#kipps gonna find out

[coulrosaurus]

Happy Pokemon Day!!

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I do think it could be potentially telling in more than one way that Holly, who is consistently shown to be the calmest, most centered of the team, is described as frantic when Kipps is stabbed.

[philliam-writes]

you are in the earth of me [01]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Content: cot3 +1 (and kipps), canon-typical violence & horror, loss of family member (not just Lockwood), found family, touch starved Lockwood, childhood friends Kipps & Reader, childhood trauma, slow burn, rivals to lovers (if this stays a Lockwood/Reader), mature language (swearing), aged up characters (everybody's in their early 20s; Kipps is mid-20s), fem! Reader though pronouns are used sparingly and no use of y/n

Summary: “Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.” Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?” You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Notes: [02]

Words: 5.1k

A/N: Words will never suffice how much Lockwood & Co. has carried me through some of the toughest parts of my life. To see it adapted to a show is SO EXCITING, I couldn't help but be a little self-indulgent and plan out a whole ass story for my favourite three (+ Kipps) ghost hunters. So here we go.

This could either stay a Lockwood/fem!Reader or I could easily change it into Locklyle or even freaking poly cot3 x Reader or just Locklyle depending on what people want to read. I'm fine with pretty much everything; I just want my silly little Reader joining 35 Portland Row because I am in DIRE NEED OF FOUND FAMILY AND JUST SELF-INDULGENT GHOST HUNTING

So yeah, I'm totally open to people requesting Locklyle or anything for this one, but it's still gonna be from Reader's POV and focusing on an original story with action and characters studies and personal growth. Also sorry for any mistakes, English isn't my first language and I'd be super happy if someone offered to become my beta-reader for this! Any feedback is super super appreciated!!

01: let the dead hollers hum

when i first saw you, the end was soon to bethlehem it slouched and then it must've caught a good look at you

—hozier: nfwmb

At almost two in the morning the streets should be empty of people and cars, yet you manage to nearly get hit by a night cab turning down Tredegar Road. Its ghastly horn echoes like the wail of a Banshee through the dark, disturbing the peaceful night. Across the street, a kitchen light flickers to life inside a building. A shadow moves behind the white curtains, pausing for a second to look out at the street.

Bracing against the cutting wind, you turn up your maroon trenchcoat’s collar and duck your head like a turtle trying to hide inside its shell. It would have been much colder without your gloves now that the early winter bite is coming, but it’s still very unpleasant to be outside after the sun has set. Today is a clearer night, despite the day of rain; the moon chases stray wisps of cloud across an otherwise unmarked black sky.

London turns in earlier than usual now that the nights grow longer and colder—and more dangerous as well. Just yesterday you heard two more night-watch kids have succumbed to ghost-lock down at the warehouses near Blackfriars when they got distracted trying to warm up from the freezing evening rain that had set in after eleven. They turned into easy pickings for a Drowner lurking beneath the docs—former scoundrels who ended their sorry lives in the water by drowning. They rarely make a pleasant sight with their bloated limbs and skin wrinkled so hard it is peeling off like layers of paint.

It makes you glad to feel the familiar weight of your rapier hanging from your hip holster, to know that just within short reach, everything you need to protect yourself is at your disposal. That and the salt bombs around your belt. It’s hard not to feel safe while carrying around something with ‘bomb’ in its name.

You find the meeting point you’ve been summoned to at the end of the street. The Green Goose is a two-floor building with the restaurant at the bottom and what you can only assume the storage and other facilities upstairs. All sun-blinds on the first floor are drawn shut.

Few London establishments are open during the night, and fewest of all in the dark hours before the dawn. But places like this, catering for agents or night-watch kids, are easily recognised by the additional fortification against possibly unwanted visitors. High up where the first floor meets the second, heavy mistletoe bushes run around the whole building like a gigantic garland. You imagine in summer this would be lavender blooms, plunging the whole street into their thick, sweet scent. The door and windows are laced with iron grilles, and overhung with battered ghost-lamps. A few wooden dining tables and benches remain vacated outside, left to their own until the warmth of spring returns.

After a first glance inside the premise through the grimy windows, you don’t spot your friend. How much easier this would be if you could carry a phone around, just to check if you are at the right place. Now all you have to go on is his cryptic call before your shift started this morning, and a vague sense of the kind of establishments he likes based to his tastes.

Good thing you have known him for almost a decade.

But that doesn’t really give you an idea what exactly Quill Kipps wants from you. Maybe help with a case? Or he has finally realised he has a crush on his co-worker, that lemony-smelling Kat or Kate, and now he needs advice. Not hanging out at the dead of the night would be a preferable start.

Small bells jingle when you push the door open with your shoulder, and a waft of warm air scented with grease and coffee hits your nose, bringing heat back to your face. It looks a lot smaller than from the outside, narrow and with the sitting area stretched in an L-shape around the bar and counter in the middle. Behind that a pair of slightly askew doors lead to the kitchen where you can hear a radio play.

The first row of tables line alongside the window, then disappear further into the back. In the corner, two night-watch kids sit huddled together, quietly snoring and drooling on each other’s shoulders with their meagre food spread before them. A waitress with short black hair and a chubby chin standing behind the counter looks up from a magazine, stares at you, and blows out a baby-blue bubble of gum until it pops loudly.

She raises an eyebrow.

You raise one back at her.

From the other side of the entrance, you hear Kipps calling your name. At that, the waitress gives you a single, polite nod which you answer alike, as though you are two cowboys engaged in a stand-off who don’t want to shoot each other.

Marching down the narrow aisle, you pass an occupied table and accidentally bump into it. Cutlery rattles against an empty plate. You mumble a half-hearted apology and move on, barely listening to the grumbled answer or really looking at the man clad in black sitting there. He gives of a sweet, heavy scent you can’t really place, and quickly move on.

Knowing you’d arrive in a foul mood, Kipps has already ordered your favourite midnight snack after a hard day’s work: coffee and a simple English breakfast with a fried egg, hot and greasy sausages, crispy bacon, tomatoes and mushrooms on the side.

“It better be important, Kippy,” you say in lieu of hello, manoeuvring over his lap to the unoccupied seat by the window, using elbows and knees to execute a complicated dance with him so you can squeeze into the narrow booth. He grunts and makes barely any effort to make you room. His outstretched legs take up a disproportionate amount of real estate. “I got a ten hour shift behind me and I’m desperate for my bed.”

“You certainly smell like after a ten hour shift,” he comments, wrinkling his nose. Of course he looks well kempt and neat as always with not a single ginger curl on his head out of order. But there are dark circles under his eyes as though someone put a charcoal pen to his skin, betraying his tidy appearance. His eyes flit over your face for a second, scanning it for any injuries.

You give him your best shit-eating grin and wolf down on your eggs when someone clears his throat from across the table—and that’s when you realise Kipps isn’t alone.

Nursing a cup of tea, opposite you sits a young man in a black suit, slender and tall, his short, unruly hair swept back elegantly. He watches you with mild interest, his thin lips slightly pursed, like someone would watch a flock of hungry pigeons plunge towards bread crumbs spread by tourists at Hyde Park—nothing out of order. Just another regular sight in the big city on a late afternoon stroll.

You hold his steady, dark eyes when you bite into your egg, feeling the yolk escape at the corners of your mouth and run down your chin. You didn’t even realise how much you were starving.

“Hwo’sh yor fren’, ‘Ippy?” you ask with your mouth full because you have absolutely zero shame.

Kipps swallows a groan.

“Yes, Kippy,” the young man replies with the most soothing, alluring voice you have ever heard, as though he’s eaten silk and honey for breakfast. “Why don’t you introduce us?”

Kipps makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. Annoyance radiates off him stronger than any other-light you have seen on apparitions. “Friend is a bit much,” he says slowly, as though he has to talk around the word ‘friend’ because it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “That’s Lockwood.” You recognise his tone. It sounds a lot as if he’s saying That’s the biggest nuisance of my life.

The effect is pretty much the same.

You nearly choke on your next bite and aim for the coffee to wash it down. When you jerk your head around to stare at Kipps in disbelief, your eyes stretch wider than the dinner plate before you. Kipps must read what’s written on your face: That’s Lockwood? Tony Lockwood you can’t shut up about? Your arch-nemesis?

Kipps rolls his eyes so hard it must give him a spectacular view of his skull. Just humour me, his expression says.

“Ton—Anfonie ‘Ockwoo’.” You nod, and finally swallow your mouthful of food. “I’ve heard things about you.”

Lockwood’s dark eyes slide over to Kipps for a second, glinting like a knife drawn out of its sheath. He gives you a nice, easy smile. “Only good things, I presume?”

You feel your face scrunch up at the memory of Kipps’s curses, threats and very imaginative ways of what he’d do with his rapier and a very specific part of Lockwood’s body. “Yeah, uhm … things.”

Lockwood seems to understand, for he doesn’t inquire further, but his smile seems to freeze a little at the corners. “And you are?”

“Kipps’s friend.” You stuff the rest of your toast into your mouth and give your name. Lockwood blinks and keeps a polite smile, and doesn’t ask even though you’re sure he didn’t understand a word you just said.

“I wasn’t aware Kipps has friends.” Lockwood’s eyes have taken on a taunting glint, and he leans forward as he speaks. “Certainly not friends at Rotwell.”

His eyes drop to the crest stitched onto the upper part of your sleeve on your trench-coat: a snarling lion holding a rapier in its front paw—the agency’s symbol—before he gives Kipps a pointed look as though that small detail would have been worth mentioning before they got up to whatever this is.

Kipps ignores him. “I called you because I need your help,” he says, sliding napkins over to you which you promptly ignore. “I need your Talent.”

You halt at that and give him a long, level look. Kipps doesn’t shy away from the weight of your gaze, and suddenly you become painfully aware of the tension surrounding them, thick enough you could cut it with your dull knife.

Slowly, you chew your sausage. “What exactly are we talking about?” you ask, voice quieter, matching Kipps’s. He’s doing that little wiggle in his seat, shifting his weight from left to right he always does when bracing for potential conflict. When he trails his eyes away from you, you follow them to Lockwood who is looking at Kipps as though seeing him for the first time.

From the pockets of his long, black coat, Lockwood pulls out a small wooden box. It would easily fit into the palm of your hand, and from where you sit you can’t see a particular design or anything on the surface. Lockwood slides the box across the table towards you, flips it over with his long, slender fingers, and opens the lid, revealing a small bronze key lying on a cushion surrounded by thin iron plates.

You stare at it for five, six seconds. Then reach out to take another big swig of your coffee. With no sugar, acidly bitter taste explodes on your tongue, just the way you like it.

“It’s a Source,” you say. “You just carry a Source around like that?”

“Exceptional observation skills,” Lockwood says with the mild tone of someone barely holding back his impatience. “I can see why you asked her to join us, Kippy.”

“I can see why Kipps wants to shove his rapier up your—”

“Trust me, I’d be the last one missing out on a chance to ridicule Lockwood,” Kipps interrupts, tapping a finger on the table in front of the box, “but Barnes wants results by tomorrow and I’d like to act like professionals for once, so can we please focus?”

Lockwood and you throw a mirror glare at Kipps that’s something along the lines of You’re one to talk. When you notice each other’s similar expressions, Lockwood quickly schools his features back to a neutral one. “It is secure inside its seal for now, but the Visitor contained in it is not particularly strong. If we’re quick, it won’t have time to come through,” he says.

You shake your head. “You’re mad. And you—” you knock your knee against Kipps’s—“what’s wrong with you for going along with this?”

“There’s just … not enough time,” Kipps says. Exhaustion seeps into his voice, strong enough to peel back layers of caution for he shares a quick glance with Lockwood and what they don’t say screams so loudly that you have to lean back and re-evaluate what you’ve known about their relationship up until now.

It seems that Kipps has missed out on filling you in on some crucial details about the past few weeks he has worked at Kensal Green Cemetery.

“Then why don’t you just tell me what this is about?” you say, looking over at Kipps sharply. “Why does Barnes need you both to work on it? Is it a Fittes job? Did Bobby get his greasy little hands on something and—”

“Actually,” Lockwood chimes in, “it is our case. Lockwood & Co. Kipps is … an associate. And we’re very short on time to solve this case. Let’s just say Kipps has a little favour to repay. We need someone who excels at Touch, and he said you are the best at it. You might be our last chance to find out more about this key.” He has switched from that arrogant drawl to a soft, melodic cadence with that maddeningly smooth voice of his. It has to be intentional—he is trying to play you like a fiddle with that charm he switched on like an industrial bulb.

“What’s there to solve? You got the Source, you sealed it. That’s all there is. This should be on its way to a furnace right now.” You fall back into your seat, eyes raking over Lockwood’s form. He doesn’t even wear a uniform for Christ’s sake. “And you call yourself an agent?”

And just like that the light goes out, the switch flicks off. Lockwood’s face is calm; the only sign of his agitation is a pulse hammering in his throat and a muscle twitching in his jaw.

Kipps shifts in his seat. “We can’t give it to Barnes yet,” he says in a quiet voice, wrenching your eyes away from the glaring contest you have engaged in with Lockwood. Kipps presses his lips into a thin line, and you can see the mental strain it takes on him to agree with something Lockwood said. His handsome face crumples as though he has bitten into a lemon. “We believe the murder of that Visitor is still out there.”

You digest that. Go in for some more food. It takes a lot more effort to swallow your bacon. “Even more reason to just leave it to Inspector Barnes and DEPRAC. Exactly why is this your responsibility?”

“Justice for the dead?” Kipps offers.

“Protecting the living?” Lockwood states nobly.

It sounds like a load of crap, but you are too sleep-deprived to bother figuring out what truly is at stake for them. Maybe another stupid bet, or whatever favour Kipps owes Lockwood from the last.

You run a hand through your hair, bobbing your leg up and down in a frantic rhythm. It isn’t your favourite thing to do, but you have always had a hard time telling Kipps no—and God knows he has done so much for you.

“You owe me,” you tell him. Kipps nods, and visibly relaxes with relief.

“Do you need me to—” he starts, sliding his hand across the seat and offering it to you. From across the table, you hear the seat’s leather creak as Lockwood leans forward to get a better look at what you are doing. It reminds you of a hound scenting blood in the air and going out on the hunt for its prey.

“No, I’m good. I’m not taking my gloves off anyway.” You don’t like using your Talent without anything to ground you, but there is something about the way Lockwood is looking at you two, hungry almost, as though he is categorizing a particular fascinating information to dissect it later and see what use he can draw from it. Best to just ignore him. Besides, without your gloves, you feel naked, vulnerable. This isn’t something for prying eyes—and Lockwood has an awfully piercing, scrutinising pair of unfathomably dark eyes you are not interested at all to get lost in.

You lean back into the seat and get comfortable first. It never works when you go in too tense because it takes more effort to peel away the wards of your consciousness. When Kipps takes the key and plays it into your open palm, you focus on its weight first—akin to a bird bone, you barely feel it through the thick fabric of your glove.

Which doesn’t mean it isn’t heavy. The energy radiating off this thing is like a physical force pushing you back into the backrest of your seat. You close your eyes and focus on the low thrum of energy—feelings and impressions wash over you in torrents, layer after layer. Your chest feels heavy. Your stomach clenches in a hard, tight knot—fear. Fear grips you in a tight, cold grip.

Something is lurking, far far back, something unfathomably dark and abysmal but you can’t get a hold od if through your gloves and as you begin to sift through the chaotic blur of emotions to find the source—so much darkness, so much death; good Lord the things people did to get their hands on—

Excitement. A lingering echo burning so bright it blinds; hope swelling after long periods of dread, like the first spring buds blooming after a cruel, cold winter. Agitation. The adrenaline-inducing last sprint towards your goal knowing there is nothing that stops you from reaching it. The smell of damp soil and coppery hijacks your senses, and then—

Pain explodes in your chest, knocking you back against a cushioned surface. Your knees slam against something hard, sending hot shots of pain up your legs. Your eyes snap open but the world spins when all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs and warmth spreads over your chest, liquid seeps through your fingers—but how? He could not. He would never—someone is screaming, a piercing, blood-churning scream. It takes a moment to realise the scream belongs to you; the wailing is drawn out from your raw throat, but how could anybody blame you; you are dying, shot in the chest by—

Someone is calling your name. Strong hands grab your shoulders and shake you hard as though trying to tear you away from a dream, a nightmare.

“Oh God, help me. He—he shot me—please help.” You gasp, trying to stop the bleeding by pressing your trembling hands against the wound.

“You’re fine. Listen to me, you’re fine. Nobody shot you!” A familiar voice—Kipps’s voice pierces through the wailing terror inside your head. You stare up at his green eyes which are paler than usual, widened in worry. “It’s just a psychic echo. You’re safe here.”

Another forceful inhale expands your lungs. The hot pinpoint pain in your chest subsides slowly with every shaking exhale, and when you look down at your hands, there is no blood sticking to your fingers, only coffee. When you hit your knees against the table, you knocked over your cup. Now the liquid is spreading across the table in a big puddle and dripping down its edges.

Lockwood is busy wiping the table clean with the leftover napkins while wildly gesturing with his free hand to the waitress looming over your table. “Just a long night, nothing serious,” you hear him say in haste. Either she isn’t interested or doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this; she shrugs and drags herself back behind the counter. You look around the establishment, ready to apologise for your outburst, but everybody has left already.

You turn around. When your eyes meet Lockwood’s, he grins, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. “I have never seen anyone so sensitive to Touch. That was remarkable.” He beams as though you have performed an exceptional trick at the circus.

Something about the excitement in his voice sets you off—or maybe you are just still very raw from the experience, and the aftershock of such a gruesome echo is driving you up the wall.

“Oh yeah, it is so much fun! Feeling how people get killed every time is so worth it.” You grab your fork and stab your sausage with enough force you send tomatoes flying. On second thought, you are not hungry anymore. “Why don’t I get a gun and shoot you just so you can get an idea—”

“I’ve had my own fair share, thank you,” comes Lockwood’s flippant answer and for a second you imagine leaning over the table and smothering him with his own tie.

“So he was shot.” Kipps quickly steers the conversation back to its topic before you can follow your impulse. You slump against the seat, feeling pressure around your hand. When you look down, Kipps is holding your hand tightly, grounding you. You should have let him from the start. Weakly, you squeeze back. “We knew that already—”

“He … he never expected it to end like this,” you say slowly, gazing outside the window. Only your own reflection stares back at you. “He was shot by someone he knew. There was … genuine surprise. Before the pain, I mean. He couldn’t believe he would be hurt by someone he trusted. It was so absurd, he didn’t even have time to feel betrayed. That’s how unbelievable it was.”

“So it was someone very close to the victim. Who’s someone you’d never expect to betray you?” Kipps thinks aloud.

“Friends,” Lockwood provides.

“Family,” you say, quietly.

“A lover.” Kipps takes your fork and helps himself to some leftover mushrooms from your plate. When you look at the food, your stomach churns. “We should go back to the house tomorrow and see if you missed something, Tony. Wouldn’t surprise me if you managed to gloss over some obvious evidence,” he says to Lockwood.

“Why do you believe I would be the one—”

You shut out their bickering. A fine drizzle has set in outside, leaving small rain drops on the window. The street is a blur of black and faint white light from the ghost-lamps. When you look at your own face in the window’s reflection, your own eyes stare back at you—big, scared and haunted.

It always takes some time to get back after using your talent—to slowly build up the walls and distance yourself from the echoes of someone else’s life and the brutal way it ended. Deaths like these: sudden, violent, painful are always difficult to come back from. Which is why it is so important to have someone to ground you. Kipps has known you for so long, he is well aware how the psychic hangover drags your senses through the shredder and leaves your mind and body bruised and raw like an open nerve.

He had a few years training on how to handle it thanks to your brother.

The thought of Matthew shakes you awake and shoves you into full alertness, as if ice-cold water has been dumped down the back of your neck. You feel a sharp ache in your chest as you shove the ghost of his memory out of your mind, and then raw emptiness, as if a grappling hook has yanked your heart out of your body. It is just the aftershock—the hangover from the psychic connection, you try to reason. This is no time to allow grief back into your body, your mind.

Kipps must have heard the quiet sound you made, like a wounded animal. He falls dead silent mid-sentence and whips his head towards you. An echo of recognition passes his features for a second—there and gone so quickly, you think you imagined it.

“We are done here,” he says, and reaches over to close the box’s lid with a resolute click. You didn’t even notice he has taken the key away from you and returned it inside its seal. Lockwood opens his mouth, as though ready to argue, but whatever expression your face paints, even he recognises that you have reached your limit. Without another word, he swiftly slides the box back into his pocket.

You turn away from them, feeling anger and frustration boil inside you. You don’t want them to think you are weak just because you are a little more sensitive than other agents who can use Touch.

“Want me to drop you off the dormitory?” Kipps asks, his voice intensely neutral. He is digging through his purse to pay for your food, and shoots a glare towards Lockwood to indicate that no, he will not pay for his.

The dormitory for Rotwell agents, commonly known as the Lions Den, are rows of sand-bricked two-room apartments housing most of Rotwell’s younger agents in Chelsea. Half of your monthly salary evaporates just for paying rent, but at least it is a roof over your head and only a few stops away from your workplace. There is also something about pretending to belong to the upper posh class of London, to stroll through the highly-maintained gardens and polished windows glinting like diamonds in the early morning sun. They don’t have to deal with countless sleepless nights, the psychic hangover that makes you feel as if your body is not your own, or the constant fear every shift might be the last.

Sometimes it is that moment of pretending as though you live a different life that makes a difference.

“It’s okay, I’ll just take a cab.” Because for one, Kipps lives on the other side of the city, and two, you need to be alone.

Kipps nods, but he doesn’t look happy about it. Lockwood stays silent and is completely relaxed, a paragon of serenity with alert, dark eyes.

You scoot out of the booth and follow them outside into the cold drizzle. Mist hangs in the dark streets, rendering the area nearly invisible. Kipps and Lockwood share a few quiet words. When they part, Lockwood’s coat end flaps like black wings in the dark. He turns halfway around, gives you a long, considering look over the back of his shoulder. He parts with a single, almost approving nod, then ducks his head against the biting wind and strides down the street, disappearing into the dark night.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kipps buttons the front of your trenchcoat. He is balancing on the back of his heels—an old habit when he feels bad for something and doesn’t quite know how to apologise and it would be easier to just bail from the conflict. “You still look like shit.”

You give him a weak kick to the shin. His shoulders relax. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow about how it went,” he says, jamming his hands inside his pockets. He pulls one out again and shoves a crushed candy into your hand. It’s your favourite brand and for the first time today, you feel something warm spreading in your chest.

“Wait.” Before he can turn away, you quickly catch his sleeve and make him turn around. “About that key…”

“Is there anything else?” Kipps leans forward and you have to bend your neck back to meet his eyes.

You remember when he was much smaller and you were at the same eye level. At 13 years, Kipps used to be smaller than the rest of the boys at Stroud & Co. where you started out your agent career and met. He’s had his share of playing errand boy or punching bag for the older, taller boys, until Matthew came along one day, dunked one of Kipps’s bullies into an overflowing rain barrel and got his nose broken in return.

They became best friends after that, and you in the middle. Matthew, Quill, and you. Lock, Shock, and Barrel.

Now, only two remain.

Kipps claps your shoulder, snapping you out of the memory and dispersing the picture you have conjured in your mind of him young. Today, he stands tall and broad-shouldered before you, twice in size and muscle. Nobody sane would try and mess with him.

“What’s wrong?” Kipps asks. “Where did you go in there?” He taps two fingers against his temple.

“When I was holding the key, the recent death was the strongest echo, but there was more. Like … way, way more.” You sling your arms around yourself. “Like many layers on a painting, and whatever is underneath all that … it feels evil. Really, really evil. There is a lot of death attached to that key.”

Kipps chews on this. He looks down the street to where Lockwood has vanished, his square jaw drawn tense. “I can’t say Lockwood’s stake on this, but I don’t care much about its history. It changed owners, I get it, but who would kill for something like that?”

“I don’t know.” You think back to the smell of blood, to the underlying eagerness to own that key. “But if that key is already that vile,” you say, shuddering, “then what about the thing it opens?”

“Not important to me as long as it’s not our problem.” He yawns, and taps a foot against the hard pavement to stave off the cold. “I bet it got destroyed or lost long ago. There is no way it’s still around.” Kipps runs a hand through his hair. It curls against his temple and neck in the damp mist. “Chances are high we’ll never hear anything about it ever again after this week. Case closed. Thanks for helping us. I’m sure DEPRAC can find the murderer and it’ll be just another case in the books.”

“Yeah, sure. I guess you’re right.” You barely hold back a yawn.

Kipps nudges your elbow. “I’ll catch up with you later, OK? Gotta make sure Lockwood’s the one who messed up the earlier investigation and go back to the crime scene.”

“Doing the Lord’s work,” you joke and give him a mocking salute. For the first time tonight, Kipps grins that lopsided half-grin showing part of his white teeth before he rushes off into the night after Lockwood.

For a moment, you stand still and let the drizzle engulf you. Although you have been almost sixteen hours on your feet, exhaustion has slowly trickled away, and in its stead a bone-deep anxiety has settled. Sleep. You need to sleep this off, and everything will return back to normal by tomorrow.

Heading for the main street to catch a night cab, you don’t turn around, and just like that, you miss out on the shadow unhitching itself from a wall even though the ghost-lamp flickers to life.

A/N: hmu if you want to join the taglist!

[ukulelevillainwrites]

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

complete

pairing : anthony lockwood x she/her reader

summary : y/n gets fired from Fittes and seeks refuge with George, only to find out he works with the worst guy she's ever met

word count : 3.5k

notes : this is my first fanfic ever, the set up is a little slow but bear with me, the series will be a compilation of all my favorite tropes and in general everything i love to read in l&c fanfics, it's heavily inspired by everything i've read so far so thanks to all the amazing writers out there <3, a lot more happens in the second part that i will upload right next to this one

She wasn’t entirely surprised when she heard that George Karim had gotten fired from Fittes. He did a great job on the few occasions she got to work with him, but he always seemed to take his research too far. She remembered warning him several times.

“Supervisors aren’t as open-minded as I am, you’re gonna get in trouble if you keep bringing up your theories about the Problem to every person you interact with!”

“But don’t you find it weird how research has come so far and yet the Problem keeps growing? The official story tells us that an unidentified event caused it but what if it’s still going on? Wouldn’t you want to know what that was so we could finally put an end to this?”

When he put it that way, y/n couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Sure, I guess but it doesn’t justify going up to the fourth floor when it’s clearly closed to agents still in training!”

“Keep your head in the sand if you want but I’ll get to the bottom of this, I know I’m getting closer already.” George said with a proud smile on his face.

She’d laughed. He was stubborn but she found it endearing.

He had bragged about his latest discoveries after a case the both of them had been working on. It wasn’t the first time. They got along well and took the habit of grabbing an early morning snack on their way back from work. He would mostly tell her about his most recent theory, either about the Problem or his latest obsession, which could take a few hours. But y/n didn’t mind, she thought he was good company and it helped her relax after a case. Though aside from those few moments they didn’t spend that much time together. Especially since y/n became part of Quill Kipps’ crew.

A month ago, she had gotten the good news coming back to work after a weekend visiting her parents in her hometown south of London. She was ecstatic, her roommate El too. Especially El actually. Because they had such a huge crush on him. y/n didn’t quite understand it, but she did admire his career. He had a remarkable reputation among other Fittes agents and being part of his team would certainly boost her career as well. She had her heart set on moving up to management and someday become a prominent figure of the Fittes organization. But to reach this goal she’d need to be as remarkable as Kipps, better even. She wanted him to notice her, to see how great her Touch was but most importantly how organized and responsible she could be under pressure. She needed him to think she could be a great leader and sought his attention on every occasion. Because of that she and George drifted apart, going from work friends to acquaintances that simply exchanged passing hellos at the archives or the Fittes headquarters. Before she even thought of reaching out to him, he was gone.

“Did you hear?” El had asked her as she walked into their shared room.

“Heard what?”

“That annoying guy finally got fired!”

“What George? He wasn’t annoying he was sweet!”

“You have weird tastes in friends.”

“Yes, I do.” She told them with a wink.

“But do you know what happened? Most supervisors were pissed and wanted to involve the cops!”

“What? Why?”

“Because he tried to break into an office! They caught him trying to pick the lock! How crazy is that?” El seemed to relish the drama of the situation as their face lit up with a smile that seemed inappropriate under the circumstances.

“That is crazy but as much as I love to gossip, I really need to get some sleep.”

y/n got ready for bed and set her alarm for the following day. She had to do some research at the archives with her teammate. They would join Kipps later at the client’s house. It shouldn’t be too difficult since it seemed to be a Type One but she really needed to impress him. She had to be the perfect agent: quick, focused and perfectly prepared. Even though she was always very professional she still needed some rest.

y/n was a heavy sleeper and had very vivid dreams. Ever since she was a child, she had some of her nights disturbed by complex dreams that felt so real she would wake up exhausted the next morning as if she hadn’t slept at all. It hadn’t happened in quite some time, but that night y/n wouldn’t get much rest. She found herself in the middle of the woods, barefoot, standing in a clearing. The ground was covered with an emerald green moss that felt soft beneath her feet. She looked around but couldn’t see much beside the shadows of the surrounding trees. A thick fog made it hard to see where she was. Disoriented and lost, she started walking towards the nearest tree but, a few steps in, her right foot sank in ice cold water. She realized she was in the middle of a pond, stuck and unable to reach the shore. A frog jumped into the water behind her and made her turn around. A girl was standing in front of her. Her auburn hair was slightly curled, and her bangs delicately framed her brown eyes. She was slightly smaller than she was, about the same age, her face showed no emotion at all.

“Find me.” She said in a neutral tone.

y/n furrowed her brow, not understanding what she meant. As she opened her mouth to ask her to explain the girl repeated

“Find me.”

Without moving she somehow floated above the pond and retreated into the woods. She mouthed the same words one last time before the fog engulfed her. y/n woke up with a jolt, disoriented and terribly thirsty. What was that about? she thought. She didn’t have time to ponder since she hadn’t heard her alarm and was already late to meet up with her colleague.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Bobby I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long…”

“It’s fine but hurry up. Kipps insisted on gathering as much information as possible.”

“Really? But everything indicates a Type One right?”

“The problem isn’t with the dead but with the living. Didn’t you pay attention to who our client is?”

“Mrs Overton? What about her?” Bobby had an exasperated look on his face and sighed heavily. So much for being the perfect agent today.

“Her husband owns Overton Watches and basically runs a luxury empire and she is on the board of the Sunrise Corporation. She and her husband are close friends with Penelope Fittes and we cannot screw up this case otherwise our team will probably end up at the bottom of her list next time she needs trustworthy agents.”

Oh, I’m not rested enough to deal with that.

“Okay then, let’s get to work.”

They spent the whole day at the agency’s archives. The Fittes database did help a lot to find more information about the Overtons’ house but overall, it was a pretty boring case. The house was old, dated back the 1800s, it belonged to Mrs Overton’s ancestors, one of them died because, well, they had to at some point, and felt like coming back. This great grandmother didn’t live any kind of extraordinary life and decided to haunt the place in the same unremarkable way. Y/n had trouble staying focused. The case was not fascinating, far from it. Her mind drifted and came back to her dream. In hindsight it wasn’t that disturbing. It was just her brain making stuff up. But she couldn’t shake the feeling she had felt when the girl had spoken to her. There was something magnetic about her voice and it had an intensity that didn’t match the lack of expression on her face. It bothered her. Why couldn’t she stop seeing her face?

Bobby got up to put back some newspapers and the sudden movement next to her brought her back to reality. Right, the Overton case. Everything indicated a Lurker, so y/n wasn’t too worried about tonight. She could still make up for today’s start. Plus, her talent would probably be the most useful. This unseemly case might serve her after all.

As she walked back to their table after putting a book back on its shelf, she accidently bumped into someone.

“Oh I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay don’t worry.”

“George? Hi! What are you doing here?”

“I came by to pick up the rest of my stuff…”

“Oh right… I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Don’t be I kinda deserved it anyway. Though I still think I was right.”

“About what?”

“Mrs. Dufour stealing sources. It’s pretty obvious she can’t afford to live the way she does on a supervisor’s salary, and she always looks like she’s plotting something. She reminds me of relic men. I never liked her.”

“Well to be fair you don’t like a lot of people… it looks like I missed your last hyperfixation… but it seems like a stretch and accusing her of something like that… Was it really worth getting into that much trouble?”

“I’m not chipper about it, but I’ll be fine. I already found something else, a friend I can still work with, maybe you know him. We live in-”

But y/n wasn’t listening. Bobby was calling her, telling her that they had to get moving to get to their client’s house before sundown.

“I really have to go George I’m sorry. But I’ll miss our walks filled with your crazy theories.” She said with a smile.

“If you want to come by for tea, we’d be happy to have you. 35 Portland Row, don’t forget!”

“Sure, I won’t! Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.”

She hurried to catch up with her colleague. She really was going to miss him even though they weren’t that close she had grown used to seeing him around. But she couldn’t believe his theory about Mrs. Dufour. It sounded like he wanted to see evil everywhere and was looking for something to distract himself with. A made-up scenario that justified why he disliked her at the same time. Nothing more.

----

“Good evening, Madam, we are a leading team from Fittes. We were assigned to make your house safe again by Miss Fittes herself.”

Kipps always had a very humble way of introducing them to their clients. As proud as y/n was of being on his team, she didn’t feel entirely at ease with his elevated figures of speech.

“Yes, I was expecting you. Penelope told me she put one of her best teams on my case. I was very flattered.”

“Well, we do not want to appear overly confident, but we will be most efficient to take care of your problem. May we come in?” she asked.

“Of course, please. I suppose your supervisor will be here too?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dufour will be here shortly.” Kipps answered.

y/n abruptly turned around to look at him.

“Mrs. Dufour? What happened to Mr. Fowler?”

“He got called by DEPRAC to deal with some details on the last case we did. You know, the one where it only took you two minutes to find the source after Bobby and I spent a half hour looking for it. It was really impressive I was glad you were here.” He told her with a wink.

She felt herself blush. She wasn’t used to being praised and certainly not by a prominent agent like Quill Kipps, even after a month of working together she still felt flustered. Maybe that last case made up for the horrible impression she gave him on her first week. And she was going to keep proving him how great she was.

The praise was so unexpected it made her forget who their supervisor was for a moment. What were the odds that on the same day George told her about his suspicions she had to work with this potential traitor? She could not let George’s wild theories cloud her judgement. She was here to do a job, a relatively easy one given their research, and she was going to make a wonderful impression on both Kipps and this high-profile client. She took the lead and went inside.

As they stepped into the house, they were greeted by a white marble entrance furnished with glass cases displaying various clocks and watches, certainly a history of the famous Overton watches and mechanisms. The sun was already setting, it hit a crystal chandelier which reflected golden light over the walls. The pieces shone behind their glass. Their client guided them through the hall into the kitchen were teacups and biscuits had been served. Mrs. Overton took a seat and the three agents followed. She seemed at ease with the situation even though the young adults she had in front of her were here to rid her of a ghost. She sat at the head of the table, perfectly in control as if this meeting was a business reunion like any other. She was in her late fifties; her hair was silver and styled in an elaborate hairstyle. She looked both serious and relaxed at the same time. She was aware of the risks but wasn’t worried about the situation, like she had total faith in the team in front of her.

“While we wait for Mrs. Dufour maybe you could tell us more about what has been troubling you?” asked Kipps.

“I believe the haunting began about three weeks ago. My husband started feeling uneasy when he got home, and I felt the same fear shortly after. We never saw or heard anything we just feel watched.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Madam.” y/n tried to comfort her.

“The research we did on your house indicates that it’s been built in the 1800’s and never left your family is that correct?” Bobby interrupted.

“Yes, I inherited it about 2 years ago, but we only moved in this year.”

“We believe the haunting might be caused by one of your ancestors, a certain Emily Abbott, could you tell us anything about her?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her before…”

“So, you wouldn’t have any idea what her source might be?”

“You might have a late night ahead of you. When we moved in, we kept most of the furniture that were already in the house. For all I know any of these pieces could be the source.”

That wasn’t good news. Hopefully with her Touch y/n could save them some time. They could start at the bottom of the house and work their way up, going from room to room as she touches different objects hoping for some result. As she organized the night in her head the front door opened.

Mrs. Dufour immediately filled the room with her presence. Mostly because she spoke at length and didn’t let the team finish asking their questions. She thanked Mrs. Overton for waiting for her, ushered her out of the house and gave them her directions for the night. Not even Kipps could object. She wanted him to stay nearby while Bobby and y/n were to explore the house to see if they could pick up anything. She felt for Kipps, this seemed like a monumental waste of time for him. But they couldn’t do much about it, agents were supposed to follow their supervisor’s instructions, they were in charge after all.

They searched the house until midnight, making rounds, going up and down the floors, looking for potential sources or trying to pick up any kind of psychical activity but came back downstairs empty handed. How was she supposed to impress anyone with a case like this? y/n and Bobby went back to the kitchen to report the lack of activity to Mrs. Dufour. 

“We’ve searched the entire house three times but unfortunately none of the objects we picked up gave any sign of psychical activity, the visitor hasn’t shown up yet and Mrs. Overton couldn’t give us more information. I’m not really sure what more we could do for now.” Bobby looked defeated. Or bored. Probably the latter, it was an exceptionally boring case. y/n was growing tired at the lack of action. It made her mad that someone could hire one of the best teams in London to take care of such a benign problem just because they had money and connections while hundreds of homes were threatened by harmful Type Twos and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Do I really have to tell you two how to do your jobs? Keep looking and take this seriously. I hope you realize who our client is, I can’t allow any mistake tonight.” Her authoritarian tone made y/n see why George disliked her. Clearly, they must have gotten into a few arguments on several occasions. But she couldn’t understand what would make him think that she could steal sources. She seemed to take her job very seriously. Sure, she was a pain but that didn’t mean she was a criminal.

“I’ve got something here! Bobby, y/n join me in the hall.” Kipps called.

They drew their rapiers and walked slowly into the hall. Kipps was looking at a corner where shadow had gathered. There was a faint, almost indistinguishable human shape lurking there. But it didn’t move, and it didn’t seem to want anything more than just stand there.

“I’m going to keep an eye on it while you two look for the source.” Kipps told them without averting his eyes from the dark figure.

“But what more can we do we looked everywhere already.” Bobby said with a sigh.

“Well,” Kipps turned to her. “y/n, got any ideas?”

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard them as she was lost in thought. Mrs. Overton hadn’t mentioned anything about the display cases here. But she should have. There were marks on the walls behind them, and again on the marble floor. It was a clear sign that bigger and heavier furniture had been removed to make room for new ones. That change alone could have triggered the ghost. And since they were behind glass, they hadn’t tested any of the objects on display. Though they were all Overton Watches so, clearly, they didn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Overton’s ancestors. Another dead end. She lingered in front of the central display, slowly losing hope. If such a ridiculously small case was too much for her, what was she even doing here? Sure, the two guys accompanying her weren’t inspired either, but she was disappointed in herself. She had dealt with dangerous situations without flinching, but a Lurker case was getting the best of her. That was embarrassing. She rested her hands on the case and looked down at the watches. There were four watches spread across a silk white sheet surrounding a bigger, more ancient clock. They didn’t seem that impressive. Why were people making such a big deal out of them? The clock on the other hand was more ornate and had required skilled craftmanship. The mechanism was apparent and intricate. It was still working which was most impressive. A golden crown rested delicately upon a mother-of-pearl dial, the needles moving steadily around. Right beneath the number 6 was engraved something almost unreadable. She squinted to see better. The initials EA were written in golden letters.

“I’ve found it! The source! It’s this clock right here!”

“Nice work y/n. Keep an eye on the ghost I’ll take care of the source.”

They switched position and she kept her eyes on the shadow as Kipps tried to get the clock out of the display.

“I can’t get to it, it’s locked. I’m gonna have to break the glass.”

“No! Don’t do that Mrs. Overton would be livid. Bobby go get Mrs. Dufour and Kipps don’t touch anything please.” She said with her back to them, her eyes still staring at the corner.

“Did you find the source? What is it?” Mrs. Dufour asked, suddenly in a hurry.

“We have reasons to believe this clock is the object causing Mrs. Overton trouble.”

“That’s really nice work Mr. Kipps congratulations.”

“I much appreciate your praise, but it has to go to y/n. She found the source. As we don’t have a key, I offered to break the glass, but y/n thinks it would upset our client.”

“Well thank you Miss y/n for using some common sense. We cannot break anything in this house.”

“We could drape a silver net over the case and come back in the morning to pick up the source.” She offered.

“I think it would be best. Thank you again for your prompt judgement here.”

“It was my pleasure.” She blushed. It was nice to have her efforts acknowledged, no matter how small. This supervisor might have been a stickler, but she recognized good work, it was enough to satisfy her. This case turned out pretty well after all.

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Thinking about how Kipps is everything an adult supervisor should be and it’s those exact reasons he cannot live with himself being one... this was just supposed to be a post of contrasting block quotes and it’s still mostly that but I added a bit of commentary/context:

“The adult supervisors had zero psychic sensitivity and, since they were mortally afraid of going anywhere near an actual Visitor, never ventured far into a haunted zone. Instead, they hung around on the sidelines, being old and useless.” 

- Lucy in The Creeping Shadow

Kipps, meanwhile, during the Guppy escapade:

“The one exception was Kipps, who sat cross-legged in the kitchen, drinking hot chocolate and reading a newspaper. He didn’t have sufficient Talents to do psychic exploration.”

(emphasized because he’s actually in the home, none of Lucy’s adult supervisors have ever done that -- also he’s staying out of the way) 

Later, he makes an official suggestion in his capacity as Fittes observer, but when the actual psychic kids reject it, he goes along with their plan anyway. Not only that, they’re actively trying to draw out Guppy and Kipps helps: 

“Lockwood inserted his crowbar into a narrow space between a countertop and the cupboard below.  ‘Kips and I will start,’ he said. ‘The rest of you keep watch”  ....After a bit, he moved back and let Kipps take over with the mallet.

And then :

“We have to go and help him, Kipps,” I said.  Kipps didn’t seem to have moved since Lockwood had left the room. His face was white. He gathered his wits. “Yes. We must. Come on.”

He doesn’t end up having to do anything because George finds the Source a moment later but he’s willing! He can’t see the ghost but he’s gonna go help Lockwood fight it! 

I don’t have my copy of Screaming Staircase with me to double check so I’ll edit this later-- I can’t remember if Lucy asking Jacobs to come into the house and offer advice is in the book or a show addition, but it’s such a contrast!!! 

And then, of course, these are all the reasons that Kipps ends up resigning-

“I just had a realization,” he said when we were on the train and rocking slowly through the south London suburbs. “After the Guppy job. I mean, there we were-- in a house possessed by a wicked and powerful entity, and you all were running around like madmen-- fighting, screaming, being fools-- but dealing with it... I was just a fifth wheel. I couldn’t see it, I couldn’t hear it... I was too old to do anything useful. And that’s what being a supervisor is: it’s a life of sending others out to fight and die. I’ve known that for a while, but it took you to make me realize I couldn’t bear to continue with it.... it was probably another dumb decision... like agreeing to come along with you today. Lockwood says he wants my expertise, but I’m not sure what I can contribute aside from standing around like a fence post. Maybe I can make the tea.” 

which like wow! The acceptance that he no longer has Talent, that his leadership can no longer continue to the way it used to -- which is exactly what an adult supervisor should do -- be there for input, listen to the psychic kids, advise and support-- it’s what Kipps does !  

we very frequently see Kipps actively engaged with his Team in Whispering Skull and Hollow Boy- obviously he has a Prideful streak, he’s pompous and makes mistakes, but we generally see him trust his team and do his best as a Leader. Again, don’t have my copies with me so can’t make the point further in those books, but also remember the reason he falls into hot water with Fittes in the first place is he goes a little rogue-- and the reason for that is because none of DEPRAC or the other Adults know what’s going on with the Chelsea outbreak, and, in the wake of his agent’s death, Kipps doesn’t want to lose anyone else to arbitrary nonsense (there’s something here in direct contrast to Marissa but maybe I’ll expound more in another post) -- instead, he trusts a Talent he actually knows and makes the best choice for his team members 

Which is all to say-- Kipps is a good adult supervisor, but the system isn’t made for good adult supervisors 

[bella-rose29]

Little Kipps (part three)

Quill finds out that his sister and Lockwood are dating.

Final part! Not gonna lie the ending feels off but I can't figure out how to make it better, but I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: I don't think there actually are any, but please let me know if there are!

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @karensirkobabes, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @ran23sblog, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @wordsarelife

As always, let me know here if you would like to be added or removed from my Lockwood and co tag list! <3

Quill Kipps sat rigidly upright in the front room of 35 Portland Row, glaring at the couple opposite him over the coffee table.

"Tell me again what's going on here?"

Since seeing his enemy snogging his sister roughly five minutes ago, Quill had been in a state of shock. He'd come over with the intention of passing on a case (reluctantly; Fittes hadn't wanted it and he didn't have enough jurisdiction to go for it anyway, but he was genuinely concerned for the woman who'd reached out), but on seeing the two of them he'd forgotten all about his initial reason for being here.

"We went on a date, and we kissed. I like him, and he likes me."

"And tell me again why you like him?"

"I know that you don't like him, Quill, but I do. I get that it's difficult for you to understand that, but you're gonna have to."

"Yeah, sure, but why do you like him?"

Y/n sighed, clearly getting frustrated with him. "Because he's kind, and sweet, and cute, and-"

"You think I'm cute?" Lockwood interrupted her, dopey smile on his face. Quill fought the urge to gag.

"Uh, did I say that? I don't think I did-"

"No, you did! You said it in Arif's as well!" His sister went a bright shade of red.

"Wait, in Arif's? So this has been going on longer than just today?"

"Obviously," Y/n rolled her eyes. "How was he gonna ask me out if this started today? Although that didn't happen at Arif's, that happened when I came over the other day, and really it was Lucy that forced you to ask me out, because I'm convinced that you wouldn't have done otherwise."

Quill could only stare as his sister went on, eyes widening with every word she spoke. "When did you come over here?"

"Oh, just the other day, to give George that research. Ended up staying for a cuppa."

"Right." He sat in silence for a while, still staring at his sister and Lockwood, back still not relaxing. They were fidgety, he noticed, with Y/n playing with a loose thread on her jumper, and Lockwood looking like he was trying desperately not to hold her other hand, occasionally pulling his hands back into his lap when they drifted over to Y/n. Quill sighed.

"Look," he started, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't like you, Tony. I don't like you at all. But for some reason that I can't begin to understand, my sister does like you. Now, you are incredibly lucky that I love my sister, or I would murder you right now, then clean up the site so you couldn't come back to haunt me," he pointed a finger at the boy, who swallowed thickly in response. "But if Y/n wants to be with you, then I'm giving you one chance, just one, to prove that you deserve her. Screw that up, and you're never going near her again, got it?" Lockwood nodded, sweating slightly, and Quill relished the knowledge that the little shit was actually scared of him right now.

Good, he thought. Hopefully he'll refrain from breaking her heart if he's scared.

"So... does this mean you're okay with us being together?" Y/n's voice was hopeful, and she sat forward a little in anticipation. Quill sighed for what felt like the millionth time since seeing them, then reluctantly nodded.

"Sure. Just don't break her heart, Tony, or I'll break your neck."

"Quill!"

"Okay," Lockwood mumbled at the same time that Y/n exclaimed.

Satisfied, Quill stood, Y/n following suit. Lockwood pushed himself up a moment later, clearly unsure of where he should be.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like a private word with Tony, please." The boy swallowed again, and Quill would have felt bad for him if it weren't feeling too much like payback for all the times Lockwood had taunted him.

"Please don't kill him," she whispered as she left the room.

"No promises." She glared as she closed the door behind her.

"You're not going to kill me, are you? If you are, could I at least say goodbye to everyone first?"

"I'm not gonna kill you, Tony," Quill sighed (again). "I just want to make sure you know how much she means to me. Seriously, she's my world, and lord knows she deserves the universe. Don't mess this up, Lockwood, because she's the most incredible girl you'll ever have the luck of being with."

Lockwood was silent for a moment, mulling over Quill's words. "I know I don't deserve her, but I promise you I'll do everything in my power to make sure I never hurt her. And as much as it pains me to say this, you're right." Quill smiled triumphantly at the admission. "She's amazing, and she can do so much better than me." The smile faded as Quill took notice of the depth of sadness in Lockwood's eyes. "But," the sadness was replaced - no, joined - by an overwhelming surge of determination, "I really like her, a lot, and for some inexplicable reason she's chosen me, so like I said, I'll do anything to keep her safe and happy."

Quill was taken aback by Lockwood's words, unused to such sincerity coming from the boy. Normally he was all charm and smiles and big speeches, but now all Quill saw was a vulnerable kid who just wanted to be with a girl. Feeling a pang of sorrow (which he frowned at, why was he feeling sympathy for him?), Quill stepped forward, then awkwardly patted Lockwood's shoulder. "Thanks, Tony." The air felt even more awkward than the pat, and Quill quickly moved back, removing his hand and turning towards the door to leave. Opening it, Y/n fell forward, squealing as she windmilled her arms to stay upright.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Uh, just... inspecting the doorframe?" she winced, leaning against the aforementioned doorframe and slipping, excuse more of a question. Quill shook his head, fond smile on his face at his sister's antics as he stepped into the hallway.

"Don't be home too late, alright? In fact, within the hour would be amazing. Or within the next thirty minutes. Or, come to think of it, you could just come back with me now?"

"Within the hour is fine, thanks."

"Oh, Kipps?" Lockwood piped up.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you even coming over in the first place?"

"Oh. A case. I don't need your help, it's just a low level one that Fittes don't have time for. Figured you'd be so desperate for work you'd take the scraps."

"Quill," Y/n glared at him. "Try to be nice to my boyfriend."

"B-boyfriend?"

"You are my boyfriend, right?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Then my brother needs to stop being mean to my boyfriend."

"O-okay."

Quill rolled his eyes at Lockwood's stuttering and blush, then nodded. "Fine. Only for you. I don't care that much about him."

"Quill!"

"Ugh, fine. Lockwood, you're not the absolute worst person I've ever met. You're the second. How's that?" He turned back to his sister.

"...It'll do."

"Here's the files for the case," he chucked them onto the already cluttered side cabinet, then slung his jacket on and opened the front door. "I'll see you later, Y/n/n."

"Bye!"

Quill shook his head as he left, door closing behind him. He might not like Anthony Lockwood, but he made his sister happy.

So long as he remembered that she was a Kipps too, and fully capable of murdering him if needed, then Lockwood would do just fine.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Bloody Pardon 4

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> Yourself and Lockwood finally return home and it's time for Violet and June to leave, but will you tell Lockwood before it's too late?

Disclaimer: Sorry if there are any plot holes, it's been a while since I've updated. Mostly fluff, mentions of blackmail and denial. This is the final part.

By the time you all arrived home, the smell of George’s cooking wafted through the kitchen. 

He was home. 

“Good, you’re back! Try this.”

Lockwood had just managed to help you get your coat off before George shoved his cooking spoon into your face and fed you the tasty, albeit burning hot soup. 

“Does it need more Thyme? I think it needs more Thyme but I can’t find it on the shelves.”

“I’ll help you find it.”

Lockwood and George disappeared with Violet hot on their tail leaving just you and June alone in the hallway. 

“That was very romantic.”

“June, please.”

“No, no. I’m not saying anything.” June held up her hands before walking away. “Just tell him.”

You sighed as she made her way into the kitchen, ready to follow her only to be greeted by Kipps at the living room door. 

“Tell who what?”

“Nothing.”

“No, no. Come on, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

“Is this about you and Lockwood?”

You whipped around to find Lucy stood behind you with a Digestive in her hand, half eaten. 

“Oh my, god. It is.” Kipps replied, spotting the look on your face. 

Fake denial. 

“Please, can both of you just drop it?”

“Drop what?”

You whipped around again, this time facing the kitchen where Lockwood was now standing behind you.

“Oh, nothing Tony.” Kipps answered for you. “Just gossip, that’s all.”

“About what?”

Lockwood mainly tried to look to you for answers, but you weren’t for giving them up. Just like the night before. 

You had the same look. 

You were hiding something he desperately wanted to know, but he knew you well enough to know you’d just breeze past it and never mention it again. 

And so you did. 

“Is George almost finished? I’m famished.”

Breezing past Lockwood, you entered the kitchen where you found Violet trying to carry a stack of plates over to the table. 

“Oh, here, let me do that.”

“Oh, please, dear. Let me help. You and my Anthony have been so kind. At least let me set the table. Or else, you’ll make me feel like an old woman. I can still do the Quickstep as quickly as I could when I was your age.”

“I’m sure you can, Aunt Vi.” Lockwood appeared by the door again. 

“Don’t mock me, boy.”

“I never would.” Lockwood appeared genuine. 

Dinner went smoothly and before you knew it, it was time for Violet and June to head home. 

George said his ‘goodbye’ before he left to go to the Archives to search up for the next case and both Lucy and Kipps came with Lockwood and yourself to drop them off at the train station.  

Of course, Aunt Vi hugged everyone telling them all to keep in touch and June made her own version of goodbye to everyone before she pulled you aside. 

“Tell him. If not for yourself, then for him. That boy…every time he looks at you he looks like he’s about to explode. Tell him. Tell him before it’s too late and he tries to…i don’t know…’move on’. You and I both know, deep down, that wouldn’t work for either of you. You’d both be too miserable without one another.”

“June-”

“No.” June said, firmly. “No. You tell him, or I tell Vi the whole truth. In about a month, she’ll be expecting an update on your marriage. Now, that divorce lawyer is drawing up the papers for you to sign a week on Monday. That gives you two weeks to tell him the truth and I expect a letter and a real wedding photo from the both of you. If I don’t, I will go to Vi.”

“Isn’t that Blackmail?”

“Perhaps, but it’s for both of your wellbeing. And, besides, who’s gonna lock an old lady like me up. I’ll break out within a day. They wouldn’t find me until I wanted to be found.”

You couldn’t help but show a smile. 

“Two weeks.” June warned you. “That’s all you’re getting. Now, go back to your husband and tell him how you really feel about him.”

You nodded, unsure on what else to do. 

“Oh, here she is.” Violet hugged you so tight, you couldn’t do anything else but hug her back. It was the kind of hug you still felt after she let go. 

“Oh, I’m just so happy for the both of you. Anthony, I haven’t seen you smile like this in ages.”

“What can I say? She makes me happy.”

“You suit one another. Don’t they, June? Don’t they just suit one another?”

“Like a bride and groom on top of a wedding cake.”

You felt a pang of guilt in your stomach as Lockwood placed an arm around your waist and held you closer to him. 

Ten minutes later, they were both on the train headed home. Meanwhile, Kipps and Lucy had decided to go on a day out, picking a random time and getting on that train. 

This meant you and Lockwood were left alone. 

Together. 

On the way back, you both remembered that it was food shopping day. George had given you both a list of things to pick up on your way back. So, hopping into his car, Lockwood drove to the main supermarket where you both grabbed all the items George said he needed, plus some extra before driving home. 

As winter drew in, closer and closer, the sky got darker earlier and George called ahead. A family emergency had come up and he was heading home. In fact, he was already at the train station. 

Then, twenty minutes later, Lucy called. 

Herself and Kipps were going to stay the night and get the train back in the morning. 

So you and Lockwood were left alone. 

Together. 

Again. 

By 6 o’clock in the evening, you and Anthony had eaten dinner and you were preparing the fire as he finished up some research on the current case. 

Only, as the fire started producing heat and warming up the house, you popped in a VHS tape of Christmas in Connecticut. It had been right at the very back of the collection - it probably hadn’t seen the light of day since it was first played. 

The Title Credits began to roll just as Lockwood entered. 

“Can we talk?”

“About what?”

“About…the last couple of days.”

You went to speak as you stood up but Lockwood hurried forward to stand in front of you, in the hopes you would remain standing in your place and not leave the room. 

“Please. Just…I feel like I’ve been going crazy. I understand this whole thing is completely unconventional. I mean, most people start out with a first date and we just jumped straight to the wedding.”

“You’re idea, might I add. Even that we didn’t do.”

Lockwood cracked a smile for a moment but he didn’t want you to try and divert what he was going to ask. 

“I just…I want to ask you a question.”

“Okay.”

“And I want you to answer it. Truthfully.” Lockwood clarified. “And I don’t want you to divert or try to run away from me. At least for the next five minutes,” he added when he saw your eyes flick to the hallway. 

“Okay,” you eventually agreed. 

“The other night, you told me you could barely lie to yourself. What did you mean by that?”

“Tony…”

“Please.” The warmth of the fire reflected itself in Lockwood’s eyes as he pleaded with you. “Please…I just need to know.”

You tried your hardest to shut off the memories of June and her Blackmail. 

Two Weeks. 

Two weeks you had, to tell him the truth. 

“You really don’t want to, Tony. Please, can we just forget I ever said it?”

“No.” 

He surprised you. You knew he could be stubborn, but it was rare he pushed this hard on a subject with you. 

“What Aunt Vi said before. What I said before, about being happy. I meant it. Every word. And everything I told Aunt Vi and June about watching George teach you to dance…I meant every word.” Lockwood told you before taking your hand in his. 

You didn’t know what to say. 

What would you say?

What could you say?

“If you meant it in the way I think…I hope you meant…please,” Lockwood said, adding your name. “I just need to know.”

“Tony.”

“Please.”

Taking a breath, you tried to find the courage to look at him, though your eyes seemed to dart elsewhere every now and again. 

“I…what do you want me to say? That these last couple of days have confused me more than ever? That I can’t wrap my head around what’s real and what not? Tony, before I found out you and I are married, it was clear. Everything was clear. I knew what my feelings were for you, I knew what I could keep from everyone, including myself. But now…now I can’t even do that. I know I have feelings for you, Tony. But that doesn’t matter. Because not only are you my friend, but we also work together. Any feelings that I tried to convince myself aren’t real…they won’t stop feeling real.”

“Do you have feelings for me?”

You went silent, looking to his hand that grasped onto yours. 

“Because I’m in love with you and I need to know if you feel the same.”

Looking him in the eye, Anthony got the confirmation he needed. 

“I fell in love with you the moment I saw you dancing with George. And, even though the whole marriage thing was accidental, I can’t lie…it took everything in me to not go against calling the lawyer. And when I was dancing with you in the square…it was like everything I had wished for.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

“We’ve stuck together this long, even before we got married.”

You cracked a smile and laughed, “Yeah, that’s true.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“A yes to what?”

Trying to hide his smile, Lockwood kept hold of your hand before lowering himself onto one knee. 

Saying your full name, along with his surname, which sent butterflies-in-a-tornado all around your stomach, Anthony Lockwood asked you;

“Will you stay married to me for as long as you love me?”

You smiled, “Yes, Tony. I will remain married to you.”

With a grand smile, Tony stood and kissed you, pulling you in closer than ever. 

After a moment, the back of your legs hit the sofa and he lowered you down carefully before quickly joining you, the kiss breaking just enough for the both of you to catch a breath. 

A week later, June received a professional wedding photo of both you and Anthony in the back garden where Lucy had decorated the place in fairy lights and different whimsical pieces that made the entire day feel like it was plucked out of a book. 

On that same morning of you preparing her letter, Lockwood came into the study, wrapping his arms around your shoulders before kissing your cheek and resting his head on yours. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sending June confirmation that her Blackmail worked.”

“What?”

“She knew. She knew the whole thing was fake, well…kinda.”

“I beg your bloody pardon?”

You laughed a little at his reply before watching him pull up a seat to be next to you. “She knew. The second morning she was here, I found her in the kitchen. She knew about the whole thing. But she knew I loved you. And she knew you loved me.”

“And the blackmail?”

“I had two weeks to tell you the truth, or else she’d tell Violet.”

“Wow. I knew she could be tough but I’d have thought she would have drawn the line at blackmail.”

“And now I’m sending her confirmation.”

“Okay.” Lockwood kissed you twice before standing up. “Cup of tea and some toast.”

“Love some.”

“Okay.” Lockwood smiled before coming back and kissing you once again.

Tags:

@mischivana

@i-am-not-a-raccoon-anymore

@cassiopeiia24

@anathemaloren

@locknco

@wordsarelife

[xx-w0rlds-0k4y3st-f4g-xx]

THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN OF ULTIMATE DESTINY

written for the @favcharacterpoll , kipps vs. kermit round.

(co written by @krash-and-co because I can't write fight scenes, so thanks krash <3)

here's the fic on ao3

From the dark of the night outside, Kipps knew there was no way he would be seen.

The night was dark, his footsteps silent, bag heavy with the weight of chains, duct tape and rope. Lucy and Tony had offered to come with him, but he knew this must be done alone. As he stepped up to the front door, he tested the handle only to see that it was unlocked. 

He was expected, then.

He heard nothing from inside the house, saw no lights on, nor any other indicator that there was someone home, but he knew better. 

Goggles in place over his eyes, he crept inside, careful to keep his rapier from bashing against the doorframe or the walls of the entry hall. He walked down the dark hall until he saw a thin ray of light coming from a door that had been left ajar.

Quill stepped closer to the door, stopping just outside the room, but before he could lay a hand on the dark-painted wood, it creaked open on tarnished hinges, revealing a thin figure sitting behind a warn dark wooden desk.

“So,” Kermit the Frog started, in that high creaky voice. “You're the loser who thinks he could take me down. What makes you think that a nobody like you, Quilliam Kipps, could defeat someone like me, beloved by all old and young, older than time itself?” 

“Oh, you know, maybe the fact that I'm 3 feet taller than you and have a sword.” Kipps replied smoothly, not at all terrified of this glorified sock puppet. He reached behind his back, finding and door handle and locking it. 

It was now or never.

Kipps strode towards Kermit, dropping his bag to the floor, he rolled his shoulders to release the tension built up and slowly drew his rapier from its sheath.

"Ooh, little guy thinks he's tough, huh?" Kermit taunted.

 He stood up in his chair. The shadows on his face made him look eyeless, one smiling, huge, gaping mouth.

Never mind that. Kipps was surely stronger. He had real arms.

"I think I'm gonna kick your non-existent arse--" Kipps took a step forward-- "all the way up to your mouth hole."

Kermit chuckled. "It's nice to have dreams, Quill."

And whatever Kermit said next was lost to Kipps, for at that second the puppet launched himself directly in Kipps' face.

Before anything else was heard, there was the sound of the clang of metal hitting the floor.

His only defense.

Kipps scrambled to free himself. The puppet clung harder. Kipps felt himself hit a desk, a wall, something unidentifiable; he grasped desperately at empty air to find something to hold on to.

He was going to fall.

"We're making such a connection!" said Kermit, voice strained.

"Mhh-mhhh-mrrff!!" said Kipps. He clawed at the muppet clung to his face like a barnacle. "Fight fair!" he managed to get out.

"Oh, Quill." Kermit did not loosen his grip. "You don't fight fair."

"What would Miss Piggy say?" Kipps yelped, shaking his face like a wet dog.

'"Get his ass, mon chéri!"' Kermit made direct eye contact with Kipps while saying this, which was not only oddly unsettling but distracting enough to send both of them sprawling to the floor.

Coincidentally, right next to Kipps' rapier.

He groped at his side, felt the familiar charms and gems.

Held it tight for dear life.

"Hey, uh, what are you doing?" asked Kermit.

"Animal control," Kipps replied snarkily.

Kipps flung his rapier in the air.

It arched beautifully, although barely seen in the dark room. Yet Kermit's eyes widened.

With a soft poke, it's metal tip punctured his back.

"Oh, agony!" Kermit wailed, leaping from Kipps. "Agony, suffering, death! Oh, oh, oh--"

He suddenly froze and gave Kipps a look. He removed the sword from his body.

"I'm full of fucking stuffing, dipshit."

Kipps gave a battle cry and lunged for the frog. He grabbed him by the arms and shook him.

 "If we promise to end this now," he panted, "I won't kill you like I want. If not..." Kipps mimicked cutting his throat in the typical gesture for 'I'm going to murder you.' "And I mean that literally."

"Hey, hey, we aren't animals here!" Kermit stammered frantically. "We didn't agree to--"

Kipps slammed him against the wall. "YES OR NO?" he shouted.

Kermit wavered for a second, and Kipps took this opportunity to pull Kermit from the wall grabbing a tighter hold on Kermit, and he dragged him toward his bag. 

Kipps threw Kermit to the ground, pinning him down under his knee. He unzipped his bag grabbing out the rope and duct tape, and within seconds, Kermit had his mouth taped shut and his limbs tied together.

Kipps shoved Kermit into the bag and was walking back out the door before Kermit could even start screaming again.

Maybe he should have bacon and eggs for breakfast.

[archiveoftara]

Maniac

"I don't feel so good, Lockwood."

Lockwood looked at your bloody hand clenching to your waist. The poor agent couldn't help but to panic at the amount of blood pooling around you.

"Help is on it's way." He calmly reassured you. The last thing he want is to scare you.

You don't really remember how you ended up in this situation. Stuck in a room full of visitors with your rival company, not to mention bleeding to death.

"LOCKWOOD LOOK OUT."

*72 Hours Ago*

"This case is driving me nuts." George banged the book on the table. "It's nuts." Furiously running his hands over is hair.

"How bad is it?" bored lockwood chomps off an apple.

"A group of nuns mysteriously commits suicide, the reason is still unknown. About 20 years ago, an elite group of agents from Fittes was sent to clean the building but no one survived." Lucy exclaimed.

"We've been through worse. I'm sure we can handle it." Lockwood nonchalantly said.

The agents knew it was futile to argue with their employer. George sighed in defeat before leaving the room. Lucy took a moment and said "Just think it through for once Lockwood."

The door closed leaving him with his thoughts.

The next morning, Lockwood storms into the kitchen "I can't believe I'm saying this but I think we need help."

"Yes." Lucy high fives George. They thank the lord for knocking some sense in him.

"And I know just the person who we can help us." Lockwood smirkes.

The trio find themselves standing in front of an old building. "Y/L/N Agency" written on the door.

"I thought you hate her." George uttered.

"Yes I do."

"I thought we were going to Fittes or something?" Lucy questioned.

"No we're not." Lockwood explains. "Listen guys, I know we should have gone to Fittes but see it this way, it's easier to share the commission with one person than four people."

"Besides, I don't want to see Kipps breathing near me." He said the last part in annoyance.

"Still can't get over that one case where he saved our arses?" George teased.

"Shut up, George." He rings the doorbell. While Lucy and George shared a look.

"Oh my! What do I owe to the pleasure of 'The Anthony Lockwood' gracing my humble home?" You smirked.

Lockwood threw a light insult to hide his astonishment. He noticed you grew your hair longer since the last time he saw you. Nevertheless, he always finds you beautiful. You clear your throat and gesture him to come in.

"So you need my help Anthony?" You tease him.

"Focus please."

"Okay time for the real question, what's in there for me?" You squint your eyebrows.

"Handsome commission. 30-40." Lockwood gave you his brightest smile.

"Make it 50 or forget it."

After some heavy negotiation, Lockwood finally agreed to your terms.

*Present time*

"Lockwood...tell my cat I love her."

"Shut up, you're not dying. I won't let you die." He slashed the visitor he was fighting but the visitors were strong and you both needed desperate help.

Lockwood got an idea and looked at you "y/n, do you trust me?" He sincerely asked you.

"No." You sincerely replied back.

"Smart woman." He carefully lifts you up and moves you to the closet.

You heavily breath in pain "I'm scared."

"I know but I need you to stay calm. Okay? Breath with me." He rubs the back of your hand, slowly taking deep breaths. It calmed your nerves down a little but you know you don't have much time left.

It's now or never.

"Lockwood, I don't know how long I'm gonna be alive..I need you to know something or I'll regret it forever. I really.. really like you." You coughed.

"No.1 I won't let you die. No.2..I like you too. A Lot in fact" he rested his forehead against yours, silently soaking up the moment when he heard Lucy calling his name. You both look at each other and you shout as loudly as you can.

It's been two weeks since the incident. You didn't face Lockwood in the time being partly because you were recovering but mostly you felt embarrassed about your sudden confession and probably looked like a fool in front of him. It's a shame you didn't know he felt the same too, about himself.

You were laying on the couch, switching channels when you heard the bell ring. "Coming" you slowly made your way to the door only to find the agent you were trying so hard to avoid.

"Hi" his eyes sparkled.

The room turned stuffy and awkward in no time. You felt self conscious under his cautious gaze.

"How's your injury?" He uttered.

"Oh..it's..it's alright I'm okay." You nervously chuckle "tea?" You raised the teapot.

"This is the fifth time you offered me tea y/n, I think I'm fine." He smiled. Goddamn that smile.

"I think it's time to address the elephant in the room."

You gulped a heavy lump in your throat.

He takes a deep breath, "I don't know how or when I started liking you, but here I am. I tried to mask my feelings with arguments, insults and I'm extremely sorry for that. I should have been more mature. I really like you and I don't know what I will do without you." Lockwood continues "Sorry, this is just really different from our constant arguing."

"I know" you smiled at him "Do we like...hold hands?" You shyly hold his hand over the table causing the both of you blush like a bunch of maniacs.

Maybe love turns you into a maniac.

I'm back with another request I hope you like it. I'm sorry if it sucks cuz life sucks right now. I should probably write a book on my life as it loves to be so dramatic. Anyways, hope you are doing well. Love you lots!! See you in the next chapter xoxo

Word count: 1008

[oblivious-idiot]

Hi your Lockwood fics are amazing honestly- could you do a Lockwood x reader where she’s the older sister of Kipps? The rest is up to you though thanks :) ❤️

Now that I’m grown (I’m scared of ghosts)

AN: Lockwood is aged up in this so there wasn't a 5+ age gap haha! I also don't explicitly say how old any of the characters are since I wasn't sure on the age gap between Lockwood and Kipps anyways, but they're all around early 20s.

This is quite a hefty one, I had the idea to make the reader a DEPRAC officer to fit with being an older sister of Kipps, so I hope you like it!

Warnings: Reader is slightly older than Lockwood, disappointed Barnes, flirty Lockwood, mild hurt/comfort, fluff, aged up Lockwood and Co

Word count: 2k

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

You and Anthony Lockwood had a tendency of bumping into each other on cases, or should you say that you had a habit of finding him at the crack of dawn after destroying a house or causing some sort of disturbance. You used to be one of the more 'senior' members of Fittes' agency and one of top supervisors the country had - well, before your (slightly younger) brother Quill took over. You ultimately decided to move on and work for DEPRAC since your Talent began to fade, which helped you to begin to get to grips with adulthood. You'd began to like it at DEPRAC, already at the position of Sergeant after a couple of years, but that also meant that you had to be ready whenever Inspector Barnes needed you.

Where were you? Ah yes, Anthony Lockwood. You swore that guy had a death wish as he loved blowing things up and getting into trouble, you'd think he was some new hotshot agent if you hadn't known him for such a long time and he wasn't basically an adult himself. Regardless of his quarrels with your brother, he always seemed to love to charm you in those early hours of the mornings, somehow always covered in either soot or silver, or both. You had to stay professional of course, you were working and Quill would kill you if he saw you "fraternising with the enemy" as he would always say, but you would always notice little things about Lockwood - like how he tousled his hair when he walked over to you or how he'd grown into his stupid coat.

One morning - supposedly your day off, you were woken by the loud ringing of the telephone by your bed, you let out a knowing sigh as it could only be one person at this time of day. "Barnes, what pleasure do I owe you on this fine morning?" you ask him as you look to your window to see a darkness, then to your bedside clock showing 4:30am. It wasn't even sunrise yet. "Sorry, I know it's your day off. We're to head to an old country house in Greenwich. I believe Lockwood and Co are already there, reaping havoc as per usual" "Oh fantastic, he's gonna love seeing us just drop by for a helping hand. I'll call Quill and tell him to get ready incase we need backup." "Perfect, I'll pick you up in 15." You hung up and let out a soft chuckle, already imagining Lockwood's disgruntled expression as he sees Barnes arrive with both his most and least favourite Kipps sibling and a team of agents.

You and Barnes arrived at the country house just as Lockwood and his fellow agents emerged from the building, the windows leaking with smoke and the agents covered in soot. "Anthony Lockwood, do I need to start detaining you every time you set fire to a house?" Barnes growled out, though it did make you chuckle. "What can I say Inspector? Wouldn't you prefer to see a bunch of agents still alive over another building riddled with Visitors?" Lockwood held up his hands in defence before flashing you one of his cocky, devilish smiles "Morning Kipps, looking as radiant as ever. That green turtleneck really brings out your eyes." "Feeling like I just crawled out of a grave, but thanks Tony" It wasn't your voice that replied, but that of your brother Quill's who had suddenly appeared next to you.

Lockwood's face, oh what a picture that was, he looked like he had just eaten a lemon when Quill had appeared. Although he never said it to you personally, you were almost positive that Quill had said something to Lockwood about flirting with you, although that never stopped him. If you knew Anthony Lockwood at all from the five plus years while you'd been an agent, it's that he would do almost anything to piss off your brother. It made you laugh really, saying as you were older than both of them by at least a year or so.

You pulled Lockwood aside to a secluded spot for questioning as a mix of DEPRAC and Fittes agents swarmed the building as they made it safe and put out any fires. "We really must stop meeting like this y/n" Lockwood said to you as you finished questioning him on the case "Hmm, it's funny that isn't it, since our jobs correlate with each other." You say to him as you give him a slight smirk and put away your notepad. "Alright, you got me. I'm simply suggesting that we should... maybe see each other outside of work" Anthony's eyes sparkled amongst the soot that covered his face and he held out his hands as if in question. You crossed your arms and met his eyes "As if Quill would let you even attempt at the idea-" "When has Quill Kipps ever been the boss of you? A young lady like yourself doesn't need his approval, and regardless, here I am 'attempting'" his wide toothy grin spread across his face as he saw your cheeks flush a little pink and a smile tug at your lips "I'm going to take that as a yes, I await your call Sergeant!" Before you knew it, he was strolling his away back to George and Lucy who were waiting for him, and the group of them exited the scene.

Although you had thought about calling Lockwood, you had his number from the DEPRAC database, you got so caught up in all your current case work that it wasn't your biggest priority. You almost called him once after work and realised it was a ridiculous time of day and thought he'd either be sleeping or on a case himself. That didn't stop him from eventually getting back in your line of sight though.

A few weeks later when you arrived at work one early morning, Barnes called you to let you know that there was another disturbance overnight and it needed a look over. You sighed - were you disappointed or happy it was Lockwood? You weren't sure, but you knew you were gonna kick his ass when you saw him. Once you arrived at the house everything seemed normal, no officers or agents were outside, the building seemed quiet, it was very strange. You slowly opened the door and stepped inside, it was freezing and you could see the clouds of your breath in front of you. Suddenly there was a loud crash and crackling of salt bombs up ahead of you in another room "Lockwood? Are you in here?" you called out into the dark hall, your hands burying into your pockets - one grasping onto a salt bombs you kept incase of need and the other fiddling with a compact silver net. You never used to be scared of ghosts, but now you were older and couldn't see them as well, it was hard to keep your heart from racing.

You headed towards the room where the noise originated from and called out again "Lockwood? Carlyle? It's Sergeant Kipps." You opened the door, noticing the handle was icy to the touch, and crept inside. "Kipps!? Move out the way!" George almost shouted as he saw you, iron chain in his hand and stood next to Lucy with her rapier raised. But you couldn't move and you couldn't see the Visitor either, but you could feel it as it buried its eyes into you - you were Ghost Locked. You looked around the room in search for Lockwood, your body frozen on the spot, before seeing him in the corner of the room clutching his side as he looked for the Source. You willed everything in your body to feel something again, to unclasp yourself from the control the apparition had on you. You slowly began to move your hand out of your pocket, salt bomb in your grasp "Is it directly in front of me?" you asked "Yep. So close you cannot miss it" Lucy replied, slowly moving George out of your line of fire. You finally mustered the willpower and threw the salt bomb, knowing it had collided with the Visitor when it snapped and banged and you finally felt like you could breathe again.

"I've got the Source! Someone throw me a Seal" Lockwood called out. George tossed you a large silver net as you made your way over to where Lockwood was and handed it to him. He covered the Source and you could hear everyone in the room collectively let out a breath. Slowly you helped Lockwood out of the building while the others cleared the house, setting him down on the front steps of the house as he clutched his side. "Do you mind if I take a look at that?" he heaved out of chuckle and grinned at you "You'll only call DEPRAC to deal with it-" "I'll only call them if I deem it necessary. If I think you're gonna die on me, you bet your ass I'm going to call them." You let out a reassuring smile and he agreed to your help - it only appeared to be some heavy bruising so you were relieved. "You know, I think you're right. We really should stop meeting like this" you say to him, the both of you chuckling to each other as your foreheads rested gently together, fingers interwoven.

The tender moment between you and Lockwood was suddenly broken when you heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel driveway up ahead, and of course it was Barnes and your brother Quill. The both of you hurriedly rose to your feet, patting down the dust off your coat as the officer and agent both gave you stern looks "You know Sergeant, when I send you out to check on a disturbance, I expect to be updated on the scene so I don't have to call out agents to save your ass." "Sorry sir, the scene was awfully quiet and I was concerned for the safety of-" your chest was tight as you felt eyes from both the Inspector and your brother bore into your skull, but Barnes cut you off before you could continue. "I do not care about the safety of your boyfriend, you do not have Talent anymore and you put yourself in serious danger." His voice was harsh but steady, Lockwood slowly making his way to your side as he finished talking "Inspector, Kipps, if I may add, if it wasn't for the Sergeant here we would've been in serious trouble. She ensured the safety of my entire team and helped keep the Visitor at bay even without seeing it."

Quill's face was so stern and tense that you pulled him aside once Barnes finished with his disapproving warnings, leaving him with Lockwood. "You shouldn't have gone in there y/n, you should've called for backup." "Hey, Quill, look at me. I'm totally fine, nothing happened." you held your brothers hands in your own, rubbing your thumbs in a soothing pattern "If I hadn't gone in there, Anthony and his team could've been seriously injured or worse, you know I couldn't just ignore that." He let out a long sigh and met your eyes "You really like him, don't you?" "I hate to disappoint brother, but it was kind of inevitable" Quill chuckled and nodded to you, and you returned a smile to him.

Your brother finally let you go over to Lockwood, both your eyes meeting when you arrived by his side. "Finally convinced the spoilsport to let me take you out?" he joked and you couldn't help but smile. “Stop burning houses down Anthony, and I’ll think about it".

[wellgoslowly]

some highlights from my plot outline for my l&co university fic

"Lucy accidentally spills alcohol over a tall hot guy with a crooked smile (Lockwood)"

"I’M NOT GONNA MAKE HIM A SHITTY PERSON I SWEAR HE’S JUST AN ASSHOLE"

"Lockwood just kinda smirks bc he’s an asshole"

"He sits down next to her because of course he does"

"George asks about what he’s wearing and he makes a comment about wanting to make a good first impression (they’re childhood friends) and glances towards Lucy, who is avoiding looking at him."

"He tries to wink at lucy but it backfires lol"

"(SHE DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO FLIRT NEITHER DOES HE THEY’RE BOTH ON THE ARO SPECTRUM)"

"Lockwood wakes up at about 10 am to Kipps banging on his door and asking if he had stolen his bag. Lockwood denies it and asks why he would steal his bag."

"Kipps said he probably would just to spite him"

"Lockwood laughs his ass off and tells Kipps he’s not worth the effort"

"Kipps huffs but leaves, and as Lockwood is getting ready he sees Kipps’s bag (which he did steal) and smirks"

"(Flo asking if Lockwood likes Lucy) He says he doesn’t know because he’s aroflux and Flo literally admits that she forgot lol"

"Lockwood and Kipps get into a big fight when Kipps finds out that Lockwood did, indeed, steal his bag"

"Lucy screams at him and she realizes that he’s too fucking headstrong"

"Both lockwood and george join her in leaning against the wall. As Lockwood says “it’s a part of my charm”, George says “he says it's a part of his charm” with a little bit of attitude."

[iffoundreturntotheasylum]

I Hate You

Quill Kipps x (f)reader

Enemies to lovers

No one asked for this but I just think Kipps is such a fun character for enemies/rivals to lovers, definitely the type of guy to catch feelings and be mad about it. I didn't get anywhere near them being lovers so I guess this is a series now? (I'm envisioning 3 parts but I guess we'll find out)

Word count ~3000

Content warning: angst, death, minor injury (no blood), teenagers being idiots

Hope you enjoy :)

You were the latest addition to Lockwood and co, gifted with a talent for touch and a knack for the rapier. Kipps hated you. You'd applied at Fittes, Rotwells, and all of the major agencies, being accepted by most of them but instead chose to work for Lockwood. He hated that you had so many options and instead chose to squander your talents at the smallest and shabbiest agency in London when you clearly had the skills to have ended up on the top team at the top agency in the country. It was ridiculous.

You, however, were pleased with your decision, ending up at an agency that perhaps wasn't all that prestigious but seemed to value the right things. Lockwood, George and Lucy had all been very welcoming and friendly and it had just felt like the right decision. The four of you were sat in the kitchen now, all with cups of tea, discussing an upcoming job.

"Deprac have offered us this job specifically, as a one off, because apparently Barnes liked our style with Anabel Ward's case and they want to know what actually happened. Supposedly this is going to be quite high profile so if we can pull it off, we'll have no trouble finding cases," Lockwood announced, though the look on his face was contradicting the supposed perfection of the offer, "however, they want us to work with Kipps' crew."

The bombshell dropped, blowing the perfect case to pieces in front of them. George groaned while Lucy frowned. You just let out a heavy sigh before speaking up, "If the case is as good as you say it is Lockwood, surely we can set aside our feelings for a few nights and work with them. Sure Kipps is a knob but if we can prove ourselves then it'll be worth it right?"

With matching resigned looks, Lucy and George nodded their agreement. "I'm gonna need so much tea to put up with Bobby," Muttered George.

Lockwood grinned, "Excellent, I'll call Kipps and get him to meet us at the archives, George, Luce can you get the kit bags together, and (y/n) I need you to get a large box of doughnuts from Arifs as a peace offering; we're not blowing this case before it even starts." He then sprang from his chair, the meeting clearly at an end.

—

About an hour later the four agents were sat in the British archives alongside Kipps' crew, an awkward silence over the whole table. You sat between George and Kat and across from Kipps himself. He kept giving you looks like you were something on the bottom of his shoe. You just tried to ignore him.

"I don't see much point in all of this," said Bobby Vernon, cutting the silence, "the Fittes database already told us that the house has had one violent death associated with it, a young actress was pushed through a bannister, murdered by her husband there in the fifties. He was never convicted but everyone thought it was him. Surely that plus the descriptions of the ghost are enough to make a plan?"

George smirked at that, "Well what the database hasn't told you, because it doesn't go back that far, is that according to this record of land ownership for London, before the House was even built, the land was used for a school what was burned down in the great fire of London. The school was rebuilt at a different location and the land was converted into a public park before it was sold to a private developer in the early nineteenth century, when the house was built. Why does all of this matter? Well according to this book on missing people in seventeenth century London, there was a teacher working late on the night of the fire, whose body was never recovered. That death sounds pretty violent to me, Bobby." He finished with a sip of tea, earning disgruntled looks from Kipps' lot and a down right murderous glare from Bobby himself. You had to stifle a grin by the end of his lecture.

Kipps had recovered from the slight embarrassment enough to speak, "That's all well and good Karim, but how do we know that it has anything to do with the case? What makes that story more credible than the couple in the fifties?"

"Maybe nothing," you contributed, earning a sour look from Kipps, "but it would be terrible to go into things without all the relevant information, or does that only apply when it's not your team making the mistakes?"

At that, things seemed just about ready to blow. Kipps stood up, his hand shifting towards his rapier and his gaze fixed on your sly smile. It was Lucy however who spoke next. "It doesn't even matter who made what mistakes, what matters is we have the information now. So why don't we all start acting like grown ups," she shot a pointed look at you and Kipps who both had the gall to look shocked, "and get on with the case. Unless anyone has any more information, I think we're done here and we should meet at the house before sunset tonight."

When no one else spoke she nodded in confirmation before starting to pack things away, the others following suit. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Lockward punch George lightly in the arm and thought you heard the words 'bloody brilliant', earning an eye roll but also a smile nonetheless.

—

It was about six o'clock when both teams gathered again, this time outside the large, detached house. You noticed the slight peachy tone to the west, indicating the very beginning of sunset. There wouldn't be much time to set things up before ghosts started appearing. Lockwood stepped forward and announced "My team will take the upstairs and Kipps and your lot can take the downstairs." He said it with such certainty and began to walk towards the house.

"Hold on a second, Tony," said Kipps, "the whole point of my team being here is to make sure your rabble do things by the book. I'm not letting you run off and do things on your own. We'll split the teams evenly. You and Lucy take Bobby and Ned, Kat and I will take Karim and (y/n)."

"Fine, but we're still taking the upstairs." Spat lockwood and you rolled your eyes at his childishness before grabbing your kit bag and following Kipps into the house.

You set up an iron circle in the entryway and each of the rooms downstairs while the rest of your team took temperature readings at various points. It seemed that the house was coldest towards the back, though not as cold as would be expected if the source were in that room. You suspected that it was in the back room of the house but upstairs. You surveyed the downstairs room anyway, a kitchen-dining room, clearly renovated recently, the sleek, modern design not at all matching with the exterior of the house.

The sun was setting in earnest now. "Why don't you make use of that talent of yours (y/n)," said Kipps, frowning at you before muttering, "If you insist on wasting it on Lockwood you can at least make use of it now."

You shot him a glare but replied simply "fine, George will you watch my back while I'm under?" The boy nods with a smile and moves to stand beside you. Kipps looks on curiously, not having fully seen your talent in action and Kat looked positively bewildered. You reached out to touch the back wall of the house, closing your eyes and opening your other senses.

And suddenly I'm feeling with hands that aren't mine, fragments of images seen with someone else's eyes flash through my mind. I am kneeling, crawling along the floor and the stones beneath my palms that should be cold to the touch aren't. I shuffle along, my muscles protesting with every move and my lungs burning with every breath. The smoke clouds my eyes and my mind but the sharp pain of my burns keep me focused. I must get out. I must get out. I must get out. The mantra repeats in my mind and I am shaking now because I know that I won't. The crack of the ceiling above me is my only warning before it collapses, a whole new agony flashing across my body as I'm pinned beneath beams and buried.

You jolt as your eyes fly open, gasping for air like you've just broken the surface of the ocean. Your mind is still half in its depths as you look around to ground yourself in the present. Kat is looking at you with a frown, not understanding what just happened. George has a hand on your shoulder to steady you, a fact that you're grateful for because you're always a little wobbly and disoriented after visions. Kipps looks at you as though you're a lab animal to be studied, an analytical gase examining every part of you.

"What did you feel, (y/n)?" Asked George.

"I was the teacher, in the great fire. He was trying to crawl out of the building, that way," you gesture towards the garden, "but he was badly burned and moved too slowly to get out. He was buried when the building collapsed." You shuddered slightly at the memory but shook it off.

George was smirking slightly at the news, clearly pleased that he was right and by the sour look on Kipps' face, he knew it too. "Well there's nothing left of the school," said George," so the source must be his bones, and since the blueprints of both buildings show that the school extended further back into what is now the garden so I'm guessing that's where we'll find him."

He received no resistance so the four of you opened the garden door and trudged out onto the grass. Kat set up another iron circle out there while you, George and Kipps surveyed the area.

"Can you tell where he died, (y/n)? Do you recognise anything?" Asked Kipps.

"Not really, sorry. When I use my talent I don't see or hear much, just fragments that are a bit distorted. I mainly feel; emotions and physical sensations." You answer.

Kipps looked frustrated at this and was about to speak up when he was cut off. "So you felt..." Said Kat, trailing off before she could finish her question, but it was obvious what she was asking.

"Him die? Yeah," you say softly, "it was a nasty one too, he knew it was coming."

Kat looked horrified, "That's awful!"

"Not as bad as witnessing a murder from the killer's perspective," you say and the disturbed look on Kat's face somehow gets worse, "I refused to use my talent for nearly a month after that happened the first time."

George, in an attempt to lighten the mood, said "She threw up all over Lockwood. Looking back on it now, it's a little funny."

"Alright enough fangirling over (y/n) and her powers, although I do applaud the vomiting on Lockwood part. We need to focus and find the source. It's getting fully dark now so the visitor should appear soon and that will help with finding the bones." Said Kipps. It was as if the spirit had heard him because no sooner had he finished speaking, before a faint other light started glowing and a charred and mangled body formed in front of the group; a wraith.

Kipps took the lead, "Kat, Karim, you're going to dig in the spot where it formed, (y/n) and I are going to distract it." He drew his rapier, catching the wraith's attention and stepped out of the iron circle. You followed suit and together you walked round, drawing the visitor away from where it formed. As soon as Kat and George crossed to the spot, shovels in hand, you circled back placing yourself defensively between them and the ghost. It was clearly growing more agitated and as the night got later and the sky got darker, it was inevitably growing in strength too.

You planted your feet, rapier raised and cut patterns in the air to ward the ghost off. You could feel your limbs grow heavy and your movements slow as ghost lock began to take hold, the teacher clearly not pleased with you. You shook the fog from your mind though and continued your defensive maneuver.

Kipps slashed at the wraith, drawing its attention and relieving you of the visitor's heavy ghost lock. "How's it going back there guys?" You called to the others.

"We're working on it, there's a lot of earth to dig." Replied George, sounding a little out of breath.

Just then the wraith snapped, once again focused on you, launching itself in your direction. You lobbed a salt bomb as you stumbled back, your ankle folding as you did so. The salt had slowed the ghost enough for Kipps to jump between you and slash at the wraith with his rapier, holding it back further. You let out a small cry at the sharp pain in your ankle.

"You okay there, (y/n)?" Asked Kipps, his attention not wavering from the wraith.

"I think I sprained my ankle, but I'll be okay," You answered, steeling yourself for a moment before pushing yourself back to your feet. You hissed as you tentatively put weight on your ankle. It hurt like a bitch but held your weight, "Yep, definitely sprained."

You pushed forward, limping a little and joined Kipps, slashing your rapier at the visitor. It was only getting angrier, which you hoped meant that George and Kat were getting closer to the source.

As if he had heard your thoughts, George exclaimed "found it!" There was a moment of rustling and then the wraith disappeared. You turned to see both George and Kat, waist deep in a pit, covered in mud, and a large silver net over what you assumed was the teacher's bones. They both looked exhausted.

Kipps reached in and pulled both of them out with a grunt before turning back to you. "How's that ankle?" He asked.

"Hurts like hell and is definitely swelling up right now. It's gonna be a nightmare to get my boot off later, but I'll live," You answered with a small smile, "might have to take some time out of the field though. Looks like you've got a new research buddy George!"

You limped towards your kit bag, the adrenaline wearing off and making the pain in your ankle more noticeable. You went to pick it up but Kipps beat you to it, clearly taking pity on you. The four of you reentered the house and heard voices upstairs.

"Nice of you to help us, Lockwood!" Kipps called up bitterly and was answered only by footsteps on the stairs. The rest of your team appeared looking as disheveled as you probably did.

"We were a little bit busy with the ghost upstairs. How about you? Had a nice little chat in the kitchen, try to poach my agent?" Said Lockwood with a glare at Kipps before he saw the state of George and Kat and frowned.

"Oh shut up the pair of you!" You snapped, "I can't be arsed to deal with your bullshit right now, there were clearly two ghosts so everyone was fucking busy. Now get over yourselves because right now I just want to go home and get some ice on this sprain and my patience is wearing thin!" You grabbed your kit bag off Kipps and stormed past Lockwood who had the decency to look embarrassed.

Lucy joined you and took the bag back off you, rubbing a hand comfortingly over your back. You smiled at her and blocked out the voices behind you.

—

Later, back at Portland row, you were sat with your foot on a cushioned chair, a bag of frozen peas on your ankle and a cup of tea in hand. "So while you and Kipps were fighting me and Bobby compared notes and we're pretty sure that the renovations disturbed your murder victim and the presence of that ghost got our teacher all riled up which is how we ended up with two seemingly unrelated hauntings at once." Said George. You frowned at the mention of Lockwood and Kipps' argument, it had made it take almost twice as long to get home from the case. You weren't really mad at Lockwood, after all it was Kipps who started it, but you were tired and stupid teenage boys didn't help with that.

Lockwood added, "But however the visitors got there, Lucy got us the real story for the case Deprac were interested in and as a bonus we found the bones of a missing person from the seventeenth century. It's a publicity dream!"

"And your ankle is really okay (y/n)? Because I will break Kipps' leg for you if you want." Chimed Lucy, earning a small grin.

"I definitely appreciate the offer, Luce, but breaking his leg sounds a bit harsh considering I'll be fully healed in a few weeks, besides it wasn't really his fault anyway," You smile, finishing your tea before continuing, "but on that note I think I'm going to bed."

[hellativity]

here's what I think. I just kinda binge watched Lockwood and Co and hopped into the fandom at that time. The first book came out when I was finishing high school and not looking for that level of novel (and not reading much). But like seeing the posts on tumblr and goodreads I can tell that for many people it hits the level of beloved that like harry potter & percy jackson reached for my generation. Maybe not the popularity (I assume not but I honestly have no idea) but Found Family Paranormal Teen novel has all the right stuff.

And netflix decided to pay to adapt it and find a really stellar cast and a really solid aesthetic. And then before it even had a chance to reach people like me - people who are into the genre and would love the show but weren't aware of the books - they canceled it...

idk man there are many more great injustices in the world and I'm not gonna campaign to save every single canceled show. But it just pisses me off how many properties streaming services buy and then throw away. Such a waste. I'm thinking of like warrior nun and shadow and bone. Stuff that has the fandom and has the potential to be a really enjoyable and successful 3-5 season show but because it was just a little too cult and hadn't quite found its footing (or bc they botched season 2 idk I won't name names) netflix is just like. nvm.

We could've had so much funnnn with the Lockwood and Co gang. I wanted to meet Holly!! I wanted to see Kipps in his silly little goggles!! I wanted at least 2 more seasons of awkward teen pining between Lucy and Lockwood!! Also the soundtrack was so banger. But noooo if a show does not instantly attain the commercial success of Stranger Things, we must move onto the next project immediately.

Anyway the fact that I am a grown adult and I randomly watched this show a year ago but I'm still interested in the books and wishing for more show should speak to the marketability of more seasons. Whatever.

Luckily I can yell into the void about media on this website. Thank god.

[andromedasummer]

OKAY The Whispering Skull 3/3 liveblog LET'S GO

- oh wow they dont even plan the library heist. they just do it. its barely even a heist they walk in and the thing isnt locked. fittes agency aint the brightest huh

- quill kipps doing the most conspicuous trailing of the team. brother you are so pathetic. ily. you have no sense for subterfuge.

- NIGHT CAB DRIVER NEW FAV CHARACTER lockwood rly went "50 pounds to misdirect the cab behind" and after making sure they arent criminals the driver is like "i can brake check him. i can double back and crash into him. if you want. for that kind of money" quill kipps you were so close to a life changing traffic accident on account of cabbies being underpaid

- Lockwood STOP yelling at George it make me sad :( Lucy is right he is feeling left out

- The amount of times these children use bombs to solve problems. Mirror heist? Bomb flare distraction. People pointing guns at you? Bomb flare free ghost distraction. We get told these things cost a fortune and yet they use them so often.

- The Dril tweet about budgeting and candles. That but its Lockwood and mag flares

- Sir Rupert is very well written and very cool. I also hate him with my life. Nasty, nasty man.

- Oh Lucy and Lockwood just. They just throw themselves off a! eight story building into the Thames. They're going to get so unwell from this. There's no way they didn't swallow a little bit of water when they broke the surface. Jesus Christ that's how you get cholera

- Oh George isnt home yet. Oh hes absolutely going to go find Joplin. Oh god.

- OH NO HE HAS

- Bringing the skull to Kensel Green. Good. More of the skull on adventures it always rules

- YEAHHH KIPPS TEAM. KAT, NED AND BOBBY WORKING WITH LOCKWOOD. FUCK YES.

- The Skull calling out to Bickerstaff and getting no response is kinda sad but also. Something very vindicating that this servant boy who was manipulated into doing awful things becoming a powerful ghost after his death, and the man obsessed with death who killed so many and manipulated the boy into doing terrible things becoming a shadow of himself in death, his worst qualities and obsessions compacted into this terrifying but also kind of... pathetic thing.

- Kipps stepping in and trying to protect George from Joplin. Sarcastic banter with Lucy. Shouting at Joplin to leave George and her alone. You ARE capable of being a good human being I'm so proud

- God, Lucy thinking George was dead those few minutes is heartbreaking. These kids need therapy for the shit they go through.

- Lucy admitting she can talk to type threes and she has one and Joplin not believing her. I wonder if Kipps remembers her saying this later on or thinks it was just a desperate last attempt at stopping Joplin from killing them.

- George standing up suddenly when they thought he was dead and everyone freaking the FUCK out only for him to tackle Joplin and attack. KING. BEST CHARACTER.

- Lucy driving back the ghost with a iron chain and nothing else shes so fucking cool. Ignore that she accidentally took out a chunk of Kipps' hair. It was kind of funny.

- BLATANTLY TALKING TO SKULL IN FRONT OF JOPLIN AND KIPPS. KIPPS IF YOU DONT REMEMBER THIS OR BRING THIS UP IM GONNA LOSE IT.

- Skull reverse psychology-ing Lucy into smashing the mirror. You DO like her.

- Lockwood rolling the dice with whether or not Joplin's gun works. Therapy. NOW.

- Quill telling Lucy about what its like losing your talents and giving into fear... God. I want to hug him.

- Lockwood asking to split the job commission 30/70 because of Quills teams' help and letting go of the bet because of his respect for the team after what they went through.... Hes A Good Lad. I want them all to be friends

- George, Lockwood and Lucy apologizing to one another and talking about their conflict. I'm so proud. Communication win.

- YES THE REVEAL OF GEORGES GLASSES HAVING NO LENSES WHEN HE LOOKED IN THE MIRROR one of my fav moments in the series so clever and so funny

- I'm glad Lockwood leaves the decision about keeping the Skull to Lucy. Hes right, she is the one most affected by it, and I'm glad his enthusiasm for the skull making them fame and fortune that he had at the start of this book has been curbed by his concern and care for her

- YES THEYRE TALKING ABOUT THE LYRE SYMBOL ON THE BOX AND THE GOGGLES. THE ORPHEUS SOCIETY

- OOOOOH LOCKWOODS SHOWING THEM THE ROOM LOCKWOODS SHOWING THEM JESSICA'S ROOM

- CLIFFHANGER ENDING I REMEMBER THIS

-----

okay so i have a newfound appreciation for this book. I don't know what it is, or why, but I enjoyed going back through it a lot this time and I'm really glad i decided to give it another chance. I really enjoyed all of the character development and all the stuff with Quills team and I am SO excited to start the next book.

Because!!! Next up is The Hollow Boy!!!! My favourite book!!!!, Holly's debut!!! I AM SO EXCITED!!!

[mumfordanddaughters]

absolutely devastated by the loss of Lockwood and Co on netflix... This show clearly means so much to SO MANY of us, and it was legitimately one of the best works of screenwriting, acting, and cinematography that I have seen in a long time. Like, really crazy impressive stuff -- the soundtrack, the little details, the cozy British vibes, the dialogue. All of it so well done, so tight, so snappy. And these are young actors getting breakthrough roles and absolutely smashing it out of the park... and this is how we repay them?? Idk man. That’s upsetting. I had never even HEARD of the books until I stumbled on the show, binged it all in two days, and could *not get enough* -- so I went and devoured the first 4 books (the final one is on my nightstand now) and the entire time I was reading the books I kept thinking “they are going to do this so well! i am so excited to see THIS SCENE onscreen! cameron is gonna kill this! ruby will be amazing at portraying this! ali is gonna make this hilarious!” and I’m just... so saddened to think that I won’t ever get those awesome scenes? We won’t get the hollow boy? We won’t get to find out what’s behind the door? We won’t get the redemption arc for Kipps? We won’t get to meet Holly? Dang. I’m so sad. 

[neewtmas]

MERRY I LOVE THIS!!!!

first off, amazing title

4k words exactly!! slay!!!

and i love that gif😭🤭

one of the voices suddenly spoke up, a little deeper than you expected but unmistakably that of a boy and not a man

why do you have to roast him like that💀

You knew what it was like, wondering whether someone's absence meant the Problem had claimed another victim

I never thought about that :/

“No, no, he's got a point.”

he definitely does👀

“Let me,” you found yourself leaning over the counter, your fingers brushing the crook of his elbow as you rescued the carton and set it down gently.

ahfhfdbfdjbvdfbk🫣

Without realising, you found yourself directing the latter part to the other boy, and you could have sworn you saw a flush tint his cheeks as he gave a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement.

yes please come by and buy all the donuts and smile at me

What you didn't see was the glance exchanged by the other two.

🤭🤭🤭

“Y/n seemed nice,” Lucy remarked as casually as possible. “Mm,” Lockwood agreed into his cup of tea. “What did you think, George?”

very subtle

he took the opportunity to throw Lucy a conspiratorial wink. “Plenty of time for that.”

he's having the time of his life😭 I love it

His hair was dishevelled, the collar of his shirt was wide open and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

not me thinking Lucy would come out of his room too🫣

Seeing you at the counter made him falter a little. You'd said you worked mornings, but it was almost lunchtime and he thought someone might have taken over by now.

he's nervousssss🤭

For some reason, you found yourself fishing for a way to make him stay and talk more

i know the reason

For a moment, you thought he'd still leave, but he came towards you and placed the detergent bottle back on the counter with a thud

he even walked back uhhfjhhj

“Lockwood's going to buy food so I thought I'd come and hang out with you. Don't mind me,” she shrugged.

why do I feel like Lucy is really bad at acting and it would be super obvious that something is up😭😭

Moments later, the front door sounded again.

he's working with maniacs and idiots

Lockwood's grinned, wider than before. “You didn't tell me you'd been chatting to y/n, mate.” He turned his attention back to you. “You must have quite the impact if you're getting more out of him than I am.”

I would die

The other boy glanced between you both with delight.

time of his life

George seemed to suddenly realise how close he'd come, practically leaning over the counter to study you; he pulled away and dragged his gaze to his shoes. “Educated guess.”

oh my GOD🫠🫠

You tried very hard not to fixate on the way the movement tightened his shirt across his chest and waist

You're gonna KILL ME YOU CAN'T JUST DROP SOMETHING LIKE THAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS

“Wow,” you breathed subconsciously. George's cheeks reddened; this time he was definitely blushing

🤭🤭

That you were less scared of the Visitors than you were of never finding your place within a team or worse, finding the right people but then losing them?

oh no😭

“What's got into you?” George frowned. “I haven't seen you this happy since we watched Kipps fall over his own rapier.”

akjdkshk

“Come on, I've known you long enough to see there's something between you and y/n. Why don't you ask them out?”

oh he's BOLD

He'd abandoned all subtlety, and it was driving George up the wall.

I love this😂😂

Before anyone could react, he pulled out the remaining slices, folded them all in half and took a massive bite. When he unfolded them, it left a gaping hole down the middle of all three slices, which he held up and peeked through triumphantly.

I WAS WAITING FOR THIS

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he'd started looking forward to being sent out for things.

ahhhhhh

George immediately stepped forward and offered his hand to help you climb back down. His skin was warm and slightly calloused. You stumbled a little as you hit the ground and his other hand flew to your elbow, eyes scanning yours in concern. “Thanks,” you murmured, painfully aware of how close you were. You'd put your hand out to steady yourself; it was clutching at the soft fabric of his orange plaid shirt. His eyes met yours once more and you both hastily pulled away.

AKHFKDHFKBDKJDB I WOULD BE A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR

“They took the last box at the end of their shift, maybe ten minutes ago.”

noooooo

A figure on the steps of 35 Portland Row made George stop in his tracks. A new client, perhaps. Nothing unusual there.

OMG YES I WAS HOPING THIS WOULD HAPPEN

“I missed seeing you.”

😭😭🤭🤭

“It's not an extra if you're here. I mean, if you want? You could come in and we can share them with the rest of the team.”

oh my godddd

With a smile, you wound the fingers of your free hand into his and allowed him to lead you into the house.

YOU'RE GONNA KILL ME

Meddling Git

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: When George connects with Arif's new shop assistant, Lockwood makes it his mission to make more opportunities for them to meet

Content: fluff, meddling Lockwood, insecurity about agent work, slight mention of blood

A/N: I'm back!! After an unintentional 7 month hiatus, I've finally been inspired to write again! I've also decided to switch from using (name) to y/n if anyone has any opinions on that. Thank you to everyone who shared anniversary/meet content for reminding me how much I love this fandom, and all my love to the multiverse of George chat for giving me so much inspiration and encouragement 💛

Word count: 4k exactly!

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 and also tagging @bobbys-not-that-small @bella-rose29 @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain

Lockwood, Lucy and George marched proudly towards Arif's. They'd completed another house call and been tipped generously by the owner, so Lockwood had promised to treat the team to breakfast. Of course, with the first rays of the morning only just beginning to peek through the clouds, there weren't any cafes open yet.

“I'll cook,” George offered, “as long as you buy the ingredients…”

“Of course.”

“...and those strawberry cream doughnuts.”

“Fine,” Lockwood rolled his eyes dramatically. Lucy grinned.

The bell above the door rang out lightly. Only agents would be around at this hour, and Lockwood & Co was the only agency who ever came to Arif's. In fact, their presence was so regular that the boy who worked the morning shift, Max, would greet them before they even came into view. Today, however, the shop remained silent.

“Morning, Max!” Lockwood called over a shelf when the quiet lasted a moment too long. “I don't suppose you have any of the strawb-” He hesitated as the group rounded the corner and finally came into view of the counter.

—

You frowned a little to yourself at the gentle chime of the bell. Surely there wouldn't be anybody about this early? Though you couldn't see the front door from behind the counter (a bit of a security flaw, you reckoned) there was a small window to your left which showed only the slightest hint of sunlight. Then again, Arif had mentioned a group of agents that would come by often. You weren't aware there was a local agency, but you were so new to both the area and the job that you didn't like to question it. The bell had been followed by overlapping footsteps and more than one hushed voice. Maybe this was them.

“Morning, Max!” one of the voices suddenly spoke up, a little deeper than you expected but unmistakably that of a boy and not a man. The footsteps drew closer. “I don't suppose you have any of the strawb-” At last the owner of the voice appeared from behind a shelf. The words stuttered to a stop, as did the movements of the tall boy in the black overcoat. Behind him, a girl in a blue jumper almost ran into him with the sudden pause.

“You're not Max,” she stated bluntly.

“No, I'm not.”

“Is he…?”

“Moved back to Cornwall with his parents,” you reassured her. You knew what it was like, wondering whether someone's absence meant the Problem had claimed another victim. “I'm y/n.”

“Well,” the boy cut back in with a charming smile, “morning, y/n. I'm Lockwood, this is Lucy, and George is around somewhere. As I was saying, do you happen to have any of those strawberry cream doughnuts?”

You returned his smile with one of your own as you fetched a square box from the chilled cabinet. “You're in luck, but I suppose you'll have to fight over who gets the fourth.”

“We won't,” another boy piped up from the far corner of the shop - George, you assumed. “If I'm making breakfast, I'm calling dibs.” Lucy giggled and you felt yourself suppressing one of your own.

“You'll have to forgive George, he's-” Lockwood began.

“No, no, he's got a point.”

“Finally, somebody gets it!” George's voice sounded triumphant, and much closer than before. After a beat, he arrived and you were able to put a face to the voice.

George was taller than Lucy but a little shorter than Lockwood, with dark curly hair and round glasses. Under his jacket was a vibrantly orange T-shirt, and in his arms he cradled a carton of eggs and a few different vegetables. He shuffled closer, attempting to place the produce on the counter without dropping the eggs but having trapped his hand in too awkward a position to keep a good hold of them.

“Let me,” you found yourself leaning over the counter, your fingers brushing the crook of his elbow as you rescued the carton and set it down gently. The boy blinked at you in surprise before quickly recovering and placing down the bulb of garlic he was holding. “What are you making?”

“Gojeh farangi, a sort of omelette.”

“Sounds good.” You handed him the ingredients, now bagged, and slid the box of doughnuts towards him as well. Lockwood stepped forwards with a handful of cash, and George shrunk back.

“It's been a pleasure meeting you, y/n,” Lockwood gave you another of those smiles. You got the sense he was the head of the team, the diplomat, the charisma. “No doubt we'll see you again.”

“Nice to meet you all too. I'll be here most mornings, in case you want to beat the regular crowd to the good doughnuts.” Without realising, you found yourself directing the latter part to the other boy, and you could have sworn you saw a flush tint his cheeks as he gave a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement. What you didn't see was the glance exchanged by the other two.

—

The trio were back at Portland Row, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh tomatoes and the glow of a job well done.

“Y/n seemed nice,” Lucy remarked as casually as possible.

“Mm,” Lockwood agreed into his cup of tea. “What did you think, George?”

They turned their attention quite unsubtly to their friend at the oven. He stayed with his back to them, and they couldn't be sure it was just because he was focused on breakfast, as he shrugged. “Suppose so. Didn't get much chance to judge.” He turned at last, not making eye contact as he slid two plates across the table.

“Ah well,” Lockwood continued after thanking George, who had turned away to collect his own plate, and he took the opportunity to throw Lucy a conspiratorial wink. “Plenty of time for that.”

Lucy almost choked on her mouthful.

The next day, George was halfway down the main stairs on the way to the training room when Lockwood poked his head out of his room. His hair was dishevelled, the collar of his shirt was wide open and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

“Ah, George! Do me a favour and run down to Arif's? We're out of detergent.”

“Why can't you go?”

“I've got that meeting with Mrs Pemberley to go over the details of the case and I'm running late as it is.”

“And Lucy-”

“Has gone to see Barnes.”

“Right.”

George held the door open for an elderly man just leaving the shop before slipping inside. He made his way to the detergent, stopping for a packet of chocolate digestives. Seeing you at the counter made him falter a little. You'd said you worked mornings, but it was almost lunchtime and he thought someone might have taken over by now.

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him cheerily. “Didn't hear you come in. George, right? Are your friends with you?”

“Just me,” George huffed. You picked up on the huff and wondered whether he was just having a bad day. From the small interaction you'd had yesterday, he seemed to get on well with his fellow agents and his annoyance was playfully exaggerated. Was it too soon to play along? You'd only met him yesterday. Then again, it was ordinary enough for shop workers to make conversation with the customers, and you wanted to at least try and make an effort at this new job.

“One of those days?” you prompted.

“Tell me about it.” The response was dry but not sarcastic, and you got the sense that he would have opened up more if he knew you better.

“Surely these will help,” you held up the biscuits as you passed them back to him, which earned you a slight smile. That was all you got, however, as he paid and walked away with only a muttered thanks. For some reason, you found yourself fishing for a way to make him stay and talk more. There weren't many people your age who came by while you were on shift (not many people at all, to be honest), as most of them worked the night shifts and barely went out and about until later in the afternoon. You just wanted someone, anyone, to talk to, and he was right there and getting further away by the second. Plus, you couldn't deny you were intrigued.

“Can I ask you something?” you blurted.

The boy turned, curiosity colouring his gaze. For a moment, you thought he'd still leave, but he came towards you and placed the detergent bottle back on the counter with a thud. You continued, “Which agency do you all work for? I noticed your rapiers yesterday, and Arif mentioned you being in the area, but I wasn't sure where."

George brightened. “We're Lockwood & Co, on Portland Row.”

—

A few more days passed, and the longer it went on the more George was unable to stop thinking about the new shop assistant. There was something about their question - most people didn't pay much notice to off-duty agents, much less care about which agency they were from. Sure, Arif had mentioned or warned them about Lockwood & Co, so perhaps it was just polite conversation, but they'd seemed genuinely invested in the answer. And with the shop opening in the early hours specifically for agents, it often took someone with Talent of their own to be brave enough to be out so early. Maybe…

His thoughts were interrupted by Lucy wandering into the study. She flopped into the armchair opposite, trying not to pay too much attention when George peered at her over the top of his book.

“Everything okay?” he asked. It wasn't often Lucy joined him for research.

“Lockwood's going to buy food so I thought I'd come and hang out with you. Don't mind me,” she shrugged. George took that rather literally, turning his attention back to the book on his lap. In the distance, they heard the front door open and close again, marking Lockwood's exit.

Lucy spoke again. “Oh, I almost forgot! He said we're out of cornflour but can he just use baking powder instead?”

George's eyes widened, and Lucy heard him mutter something particularly cutting as he dropped his book onto the arm of the chair and darted from the room. Moments later, the front door sounded again.

Lockwood turned in his stride and met George with a sharp grin, almost like he was expecting the other boy to come after him.

“I take it we do need cornflour, then?”

“You're such an idiot.” George fell into step beside him, and the two walked quietly for a while. George wondered whether it was worth going back to the house at all after this or whether to carry on to the Archives; it was early enough in the day that they might not be full yet. At least it would mean not being a part of whatever scheme his friend seemed to be cooking up.

—

You were greeted by Lockwood remarkably quickly after the bell alerted you to his presence, but he barely got a word in before you apologised, explaining that you hadn't meant to be rude when you first met, you just didn't know the agency to put his name to it.

“It was only when George explained-”

Almost as if you'd summoned him, the curly-haired boy stepped into view and gave you a small nod.

Lockwood's grinned, wider than before. “You didn't tell me you'd been chatting to y/n, mate.” He turned his attention back to you. “You must have quite the impact if you're getting more out of him than I am.”

A glowing warmth spread through your cheeks, and instinctively your eyes flew to George, whose expression reflected your own. The other boy glanced between you both with delight. “I suppose so,” you mumbled. “I was just curious because-”

“You have Talent.” It was George who had spoken, and he moved forward with his gaze levelled on yours. The words were spoken not as a question or a statement, more like a realisation. It struck you that behind the unassuming first impression the boy gave off was a quiet but brilliant intelligence for him to have figured you out so quickly. Very few people ever figured you out at all, especially not about your Talent.

“How did you know?”

George seemed to suddenly realise how close he'd come, practically leaning over the counter to study you; he pulled away and dragged his gaze to his shoes. “Educated guess.”

Lockwood, on the other hand, was having none of it, eyeing you up mischievously. “Don't be so modest,” he elbowed his friend in the ribs. You tried very hard not to fixate on the way the movement tightened his shirt across his chest and waist. “He's not our researcher for nothing, he's a genius.”

George sighed, but his head lifted with a burst of confidence. “I figured you must to feel safe working here before dawn, I just wasn't sure why you're not an agent. Oh, and the iron cross above the counter is new.”

There wasn't a single other person this week who'd noticed the cross you installed on your first day. This boy was really something.

“Wow,” you breathed subconsciously. George's cheeks reddened; this time he was definitely blushing. As for why you weren't an agent, what were you supposed to say? That you were less scared of the Visitors than you were of never finding your place within a team or worse, finding the right people but then losing them? How could you possibly explain that to him? So you didn't, and after a few more pleasantries Lockwood headed for the door. George threw you a backwards glance and a small wave, and the butterflies that had appeared in your stomach waved back.

Lockwood was positively beaming as they stepped out into the midday sun. Golden rays danced across his face, the air was mild, a soft breeze ruffled through his coat. It was all far too cheerful.

“What's got into you?” George frowned. “I haven't seen you this happy since we watched Kipps fall over his own rapier.”

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” Lockwood feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “And it's you that I'm happy for!”

George stopped. “What?”

“Come on, I've known you long enough to see there's something between you and y/n. Why don't you ask them out?”

“It's not like that! We've only spoken a couple of times, I don't know them well enough for anything like that.”

“If you say so…”

—

God, Lockwood was insufferable. He'd abandoned all subtlety, and it was driving George up the wall.

The smell of strong black coffee drifted up the stairs as George drifted down them. Lockwood had booked a big case for that night with absolutely no background information, so he'd spent the whole night on initial research. Hopefully caffeine would keep him awake long enough to get through the day.

Lucy was standing by the toaster, wielding a butter knife and humming to herself. George slumped into his usual chair with a groan.

“Coffee? Toast?” she offered.

“Please.”

“Sorry,” Lockwood appeared from the basement. “That's the last of the bread, you'll need to pick up more while you're out today.”

“You're joking,” George looked up. “There's still three slices in the bag there.” This was the third time this week he'd pulled something like this. The first was ‘accidentally’ stepping on an entire packet of biscuits. The second was announcing the milk was off, pouring it down the drain before anyone could check with enough force that it splashed back and went all over his trousers. And now this.

Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Lockwood was faster. Before anyone could react, he pulled out the remaining slices, folded them all in half and took a massive bite. When he unfolded them, it left a gaping hole down the middle of all three slices, which he held up and peeked through triumphantly.

“You're ridiculous,” George scowled.

“ ‘m miwwian’” Lockwood mumbled around the wad of bread in his mouth.

George wanted to put his foot down. He didn't want to let Lockwood win. He knew he'd be so smug about it. But he also knew that every time he was sent to Arif's he stayed a little longer, talked a little more, watched you smile a little brighter. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he'd started looking forward to being sent out for things.

“Oh hey, Georgie!” Your face lit up when he entered the shop, and he smiled back. You weren't sure when you'd started calling him Georgie, he'd been here so often it was hard to tell which day was which any more. Not that you were complaining - he was easy to talk to, more interested in your Talent than anyone else had been, understanding when you'd finally explained your concerns about becoming an agent, and undeniably cute on top of all that. “What do you need today?”

“A boss who's not a meddling git,” he scowled dramatically, “...and milk.”

“I can only help with the second one,” you teased as you made your way out to the shop floor. Speaking to him from behind a counter felt so impersonal now, so you'd taken to wandering round the shop with him. You really hoped he didn't think you were overstepping or anything. As far as you knew, he thought of you as just the shop assistant, nothing more. You hoped it was more than that, could be more at least.

Another customer came and went, and George was still there, enraptured by your opinions on the Problem. He'd taken up a stance leaning against the shelves, one hand tucked into his pocket and looking the most relaxed you'd seen him since that first time he came into the shop. A light smile played across his face as he watched you hop onto the counter, not breaking your train of thought at all.

“I should get on before my shift finishes,” you sighed eventually. George immediately stepped forward and offered his hand to help you climb back down. His skin was warm and slightly calloused. You stumbled a little as you hit the ground and his other hand flew to your elbow, eyes scanning yours in concern.

“Thanks,” you murmured, painfully aware of how close you were. You'd put your hand out to steady yourself; it was clutching at the soft fabric of his orange plaid shirt. His eyes met yours once more and you both hastily pulled away.

“I'd better get back,” he cleared his throat.

“To the meddling git?”

He chuckled, a low sound which rumbled pleasantly in his chest. “Exactly. We're, um, we're out on another case tonight, but I'll see you soon, okay?”

“I hope so,” you replied, hoping he knew you didn't just mean because he made it back safely. “We'll have those doughnuts you like again tomorrow, if you're back in time.”

“I'll definitely be here for that,” he grinned.

—

It had been a hell of a night. The man who hired them had tried to bolster his ego by downplaying how intense the Visitors were. ‘A couple of Type 1s’ had turned out to be three particularly vicious Type 2s and it had taken until dawn to neutralise all the sources. The team emerged into the dewy morning covered in dust, rubble and, in George's case, blood. He'd taken a piece of debris to the face and, while it wasn't a serious injury, it had left him with a small cut which throbbed when he spoke. They were quite far from home too, and it was almost midday before they made it back to Portland Row.

George flopped onto a sofa in the living room as soon as they were through the door, while Lucy fetched the first aid kit. She sat down next to him, clicking open the case, and her face paled even more than it had with the exhaustion.

“We're out of antiseptic.”

“Lockwood,” George glared at his friend. He really wasn't in the mood.

“This isn't me this time! Look, you stay here and rest, I'll go and get more. Anything else we need?”

George pushed himself up to his feet. At least venting to you might make him feel better, and you had promised him doughnuts. “It's fine, I'll go.” Lockwood glanced at Lucy, taken aback by his insistence. He'd only been teasing George about going to see you, he never expected it to actually work.

“Please tell me you've still got those doughnuts, y/n,” George groaned as he pushed open the door to Arif's.

“Sorry,” came the reply from a voice distinctly unlike yours, as Arif glanced up from the shelf he was reorganising. “They took the last box at the end of their shift, maybe ten minutes ago.”

The last glimmer of hope that George had harboured fizzled out in his chest. Of course there was going to be no silver lining to the day. He was tired, he was hurt, and he didn't even get the doughnuts he'd been holding out for. Worse than that, though, he finally admitted to himself (and practically to his friends too) that he wanted to see you, that he liked you, and for what? Of course you weren't, you'd finished work and why on earth would you stick around just in case he showed up? It was unreasonable, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He'd have to wait until tomorrow, when he'd recovered a bit and could have a proper chat to you about everything. Ranting with Lockwood and Lucy was alright - they'd been there, they knew what he went through - but you were so gentle and understanding with him every time that he was desperate to hear your thoughts.

A figure on the steps of 35 Portland Row made George stop in his tracks. A new client, perhaps. Nothing unusual there.

The figure turned.

“Georgie?”

His face split into a grin the instant he recognised you. You'd changed out of your plain uniform into more casual clothes. The vibrant colours made you look almost radiant.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”

You shuffled awkwardly on the step, suddenly aware of just how much of a risk you were about to take.

“When you didn't show up this morning… well, I was worried about you on the case. And I know I said I was scared of becoming an agent in case I made friends with my team and then lost them, but I realised I could just as easily lose you like this and I'd never get to really know…” George watched you in awe, silently gravitating closer with every breath. Your own breath was trembling, the sound of it echoing from your chest up to your ears. Finally, he was close enough that you noticed the stark red line on his cheek. “Oh my god, you're hurt.” Just imagining him in pain sent ice through your veins.

“I'm okay,” he assured you gently. “Just a scratch. I've just been to Arif's for antiseptic and…” he looked almost as nervous to speak as you, “I missed seeing you.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand or hug him close, but instead you held up the box you'd forgotten you were holding. “Me too. I brought those doughnuts just in case, figured you might need the extra one.”

His expression softened. “It's not an extra if you're here. I mean, if you want? You could come in and we can share them with the rest of the team.” Team. He gave you a look that showed he meant the implication behind it. You were one of them now, if you wanted to be. With a smile, you wound the fingers of your free hand into his and allowed him to lead you into the house.