heart

bonus if we get the cafe scene that is referred to near the start of the creeping shadow where lockwood tries to talk her into staying and ends up storming off/lucy leaving at the break of dawn to avoid saying goodbye to them

[desos-records]

the moments in the Lockwood and Co show that really break my heart are the ones where Lockwood’s armor cracks. god bless the actor, his expressions are so subtle but convey so much.

you see it a little when he’s asking Lucy if she’ll take the job (if she’ll stay), then a little with Kipps (telling Lucy not to stay), a bit when his charming words, a weapon as real as his rapier, fail completely on Barnes

but the first real break happens when Lucy’s possessed because he’s completely unprepared for this and it has nothing to do with the ghost and everything to do with how she’s touching his face and how she’s looking at him (like she loves him, like she means it when she says that). and worse, how she’s asking him not to hurt her (he’s afraid he will one day)

then again when Barnes tells Lockwood to fire Lucy (that he won’t be able to let her stay), probably because there’s no one to see his face. his mask shoots right back up as soon as he turns around. 

and again when Lucy threatens to quit

“we need you [I need you].” 

“why?” 

“because [it’s too soon to tell you this] because you’re [someone I already can’t stand the thought of losing] you’re Lucy Carlyle [and you make everything better]”

you see it a little after they blow up the well, but it looks more like a strange sort of relief than a break (Lucy and George are safe) and all he needs is a little grounding (holding Lucy’s hand). the real one happens when Fairfax calls his bluff and points a gun at him, not because of the gun, not really, but because his words can’t protect him (but Lucy can)

when he apologizes to Lucy for yelling at her (hiding how rattled he was by George’s comment about his feelings for her), his armor doesn’t break so much as he sets it down on purpose this time. he can’t stand the thought of hurting her and if he has to come out from behind his mask to make amends (if that’s what it takes for her to stay), he will

there are cracks all over his armor when Winkman threatens him (because his words mean nothing here), but it shatters when he threatens Lucy. he’s begging this man to kill him for the chance that Lucy lives. and oh, when Winkman says he’ll kill Lockwood first so he won’t have to watch her die (his words don’t just fail to protect him, they fail to protect her)

and you can see that part of him wants to set it down when Lucy asks him why he was so so quick to die for her, but he just managed to pull it back together and the wound is too raw. he understands that she’s angry with him (and he cannot stand that), but I’m not sure he understands why. because it doesn’t occur to him that she cares about him too (that she cannot stand the thought of losing him). all he can process right then is that Lucy’s alive and she’s angry with him, but at least she’s safe now

from the beginning he’s constantly trying to make sure she’s safe, but he’s more and more obvious about it. it isn’t George saying Lockwood’s in charge, not her, that gets him moving (he could barely sit still as it is), it’s the reminder that she’s in danger and he’s not there to make sure she’s safe. he was fully prepared to break down that basement door if it meant rescuing her. he grounds her the best way he knows how (the way his hand runs down her forearm before he holds her hand) and tells her

“we’ve got you now [I’m here].”

“you’re safe now, okay? you’re with us. [I’ll make sure you’re safe].”

there’s still more hairline fractures when he sees Lucy with Kipps, when he sees her with Fittes. which is why he gives her the necklace. the thought of her maybe choosing someone else sends him running to tell her how important she is to him (as clumsy as it is) and ask her to stay. it’s not as outright as before because it’s not just them, it’s everything he’s threatened by

“I can’t compete with this [with someone else for your favor]”

the worst of it, of course, is around the auction. before it starts, the DEPRAC agent sees right through him, giving Lockwood a painful reminder of his age (which he tries to act above) with one hand

and when he and Lucy are fighting, he pushes her away, would’ve charged in there alone, but she stays (it’s much too real now). she calls him out and his armor fails him, but he still can’t seem to process her point. he thinks just being around him (much less getting close to him) will hurt her. failing to understand that losing him would hurt her (and it is far too late to turn back)

and then after, when the DEPRAC agent dies and Lockwood is so quick to blame himself, it isn’t just a break. he loses all of it. his center is on full display, his fear and his bleeding heart. he can barely stand.

he still reaches out to Lucy to ground himself (because when he can’t protect himself, she does) and she’s so forceful with her feelings for him. she’s not gently touching his face, but holding his head and jarring him back to present (which is the real way Lucy loves). he can’t hold onto her properly or even look at her, but she’s the one who gives him back his armor. she presses their foreheads together and he takes a breath and he starts to build it back up

it’s ramshackle and unsteady, but it’s back by the time they step out of the car. it’s still nothing against Lucy. and he realizes here, as she’s walking away from him, what she’s been trying to tell him

so by the time he quietly steals into the kitchen, he’s left it behind again, because he’s learning that he doesn’t need it with Lucy (it’s hardly protection if it’s hurting her). this is his center too, the part full of love, and it’s no mistake that it happens in the kitchen, the center of their house. and he’s more honest than he’s ever been

“don’t give up on me.”

“the bottom of the thames used to be a far more appealing place to be.”

“and really no one would have cared.”

“but now... [now there’s you and you care and I won’t hurt something you care about].”

and of course it does come back during the final fight (it is a survival instinct after all) and when he’s collapsing, in pain, afraid (old habits don’t go away overnight). but Lucy and George push back before he goes too far

“this isn’t how you die.”

“how do you know?”

“we won’t let you.”

“never.”

he’s in a place where he can start healing (now that the wound’s been cleaned out), which is why he opens the door. because, yes, his armor is useful, but he doesn’t need it with George and Lucy

[serialadoptersbracket]

Round 3, Match 3: Inspector Barnes vs. August

Submitted kids:

Inspector Barnes: Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle, George Cubbins/George Karim, Holly Munro, Quill Kipps

August: Hisoka Mikage, Chikage Utsuki

Propaganda under the cut!

Inspector Barnes:

1. “Mustn't be easy keeping those three (Lockwood, George, Lucy) alive”

2. “Serial adopter of waifs and strays, carefully hidden behind the guise of strict enforcer. He's a softie and we all know it.”

3. “Even though he'd never admit this be of his grumpy character Barnes really became a father for all members of Lockwood & Co. He was the only adult who cared about their lives and he tried to keep them safe and sound, but like all teenagers they didn't listen to him. But they always knew that if they had some prolems (which they actually often had) they could always ask Barnes for help, advice or support”

4. “Barnes adopted a smiling giraffe with a death wish and a blinding smile, a 5 foot Northern bitch who can and will fight god on a Tuesday, a researcher who likes sticking his nose where he shouldn’t and three people max, and a secretary who shot at least a dozen people and is way more badass than she seems”

August:

1. “august is the adoptive older brother of hisoka mikage and chikage utsuki. for context, these characters are all spies, and were invited into the organisation by august. (also known as misha sometimes). hisoka is december, and chikage is april! their collective group name in fanon is "gekkagumi."

the first interaction we see of him in game is him adopting hisoka off the street. he was a dying homeless child, and august invited him to join the organisation. at first he declined, but august kept coming back to him until he followed (despite chikage's protests about it) he fed fed hisoka gingerbread, and declared "we're a family now."

chikage was adopted before hisoka, but we only learned more about it later in the story. chikage was living in a "facility" when he runs into august who lives in the organisation.

despite their very harsh life, august really did everything he could to give hisoka and chikage the best life he could. he loved the idea of family, and always encouraged them to celebrate christmas and birthdays, and play games!

august had a cover job where he owned a candy store. despite it just being a cover, august loved it and had a genuine care for the children. he used to give away free sweets to the point his shop was actively going out of business, and whenever he saw a sad kid he'd try his best to cheer them up. people around the town came in just to talk to him, to the point where hisoka said when he was covering the shop for him, the first thing people would ask was "where's misha?"

in his shop, he also used to have a myth that if you wrote a wish on a certain brand of cookie's wrapper, the wish would come true. august spoke excitedly of the wishes kids would wish for.

events in the story lead up to august's untimely death. years later, hisoka runs into a kid who used to go to his shop. this child had wished to be a painter, and was now painting. he actually ended up in possession of a wrapper august wrote on which said ""a happy family."" however, the boy couldn't read japanese and didn't know what it said. despite that, he held onto the wrapper for years after august's disappearance. he also manages to draw a picture of him from memory. :((“

2. “he's so . gwahh he just wants to give them a nice family”

3. “please vote for august!! he is such a kind soul who shows so much generosity and selflessness despite the cruel circumstances he was stuck in.”

[bloodcanbehot]

I Wish You Would

(gotta keep that Taylor Swift theme)

Anthony Lockwood x f!reader

Content: Angst? Fluff? Touched starved Lockwood

Warnings: Mention of blood and wounds, also some curse words (I think)

Characters: Anthony Lockwood and (y/n) Kipps. (Lucy Carlyle and Quill Kipps also appear)

Word count: 1.083

A/N: Exactly two people told me to post it, and that was enough (I'm literally about to enter to an online class while typing this). Chronology speaking, this goes BEFORE their first kiss but I'm a dumbass and forgot to post this one first, hope you like it

(I'll attach their first kiss here)

“Where were you?” Quill asked, seeing both Lockwood and (y/n) walk in with dirt on their faces and hair. As soon as he spoke, his sister’s face told him to not speak, unless he wanted to die.

“We’re fine!” (y/n) said, grabbing Lockwood by the arm and walking to the kitchen.

“You guys don’t look-” Lucy started, but the slamming of the door cut her off.

“Sit”

“I’m not your dog”

“And I don’t care” (y/n) said, pointing at the kitchen chair “sit down”

Lockwood did as she said, even though he didn’t want to. (y/n) started taking out items from the first aid kit, slamming them on the table as she cursed.

“I cannot fucking believe you” she said “seriously, why is it so hard for you to take care of yourself while we’re out on a case?” (y/n) asked, soaking a small piece of cotton with disinfectant. She grabbed Lockwood’s arm, forcefully moving the sleeve of his dress shirt up to see his cut better.

“(y/n) I-” Lockwood started, hissing when the cotton made contact with the cut on his arm.

“This might hurt” (y/n) said, after hearing him hissing, a smirk on her face.

“Okay” Lockwood said “I deserved that”

“You deserve more” (y/n) said “actually, you don’t even deserve me doing this for you, should I just tell my brother to do it, so you suffer a bit more?” she questioned, sarcasm all over her voice.

“(y/n)-”

“You know, when Luce told me you were reckless, I thought 'well, he's certainly not stupid' guess I was wrong!” she grabbed one of the big band aids and covered his cut.

“(y/n) I’m sorry, okay?” he said “this wasn’t reckless, I had a plan, it just didn’t work”

“Wow, what a surprise”

“I didn’t know the golden blade was gonna be there!”

“The what?” (y/n) stood up, forgetting about his other cuts.

“Last year we encountered him” Lockwood explained “we think he somehow works for Penelope Fittes-”

“My boss?”

“Yes” Lockwood nodded “he tried to steal the bone glass from Lucy and I” he explained “he’s also the one who shot me” he grabbed her hand “you have to believe me”

(y/n) looked at his eyes, processing what he had said in silence, enough to make Lockwood panic, the hold on her hand tightening.

“I… I believe you” she said, sitting back down. She wasn’t gonna lie, she always felt a weird vibe from the woman, or the entire agency for that matter. And she didn’t think Lockwood would lie to her.

He sighed in relief “Thank you (y/n)-”

“What I also believe” she started, letting go of his hand and grabbing a new cotton piece “is that your other cuts need to be taken care of” she said “specially this one” she tapped slightly the cut on his forehead, making him hiss again “I thought you were good at fencing?”

“I am” Lockwood shot back “I was just… surprised”

“Your blood says otherwise” (y/n) replied “now, lean closer so I can help”

Lockwood only nodded and whispered a small ‘yes’, letting her do the work and leaning closer as she instructed. As she leaned in, she quickly realized how her back was going to kill her if she did that, so she grabbed her chair and dragged it a bit closer to his, eventually ending up with her thigh in the middle of his thighs.

Lockwood chuckled “you might as well sit on my lap if you-”

“Shut up or I’ll do it” she cut him off with a smile.

He smirked “be my guest”

She ignored him, grabbing the back of his head to steady it as she disinfected the cut across his forehead. She was focused, focused on cleaning the blood and figuring out which bandage to use, but Lockwood’s wandering hands on her knee were distracting her.

It started with his fingers, slowly tapping her knee, barely noticeable, and she wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t kept going at it. His fingers slid across her knee and (y/n) made her best to ignore it, but as she stood up to change the cotton piece, he pushed her leg open, causing her to fall on his lap.

“That’s better” he said, smirk on his lips again.

“Lockwood-”

“Please” he said, voice so quiet she barely heard him.

She looked at his eyes, and for one moment she saw his mask crack. His dark circles and clenched jaw showed her how tired and stressed he was. She couldn’t even imagine how much his muscles ached after the fight, let alone the throbbing of the multiple cuts on his skin.

“Fine” she whispered, not trusting her own voice with the feeling of his hands on her waist.

She kept doing her thing in silence and he just watched her, tracing small circles on her sides with his thumbs. (y/n) just wanted to close her eyes and enjoy it, enjoy his touch on her skin and wish she could feel it for longer, to forget about the case, the fight, everything. She wanted to focus on him and him only.

“There” she said, breaking whatever spell was between them. She grabbed his chin, angling his face to admire the, now taken care of, cut “you’ll live”

He chuckled, smiling truthfully for the first time that night, or since (y/n) knew him, she didn’t care. She liked the small glow on his face.

They locked eyes, the blanket of silence settling on them again. (y/n)’s fingers slid across his chin towards his jaw, making him close his eyes and just enjoy her touch. His hands started moving up her waist, slowly, also making her want to close her eyes and enjoy, but she still leaned forward, closer and closer to him.

He felt it, the weight shift on his lap, some of her curly locks tickling his shoulders.

She could feel their lips almost touching.

The door opened, making her open her eyes wide and snap her neck so hard she wondered if this is how she was going to die. That would be better than the image she saw.

Both Lucy and her brother were standing at the doorstep. (y/n) stumbled off Lockwood’s lap, feeling his hands fly away from her and almost fell. Chair and all.

She gripped the thinking cloth “I was tending his cut” she stupidly said.

She could feel how Quill resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as she looked at him.

“You sure were”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A/N: I feel like this scene and the other one are pretty similar, so if I do write the fanfic I'll change it, but let me know what you think! (Again, be nice)

[alexiethymia]

You gave her a free pass just ‘cause you like the way she looks at you.

At first she looks at you in wonder, with slight awe, a country bumpkin in wonder of the big city, and you admit to being flattered. That shine fades away the more she gets to know you, George, the more all of you get to know each other, but it doesn’t disappear entirely. 

Instead, it’s tinged with exasperation, a slight roll of the eye here and there, a gobsmacked expression at your nerve (she calls it recklessness, you call it daring), and most times she looks at you like she wants to wring your neck. You admit you are amused. You throw her a roguish smirk and part of you can admit you want to rile her up (-but mostly, mostly you just want to make her laugh, the same way you can’t help but laugh, smile, because of her from that first defiant “I’ll wait”, eyes dark and feral). She looks at you with challenge, demanding if you’re good enough for her, and you admit it’s irresistible. 

You’ve always been drawn to dangerous things, and the more you get to know her, you realize Lucy Carlyle is far more dangerous than any Visitor. 

Later, under a spell, a ghost’s hold, she looks at you like she loves you - ‘You love me, don’t you?’ It’s not her words, it’s not her actions, it’s not her, just Annabel speaking through her, but - her face, her smile, her eyes as she looks at you are sweet. You don’t know who’s really under a spell between the both of you. ‘You love me, don’t you?’ - the ghost asks through her. It should be an easy enough question to answer, so why can’t you?

She looks at you in pain - I am drowning - and you want so much to save her, even if you are the cause of it. Her tears make you feel as if you’re suffocating along with her, and you’re back to being a little boy again, helpless to save anyone who’s ever mattered. The moment those words leave her mouth, fear grips your heart. Better off dead? Her of all people? You didn’t matter, but she was Lucy Carlyle and that was not the way it was going to be. 

She looks at you with eyes full of understanding, absent of the blame you so richly deserve. With apologies falling from your lips and your hand in hers, you can’t help but draw the comfort that you hardly deserve. 

You’re still the cause of her tears, and though you don’t deserve it, deserve anything from her, after what you just put her and George through, she looks at you as if she wants you to live - just live. 

You’re tired, so very tired - of Kipps, Barnes, of everything. But you come home - to her, and though you admit to feeling a bit off-balance (even if Kipps does deserve it, the pompous prick), she just looks at you, bemused, and you can’t help but sigh. It’s not quite a smirk, not quite a smile, just a slight lift in the corner of her mouth that you are endlessly fascinated by. She promises you tea, and you would promise her anything and everything. 

Later on, you don’t know how it could have gone so wrong so fast but she looks at you like she hates you. And you feel like you could almost hate her too. There is bitterness, so much bitterness, that you wonder if you have another Annabel Ward at home, but this is all you - your insecurities, your vulnerabilities. You can admit that you only got that mad because she poked at the exposed heart of you, at open wounds that haven’t even scabbed over. 

No matter how you feel though - how she makes you feel - she is still your responsibility. She may prod at open wounds, but you’ll make sure hers are closed and have a chance to heal. She looks at you - she looks at you like she wants so badly for you to believe her. She looks at you like you could break her (which fair enough because you’re pretty sure she can break you too). She looks at you like what you think matters, like you - Anthony Lockwood, not just Lockwood - matter, to her. For the first time, your gaze isn’t fixed on her eyes. Giving in to instinct, it drops. 

We can’t let you go. 

Who are you fooling? 

You trade toast for a smile. Hardly a fair exchange in your opinion. Lucy frowns more often than not, and she keeps her smiles like a secret treasure stuck close to her heart. It is during quiet moments like these in the wee hours of the morning that you feel like an ungainly relic man who would do anything to claim it for your own. Rather than Lockwood’s dazzling acts of courage, it is Anthony who can coax those rare and precious smiles out of her. Pity that you find it so hard to be the boy you once were. 

You’re afraid, so very afraid. Once again you feel like that helpless boy, never good enough, never enough. What on earth could you have to offer against Fittes, when that had been her dream and you were just a last resort. You know you sound pathetic, close to pleading, hell you will plead if that’s what it takes, sod your pride - to get her to stay, just don’t leave, don’t leave (me). (Not again). But Lucy never does what you expect, does she? Because she looks at you, she looks at you like you are enough. She looks at you like home. You can’t help if your breath catches and the half-sob that rises along with it. But luckily, for all her Talent, she doesn’t hear.

You were naive. That earlier fear doesn’t even compare to what you feel now. That was juvenile, this is paralyzing. You don’t fear death, not anymore when you fight it on a daily basis for a living. Being ghost locked doesn’t compare to this - fear, paralysis, desperation. For Lucy’s life to be snuffed out and for you to be the cause - your fault, always your fault - sucks all the air out of you. You can’t breathe. 

You could almost hate how she looks at you because she looks at you like she’s willing to give you a second chance. You want to so badly - to unburden yourself, to her. But she doesn’t deserve the ghosts you carry (-is what you say to yourself because you’ve always been a narcissistic bastard who wants to look good. Kipps’ voice echoes, in the end she’ll leave and you’ll be the one to make her). Her disappointment is an easy enough pill to swallow because nothing else matters besides the fact that she’s - alive, alive, alive. 

She looks at you like you disgust her, as if you were worse than any Visitor. You’re worse because you’re a living corpse who’s already lost your heart. You’ve fallen far from that pedestal, but in a strange way it comforts you because you’re finally being looked at the way you deserve to be looked at. And yet, with tears in her eyes (of which you are once again the cause, it’s always you), she looks at you like she still cares about you. And oh, what a right and proper bastard you are for letting this happen. Because you’ve vowed that you were never going to leave anyone behind the same way you were left behind, but you don’t want her to leave you behind either. (You’ve always been a walking contradiction.)

You’re shaking, you can’t (-breathe, you can’t breathe), but you grip her hair like a lifeline, and she grounds you like a lightning rod, hands cradling your cheeks. You lean in to that warmth (it’s cold, so cold). Her voice calls to you and while you’ve always been a shit Listener, somehow you manage to open your eyes. She looks at you, frantic and half-crazed, but somehow you can finally breathe.  

After your unexpected swim, you just want to draw her close, to cradle her as proof of life, but she pushes you away with everything she’s got. It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. You swallow your words. For all that you thought that you couldn’t handle the way she looks at you, at the way it rearranges everything inside of you, the absence of her gaze pierces worse than any rapier. The silence worse. 

You would take her biting words over this, relish it even, the chance to parry or to let it land and litter her marks all over your skin. You’d wear those scars proudly. 

But then she turns and looks at you, with rage. And even through the haze of exhaustion, you cannot help but think she looks glorious, fiery even as she trails water from the Thames. But with that rage is something that wasn’t there before - fear. She looks at you like she doesn’t know you and that’s worse than anything you’ve experienced tonight. You tell yourself that you can live with her disappointment, but for you to be the reason why this defiant girl cowers and curls into herself is the most unforgivable sin. 

You realize you are selfish because even though you’ve sinned against her so much already, you still crave her forgiveness. Even though to remain with you is to risk being dragged down to the depths, you still don’t want her to let you go. 

You’ve always known it, Lockwood. You’re a hazard to yourself and the people you love. This is proof. 

You apologize, and you await her judgment. She gives you salvation. She makes your heart pound and your blood boil. She makes you remember what it’s like to be alive.  And yet, she also quiets your mind and lets you breathe like nothing else. You can’t quite remember what it was like to live before her. She’s the adrenaline in your veins. She’s the great big gulp of air you greedily take in after drowning for who knows how long. She’s quite the walking contradiction too, his Lucy. 

With a bland look and a quip, she saves you anew, again and again she keeps saving you, and oh you finally get it. You speak softly because you don’t want to shatter this precious, tender moment. It’s not about how she looks at you, but it’s about how you look at her - how you’ve always looked at her. Her eyes are mirrors which reflect your own, and as you heave in a great ragged sigh, you realize you look at her like you love her - with ache, and tenderness, and gratitude, and awe.

You love her. 

Later you fight like you have a lot to live for - and you do - you fight for Lucy and George, and you fight for yourself, for the chance to see them again, for the chance to - just live. 

And in the dawning light, though she doesn’t quite smile that smile you adore, her relieved gasp is worth more than front-page news, all the tea in London, and chocolate biscuits combined, because it means that she - they are alive.

Just reckless enough.

And she finally looks at you like she’s proud of you. 

[wellgoslowly]

Lockwood and Co. How do I begin to talk about this insane universe that has literally changed my life in so many ways in such a small amount of time?

I think it was probably January 27th that I actually got the notification for the trailer for the show from Netflix’s Youtube. I don’t know exactly what it was that made me interested in the trailer in the first place and set it apart from the hundreds of trailers that netflix has posted that I’ve ignored, but there was just something about it that made me think “oh, this looks interesting, let me take a look at the trailer.” Thank god I did.

If I were to go back in time to that version of linnie and tell them that their life was about to be changed, I think they would’ve laughed. At that period of time I’d had a 2 year long hyperfixation on the grishaverse and I couldn’t think of anything that would’ve possibly broken me out of that long ass period of chaos. And then I watched Lockwood and Co and I immediately fell in love with an entirely new world.

Lockwood and co means so much to me for so many reasons. One of them is that I’ve never seen myself more reflected in a character than I see myself in Lucy Carlyle- hence the name Linnie. I didn’t even realize it until Aaron ( @queer-and-nerdy ) pointed it out (after I pointed out how much of a George kinnie they are) and then everything made sense in a way? Like Lucy Carlyle is the truest form of a comfort character for me because we are basically the same person and I never realized how special a character could be until I met Lucy Joan Carlyle.

Another reason why I love this universe so much is because I love found family, and I love the found family that Jonathan Stroud has written. The Iron Trio will always be so special to me because of how often it is shown and how deeply it is known that they love each other unconditionally, Even George and Lucy, who have their differences when they first meet, grow to love each other in their own way and I genuinely believe that the family found within the Iron Trio is one of the most beautiful relationships I’ve ever read or seen portrayed on screen.

I also just truly love the worldbuilding. The world that Jonathan Stroud has created has such an amazing homely feel to it that I will never tire of. I love literally everything about it- the lore, the execution, the way that he was able to make ghosts even more terrifying for such a young audience.

Lastly, I love the fandom. I’ve talked a little bit about how much a kind and welcoming fan space like the l&co tumblr means to me and how I have had rocky situations in a fandom in the past, but I truly cannot even begin to talk about how much this online space has truly changed me in so many ways. I feel like I can have open, honest, and constructive opinions on here without being scared to speak my mind or fear the repercussions of not being 100% happy all the time. This fandom is the most accepting and loving fandom I have ever known, and I’d like to tag a few of the people who have made this place so loving and enjoyable to partake in. Shout out to @ikeasupremacy @oblivious-idiot @losticaruss @youmanynotrestnow @neewtmas @thisgameissonintendo @readyafterthesunrise @waitingforthesunrise @yveni @uku-lelevillain @impossibleclair @donutcats @jesslockwood @kazbrekkerfast @krash-and-co @carlyleandco @biscuitrule @maraschinomerry @lockwood-lover @lvockwoods @givemea-dam-break @someonetooksendnoodles @nomolosk @thedonutdeliverygirl @neverendinglabyrinth @tangledinlove - I defo missed a lot of people but these are just the few that I could remember right off the top of my head <33

All in all, I love this show and these books and this world more than I could ever possibly express. Happy 10th Birthday to The Screaming Staircase, and a very Happy Lockwood & Co Day to all whom I have the honor of celebrating with. I love you all very dearly, and remember: “just reckless enough”.

xoxo,

linnie <3

[genieofthebooks]

Chaos of 35 Portland Row

Pairing: Platonic!George Karim x Fem!Reader, Platonic!Lucy Carlyle x Fem!Reader, Romantic!Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

A/n: This is an Incorrect Quotes fic. They all belong to the sources that they came from, I got them from an Incorrect quotes generator.

Warnings: Swearing, Chaos.

Lucy, spraying a melted cutting board with a tiny water gun: We gotta cool this bitch down. Cool it down.

Lockwood: I actually just put the cutting board in the oven...

George, visibly confused: Okay, so they decided to put the cutting board in the oven?

Lucy, spraying Lockwood: You FUCKING DUMBASS!

Lockwood: Dude, I forgot-

Lucy: OH MY FUCKING GOD! We're trying to make Chicken Alfredo right now, and you fucking MELT the cutting board in the oven at 400 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT!?

Y/n: *Watching in complete confusion while trying to process this whole situation.*

-

Lockwood: Guess what I'm about to get!

Y/n: On my nerves.

-

Y/n: Is this a good idea?

Y/n: Probably not.

Y/n: Do I care?

Y/n: No

-

Lockwood: What is love?

George: An emotional minefield.

Y/n: A neurochemical reaction.

Lucy: Baby don't hurt me.

-

George: I am convinced Y/n and Lockwood share a brain cell.

Lucy: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

-

Lockwood: That's ridiculous, Y/n doesn't have a crush on me.

Lucy: Yes she does.

George: Yes she does.

Y/n: Yes I do.

-

Lucy: How do Lockwood and Y/n usually get out of these messes?

George: They don't. They just make a bigger mess that cancels the first one out.

-

George: So, Y/n is no longer allowed to take the rubbish out at night.

Lucy: Why?

George: Because I've caught her trying to train raccoons to fight five times in a row.

Y/n, arms crossed and pouting: You'll be thanking me when the third raccoon battalion saves your arse.

-

Lucy: We’re about to do the taser challenge. You want in?

George: What's the taser challenge?

Y/n: We tase eachother, then drink.

George: How do you win?

Lucy: What are you, a lawyer? You want in or not?

-

Lockwood: If you want my advice-

George: No offense but you’re the last person I want relationship advice from. You tried to kill your girlfriend. Multiple times.

Lockwood: First off, that was before we started dating. Secondly, she's also tried to kill me.

Y/n: It’s true. It was mutually attempted murder.

-

Y/n: There's no way he would like me back.

George: Lockwood would throw himself in front of a moving car for you.

Y/n: Lockwood would throw himself in front of a moving car for fun.

-

*George drunkenly wanders around the house and Lockwood is drunkenly giggling*

Lucy, completely sober: *sighs* Well, looks like it's just me and you against the wold, Y/n.

Y/n, going to her and Lockwood's room: Nope, just you. *shuts door*

-

*Lockwood and Y/n are planning to break in somewhere*

Lockwood: We need to distract the guards.

Y/n: Right.

Lockwood: What are we gonna do?

Y/n: I'm gonna break their elbows while you poke their eyes.

Lockwood:

Y/n:

Lockwood: Deal

-

Lockwood: I WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD FOR YOU!

Y/n: Okay, can you do the dishes?

Lockwood: No!

-

Y/n: I wish I was a cat, but not in a furry kinda way, more like a “I can sleep all day and hit people with no consequences” kinda way.

-

Y/n: You don't think I can fight because of my gender!

Kipps: I don't think you can fight because you're in a wedding dress. For what it's worth, I don't think Lockwood can fight in that dress either.

Lockwood: Perhaps not. But I would make a radiant bride.

I hope you all like this, sorry it was not what I normally post

[indelen]

The plot kicks off in earnest and the midnight hour is close at hand, it's time for honey cake (medovyk) and tea.

This is my reread of the Lockwood and Co. Books, organized by @blue-boxes-magic-and-tea, I'll make a general summary of several chapters and then post bits and pieces that jumped out at me.

Part III, Chapters 9-12:

Things continue to go pear shaped. I find it interesting how Stroud manages to thread the needle of reader sympathy towards the protagonists. The writing makes it clear that they did mess up and the house fire was avoidable. And this is not all on one person - Lockwood could have pulled rank and insist they leave but didn’t, Lucy had the chance to leave after the first manifestation but didn’t. Lockwood forgot the chains. Lucy lobbed Greek Fire indoors. All of this is bad. And when you meet Barnes you sort of agree with him to a point about them being irresponsible, but he’s so high handed and dismissive of the trio you can’t help but be on their side. The government keeps telling these kids they should listen to the government, because the government is full of adults that know so much better than they do. But if this was really the case the government would not allow children to do this dangerous work at all. You can't have it both ways! Either these kids know nothing and adults really are smarter, in which case let them go study trigonometry and pass notes in class already and, as smart adults, find some different way to battle The Problem that doesn’t involve high mortality child labor. OR. Let the kids do their job and admit you’re not operating within some perfect and fair system where the presence of an adult magically fixes everything or makes anyone safer. We meet so many adults in this universe and the majority of them are awful and take horrific advantage of children to enrich themselves on The Problem. None of them are sufficiently controlled in this universe because it is not in the government’s interest to do so. The kids sense this and revolt, if they are to die they want to die on their own terms! This is what happens when governments fail the people they are supposed to protect and when the desire to make money trumps acting in the interests of the public good.

Odds and Ends, Side A:

10/10 chapter opening. On par with “the building was on fire and it wasn’t my fault”. Reader attention fully captured.

Lucy “no I totally don’t care how I look, I swear” Carlyle maintaining if she ever came back as a ghost she’d be a hot cool ghost thankyou very much is so funny to me, just peak teenager insecurity and vanity but in a very endearing way.

There’s the thing about George – he can learn. Not just from books but in real life he can take criticism to heart if it’s laid out plainly. Even if it’s mean. This is probably his most amazing attribute. He dislikes hypocrisy and doesn’t have time for any kind of jabs or hints that are difficult to interpret. But someone lobs a criticism straight at him, he won’t dismiss it outright. In so many ways he is the most emotionally mature of the trio.

I’ve been thinking a lot in this reread about why George was so hostile to Lucy from the start and I think it comes down to the fact that he saw Lucy as someone who would make Lockwood more reckless. She is a gifted Listener, George knew Lockwood enough to realize this will make him more likely to rush off into the fray without research and Lucy being not especially academically minded would not stop him. I think he was worried that they would feed negatively off each other and outvote him. Which … they did at first, it’s true, George was completely right. Lucy goes along with whatever Lockwood says because she trusts him, because she admires him, because she doesn’t want him to think less of her. This behavior continues later too - she snarks at him plenty, calls him names, makes fun of him, sure. But ultimately she has a hard time saying “no” to him. And finding that balance of how much to go along with Lockwood’s plans and when to contradict him is I think a huge part of her arc in this series.

This pantomime of Victorian gentility is hilarious. The year is (arguably) 2013 and yet this sounds like a scene from Agatha Christie. Barnes knows Lockwood is home, Lockwood knows Barns knows he’s home but this presenting of a visiting card and “show him in” ritual has to be observed because this whole society hasn’t moved on from 1953 in six decades.

I am not the right person to give a post-colonial literary analysis of the Lockwood books but I would be the first to want to read it. There’s a lot there in terms of portrayal of indigenous beliefs, what colonial powers learn and refuse to learn from them and how they appropriate them. Barnes sees a collection of artefacts from all over the world meant to deal with ghosts and immediately dismisses them, seeing only the methods he’s familiar with as correct. He does not stop to appreciate the fact that the idea of contacting the dead and laying them to rest is an issue that in some way or another humanity has been dealing with for millennia and all around him is evidence of the fact that not one of these cultures resorted to shoving their young to act as meat shields to do it. The variety of the artifacts speaks to the idea that there may be different approaches possible, different avenues to explore. On what basis but good old-fashioned racism is this dismissal of a ghost catcher in a universe where ghosts are real and do real harm to real people? Does a country dealing with such a crisis not owe it to its citizens to investigate every possibility instead of just consigning a large proportion of their children to a very high possibility of death and telling them that they can’t even do it on their terms, no, the government and large corporations must manage how they die!

And the idea of “it belongs in a museum” is especially laughable in this context. Presumably he means a British museum despite the fact that all these artifacts are foreign. There’s something so on the nose about a very British man dismissing knowledge from other cultures as useless and indicating he views those cultures themselves as extinct when he himself lives on the bones of a long dead empire enforces the practicing the most barbaric shit imaginable.

There is also something so very sad about Lockwood’s encyclopedic knowledge of every gord and mask in the house. Like he never to a chance to know his parents to he memorized everything about their research to get as close to them as possible.

George is the most verbally brutal of the trio and I love that for him

Here again is that Lockwood duality. We later learn sleeps in his parent’s old room - the ultimate symbol of his attempts to play the adult. Like the suits, like running his own agency, like his many successful and unsuccessful attempts to mimic adult behavior. How successful he is really is … not certain. Lucy is not a reliable narrator and even she is clearly unconvinced sometimes, but he clearly can pull it off to some extent. But every now and then we get a glimpse into the fact that he also, in a very sad and stubborn way, clings to a childhood that was horrifically and unfairly ripped from him. The baby mobile in his seemingly adult bedroom is a neat encapsulation of Lockwood himself.

This man is incapable of staying angry at his beloved for more than like … 15 mins tops.

Please turn the cassette over to side B (see reblog for more)

[givemea-dam-break]

Your Lockwood. Enemies to lover was sooooo good, please I need a part 2🥺

a/n: so glad you liked it! of course i’ll write a part 2 i am extremely emotionally attached to this series. also to the person who requested the lucy carlyle x reader, it is on its way i promise

warnings: language gn reader

full series collection: here

"You, again? I saw you last week. My eyes can't handle this pain anymore."

Lockwood grins in your doorway. "Come on, last week wasn't so bad. We made it out alive. How are your hands doing, by the way?"

"I almost fell out of a window because of an abusive old man," you grumble. "And they're fine, but they still smell like Savlon, thanks to you. I suppose you'll want to come in?"

"If that's alright," Lockwood says. "I've got more business for you."

Groaning quietly, you move out of the way and gesture for him to come inside. "Alice left for work not long ago, so you won't scare her away. Come on, I'll put some tea on. Milk and sugar?"

"Just milk, please."

You direct Lockwood over to your sofa, bought second-hand from some old couple in north London. That much is evident from its less-than-appealing pattern, but it's comfortable enough. Lockwood sinks down onto it, smiling gratefully when you hand him a mug of tea.

"So, what is it this time?" you ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Haunted mansion out in Harrow. A bit of a trek away, but it's good pay. Type Two again, but Lucy will be coming along this time, so hopefully a repeat of last time doesn't happen. We just need an extra pair of hands. It's a big space to cover for three people."

You cross your arms. "Bold of you to assume I want to work with you again. I could've died last time."

"But you will come with us, won't you?"

"I might as well," you grumble. "Nothing else on. Rent's this week. Any information on the house, possible ideas of who the ghost is, or will Lucy and I have to find that out for you?"

Lockwood smiles and, surprisingly, it doesn't piss you off as much as it used to. "George is neck deep in newspapers right now - I've just come from the Archives - so I'm sure we'll have much more than we did last time."

"Alright," you say. "I'm in, but I'm going nowhere near a window again, okay? You can fall out of it this time."

"Deal." He stands, and you almost forgot how obnoxiously tall he is. It's infuriating having to tilt your head to look at him. "Meet us at the station at four."

Making your way to the door, you say, "Be on time, this time. In fact, be early. That would be preferable."

"We'll try." Something about his smile makes your stomach flip. "Thanks for the tea. See you later."

--

The train ride is relatively peaceful.

You sit next to Lucy, who smiles upon seeing you, and across from Lockwood, who wears a shit-eating grin the whole ride, saying something about 'feeling good about this case'. You'd stopped listening to him two seconds after his arrival. You only start paying attention again when George starts to explain his research.

"Apparently," George says, consulting his notebook, "there was a fire at this house in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The exterior of the house didn't burn down, being made out of sandstone, but the inside was wrecked. Most people managed to escape the blaze, but three died - the lord of the house and his two daughters. The interior has been rebuilt, since, but I managed to find the original plans for the house's layout."

Lucy leans over the architectural plan. "The rooms have all moved around. Where do you think the fire stemmed from?"

"Reports say the lounge, which is now the dining room," George explains. "Lord Ammenby and his daughters, Susanne and Marcella, had seemingly fallen asleep there during the evening, and the fire was left unchecked. It consumed them before anyone could save them."

"So the source could be where the fireplace was," Lockwood guesses.

"Or where they were," you say. "Maybe even where they are now. George, do your notes say anything about where their remains were buried?"

He takes a minute to scan through his notes, flipping through pages. "There's apparently a big sycamore on the estate where the girls had a swing. The servants buried the family there with the thought that they could play in the swing for the rest of eternity."

"Bit grim," Lucy says, "but sweet, I guess. So, are those our three main guesses?"

"They're possible sources," Lockwood says. "Vague, but the best we've got."

"Better than last time," you say, frowning. "So, plan of action?"

Lockwood sits forward. "Lucy and George, you guys scout out the house. Lucy's Listening is more powerful, so you're more likely to hear if anything is going on in the house. (name) and I will take our chance with the tree. If we get nothing from it, we'll join back up with you guys."

"Should we have a signal or something?" you ask. "To save us shouting for help, or running backwards and forwards and risk getting ghost-touched? Like adjusting the lantern light a few times, or flashing our torches."

Goerge nods. "Good idea. Seeing as that ghost last week prevented me from hearing you guys, that's probably our best bet."

"One flash means everything is clear," Lockwood says. "Two means potential finding. Three means -"

"Ah, shit, there's a ghost, come help," you finish.

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," Lucy says with a snort.

It doesn't take much longer to reach Harrow, and the taxi ride to the mansion passes in what feels like mere minutes. Before long, you're all crawling out of the car, duffle bags in hand, chains looped over your shoulders, and rapiers at your sides.

Wrought iron gates tower before you, towering over you and casting twisting shadows on the slowly darkening pavement. You all pass through it and begin the trek up to the mansion - a hulking beast of sandstone, pinpricked with large windows and balconies. It's shaped so that there's a large courtyard in front of the entrance, hosting a large fountain with some kind of statue in the middle.

"Everyone remember the code?" Lockwood asks, eyeing the large double doors just ahead.

"One is good, two is alright, three is bad," George says. "Yes, we remember. Now, go. That's the tree over there, I think."

The four of you turn to the right, where a massive tree looms, covered in bright green leaves. In the breeze, a few flutter down from the branches, and a small swing moves softly. A shadow hangs below it, so large it almost reaches the mansion.

"Not creepy at all," you murmur. "Are we ready to start this happy journey?"

With big sighs, George and Lucy make their way into the mansion, holding the old and new plans of the layout. You and Lockwood share a look, a mix of confidence and worry - more on your part than anything - before trudging over to the massive tree.

"At least there are no windows for us to fall out of," you say, staring up at the tree. Its roots are so large that you're still standing at least six feet away from the trunk.

Lockwood breathes a laugh, checking his temperature gun about fifteen feet from the tree. "Fifteen degrees over here."

"Ten here." You frown at the hulking mass of bark and leaves. "Should we signal Lucy and George? I don't think this is just a chill from standing in the shadow."

"Not yet," Lockwood says, turning on a few lanterns. "See if you can hear anything first. I'll keep a lookout and see if they signal us."

Nodding, you look up at the twisting branches. Sounds around you drain out until you're surrounded by silence, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint sound of a rhythmic swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of a swing. Someone, a young girl, giggles, followed by the sound of a man's chuckle. You can feel a smile play on your lips. They're happy. So happy.

A hand closes over your arm, grip tight. "Lucy and George are signalling," Lockwood says, his tone urgent. "Three flashes. We need to go."

"Wait," you murmur. "There's something..."

"(name), we need to go now. They're in danger."

"No... I can hear something... A woman's voice. Did George mention anything about a Lady of the mansion? I can't remember."

Lockwood tugs your arm. "I don't know, but we need to go help -"

"Get away from the tree!" Lucy's voice shrieks. "It's a trap!"

And then you hear it, the words, the malicious tone of a woman speaking to nothing but tree roots. Your heart thunders in your chest, and a heavy wave of nausea hits you. You stumble backwards, falling into Lockwood's chest.

"His wife, the mother," you manage. "She started the fire. She -"

"Get away from the tree!"

Suddenly, there's a bright light directly in front of you and you can't move. A ghost hovers over the tree roots, but it doesn't appear as it once was. No, its skin is charred and burned, oozing with liquid - blood, maybe? Clothes have melted onto its skin, and the sight is enough to make you even more ill. You'd throw up if you weren't in a ghost lock.

"Snap out of it!" Lockwood yells. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into the iron circle he must have made while you were using your Talent. "It's Lord Ammenby."

Your joints feel a little loose-jointed and disoriented, but you're no longer ghost-locked. "He's a Wraith. He was burned alive by his wife..."

"We can discuss the fate of his death later," Lockwood says. "For now, we need to get to the source."

"Did you manage to see where he appeared from?"

Lockwood points. "In between those roots, there, but we don't have shovels."

You swallow your fear down, watching the Visitor approach slowly. "Crowbar?"

He bends down and retrieves a crowbar from his duffle bag, handing it to you. "I'll distract him, you get the source. George and Lucy will be here soon, so we'll hold him off."

"Wonderful," you grumble. "Because that went swimmingly last time."

"Hey." His hand clutches your wrist gently, and a tingle runs up your arm at the contact. "You'll be fine. Lucy and George are almost here. And I'll keep you safe. I promise."

You glance back at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes. "Okay. Ready?"

His grin gives you confidence. "I was born ready."

Drawing his rapier, he leaps out of the iron circle, drawing the attention of the Wraith. Almost instantaneously, Lord Ammenby's ghost launches at him, wailing.

You take your chance and sprint for the tree's roots, crowbar in one hand and a silver net in the other. Stumbling across the thick, gnarled roots, you manage to reach the area Lockwood pointed to - a gap, no larger than your fist. With a grunt, you slam the crowbar into the ground and begin hacking away at the soil.

Behind you, the ghost wails again, followed by a chorus of salt bombs and shouting. By the sound of it, Lucy and George have joined the fight.

The ground is packed hard and laced with roots, thinner than the ones protruding from the ground, but still tough, and the crowbar is proving to hinder you more than anything. As much as you don't want to, you reach into the hole you've created with your hand, digging around as deep as you can.

"(name), look out!" Lucy cries.

Looking up, you can see the ghost racing towards you. As quickly as you can, you tear your arm out of the ground and throw a salt bomb, momentarily stopping the attack, but Lord Ammenby is back sooner than you have time to process.

"(name)!"

A rapier blade passes clean through the ghost, and as the other-light dissipates, Lockwood's face, splattered with a little soil, appears. "Hurry!" is all he says.

Once again, you shove your arm back into the ground, scratching around with your hand until you finally feel it - the rough, scratchy feel of bones under your nails. Screams overtake your mind, and you can feel heat on your skin, but you push through it, shimmying the small cluster around until you're able to pull them free of the hole.

As you wrap the charred remains in the silver net, the ghost vanishes, and the dark estate becomes silent.

Lockwood, standing just in front of you, is panting, still in a defensive stance. Lucy and George aren't too far off, hunched and holding onto their knees as they catch their breath.

Standing, you wipe as much dirt and soil from your arm as you can. "Well," you say. "It seems we have a thing for men murdered by their wives."

--

"Lockwood, if you'd told me sooner that your tea tasted this good, I would've forgiven you sooner and worked with you more."

The boy in question laughs, reclining in his seat in the living room. "At least I know now."

"As long as I get paid, I don't see any more mishaps occurring," you say, leaning your head back against the cushioned armrest.

Despite closing your eyes, you're well aware of Lockwood's gaze on your face. You can feel it, like little pinpricks on your face, but you're too tired to mock him for it.

"You know," he says, and something in his tone confuses you - caution. "We make a pretty good team, you and I."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "As much as I hate to admit it, we do. Thanks for having my back out there."

"That's what friends do."

Something in your chest tugs. Other than your flatmate, there hasn't been anyone you can call a friend for a while.

"As long as that notion is correct?"

"I suppose it's not entirely out the window," you murmur. "As long as I get more tea."

"As much as you want." You can hear the smile in his voice, and, funnily enough, it makes your smile grow. "Do you want me to walk you to the nearest night cab station? It's quite late."

Opening your eyes, you slowly sit up. "That's alright. I'm sure I can manage."

His smile has softened into something unfamiliar. It's not his usual cocky grin, or that one of triumph, but rather something more personal.

"As long as you're sure," he says, his dark eyes fixed on yours. "But know that you're welcome to stay here if you like."

You roll your eyes. "God, it's like you don't want me to leave! I'll be fine. Want me to call you when I get home, mum?"

He laughs, and the sound of it makes you feel inexplicably content. "Just get home safe, yeah? I know where to find you if we need your help again."

"I specialise in husband-murdered-by-wife cases, so you're aware," you inform him. "And I'm particularly adept at window removals and gardening."

"Come on," Lockwood says, standing. "Get home before it gets any later."

"You're a bossy one today, Lockwood. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

"Go on. Get out of my house, you twat."

"Anthony Lockwood! I never!"

As you leave his house, you swear that his laughter follows you into the night like a companion.

[gotlostinfiction]

The Weeping Girl

When a miserable old man turns up at Lockwood & Co.’s door with the promise of £50,000 for an easy case, it's hard to refuse. But is everything all as it seems, or will this case be a lot more than they bargained for? 

TW: Mentions of abuse and murder, mild swearing.

SPOILERS: Mentions a case from The Hollow Boy.

(this is my first attempt at writing my own fanfic so any advice or tips would be very useful <3)

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

In front of me sat one of the most wrinkled old men I've ever seen in my life, and Lockwood & Co. have done a lot of cases for old people. He was a Mr Andrew Hallcock and he had come to us with reports of a crying girl heard by his younger servants, himself being way too old to sense ghosts. We, on the other hand, would be able to sense them easily. 

Just to catch you up, my name is Lucy Carlyle and I have been a part of a ramshackle agency called Lockwood & Co. as a Junior Field Operative for just under two years. Our agency founder and leader, Anthony Lockwood, was sitting on my right with a cup of tea balanced precariously on his knee. On the chair to my left was George Karim, the deputy and researcher of the trio. He held a plate of carrot cake and was munching noisily, much to our client's disgust. Oh, also, there’s one more. Not sure if he's a member or not but, there's the skull. A few months ago I figured out that I can talk to ghosts, and that we have a real Type Three in our house. No one likes him if I'm honest, due to his crude remarks, but I thought he should be mentioned (He’d get offended if I didn’t.)

Now that we're caught up, we can continue.

“Well then, Mr Lockwood,” Mr Hallcock began. “As I made you aware on the phone, some of my younger servants have reported to me that they can hear crying just before they are about to sleep. I've never had an issue like his before, and I can promise you that my house is not haunted!” He said with a tone of annoyance. Apparently, he wasn't fond of ghosts - or our furniture by the way he perched like a bird ready to take flight. 

Lockwood looked uncertain. “Have the servants described in more detail what they've heard?”

“Or has anyone seen anything?” I added helpfully.

Mr Hallcock locked his small beady eyes on mine. “I don’t know why you are butting in, young lady, I thought you were a mere serving girl.” 

I went to stand, but Lockwood's hand snaked out and rested on my thigh, pinning me down. “May you answer our questions, please? All three of us are agents and need to know what they may have seen or heard.” He said calmly.

“Very well,” Mr Hallcock began. “They have only reported hearing crying. I don't think any of them are talented enough to see apparitions. Not that there should be one! Anyway,” He continued. “I'm willing to offer up to £50,000 if this issue is resolved quickly and discreetly. The public cannot find out that my home may be haunted, I have a reputation to maintain!”

George reached out for another slice of cake but paused when he heard the figure. I felt Lockwood move his hand.

“Of course, Mr Hallcock. We can promise all that you ask.”

“Good.” He replied. “I'll be expecting you at 8 pm sharp tonight. I will ensure that the house is cleared of all staff, and I will occupy myself away from home. Good day, gentleman.” With a whiff of cigar smoke, he was out the door.

“What a dick, he didn't even say goodbye to me!” I said. I was the first to break the silence that had formed with his absence.

“He could talk for England, that's for sure,” George added.

“Yes, well, he wasn't a very pleasant person, certainly not to you Luce. But, we can't reject that kind of money. Especially not for an easy case like this.” Lockwood said, a large smile forming across his face.

“Here we go…” George said with a sigh.

“Here's the plan, George you go to the archives, find absolutely everything you can about the house and Mr Hallcock, I'll go to Satchels and restock, and Lucy you pack the kit bags,” Lockwood ordered; with a smile, he walked purposefully out the door. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

Two hours later, we were ready. Lockwood, George and I all bundled into the taxi waiting outside Portland Row. It was a small one, and George jumped straight into the passenger seat, dumping our kit bags in the back. This left me practically sitting on Lockwood's lap, squished close next to our kit and the skull. Great.

“Oh, it’s snug back here isn’t it, Lucy?” The skull piped up from the jar on my lap, and I could see a large smirk forming across the glass. “Lockwood looks like a tomato.”

“No idea what you're on about,” I replied sharply. 

“Has he given us anything useful, Luce?” Lockwood asked me, having to crane his neck down due to the angle. 

“Erm, said it’s not very spacious back here,” I replied, purposefully avoiding eye contact with him. 

“Well, quite,” Lockwood said and coughed awkwardly, his cheeks tinged with red. “So then George, fill us in.” He continued, changing the subject. 

“Well, Mr Hallcock is a bit of a dick, just like you said Luce. He lied to us about a violent death that occurred in the house to protect his ego and reputation. He-” George cut himself off. “Ooh, you two do look cosy back there!”

“Get to the point, George,” I said. This was mortifying; I could hear the skull's faint laughter in my head.

“Okay, well as I was saying, Mr Hallcock comes from a family of men who think they can do what they want. Specifically to women. At the archives, I found so many complaints to the police from female members of Mr Hallcock's staff about sexual comments and the sort. I mean, remember how he spoke to you, Lucy?”

“Yeah, he treated me like a piece of shit, the sexist bastard.”

“Exactly. Turns out, Mr Hallcock was involved in a murder trial of one of his servants, a 20-year-old girl called Rebecca Hughes. She died on his property in a bedroom upstairs, stabbed to death. One of her fellow servants was charged and hanged for it, and Mr Hallcock was brought forward to give evidence.” George continued. 

“You think that's the primary source of the haunting then?” I said, ignoring the teasing remarks coming from the skull.

“Has to be,” George replied. “No other deaths have been reported in the house or the area.”

Lockwood coughed again, his cheeks going redder still. “Well I'm glad I bought some extra protection then, you know how murder victims get. I brought another industrial flare.” Clocking George's concerned look he quickly added, “We’ll use it properly this time, not like Combe Carey.”

“I don't think Mr Hallcock would want us to damage his house either,” I said as we pulled into the long gravel driveway. Just in the distance, I could see the house looming over us. Well, I say house, it was more like a mansion. On its private lot, surrounded by woodland, stood Hallcock Manor. It had a regal-style entrance, with large stone columns and wide steps leading to a grand white door with gold accents carved into the sides. The home spread wide at the sides with small walkways at each end and then cascaded backwards, seemingly never-ending. Basically, it was bloody posh.

The taxi driver dumped us halfway down the drive, complaining that he couldn't be bothered to have to reverse all the way back. Safe to say that Lockwood didn't tip him. We all piled out and headed towards the house. Walking towards it was incredible, but also mortifying. I was in awe at the beauty of the place, but then apprehensive of the danger that could unfold.

As if reading my thoughts, Lockwood spoke. “This should be an easy case guys, no need to worry. Mr Hallcock said that there was no apparition seen and that it was just crying. We will be fine.”

“What about the fact that she's a murder victim? They’re always Type Two’s.” I asked.

“Well, at least we've got this.” Lockwood pulled out the flare and showed it to me and George. After our last use of it, I wasn't reassured.

“I think Lucy should keep a hold of it,” George spoke up. “You were reckless with it last time, you know, lobbing it at the well like that. Lucy will be more careful.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Lockwood replied, though I could tell he wasn't convinced. He passed it over to me, his long fingers brushing against the palm of my hand. I smiled weakly at him, and he grinned back. It was his reassuring smile, the one he used for worried clients. 

“Ooh, he almost held your hand!” The skull remarked. “The closest you’ll ever get.” I decided not to recite this one back to the boys. 

Lockwood then flourished the keys from one of his coat pockets and opened the door, ensuring that he didn't hesitate on the threshold. Being well-trained, we followed closely behind. The house was just as beautiful inside as out. Regent-style furniture filled the home in a classy sort of way. The walls were lined with floral patterned wallpaper and gold-framed oil paintings hung in neat rows. George pulled out his floor plan and assessed our surroundings.

“This is called the ‘Grand Entrance.’” He said, eyeing the decor. “To be fair, they weren't wrong.”

I closed my eyes and listened. I tuned out the low rumble of Lockwood's voice and the distant beeping of George's thermometer. But the house itself was silent, I couldn’t sense anything. 

“You got anything?” I asked the skull, which was fixed to my back. 

“Nope, absolutely nothing. I even think I just saw a tumbleweed, it's that boring.” 

“Through here should be the main kitchen where we can have some tea, but there are three if you want a choice,” George said, breaking through the skull’s rambling. We carried on walking, assessing the temperature as we went.

Just like the rest of the house, the kitchen was posh too. Marble countertops lined with gold engravings were spread out far against most of the walls. A matching table was in the corner, where George had plugged in a portable kettle. A few minutes later, we had made ourselves comfortable (as comfortable as we could on rock-solid marble chairs) with our tea and biscuits.

“I can't sense anything at the moment,” I said, hugging my tea close for warmth. It was cold, I had noticed, but not supernatural I didn't think

“Me neither,” Lockwood added, “I can't see any death glows. How’s the temperature, George?”

“A bit chilly, but not supernatural. This is an old house, and it’s winter.” He replied checking his watch. “I'm surprised, to be honest, it's 9:30 and there's been nothing so far.”

“We haven't checked upstairs yet though, that's where you said the girl died,” I answered.

“True, although we don’t know where she actually died. All I could find in the archives was that it was an upstairs bedroom. Well, in case you haven't noticed this house is huge, so it could be any of them.” George said in a huff. 

“I think we should get on then,” Lockwood said, getting up to leave. “Come on.”

“Go on, follow your boyfriend.” The skull cooed in my ear.

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

An hour or so later, we had explored the whole house. And believe me, it took a while. It was about 11 pm now and since the crying was reported “just before the servants went to sleep” it could be any time from now till 12. We had set up a large iron circle in the coldest bedroom on the second-story landing - the servant's quarters. Mr Hallcock had informed us that he slept on the top floor, leaving his servants free reign of the second. Like the rest of the house, it was spacious and included its own kitchen and living area. Despite being a bastard, he at least looked like he treated his employees well.

Sat on the floor with my legs crossed, I could feel the miasma building. I reached into my kit bag for some mints and saw George do the same. I closed my eyes and tried to listen again. There it was! A faint weeping, only a whisper, and I had to concentrate to pick it up. 

“You getting anything Luce?” Lockwood asked me. 

“Yep,” I answered, needing to stay focused. He took the hint and let me listen. 

The crying was still there, getting ever so slightly louder and more hysterical, but it had been taken over by repetitive thumping and banging. It was hard to decipher if it was someone's footsteps or things being moved around. Or maybe even someone's fists. I told this to the boys.

“You think it’s her?” Lockwood said

“Has to be, Lockwood. No one else died here.” George replied, chewing ferociously on a mint.

I stood up and left the circle, the miasma was strong as well as the temperature, but it was manageable. There was a grand fireplace, on a wall in the far corner, again embossed with gold accents on both sides. On impulse, I reached out and let my hands rest on the mantle. A wave of memory from the past hit me. I heard voices, a deep loud one that I recognised as Mr Hallcock. He was shouting at someone, and I could hear the weeping in the background. Was he speaking to Rebecca? Suddenly, there was a loud bang followed by a gut-wrenching scream, then silence.

I prised open my eyes and looked around. Nothing had changed, Lockwood and George still sat in the circle and I was still by the fireplace. The room felt different.

“Luce?” Lockwood walked over and gently touched my arm, “Are you okay? You've gone very pale, and you just stood there for 15 minutes.”

I looked up at him, then around the room. “Really?” I said, “I was gone for that long?” 

“Yeah, didn't want to disturb you though, in case you had something,” George added, now munching on a sandwich. 

Lockwood and I walked back to the circle and sat down. I filled them in on what I'd heard. 

“You sure it was him?” Lockwood asked.

“Positive,” I replied, taking a bite of chocolate. “I would recognise that voice anywhere, and the stuff he was saying was a dead giveaway.”

“Like what?” George asked.

“He kept saying that something was her fault. Said that he would give her one more chance.” 

“No wonder she's crying,” George added with a laugh.

“Not funny, George,” Lockwood said, glancing at me.

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Can you not feel the miasma now? It's everywhere.”

And he was right, while we were too busy talking, things had escalated. Ghost fog lined the floor; it lapped and our ankles and the air was bitterly cold making our breaths show in small puffs. Our thermometers showed minus temperatures. We all stood up abruptly, producing our rapiers and stood back to back.

“Why didn't you mention anything?” I asked the skull impatiently.

“Whoops.” Was all I got in return. With that, I turned away from him.

“See anything, Lockwood?” I asked, hoping that now it was later he could see some death glows. 

“Nope, still nothing. Although I'm sure we've got the right room, it's bloody freezing.” He replied; I could see him shivering, despite his coat. 

“Guys, can you see that?” George spoke up, his voice shaking. 

I looked in his direction, and there was a small ball of light, slowly getting bigger, forming into a small woman. Rebecca Hughes. She looked young, George said she’d been 20, with long blonde hair reaching her sides and dark brown eyes. She wore a uniform of a pinafore dress and kitten heels, but there was something wrong. Her dress was ripped, and holes covered the surface of the sleeves and front. Stab wounds, I guessed. 

“Getting interesting now! Got any popcorn?” The skull asked.

“That’s what the other servant did to her,” George said, “It said in the report that she was stabbed repetitively.” 

“Well, she's not being aggressive, which is unusual for a murder victim,” Lockwood noted. 

I looked at Lockwood for permission and after a nod, I stepped just outside the chains. She wasn't strong yet, I should be able to communicate. 

“Rebecca, what happened to you?” I asked calmly. She seemed like a Type Two, unable to have a conversation but could listen. She looked at me through her long lashes and remained still. 

“Monster…” She whispered.

“Deserves to be hanged…”

“Who’s a monster, Rebecca? Who should be hanged?” I asked her. I could just make out her words over the crying. The sound had rocketed since I'd communicated with her. 

“Monster…”

“Lucy, get in the chains please,” Lockwood asked calmly, though I could sense the urgency in his voice. The skull laughed in the background.

“Who hurt you, Rebecca?” I repeated.

“Lucy!” This was Lockwood again. He was shouting now, every aspect of calm revoked. 

“Hall-” The ghost began before the connection was lost. 

I felt a tug at the back of my jacket, it was Lockwood pulling me into the circle. I tripped over the ghost jar and fell flat on my backside, just as he hurled a salt bomb at Rebecca - exactly where I had just stood. If you thought the skull was laughing before, he was cackling now. 

“What the hell was that Lockwood!” I turned on him, “I had almost got somewhere!”

“She was about to charge at you, you would have been ghost-touched if I hadn't helped!” Lockwood roared back. 

“Oh look, the happy couple are arguing.” The skull added, unhelpfully 

“Stop it!” George shouted, making me and Lockwood go silent. “Your emotions are making her more agitated. Lucy, what did she tell you?”

Annoyed, I responded, “She said that someone was a monster and they should be hanged. I asked her who and she went to say ‘Hallcock’, I’m sure of it.” 

“Any idea about her source?” George asked.

“No idea, maybe the knife used on her?”

Lockwood had gone silent, that could only mean one thing. A plan.

“Right, we need to find her source. I'll distract her and fight her off while you two look for her source, okay?” He said eventually. He gave me a look that said ‘No arguing’ so I reluctantly agreed. 

Practically leaping out of the circle, Lockwood charged forward, his rapier angled at the ghost. Me and George followed behind him, speeding around the room looking for her source. I scrambled through draws and under beds, behind picture frames and on shelves, and still nothing. George was having no better luck either. 

Lockwood had led the ghost away from us, into the hallway. He was using his rapier in a forward motion to pin the ghost in a corner, it appeared to be working. The house went quiet for a while, only Lockwood's sharp breaths could be heard as he battled against the ghost.

“Lucy!” A voice broke through the silence.

My heart stopped. That was Lockwood. Screaming. 

“Lucy! George!”

I was closest to the door. I dropped the box I was searching through and ran into the hallway. Lockwood was backed into the corner, the ghost having turned on him. His hands were sweaty and he was losing grip on his rapier. I heard it clang on the floor. I saw his usually dark eyes start to lighten, turning a milky white as the ghost's hand reached for him. I knew the signs of ghost lock all too well. I raced into action and scrambled through my work belt for a flare.

“Oh, he's finally going to be reunited with his family! Let him go, Lucy.” The skull suggested. I blanked him. 

Still rummaging through my belt, I found what I was looking for. The industrial flare. Without thinking, I pulled the cap and threw it.

Now, you may not know this but my aim is awful. Out of the three of us, only Lockwood can throw. We learnt this the hard way at the Lavender Lodge, when I doshed a bottle off his head and George couldn't throw a rapier for the life of him. So, the flare did hit the ghost, but mainly Lockwood, much to the skull's amusement. 

George had come to stand next to me. We both looked in horror as Lockwood was shot sideways into a bedroom. The wooden floorboards had jolted up at different angles, the banister had broken in two and the wall closest had been destroyed. In the light of the flare, I saw a patch of white on the ground but this wasn't my priority. I raced forward, my shoe flying off as I jumped over the hole in the ground, and headed for the room Lockwood had disappeared into. 

He staggered out into the hallway and stood before the hole, his hair flopped elegantly over his brow with his coat ripped at the shoulder, but somehow it still flowed behind him in the light breeze. His face shone with sweat and was littered with scratches, his hand lay cooly on his rapier hilt. Even after getting blown across the hallway, he looked as charming as ever. 

In case you were wondering about me, I was less fortunate. My hair stuck up, my fringe was completely blown back away from my face, my jacket was torn and splattered with ectoplasm, and my left boot was somewhere down the stairs. Basically, I could have looked better.

Still, Lockwood beamed at me with his megawatt smile, as if I had never looked better to him. 

“Well, that was fun,” Lockwood stated. He was out of breath, and wobbling slightly. 

I hurried over to him and grabbed his arm to support him. I went to call George for help but he was on his knees, clawing frantically under a floorboard.

“George?” I asked, curiosity lacing my voice.

“There's something down here, the blast showed it. But it's gone, I can't find it!”

“Don’t help him, Lucy, this is so funny.” The skull said, I could see its hollow eyes darting about in the plasm. I ignored him once again, it was quite a skill. 

“George,” I said anxiously, “Can you be a bit quicker? She’s back, and she’s behind you.”

George spun around and saw her in the distance. She was weaker, the blast had dimmed her spirit, but she was still powerful. She went to charge at him, but she wasn't quick enough. I let go of Lockwood and raced for her. I extended my rapier and angled it towards her in thrashing blows, just like Lockwood had taught me. 

“George, hurry up!” I screamed at him. He was still on the floor behind me, rummaging through spiderwebs and dust. 

“This has to be the source!’ He said, ‘It has to be here somewhere!”

Lockwood had been watching me and hadn’t taken his eyes away. It was almost like a second ghost lock, similar to a trance. Suddenly, he snapped out of it and jumped over the hole to where George still was. 

Together, with me battling the ghost and the two boys looking for the source, it worked quite well. She was less strong now that dawn was approaching, and it was an easy task to keep her away. In the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of white being pulled from the ground. George shoved it under a net, and Rebecca abruptly disappeared in front of me. I put my rapier back in its hilt and turned around. George was clutching whatever he had found tightly, her source. We had done it. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

When we arrived back at Portland Row, the house was quiet. George was in the basement, analysing the source we’d found (safely), and Lockwood had collapsed into a kitchen chair. I snatched the first aid kit and plonked myself down next to him. He looked tired, which wasn’t anything new, with dark circles encased around his hollow eyes. He looked at me through his long lashes and smiled. A genuine one, not the false one he gave customers or the polite one he gave adults. This was a smile meant for me, and I savoured every last bit of it.

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” I said softly, as I opened the first aid kit. He hadn't looked away.

“I’ll forgive you, I always do.” He said with a short laugh, but then grabbed his sides from pain. 

I looked at him in pity, it hurt me to see him like this. 

“Sit still.” I ordered, “This is probably going to hurt.”

“Not as much as getting blown across a hallway.” He joked, his laughter fading to a grimace as I dapped a large cut with antiseptic, then placed a plaster over it. 

I held the side of his face, my hand faintly brushing against his cheekbones as I repeated the process for the rest of his cuts. We remained in a comforting silence, as I moved effectively but as gently as I could. I already felt bad enough for almost blowing him up, I didn't want to make it worse. After I finished, I slowly closed the box and looked at him. 

“Thank you, Lucy.” He spoke. His face was awash with plasters and it was hard not to laugh if I'm honest, “And thanks for saving me too, I know that you did almost kill me, but I could have been ghost-touched.”

“I had to save you, Lockwood. When I saw your eyes go white, it was…terrifying. I never wanted to see that happen to someone I love again. Not after Norrie.” My voice broke at the end, the memories of Norrie had been brought back once more, and it was hard to resist tears. 

Lockwood reached out and held my hand, his rapier-calloused palms rough against mine. 

“It’s okay, Luce, I’m safe thanks to you. You don't need to worry.” He reassured me, rubbing small circles on my hand. 

“Lucy…” Lockwood started, before George burst open the door, making us both jump apart.

“It was Mr Hallcock” Was all he said. 

We rang DEPRAC.

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

Turns out, Rebecca was a murder victim, but not from a fellow servant. She was murdered by none other than Mr Andrew Hallcock himself. The white thing found under the floorboards, her source, was a letter. A confession she was planning to send to the police before it was too late. It read:

“Dear Scotland Yard,

I would like to report Mr Andrew Hallcock on several accounts of abuse and neglect towards me. He is a monster, who took advantage of me and deserves to be hanged. 

He has harmed me before and blamed someone else for it. I am worried this will go too far. 

Please believe me, I am desperate.

Sincerely,

Rebecca Hughes.”

Mr Hallcock was used to getting away with things, so when he found this letter, he confronted her. To put it simply, she was a threat, so he ended her life. He then hid the letter under the floorboards, its presence being kept a secret for over 20 years. It wasn't until a new member of staff was treated the same as Rebecca, that she came out of her shell. Mr Hallcock knew this, so he swore us to secrecy to protect his reputation - and the promise of money had blind-sighted us.

It took them a while, but DEPRAC got him to confess; he was charged with murder, hiding evidence, as well as preventing justice. They let us off the hook for destroying half of his house, and gave us the £50,000 too, which was a bonus - It was one of the first times that Inspector Barnes had ever been nice to us. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

We obviously had a celebratory breakfast, and the following day the table was so full of plates that the thinking cloth could hardly be seen. Lockwood and I had gone to Arif’s while George cooked, so there was a sea of full-English breakfast and doughnuts. We sat in our usual spots and tucked in. 

“I can’t believe you did it, didn’t think you were capable.” The skull spoke from its spot on the kitchen counter. I recited this to the boys. 

“Me neither if I'm honest,” George said, shovelling food onto his plate at a rapid rate. 

“I always knew we could do it, you pair don't give yourselves enough credit,” Lockwood responded. 

I heard the skull gag in the corner.

“You did say that it was going to be an easy case though, didn’t you? How well did that work out?” I asked him, eyeing the plasters still scattered across his face. 

He laughed, and it didn't hurt him this time. It caught George off guard and he joined in, making me laugh too. The sun shone brightly into the kitchen that day, casting a warm glow and reflecting on each of our happy faces (and the skulls).

We were Lockwood & Co., and I know it doesn't sound like it, but that was one of our best cases yet: The Weeping Girl. We weren't perfect by any means, but we worked well, even if a little unorthodox. 

─── ‧⁺˖✮˖⁺‧ ───

thank you for reading! please lmk any advice or tips :)

[athenaderiva]

Lockwood x Reader x Lucy

Request for @superpositvecloudshipper

Lockwood had no idea how it had happened. The three of them where stuck in a room that seemed to have blood pouring from the ceiling and down the walls, bubbling towards them. There was no way out except the way they came in - and their 'employer' had locked and barred the doors. George knew how it had happened. Lockwood had taken a job, and he hadn't done his research.

"Do you honestly think the three of you are capable of a job like this?" Johnson asked and Lockwood nodded.

"Sir, I think you underestimate how skilled our agency is. Our listener, Lucy Carlyle, can communicate with Type Threes. And no one is better at research than George Karim. And then, well, there's me." Lockwood said with a small smile. Johnson rolled his eyes.

"And your supervisor?" He asked, looking above their eyes and making it clear he didn't think they were worth his time.

"We don't have one, sir. And we don't need one." Lockwood said firmly. "In fact, we can clear the visitors out of your country home tonight." George groaned, looking down at his shoes.

"I told you we couldn't do jobs without researching them first!" George snapped, the three of them backing closer to each other as the blood appeared to spread. "Our equipment is outside. We don't have anything but our rapiers. We are not going to survive this!" He added and Lockwood's eyes flitted over to him. Lucy had stayed silent, tightening her grip on her rapier.

"Perhaps I rushed in, but we needed a job." Lockwood said quietly. He gulped, looking around them.

"What are you lot bickering about?" The doors crashed open and they turned to see a stranger grinning at them. Their bags seemed to fly through the air towards them. Lucy and Lockwood each caught one, backing out the doors slowly with George ahead of them. The stranger closed their eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?" Lucy asked, grabbing your shoulder. Within an instant, chains flew out of their bags and bolted the doors shut behind them as they stood in the main hall.

"That... That's not possible." George whispered.

"You have no idea what's possible." You said. "Now run."

Safe back at 35 Portland Row, you sat across from two out of three members of Lockwood and Co.

"How did you do that?" George asked. You raised an eyebrow.

"You'll have to be infinitely more specific." You replied, taking the biscuit offered to you as Lucy put a cup of tea down in front of you. You smiled up at her and she looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sat down in between the two boys.

"The chains. How did you move them?" Lockwood asked, his chin in his hand. You sighed, looking away from them. "You are incredibly talented, there's no denying that, but George is right. What you did back there isn't supposed to be possible." He pointed out.

"I've... I've just always been able to do it. The same way I see death glows, and I can listen a bit, if I focus enough." You said, your voice quiet.

"Do you think we could test it out?" George asked, his eyes lighting up at the thought of experimenting.

"No." Lucy and Lockwood said without hesitation. You smiled at them, grateful that they understood.

"I'm sorry, I just don't understand. You, what, move things with your mind?" You nodded. "That's..." Lockwood hesitated.

"Weird?" You filled in for him.

"Amazing." Lucy whispered. "It's amazing." She said, reaching out and squeezing your wrist. Warmth spread through you at the simple touch.

--

Sorry it's so short 😅

[l4ndojpg]

whumptober 2024 day 3: wrongful arrest

fandom: lockwood & co | characters: anthony lockwood, lucy carlyle, george cubbins, inspector barnes | ship: lucy carlyle/anthony lockwood | trigger warnings: referenced parent death | content: set after the creeping shadow, lockwood has been framed for the murder of his parents | word count: 875

“Ah, good morning Inspector!” Lockwood says cheerily as he opens the door to Inspector Montague Barnes, who looks more somber than usual. “Come in, come in, George will flick the kettle on, won’t you George? Luce, some biscuits?” 

Both George and I turn away to heed Lockwood’s order, but turn back when we hear the sharp edge to the Inspector’s voice. 

“I’m afraid this isn’t a house call, Mr Lockwood,” he says, the ever present frown on his forehead creasing deeper than usual. “I’m here on business, and I’d rather get the unpleasantness of it all over and done with quickly.” 

I see Lockwood’s dazzling smile drop for only a second, but he rearranges his face quickly again. “Of course,” he says. “What is it that we can help you with?” 

Barnes rubs a tired hand over his face. George and I glance at each other nervously from behind Lockwood. 

Ever since we came back from Aldbury Castle, where we’d destroyed one of the Rotwell Institutes and the Inspector had inconspicuously warned us that we’d gotten ourselves into a bigger mess than we could handle, we’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Penelope Fittes had arrived to more or less threaten us, we thought that had been it. 

Apparently that may not have been the case.

“Some evidence has come to light, recently, about your parents' deaths.” 

I stiffen, and feel George beside me do the same. This time Lockwood’s smile fades and doesn’t return. 

“I’m sorry?” he says quietly. “What sort of evidence? My parents were killed in a car accident before I was five.” 

Barnes pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales. “Mr Lockwood,” he says, and I’ve never heard him so defeated before. This wasn’t a “Lockwood and Co have put themselves where they don’t belong” sigh, or a “I’m getting too old for this” sigh. This was a “I really don’t want to do this” sigh. “This will be easier if you cooperate with me.” 

“What exactly am I cooperating with, Inspector?” Lockwood asks carefully, still leaning against the doorway. When Barnes removes a set of handcuffs from his belt and holds them up, Lockwood does stand upright, but to his credit, doesn’t back away. 

“Anthony Lockwood,” Barnes says gruffly, unwillingly, and my insides go cold, “you are under arrest for the murder of your parents, Celia and Donald Lockwood.” 

“He what?” George yelps beside me, and I make a choked noise from the back of my throat. It’s all I can manage. I can’t take my eyes off of Lockwood, who’s skin is pale normally, but who has gone ghostly white. 

“What rubbish are you talking Barnes, you can’t-,” George begins furiously, but I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him surging forward. Lockwood and I make eye contact. Then, slowly, he puts his wrists out for Barnes to cuff. My ever unflappable friend’s hands are shaking. My heart is stuck in my throat and I want to do something, anything - scream at Barnes, dive forward and grab the cuffs off him - but I don’t. I stay stock still, frozen to the spot like I’ve been ghost-locked.

“Lockwood-,” I say, and my voice is trembling. 

“It’s alright, Luce,” he says, attempting to give me a wan smile and Barnes cuffs him. “I’ll be alright.” None of his words convince me or even begin to comfort me. 

“Inspector,” George says, voice weak. “You know that he couldn’t have - that he wouldn’t have-,” 

“I’m not at liberty to discuss Lockwood’s arrest with you, Cubbins,” the Inspector says tiredly. 

“But you have to do something,” I burst out, no longer able to keep my rage in, “you know! You know that she’s behind this-,” 

“I would advise you to keep quiet about your suspicions, Ms Carlyle,” he says in the same voice he used when he spoke to us in Aldbury Castle. “You never know who might be listening in.” With that, he puts a hand on Lockwood’s shoulder and begins to lead him away. I run forward and come to a halt in front of them. I can see George still standing in the doorway, in shock. 

“Lockwood,” I say desperately, ignoring Barnes and looking into my friend’s dull, defeated eyes, usually so full of light and passion. “Don’t - why are you giving in? You never give in,” I choke, my face hot. 

Lockwood doesn’t smile. “I don’t know what to do, Luce. I don’t think it’s up to me.” 

“Ms Carlyle,” the Inspector says, but I don’t look at him. I can only look at Lockwood, who’s pain that he keeps bottled up inside is being used against him. “You need to move.” 

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, my voice cracking. His face blurs in front of me. 

“Oh Lucy,” he says gently, still unsmiling, but his eyes searching mine. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” 

With that, Barnes begins to lead him away once more, and I remain rooted to the spot, watching the most important person in my life be taken from me. It feels wrong for the sun to be shining, for the birds to be chirping. Lockwood has left Portland Row - the world should have stopped turning in its wake. 

[desos-records]

alright let’s talk about Lockwood & Co vs Adults

(mostly about the show, I started the books before the show came out and I’m not done, be nice)

Lockwood tries so very hard to act older than he is and he essentially Had To after losing his family. We aren’t told the specifics, but he doesn’t seem to have any adults in his life. Or many people in it period. George has only known him for a year, Flo used to live with him but hasn’t for at least a year if not more, and Kipps is. well. Kipps.

But other than that he seems to have been alone: he’s the one who takes care of the business and the finances, finding new clients and recruiting new agents (he has a mortgage and insurance and he can’t even drive yet). It fits with the overarching theme of the older generation not just failing the newer one, but exploiting it too. Lockwood was abandoned by the generation that was supposed to take care of him (on purpose or not)--just like all the kids of his generation, George and Lucy included.

It’s a little simpler when it comes to George and Lucy. They both left their families by choice; they chose to be the mature ones, to do what they had to so they could feel safe and at home. George left parents who loved him, but didn’t understand him. Lucy left a physically abusive mother who exploited her for money. They’re both mature in very concrete, measurable ways that are natural extensions of their characters. George cleans and cooks and handles research. Lucy is emotionally mature, holding both boys (and people in general) accountable for their actions and making her able to pick out incredible nuances in emotion (of both the living and the dead).

But Lockwood’s maturity feels a little more like play-acting than the others. Partly, I think, because he didn’t get a choice. He’s been functionally an independent adult for god knows how long. He dresses in suits and is entirely too formal (in the books it takes forever for him to stop calling Lucy ‘Miss Carlyle’). But you can tell that it is definitely an act. His tie and trousers are too short, his coat is too big, and, god bless him, he wears the most beat up pair of sneakers I’ve ever seen.

His interactions with actual adults become a flashpoint. It’s most obvious in his interactions with adult men (partly just because most of the adults in the show are men), who he is trying so hard to look and act like. But in every case, they call him out on it and he’s reminded how young he is and almost always in a way that hurts.

The most obvious are Fairfax, Winkman, and what’s-his-face with the gold sword and guyliner, who are trying to kill him. In all cases, Lockwood can’t physically overpower them (Fairfax and Guyliner have guns, Winkman has an electric chair) and his words don’t mean anything to them. And Guyliner is even more dangerous because he knows his parents, knows something about the story behind Lockwood’s armor.

But what’s more interesting are the adults who aren’t trying to kill him.

Barnes picks apart the arguments Lockwood throws up in defense of himself and his agency, not with posturing, but with genuine (although rather harsh) concerns for their safety. For Lockwood, Barnes is a Captain Hook figure, but Barnes acts more like a disgruntled school principal than anything else. He’s working to protect a whole city full of kids that are, by necessity, thrown into harm’s way. And you can see it when Lockwood says that Barnes doesn’t like them much and it throws him off-guard.

The DEPRAC agent at the auction tells them to leave not just because he thinks they can’t handle it, but because they shouldn’t have to

Jesus, you’re children

Yes, he’s aggressive and antagonistic about it, which only makes Lockwood bristle more. Lockwood steps towards him trying to act with authority, even threatening, but all the agent does to break his armor is grab him hard by the shoulder and push him back. But despite that, he is trying to protect them. And he dies to protect them. It is the only instance of someone truly seeing them for what they are: kids. Not agents or weapons or meal tickets.

But it’s jarring. Lockwood can’t process any of that and that’s not his fault. In the world we’ve seen so far, Barnes and the DEPRAC agent are an anomaly. Most other adults don’t care whether they live or die (so long as they’re useful). Lockwood has every reason to believe that every adult is an obstacle at best and a threat at worst.

And it’s painful. All of it. And a little too close to home, this story of children only valued when they’re useful.

[neewtmas]

24 days of Appreciation

DAY 7

Hello! It's the 7th of 24 days of appreciation this month, where we shine a spotlight each day on those we appreciate in this fandom!

If you want to submit someone or something (for more info read here), you can do so here or just message me! If you wanna stay anonymous, either tell me or submit on anon.

Appreciation by me:

today my appreciation goes to the people behind @savelockwoodandco! We are all still so sad over the cancellation news and while I and many others oftentimes don't have the energy and mental capacity to continue the fight, you guys (i'm pretty sure you're more than one person whoops) have been fighting tirelessly for literal months at this point. If anyone wants to show support, it's so valuable to have all the information you provide in oneplace and just providing the information is so much work in and of itself tbh. I'm so thankful for your continued effort and I applaud you from the sidelines. The pure dedication you show for this fandom is worth so so much and I wanna make sure you feel appreciated for it🫶🏻💫

Appreciation by others (submissions):

by @edible-rat-vomit: i got a positivity submission 😇 hihi! edible rat vomit here :3 im here to appreciate a couple people but first all my mutuals!! i love y'all so much and it makes my day so much brighter to see all of you. i wish i could remember all of your @s but i am soo bad w remembering things.. thank you all for welcoming me into the lockwood and co fandom! now onto the specifics.. first we got @lucy-j-carlyle .. you are the strongest mf i know on this platform. you've lost so much recently (ur tumblr blog included, may she rest in peace) . you somehow keep going! @krash-and-co i cant say much here bc a lot has already been said.. but you are seriously hilarious. also kermit v kipps. i dont even need to say more @favcharacterpoll listen all i gotta say is im so thankful for u accepting the kermit v kipps bit @yveni y'all have yveni to thank for my amazing pfp! they are also the creator (along with their team) of the lockwood and co family portrait (i still cant get over this btw its so amazing)! you never fail to make me smile when i see you on my dash :) @smol-being-of-light im ngl i have no idea when we followed each other but you're so fun and i love reading ur posts. thank you for ur message in one of the previous positivity messages that was so sweet 🥹. i wish i could go on but this is actually the third time ive typed this out and i keep losing it smh.. anyways.. if ur name isnt on this list please know that im thankful for you and i love you lots ps thank u much to the wonder human behind this appreciation chain 🫶 ur dedication is fantastic

Show your appreciation and submit someone or something here :)

[js589]

So, I was driving in the car today and heard "Rude" by Magic! on the radio. And this just popped into my head.

This little story is set post The Empty Grave and contains minor spoilers. It could be for either the book universe or the show universe. It is not necessarily connected to my ongoing series with @practicallyasleep but could be read that way if you so choose.

Enjoy!

------------------------------------

"No. Absolutely not." Montagu Barnes shook his head. How was this even happening?!

"Inspector—" Of course the boy was trying to reason, but there could be none here.

Montagu shook his head again. "Mr. Lockwood, I have let a lot slide when it comes to you, and I have actively covered up more. But this? I cannot and will not condone it."

"It's what we both want!" Lockwood protested.

"Today."

"This isn't going to change," Lockwood insisted. "Lucy and I... Look, I know that we're young, but when you know, you know, and we know, Inspector. In fact, I really only came to you as a courtesy—"

Montagu held up a hand. "Not so fast. As agents, you and Ms. Carlyle are considered wards of DEPRAC, especially in the absence of... any other figure to fill the role. And before you tell me you're eighteen, DEPRAC's guardianship supercedes your—may I say incredibly nascent—adulthood, quite specifically to prevent things like this!"

"Which is why I came prepared." Lockwood indicated his rapier. "As the rules also state, I can challenge you to a duel for Lucy's hand, and you must either accept and fight, or forfeit. So, Inspector Barnes..." Lockwood stood and got ready to draw. "Which will it be?"

------------

Montagu sat bolt upright in his chair. He must have dozed off while filling out paperwork.

Thank God that Lockwood and Carlyle were no longer his problem: they hadn't yet lost their Talent, but with the bulk of the fight having shifted to the Other Side, Lockwood had been serving as a fencing instructor for the last few years, and Carlyle was working at Munro's organization helping agents on their way out find other suitable work, or a path to further education.

They were still young, but not so young that the wedding invitation currently awaiting response on his desk had been as much of a shock as it could have been.

Really, they were suited. Nauseatingly so. (And probably better not to inflict on anyone else, if he was being honest.)

It was a happy ending—beginning—for them, and in a world that had seen far too few of them, well, he wasn't going to miss it.