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darknessisafriend · 4 years

Note

Hi! I'd like to request an imagine with Joaquin in which he's dating an university student (she's like 21-22) and she feels insecure about being so much younger than him bc of people's comments? Hope you're having a good day! :)

Hiiiii ! thanks for your request and sorry if took a bit of time, I had trouble to write these past two months, but now it seems I’m getting better again! I’m putting too much pressure on myself ^^’ Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy it

Love is love

I’m parked by the entrance, on your right.

You sighed as you looked at the text Joaquin had sent you. This morning you were thrilled when he had offered to pick you up at the end of your day at university. But that was until, some students came to you, showing you the cover of one of those tabloid magazines where you and Joaquin had been photographed kissing. The title was engraved in your mind ‘JOAQUIN PHOENIX DATING A TEEN!’, you were young and you knew that people always perceived you younger than you were but you weren’t exactly a teen, you were 22 years old, so legally an adult; you and your boyfriend had a 23 years gap and now people knew and some had even recognized you, you felt so bad about it, you didn’t want Joaquin to be harassed and criticized for dating you, and what if it was wrong like one of the students told you?

As you reached the entrance, your eyes scanned the area for Joaquin, until you found him. He was leaning against his Tesla, wearing his dark pants and t-shirt, and of course his white converse; he had his sunglasses on and was smoking while waiting for you. When he noticed you, he hurried to the nearest public ashtray so that he could greet you properly.

“Hey babe, how you doin’?” he said with a sweet voice, leaning to kiss your lips but you turned your head at the last moment so that his lips would land on your cheek.

“Fine.” You answered avoiding his confused gaze. All these people and tabloids were making you upset and insecure about your relationship with Joaquin; and you felt terrible for acting distant with your boyfriend, he probably didn’t know about those pictures.

You both entered the car to head to his place. The ride was silent, you looked at the window, thinking about your relationship with Joaquin, was it that wrong to be in love with an older man? Should you tell Joaquin about it? As for your lover, he was often looking at you with worry; did he do something wrong? He will give you the time you need to open up to him, you were clearly very upset and weren’t ready yet to talk about it.

When you arrived at his home, after petting his dogs, which appeased your mind a bit; you let yourself fall on the sofa, you buried your head in the cushion and hugged it tightly. ‘What a crappy day’ you thought, it should have been perfect, to spend your evening and night with Joaquin, but those people had ruined everything. You didn’t move for an hour maybe, hoping for the world to forget about you, or what they knew about you and your boyfriend.

Then, you heard quiet steps approach you; it was Joaquin. He sat at the level of your hip, his hand coming up to gently stroke your hair. You had missed his touch the whole day, it was so comforting, and yet the title of the tabloid was still there in your mind, over and over.

“What’s wrong Y/N?” he asked you, you could hear the hint of worry in his voice, you slightly turned your head, so that he could see your face, you quickly looked at him before looking at the floor.

“Some tabloid, took photos of us kissing, implying it’s terrible of you to do that…people at my uni recognized me, and everyone’s telling me it’s wrong…” you tried to prevent your voice trembling, but tears prickled in your eyes, you loved Joaquin, you didn’t want it to end. You heard your lover sigh, but his fingers continued to play with your hair.

“Y/N, look at me.” He replied softly, you turned on your back so that you could fully face him, you bit your trembling lip as you met his eyes. His hand traveled to your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear falling coming out.

“Do you think of our relationship as something wrong?” he asked you with apprehension. You quickly shook your head.

“No, I don’t understand why people are saying this! It makes me feel so bad Joaq, it’s just…”

“Listen, all they care about is selling as much of their shit as they can and the others are speaking without knowing, we’re both consenting adults…” cut off your lover calmly, if he gets the name of the person who took the photo, he’ll have a word with them; nobody had the right violate his private life and even less to upset you.

“But I don’t want you to have problems because of me.” You added with worry, taking his hand in yours; you didn’t want him to have more paparazzies coming after him, or to even have an investigation on your relationship.

“Did I ever cared about what others thought about me?” he asked you on a light tone, arching an eyebrow. You huffed amused; he had a point.

“I don’t want us to break up because of this.” You admitted, playing with his finger, somehow you feared he would, to avoid media attention. He shook his head in disbelief with a small smile and he moved to come on top of you, propping himself on his elbows, his face a few inches from yours.

“Don’t be silly, nothin’, and I say NOTHIN’ will keep me away from you.” A relieved smiled formed on your face; you wrapped your arms around his waist.

“There’s no other man I’d rather be with; I love our 3 am talks, your playfulness, you make me laugh so much.” He chuckled as you lifted your head to tenderly kiss his lip before continuing, puncturing every word by kisses “your smile, your eyes, your compassion, how you love me…” this time you took your time to kiss him, you needed to feel him.

“Are you expecting me to list all the reasons why I love you? Cause it’s goin’ to take hours.” He joked, against your lips before capturing them once again. One of your hand traveled to bury in his silver hair that you loved so much, while Joaquin’s mouth wandered down your neck.

“You know, you won’t be able to ignore my parents…” you insinuated on a light tone; you knew your parents were going to be suspicious of Joaquin, when they hear about his age; but you also knew that they were understanding and that they will just make sure your boyfriend has no bad intentions. He lifted his head, a confident smile on his face.

“I’ll just have to prove to them that I simply care about you, that we fell in love like everyone does…and if your father wants to physically fight me, I’m sorry but I’m a black belt, he doesn’t stand much chances.” He grinned mischievously; you couldn’t stop laughing on how he bragged about it.

“Oh my god, I can totally imagine that! But please don’t.” you breathed between giggles, which in return made Joaquin smile even more, making you laugh, and smile was his daily goal.

“Alright, I’ll just pretend he’s too strong for me.” Gave in your boyfriend, covering your face with kisses. He had his unique way of cheering you up and making you happy; and for that you’ll never give him up even if you have the whole world against you.

Joaquin’s squad: @arcticmonkais @amourtiara @sirianfromsixties @sweetness-doesnt-touch-my-face @live-love-loki @lyoongx @skaravile @jaylovesbats @niniita-ah @dirtyginger @valentina15 @cumberbitching

#joker2019 #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix imagine #joaquin phoenix x reader

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silverspectre · 4 years

Text

en garde, pret, aimer! || lockwood & co.

pairing: light florence bonnard x anthony lockwood

genre: fencing(?)ish!au and also maybe straying away from canon bc what iS canon at this point, fluff, platonic main relationship, eventual angst, pre-canon??? aka beFore the series takes place

words: 3.8k

tags: fluffy!!, young lockwood nd flo, fencing stuff, apologies for the french (literally lol), i wrote this like half a year ago i’M SORRY-

what to expect: “’Why else would I be here? Tea time?’”

a/n: so this was beta-read and edited by two lovely people! i appreciate their help so much, as they’ve made this story what it is now. thank you so much @piratekingimogen and @willowwisk for your help! is this canon-compliant? someone ask jonathan stroud. this will be my last fic for a while, unless i have a spontaneous bout (pun intended) of inspiration. thank you all for your support!

translation: en garde, prets, allez = on guard, ready, go (used to start a fencing bout) / en garde, prets, aimer = on guard, ready, love (used to start this story)

The train ride from London to Paris is a particularly long, arduous journey. There's not much to see; reading a book 50 times or twiddling your thumbs is perhaps the most productive thing one can do. However, though a subjective opinion, it's a great deal less dull when in the company of a pretty girl whose name you learn through one piece of black licorice.

Florence Bonnard. It was elegant and flowed off the tip of your tongue. She was pretty; her teeth shining white and her long, blonde hair practically another shade of gold, shimmering in the sunlight. Anthony Lockwood could only stare at her.

To Anthony, Paris was a dream of any fencer. It was hailed as the fencing capital of the world, home to countless famed swordsmen and agents. He could merely wish to be like them. He was sure he was on his way, however. He'd been invited to a DEPRAC-sponsored competition in France, and of course, he absolutely had to go. His supervisor, Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, forced him anyways.

He made the acquaintance of Florence Bonnard only a few minutes ago, when she huffed into the train compartment that was otherwise empty except for Anthony's doe-eyed presence. Looking upset, she plopped herself down diagonal from him. She didn't even acknowledge his existence.

"Hi?" he squeaked out. His voice was a little scratchy. He coughed, then repeated the word in a much more confident tone.

"Well? What are you?" This was the first he'd heard the girl speak.

She spared a glance at Anthony.

"I'm, uh..." He thought fast. She didn't

know him; no one on the train, as far as he knew, knew his name. He could reinvent himself, banish the name used so fondly by his parents and sister. He could be...

"I'm, uh... Lockwood. Just Lockwood. Yes. That's me."

"Lockwood... classy," she commented. She paused, in thought. "Though... I think I'll call you Locky."

"L-Locky?" Lockwood stuttered. This was not how she was supposed to react to his name.

"Locky. It practically rolls off the tongue, don't you think?" She smiled, slightly exposing her white teeth. It was a pretty sight. He could've stared at her for a second or an hour before he registered her answer.

Lockwood was caught off guard. "W-well, what's your name, then?"

She smiled a pearly white smile. "Wouldn't you like to find out," she said slyly.

A sweets trolley rolled down the aisle, pushed by a plump old woman. "Anything you'd like to buy?" She popped her head in the compartment.

The girl scanned the trolley, then made up her mind. She turned to Lockwood. "You'll have to buy me a liquorice to find out my name."

"I'll have a bag of liquorice, please," Lockwood immediately said to the lady, pulling out two pounds and exchanging it for a bag. He didn't know why he complied so easily - maybe he'd fallen under a trance for her.

He handed one to the girl, who looked momentarily startled before recomposing herself. "So, what's your name?" Lockwood asked.

"Florence Bonnard," she simply replied. It matched her, Lockwood thought. Prim and proper, it matched her perfect posture and neatly combed hair.

"You fence?"

"Why else would I be here? Tea time?"

"O-of course not, but you're just so pretty-"

Oh no. He'd let it slip.

Florence Bonnard's lips curled upward. "Thanks, Locky. I'll remember that on the piste."

He was suddenly scared to imagine Florence Bonnard on the piste, with her blonde hair tied up and her body in first position, sword ready to attack. With her confidence, double of his, how good could she be? Lockwood felt his stomach turn queasy. How good were the others on the train?

She poked Lockwood lightly. "Worried?" she teased. "En-garde," she mimicked a referee, "prets-" she made a face, "allez!" She pretended to poke Lockwood with her rapier, then laughed.

Lockwood couldn't help but laugh with her at her imitation.

"What's your agency?" Lockwood asked.

"That'll cost you a liquorice," she stated.

He handed her one.

"Sinclair & Saones. 'm an apprentice for 'em. You?"

"Nigel Sykes."

"Really?" she drawled. "You seem like the Rotwell type - well, then again, you weren't sitting with the lot in the first place."

"Rotwell and Fittes agents always win, don't they?"

"I'll give 'em a run for their money. How old are you?"

"Ten."

She looked up and down. "Alright then."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She smirked. "Nothing... When's your birthday, then?"

He told her.

"I'm older than you."

"So what? That doesn't mean you'll be better!"

Florence Bonnard smiled. "We'll see about that."

Nigel 'Gravedigger' Sykes, or just Sykes, was Lockwood's mentor. He was a bit scraggly, but not enough to make him incompetent with a sword. He was on the slightly mad side, yes, but was an extremely skilled swordsman. Lockwood was constantly amazed by his ability.

"You rely on remises too much. Practice on your footwork, you're doubting yourself too much.”

They'd been practicing for two hours - maybe more. Lockwood didn't even bother trying to count the bouts. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, his breaths hot in the mask. Lockwood's legs were sore and his arms hurt from all the attack, parry, and riposting he'd done.

The competition started in three days - Sykes had decided Lockwood needed to cram in as much practice as he could. On and off the piste, Lockwood could hear Sykes' voice in his head, telling him to Parry quarte or Eat your breakfast, it's free food! Food was accommodated at the hotel which sponsored DEPRAC for the competition. The rooming was nice as well, Lockwood being lucky enough to get a room to himself rather than most participants in the tournament who had to share a room.

When the competition finally rolled around, he'd won the first bout easily - almost too easily. Regardless, a win was a win, even against some Bunchurch agent with half a brain.

The real competition - or so he'd heard from rumours - was Quill Kipps of Fittes. He was apparently a prodigy fencing-god in his mid-teens, favoured by the majority of the crowd. He was tall and ginger, from what people had been telling him. Easy to spot in crowds. Lockwood was curious to see the famous Kipps in practice - rather, he was curious to see what any Fittes or Rotwell agent could bring to the table.

Lockwood had yet to see the mysterious Florence Bonnard do her bout. He was eager to do so after showering and slipping into the stands to watch the next bouts. After a win from Alexander Fawley, and another from Emily Schreiber, Quill Kipps was up. The teen was fast, and his every move was clearly calculated. It was everything Lockwood could aspire to be.

Florence Bonnard was fast as well, to Lockwood's surprise. She was extremely quick on her feet and could get a touch faster than the referee could blink after saying allez. It was impressive, being younger than a lot of contestants- and she wasn't even a Fittes or Rotwell agent.

Lockwood considered what he'd do if he was ever tasked with being her opponent, but only for a split second. It was too unrealistic he'd make it that far. But still, he had a vivid image of her lunging, ponytail swaying and rapier thrust as the tip of her blade touched his side. Now was not the time to daydream.

The second bout passed, 14-15. Lockwood had won in a landslide, attacking the split second his opponent hesitated.

After, as Lockwood chugged a bottle of water on the side, still sweaty and clad in his fencing gear, Florence Bonnard approached him. "Good bout, Locky," she said in her sly way. "Although, your footwork could be better." His gaze was stuck on her, even as she stalked off in true Florence fashion.

"Th-thanks?" It was already too late; Lockwood just watched her straw-colored hair swish away. She was one interesting girl. He sighed, staring at her back.

Lockwood's days consisted of eating, practicing, and sleeping. He would occasionally watch other agents practice, to pick up on faults and techniques they used. That's, at least, what Sykes had told him to do. Half the time Lockwood just drifted off, staring at a wall corner or, as a current example, a blonde ponytail. ...Blonde ponytail...? It was Florence Bonnard in the flesh, practicing. Of course, Lockwood just assumed this fact, judging by the fencer's posture and hair. It was unmistakably her.

Lockwood hadn't seen her much, either because their schedules didn't match up or she barely practiced. She was very good, sharp on her feet and maneuvering like she was on ice. It was scary the way she got a touch so fast. He assumed she'd practiced a great deal privately; at least, that's how he comforted himself at the sight of her skillful rapier patterns.

Lockwood's eyes jumped to a tall ginger-haired fencer - no doubt Quill Kipps, practicing a couple metres away. He, too, was skilled. Close to Florence's level, but not quite. This could be the year someone from a small agency won - though, Lockwood couldn't keep his hopes up. Being the crowd favourite, who was to say he didn't have a couple tricks up his sleeve?

Bouts three and four passed, and just somehow, Lockwood had survived into the quarterfinals. The numbers were dwindling down; Florence Bonnard, not much to his surprise, was in strong.

The quarterfinals passed, but now that he'd won, more pressure had been draped on him. Practices stretched late into the night, leaving his muscles incredibly sore and eyelids drooping on their own accord. He almost forgot to shower one day, planning to sleep in his fencing gear. Sykes had been drilling into him much more. The lineup for the semifinals was posted; Lockwood would be fencing against Quill Kipps.

To say he was nervous was an understatement. He sweated at the thought of fencing the teen. No matter how much he analyzed Kipps' fencing, he never felt ready. Sure, he wasn't as good at Florence, but she was substantially better than Lockwood - as was Kipps. The day of the bout, Lockwood almost froze before walking in, trying not to look at the crowd. It was bigger than any he had fenced for before. He sucked in two deep breaths then pulled the mask over his face. Sykes patted him, whispered quick advice in his ear. Lockwood wasn't paying attention, more focused on the judges, rhe referee, and the feeling of his feet on the ground. He and Kipps did the salute, like any other bout.

The referee started to speak, also like any other bout. The words were muffled in Lockwood's jumbled mind. His thoughts were racing at 100 kilometers per second, tumbling around each other, unlike any other bout - but he didn't need to hear the words regardless. He knew what they were.

"En-garde."

Lockwood stared at Kipps.

"Prets."

He took a deep breath, readying himself.

"Allez!"

The bout began.

Immediately, swords clinked and clashed against each other as the agents attempted to protect themselves. Lockwood's mind went pure blank, and his body went into autopilot.

1-0. Sure, a rough start, but he could catch up.

1-1. Tied, that was okay.

2-3. Lockwood was in the lead-

5-7. Halfway there!

11-10. No, losing wasn't an option-

13-14. His sword was a blur in front of him, basically acting of its own accord. Parry, riposte, attack-! It was all too quick. Kipps had lost his balance, and Lockwood took the opportunity. He lunged, slashed with his blade just to earn a point. His blade felt something soft - he got a touch! - but then Lockwood actually looked at the tip of his blade.

Quill Kipps was stunned entirely. He'd fallen on the piste and stared up at the younger agent. The moment was silent; practically in slow motion. The crowd held their breath in disbelief.

Lockwood had struck Quill Kipps with his rapier on the bum. The judges were in shock. It was a touch, though, right? It... counted? The referee gestured, and Lockwood pulled his raper away.

The bout ended.

Lockwood won. Lockwood won, against the star of Fittes agency. Quill Kipps, meanwhile, fumed. His cheeks were redder than his hair, which was matted with sweat.

"I'll beat you next time, Anthony Lockwood..." he murmured.

The crowd was having its fun; booing in disappointment or cheering in amusement, Lockwood couldn't tell. He convinced himself it was the latter. He didn't mean to stab Kipps in the bum. It just happened. It's not like anyone ever goes into a bout thinking, "Oh, yeah, I'm going to riposte a clean one up his bum."

Sykes was impressed, though he seemed more pleased by the last touch Lockwood earned.

"You'll be going up against that Bonnard girl, so you better clean up that footwork of yours. Her bladework is quite fine, too, I'd say. Sharpen yourself up, Anthony - no pun intended."

Practice, as always, lasted to the evening - Lockwood had just gotten out of the locker room, hair wet from his shower when he heard a familiar rasping tone.

"Locky~" Florence Bonnard sing-songed, conveniently leaning on a pillar outside.

He approached her.

"Finals are tomorrow," she said, smiling. Her teeth glinted - it was charming. Her eyes shimmered a bright blue - when had he missed this feature of hers? She was breathtaking. He didn't react, dumbly nodding as he stared at her.

"Oh, and by the way? Stop staring at me sometimes, it's creepy, Locky. I know you like me, but you're too... you." She tapped his nose, ignited a blush across Lockwood's cheeks.

"Cute," she commented. "See you on the piste." She walked away in her typical manner.

Florence Bonnard beat him the next day, 13-15. It was completely fair. Her attacks were clean and precise, and she hesitated not a second. It was a blur in Lockwood's head; one second her blade was against his torso; the next, her blade had touched him 14 other times and the referee proclaimed her the winner. He wasn't disappointed, however - she, from a small agency, had won, not a Fittes or a Rotwell agent. He decided it was well-earned on her part, completely ignoring the way she had so softly put him down the day previous. She was just so attractive.

She gave him a toothy smile after the bout and patted his shoulder. "Don't be too upset, Locky." It was safe to say he wasn't.

2 years later.

It was terrible. It was one of those moments in your life where you can recount every detail of where you were and what you were doing exactly when it happened; heck, you could even recite the exact seconds.

Lockwood was reading the morning newspaper, sipping his pulp orange juice (the joys of being a blue whale!) when he read the news.

Both Sinclair and Saones (of the Sinclair & Saones agency) had died on a case, with poor Florence Bonnard being the only survivor. Florence Bonnard - the name reminded Lockwood of so much; mainly, his puppy crush on her when he was younger. He failed to see the appeal now, but platonically, she was wonderful, despite how much she demanded liquorice.

He visited her on the shorelines of the River Thames; it was mainly where she resided, to the most of Lockwood's knowledge. He slipped a bag of liquorice hidden under his coat for her.

Her appearance was slightly disheveled and a straw hat covered the half of her face.

"Locky!" she croaked, but her voice lacked its usual mirth. In fact, it was incredibly fragile; to put an exclamation mark after it would never properly do it justice. She looked cold, shivering in what appeared to be her agent clothing. Her rapier was still attached to her side.

"You're shaking." Lockwood sat beside her.

"A-am I, Locky?" she hiccupped. She took a deep, shaky breath, then laughed, an echo of bitterness and a sore throat.

"I heard what happened," he said softly. "How?"

"How else, Locky?" she said, less of a question than a horrible revelation. Her voice was terribly sad, full of pain and memories. "It was ghost-touch. I protected myself with an iron cross 'til dawn against the Limbless." Her fists clenched in her skirt. A tear dropped down her cheek - which Lockwood noticed to have fresh, small scars and what looked like to be traces of tears on her slightly muddied face. It was the exact opposite from the pristine, composed Florence he'd known for so long.

"I'm sorry."

"You needn't be."

"Did you get hurt anywhere?"

She shrugged, wincing as she touched her cheek.

"I could-"

"Don't. It'll heal on its own." He wanted to tell her to clean it as well, but he could tell she'd turn down the advice in the same manner.

"Well," Lockwood said, "what are you doing next?"

Her grip tightened on the fabric of her skirt. "I don't know."

"You could train with me," Lockwood offered gently. "I don't have an agency or anything, but-"

"I-I think I'll try that. Thank you, Lockwood."

"Also, I brought these." He handed her the bag of liquorice.

A slight smile appeared from under her hat.

Her swordsmanship was still intact. Lockwood could for sure confirm this after she'd disarmed him 5 times. She'd lost her will, though. She looked pained picking up a rapier and could barely glance at salt bombs. Lockwood didn't ask. It seemed too personal. Over the course of 3 months, nothing had changed. If anything, it seemed to be harder and harder for her to fight properly.

"Locky... I don't think I can do this."

"Do what?" Lockwood knew perfectly well what she was referring to. "You're amazing with your rapier, still."

"This whole... 'agent' thing. I-I don't think I can go back." She was incredibly vulnerable with no snarky remarks or sarcasm in her voice. It hurt him to see her like this. He'd once felt similar, in his pain-filled rage when Jessica died. He couldn't look at ghosts, couldn't bear to think of them. Unlike Florence, however, he'd had rage to direct toward ghosts; she just felt pain.

Lockwood nodded. "You're sure?"

"It's been 3 months. Every time- every time I can still see their bodies next to me. Hear the screams, see the Limbless. I can't do it."

He hesitated, then put a hand on her shoulder. "I understand. But- what will you do?"

"I'll find something, I'm sure."

"I'm always here, Florence. I've been thinking about starting an agency, so if you need anything..."

Florence Bonnard smiled her classic grin. She patted his hair - he took so long gelling it in the morning.... Her blue eyes shone like the sea. "Don't worry yourself, Locky. I've got this."

For months, Florence wandered from thing to thing in search of replacement for being an agent. She hadn't found much. With the Problem raging, agents were in the highest demand, and it was hard to ignore all of the flyers and inquiries looking for one. Lockwood had been concerned she'd find nothing, constantly reminding her of his offer. One thing was clear, though: she was never becoming an agent again. She didn't need to say the words, but it was mutually understood even as Lockwood asked her to train with him.

Slowly, she gravitated toward relic collecting. It exercised her Talent, yet comforted her. She could be free from expectations, and not have to be perfect or clean; she could collect the relics on the River Thames and sell them. It would sustain her and calm her. Most importantly, it was an environment she was comfortable in.

As time went on, her straw hat became faded of color and gained splotches of mud on them. She traded her agent fit for a padded jacket and Wellington boots. It suit the job. For once, maybe she was happy.

"So, you're sure you don't want to become an agent?"

"Locky, the only reason I came was because you said you had liquorice. I'm perfectly happy as a relic woman." She smoothed down her padded jacket and adjusted her signature straw hat.

"I have my license now. I'm recruiting-"

"I'm happy where I am, thank you very much." She took a sip of tea and plopped a liquorice in her mouth.

Lockwood sighed. Florence Bonnard, as always, was impenetrably stubborn. she'd started going by Flo Bones, which was catchy, and fit her relic woman persona. Lockwood respected this. He could see how happy it made her, though not particularly sanitary. He recalled the day she'd first told him of her new occupation. They'd been sitting on the banks of the River Thames, near where Lockwood had comforted her the morning after tragedy struck her.

"So... you're becoming a Relicwoman? Where will you get the sources?"

"The river has enough," she gestured to the muddy shore of the river. "My Sight's been getting stronger."

"Be careful, Flor-"

"Oh, and Locky, I've started going by Flo Bones - it's quite fitting, don't you think? I like it. It's catchy." She'd lifted her hat, just enough to wink at Lockwood before pulling it down again.

"Well, my offer will always stand, Flo. You're a spectacular agent - you know my address. 35 Portland Row, hasn't changed."

"You haven't an agency to work for, Locky, have you?" Flo mused bluntly.

"Working on the license. I plan to open my own agency, agent run. What d'you reckon I call it? I was thinking 'Lockwood and Company.'"

Flo gave a grunt of approval. "'Lockwood and Co.' It's decent."

"Thanks, Flo."

She'd nodded. "Now go. I can't be seen hanging about the lots of the upper class. See you, Locky."

He pushed the bag of liquorices to her, the memory making him smile sadly. "It's all yours."

Lockwood couldn't find any agents willing to work for him. Flo, being one of his main friends, was painfully aware of this fact, subject to his forever hanging offer of employment.

"Oh, cheer up. Don't be lonely. You'll find someone. Lockwood & Co.! It'll be known through all of England." She softened for a second. "Anyway, I have an auction to attend." She stood up, bits of dirt falling from her jacket. "Bye, Locky!" He reached out to her then restrained himself - but she'd already exited 35 Portland Row, shutting the door behind her.

"Bye, Flo." He stared at the closed door, at his slightly outstretched hand. He could only hope she was right, and he'd find someone soon.

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #flo bones #florence bonnard #lockwood #the screaming staircase #lockwood x flo #what is the ship name for them???#fencing #fluff #jonathan stroud #fanfic #angst #lockwood fluff #lockwood angst #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #*silverspectre

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botanyshitposts · 7 years

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Hey, just wanted to say I know how you feel about having people be weird about you liking plants, I get that all the time too. It's weird to not be yourself around close friends and family, especially if you're the one they go to to talk about whatever they're into, like double standards much???On a side note, have you been tested for ADHD because I have it and the way you think/act sounds a lot like me and it's often misdiagnosed as OCD or autism in girls/women/generally studious people.

okay lol i typed out a huge thing telling my life’s story and then was like……mmmmmmmmmm lets not so here are my Mental Health Highlights™ regarding that fun time. generally i try not to post stuff like this on this blog bc i feel like it should be For The Plonts but it also deals with how plants actually saved my life so:

-I’ve been professionally diagnosed with OCD, anxiety, ADHD, and depression.

-OCD like?????? wrecked my life man. like it was a constant undertone in my childhood and tl;dr was a super bad time and i didn’t get properly diagnosed until i was in high school and i was like??????? oh my god it makes sense????

-started undergoing cognitive behavioral therapy for my OCD and anxiety in high school bc i was having a Hella Bad Time™

-results just in: thoughts cant hurt u and u dont have to wash your hands until they bleed and Good Numbers and Bad Numbers are just numbers, etc.

me:

still miserable at school because i was relearning things i already learned/taught myself on the side and was frustrated and hated everything and myself

-my ELP coach reached out to me and asked if i’d like to do a plant experiment??? she would use program money to get the equipment???

-shoutout to my ELP coach for making school worth coming to again and making homework and projects worth doing on time again bc she gave me a chance to actually do something that im interested in and express myself through science and be challenged, just not in class (*insert american public school tangent here*), literally, actually saved my life and stopped my self harming and helped my depression bc at the end of the day i got to do what i loved

-shoutout to my environmental sustainability teacher who encouraged me and was 200% willing to use his resources to help me learn, who sought out the edge of what i had taught myself and used his college microbiology degree knowledge to teach me more and provide me with more resources instead of circling me back into the lesson and making me wade through what i already knew like all my other high school teachers did when i asked them more questions to extend on my extending on my learning

-anyway back to the ADHD thing

-so i always had some obsessive thoughts and actions from my OCD, but when I got put on my current medication thats been working SUUUPER WELL I LOVE IT, i suddenly couldn’t focus. my grades dropped. this was literally in the second half of my senior year. i was off any and all ADHD medications because of their stimulatory effect, which i learned the hard way a few years ago made my OCD compulsions 200% worse and symptoms more intense.

-okay like. this was wild right

-my psychiatrist told me that because I was struggling with my depression, anxiety, and OCD less, my ADHD was starting to show more because my (copious) energy was no longer being bogged down by depression or eaten up by fear and compulsions.

-that. took a little bit to get used to. like i had to change my study habits and stuff (current study set up: 1. ALWAYS study at school/in a different building because when i try to study at home/in my dorm it’s a signal that it’s time to begin winding myself down and tapering off my energy for the night, and i fall asleep 2. use white noise to drown out that Dank ADHD Hypersensitivity and Distractibility). I also am now more fidgety than i was and need more effort to focus– i control this by working out every morning to burn off some of the residual stuff so i can actually function (not yoga lol). if i dont, im hit with weird slams of writing inspiration and distractibility during the day, which are cool but then get looped into obsessive thoughts that make them hard to shake

-it just was a weird moment of realization for me because the last time I struggled with my ADHD explicitly was in early elementary school. it had been “gone” for so long that i literally thought that my parents had me diagnosed too young and it was a wrong diagnosis (i was diagnosed in kindergarden).

-most, if not all, of my autism-like-symptoms come from my OCD and ADHD. I’ve been tested for autism, and do not have it. my hyperfocus and passion come from obsessive thoughts and stuff relating to those two disorders, and im inclined to say that my social incapabilities relate to impulsivity and oversharing related to those two disorders as well (i’ve been doing pretty well controlling those lately having gotten help for that in therapy, but…….you know……still working on it like yikes. i feel better about it after meeting some of the grown up, employed plant academics here at school, which all share some resemblance to me in social ability. ive heard rumors about the whole “academics are bad at socializing” stereotype but like……….i see it now…….these are my people………)

#im having a good time now #like ngl i feel like at least for the moment im doing pretty well with stuff #as far as blurting out plant things goes im just like???#i like u???? i shall shower you in things i know???? wait why are u changing the subje #not plonts #long post #mental health thingys #Anonymous #asks

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