#Lockwood and co fanfic

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Punch At First Sight

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

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

It was meant to be an easy case. 

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

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

But, no. 

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

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

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

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

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

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

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

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

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

Then came a scream. 

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

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

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

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

“Run?” you offered. 

“Run.” Lucy replied. 

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

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

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

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

“Relax. I’m safe enough.” 

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

“Are you?”

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

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

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

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

“Move here.”

“What?”

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

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

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

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.” 

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

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

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

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

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

You moved in three days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they know? They have to know.”

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

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

George just nodded. 

“Seriously?”

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

“Yeah…” 

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked. 

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

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

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

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

But it didn’t take too long. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

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

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

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

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

“And why not?”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

“Are you-”

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

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

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“She made a mistake.”

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

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

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

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

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

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

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded. 

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

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

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did. 

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

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

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

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

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

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

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

“What truth?”

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

“Lucy-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

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

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

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did. 

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

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

Until you kissed back. 

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

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

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

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

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

“Not this time,” you laughed a little. 

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

“Like Victor?”

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

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

“You are.”

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

“Good.”

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

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice. 

[hollcwboy]

chapter 7 (now 8, since i deleted the author’s note) is up!!! go forth and enjoy!! a lil spoiler meme for you + chapter summary:

Lockwood and Lucy break into the catacombs to retrieve Rupert Gale’s mysterious artifact. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

[lockwoodandcobigbang2023]

Lockwood and Co Big Bang 2023!

We're excited to announce the first post-show Lockwood and Co Big Bang event!

A Big Bang teams up authors and artists to create new content for the fandom, and cheerleaders to help them along the way! Artists will create accompanying art for each fic, authors will write a fic of 5k words minimum (there are stages to this, more info to follow!) and cheerleaders will beta read and provide encouragement. We will also be accepting signups for reserve agents, who will be able to step in at the last minute should something happen and a team be left incomplete.

Signups will start on the 20th June and end on the 7th July, and we're looking forward to seeing what you all come up with!

The link for signups can be found here (but the form won't be open before the 20th), and if you want more information about the event our rules and schedule will be posted asap, and asks are open if you have any immediate questions!!

The posting date for all the works is pencilled in to start on the one year anniversary of the show, 27th January, 2024.

We're so excited to finally be able to share this announcement with you. Feel free to reblog it to spread the word!

Signed, L&Co Big Bang 2023 mods :))

[portlandrowismyhome]

Borrowed Time: Chapter One

A little fanfic I got suckered into writing by @the-biscuit-agreement ‘s incredible prompt. Huge thanks to @lemonsharks and @oceanspray5 ‘s additional ideas.

This is that Lockwood and co serial killer prompt…

Tag list (or interest list for those who showed interest in the prompt. If you aren’t interested in the fic no worries): (also my Lockwood friends in general): @neewtmas @givemea-dam-break @thedonutdeliverygirl @ikeasupremacy @wellgoslowly @edmundlockwood @narnianweirdos @tangledinlove @so-true-jestie @oblivious-idiot @paysomeonetopaysomeone @peachesanddandelions @myownpainintheass @sadwinistic @almostlikequake @saelterlude @fandomscraziness22 @everythingwillend @uku-lelevillain @atlabeth @carlyleons @smol-being-of-light @losticaruss @superpositvecloudshipper @totally-not-an-npc @paranorahjones @malteevars-kee-devi @teaandtoastandthyme @jesslockwood @krash-and-co @lucy-j-carlyle

Please note this is a sideblog and all replies will come from @waitingforthesunrise

This takes place four months after The Hollow Boy: Lucy is an independent agent who starts investigating the wrong case, and Lockwood has always been living on borrowed time…

Warnings: mild language, general pain, angst, suggested injury, death, car accident, hint at torture, threats, hurt/very little comfort (yet). I’m so sorry, guys…

“Miss Carlyle.” Inspector Barnes sighed, flipping over the newspapers strewn across his desk. “Trust me. This is a case to let go.”

“What cases do we let go, Inspector?” Lucy leaned forward. “We’re agents. Getting to the bottoms of things is what we do.”

“And DEPRAC’s job is to make sure that’s the only thing you go to the bottom of,” Barnes said. “Miss Caryle, you have almost no evidence. You have no team. You certainly have no proof. There’s nothing here, and frankly this will only cause you danger I’m unable to help you with.” 

“I didn’t ask for your help,” Lucy snapped. “You called me here.” 

Barnes rubbed a hand across his jaw. Lucy stared stubbornly at his desk. They were sitting in his office; well-lit, clean, and smelling strongly of chemical cleaner. Lucy clenched her jaw, determined not to lose the silent battle. She was so tired — Barnes had called her and left no choice but to return to his office immediately after work. And now she was sitting here in front of his desk, wasting time…she could be eating breakfast, or in a warm shower…the hot water cascading over her tired shoulders….

But the water was shut off due to a leak at her apartment, and there would be now arm breakfast or inviting smells awaiting her. Only crusty dishes and a sulking skull. 

It had been four months since Lucy had left Portland Row. 

Barnes cleared his throat. “Let me make sure I understand. You first took the case from a Miss Helen Younge, correct?”

Lucy nodded. Miss Younge had been young no longer when they had met; the whispery, frail old lady worked at the take-out shop where Lucy often bought doughnuts. Miss Younge often showed Lucy pictures of her cats, but that had been the extent of their interactions until the day the old woman had seized Lucy’s wrist over the cash register and whispered, you’re an agent, aren’t you? Oh, I’m in such trouble…

Barnes studied a notebook. “She offered to pay you?”

“Of course. I am an independent agent. But it was more…”

“A favor?”

Lucy nodded. “She’s an old woman working at a bakeshop, Inspector. She could never pay for a Fittes or Rotwell team.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice; who knew how many nights Miss Younge and others like her had spent, anxious and afraid of things they were unable to see, knowing an inspection alone would cost them precious food?

If Barnes noticed it, he didn’t let on. “Surely you didn’t inspect the property at night?” He squinted at the paper. “An apartment building, nonetheless.”

“Of course not. I did it in daylight. But…” Lucy hesitated. “I thought it would be just a weak Type One, an old person’s death or something, but…”

“Yes?”

“There was a strange whispering.”

“Miss Carlyle, you are a Listener, and sources do have a habit —“

“I found the Source, sir. It was just a simple Type One and gave almost no trouble. But I don’t think it’s the only ghost there. There’s something else, maybe more than just one.”

Lucy paused, remembering the sticky brush of a spiderweb against her face, the quick rush of cool air, the sudden suspension of time. 

“It says here,” Barnes said, “you ‘found yourself stuck in a time-loop.’ You have no idea when it could be from, or what it’s stemming from. You’re convinced it’s connected to the Type One, but that it’s not the cause.”

“Exactly.” Lucy eagerly leaned forward. “The voice, it kept saying the same thing, over and over—”

“— help me, I’m dying, he took care of you, so now you’ll kill me too,” Barnes finished in a bored tone. “Very concise for a ghost.”

Lucy brushed off his skepticism. “Of course there was more, that’s just what was clear — Inspector, this ghost was murdered. Maybe Miss Younge’s Type One, too.”

“Wouldn’t it have been a bit stronger, then?”

“Not if it was a miserable, elderly person living alone in an apartment complex with a cat and a bottle of pain pills. Those are a dime a dozen, Inspector. The person might not even know they were murdered. Not until it was too late.” 

Barnes groaned. “You have the Source, don’t you.”

“Not on me,” said Lucy. She did. It was in her knapsack, securely sealed in iro; a small, initialed pocketknife. 

“Miss Carlyle—”

Lucy hurriedly shuffled through her knapsack, and held out a stack of papers. “Look, Inspector, I found these in the library — it’s a murder case, I’m sure, I think this might lead to the victim, an unnamed body — the Source gets clearer every time I listen to it—”

“Miss Carlyle!” Barnes brought his hand down on the table. “I don’t have time for this. DEPRAC can’t keep you off the case, but consider this a warning. Whatever happens after this is on you. And —“

The door banged open. Lucy looked up to see an ashen-faced assistant gabbling into a hand-held receiver. 

“Sir!” The assistant said. “Sir, it’s urgent…there’s been an accident outside, a body…”

Barnes jumped to his feet and hurried out the door, and Lucy, after hesitating for a moment, followed. 

Clouds were gathering in the sky overhead; the air smelled like rain. A cool breeze tugged at Lucy’s hair as she hurried down the steps after Inspector Barnes and towards the knot of people gathered near the road. 

“They said it was a green van,” the assistant said. “Just barreled through and drove off…”

Voices rose excitedly from the gawking group. “Came right out of nowhere, he did…just slammed into the poor thing…never had a chance….” 

“DEPRAC Inspector!” Barnes roared. “Stand back!”

The crowd drew apart, and Lucy had a clear view of the blood streaked face staring empty-eyed at the sky. 

It was Miss Younge. 

There was a blur of ambulances and shouting and the passerby offering eager comments. Lucy couldn’t look away from the sightless eyes and crumpled cardigan of the old woman. Her head pounded; it couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening. Miss Younge had given her a sandwich only that morning! The blood spattered across the pavement…

Barnes tried to steer her towards the steps, but she caught his sleeve. 

“Miss Carlyle —“

“Inspector.” Her voice was ragged even in her own ears. “Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? This is proof! She must have been coming here to tell me something, she must have found something out! She was murdered, I —“

“Lucy,” Barnes said gently. “There’s been an accident. I understand you’re distraught. Go home, get some sleep.”

“Don’t you get it? This isn’t an accident, this is murder!”

Barnes glanced at the crowd, the assistant waiting nervously, the flashing lights of the screeching ambulance. “This was an accident, Miss Caryle. You’re conjecturing —“

“No!” Lucy stumbled back. “No, it wasn’t.”

An official approached, holding a clipboard. “Inspector, if you’d step this way…”

Barnes looks down at the paper, and when he looked up, Lucy Caryle was gone. 

He swore under his breath. 

Lucy paused in front of Miss Younge’s apartment building, breathless. She had run all the way from DEPRAC headquarters, rapier digging mercilessly into her hip, stopping only at her apartment to retrieve the skull. Lucy would rather have died on a bed of hot coals than admit it out loud, but she felt safer with it at her side. She bent over, gasping. 

The skull groaned from inside her knapsack. “You know, I said that all that greasy food would slow you down. But did you listen? No, of course not. Why listen to your friends? Oh wait…” It cackled. “You only have one!”

“Shut up,” Lucy said abruptly. She was digging in her pockets for the key Miss Younge had given her. The key she had been going to return today….

But there was no time for that. She needed to focus, keep her mind clear. Find any clues before DEPRAC took over. She bounded up the stairs, skull complaining loudly in her ear. Hurry, hurry, hurry…

The door was unlocked. 

Lucy tapped it hesitantly and it creaked slowly open. 

“Put me down!” The skull complained. “I can’t see a thing!”

Lucy slid the jar out of the bag and set it in the corner. The room was dark and musty; a few half-empty bookshelves,  a stained quilt covered the sagging bed…and that strange muttering whisper in her ear sending shivers up her skin…

Something warm and furry brushed against her leg and she almost jumped out of her skin. 

“Skull! You could have warned me.”

“Oh, because that’s my job now? You haven’t even apologized for this morning, and you expect me to hand out my exceptional services for free? Besides, it’s only a cat.” 

The orange cat meowed hesitantly, and Lucy bent down to brush its back. 

“God, no,” the skull said. “Lucy…I see what you’re thinking, Lucy, and the answer is no!”

“We have to take it.” Lucy straightened up and began to examine the dusty bookshelves. “Miss Younge won’t be coming back.” 

“It’s a cat. Cats live like the little demons they are. ARGH! It’s coming closer, Lucy, make it stop, it’s so ugly…”

A sharp riiiing cut through the skull’s moans. Lucy jumped, glancing at the phone. Just a call. Probably some elderly friend, looking for a chat. And she’d have to tell them…

She picked up the receiver. “Hello, I—“

“Hello, Lucy Carlyle.” The voice was smooth; slippery, sharp, and entirely unfamiliar. “I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you. Might I add how beautiful you look this morning?”

Lucy froze. “Who is this?”

“A businessman. Looking for a deal.”

Lucy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t my number.”

“Oh, no. It’s your location. But why leave a message when I can reach you like this? I knew you’d come for the cat, anyway.”

The sounds of the skull arguing faded away. “What did you say?”

“Look, darling. You’ve had a good run. A good case. Why, if you go home now, you’ll even find a little payment on the doorstep.”

“A payment for what?”

“Dropping the case, of course.” The voice was like silk. “And never speaking about it to DEPRAC again. We wouldn’t want to bother our silly little head about it, would we?”

“I’m not dropping the case!”

“Oh?”

Lucy scrambled for time, a cold weight in the pit of her stomach. “So you know something? Miss Younge was murdered?”

“Oh, Miss Younge.” The man made a disgusted noise. “She was small and unimportant.”

“The Type One, then?”

“No, my dear. This is about Lockwood.” 

Four months. Four months. And her world still reeled at the sound of his name. 

Lucy swallowed. “What does Lockwood have to do with this?”

“What doesn’t he have to do with this is a better question. Everything about you traces back to him eventually, doesn’t it? But it’s simple: you bury the case or I bury the boy. After I’ve had some fun, of course…And come on, Lucy. We both know catching him wouldn’t be the hard part.”

“I—”

“You need to drop this while I still have the restraint for it. Think how hard it will be for me to stop after I’ve heard him beg like you have. The boy’s practically screaming for someone to end his misery already, and trust me — when I’m done, he will be. And I’m sure you saw that last case put him in the hospital for three days…No, our Locky’s been looking for death a long time…”

Lucy’s ears were ringing, her nose full of the heavy must of dust and cat. “I—“

“Good day, darling,” the voice said, and hung up. 

Lucy clenched the receiver, staring at the faded wallpaper. Her knees were shaking. God, he was right. That hospital visit. A broken leg. She had scanned the papers every day for news of Lockwood, hoping she wouldn’t find a death announcement, hating herself for it every time…

The skull was making horrific faces at the cat, which was inching closer. The skull yelped as Lucy swept it into the bag and bundled the cat in her arms. 

“What kind of treatment is this, huh? And we’re going home, I hope…”

“We’re going to find Lockwood,” Lucy said briefly. “Before it’s too late.” 

Lucy didn’t bother with the bell or the iron line. She threw herself at the door, hammering at the wood, a horrific panic clutching her heart. The voice had seemed so sure, so certain. She had imagined her re-entry to Portland Row many times; in one particularly gratifying scenario, Lockwood had been on his knees begging her, the hugely successful businesswomen, to save his beloved house. And now it was her begging for entry…she kicked the thoughts aside and hit the door with her foot. 

The door swung open unexpectedly and she fell into the dark hallway. George was staring at her, eyes round from behind his glasses, a rapier in his hand. 

“Lucy?” He said blankly. 

“George,” Lucy gasped, the cat leaping from her arms. She brushed her hair back with a sweaty palm. “Is Lockwood here? Hurry, please, I need to see him!!”

Holly appeared over George’s shoulder, wrapped in an elegant coat. “Oh, it’s Lucy! And she’s brought us a cat!”

“Please!” Lucy pushed past them towards the library. “Where is he? Lockwood!”

“Oh, Lucy,” Holly whispered. 

Lucy paused, the quiet house settling over her like a heavy weight. For the first time she noticed George and Holly’s coats and hats, rapiers strapped to their waists. 

“We were just going to find you,” said Holly. 

Lucy swallowed. “I..”

George heaved a sigh. “Lucy, Lockwood’s been missing for two days.”

The world was spinning again. 

Lucy felt a hand on her elbow, and Holly guided her into a chair. “Hurry, George, put on some tea, she’s probably frozen…oh, I’m so sorry…”

George made a disgruntled noise. “She still hasn’t said what she’s doing here.”

“I got a phone call,” Lucy said numbly. “About Lockwood. There’s this case — it was a warning, and I …Oh, my word.”

Holly set down a mug. “We were just going to look for you. We thought, maybe…”

“He wasn’t with me,” Lucy said. 

They all jumped at the shrill ring of the phone. The sound sliced through Lucy with a cold recognition. She rose. 

“I’m alright, Holly, really. I — I need to answer that call.”

“You don’t even work here!” George said, following her into the hall. “It’s not your job!”

“You never answered them even when it was your job,” she shot back. “And this one will be for me.” 

The receiver was cool in her hands. She stared at the dark bookshelves, breathing in the familiar smell of Portland Row. “Hello?”

Silence. 

Hope filled her. Maybe it was just a wrong number — a grocery order —

“Hello, darling,” the voice said, a soft chuckle hiding in it’s voice. “What a pleasure to hear your voice again.”

“Wish I could say the same for you.”

“My, my. Sass this early in the day? Did your little pals miss you?”

She gripped the receiver. “Where is he?”

“Where is he? But you’ve guessed that, haven’t you, Lucy Caryle? Best Listener in London. Head like that on your shoulders. You know where he is.” 

“I swear if you’ve hurt him,” she whispered. “It will be the last thing you ever do, do you hear me? I swear—“

“Oh, Lucy,” the voice crooned. “If I hurt him? You should be begging me for a little mercy.” He sighed. “What would you have guessed? DEPRAC arrived at the apartment only five minutes after you and started a Source sweep with a double team. Your Mister Barnes trusted you a little more than you thought. But that’s besides the point…”

“I don’t know you have him,” Lucy said. Geroge’s worried face loomed in her vision, Holly right behind him, hands clasped under her chin. “You could be lying.”

“I could.” The voice hummed lightly. “How would you like me to prove it to you? His voice saying your name? A handkerchief?”

Her stomach clenched. “A recording. A piece of fabric. Could have gotten them anywhere.”

“True,” it mused. “What about a finger? You’ve stared at his hands enough; you’d know them anywhere, wouldn’t you?”

“I—“

“Or his ring? The one you thought you might wear on your finger one day.” It chuckled. “Still time for that. At his funeral, maybe —“ 

“Where is he,” Lucy spat into the phone. “Where is he, you stupid bastard!?”

“Now, now,” the voice tsked. “I’m not cruel. Why don’t I just put him on the phone? Be a good girl and listen to his demands, now.”  

Lucy’s stomach dropped at the familiar voice over the phone. 

“Luce,” Lockwood said warmly. “It’s been a while!”

“My word, Lockwood,” she said faintly. It was him, really him; his voice and his nickname for her… “What are you doing?” 

“A spot of business. Quite nice, really.” 

She could hear the rough edges in his voice now, the little gasps on the end of his sentences, like the air was whistling through his lungs. 

“Lockwood,I—”

“It’s so good to hear your voice again, Luce; you have no idea. Wish you could have popped round for some tea the other day, though. George made your favorite.”

“Lockwood!”

His voice was weary when he spoke again. “Yes, Luce?”

She turned away from the others. “What’s going on, Lockwood? They couldn’t find you — I was so worried — where are you? Where do I need to go? I’ll come and I’ll —“

“Not to worry,” Lockwood said cheerfully, but it sounded forced, as though he was saying it through clenched teeth. “I’ve got it all handled, Luce. Everything’s under control. You’re not running yourself to the ground over me, are you, Luce?  Get some rest and take care, you hear me? And stay at Portland Row as long as you like. Oh, and tell Holly that I broke one of her pink teacups the other day. She can order a new set. My apologies.”

Lucy’s gaze rose to meet Holly’s horrified eyes. “Lockwood!” She spat, trying desperately to keep the panic from her voice. “Tell me where you are, I swear — dear God, Lockwood, this isn’t a joke—”

“Isn’t it? That reminds me: I heard a particularly good one the other day, I made a note to tell you…” Lockwood hissed sharply. “Ah. Oh, that’s better.” There was a sliding sound. “Just needed to sit down.”

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Lucy knew she was babbling. “Lockwood, please, please—”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s okay, Luce.” Lockwood’s voice was perfectly calm, with only a slight tremor to remind her they weren’t sitting across from each other at the breakfast table. “I promise.”

“No!” She gasped for breath. “No, you swore you would never lie to me again, Lockwood — you swore—”

“Lucy!” Lockwood chuckled, but inhaled sharply as though it pained him. “I’m taking care of a brief issue. It’s business as usual.”

“No, Lockwood, it’s not! Just tell me, please, please—”

“I’ve spent my life feeling like a weapon,” Lockwood said quietly, his voice echoing over the phone. “Always living on borrowed time. I never could tell if the weapon was pointed at myself or at others. But I’ll make damn sure it isn’t pointed at you.”

A ragged sob caught in Lucy’s throat. It wasn’t real. She’d wake up tomorrow, in her own bed, and Lockwood would still be an annoying prick who lived nearby, and she would have a chance to fix everything. It couldn’t end like this.

And here she was, already acting as though it was the end. 

“No,” she whispered into the phone, her voice growing louder. “No! NO.  DAMN YOU, LOCKWOOD, YOU ANNOYING BASTARD — JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO DIE, I WON’T LET YOU, I—“

“Listen to me, Lucy,” Lockwood said, his voice suddenly urgent. She broke off, sobbing for breath. His voice was quick and direct, like they were on a case together. “Take the Source. Listen exactly to what it says, and then tell Barnes. Okay? And then take it to the furnaces and burn it. Understood? You’ll be alright. Everything’s under control.” 

“No,I—”

“One last thing,” said Lockwood, his voice shaking just a little. “Luce, I needed to say…there’s not much time, but I lov—”

There was a sharp beep, and the line went dead. 

~ To be continued ~

[sciroccoorion35]

Chapter 3 - Lockwood crashes the Fittes Masquerade

Raiting: M, Words: 10,786 and counting

Snippet under the cut <3

He was just wondering if he ought to say something when she turned her head, glancing about the room, and their eyes connected.

“Lockwood!” she said, clearly startled. “I didn’t realize you were invited to—”

Lockwood stepped forward quickly, putting a finger up to his lips and she cut off. He glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention.

“I wouldn’t say I was invited in the strictest sense,” he said in a low voice, meant just for her ears.

Her eyes, already as large and round as a doe’s, became impossibly rounder. “Oh.”

“I would take it as a great favor if you promised not to tell your cousin that I’m here,” he added, realizing as soon as he said it that talking to her had been a terrible idea.

“Oh really?” Beneath her mask, her expression turned considering. “And what do I get if I keep your secret?”

“What could a poor, political science and anthropology double major like myself hope to offer you?” he asked theatrically, placing a hand on his heart. “Oh, I know!” he said, dropping the dramatics. “How about something to drink that doesn’t taste like wine flavored seltzer?”

She snorted, looking down at her neglected food and drink. “I don’t suppose you could rustle up something more normal to eat as well?” she asked. “Like cheezies or chips?”

“Fear not, good lady. I shall not fail in this quest! Although you’ll have to explain what cheezies are, is that like cheez-its?”

This was also a terrible idea, but seeing the laughter dancing in her eyes instantly made it well worth the risk.

[krash-and-co]

OK KERMIT VS KIPPS FICLET

I am so sorry (not really) idk what happened to me (I have always been insane)

as usual vote kipps in @favcharacterpoll !!!

fic under cut. and yes, the title is from being green. mwah

it seems you blend in (with so many other ordinary things)

Quill’s boots scraped under his feet at his slow trek across rough cement. It was dark, it was cold, it was long past curfew and fear sent icy nails scraping the back of his neck. Specters longed for his life force, longed for the rush of a living soul.

But they weren’t the only thing to fear tonight.

He didn’t know why he agreed to come out. Anybody with half a mind would have just stayed home, but Kipps was prideful. Kipps was too prideful. So of course he’d agreed to meet up tonight, despite better judgement and care for his own life.

And it was too late now to go back.

He tightened his grip on his rapier and carried on walking.

The trip to the alley was short and definitely not sweet, more incriminating than anything-- bad shit happens in a back alley most times. You find bodies there. Kipps didn't want to be one of them, but it wasn't looking too likely he wouldn't see his nose to the floor at least once. At least he had the sense to bring his goggles so he wasn't dead before even arriving.

Scratch, tap. Scratch, tap.

His footsteps came to a stop.

He took in his surroundings on instinct.

Around him was garbage, which wasn't a huge surprise. In between him were two brick walls, seeming ever so close to squeezing in on him (perhaps his imagination?) but a surprising lack of ghosts at all. But he still didn't feel alone. Kipps pressed his goggles harder on his face, as if that would help at all.

Nothing.

Somehow that was even more unsettling.

"What have you done?" Kipps called into the night, although no one was nearby. "And how? You know, my team could use someone wh-- oof!"

Something had kicked his stomach. He keeled over.

"Show yourself!" he wheezed. Stumbling to his feet, Quill waved his rapier aimlessly.

As if he was back where he was last year.

As if he was back being blind to the threats of the world.

Damnit, he was better than that. Not much, but--

A flash of movement.

Kipps stabbed.

A clang of metal.

Kipps lunged.

A shove to his back.

Kipps swung around. He felt cloth in his fingers, fuzzy like felt, and squeezed so it couldn't escape. "Gotcha," he smirked, which lasted all of two seconds.

The cloth in his hands was gone before he could register.

"Who are you!?" Kipps yelled. "We're ending this now, damnit!"

You are, maybe, came a voice from above.

No, left. No, right. No, below? Kipps swung his rapier in every one of those directions at least twice.

"You are, maybe," he repeated mockingly under his breath. "Shut the fuck up." Which was kind of bold for someone five foot one with his only weapon pointed at a brick wall.

Are you afraid? the voice asked laughingly.

"Me? no," Kipps replied, afraid. "You, however--"

A clatter behind him. A grip on his shoulder. A manly scream.*

Hi ho, called a whisper from everywhere all at once. Kermit the frog here.

*(author's note: male toddlers are still male, it counts.)

[worldofkaeos]

Skullyle arc through the Black Winter and till the end of The Creeping Shadow

[jesslockwood]

Detecting The Haunted

Pairing : Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Ex-detective!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, death, blood, gore, basically things that are in the Lockwood and co series (individual chapters will have more specific warnings)

Summary: Y/n a now ex-detective, had always been warned by her father never to become an agent. But in desperate times and having to take desperate measures, Lockwood and co convinces her to stay due to them seemingly being her only current option, even though she has to live with the one and only, Anthony bloody Lockwood who she can't seem to get past loathing.

Main Masterlist

Chapters

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

[locklylemybeloved]

guys please send me locklyle fic recs im actually parched and like need some nourishment PLEASE 🙏

[mistandshcdow]

Lockwood was at the foot of the stairs where he had first met Lucy, the sound of the Thames lapping darkly against the foundations of the warehouse echoing around him. He climbed up, spotting the abandoned boot that Lucy had threatened him with, lying on its side on the dusty floor. He stepped over it and walked to the empty window, a large open hole in the old brick, a portal through which one could easily step–or plunge–into the water below. Lockwood sat down, his legs dangling over the side. There was no real view, just the river and the low lights of the warehouse district, reflecting weak stars onto the surface of the Thames, moving slightly with the water. The night air kissed his face, and he closed his eyes. For a moment, Lockwood could have been anywhere. 

But he was here, and that angered him to no end, because there was no reason for it. By all laws of the universe, by every fable and roll of the cosmic dice, Lockwood should be dead. His family was dead. He should have been killed by a ghost, or one kick to the head by Julius Winkman’s steel-toed boot, or the Thames itself, stretching innocently beneath his feet. It wouldn’t be the first time Lockwood had lingered at the edge, staring into the void, and watching it stare back up into him. Looking at darkness like that was hard to come back from. He was still here, sure, but he didn’t know if he had come back.

some dogs think their name is no chapter 7 "eternal grudge/love forever" (releasing october 8!)

[monsterbananatv]

WIP game asks! Oh wow it was difficult to pick two. Never beating the big brother allegations and Lucy??? What're you doing here??? please!

Those are both of my Kipps fics!

Never beating the big brother allegations is technically just a title rn but it was going to be a 5+1 of some sort but as I was typing this I think I came up with a better idea. What if I made it the title of the series and have the series just be fics about Kipps being the reluctant big brother we know he is. I have a few ideas for different things… the chances of me writing them all and finishing is slim but there’s a chance because I really want to use this name lol. We shall see what becomes of it.

Lucy??? What’re you doing here??? is my after Lucy leaves l&co where does she go fic. Cause like her leaving is rather abrupt and honestly how quickly do we think she would she be able to find her apartment so where would she go for a little bit? Yup, Kipps’s. She shows up at his flat with nowhere else to go and he helps her out like the big brother he is. I don’t have much currently cause I got derailed trying to figure out how she would know his address but my goal is getting it done before Kipps appreciation weekend lol.

Here’s a snippet for you:

When Quill Kipps opened the door of his apartment late one bleary winter night, the last person he expected to see was one Lucy Carlyle, teary eyed and carrying everything she owned.

“Carlyle?” He thought maybe he was imagining her. He rubbed at his eyes but she remained standing there. “Why are you here?”

She avoided his eyes, staring down at her boots. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

Thank you for the ask! I appreciate it ❤️

[hollcwboy]

a little ‘some dogs’ teaser for you, the new chapter will be up on tuesday!! + introducing my new side blog for exclusively l&co! i will still be posting about them on main @mistandshcdow but this page will be dedicated to l&co and the fics i write for it! welcome <3 ⚔️🩹⚰️

[lockwoodandcobigbang2023]

Sign Ups Are Open!

Signups are open for the 2023 Lockwood and Co Big Bang! These signups are for writers, artists, cheerleaders and reserve agents!

Feel free to sign up as many times as you want, just don't take on more than you can handle! Each role is a commitment, and your eventual teammates won't want you overworking yourself. If you want to sign up more than once, fill out the form again.

Rules can be found on the form, but a separate post will be up shortly! If you want a refresher on what the roles involve, read under the cut :)

For Writers

There are three types of bangs for this event: teeny bangs, mini bangs, and big bangs.

Teeny bangs: fics between 5–10k words.

Mini bangs: fics between 10–20k words.

Big bangs: fics 20k+ words.

The minimum word count for this event is 5k (5,000) words. If you find yourself over or under the word count you signed up for, this is okay, just please communicate with the event mods.

The rules are on the form and will be posted separately, but a brief run down (feel free to send an ask if you want more details):

No explicit (E-rated), RPF or incest fics allowed.

There are no limits on ships (besides what is stated above), genres, tropes, or universes.

No plagiarism will be tolerated.

Works must be labelled and trigger-tagged appropriately.

Works must be posted to AO3.

Fics submitted must be new to the public! The occasional preview/snippet is okay, provided it is after the teams have been announced, but they must not have been posted anywhere prior to or during the event.

Good luck!

For Artists

As you know, there are three types of bangs. For all fics under 20k words (i.e. teeny and mini bangs) you must create at least one piece of art. For big bangs (20k+ words) you must create two pieces of art.

This can be in any medium you deem fit, but unfortunately we are not accepting playlists as official artworks. Don't let this stop you from including them as additions if you want to though! Examples of appropriate art includes hand drawn/digital art, gifts, mood boards, video edits etc.

Remaining info:

Art must be relevant to the associated fic.

White-washing and orange-washing will not be tolerated.

Art must not be posted anywhere before posting dates, beyond hints/snippets. It must be new to the public!

We can't wait to see what you come up with!

For Cheerleaders

Your role is arguably the most important! It is your job to motivate and help your writer, whether that is by beta reading or simply providing encouragement! Don't be afraid to support your artist too, you're the only person they can fully share the art with (aside from their writer) before the posting day!

Brief rules:

Respect your writer and artist.

Do not share your writer's or author's work.

Please keep an open communication with your writer and artist! If for any reason you can't continue your role, please let them and the mods know as soon as possible.

Be encouraging!

We hope you're as excited as we are!

For Reserve Agents

You're the ones that have to be ready to step in at a moment's notice! (You'll probably have a fair bit of notice since this is a long event, but still.) Reserve Agents are on hold in the event that another writer or artist drops out of the event, so they can take their place in a team!

Don't worry, if you're called to action you won't have to do as much as someone who had initially signed up. As an agent reserve you:

only need to write half of the required words for a bang if you're a writer (2.5k for a teeny, 5k for a mini, 10k for a big).

will be accommodated by a later poster date if necessary if you're an artist.

That's all for now. We can't wait to kick this off!

Signed, L&Co Big Bang 2023 mods :))

[portlandrowismyhome]

Borrowed Time: Chapter Two

part two of the serial killer Lockwood and co AU. Warnings for severe angst, mentions of torture, non graphic injury descriptions, minor language, fear, ANGST no comfort unless you count the horrific sadness of memory. Short chapter but more soon!!

please note this is a sideblog and all replies will come from @waitingforthesunrise. I truly appreciate comments and thoughts!!

tag list: @neewtmas @lemonsharks @givemea-dam-break @teaandtoastandthyme @givemea-dam-break @cordelia-street @paysomeonetopaysomeone @malteevars-kee-devi @the-biscuit-agreement @krash-and-co @oceanspray5 @smol-being-of-light @skies-of-gray @ikeasupremacy @wellgoslowly @oblivious-idiot @jesslockwood @tangledinlove @superpositvecloudshipper @peachesanddandelions @charmquarkstrangequark @pathetic-atthedisco @ladygrayish @saelterlude @carlyleandco @carlyleons @naivedaydreamer

CHAPTER TWO

Lucy awoke to the golden afternoon sun and the heavy weight of a cat on her chest.

She lay there, blinking at the blank ceiling; Miss Younge’s cat patted a heavy paw on her cheek. 

“Took you long enough,” a disgruntled voice said from the floor, and with a burst of cold awareness Lucy knew where she was. 

She was in Lockwood’s bedroom. 

More correctly: she was in Lockwood’s bed. 

It felt so familiar because it was the second time. It felt so strange because this time there was no messy-haired boy asleep beside her. 

“Hello, Skull,” she said quietly. There was a leaden weight inside her ribcage; words felt heavy and forced, like slow molasses. 

Lucy closed her eyes against the warm sunlight and tried to remember what had happened earlier. What day was it? Had the trip to Barnes and that awful, horrific phone call only been this morning? And Lockwood’s voice on the phone, that pleading note in his voice —

The cat meowed protestingly as she sat up and swung her legs over the bed.

“Did Holly bring you up?” She asked the Skull. It was all a blur in her head: staring at the phone in her hand, the burst of pain in her chest, and the sudden tip and swing of the room. 

“Holly put me in a bag — a very smelly and disgusting bag, if you even care,” the Skull complained loudly. “And you could barely walk in a straight line. George had to practically fight you into bed. Holly asked if I would smell up the kitchen — as though that blond boy isn’t a worse health hazard! And—“

Lucy picked up the pillow from Lockwood’s side of the bed and held it to her chest. She had clutched it tightly against her in sleep, and she hoped desperately that the Skull had not noticed. It still smelled like him….a faint hint of citrus, something like the dusty books of the library…the first morning she had woken up beside him, his arm still draped over her waist and her leg over his….she opened her eyes and studied the faint worry lines traced across his forehead….Anthony Lockwood. He looked tired even in sleep. 

“Are you crying?” The Skull demanded loudly. “Are those tears? What kind of independent agent are you?”

Lucy set the pillow down. “I’m not crying,” she snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

She wished she could cry, but her eyes were dry as a bone and just as heavy. She slid off the bed and crossed to the window, peering out into the bright afternoon. People crossed the street below, wrapped in coats and colorful scarves. The winter sun glinted off the taxicabs and the shiny rapiers of a pair of Fittes agents climbing into a car down the block. 

That other morning, waking up beside Lockwood, she had left, too. 

She had stared at his dark lashes and purple signs of sleeplessness, and wanted. What, she didn’t know. 

She had stumbled into his room that night, gasping, unable to breath, the panic choking her words, barely able to make it through the door. And then his arms were around her, and his scent and his voice…

Do you ever think about dying? She asked later, lying beside him in the darkness, his hand tracing slow circles on her waist. 

His fingers paused. Yes, he said quietly. But not with the same love. 

She clutched Lockwood’s hand, choking on the words she wanted to say. Don’t leave. Take me with you. Sometimes I want to go, too. I see the way you look at the ghosts. You’d trust me, wouldn’t you? You’d stumble through my door if you couldn’t breathe? Or would you let it take you away? 

But she only said, I’m glad you’re here.

I’m with you, he said, and drew her closer. 

And then the morning had broken and she had slid out of the warm bed and into the cold dawn because she couldn’t breathe, and it was all the fault of the sleeping boy. She had stumbled through Arif’s empty aisles and something within her wanted to run and never look back. 

If he dies —

She hadn’t wanted to finish the sentence. She had stood in the doorway in Portland Row and looked at Lockwood’s panicked face as he tumbled down the stairs and felt an overwhelming sense of dread. 

“Luce!” He had said, fear gasping through his nonchanlent tone. “I thought maybe…I woke up and you were…”

She held up the box. “Just donuts. That’s all.”

He nodded, trying to catch his breath, and Lucy had tried to drown her fears in icing. But, like ghosts, they returned in the night. 

The Skull interrupted her thoughts. “Do you really think that boy is worth all this, Lucy? If you ask me, it’s a handy way to end it. And look! Maybe he left you the house! I can see it now: Skull and Co, in gold letters….”

Lucy studied the bedroom. It was a shambled sort of tidiness: half-hearted attempts had been made at cleaning up, but clothes still lurked on the seat of the armchair and books gathered dust beside the bed. 

“Compared to that hole of a garbage disaster you call an apartment, Lockwood was a cleaning maniac,” the Skull remarked. 

“He didn’t change the flowers.” Lucy pointed to the vase of flowers beside the bed in the ugly vase she had given him their first Portland Row Christmas. It was meant to be a joke, but Lockwood had solemnly replaced the flowers every week and refused to acknowledge the hilarity. The flowers were wispy and rotting. 

She closed her eyes. “They’ve been there for weeks.”

“So? Maybe he had better things to do with his life than stuff flowers into the vase some girl gave him.” 

“He wasn’t…”

“Doing well? Applause! Brilliance! Someone give her a prize, the girl’s a genius!” The skull smirked from the green jar. “You’ve been convincing yourself that your leaving would solve everything. It just made more problems, and Lucy Caryle doesn’t like that. How dare her brilliant plan not work?”

“Shut up,” Lucy snapped. She tried to smooth her crumpled blue shirt over her waist, doing her best not to glance at Lockwood’s closet door. 

“You’d wear his sweatshirt if you weren’t such a coward,” the Skull said. “Oh wait! You couldn’t bear anyone knowing you have feelings. I bet you’d smell better, though.”

“You’re in a jar! You can’t smell.”

“I can detect the aura,” the Skull remarked with satisfaction. “That god-awful cat is scratching at the door again, Lucy. Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Just put it on and let’s go downstairs, I’m bored silly.”

Lucy slid her hand over the hanging shirts, Lockwood’s one concession to proper organization. She knew he kept a gray sweatshirt hanging somewhere…and really, it was just because she couldn’t go and change at her old apartment, could she? And Holly’s clothes wouldn’t fit her….she swept her hand across the top shelf and knocked something heavy to the floor. 

A blue notebook stared back, tumbling open to reveal closely-written pages. 

“Lucy!” The skull said. “The cat is looking at me. Lucy—”

Lucy knelt and picked up the notebook, smoothing the pages. There was a date in careful ink at the top….With a jolt of recognition, she knew what it was. 

“It’s Lockwood’s diary,” she said quietly. 

The Skull groaned loudly. “Of course he kept a diary. I bet he went to that gloomy graveyard and sat on his parents graves to write in it. But only on windy days so he could mess up his hair and feel something. Oh, Lucy looked at me today,” the Skull moaned, “and I’m such an stupid idiot I just looked back with my mouth hanging open.”

Lucy barely heard. She sat back on her heels, feeling the weight of the notebook in her hands. “What if Lockwood knew something?” She asked. “What if he wrote what cases he was working on? What if it wasn’t a kidnapping? Our cases could have been crossing.”

She tried not to think about all the ways the caller could have abducted him. An invitation to a single case….a note signed in her name, asking to meet privately…

He would have walked into the trap singing. 

Lockwood, she thought desperately, Lockwood, you’re such an idiot…

There was a sudden knock on the door, and Lucy jumped to her feet. She felt off-balence without the rapier attached to her hip. 

Holly peered around the door. Her eyes were shy underneath the long, dark eyelashes, and Lucy wondered disgruntledly when she’d had time to do make-up and her hair. 

“Good morning, Lucy,” Holly said hopefully. “I just wanted to…check on you. There’s food downstairs, if you’d like? You should really eat something. I’ll get you a drink.I—”

“Holly.” Lucy held out the notebook, her voice cracking. “Have you seen this notebook before?”

“It’s Lockwood’s, I think. He carried it around sometimes.” Holly crossed the floor and touched Lucy’s arm gently. “Lucy…we’ll find him. We’ll try everything…”

Lucy looked into Holly’s eyes, searching for some kind of reassurance. She wanted to push the other girl away, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hug her tightly. She wanted things to go back to the way they were; but when was that? There had been good moments, she was sure of it, but all she could remember was standing on the doorstep and looking at Lockwood’s sleep-dazed face and thinking if he dies now I’ve killed him. If he dies now I couldn’t save him or I could and didn’t and —

And so it was better to go while there was time. 

But, Lucy thought, what if the time had already almost run out? 

Across the city, same time 

“Is that really all you’ve got?” Lockwood asked mockingly. “Pitiful.” 

His skull snapped back against the wall with the force of the blow. He sighed, letting himself crumple to the floor and steadying himself against the concrete. His head was spinning badly enough he almost could forget there awful pain in his ribs and the pooling blood beneath him. He thought of Lucy’s smile. Lucy! He should have told her. Something, anything. That he was sorry for loving her like he did; so broken, so painful, in so many pieces. It hasn’t always been like that. He had thought, for a few months, he wasn’t so unfixable after all��That one night she had come to him, running from the darkness, and he had woken with her in his arms in the small hours of the morning. He had felt whole, then. And now —

A hand twisted his face upwards. “You’re thinking of her,” the voice snarled. “She’ll come.”

“She won’t,” Lockwood said with all the strength he could. 

“She will. She has to save you, after all.”

Lockwood sighed, his breath burning his ribs. “She doesn’t have to save me…”

“Maybe not. But she thinks she does. That’s all that’s needed.” The figure chuckled and crouched on the ground. “Do you recognize me, Anthony Lockwood?”

Lockwood stared into the hollow, burning eyes of a man that had changed little in four years. He leaned back and waited for the pain to come.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.” 

to be continued ~

[sciroccoorion35]

leave this one alone

Skull writes his memoirs. WC: 770 Rating: T (language)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59836357

“It was a dark and stormy night when I came into this world. It was a darker and stormier night when I left it…why aren’t you writing that down?”

“Er…are you sure this is how you want your memoir to begin?”

“Yes! Write it! Now where was I…?”

“You left the world.”

“I was torn cruelly from the bosom of this earth, my soul cast adrift in a place of ice and cruelty. But I clung on! For I knew the secrets of Death from the visionary work of the late Edmund Bickerstaff….”

“Not to mention unethical, unwise and insane.”

“Well, yes, that too. Nevertheless, I willed myself back into the mortal realm. I was weak, limited, tethered to my remains…You wouldn’t believe how gross it was watching the rats devour my corpse. There was a worrying bit when my body was washed further down the sewers in a rainstorm and by then the head had come fully detached and it went one way and my body went another and there was a tricky moment where I wasn’t sure which way I was going to be dragged and…”

“Sorry, am I supposed to be writing all of that?”

“Oh, er, no I guess not.”

“Do you want to say how you wound up dead in a Lambeth Sewer?”

“Erm, no, better not. And I think we can skip the bit where agents came to collect me because I kept popping up into toilets connected to the sewer and blowing cold air up people’s privates.”

“What? You never told me that!”

“Oh. Right, well we can skip it in any case. I was taken to Marissa Fittes herself, who asked me many questions about the nature of death and plasm. But I could see right through her vile purposes and refused to share!”

“Oh right, it was because you’re such a good judge of character. Sure it was.”

“Absolutely. Then I was locked away until a certain horridly shaped and half-mad, disgraced ex-Fittes researcher stole me in retribution and brought me to this dreary old house…”

“Portland Row is not dreary! And I’m not writing that about George being half-mad. He is perfectly sane and solved the entire Problem in the end.”

“With a load of help from me!”

“Sure, a bit.”

“A bit?!”

“Anyways, you were brought to Portland Row…”

“Ugh, fine. Yes, I was brought here and spent the first month screaming at the top of my lungs, but George and Lockwood are as dumb as posts so neither one heard me. It wasn’t until the radiant Ms. Lucy Carlyle joined the company that I finally had an equal I could converse with. Someone I could share the secrets of mortality with. Someone I could share the long, dark nights…”

“Eurgh, don’t make it sound so… so…”

“So what? We did spend many nights together, you and I.”

“But you make it sound so sordid!”

“Oh and all your going on in your memoirs about how floppy Lockwood’s hair is and how anaemic his skin looks wasn’t?”

“I was being descriptive!”

“You were as thirsty as a salt-drunk sailor for that flapdoodle.”

“I was not!”

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a bunch. Besides, he was just as bad. You should have heard him trying to make excuses for the way he was constantly staring at your arse.”

“What?!”

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t put any of that in my memoir. Who wants to read about any of that? Anyways, as I was saying, you and I spent many nights together, coming to a deeper understanding of one another, of the way our lives were hopelessly entwined…why aren’t you writing?”

“I’m not writing that.”

“Oh, come on, Lucy! You were allowed to take certain liberties with your writing. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Because I’m the one writing it!”

“Would it help if I talked about how ample your bosom is?”

“NO!”

“Okay, okay. They are though, you know. Nice and…Hey! Where are you going?”

“I quit.”

“You can’t quit! And you don’t have a lever to close anymore. I’ll just follow you around the house until you agree.”

“I’ll stick you in a silver seal and hide you under George’s bed.”

“You won’t!”

“Don’t test me.”

“But Luuuuucyyyyy…”

“I’m going out into the garden. To enjoy the sunshine.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“See you at sunset, jerk.”

“Wagtail!”

“Knob!”

“Hornswaggler!”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means…oh, she’s gone. Well, time to go rearrange George’s research papers I guess. Not sure who I’m even talking to. Oh well… Hmm hmm hmmm…on the day I was born, the nurses all gathered round…something, something… Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh…cause I'm here to tell ya honey, that I’m bad to the bone…”

[yveni]

Fluff

No, seriously, this fic will literally make the teeth fall right out of your gums, completely rotted. So much fluff.

3.4k words

First of all, thank you so, so much to @books-and-pumpkins for double-checking and correcting my French. I’m super duper grateful for your contribution to this.

Basically I seen a hc where Lockwood is fluent in French and spiraled from there. So here is an aged-up, married Locklyle. 

Very long post ahead.

!BOOK SPOILERS!

french translation at the bottom if you’re curious

“Anthony, dear, could you bring me my sketch pad before you come down?” I shout absentmindedly to my husband. I hear his footsteps halt on the stairs before turning back. 

I seldom use “Anthony” so casually, or even “dear”, but events that occurred while getting dressed made me want to milk my condition. The condition (which at the moment is relentlessly tapping on my inner rib) that in no way makes me incapable of going upstairs to grab my sketch pad for myself. 

I position my chair in a convenient ray of light streaming in through our window, sitting with my body turned sideways to illuminate the swell of my sundress. I had discovered this morning - quite irritatingly, at first - that my usual skirts no longer sat comfortably at my waistline. Dresses and leggings were going to have to be my wardrobe for the next five months. Upon putting on one of the only two dresses I own, a plain blue one that cinched just above my rib cage, I was taken aback by how obvious my stomach had become. I no longer looked as though I had eaten twice the amount of biscuits I should’ve (although the cravings did often cause that), I look as though I am carrying a baby. Cause I am. 

The kitchen door opens, and I look up to greet my husband, but instead I see George. 

“You don’t have to look so disappointed, Luce.” He says. 

George had moved out almost a year ago to live with Flo, but he still has a key. Honestly, I see him just as often as when he did live at Portland Row, since he comes around whenever he feels like. 

“Good morning, George!” I smile warmly, because although I was a bit disappointed he wasn’t Lockwood, the hormones caused me to be quite overly fond of him. He looks at me oddly. 

“Morning, Lucy. You look very pregnant today. Where’s my mug?” He begins opening cupboards and pulling out tea supplies.

I smile again, glad to know that the strategic arrangement of myself, my dress, and the utilization of the early afternoon light was working. “Should be in the same place it always is, Georgie. While you’re at it, could you make me a tea as well?”

I hadn’t made my own yet, I was planning on having Lockwood do it. George will do just fine, although his cup of tea wouldn’t come with the forehead kiss that always accompanies Lockwood’s cups of tea. 

George stops and turns in his tracks, his gaze moves from the window, to me, and then to my belly. He scoffs. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He reaches for another cup.

“Then why did you pull that face just now?”

“I’m always pulling a face.”

“Yeah, but not usually at me.” I grumble. 

He drops the tea bags in the steaming cups as he shrugs, “I see exactly what you’re doing, Luce. You could probably get away with it on Lockwood, but you forget that I have brothers, who all have wives, who have all been pregnant. You are perfectly capable of making your own cup of tea.”

“Seems to have worked a little bit.” I grin as he places my mug before me.

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He sits down in his usual spot at the table, then pulls some papers out of his bag and begins rifling through them. 

“Another gate found?” I ask.

The past few years, the Problem had significantly reduced, although the occasional gate would surface and stir up trouble; some were remainders of the Orpheus Society’s work, but usually they were attempts at recreating what the Society had done. DEPRAC was hard at work trying to figure out who was leaking the information about source gates; Lockwood and Co. provided whatever help we could. 

We hadn’t taken an actual psychic case in over a year. Holly’s talents had faded a few months after the destruction of Fittes house - Kipps had offered to share the goggles, but she refused for fashion’s sake, and stuck to secretary work for the company. It wasn’t for another three years that Lockwood’s talents followed, and then George. At that point, we hadn’t really had use of our talent anyway, as opportunities for cases were not as frequent as they used to be. I wasn’t sure when my own talents faded, but I assumed they did by now; I hadn’t been in a situation where I had to use them. We work alongside DEPRAC now, giving them whatever insight we could about what Marissa Fittes had said of her involvement in the Problem. Lockwood was very influential in the cleaning up of the gates, and the removal of the nets blocking the spirits from moving on. 

George proved himself in the research field, as we all expected, and was often giving lectures about the Problem, properties of sources, and how to prevent outbreaks from spreading. Lockwood and I found ourselves traveling outside of London, going to small villages, helping smaller agencies not only train their agents, but also provide insight into their most prominent hauntings. A few times, our guidance helped them find source clusters that were almost as powerful as a gate. 

Much to everyone’s relief, the terrible headlines of ghost-touch and hauntings were becoming fewer and fewer. The Problem was on its way out, and whatever attempts to bring it back in were becoming easier for DEPRAC to squash. Agencies still trained, iron wards still hung, and lavender gardens still flourished, but the world was beginning to feel safe. 

Safe enough to stop living everyday like it could be our last, safe enough for George to move out, safe enough to get married… safe enough to have a child. I smile and instinctively place my hand on top of my belly.

“Yeah, some nitwits in the country. It was caught after a week, but it was enough to stir up a poltergeist and a few changers it sounds like.” George says, looking at files over the top of his glasses, “They might benefit from you and Lockwood paying them a visit. They’ve only got six agents.” He flits his gaze back to me, and smirks, “Although, Kipps can go instead, since you’re not even feeling up to making your tea.”

I sit up defensively, “I can work and make a baby at the same time!”

“I thought you already went through the trouble of making a baby, surely you’re more professional than to do that while you’re working.” 

“George, you must know, the professionalism part is ensuring you don’t get caught making a baby while you’re working.” Lockwood says from the doorway. “I see you’re helping yourself to my tea.”

He leans against the doorframe, my sketch pad in hand, regarding George and I. As always, he looks immaculate; a crisp, white shirt tucked into a dark pair of slacks, showing off his slender frame. Regretfully, my careful stance against the sunlight had been ruined during my conversation with George. Lockwood’s view of me does not include my sundress or my stomach, which was now hidden by the Thinking Cloth. Instead, I am hunching over my tea, glaring at George, cheeks slightly flushed at the implications of making a baby at work. I impulsively grab a biscuit and throw it in George’s direction, almost making it into his tea cup. 

George picks it up and takes a bite, speaking as he chews, “Helping myself to your biscuits as well, courtesy of your wife.”

Lockwood grins at that. We’ve been married seven months, and we both still thrill at hearing others refer to us accordingly. Granted, George had been doing it since the first time he caught us snogging in the library, but it still sends a shock through my body when I hear it.

“You’re not feeling well, Luce?” My husband deposits the sketch pad in front of me and studies my face. 

My eyebrows furrow, “I feel fine.” 

“I overheard George say you’re not up to making tea.” Lockwood strides across the kitchen, heading straight to the kettle and tea supplies George had left out. I immediately take the opportunity of his back being turned to reposition myself, sunbeam, dress, stomach, and all.

I ignore George’s snort into his mug. “George doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“I’m right here.”

Lockwood looks in our direction, probably with some clever comment to reply with, but catches sight of exactly what I’ve been wanting him to catch sight of. His eyes begin to glow as they fall on my figure, a smile lighting up the room more than my sunbeam. “More tea, Lucy?”

I quickly down what’s left of my cup, “If you insist.”

He walks over, but instead of making for my mug, he grabs my hand and pulls me out of my chair, stooping a little to place both his hands over my stomach. His grin gets even wider, “When did this happen?”

“Overnight, I think.” We both beam down at the bump. He lifts his gaze to mine, our faces level, and goodness, those brown eyes in the sunlight could make me melt.

He places a finger under my chin, guiding me into a kiss. 

“I’m taking my research to my desk.” George states loudly, I’m only slightly aware of the sound of him grabbing his papers and disappearing into the basement.

I wrap my arms around Lockwood’s neck, going on tiptoe so he can stand up straight. He drags his hands down my back in return, letting them settle at my hips. Probably disturbed by my quickening heartbeat, the tapping on my ribs starts up again.

I slightly pull away from Lockwood, he gives a little whine of complaint, trying to close the gap between us again. 

“No, feel.” I grab one of his hands and place it back on my stomach, approximately where I feel the tapping.

“Lucy, every time we try, I can’t feel it.” Lockwood dismays. “It just makes me think it doesn’t like me.”

I shake my head, “Of course the baby likes you. Just try again, the taps feel a lot stronger today.”

I grab his other hand and place it on top of my belly, trying to position his fingers in the main spot of the movement. He allows it, but his face says that he still doesn’t feel anything. 

He presses his lips together, waiting. After a moment, he sighs, almost moving his hands away. 

“No,” I force them back in place, “They’re moving. Just talk to it.”

He obliges, “I want to feel the baby, mon amour, but -” he stops. I gasp at the same time, a kick right underneath my ribs had caused us both to hold our breath.

“Do it again.” Lockwood utters.

The baby does nothing, leaving us both standing still in anticipation. Abruptly, Lockwood’s stance changes, his expression one I recognize from so many years of casework and ghost hunting. He has an idea. 

“…bébé?” He whispers cautiously. A kick, not a tap, responds. I gasp again, Lockwood lets out a breathy laugh, “Oh, tu aimes le français?”

The baby continues to move, causing Lockwood to stoop down again, practically on his knees to be level with my stomach. “Vraiment!” 

“Keep talking!” I sniff, surprised by the heaviness in my voice. His eyes are glistening as he pulls a chair away from the table, sitting down to comfortably return his hands to the spot of the kicking. 

“Je pourrais parler français, quand tu veux.” He continues, “Je pense que ta mère est très belle, j’espère tu lui ressembleras.” He looks up at me, still beaming, then back towards the baby. “Ceci dit… mon sourire t’ouvrirait beaucoup de portes.”

That part he whispers, as though he doesn’t really want me to hear. He’s begun talking too fast for me to keep up; to be honest, I lost him after “Do you like French?”, but his tone sounds suspicious. It doesn’t help that the baby is now going crazy, I not only feel it kicking, but it’s practically doing somersaults. 

“What are you saying?”

He doesn’t acknowledge me, “On va causer des ennuis partout, même si maman nous crie dessus, si tu hérites de mon sourire. Et sinon, je t’apprendrais d’autres combines…” 

“Anthony, what are you saying?” I nudge his shoulder.

“I forgot my tea!” I hear George announce loudly before he enters the room again.

I look up as he enters, not turning my whole body so Lockwood could still face my stomach. George halts at the top of the basement entrance, taking in the situation.

“Can you feel it?” He asks, more directed at Lockwood than me.

Lockwood nods enthusiastically, “Oui! Et il aime le français!”

“George, tell me what he’s saying.”

George moves closer, “Il?“

Lockwood shrugs, “Just a guess.” then leans down again to speak directly to the bump, “Peu importe.”

“Can I try, Luce?” George asks, now next to Lockwood and I.

I grab his hand and place it next to Lockwood’s, who adjusts accordingly so George can feel. “Just tell me what he’s saying.”

Immediately, George’s eyes widen. “T’aimes le français.“

“Lui, c’est ton oncle, il est un peu étrange.“ 

“Mais tu m’aimeras d’toute façon.” George says. He doesn’t sound as elegant as Lockwood, but it still annoys me that I’m the only one not understanding what’s being said. “Je t’apprendrai tous les gros mots, dans tout plein de langues.”

“Lockwood, I want to know what you’re saying.” I complain.

Finally, he looks up at me, “Oh, we’re back to Lockwood now? What happened to ‘Anthony, dear?’ from earlier?”

“Anthony wasn’t excluding me from a conversation with our child, Lockwood is.” I attempt to give him my best pout, but he frowns down at my belly, where the movement has stopped.

“Il aime pas quand ses parents se disputent.” George says, making the kicking start up again. “Besides, Luce, you had years where you were the only one that understood the skull, let us have this for a bit.”

Lockwood grins at that. Frustrated, I step back, causing both their hands to fall, and multiple groans of complaint. It even feels like the baby twists in disappointment. “This is nothing like the skull.” I say, “Besides, I filled you both in on what it was saying if you asked.”

“Not all of it,” George says, “It was pretty obvious you’d leave bits out.”

“The only bits I’d leave out were either hurtful to you guys, or unnecessary.” 

“On the contrary, if you’d mentioned all the times the skull would tease you about me, we might have gotten together sooner.” Lockwood states. 

George pulls an annoying face to show his agreement. “It would’ve saved me a lot of frustration.”

“So this is payback?” I splutter. 

“Ooh, this is the first time a so obviously pregnant women has been angry with me.” George says, “Odd, considering you’ve been so nice to me lately.”

I glare at both boys in front of me, mouth open ready to scold them, but suddenly all the baby’s movement hits me, “You two are lucky I have to pee.” 

“Always the lady.” I hear George say as I walk out.

George and Lockwood left Portland Row not too long after that, off to investigate the matter of the gate they had found in the country. When he returned, Lockwood informed me of what Barnes told him on the matter, and that we were welcome to visit the six agents and their supervisor, but Kipps had already made plans to do so. Beyond that, I didn’t speak to him.

I knew I was being a little unreasonable, and I wasn’t super angry anymore, I just wanted to avoid him getting on my nerves again so I wouldn’t shout.

I’m lying in the library, having just returned from a trip to the shops to buy a few more dresses, when Lockwood finds me.

He kneels beside the couch I’m at, brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Je suis désolé.” He says, with a pleading smile, “It means I’m sorry.”

I sit up, allowing him to take the spot my head had just been, “I know what that means.”

He puts his arm around me and presses a kiss to my temple, “I wasn’t sure.” He murmurs into my hair.

I turn to look at him directly, “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, I ruined a really good moment.”

“I should have told you what I was saying.” His forehead leans against mine, instinctively I close my eyes and gently press my lips against his. 

He sits back against the arm of the sofa, pulling me so I’m laying against his chest. It honestly isn’t very comfortable with my stomach, but I don’t move yet. “What did you say?”

I hear the lazy smile in his voice, “Just talking about how I hope the baby looks like you, and then when George showed up, I told him how weird he is.”

“Him?” I ask. We haven’t found out if the baby is a boy or a girl.

“Just a guess.” He says. “Quite worryingly, George promised to teach him all the bad words in every language.”

“Hmmm, that’s a problem we’ll have to deal with when it comes around.” I mutter. 

We’re quiet for a while, only moving when I shift myself so I could be a little more comfortable. I almost fall asleep to the sounds of our breathing, but the baby starts its tapping again. 

“Lockwood.” I move my hand, which is already interlaced with his, onto my belly. 

“Is it moving?” He asks. 

“Yeah.” I say, a little disappointed that he couldn’t feel the tapping anymore.

“Lucy?”

“Hm?”

“Je t’aime.” 

Kick.

-

Bonus: 

I’m sitting at my desk in the basement, staring at the bulge underneath my t-shirt. Technically, Lockwood’s t-shirt, but I’d been stealing it for years, it’s perfect for the days I don’t have to be anywhere. 

I hadn’t felt the baby move all day and I was bored of my paperwork. I wanted some company.

The past week and a half, Lockwood was having fun with the baby’s fondness of French. Every night, I fell asleep to him muttering to my stomach. He was speaking to it so much, I was beginning to catch him slipping into his second language absentmindedly, mumbling as he went about his day, or referring to objects in French by accident. It was pretty cute, to be honest.

Still, French was the only thing that caused the baby to riot. It would gently tap and move around casually, just for me, but only get excited enough for others to feel the movement when that language was spoken.

“Hi, baby,” I whisper towards it. “How’s your day been?”

Nothing moves. I sigh, rubbing the spot that I feel the most pressure at, trying to disrupt the baby’s sleeping. “It’s just me right now, no need to stay quiet. I’d prefer you do that when I’m actually trying to sleep. Although your father hasn’t really been letting me fall asleep without feeling you move.”

A flutter starts at the mention of Lockwood, causing me to smile, unsure how he ever thought the baby didn’t like him. “Yeah, yeah, Lockwood’s great. Him and his français.”

I say the word mockingly, but it still is met with a series of kicks. I sigh, “I’m afraid I don’t know too much French, baby.”

The baby gives a little turn, as if it is readjusting itself to hear better. A motherly bolt of sympathy goes through me, and I give in. “Erm… bonjour.”

A delighted flurry of tumbles starts up, making me giggle a little bit. “Comment allez-vous?” 

I search my brain for all the French I had picked up from Lockwood, trying to form a sentence out of the random words and phrases I could remember. Nothing makes sense. After a moment, I lean back and sigh. “Sorry, baby, I think that’s all I got.”

The movement in my stomach lessens, like it’s calming down after being riled up. Which is kind of what happened. 

Breathing in a smile, I say, “There is one thing I will always tell you, in whatever language I can say it.” The baby stills, anticipating, “Je t’aime.” 

An excited lurch causes me to sit up, almost laughing, “Yes, I love you so very much. More than I understand yet.”

The kicks and tumbles continue, and I don’t get any more paperwork done that day.

Bonus Bonus:

“Lockwood…” I stare at the polish in my hand, breathing in the lemony fumes. “I think I want to drink the shelf cleaner.”

I don’t hear him get up, but I feel him behind me. Gingerly, he takes the bottle from my grasp. “Please don’t drink the shelf cleaner.”

~

Again, thank you so much to @books-and-pumpkins

As promised, here are the French bits translated:

Lockwood: ...my love...

Lockwood: ...baby?

Lockwood: Oh, you like French? You do!

Lockwood: I could speak French, whenever you want. I think your mother is very beautiful, I hope you look like her. Although... you could do a lot with my smile.

Lockwood: We’ll cause lots of trouble, even if mom yells, if you get my smile. If you don’t, I could teach you other tricks.

(after George reappears)

Lockwood: Yes! And he likes French!

George: He?

Lockwood: (Just a guess) It doesn’t matter.

George: You do like French.

Lockwood: This is your uncle, he’s a little weird.

George: But you’ll love me anyway.

George: I’m going to teach you so many bad words, in so many languages.

George: He doesn’t like it when his parents fight.

(in the library)

Lockwood: I’m sorry.

Lockwood: I love you.

(bonus)

Lucy: ...hello.

Lucy: How are you?

Lucy: I love you.