#Lockwood re-read

[indelen]

It’s tragic backstory hours so I’m fortifying myself with a chocolate loaf!

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 II, Chapters 5-6:

I think it’s significant that Lucy comes from the north of England specifically. Northern England got the bad end of the stick multiple times in English history. The area was razed to the ground and starved viciously during the conquest of William the Conqueror. It was raided by Vikings. It suffered during England’s wars with Scotland. It’s a part of UK that saw a lot of violence and poverty. It has a lot of industries like mining, smelting, etc. and that means coal and factory towns and all the economic issues that come from them. A lot of hard, low wage jobs that are the first to go when the economy downturns or society changes. North of England was the worst hit my Margaret Thatcher’s policies and by austerity measures during the mid-2000s economic crisis. Knowing all that and from what Lucy tells us of living in Cheviot Hills we can guess that while life for people and especially kids sucks in London, it sucks a lot worse outside out it. North England post war had a lot of mines and factories with multiple shifts and late work hours. When The Problem kicked off and the curfew was enacted probably only the very wealthy owners could afford to make changes that would keep their factories running and there were probably massive layoffs. So the financial burden was shifted onto children and there are no competing agencies who try to poach the best kids here, just washouts like Jacobs who run The One Agency that’s your only option. If you’re born in that one town with Talent you’re stuck going to that one washout guy. And you don’t see the point in moving because the next town probably just has some other washout guy.

In the context of all this Lucy running away was an act of extraordinary risk, and yet you get it, because continuing working for Jacobs was both her only option and unbearable. She tried giving evidence against him at the trial and he was the only person who could complete her certification. This negligent alcoholic had untold amount of power over her and the law was on his side.

Odds and Ends:

The way Lucy consistently tries to be detached from this part of her life is so heartbreaking. She knew these kids from age of 8 to age of 13. She tries to separate herself from the horror of it all but the damage is so very much there.

Lucy simply wasn’t educated and apparently many children in this universe are not. Children’s brains until the age of about 8 can only focus on learning things one at a time. It’s why some kids pick up skills earlier or later than others. Something has to come first and the order of how the rest stacks up is different for every child. The ability to learn in parallel develops later and this is where proper education of multiple subjects really starts. In North America this is about Grade 3 level. That doesn’t mean the time before this is wasted, since that’s when you learn the basics of reading, writing and math but also things like social play, following instructions of authority figures, measuring time, adhering to a schedule and the general flow of whatever school system you have. But, in this universe this is all they teach agents! they teach just enough to make them obedient and no more. They learn to follow orders, read to do what they’re told, complete basic tasks, but nothing else. This is a world the people who do the most dangerous job are given no analytical or critical thinking education and if you display any independently, you’re told to shut up and die for your country like a good little soldier.

The most "this was definitely written by Anthony Lockwood"-ass ad imaginable. Spare a thought for poor Lucy alone and low on funds in a new metropolitan city trying to find a photo atelier for a portrait to staple to an application.

Lucy is often mean, but let the record state George fucking started it with her. Sir, she made an appointment and sent an application and presumably a photo. You know she's not Arif's girl. You're just crashing from a lack of snackies and are cranky.

Remember kids, always good to ask what happened to the guy you're replacing in any given interview!

Hang this dialogue in the Louvre, i don't care how

Now girl that's no way to talk about your future husband. But also, what I kind of love about this is that Lockwood is obviously conflicted here because her realizes Lucy quite literally too good to be true. She's obviously the most Talented person to ever apply for any position with them. And yet if she's really that powerful why hasn't another bigger agency scooped per up? He senses that there is some flaw, some lie beyond the fact that she doesn't have a reference. He extends her an offer and gives her a chance because she seems like a good fit and it's too good an opportunity to pass up, but he's not foolish or naive about this either. It's why for all his flaws he is a good agency leader.

RIP beloved "biscuit rule" slain in battle with a US publishing editor whose hands grow out their ass and who thinks brittle North American teenage brains will crack at the mere mention of certain British terms and idioms.

Lucy describes Lockwood's smile count: 5

[tropicallamour]

took me three years to realize how much the iron trio really is a family; they’re lockwood’s family brought back to life.

we know he sees jessica in lucy, in her bravery, in her stubbornness, in her “strong will” as he puts it.

but lockwood also sees his parents in george, in his intellect, in his fascination with the problem, in his wisdom far greater than his years, in his steadfastness.

the two greatest friends he ever had, echoing the loving family taken away from him too soon.

[uku-lelevillain]

i keep seeing posts saying that in the fourth book lockwood catches george and flo making out but apparently i wasn’t paying attention ?? like it doesn’t surprise me at this point but i don’t understand how i could have missed something like that ? at which page/chapter does it happen please

[vryfmi]

[major book spoilers]

my favourite concept that i barely see in l&co fandom being talked about is Lucy grieving Skull. whether you see their relationship as platonic or ship skullyle, it's stupid to deny the fact that Lucy grew to care about Skull, her actions in epilogue being the heartbreaking glimpse into the new reality for her and her friends after the events of TEG:

“I don’t know why you insist on having it with us for each meal.” (Holly) “It’s that horrid charcoaled skull Lucy insists on carrying around with her.” (Holly) I’d wrapped it up and taken it home, and kept it with me ever since, just in case.

here i want to say that im not a fan of idea of Skull eventually "coming back", re-materialising. it defeats the moral of Lockwood & Co and the growth that Skull underwent. past is meant to stay the past, living can only learn from it while dead will forever exist there. no one should disturb the dead, the past, it needs to be left at rest and let it hold its memory.

Skull wanted and longed for freedom, at first defined by breaking out of silver-glass prison, but later, very clearly defined by the peace of mind. he was scared of death as much as Bickerstaff was, that's why Skull turned his back on the other side, he chose to stay here, in the world of the living. i always read his decision to save both Lucy and Lockwood as him admitting that he could never be a part of the living world (cough could never compete with what lockwood, alive boy, could give lucy cough), so he pushed the two away as he stayed in the room with Marissa, Penelope and Ezekiel.

to me, the best ending to Skull's story is him passing on his terms, not the explosion destroying his connection with the source, but contemplating what he sees himself doing after Lucy suggested him staying with L&Co. Skull declines her offer. and chooses freedom.

obviously, that's my reading and how i prefer to interpret L&Co's ending. (it's also the reason i can't accept that christmas special as canon, im sorry, i hate happiness).

but that leaves Lucy and her newfound need of keeping skull near her at all times since Fittes HQ explosion, her wishful thinking that he'd come back. and i want to see her go through painful acceptance of losing Skull. losing a someone that she never got to know closer. losing a chance to get to know him as a friend, to admitting to have found a friend in Skull, a kindred spirit. losing someone who understood her and knew her deepest fears because these two deeply traumatised teens were so alike. losing something that she chose to define herself and her worth by. Lucy would have to come to terms with how much of a support system she had in Skull. and now, she'd have to navigate without it.

Lucy makes a remark that i can't stop thinking about.

Whenever I put my fingers on it, I got no psychic charge. The bone was dry and cold.

i could go on a rampage theorising why Lucy can't feel anything despite a) her having a strong Touch b) objects that are not sources are still able to hold strong psychic echoes. but i feel like Stroud was trying to wrap up the story and didn't want to introduce a whole new storyline of Lucy picking up fragments of Skull's past. which is a shame. i would kill for such story to be told. (please hit me up if you do.)

but say she really can't pick up anything, Skull is gone and there's not a psychic trace left of him. where does Lucy find herself then? constantly checking the skull with all her senses, wishing to see a green spark dance around the (former) source, to hear a whispery insult in her ear, to feel just anything with her touch. but it's all gone. there's nothing left. no one left. everyone else is moving on, hurries Lucy to get rid of that horrid old bone, but how can she? how can she bring herself to get rid of the only thing left? the only thing left on earth to remember a nameless boy by? the boy who could've been her friend, but she failed to trust him? failed to say thank you?

with each passing day Lucy’d feel worse because she knows how she looks to her friends, to agents, to the ones saving London from violent visitors every night, putting their lives on the line. and here she sits, wishing a ghost to appear in her attic room when she's the most vulnerable at heart.

bonus points for Lucy picking up a pencil and trying to recreate the boy she saw on the other side on paper while the memory is still fresh, while she still remembers. (but also, if we view books as Lucy's memoirs, it would make Skull's bare-bone description even more sad because that would mean older Lucy forgot the details).

what im trying to incoherently say is, Lucy would grieve. and having read almost all of the books Stroud wrote, i see that he has a very intimate relationship with grief and mourning the loss of someone dear to the point where he explores different sides and intensities of it, how each of his characters goes through it, in every single book of his. (i believe, i have three more books of his to read).

p.s. i don't want to be a hypocrite so here are fics about lucy grieving skull that i love to bits:

- i'm still painting flowers for you by terryh

- echoes by menina123

- it isn’t the same (but it is enough) by bluejay_07

- don't wanna go, but it's time to leave by fourohfourerror

[jj-5656]

I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm With; Anthony Lockwood

A/N: HEYYYYY. Well if it isn't another six-month hiatus...I fear I've done this too many times to keep apologizing. There are some long-overdue requests in my inbox, and for that I truly am sorry. With college, work, family, I'm not sure how you guys keep up with finding the time or motivation to write. Nonetheless, I just recently re-watched this amazing show, and I'm yet again horrified Netflix canceled it. I put a holiday spin on this and I hope you all like it!

CW: Characters are aged up. I wouldn't be comfortable w/ this if they were played by minors but that's not the case. Let's also pretend ppl don't typically lose their gift til their mid-20s

You're getting ready on the floor of 35 Portland Row's master bedroom. Makeup is littered all around you as you add the finishing touches. The smell of cookies flows from the kitchen all throughout your home, ones you'll decorate later upon Lucy's request. Christmas music sounds from the record player in the living room, crackling every now and again with its age.

Lockwood's leant up against the door frame, moving silently to the worn armchair across you. You can feel his eyes on you, quietly admiring, yet still brooding from a recent look at the newspaper. Kipps and his team were beaming brightly across the front page, having just solved yet another notary case on behalf of Fittes.

"I've told you not to read the papers on our day off, haven't I?" He's pulled out of his trance then, adjusting his slouched shoulders as though he's been caught.

"A bunch of posh showoffs, think their ridiculous uniforms and bureaucratic nonsense makes them superior. I swear-"

"Anthony."

"Yes, darling?" It's through clenched teeth, blinking hard to regain his composure. You brush on your mascara, still chastising when you face the mirror once more.

"It's our day off, isn't it?"

"Because we have yet to find another case-" He stops himself under your look of warning through the glass, fiddling with his rings and straightening. "I suppose it is our day off, yes."

"We don't have much of those, do we?" You approach him, then. Voice soft and sweet, unknowingly easing his tense stature with each syllable. He only hums, forehead pressing into your stomach as you run gentle fingers through his hair, careful not to disrupt the intricately combed strands. "We need this. You need this. So let's make it a good one, yeah?"

"Tell that to George. Why must we do the holiday card today?"

"We're all available, Scrooge. And if I'm not mistaken, this was your idea. Something along the lines of 'it's good for business, people are seeking a company with a personable image, clients need people to relate to-" You only stop your mimicking when he pinches at your side. The overly-posh, deep reenactment enough to bring a reluctant smirk to Anthony's lips.

"I do not sound like that." He tugs at your hips so you'll sit on the arm of the chair he's rested in, keeping an arm wrapped over your stomach and knees to settle you against him.

"Bunch of bureaucratic-" Your own yelp ceases your teasing, the arm that's snaked around you tugging hard enough to have you fall into his lap and victim to his incessant poking at your stomach and sides. Your squirming is no use, both of your laughter echoing throughout the room as you hopelessly swat at his hands.

He stops his torture eventually, avoiding an oncoming lecture on how he's ruined your neatly done hair with his tickling. You're breathless under him, stretching out over him to glance at the other mirror just above the dresser. Even with the reflection upside down, you're able to tell you'll have to redo multiple curls. He's grabbing at you before you can scold him, hand under your head to pull your faces just inches apart.

"Stop it. You look lovely." He's pulling out the charm, of course. Voice low and hoarse, the tone that he knows damn well well sets your skin on fire. He's smug then, knowing smirk playing over his dark features as his eyes dart to your lips and then to yours.

"Looked lovely." You correct, breathless all over again. His eyes narrow, incredulous.

"Can I prove it to you?" He moves only slightly closer, swallowing thickly as his thumb traces your bottom lip. You almost let him, nearly succumbing to his enchantments. Only when his lips are nearly on yours do you turn your head, keen on revenge for his sabotage.

"You've already toyed with my hair, I'll send George spiraling if I had to redo my makeup."

Lockwood, genuine betrayal littered across his face, can't even plead his case before your roommate takes his cue.

"Oi!" His shout rings from downstairs, tinged with impatience and growing irritation. "You two better be fully clothed and picture-perfect in five minutes. The camera's ready!"

Anthony can only bury his face in your neck, sore attitude overcoming him all over again.

****

"Wait!" Lucy exclaims just as the flash of the camera ensues, voice strained with exasperation. "I wasn't ready!" There's a collective groan from the lot of you, George shuffling past the redhead to reset the camera. You take the time to fix Lockwood's collar, dodging his swatting, grumpy hands.

"I assume ghost touch is a more amenable torture than this," he mutters pointedly.

"You wanted the bloody holiday card, Lockwood. And I'm the only one with enough creative vision to make the lot of you look remotely presentable." There's a collective sneer toward him, though he doesn't notice with all his tinkering with the outdated lense. Of course, George had insisted using film would make the photos hold a 'certain sense of novelty' that couldn't possibly be reproduced with less difficult equipment. "Take five, this might take a while." He waves you all off, adjusting his glasses and muttering a string of unintelligible curses as he works.

Lucy turns to you then, biting back a smile as Lockwood flushes under your doting hands, trying desperately to maintain his grouchy disposition. "Where's your chapstick, the strawberry one-"

"You always steal?" You cease grooming your boyfriend, to his relief, in order to tease her. Smiling when she only sticks out her tongue in mock disdain, already headed for the stairs and presumably your bedroom. "Right side of the bureau, just above Anthony's sock drawer." Your tone grows into a shout to accommodate her distance, grabbing onto Lockwood's wrist so he can't escape away to the study.

"Love you lots!" She calls from upstairs, most definitely making more of a mess of the bedroom in her search.

"Would you unhand me, dove? Pretty sure you're cutting circulation." He's got your attention again, face pulled with irritation. The bags under his eyes look particularly apparent this close, a dull ache in your heart at the sight. It's apparent the attitude is only due to all the stress he puts himself under. The pet name a clear sign the animosity is by no means directed at you. You smirk despite him, digging into your back pocket and ignoring his then curious expression.

Only when you get closer does he catch on. Socked feet clumsily stepping on his boot-covered ones to attempt to gain height, your arm reaches up above both your heads. Letting his eyes follow yours, Anthony can't help but let a dazzling smile spread across his features. Stubborn nature no match against the warmth and adoration overcoming him at the slightly crumpled branch above him.

"Is that-"

"Yep." You mutter, straining under the effort to reach above his head. His gaze is on your face then, arm snaking around the smalll of your back to keep you steady. "You're supposed to-"

"Oh, I know. But I'm having so much fun watching this." A small pout puckers your lip at his teasing, tone filled with the familiar mirth and smugness you hadn't known you missed so much with his solemn mood.

"Forget it then, Grinch." Your reaching arm falls to your side, attempting to push at his chest to force distance between you.

The camera flashes just as Anthony pulls you in for a kiss. Soft and sweet, each of you eventually smiling into it.

"I'm not developing that one." George frowns, adjusting the lens before shooting a pointed look to Lockwood, who loosens his hold only slightly on you. "You've got shade 205 right here, mate." The curly-haired boy draws an imaginary circle around the entirety of his mouth. Anthony scrubs his sleeve across his face at George's comments. Flushing as you laugh into his chest.

Taglist: @sunshineangel-reads

[burningvelvet]

more rambling thoughts about wuthering heights now that i've finished my re-read

1 wuthering heights is basically the looney tunes if the looney tunes were goth. 90% of the novel is people arguing, dying, and running around threatening to kill each other, and often all three of those at once.

2 love how it's filled with dark humor. "he's such a cobweb, a pinch would annihilate him" is such a camp thing to say about the terminally ill child you abhor and who you spend weeks trying to set up on dates with your dead lover's child so you can steal her property when your son finally dies. heathcliff lecturing his son on Seduction 101 right in front of cathy 2.0, trying ridiculously to play cupid and compel them to fall in love with each other before giving up and just kidnapping her instead... surely he's the most insane brontë man?

3 i can't remember what i had for dinner last night but nelly dean can remember what the weather was like on any given friday twenty years ago (love her and her snarky comments)

4 love how after nelly finishes telling the story to lockwood she's like "any way. so you know cathy 2.0 is single right ;)))" and then cathy 2.0 shows zero interest in him. so then he's like "oh i just remembered i have somewhere to be :/" then fucks off to london for nearly a year then when he comes back nelly is like "nvm as it turns out cathy and hareton are actually soulmates lol who knew! gee, it's a good thing she didn't like you!" and he's just silently suffering. emily was just fucking around here. hindley was the only linton/earnshaw/heathcliff who was wild enough to marry someone who didn't share either his gene pool or his neighborhood.

5 i imagine joseph to look like smeagol from the lotr films but taller

6 [heathcliff, after stabbing his alcoholic arch nemesis and then pushing his servant into the puddle of the blood] "Wash that stuff away; and mind the sparks of your candle—it is more than half brandy!” LMAO

7 this opinion list is just turning out to be a list of the most insane heathcliff moments but truly the novel should've just been called "heathcliff"

8 heathcliff's weird paternal feelings for hareton, saving hareton's life, him saying he would truly love him if only he wasn't hindley's child, basically giving hareton his blessing to love cathy 2.0 toward the end... so oddly endearing

9 heathcliff walking out just before the "i am heathcliff" part of her speech. why WHY

10 hindley protecting isabella from heathcliff before she flees was nice and i wish we saw more of their dynamic around the heights. honestly aside from the child neglect (which is par for the course in wuthering heights) hindley is a pretty sympathetic character; his rivalry with heathcliff was fueled by both sides and truly the fault of their father for pitting them against each other by letting heathcliff usurp hindley's place of favoritism as a boy. hindley's gambling and drinking, his general dissipation and failure to secure his son's future, are all tragic.

11 i think hindley/edgar/heathcliff are all interesting foils for each other; they each lose the women they love and are left to be single fathers, and each responds to the task totally differently. if we include mr. earnshaw, all the fathers in the story essentially fail their children after all the mothers die. hindley and heathcliff have a special parallel through their lifelong brotherly competition, the women they love both dying in childbirth, and in their own deaths. hindley slowly kills himself while ignoring everyone around him; heathcliff also kills himself, but only after trying to systematically ruin the lives of everyone around him. they also say that they want to kill each other but fail when they try; heathcliff nearly kills hindley but ends up saving his life at the last minute.

12 heathcliff jr. is so terrified of heathcliff sr. and so traumatized and petrified by fear and he doesn't deserve the hate he gets for being annoying. he's been sheltered his whole life, his mother just died, he was sent to his uncle/cousin only to be immediately torn away from them to be abused by a stranger who treats him horribly, he's terminally ill, he's still a kid, he's threatened into marrying someone he barely knows, etc.

13 if any of you have seen the british comedy show "the young ones" that's literally hindley's household in wuthering heights when joseph/hareton/hindley/heathcliff/isabella all live together. the filth, the slop for dinner, the petty games, the violence, the fierce hatred yet weird loyalty to each other, etc.

14 i really wonder how cathy would have reacted to heathcliff's treatment of everyone else if only she had known the full details (ie his harsh abuse of isabella, his son, cathy 2.0, etc.)

15 heights was my first brontë novel but i think i like jane eyre and tenant better now that i've read them all back to back! next on the list is likely agnes gray. anne, my underrated queen!

[six-improbable-things]

I just finished The Whispering Skull and honestly the more I read the more this gets cemented in my mind. I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but I love it. Also Lucy/George as Watson… I am having Thoughts but I can’t articulate them well enough to make sense of them.

I just finished The Screaming Staircase, and I kept thinking how much Lockwood reminds me of Sherlock Holmes. Like, the original. He has the right amount of chaotic good, the same distaste for shitty rich men, and the same way of hauling his friends into things without telling them everything. Also the same “needs money but refuses to talk about it because that’s now what the business is about to him” thing going on. There were a few moment where I was just like “Holmes, is that you??”

Don’t get me wrong this is a good thing to me. I fucking love the Sherlock Holmes stories. (And I just realized that similarly, both stories are narrated in first person by the titular character’s companion.)

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone.  In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

  “I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

  Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.  

  The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.  

  Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling.  His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

  A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co..  For one, they’d gained quite the reputation.  Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s.   He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

  Well, you get the point.  It hadn’t looked promising.

  Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.   Those days had been filled with anxiety.   Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on.  How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See?  He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name.  It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

  The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight.  And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

  And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

  George was the next oldest.   Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once.  He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident.  In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

  The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself.  With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases.  If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

  But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade.  The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her.  They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down.     She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date.  In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation.  George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling.   Anthony felt like he might be sick.   By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

  A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five.  Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

  In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often.   Then, another article in a larger paper.  Followed by another, then several more.

  Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps.  The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

  By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time.   In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach.  Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

  Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life.  How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field?  Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again?   Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss.  Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay.   Though, had he known–

  A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey.   The old building slumps under the weight of time.  Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons.   Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London.  The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

  “Ah, Mr. Lockwood!  A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.  

  “Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine!  I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently?  I’m here to pick up for her.”  

  After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from.  When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.  

  “It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent.  I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.  

  “Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet.  We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening.  I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.  Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”  

  It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept.  He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.  

  Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed.   Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room.  Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents.  What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs.    Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on.  It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge.  When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house.   Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.  

  When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

  Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone.  Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down.   As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention.  At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds.  It feels like someone’s watching him.   Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing.  Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings.  The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.  

  Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper.  All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

  Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab.  Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud.  He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind.  Just… most of it.  Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.  

  Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic.  If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore.     The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall.  Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good.  He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

  Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window.  There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day.  He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness.  But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

  The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed.  He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed.  With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair.   The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before.  Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.  

  The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful.  While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

  Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house.  Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation?  For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to.     Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time.  There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future.  It’s nearly thirty minutes past six.  She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

  He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.  

  Bloody hell, that is the final straw.  He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour.  If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy.    He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

  The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger.  Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy.  However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn.  Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–  

  An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

  Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

  He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path.  The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene.  If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated.   He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn.  Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage.  The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved.  When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns.  Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

  He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right.  His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open.  He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house.   Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space.  To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls.  Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

  Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter.  Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control.   Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside.  And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance.  He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him.   Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold.  A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath.  In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf.  There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

  It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him.  He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier.  It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

    “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it.  He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.  

  He knew this routine like the back of his hand.  She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

 Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind.  The silence is deafening.  Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder.   He’d been right about the look, at least.  The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day.  But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

  Shit.  He’s really fucked up this time.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.”   Time comes shuddering to a halt.  His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears.  If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury.  The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

  After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him.  He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length.  So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

  That was the plan, at least.  But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances.     He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison.  Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs.  He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

  Then, it stops.  It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.  

  “You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light.   There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own.  It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later.  He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition.   She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up.  When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates.  Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.  

  A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender.  His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand.  She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist.  The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety.   Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him.  As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him.    He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation.  Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view.     A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away.  Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

  “Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.  

  She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze.  After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.  

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

  ‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

  “Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from.  In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

  He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang.  He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger.  The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

  Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling.  As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

  Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time.   He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field.  Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

  Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan.  All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

  The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck.  He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls.   She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy.  As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

  “Follow my lead,” she says.  It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment.  He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him.  So that’s what she’d been up to.

  She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other  room.  In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something.  Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them.  He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

  She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls.  A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth.  She immediately dives for the floor and–

  He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

  The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot.  The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom.     He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

  Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame. 

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[awriterinthenight]

'It's ok love' Part 1-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1850

warnings: mentions of family being a bit horrible, uhhhhhh I might have put Lockwood instead of Anthony once or twice cause I totally re read this after writing this (I did not), also sorry I haven't posted in awhile, school is kicking my ass and I just went through some shit, oh also language maybe? idk. Sorry this is in multiple parts, it was just easier to write this way. This is kinda just the set up so its not the most intriguing, but just wait till part two and three, I suggest you bring tissues

summary: You get invited to your sister's engagement party and Anthony has a case near there, so you offer him to stay there when his hotel has to cancel his reservation. So what could possibly happen when your not so nice family invites you and you spend a night getting picked on, but luckily Anthony is there to comfort you. Then he tells your family you and him are dating, so what could possibly go wrong?

"That's wonderful, I can't wait to see you guys there. Alright, bye bye." As I hang up the phone Anthony walks down the stairs carrying one of his bags for a case.

"Who was that," he asks, placing the bag down.

"It was just my mom," I tell him, "She was telling how my sister just got engaged and they're having a whole engagement party for her. It's quite exciting really," I say, trying to hide my nerves. My family was...something to say the least. They were rather wealthy, but not the best of people. Which is what led me to leave when I was 15 and start working at Lockwood and Co.

He looks at me a bit shocked, "Really, well are you gonna go," he asks, shocked since he knew me and my family weren't on the best of terms, but he never really knew the full truth.

I shrug, "Yeah, probably," I tell him, but quickly switch the subject, "So, are you prepared for your case," I ask, since it was a solo case. Lucy was busy with Norrie the day of the case, George promised Flo they'd go bird watching, and I wasn't in much of a good condition to go on a case.

In our last case while fighting off a type two, I managed to twist my ankle on a rug when I slid out of its way when it almost ghost touched me. Since then Lockwood had put me on house arrest basically, so I haven't been on a case in about a week. I tried to convince him to let me go on this one, but he insisted I wait a bit longer, at least until we knew I would be fine. I guess it didn't matter anymore since I was going to my sister's engagement party.

Anthony looked down at the bag he dropped, letting out a sigh, "I think so, I've got extra flares just in case and George wouldn't let me leave without having at least half of our stalk in my bag," he says, chuckling a bit at his own comment.

I can't help but laugh too, "I guess you'll be well prepared then," I say, our conversation turning stale as George calls us for dinner.

***

I was heading downstairs to the library when I heard someone on the phone.

"Uh huh, no I completely understand. Alright, goodnight," the person says, hanging up the phone with a sigh.

I descended the stairs, seeing it was Anthony who was on the phone, "Who was that?" I ask, suspicious of who would call this late.

He sighs again, running a hand down his face, "The manager of the hotel I was staying at for my case. He had to cancel my reservation since they're overbooked. He offered compensation, but now I have to find a new hotel somewhere else. But, anything this late in advance is gonna be expensive," he tells me.

I nod, "I'm sorry, that sounds horrible," I say, trying to sympathize. We stand there a moment before a thought appears to me, "Hey, your case isn't too far from my family's house right?" I ask, smiling a bit.

"I guess so, but what does that have to do with anything," he questions, confused.

I giggle at his confusion, "I think you need to get some sleep, your brain seems to not be thinking properly," I joke, moving a stray strand of hair out of his face, making his cheeks turn a slight pink tint, "What I mean is, if your case isn't far away from my families place, why don't you stay there instead of paying for a hotel," I suggest.

Anthony shakes his head saying, "No, I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your family. Plus, there probably wouldn't be space for me."

"My family wouldn't mind, I promise. And, there will be space for you, trust me. They might not even notice you're there," I reassure him, but he still shakes his head. I let out a say, "Anthony it'll be fine. I promise, let me offer you this one thing. You let me stay in your house, so let me just offer you a night or two at mine," I try to reason with him.

He lets out a calm sigh, "I could never truly say no to you, can I, especially when you say my name," he says, looking at me with nothing but adoration. No one else called him Anthony, only I did. He never really corrected me when I would slip up, unlike he would do with Lucy and George. If one of them said it he would immediately joke at how they were using his government name, but when I say it, to him it was like the sweetest love song. It got to the point where I only called him Lockwood if I was mad at him over something, and he hated it when I called him Lockwood, so I only call him Anthony from now on. So sometimes I would take advantage of it, like just now.

"I'll stay at your place, but just this one time, okay," he says, unable to take his eyes off of me.

I smirk at him, happy that I successfully got him to agree, "Good, we're leaving in the morning since its quite the train ride, so I'll see you in the morning, night Anthony," I say, turning around to walk back up the stairs, when I feel a hand catch my arm.

His hand is around my arm and he uses it to spin me around, "Wait, one last thing. Just cause I let you live here doesn't mean you owe me anything you know that," he assures me.

I smile at him softly, "Of course I know that, but how else was I supposed to get you to agree," I tell him.

He smirks, his hand sliding down to my waist, "You're very cheeky, you know that," he tells me, unable to hide his vibrant smile.

The laugh that leaves my lips is small, but just enough to make his face turn a bit pink from how close I am to him, "Oh, you wouldn't have me any other way," I retort, tilting my head and smirking at him.

He breathes out a sigh, "No, no I would not," he tells me. We stay like that for a moment. Too scared to move, since it feels like if we do the fragile feeling of happiness and admiration might break apart.

Anthony speaks first saying, "You should get to bed, I'll see you in the morning love," he says, adding the pet name at the end out of impulse.

I can't help but feel the blush take over my face. "You too, night Anthony," I say, walking back up the stairs, feeling the loss of warmth from his hands on my waist. He stands there watching me go up the stairs, drinking up every last bit of my presence like it's the only way he'll stay alive, before he heads back to his own room for the night.

***

My alarm clock went off at 6am, waking me up as I smelt fresh coffee being brewed. I had to catch my train at 8am with Lockwood, so I had about an hour to get ready, since the cab ride was only a few minutes from the station.

I brush my teeth and hair, doing my usual hairstyle and makeup. I threw on rather comfy clothes, a sweater since the trains were always cold, and my favorite jeans.

Heading downstairs I find George brewing fresh coffee, and cooking eggs for breakfast. "Morning George," I greet, taking a seat at the table.

"Morning," is all he says, grumbling a bit since he's not a morning person. He continues to cook as Lucy and Anthony make their way downstairs.

When George finishes breakfast we all dig in immediately. Lucy tells us about her plans with Norrie and George talks about where he and Flo are spending the day. I listen to them talk as I eat, too tired to speak this early in the morning. Anthony eventually chimes in explaining the change in plans, and how he's now staying at my place. Both of them just nod, a bit shocked since I don't talk much about my family.

After breakfast we all split ways, Lucy leaving to go meet up with Norrie, George going back to the library to collect the rest of the research for Anthony, while I finish packing. I make sure I have everything and that Anthony does too, since I don't want to have to turn around mid cab ride if either of us forgot something.

At around 7 me and Anthony grab our stuff to head out as the cab arrives just on time. I say bye to George, telling him not to burn the house down while we're gone. He just laughs sarcastically and pushes me out the door, out of annoyance.

Our cab ride was rather silent. The only conversation being the couple of times I had to reassure Lockwood that he was fine for staying at my family's place, and that he didn't need to pay the expensive price of a hotel. Our cab ride was only about 20 minutes or so, leaving us plenty of time to board our train.

When we got on we got a decent seat, and I convinced Anthony to let me have the window seat, which wasn't particularly difficult since I wasn't a big fan of train rides and he knew that. Train rides made me nauseous for some reason and it was rather annoying, but Anthony understood and made sure I was fine the entire ride.

"You okay?" he asked every few minutes to make sure I was fine.

I nodded my head, "I'm fine," I reassured him. It wasn't just the train ride making me feel a bit sick, but also the nerves from seeing my family. I only visited once for Christmas since I left, which wasn't the best trip, so since then I just lied saying everyone else didn't have anyone else to spend Christmas with and I felt bad. Or, that I was too busy with work to make time to visit.

Eventually Anthony caught on, asking, "Are you sure you're okay, is it the train or something else?"

I shrug, "The train obviously is making me sick, but I guess just the nerves from seeing my family too. I just haven't seen them in awhile, so I guess I'm just a bit nervous," I tell him.

"Well I'm sure they'll be happy to see you. I know I'm always happy when I see you, so you'll be just fine," he says, making me blush a bit. He then wraps his arm around me, helping me to relax a bit.

Slowly I fall asleep with his arm around me thinking, 'maybe this trip won't be so bad'.

If only I knew the truth, but at least I would have Anthony

[cate-deriana]

L&Co and humour

Just a few bits I genuinely enjoyed (again) in TCS during my re-read.

Just this tiny bit is so funny to me. And you can't tell me that after the Annie Ward incident in his house, Lockwood is not going to start storing a rapier inside his room the next day (I think in the show he did have one ready when s.o. ransacked their house).

Love that scene with Barnes and I doubt he believed their short banter for one second.

George his so absolutely funny with his remarks, I can't even... He just has the kind of humour I like and probably would use myself.

Nothing to add here.

Well, and then this one... Like really? Or am I the only one seeing this as a little macabre?

[indelen]

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 I, Chapters 3-4:

Things go predictably bad. And I say predicably because there's these details all through the first chapters about how things went wrong before so you're kind of see it coming when things go wrong again. My favorite detail is that Lockwood once got locked in an bathroom while on a case? (By a ghost he maintained!). But this all builds tension and sympathy for the main characters. Through it all you don't think "oh these idiots!" you think "damn, these are just kids!" of course they mess up, get themselves in trouble, pull reckless stunts, forget stuff, push the blame around, talk shit about each other and so on. Their prefrontal cortex hasn't developed! They act on impulse because literally the bit of their brain that plans ahead hasn't finished cooking! They react differently to stress and fear. And I think the books telegraph this well. Lucy knows logically she should not use Greek Fire indoors and yet when shit hits the fan she uses Greek Fire indoors. And who is really to blame here for the resulting outcome? The kid or the system that entrusted the kid with a thermite bomb in the first place?

Bits and bobs:

Girl, you're 14, you shouldn't be trusted with a soft serve machine at DQ!

And that's the saddest part of all. The kids don't have a chance to look into solving The Problem themselves because they're in survival mode. And the adults are too busy profiting from putting their lives on the line to care.

I like how the closer the ghost gets the more terrifying it becomes. At first you think the fact that she has no face is the worst but, but then all these creepy details start coming into focus...

I'm sorry but all I kept thinking when I read this was:

Lockwood is such a slave to fashion it nearly actually gets him killed. Meanwhile Lucy probably cuts her hair over the sink with kitchen scissors so as to avoid getting ectoplasm on it. Truly they were always meant to fall for each other for our entertainment. A modern day Sophie and Howl.

I find Lucy's relationship with the ghost of Annie very interesting. In the show they made her resemble Norrie which is an understandable move to visually tie her to the main character's past and motivations. But in the book it's different. Lucy goes out of her way to point out this girl is nothing like her and in fact if they had met in real life they would probably not like each other very much (Lucy's very complicated relationship to Other Girls and how she perceives and carries herself around them is an essay for another day). But despite this Lucy feels an enormous amount of compassion for the victim and this effectively jump starts the story. I feel like this is very important, especially in a book for younger audiences. There is no such thing as a perfect victim, but your compassion and your sense of justice must extend to even, or perhaps especially, those whom you might not especially like.

Lucy describes Lockwood's smile count: 3

[bethanydelleman]

How much I like the characters in Wuthering Heights, ranked from best to worst:

Edgar Linton: too good for this world, too pure

Nelly Dean: proud possessor of MULTIPLE brain cells, a heroine

Isabella Linton/Heathcliff: made a stupid mistake as a teenager, but bad-ass in her escape. Also too good for this world.

Cathy Linton/Heathcliff (2): I am totally with Nelly, she is great. I wish her a very happy ending.

Hareton Earnshaw: Never did anything wrong in his life

Catherine Earnshaw/Linton (1): I don't want you as a friend, please stay away from me with all your drama. But I think you meant well, sometimes?

Frances Earnshaw: who? (I guess you're fine)

Linton Heathcliff: I know you're just a sick child and I should have sympathy, but you suck.

Heathcliff: I know you were mistreated, but the multi-generational revenge plan just seems a little extra

Mr. Lockwood: Oh, the recent widow/kidnapping victim isn't smiling enough for you, is she? Die, sir!

Hindley Earnshaw: Dropping YOUR OWN BABY off a staircase is no way to mourn your wife! I won't tell you to die because you already did.

Joseph: You are the worst, the very worst. I can't even read what you say, but it all seems terrible. I don't think you ever helped anyone ever in your whole life with your sanctimonious piety. You may also die.

Edit: I hadn't gotten to Zillah yet on my re-read, I'm anti-Zillah.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hi, sorry if this has been asked before but, regardless of trope, your favourite historicals of all time???? I was gonna say top10 or something but I read and love literally every one of your recs so top100 would work just as well <3

First off, thank you so much, you're too kind. I don't know if I can give you my Top 100 just yet (though I wish I could lol) but I CAN give you a good cluster ;).

It's been a whiiiile since I've thought of this, and it changes, so I'm happy to answer! I'm going to have some repeats, because I'm true my heart and some authors just write a good few bangers.

My top... 28, I think? In no particular order.

Dreaming of You by Lisa Kleypas—Easy answer, I adore this book, it changed the way I look at romance and it's so, so definitive re: my taste. Beautifully written, angsty (and kinda funny too), made me realize one of my core couple dynamics is "somewhat crazy woman and stern man who just doesn't know what the FUCK she's doing and is totally thrown off by her shit".

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt—Another easy one, virgin hero (which I love) who's nonetheless quite stern, jaded older heroine (another thing I love—a jaded heroine), it has the Zorro masked man vibes, the high stakes, INSANELY good sex scenes that only Elizabeth Hoyt can write... And perfectly written angst that isn't magically resolved. Gorgeous gorgeous GORGEOUS.

Waking Up with the Duke by Lorraine Heath—Another angst machine, has a scene that never fails to make emotional, a crazy setup that turns out to be deeply emotional. Icy proper woman/secretly deeply pining rake. AINSLEY!!!!

Princess by Gaelen Foley—A recent favorite; supremely angsty, supremely sexy, supremely BONKERS. He feels unworthy, which, please, is crack to me. She's a literal princess, giggly and flirty and horny to the max. He's a good bit older, they've known each other for YEEEEARS (... literally all her life), he works for her father. It's very ILLICIT AFFAIRS. Everything I love.

The Duke's Perfect Wife by Jennifer Ashley—Every single one of the first four Mackenzie books is a bANGER and this is the best one for me. I love a second chance romance. I love a growly hero and a heroine who absolutely owns him. I love that they've both been around the block (and have had sex before, three times, as he reminds her). Hart needed a woman who could MANAGE him and match his freak, and Eleanor is that. She boops his nose and he growls! He does a striptease for her! Perfection, even better if you've read the first three books.

A Rogue by Any Other Name by Sarah MacLean—Another one I read early in my return to romance, and I adore it. Bourne is the most dickish hero MacLean has written (imo) and Penelope is such a a sweet heroine who nonetheless doesn't put up with it. He has to work so hard to earn her love, as he should. I adore the childhood friends to at odds vibe, another thing I'm sooo into.

Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale—A pretty dark historical? Allegreto is CRAZY, Elena manages him perfectly. I love a good kinky romance, and this one is so, so sexy? The femdom is perfect, but it's also beautifully written and has a lot of deep themes. The fact that he thinks he's going to hell and she's like "Whatever, I'll go there with you". It has both corruption and redemption vibes.

The Duke Gets Even by Joanna Shupe—One of the books I hyped to a ridiculous degree before it came out, and somehow it delivered on everything. Has a touch of kink (mostly through rough sex, biting, etc) but it's honestly so soft in many ways. Lockwood isn't a pushover or a cinnamon roll, but he does have so much heart and he falls so hard. Nellie being the resistant, rakish one delights me. It has a great world (we need more Gilded Age books). It's another one where everything isn't resolved PERFECTLY, and I love that bit of realism. Just a big sigh ROMANCE romance. "I'm keeping you, Eleanor" PLEEEEASE.

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall—Definitely tonally an unconventional historical, but my God, I love it. It's so funny. It's one of the only nb/nb romances I've read, and I love that it's a historical. Definitely the only one that has a castrato soprano lead, and we should honestly have more because they FUCKED. Like. Read it up. Castrati FUUUUUUUUUCKED. It's really tender and it has one of my favorite climactic moments. A very unconventional ending that made me smile so hard.

What I Did for a Duke by Julie Anne Long. Just a classic, perfectly written age gap romance. This one doesn't reinvent the wheel, but it hits everything it needs to hit perfectly. Has a great mix of humor, emotion, and heat.

Seduce Me at Sunrise by Lisa Kleypas—While there are the classic Kleypas issues with depicting the Romani people and I do dock this book a little for that... Look. The romance aspects are perfect for me. I know that Kev is too angsty for some people, but I love angst and I love the childhood friend devotion and the feeling of unworthiness and Win being ridiculous horny and determined to have her own happiness. Has one of the greatest love confessions of all time. One of the best "the dam has broken and they are FUCKIN'" moments. Just GORGEOUS.

When the Duke Was Wicked by Lorraine Heath—Another one that gets me super emotional. I love the horrified realization Lovingdon has as he realizes that he's so attracted to Grace. The intense desire. The denial of his feelings soooo far into the book, even when it's painfully clear to everyone that he's madly in love with her. This book also is one of the best when it comes to dealing with the Dead Wife Question. Of course Lorraine pulls it off.

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall—Another one that's so unique and great and has amazing trans representation (at least to me, as a cis person, I could be wrong). It has this AMAZINGLY romantic moment that I always find SO FUCKING SWOONY. A great mix of old school vibes and modern sensibilities.

Duke of Midnight by Elizabeth Hoyt—Truly bonkers. Maximus is my ultimate alpha hero; a dick, aggressive, super stern, super resistant to love. Artemis just isn't intimidated. There's a lot of angst in this book, and honestly? I find the fact that he is a dick and Hoyt isn't afraid of embracing that really admirable, from a writing perspective.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath—JACK DODGER I LOVE YOUR WORK. A perfect "rogue meets uptight lady" book (I hesitate to call Jack a rake because he pays for sex pretty much exclusively, but he's definitely roguish). There's a wonderful dynamic here, Olivia being in denial of her attraction.

A Kingdom of Dreams by Judith McNaught—A gorgeously written book! You can see the groundwork being laid for other historicals here. A fabulous setting. The way the romance becomes so vicious at points, in a frankly hilarious way. Royce dragging Jennifer to the altar like "I DON'T WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE THAN YOU DO" is amazing.

Devil in Winter by Lisa Kleypas. Classic, everyone loves this book (well... not everyone) but with good reason. It's so very good. The perfectly executed rake/virgin book, with iconic moments, iconic characters, iconic SPIELS. The moment when Sebastian staggers out of bed trembling after the first time they have sex lives rent-free in my brain.

Indigo by Beverly Jenkins. Just a fucking knockout of a book. Another "rake/practical virgin" book, backed by beautiful prose and impeccable historical research (nobody does it like Ms. Bev). There's so much seduction in this book. A great rooomance, but then it has a fun bonkers villain situation (I know some people don't like this... I do, I'm kind of a sucker for this type of controversial and perhaps dated villain). The ending makes me cry a lot.

Scandal's Bride by Stephanie Laurens—Kind of a new one for me, and it's here because it's so fucking bonkers. Constantly entertaining, Catriona is such a difficult heroine who... crosses the line a lot. Has a scene where Richard draws a sketch of her ass birthmark to be like "I WILL SHOW EVERYONE THIS TO PROVE THAT I HIT IT FROM THE BACK IF YOU DON'T MARRY ME". A delightfully fucking weird book and I loved every minute.

Hyacinth by S.M. LaViolette—The more I think about this book, the more I love it. One that I loved originally, and it rose in my regard over time. A scarred hero (who likes it rough). They're both switches. Hyacinth is neurodivergent and very much unconventional, and doesn't even think herself capable of love because of what society has told her she is. The climax of this book? Incredible.

Again the Magic by Lisa Kleypas. A gorgeously done book, so ambitious, has an iconically HORRID hero (in the best way), executes the rare feat of offering both an amazing primary romance and an absolutely fabulous, emotionally affecting secondary romance. It just hits so hard, dude. It's so good. It's probably Kleypas's BEST book in terms of general quality (though DoY will probably always be my favorite).

Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage by Jennifer Ashley—A great marriage in trouble book! That's also super horny! I love so much that though there was a big breaking point in Mac and Isabella's marriage, there were very normal issues beforehand that had less to do with horrible behavior or ridiculous tragedy, but... Like... Them just not being ready for marriage? Especially him. The passion was always there, but passion and great sex isn't enough for a good marriage, and I love that in this book they do have the passion and great sex but also have to build a stronger relationship on an emotional level.

Regarding the Duke by Grace Callaway—Another delightfully bonkers romance. I love that they've been married eight years and she thinks it's enough but learns that it ISN'T. He has to open to her emotionally. There's amnesia. There's VILLAINY. I also love that the hero in this one has to. not only become a better husband, but a better father? I haven't read a lot of historicals where the hero and heroine aren't just married, but have kids.

A Shore Thing by Joanna Lowell—Ummmm I read this very recently but it's been sticking in my heart? It's more lighthearted than a lot of the romances I've loved. But i just love this story of a hero and heroine going on a bicycle race lmao. I love how funny it is, and how the villain kind of... grows? I love that the hero is a rake and trans. I love that the heroine is a widow who decides to like, have good sex for the first time ever and go with it (and suddenly there are feelings). It's just really good.

Sweetest Scoundrel by Elizabeth Hoyt—Helloooooooo emotion. This is one of the best "healing from trauma" books I've ever read. Asa Makepeace is just a perfect rake who's secretly so deep and so gentle. The way he introduces Eve to sex is fucking gorgeous. His patience, his tenderness, his love of what SHE'S okay with it.

A Rose at Midnight by Lisa Kleypas Anne Stuart—This is what I'd call a dark historical. It's true enemies to lovers. The hero is a rat bastard for most of the book. The sex... is very dubcon for much of the book. But man. I think it's so bold, the writing is so good, the story is so different from what I've read in the genre. It just hit a lot of buttons for me. And it has a great secondary romance, something Stuart excels at. Ummm also the fact that the secondary romance is fueled by the secondary heroine wanting to save the primary heroine, her best friend? LOVE THAT.

Scandalous Desires by Elizabeth Hoyt—Sorry dude, Mickey and Silence are just for Me. He's a ridiculous rake. She's a Quaker widow. There's that element of like "I'VE GOT YOU MY PRETTY". I actually love the baby in this book, and that can be a hard sell for me. (Several of these books include kids lol, but man, it's just this thing where you need to get it right.) It has one of my bad boy/good girl books.

The Earl Takes All by Lorraine Heath—Lol sorry, Gorilla Twins is a banger all the way. It's fucking insane. It's super romantic. It has one of the best "angst horizons" I've ever read. It does that Lorraine Heat Thing where you're like how THE FUCK is this gonna work. And then it does! It's just everything, for me. Edward Alcott, you beautiful idiot.

[hurtcomfortficstilltheend]

In the Name of a Cosy Christmas

Lockwood & Co (books) fluff

Summary: After everything, what more could be asked for, than a warm cosy Christmas?

Warnings: none, just fluff. Spoilers for The Empty Grave.

A/N: This was written for a Secret Santa event on one of the L&C discord servers! To read in Ao3, click here.

word count: 1070

A few months after the break in, after the Other Side, and Fittes, and all the shit that went down with it, gradually normality seeps back into Lockwood and Co’s headquarters. The new shelves fill up with new trinkets, the walls get repapered and Lucy makes the effort to make and hang up polaroid collages on the first floor. The house goes from cozy to destroyed to pristine to lived on again. 

Lockwood feels lighter than he ever has, redecorating his home gives him a chance to project and think of a life of his own. He tears up at the paint store when the employee asks him what colour he wants, so Lucy steps up and picks a few cans, ignoring the guy’s questioning looks. 

With time cases started to come, and routine set in again. Despite the dismantling of the Fittes conspiracy, the arrival of autumn spikes the number of ghost sightings and hauntings, as would be expected, and Lockwood and Co rises to the occasion.

Holly still tags along in the field, but her demeanor is more cautious, if it is even possible. She checks and re-checks the bags before going out, and packs twice the standard amount of salt bombs in her duffel bag and magnesium flares in her belt. One random day in October, she shows up with her white strand dyed black to blend in with the rest of her hair. No one makes a comment or snarky remark.

She doesn’t stay for lunch as often, and Lucy thinks it’s her way of putting some distance between herself and the agency, but later finds out Holly and her roommate started going on dates and spending more time together. The only piece of information she can make her spit out is the DEPRAC agent’s name, Scarlett.

George makes a full recovery, and keeps making up theories and investigating about the Problem and its imminent end. A curious little relationship forms between him and Flo. It’s odd to see her every other day around Portland Row, in such a domestic setting, but she is welcomed by everyone, even with her muddy boots that mess up the carpet more often than not (Holly does offer to buy her some slippers).

Kipps spends a month bottled up in his apartment, recovering and thinking of his next steps. He gets in touch with his family, and his sister helps him through it all. He marvels at the idea of studying to become a school teacher to young agents in the future.

-

Distant fireworks announce the start of Christmas Day. The table is messy with different snacks, tea, champagne and what remains of dinner. Mismatched glasses with different beverages are raised and clinked. 

Lockwood stands up and hugs Lucy, a chain reaction of ‘Merry Christmas’ and kisses on cheeks follow. Everyone is cheerful, and for a moment it’s like nothing bad has ever happened, and they are just a normal group of friends that call each other family. 

“I haven’t showered since last year,” exclaims George, looking very proud of his joke. Lucy rolls her eyes, but then her expression turns into a smirk. He freezes. “Wait, that’s not today.”

Holly lets out a bark of laughter no one has heard from her before, and quickly covers her mouth to hide it. That triggers a round of giggles and Holly joins in, feeling self conscious, but accepting her fate. Scarlett hugs her from the side and pecks her cheek as if to cool off the flush (it has the opposite effect, of course).

Kipps takes a sip of champagne and steps to the side to open the freshly painted and decorated back door, snow glistening under the moonlight and the occasional pyrotechnics. A cold current of air meets his cheeks and brings with it memories of the Other Side. He looks back at the table, and closes the door. 

“Shall we move to the living room?” Exclaims Lockwood, excited to show off the gifts he bought for everyone (they are matching sweaters that he will make them wear for the rest of Winter).

-

It’s four in the morning. The fireplace is being guarded by a sleepy Lucy, who keeps the fire going for the sake of Quill. He complained a couple of times about freezing to death if he slept on the couch with such a fimble blanket, the implications of such comment perturbed her a bit, so she agreed to be the one in charge of it.

Holly and Scarlett claimed the guest bedroom and moved there half an hour after Holly passed out on Scarlett’s lap. She kept playing card games with Kipps and Flo, but excused herself and picked Holly up when she started to stir and gently pull on her long auburn hair. 

George is asleep on the other couch, his legs in Flo’s lap. She is drinking sugary coffee while she reads a book and fiddling with the quilt that covers them.

Lockwood approaches the fire and sits next to Lucy, balancing a tray with tea and some leftover dessert. She’s focused on the small flames, sitting cross legged, but looks over and returns a small smile when it’s offered to her. Lockwood passes a cup to her and takes one of his own.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she whispers, looking back at their friends. She cut her hair last week and it frames her cheeks so perfectly. One of the white strands is a part of her curtain bangs now. She takes a sip of her tea and looks directly at Lockwoods eyes. “I still can’t believe we made it out.”

“Yeah…” He sighs, then a vulnerable smile replaces his shining one. “I’m so thankful we get to be here, all of us.” 

Lucy glances at the skull on the shelf. It has been adorned with fairy lights and a scarf ‘just in case he feels cold’, according to George. It has made its fair share of wispy half-apparitions since the explosion, but it’s okay. She knows wherever he is, he must be so pissed about the lights, and it does bring some comfort to her.

And so, on one of the longest nights of the year, they slump into each other in the warm glow of the fire, and eat cake until they feel slightly sick. 

-

They wake up at midday, on the floor, with cramped muscles and necks, but covered by a certain quilt that Florence insists on knowing nothing about. 

.

.

.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! See? I can write non-selfinserts, haha (i fought tooth and nail to keep the second person away lmao). Felices fiestas, and i hope you start 2025 with the right foot!

Masterlist

[tiredpapergirl]

I'm re-reading Lockwood and Co...

I forgot what a jerk Lucy is when she's talking about George. (At least in the first few chapters. lol)

[esters-notepad]

For the reverse unpopular opinion: Lockwood and Co!

Ooohh I love that series!

It has a good (not-bad) explanation for why teenagers have to do the dirty work.

It has excellent characters, with balanced strengths and flaws, and excellent character interactions.

It is wittily told and very, very funny, despite the subject matter.

It has a great, overarching mystery, where every answer poses a new question until suddenly all makes sense at the end.

It has a good (not-evil) ending, where the good characters are rewarded and the evil characters punished, and this outcome flows naturally from what came before.

In fact, I think I should re-read the whole series. And so should you all!