#like last year my friend was Lockwood and I was Lucy it was so funny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lewkwoodnco · 6 months

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buy me presents! - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.

Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.

She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.

"How are the accounts?"

"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."

George yells again and they wince in unison.

"How long has that been going on?"

"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."

He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."

"Still. Christmas, all alone?"

George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.

"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."

He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.

"You think my hair's fancy?"

She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.

"What's this?"

"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."

She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."

"He made an exception for you."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I might have...tipped him extra."

"Lockwood."

"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."

She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.

It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.

"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.

He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.

Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.

"It's not too late for me to stay."

She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.

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

"Y/N!"

"Lockwood? Hello?"

"Ho - How have you been?"

"What?"

There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.

"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"

"Sounds busy."

"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."

He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"

"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."

"Really?"

"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."

She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."

"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."

"What's the popcorn for?"

"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."

She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."

"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”

“…Belinda?”

“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”

“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.

“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."

She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.

"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."

"Nicholas?"

An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.

"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."

"...Nicholas."

"Yeah."

"Never heard of him."

"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."

"Hm."

"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."

"So, you're spending time...with him?"

"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."

"Workshop?"

"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."

"I'm sure he is."

Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.

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

A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.

It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-

"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.

"Nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y/N?"

"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"

"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"

"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"

"He's helping with the caramel apples."

"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"

"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."

She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."

"He's doing fine."

There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.

"Get anything in the mail?"

"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."

"I see."

"Why? Did you mail something over?"

"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."

"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.

"Did Nicholas get you anything?"

"He really only goes by Nick."

She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."

"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.

"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."

"He is."

"Good."

"Great."

"Glad we cleared that up."

They fume at each other through the phone for a while.

"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."

"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."

"Like...a circus?"

"...yes."

"Well. As long you're having fun..."

"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?

"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.

"Merry Christmas Lockwood."

She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.

'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'

The dial tone reverberates through her skull.

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

She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.

She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.

Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.

"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"

"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."

George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.

"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"

Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"

"Lockwood, wai-"

"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."

"Will you stop, for a minute?"

"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"

"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.

George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."

"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."

It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.

"Merry Christmas."

TAGLIST: @mischivana @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @elenianag080 @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfiction #lockwood & co #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagine #sabrina carpenter #fruitcake #buy me presents #side note i am so obsessed w writing huhhhhhhhhhhh any and every time i can #love tacking on an infinte amount of 'h' at the end #thats how much i have no idea abt whats going on at any time

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insidethekaleidoscope · 1 month

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Give the flowers, 13, 14, 20!

13. Favorite line of dialogue and what inspired it:

Ok, I'm having a hard time picking, but I'm going to go with this bit from Flo, because I just really love writing Flo.

“Looks a bit like the house went through a bad breakup and decided to cut its own fringe,” she said with an evil grin. She wasn’t wrong. While he had managed to at least cut the vines back out of the way, the shape of the plant had now taken on a rather abrupt and choppy angle, a bit like a botched haircut. Lockwood raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t realise you were a landscaping connoisseur. Seems like a bit of a lost calling, then, living on a boat.” She grinned wider. “Oh no, I’m no expert when it comes to landscaping, but I’ve got existential crises pretty well on lock, and this house, my friend, is three glasses of wine deep wondering if she should just quit her job and go live in that little cottage she saw once when she was hiking in the Swiss Alps.”

I just love that Flo can be completely unapologetically weird but also perceptive at the same time. Flo and Lockwood have this understanding of one another where there's a bit of mutual worry, but they're never coddling one another, so I wanted to put something in that was both funny and highlighted their friendship as well as gestured at that worry. Also... I've spent plenty of time fantasizing about running away to just like garden in a little cottage so

14. Favorite line and what inspired it:

Now he was thinking again of the roses and the fact that they had been loved first by his father and then by Jess and then managed to survive neglected all of those years until they were there for him today to pick and give away. And there it was again: that feeling of a circle closing, but this time it wasn’t the inexorable looping around of death, more so a subtle, patient revelation. Life changing shape and persevering.

When I wrote this I was thinking about all the times that Lockwood's family's possessions served to protect him, to guide him, to help him express his love. I love this idea of their love for him enduring on through what they left behind. He's very much feeling their absence in this fic, so I wanted him to have this partial revelation where he's starting to see some of the ways in which they're still with him. It's like he's suddenly able to see what was there all along.

I was thinking of the roses as a parallel to Lockwood himself as well, both of them persevering, for years trying to grow alone and unguided, but still persevering and carrying on the love of the people that raised them. And now he's caring for them, just as he's trying to care for himself, and he's finding this love within himself that he's now able to give away as well.

I also read this Andrea Gibson poem around the time I was writing this, so this set of lines was also definitely rattling around in my head.

"My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before. Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted."

20. What is something you wish more people noticed about this fic?

This is an interesting one. I think one thing that I thought about while writing was this parallel between Lockwood and Lucy in this fic where they're both kind of stuck waiting, and they both are struggling with this combination of hope and dread - Lockwood still ruminating on the possibility of seeing Jessica's ghost, Lucy knowing that she left home for very good reasons, not really wanting to dive back into that family dynamic, but still wishing that her family cared to fix it. Then the case is an amplification of that, the visitor forcing them into this agonizing state of anticipation, waiting on something that is just largely out of their control. Lucy's relationship with her family and her home town just really fascinates me. One of these days I gotta write something that focuses more directly on that.

#thanks bestie :)#lockwood & co #chekhov's emotionally loaded roses #ask game

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avrelia · 1 year

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Lockwood and Co

Lockwood and Co is a great fun of tv series, and I wish it was a more loud hit, to assure its better fate on Netflix.

A friend long ago recommended me books by Jonathan Stroud to read for my son. He read them and loved, I read them and loved, and then they stayed a pleasant memory until there was a tv series. IN fact, I remember reading somewhere a couple of years ago that the series were in the works, and then nothing – until it appeared on Netflix in the last weekend of January 2023. Great marketing. The timing was good, I think, as there was nothing to distract viewers from it, but it would be better if more people were looking forward to it instead of discovering by accident or because there was nothing else new to watch. Because Lockwood & Co. tv series are pretty amazing. One doesn’t need to read books to enjoy it, but mostly after watching it, it is too easy to want to grab the book to learn what else is going to happen.

Of course, there are differences, but they help the visual mostly. Some things work better as words, some as images.

The story happens in England, in the universe slightly different from ours – in that several decades ago ghosts suddenly became The Problem. They are everywhere, and their touch is lethal. Ghosts could be fought – with salt and iron, and some other stuff, but they could only be perceived and fought successfully by children with specific talents. By the time a person reaches twenty, their ghost-perception wanes and disappears, leaving them scarred and useless. So there are agencies all over England (we hardly ever know what is happening in the rest of the world) that employ children and teenagers to detect and fight of ghosts with swords, iron chains, etc. The adults are in charge, mostly. One notable exception is Lockwood & CO. agency, run by Anthony Lockwood, a charming and charismatic teenager, with money (a bit and a house), talent and a death wish.

His second in command is George, a nerdy sarcastic genius who makes questionable dressing choices and doesn’t like people, but likes experiments.

And that’s pretty much it, until Lucy Carlyle comes looking for a job, and our story starts. Lucy is a girl from a poor working class family from the North of England. She early discovered she had a talent of ghost perception, and as soon as it was possible, she was sent to a local ghost fighting agency, earning money for her family and fighting ghosts. Her last mission ended in tragedy, and she ran to London to find another job. Alas, despite her talent and her hopes, no big and famous agency wanted to hire her. Lockwood and Co was her last chance, and it worked. She found a job, a home and a new family here. Even if that family consisted of another two troubled teenagers and a creepy glass jar.

The first season of the tv shows covers the first and the second book out of five, and tells a gripping and coherent story of horror, adventure and friendship. Kids are somewhat older in the beginning (but time passes between the books where it probably won’t as much in the series, so it works.

Adventure and friendship is really enough for a good tv series, but there is more. Lovingly constructed reality – London, Lockwood’s house, other agencies, haunted places, with lots of details telling us the story of this strange and deadly dangerous world, people who live there – Lockwood and Co, their rivals, the Fittes Agency, their clients, their friends, the government, etc. The hints of darker mysteries of how and why the Problem started – the ghosts were not that abundant and deadly until 60 years ago. But still the best is the wonderful, funny, strong, damaged, brave and charming heart of the story – the three leads.

#Lockwood and Co #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #george karim

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clonerightsagenda · 4 months

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ask meme: holly munro or kitty jones

(Ask meme here)

While I am a big fan of Ms. Direct Action herself Kitty Jones, I read the other series more recently, so let's go with Holly Munro, who did not deserve any of that.

First impression

Oh thank god finally someone who can get these kids' finances in order. Why is Lucy being so mean

Impression now

Again: She did not deserve any of that. Especially since I think she probably quit her last job because she turned 18 and her boss took that as permission to be creepy. Glad she blew up his facility after they kicked him into a hell portal. Shame she didn't get to do the kicking.

Favorite moment

Love when Lockwood (everyone's boss + coworker + landlord, horrifying combination) invites Holly to live with them in his new spare bedroom and is baffled that she turned him down. I am imagining her facial expression right now but I'm sure she was extremely polite about the offer to live in his deathtrap of a home full of heavily armed emotionally unstable 15 year olds and cursed relics. Like, I guess not having to pay rent is a draw, but At What Cost. (The cost of rent.)

Idea for a story

Answering these out of order but inspired by my response to the last bullet point I think there's a funny multichapter fic where she tries to sit each employee down to do a skills assessment/Career Planning Interview and it goes horribly. At least George has prospects.

Unpopular opinion

This is not addressed in the text because the text doesn't really address race and ethnicity beyond an unfortunate number of food comparisons for Holly's skintone, but the fact that she is the only employee of color at the agency and gets treated that way by Lucy while their boss is willfully or unintentionally oblivious to the whole thing adds to how shitty her experience was. I hope she had friends to lean on during those months.

Favorite relationship

Don't feel like we get a lot here since most of Lucy's perspective on Holly is seething and/or thinking she's hot. However since she's over that now I hope they can be friends. Holly really wanted to be friends! Also Holly can explain the brave new world of other orientations which I think will help Lucy figure some stuff out. Lucy could stand to apologize a bunch more though.

Favorite headcanon

Most agents don't seem to like acknowledging getting older - there's no mention of birthdays, I don't think Lucy ever directly states her age - so Holly stands out to me as someone who's already prepping for like. Being alive 10 years from now. She eats healthy foods. She uses skincare products. My point is that she's a planner. She is the only agency employee under 20 with a resume and an investment account. You will not be finding her working at Starbucks in a few years when her talent dries up. She tries to get her coworkers to do career aptitude quizzes with her but they always change the subject.

#holly with her notepad: where do you see yourself in 5 years #lockwood: i could show you my grave #holly: could you calm the fuck down #perpetual perpetual ladies night #ask meme #lockwood and co

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quillony-all-arrabbiata · 4 months

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hii I made the mistake of engaging with Lockwood&Co book and video content and now I can't stop this absolute gluttony of content consumption I'm in

enjoy my audhd taking a trip down far away from all my current life priorities, might as well create a new tumblr

following from @fool-fatale :)

ts;dr/proper intro: hii i'm late to the party, i watched the series last year, finally got around to reading the books these last few weeks and now i'm completely obsessed

so what better way to get this out of my system than coming back to where i used to scream about things like these out into the void before university crushed my soul :'D

i'm a queer history comp sci and mediadesign student/genealogist/programmer by day, and all those also by night bc i'm old enough to have both aching knees and a lack of authority figures in my life that could put me to bed at reasonable hours and keep me from eating a whole package of olives for dinner. it only goes downhill from here lol

i particularly enjoy my tired boi kipps, kippswood (i just love their dynamic; as rivals, begrudging friends and found family and in an age changed scenario romantic partners), lucy/george/lockwood or whatever their current ship name may be, autistic george and adhd lockwood cause they are, and i might try dusting of my fanfic boots in the future bc my brain is already full of bad ideas and i need to be very normal about them somewhere

i know kippswood seems to be the accepted character dynamic name but quillony sounds too much like rigatoni to not be extremely funny and also a type of very strange pasta i'm sorry

____

also, if anyone knows what's up with the italian ebook edition of the screaming staircase and why i can't buy it anywhere on this planet pls let me know (i'm german btw i'm just unnecessarily obsessed with languages)

#lockwood and co

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xserpx · 1 year

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TV Show Ask: 2, 4, 9, 10, 35, 38, 39, 46, 47, and 48?

Thanks for the asks! 🥰

2. Already answered.

4. are there any shows you wish could just be cancelled already?

I'm gonna be cantankerous and say House of the Dragon. I'm just not a fan of GoT. Granted, I will probably eat my words if/when I ever get around to reading the books, but until then I find the discussion about it quite irritating, especially because of how inescapable it feels lmao

9. Already answered.

10. what’s one show you thought you’d love but turned out to really hate?

I think probably Chainsaw Man? I do like some aspects of it, and I really wanted to like it more, but it just feels almost boring how teenage angsty it is, it conforms too much to the genre to be interesting. I stopped watching after episode 8.

35. who are your top 5 TV characters right now?

1. Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle, George Karim (Lockwood & Co.) - I'm obsessed with Lockwood & Co. to the point where I'm procrastinating finishing the last book. I can't pick a favourite of the main trio, they're all so great in their own ways. I just love how truly found family they are, the actors are all spectacular, they just fill my heart with joy.

2. Scanlan Shorthalt (The Legend of Vox Machina) - It's so hard to pick a favourite in TLoVM and this is definitely subject to change, but Scanlan is my favourite at the moment. I love me a comic relief character who is much more than just comic relief and I was so impressed with his arc in the second season.

3. August of Arnäs (Young Royals) - deeply problematic/unpopular opinion, I know, but I will die on this hill. Young Royals is an incredible show with genuinely clever writing and complex characters, it's nowhere near as tropey as it appears from the outside, and while I love Wille & Simon I think the character writing really shines when it comes to August. It helps that he has Leo levels of self-hatred that manifest as egotism. They're surprisingly similar characters, actually.

4. Kendall Roy (Succession) - I think Kendall is the character I'm most interested in seeing genuinely change, either for the better (fucking over Logan) or for the worse (becoming Logan). Maybe he'll end up doing both. Either way, I'm rooting for him.

5. Geordi La Forge (Star Trek: TNG) - I've been actually watching TNG after years of catching episodes every now and then, and have come to realise that my favourite of the TNG crew is Geordi. I always thought it'd be Picard or Data, but I think Geordi is a great all-rounder, he's funny, he's kind, he's clever, he's approachable. I love him!

38. do you prefer hour long episodes, or 30 minute?

Hour long episodes are the best. Proper ones, too, without ads.

38. do you prefer 22 episode seasons, or 13?

I prefer 13 episode seasons I think. It generally makes for a better quality show. That said, there is also definitely space in my life for longer seasons when I want something less taxing.

46. do you prefer to watch TV alone or with friends?

Alone. I don't watch TV with friends that often, but even when I do more often than not I'd still rather watch it alone. I like forming my own opinions on things, I always care too much about what the person I'm watching it with is thinking.

47. are there any shows you love but your friends aren’t interested in?

Mostly the kid's/teen shows like JatP, Lockwood, Young Royals, Heartbreak High.

48. are there any shows your friends love but you aren’t interested in?

Rick & Morty & Dragonball Z are the big ones, they make references to those shows and I just don't get them. Aforementioned Game of Thrones & spin-offs, some of the anime they watch I'm not interested in either.

#tv show asks

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kiwifoster · 4 years

Photo

I wipe my eyes, and, stinging and blurry, they fall on the window sill, where I keep his stupid skull, useless paperweight that it is.

“I suppose you think this is funny,” I snap. “I suppose you think I’m crying over you. Well,” I swing my legs over the side of the bed, “I’m not. I don’t miss you. You were a vile, cruel, evil thing, and I’m glad you’re gone. It was never Carlyle and Skull, okay? We were never partners, or roommates, or friends. You were nothing to me. Less than nothing. You were just a stupid, old skull, and I’m glad you’re gone!”

The words burn my throat as I say them. Lockwood is right. I really needed to get some sleep, but that stupid… skull is just sitting there, taunting me in it’s inanimate-ness.

“Why don’t you say something?” I snap. “You weren’t supposed to sacrifice yourself for us! You were supposed to be the selfish one! You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to be my friend.” I drag my hands through my hair, turning in a tight circle in my dark room. It’s a mess. I'm a mess. I'm a mess, screaming at an ancient skull on my window sill, because I can’t sleep. And, I can’t sleep, because there is a skull sitting on my window sill. “Alright. Fine,” I say. “Maybe… I miss you. Is that what you want to hear? I miss you! So, come back, you selfish prick!” But he doesn’t. And, he can’t. And, it's my fault. So, I snatch the stupid old skull off the shelf, and I hurl it across the room. I’m strong, and I don’t need to feel the force in my own muscles to know the skull will shatter as it hits the wall. I am instantly all the more sad, miserably, lonely, and filled with regret, waiting for the sound of impact that never comes.

Light flares in the corner of my room, a glow that turns into a glare, that burns my eyes in a way I’ve never seen before. Ectoplasm floods my bedroom, lighting it green as phantom hands grasp the skull and a face forms out of the glow.

“Careful, Lucy,” a familiar voice says, in my head. “I’m fragile.”

Speechless. Months of conversations in my head with the empty skull, and, now, I am speechless. He is not.

“Well, Lucy,” he prods. “Did you miss me?”

The skull is back. He is back, in my bedroom, powerful as death, completely unrestrained, and I realize just how much trouble I am in. I say the first thing that comes to mind, and a green blush creeps up over his ghostly face.

“Ooh, I think I taught you that one.”

Hello, my darling Void! In the course of Swedish Death Cleansing my room, I found one of the concept sketches I’d worked on for @lockyle-and-skull zine last Christmas. I really loved the concept, and, I realized I could totally work with what was on the page already, rather than having to trace or redraw it. So, I fixed a few anatomy mistakes, gave her a background (including the chair, heaped with clothes, which I’m very, very proud of) and unearthed the little bit of writing I’d done for it, as well! I’m so, so happy with how this came out!! I had a lot of fun finishing it, and, in the course of SDC, I rediscovered a ton of Lockwood and Co concept sketches I’ve done over the years, so, if you’d like to see more fanart, or have suggestions or requests, let me know! I always love hearing them! If you like this drawing, help me by reblogging it to share with your friends. I would, but I don’t have any!

If you’d like to see other fanart from other fandoms, click here, here for more of my writing, and here or here, or follow the links on the top of my page, for my original art. If you like my art, feel free to follow me and turn on notifications! That way, whether I post on Mondays and Thursdays, or whenever I’m not organizing my room, you won’t miss a thing!

#art #fanart #lockwood and co #Lockwood & co #fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #writing #my writing #lucy carlyle #skull #my fanart #my art #illustration #graphite #markers

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mx-3nglish · 5 years

Text

Memories Don’t Die

It was a tradition. Sit in the grass and talk to her. Quill did this a few times every year.

It was relaxing to tell her everything. To get those ideas off his chest. To clear his head of thoughts. Every visit to her held a different story, some funny, some somber.

This visit was no different from any others. He sat in the grass, just about a foot or two away, and he let his thoughts run.

"Front page of the papers this week." He began. "The kids are good. Not like I'd ever tell them though. I know for sure Tony and Cubbins would let it get to their heads."

A gentle breeze on a freezing autumn day had Quill tucking himself inside his coat.

"I tell you, those two numb-skulls will take just about anything I say and distort it. Especially Cubbins." He thought for a moment. "But the girls aren't too bad. Lucy has a good head on her shoulders and thank God Holly knows human decency."

Another breeze, and the faint sound of leafs rustling in the trees. A few fell of and gently danced their ways to the ground.

"But I suppose every team has it's ups and downs. Remember us?" He reminisced, "How bad we were at times? I barely spoke English when we first met!"

He stopped, eyes following another falling leaf. Nostalgia flooded his senses. A longing for how things used to be swept over his thoughts.

"Remember when we first met?" He asked. "We ran into each other at the church. Literally ran into each other. Remember my barely coherent apology? A strange mix of English and Irish. I wonder just how stupid I sounded to you." He gave a brisk chuckle.

The sun held high in a partially cloudy sky. The rest of the world seemed distant. Not that Quill would ever complain about that. The fast pace, ghost infested world was much more cold and harsh than any winter day. Another brisk breeze flew past Quill. His coat was wrapped tightly around his body, in hopes if some physical heat.

"And we continued to meet. So much that we had to have conversations. Here and there, small things about our real lives. We learned so much about each other." Quill smiled to himself. "You were fascinating, wonderful, amazing! I swear there wasn't a time that I didn't want to talk to you. I was so shocked when you agreed to go and a date with me." He admitted. "Relieved, excited, and shocked."

He looked straight ahead of him and reached out to touch the cold gravestone before him. His fingers, by instinct, traced the name.

Jessica Lockwood

Quill swallowed the pain in his throat.

"Remember how much Tony hated me?" He laughed. "Neither of us had the guts to tell him that we were more than friends. He always knew better, though."

Painful memories drowned him at this point, as he fought back tears.

"I never told him. Never had the heart."

Another cold breeze swept past him. This time, he didn't seek warmth in his jacket.

"Remember," His voice broke, "how much we love you? How much we miss you?" Tears escaped his eyes, meeting the cold air. "How much I miss you?"

He leaned forward until his forehead touched the cold stone. And he let himself cry. Memories of better times now had him destroyed, wishing for something that couldn't be.

He knew what was reality. He knew there was no way she could hear him. She wasn't there anymore. She hadn't been there for a long, long time. What they shared was long dead, rotting with her in her grave. The grave that Quill was weeping at.

But the memories were very much alive. They were some of the spirits that followed him everywhere. They would always be a part of him. Not that he would ever wish to forget those good times. Those memories had kept him over the years. Those memories had been something to cling to in hard times. The memories of happiness and contentment.

They were still alive. And if they were still alive, somehow, she was too.

Quill pulled back from the stone and whipped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

"How long has it been? Eight, nine years?" He pondered. "Who cares? It's been a long time and we still miss you."

It was more relaxing to think she was gone for good rather than she could still come back. Because if she did come back, she wouldn't be the Jess he knew. Hell, she wouldn't be Jessica at all. She would be the harsh, distorted memory of Jessica Lockwood. She'd be one of the monsters that they fought every night. And that was a thought Quill just couldn't bear.

"Tony's still just as torn up as he was at your funeral, you know. Not that I blame him. Your last immediate family gone. I'd probably be the same way." He told. "Don't think he or I will ever completely be over you."

A soft breeze came past him, just enough to cause a chill, but not enough to freeze.

"You know, he's obsessed with Lucy. It almost reminds me of how obsessed with you he was." He gave a quick chuckle. "Remember how he would actively stand in between us when he caught us talking? That funny glare he would send my way? I can tell you, he now does that for Lucy. It's almost like he hasn't changed!"

Funny memories of messing with young Anthony flooded his head. There were times where he would tease Anthony. Just enough to earn a small giggle out of Jessica. Trouble used to (and still does) follow him everywhere. It was the small things Quill poked at. And that habit hadn't changed.

"Not that I blame him. She's just like you. Stubborn, feisty, sarcastic, qualities like that." A sudden sharp cold breeze hit him. "We love her all the same though. I've never seen someone so dedicated or loyal to her work. Not to mention she can keep the boys alive. God knows how she survived the first two years living alone with them."

A slow, calm atmosphere settled over him.

"How is it? On the Other Side? How are your parents?" Quill asked to the girl he knew wasn't there. "Hope you aren't waiting for Tony or I. We would hate to see you come back as Specters or worse. Knowing Tony, he'd let you kill him, if he didn't reach out to die first. But again, not like I blame him. I'd do the same."

A tranquil breeze brought cold to his already freezing bones. He didn't much care though. He had been colder on cases.

Quill sighed, reaching out to touch the stone again. Another breeze that blew leafs across the graveyard touched him. Years had gone by and he still couldn't move on, no matter how hard he tried. And Quill was, for once, okay with the fact that he couldn't move on. He knew Jess wouldn't be if she knew.

"Guess I should get back to the kid now. They'll need all the help they can get tonight." He took a look at the sky as the wind swept over him. If only he could spend more time in a day just resting at her grave, maybe he could find a little more peace. He looked down at the grave, the flowers he had placed in front of the stone. He gave the stone a pat and sighed.

"Well, I'll be back soon enough. Might not come back when it's snowing this year though." He muttered to himself. "Until next time." He concluded. He looked to the two graves next to hers, paying Celia and Donald Lockwood a bit of respect before leaving. A strong breeze overcame him, almost knocking him off his feet. He zipped his coat up tightly as he walked out of the cemetery.

#lockwood & co #jessica lockwood #quill kipps #jessipps #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #fanfiction #My writing #sad #canon character death #hurt #hurt no comfort #sad boi

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thatnerdnextdoor24 · 5 years

Text

The Walk

Lockwood was waiting for me at the front door. He looked a bit surprised to see me, I guess he wasn't sure I'd come.

Holly and Quill were putting together the new coffee table, (The other one had been shattered to pieces.) "We're going out, need anything?" I asked, out of habit I guess. The two of them looked up, looked from me to Lockwood, and then glanced at each other. A knowing smile passed between them. Darn gays and their romance raydars... "Nope, nothing at all. Have fun!" Holly smiled bright.

"Yeah, okay then." I pretended like I didn't know that they thought this was a date. Because it wasn't. Was it? I mean, he gave me a gift and then asked me to go for a walk and oh God, it was a date. Heat started to creep up my neck and it took everything I had to push it back down.

Lockwood handed me my coat, "Thanks." He smiled back, but he seemed distracted, he looked down at his feet. He was nervous. Lockwood was nervous. Because he was going on a date with me? I that couldn't be right, there had to be more. Definitely.

"All right! You kids have fun! But not too much fun." Holly ushered us out the door. Quill nodded, "Yes. Right. Be safe. And," He grabbed Lockwood by the shoulder, "No funny business young man. You bring her home by 9:00 understood?" He wagged his finger at Lockwood. "Y-yes sir?" Lockwood was taken aback. Quill only nodded and let him go.

We had been ushered onto the front steps. Holly handed me my purse, and Lockwood his wallet. "Have fun!" She said again and winked at me. Then the door was shut in out faces. We stood there for a moment. "Did they just-" Lockwood stuttered. "Yeah, they did." Then I laughed. Then he was laughing.

And there we were, Anthony Lockwood and Lucy Carlyle, on our way to our first date standing on our front porch, laughing so hard we could barley breath. We had to lean on each other to stay up right. When we finally stopped laughing, he asked, "So, dinner?" I nodded, still smiling like an idiot. "I thought you'd never ask." He grinned back at me.

I had grabbed Lockwood's arm when we were laughing, when I pulled back, he interlaced our fingers. He did it like we'd held hands a million times. It certainly felt like we had. I really liked the way our fingers fit together. I'd never thought that his long and thoughtful fingers, would fit my rough and short ones. But they did. They fit together perfectly. We held hands the whole walk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We talked the whole walk to dinner. Then we talked at dinner. (We didn't have much money on us, so we just ate at a cafe.) Then we talked as we sat at the park and watched the sun set. Well, I watched the sunset. Lockwood was looking at me. "What are you looking at?" I asked. "You." He replied.

"Why?"

"Because I like too, Luce."

"That's silly."

"Why?"

"Because there isn't much to look at." It was an honest answer, a real one. The truth. And Lockwood didn't like that answer. "Why would you say that?" He leaned forward to look me in my face. "Because it's true." My throat tightened, it was suddenly hard to breath.

Lockwood shook his head. "No it's not. You're beautiful Luce. Gorgeous. Completely brilliant. You take my breath away whenever you walk into the room. Everything makes sense with you Lucy. I'd be completely lost without you. I know I've told you that before, but it's true. I really would. But you make everything right. You make me think rationally when we're on jobs. But you also make me feel."

"I'd closed myself off for so long, I'd forgotten. But you reminded me. No, that's wrong." He shook his head and glared at the ground. "You taught me." He nodded as if that was right. "You taught me how to love. You give me strength Luce. You cast all my problems away with just a glance at me. It baffles me, not just how you do it but," The space between us was growing smaller. Lockwood ran his hand through his hair, ruthlessly destroying it.

"How you don't even know you're doing it. For a long time, I thought that just being around you would be enough. For you to just, look at me, the way you do. Not like I'm something less or greater, not with sympathy and sadness. When you look at me, you look at me like I'm equal. Like I'm your friend. Like you care." He stopped and really looked at me. For a long time. He was trying to say something, I could tell, so I waited. And I shortened the distance between us.

"Lucy Carlyle..." Lockwood's hand reached up to my cheek, he hesitated, but I leaned into his touch as he caressed my cheek. He cleared his throat, his cheeks turning red.

"Luce. I'm in love with you."

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't breath. How do you respond to something so meaningful, when you've never heard anyone say that before? I couldn't breath.

So I didn't say anything. I was sitting there, looking at Lockwood. Really looking. At his face, his brown hair falling into his eyes. I couldn't breath. My hands itched to move it, so I did. I reached up and brushed his hair to the side. Revealing his darker brown eyes that swirled with color. Eyes that haunted me when I closed my own. Eyes I could stare at all day long. Eyes that could see the dead. They were searching my own right now.

I couldn't breath.

I looked at his lips. How soft they looked. I wondered if they would fit against mine. I wondered what they tasted like. I couldn't breath. I wondered if kissing him would help.

"Say something Luce."

I couldn't breath. I couldn't speak. But actions speak louder than words, and I've never been very good at words anyhow.

So I leaned forward, and closed the distance. I kissed him.

I kissed Anthony Lockwood.

And he kissed me back.

God. I hadn't realized how long I've wanted to do that. Turns out our lips did fit together. Perfectly. And he tasted like everything Lockwood was. Passionate and sweet and maybe a bit of coffee from our dinner. But I really didn't care. I could finally breath again.

We pulled apart, I put my forehead against his, "I love you too." I breathed. And I did. I think I've loved Anthony Lockwood since I jumped out a two story window out of a burning building, with his hand in mine. The smile that spread across his face was nothing short of beautiful. But before I had time to admire it, he pulled my into another kiss. I sighed against his mouth.

My fingers wound up into his hair, tangled and soft. Anthony's hands around my waist, pulling me ever closer. I could feel the heat of his palms through my shirt. He kissed me again and again and again. He kissed me until there was nothing left around me. Anthony could be the best medicine, the best drug. I didn't know that until now. But the way he made me feel weightless, it was addicting.

I knew it was getting dark, I knew the dead were rising, and I knew that it was getting cold. But I didn't care. The heat that came off of Anthony, from my hands in his hair, his hands on my back and waist, our chests pressed against each other. And our mouths intertwining. I felt so warm. I've never felt like this before. I found that I didn't want to lose that feeling.

We pulled apart to breathe, and I looked into his eyes. Anthony looked at me like I held the world in my hands. Then I giggled. I don't know why, but I was giggling. It just bubbled up inside me. I rest my head against his chest and laughed. "What's so funny?" Anthony's chest rumbled with laughter.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time." I sighed.

"Me too."

I laughed again. Anthony put his arms around me, and I kept my head on his chest. "You know," I said, closing my eyes, "I think you promised someone to have me home by 9:00."

"Five minutes won't hurt."

"Maybe. But six? No way."

"Six? Where'd you get that idea? At six minutes, Quill would turn all of London upsidedown in his frantic rage. But five minutes, five more minutes never hurt anyone."

I laughed again. Then I sighed against him. I felt so warm. And safe. Right there, sitting on a cold park bench, at night, with Anthony's arms around me. I was suddenly tired. Really tired. I couldn't remember the last time I slept well. Really I couldn't. But right now, in my loves arms, I felt like I could sleep a hundred years.

"Lucy...." Anthony whispered. He nudged me gently. I groaned, digging my head into his shoulder. His hand threaded through my hair. "Lucy. We have to get back. Come on now, love." I yawned. "Leave me alone Anthony." I said without thinking. He stiffened.

I sat up straight and faced him, my hand over my mouth. I can't believe I just said that. "I'm sorry I wasn't thinking-" Anthony cut me off with a kiss. It was slower and softer than before. When we pulled back, he was wearing that smile he saves just for me.

"I like the way you say it."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I grinned, "Well then, Anthony, I think it's time we go home." Anthony held out his arm, I took it. "Of course, my dear." We stood, and he led me home. The streets were oddly quiet, and for once, I really thought, that the night was truly beautiful.

~~~~Note~~~~~

If you find this on Wattpad, it’s okay, it’s not copyright. It’s mine and it is on both platforms. More for this fic soon!!

#i'm weak for this #woah #fluff #locklyle #locklylefluff #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #lockwood and lucy #lockwood and co fanfiction #george cubbins #the skull #holly munro #quill kipps #quilliam francis kipps

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wolfjawswriter · 6 years

Text

“Her Frauds” - Lockwood x Lucy

Lockwood and Co. Series

Summary: She was no more than a fraud.

————Lockwood ————

“Lockwood, could you get that call?”

The phone had been ringing for a few seconds now. I was sitting in the kitchen eating toast while George ate some donuts we bought today. Holly was just putting something in the oven and Quill was reading something in The Times.

It was a few hours after midnight, we had just come from successfully capturing a Raw Bones in, I would say, record time. Though, it would have definitely been easier if Lucy had been with us.

After we exploded the Rotwell facility and returned from Albury Castle with a good sum of money and many thankful villagers, Lucy rented a new apartment away from Tooting and retook her freelancing. When she and I were on the chain circle, surrounded by spirits and ghost, I told her of how much we all missed her and how we needed her with us. I asked her to come back, to rejoin the company, but she refused.

“I’m sorry Lockwood” She said once we were out of the Other Side “I can’t come back”

“But” I countered “We need you, Lucy. What that fetch told you is a lie”

“I want to believe it is, but I can’t be sure Lockwood, and neither can you. But this doesn’t mean we can’t work together again” She smiled at us “If you guys need any help, or just, want to catch up, you guys can always call me”

And we had. Seeing Lucy from time to time was something all of us, including Quill, looked forward to every time.

“Sure thing” I left my toast on the plate and walked out of the kitchen towards the phone, which was still ringing in its holder. I picked it up from the table and leaned against the wall.

“Lockwood and Co., Anthony Lockwood speaking”

“Lockwood?” The voice on the other line was small and a little distant, but I could tell who it belonged to with ease.

“Lucy! Hey, how are you?”

“Lockwood, I need to tell you something” Her voice sounded stained and tired, and I knew it was not an effect from the phone, since I had heard Lucy on the phone many times and she always sounded happy and energetic. Immediately, I became concerned.

“Luce, what’s wrong?”

“Are the others there?”

“Erm, yes…yes, they are in the kitchen”

“Bring them over to the phone” She sucked air sharply and groaned with a soft gasp “I need them to hear this”

“Guys!” I turned back to the kitchen and brought the phone with me. Quill had left the news and was now talking with Holly about visitors-know-what, and George was scribbling on the thinking cloth “Guys, its Lucy, she wants to tell us something” They immediately stopped what they were doing and looked at me expectantly. I placed the phone on the table and turned the speaker on “Lucy, I have everyone here with me, I've put you on speaker”

“Guys?” Her voice came as a whisper, then her throat cleared “-you guys there?”

“Yes, Lucy” Holly said from her seat. We had all leaned forward on our chairs to listen better “We are all here”

“I need to- I need to tell you something important” Her voice was strained once again, like something was pressing on her, but she continued “It is very serious and I need you to listen to me”

“What is it, Lucy?

“I lied” We stared at each other in silence, as we heard Lucy grumble something away from the phone on the other line. She lied?

“Lucy, what to you-”

“I lied guys” A sharp breath and a shaky sigh “Type Threes don’t exists”

Our mouths opened and closed without a sound coming from them, like fish in a tank.

“Lucy,” I said, a confused laugh escaping me “What are you talking about, you talk to the skull all the time-”

A laugh came from the phone. A mocking, sarcastic and satirical laugh. Like a slap in the face with a wet towel.

“The skull? Its just a bloody type two in a jar” She said through her cynical laugher “It was never able to talk and never will”

“But everything you told us” George intervened, his eyes moving frantically behind his glasses, rifling through his mind and in his thoughts “Everything it ever told you, you discussed with it daily!”

“I faked it. All of it. I lied”

George huffed angrily, hit the table with his fist and turned back to the phone like an enraged bull fixing on his target.

“Lucy, what are talking about, you proved to us type threes exist! The skull was Bickerstaff's minion, he told you so himself! Lockwood and I were there!”

“He never told me anything, George” Her breaths became raspier, but I pushed that aside and focused on her words “I made it up”

“What…?”

“I made it all up. It was never real” I had enough of this. I pushed my chair back with my legs, making it screech on the floor and tumble away, hitting other things in its way.

“Lucy, this is not a funny joke!” I uttered infuriated, my hands white from holding myself on the table in case my legs gave away “Why are you telling us this? This all can't be true! Your talents are outstanding, incomparable!”

“I- I lied, Lockwood. I lied to you and to everyone. I wanted to impress you”

My mind flew back to when I hired Lucy all those years ago. Just a girl in the need of a job coming to the smaller agency on London. I had known from back then that her abilities as a agent were beyond anything I had expected because of how well she did on our tests. And when Lucy told us about how the skull had talked to her after the Combe Carey Hall case, I had not hesitated to trust her. I had no reason to hesitate.

“That’s all I ever wanted. I only wanted you to see me as someone important”

Lucy’s conversations with the skull had always helped us in lots of cases; more times than those rememberable had it saved us from certain death.

“I’m sorry guys. I’ve disappointed you. I’ve disappointed all of you. I am a fraud”

“Lucy, stop this” I declared through greeted teeth. My body was shaking as I gripped the table. George was sitting, his face an unreadable expression as he looked at the thinking cloth. Quill and Holly both looked like they would be sick “Stop this right now!” I made my mind up and let go of the table “Where are you? We are coming for you”

“No! Stay where you are! Do this one thing for me guys, don't leave, don't hang the phone, its all am asking for!” Lucy’s voice was urgent and panicky on the other line, but somehow it made me remain where I was. We could hear her breathing still racking and she was grumbling things that we couldn’t make out.

“Lucy…”

“I want you guys to remember this” Her voice became steady for once, her breathing was profound and I could almost hear her gulping “And to tell my sisters, your families, your friends, in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you; I am a fraud!”

Then Holly finally looked up from where her hands covered her face.

“But Lucy, why now-?”

“Its my note” Another labored sigh “People do this when they leave, don’t they? They leave a note”

“Lucy, wait-!”

“Bye guys”

The phone ringed as the call was cut short.

————

“Guys!”

Holly came into the room running like a mad woman, a bundle shoved under her arms as she steadied herself.

We had spent all night pondering and discussing about the call. About everything that Lucy said and what she may have meant by it. We all knew, including Quill, that for a long time now, Lucy had been able to talk to ghosts. She could connect with them, emote with them, which in many cases could be dangerous. But now, all of a sudden, she called in, saying it was all a lie?

Without a word, Holly let the bundle she was carrying fall on the table. The Times.

Today’s edition, to be precise.

“Holly-”

“Read it” Pale faced and shaky, she opened it in front of us and rifled through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Post Mortum section.

The page had a huge headline under a photo of a body, stabbed, bleeding from wounds in its chest and stomach, but swelled and purplish-blue from ghost touch. It read;

“LOST FREELANCER FOUND”

“Just this morning, a few hours ago, a freelance agent was found dead on the streets after what seems to have been a very gory battle with more than one visitor and, probably, alive people. The body has been identified as Lucy Joan Carlyle”

I looked up from the papers. I didn’t need to read more.

After spending all night thinking about it, trying to deny what was in front of my eyes, I couldn’t find it in me to do it any longer.

She had talked for herself last night, no matter how much it hurt to listen. There would be no finding out why she decided to tell, why we had to know, why didn’t Lucy let us live in the lie. I could have happily stayed in that lie forever. But not anymore.

Lucy was a fraud. A liar. A cheat. A phony. A viper; a back-biting snake!

And that got her killed.

She got what she asked for.

And to think I had been madly in love with her for years.

#lockwood and co #Anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #Lucy x lockwood #lockwood x lucy #locklyle #lucewood

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thesnhuup · 6 years

Text

Pop Picks – May 24, 2018

May 24, 2018

What I’m listening to:

I’ve always liked Alycia Keys and admired her social activism, but I am hooked on her last album Here. This feels like an album finally commensurate with her anger, activism, hope, and grit. More R&B and Hip Hop than is typical for her, I think this album moves into an echelon inhabited by a Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On or Beyonce’s Formation. Social activism and outrage rarely make great novels, but they often fuel great popular music. Here is a terrific example.

What I’m reading:

Colson Whitehead’s Underground Railroad may be close to a flawless novel. Winner of the 2017 Pulitzer, it chronicles the lives of two runaway slaves, Cora and Caeser, as they try to escape the hell of plantation life in Georgia. It is an often searing novel and Cora is one of the great heroes of American literature. I would make this mandatory reading in every high school in America, especially in light of the absurd revisionist narratives of “happy and well cared for” slaves. This is a genuinely great novel, one of the best I’ve read, the magical realism and conflating of time periods lifts it to another realm of social commentary, relevance, and a blazing indictment of America’s Original Sin, for which we remain unabsolved.

What I’m watching:

I thought I knew about The Pentagon Papers, but The Post, a real-life political thriller from Steven Spielberg taught me a lot, features some of our greatest actors, and is so timely given the assault on our democratic institutions and with a presidency out of control. It is a reminder that a free and fearless press is a powerful part of our democracy, always among the first targets of despots everywhere. The story revolves around the legendary Post owner and D.C. doyenne, Katharine Graham. I had the opportunity to see her son, Don Graham, right after he saw the film, and he raved about Meryl Streep’s portrayal of his mother. Liked it a lot more than I expected.

Archive

What I’m listening to:

I mentioned John Prine in a recent post and then on the heels of that mention, he has released a new album, The Tree of Forgiveness, his first new album in ten years. Prine is beloved by other singer songwriters and often praised by the inscrutable God that is Bob Dylan. Indeed, Prine was frequently said to be the “next Bob Dylan” in the early part of his career, though he instead carved out his own respectable career and voice, if never with the dizzying success of Dylan. The new album reflects a man in his 70s, a cancer survivor, who reflects on life and its end, but with the good humor and empathy that are hallmarks of Prine’s music. “When I Get To Heaven” is a rollicking, fun vision of what comes next and a pure delight. A charming, warm, and often terrific album.

What I’m reading:

I recently read Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, on many people’s Top Ten lists for last year and for good reason. It is sprawling, multi-generational, and based in the world of Japanese occupied Korea and then in the Korean immigrant’s world of Oaska, so our key characters become “tweeners,” accepted in neither world. It’s often unspeakably sad, and yet there is resiliency and love. There is also intimacy, despite the time and geographic span of the novel. It’s breathtakingly good and like all good novels, transporting.

What I’m watching:

I adore Guillermo del Toro’s 2006 film, Pan’s Labyrinth, and while I’m not sure his Shape of Water is better, it is a worthy follow up to the earlier masterpiece (and more of a commercial success). Lots of critics dislike the film, but I’m okay with a simple retelling of a Beauty and the Beast love story, as predictable as it might be. The acting is terrific, it is visually stunning, and there are layers of pain as well as social and political commentary (the setting is the US during the Cold War) and, no real spoiler here, the real monsters are humans, the military officer who sees over the captured aquatic creature. It is hauntingly beautiful and its depiction of hatred to those who are different or “other” is painfully resonant with the time in which we live. Put this on your “must see” list.

March 18, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Sitting on a plane for hours (and many more to go; geez, Australia is far away) is a great opportunity to listen to new music and to revisit old favorites. This time, it is Lucy Dacus and her album Historians, the new sophomore release from a 22-year old indie artist that writes with relatable, real-life lyrics. Just on a second listen and while she insists this isn’t a break up record (as we know, 50% of all great songs are break up songs), it is full of loss and pain. Worth the listen so far. For the way back machine, it’s John Prine and In Spite of Ourselves (that title track is one of the great love songs of all time), a collection of duets with some of his “favorite girl singers” as he once described them. I have a crush on Iris Dement (for a really righteously angry song try her Wasteland of the Free), but there is also EmmyLou Harris, the incomparable Dolores Keane, and Lucinda Williams. Very different albums, both wonderful.

What I’m reading:

Jane Mayer’s New Yorker piece on Christopher Steele presents little that is new, but she pulls it together in a terrific and coherent whole that is illuminating and troubling at the same time. Not only for what is happening, but for the complicity of the far right in trying to discredit that which should be setting off alarm bells everywhere. Bob Mueller may be the most important defender of the democracy at this time. A must read.

What I’m watching:

Homeland is killing it this season and is prescient, hauntingly so. Russian election interference, a Bannon-style hate radio demagogue, alienated and gun toting militia types, and a president out of control. It’s fabulous, even if it feels awfully close to the evening news.

March 8, 2018

What I’m listening to:

We have a family challenge to compile our Top 100 songs. It is painful. Only 100? No more than three songs by one artist? Wait, why is M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes” on my list? Should it just be The Clash from whom she samples? Can I admit to guilty pleasure songs? Hey, it’s my list and I can put anything I want on it. So I’m listening to the list while I work and the song playing right now is Tom Petty’s “The Wild One, Forever,” a B-side single that was never a hit and that remains my favorite Petty song. Also, “Evangeline” by Los Lobos. It evokes a night many years ago, with friends at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA, when everyone danced well past 1AM in a hot, sweaty, packed club and the band was a revelation. Maybe the best music night of our lives and a reminder that one’s 100 Favorite Songs list is as much about what you were doing and where you were in your life when those songs were playing as it is about the music. It’s not a list. It’s a soundtrack for this journey.

What I’m reading:

Patricia Lockwood’s Priestdaddy was in the NY Times top ten books of 2017 list and it is easy to see why. Lockwood brings remarkable and often surprising imagery, metaphor, and language to her prose memoir and it actually threw me off at first. It then all became clear when someone told me she is a poet. The book is laugh aloud funny, which masks (or makes safer anyway) some pretty dark territory. Anyone who grew up Catholic, whether lapsed or not, will resonate with her story. She can’t resist a bawdy anecdote and her family provides some of the most memorable characters possible, especially her father, her sister, and her mother, who I came to adore. Best thing I’ve read in ages.

What I’m watching:

The Florida Project, a profoundly good movie on so many levels. Start with the central character, six-year old (at the time of the filming) Brooklynn Prince, who owns – I mean really owns – the screen. This is pure acting genius and at that age? Astounding. Almost as astounding is Bria Vinaite, who plays her mother. She was discovered on Instagram and had never acted before this role, which she did with just three weeks of acting lessons. She is utterly convincing and the tension between the child’s absolute wonder and joy in the world with her mother’s struggle to provide, to be a mother, is heartwarming and heartbreaking all at once. Willem Dafoe rightly received an Oscar nomination for his supporting role. This is a terrific movie.

February 12, 2018

What I’m listening to:

So, I have a lot of friends of age (I know you’re thinking 40s, but I just turned 60) who are frozen in whatever era of music they enjoyed in college or maybe even in their thirties. There are lots of times when I reach back into the catalog, since music is one of those really powerful and transporting senses that can take you through time (smell is the other one, though often underappreciated for that power). Hell, I just bought a turntable and now spending time in vintage vinyl shops. But I’m trying to take a lesson from Pat, who revels in new music and can as easily talk about North African rap music and the latest National album as Meet the Beatles, her first ever album. So, I’ve been listening to Kendrick Lamar’s Grammy winning Damn. While it may not be the first thing I’ll reach for on a winter night in Maine, by the fire, I was taken with it. It’s layered, political, and weirdly sensitive and misogynist at the same time, and it feels fresh and authentic and smart at the same time, with music that often pulled me from what I was doing. In short, everything music should do. I’m not a bit cooler for listening to Damn, but when I followed it with Steely Dan, I felt like I was listening to Lawrence Welk. A good sign, I think.

What I’m reading:

I am reading Walter Isaacson’s new biography of Leonardo da Vinci. I’m not usually a reader of biographies, but I’ve always been taken with Leonardo. Isaacson does not disappoint (does he ever?), and his subject is at once more human and accessible and more awe-inspiring in Isaacson’s capable hands. Gay, left-handed, vegetarian, incapable of finishing things, a wonderful conversationalist, kind, and perhaps the most relentlessly curious human being who has ever lived. Like his biographies of Steve Jobs and Albert Einstein, Isaacson’s project here is to show that genius lives at the intersection of science and art, of rationality and creativity. Highly recommend it.

What I’m watching:

We watched the This Is Us post-Super Bowl episode, the one where Jack finally buys the farm. I really want to hate this show. It is melodramatic and manipulative, with characters that mostly never change or grow, and it hooks me every damn time we watch it. The episode last Sunday was a tear jerker, a double whammy intended to render into a blubbering, tissue-crumbling pathetic mess anyone who has lost a parent or who is a parent. Sterling K. Brown, Ron Cephas Jones, the surprising Mandy Moore, and Milo Ventimiglia are hard not to love and last season’s episode that had only Brown and Cephas going to Memphis was the show at its best (they are by far the two best actors). Last week was the show at its best worst. In other words, I want to hate it, but I love it. If you haven’t seen it, don’t binge watch it. You’ll need therapy and insulin.

January 15, 2018

What I’m listening to:

Drive-By Truckers. Chris Stapleton has me on an unusual (for me) country theme and I discovered these guys to my great delight. They’ve been around, with some 11 albums, but the newest one is fascinating. It’s a deep dive into Southern alienation and the white working-class world often associated with our current president. I admire the willingness to lay bare, in kick ass rock songs, the complexities and pain at work among people we too quickly place into overly simple categories. These guys are brave, bold, and thoughtful as hell, while producing songs I didn’t expect to like, but that I keep playing. And they are coming to NH.

What I’m reading:

A textual analog to Drive-By Truckers by Chris Stapleton in many ways is Tony Horowitz’s 1998 Pulitzer Prize winning Confederates in the Attic. Ostensibly about the Civil War and the South’s ongoing attachment to it, it is prescient and speaks eloquently to the times in which we live (where every southern state but Virginia voted for President Trump). Often hilarious, it too surfaces complexities and nuance that escape a more recent, and widely acclaimed, book like Hillbilly Elegy. As a Civil War fan, it was also astonishing in many instances, especially when it blows apart long-held “truths” about the war, such as the degree to which Sherman burned down the south (he did not). Like D-B Truckers, Horowitz loves the South and the people he encounters, even as he grapples with its myths of victimhood and exceptionalism (and racism, which may be no more than the racism in the north, but of a different kind). Everyone should read this book and I’m embarrassed I’m so late to it.

What I’m watching:

David Letterman has a new Netflix show called “My Next Guest Needs No Introduction” and we watched the first episode, in which Letterman interviewed Barack Obama. It was extraordinary (if you don’t have Netflix, get it just to watch this show); not only because we were reminded of Obama’s smarts, grace, and humanity (and humor), but because we saw a side of Letterman we didn’t know existed. His personal reflections on Selma were raw and powerful, almost painful. He will do five more episodes with “extraordinary individuals” and if they are anything like the first, this might be the very best work of his career and one of the best things on television.

December 22, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished Sunjeev Sahota’s Year of the Runaways, a painful inside look at the plight of illegal Indian immigrant workers in Britain. It was shortlisted for 2015 Man Booker Prize and its transporting, often to a dark and painful universe, and it is impossible not to think about the American version of this story and the terrible way we treat the undocumented in our own country, especially now.

What I’m watching:

Season II of The Crown is even better than Season I. Elizabeth’s character is becoming more three-dimensional, the modern world is catching up with tradition-bound Britain, and Cold War politics offer more context and tension than we saw in Season I. Claire Foy, in her last season, is just terrific – one arched eye brow can send a message.

What I’m listening to:

A lot of Christmas music, but needing a break from the schmaltz, I’ve discovered Over the Rhine and their Christmas album, Snow Angels. God, these guys are good.

November 14, 2017

What I’m watching:

Guiltily, I watch the Patriots play every weekend, often building my schedule and plans around seeing the game. Why the guilt? I don’t know how morally defensible is football anymore, as we now know the severe damage it does to the players. We can’t pretend it’s all okay anymore. Is this our version of late decadent Rome, watching mostly young Black men take a terrible toll on each other for our mere entertainment?

What I’m reading:

Recently finished J.G. Ballard’s 2000 novel Super-Cannes, a powerful depiction of a corporate-tech ex-pat community taken over by a kind of psychopathology, in which all social norms and responsibilities are surrendered to residents of the new world community. Kept thinking about Silicon Valley when reading it. Pretty dark, dystopian view of the modern world and centered around a mass killing, troublingly prescient.

What I’m listening to:

Was never really a Lorde fan, only knowing her catchy (and smarter than you might first guess) pop hit “Royals” from her debut album. But her new album, Melodrama, is terrific and it doesn’t feel quite right to call this “pop.” There is something way more substantial going on with Lorde and I can see why many critics put this album at the top of their Best in 2017 list. Count me in as a huge fan.

November 3, 2017

What I’m reading: Just finished Celeste Ng’s Little Fires Everywhere, her breathtakingly good second novel. How is someone so young so wise? Her writing is near perfection and I read the book in two days, setting my alarm for 4:30AM so I could finish it before work.

What I’m watching: We just binge watched season two of Stranger Things and it was worth it just to watch Millie Bobbie Brown, the transcendent young actor who plays Eleven. The series is a delightful mash up of every great eighties horror genre you can imagine and while pretty dark, an absolute joy to watch.

What I’m listening to: I’m not a lover of country music (to say the least), but I love Chris Stapleton. His “The Last Thing I Needed, First Thing This Morning” is heartbreakingly good and reminds me of the old school country that played in my house as a kid. He has a new album and I can’t wait, but his From A Room: Volume 1 is on repeat for now.

September 26, 2017

What I’m reading:

Just finished George Saunder’s Lincoln in the Bardo. It took me a while to accept its cadence and sheer weirdness, but loved it in the end. A painful meditation on loss and grief, and a genuinely beautiful exploration of the intersection of life and death, the difficulty of letting go of what was, good and bad, and what never came to be.

What I’m watching:

HBO’s The Deuce. Times Square and the beginning of the porn industry in the 1970s, the setting made me wonder if this was really something I’d want to see. But David Simon is the writer and I’d read a menu if he wrote it. It does not disappoint so far and there is nothing prurient about it.

What I’m listening to:

The National’s new album Sleep Well Beast. I love this band. The opening piano notes of the first song, “Nobody Else Will Be There,” seize me & I’m reminded that no one else in music today matches their arrangement & musicianship. I’m adding “Born to Beg,” “Slow Show,” “I Need My Girl,” and “Runaway” to my list of favorite love songs.

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wolfjawswriter · 6 years

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What Old Friends Can Do - Lucy x Lockwood 4

“Gossip in the Town” - Lucy x Lockwood

Lockwood and Co. Series

Summary: Old friends may come as a solution.

Warning: This fic is made with the sole purposes of dealing and possibly kill Writer's Block and using an OC I've had in my mind for a while now, so it may be a little crappy and trashy. READ UNDER YOUR OWN CONSCIENCE.

————————— “Wow, I can’t believe Mr Denson left his store to Geoffrey!”

“I know! Had he just waited for his son to be old enough, his store wouldn’t be doing as bad as it is right now”

Walking down the streets of Cheviot Hills with Ethan, he started telling me about the things that had been changing since I left. Apparently, most of my old friends were either married, gone from town, or dead, but that was a minority.

Seeing as most of our supplies had been used last night, Ethan thought we could go to Gladwell and Jenner; the only store in town that still sold ghost-fighting supplies. He and I were right now on our way to order the materials. George and Quill had stayed at Ethan’s home looking through more records to see if they could find more about the ghosts we encountered, while Lockwood had taken Holly with him back to London, said we were probably going to need more help during this haunting. He assured us they’d be back before we had to go back to the station tonight.

Things had been a little tense during breakfast, with all that happened last night, and I was grateful for some time away from the team. Before leaving, Lockwood had asked me to tell them what happened, but I still couldn’t talk about it.

“Daniel would have made a better manager by far- Wait, hold on, is that, Deborah Lance and Fergus Mallicoat? Holding hands?” I pointed to the other street where a couple was marshmallowy rubbing noses and holding each others hands.

“You mean, Deborah and Fergus Mallicoat holding hands” Ethan said, his voice slightly labored with the effort of the long walk.

“What?!”

“They got married about a year ago” He smiled “Quite a celebration, really; the party lasted about two nights at least”

“But they hate each other!” I exclaimed “Every time they were in a room together, they were always at each others throats”

“Wish it was still that way, you should see them now! Last time I was with them it was all ‘My wuzzy-fuzzy-fluffy-cuddly-honey-bear’ and ‘My dear hunny-bunny-pumpkin-princess’, it was almost disgusting!” Ethan said in a funny voice.

The streets were full of people I once knew, all of whom acknowledged me from afar. I was actually grateful they did; I didn’t feel particularly keen of greeting everybody that recognized me.

“That’s probably because you’re walking beside me” Ethan had said. I had initially insisted that he let me go on my own, I knew perfectly well where the store was, but he insisted in coming, said the exercise would do him good. He had brought a walking stick with him, though not one of those metal sticks you saw your grandpa walk with, but a fancy wooden one with iron on the tip and a beautifully carved iron wolf in the handle (his sister gave it to him as a joke after loosing his leg, but he kept it and used it with pride whenever he did) “People avoid getting too close to me whenever I’m outside, think I'm going to take any opportunity to make a fake accident and sue them or something”

“Why would you do that, your family already has so much more money than most people here”

“Well, people think what they want, Lulu”

We finally arrived to Gladwell and Jenner. It reminded me of Mullet’s; the racks with flares, salt bombs, rapiers and chains were all the same, but with an older, less cared-for appearance than the one in London. We gave the owner a list of what we would need and asked him to deliver it to Ethan’s house today before curfew.

“So…” He looked at me mischievously.

“So what?” I asked him.

“You and Lockwood, eh?” He asked. I choked on my own breath and my face flushed hotly like Greek Fire was lit on it until I was red. He wiggled his eyebrows at me, which was more funny than insinuating since it made the scars on his face move.

“Well, I- he- we-”

“Mmmm?” He lowered himself to my eye level, his eyes filled with a lively delight, so different from his normally dozing features.

“We- we may have…confessed…our feelings…for each other” I muttered sheepishly.

“What did you said, Lu, I couldn’t hear you, will you repeat that for me?” He mocked me as we started walking out the door of the store, now having paid for the supplies and made sure they would be taken care of.

“Hey!” I slapped his shoulder playfully “Don’t push your luck! But yeah…we did”

“Well, tell me all about it!” He exclaimed excitedly like a high school girl who’s best friend had just returned from a date with her crush “How was it? Did he took you out or did he just asked to talk privately with you? Was it romantic and beautiful or did you two just let it out? Did he kissed you or did you kissed him?”

“Well, we took a stroll on the park” I bit my lip self-consciously, remembering how it had all gone; how Lockwood gave me his family necklace and asked me to walk with him, how we held hands while we walked, how he stopped and pushed a strand of hair behind my ear as he told me how much I meant to him and that he would do anything to prevent me from leaving the company like I did before and then asked me to please never leave “We were quiet for a while, but then we talked about this, and that…then he told me how he felt”

“And?”

“Then I told him how I felt…”

“Oh, come on, Lu! You gotta tell me all the juicy details!” He blurted, to which my face heated again with a million flare’s intensity.

“What?! No, there’s no juicy details, what are you talking about-”

“Lucy? Is that you?” A girl came running to us from the other side of the street, looking out that no car was coming her way. Her long, golden hair waved behind her as she neared us, her flowery gown swishing behind her prettily. She smiled those dentist-advertisement smile (a female version of Lockwood’s smile) and waved until she was with us and gave me terrifically strong hug “Oh, Lucy its so good to see you again! And all well and good!”

“Its good to see you too, Bunny” Yeah, that’s her name. Bunny Kingsman, once a decent and hardworking agent like Ethan and me. Probably lost her job when Jacob’s agency closed, if not before for personal reasons, since I remember her still working there when I left.

She was that kind of girl that was good looking since childhood (like Holly) and would win a beauty competition just by participating. However, she had the bad luck of being born in a town like Cheviot Hills, where your beauty only matters for marital affairs. She had Bambi brown/golden eyes, heart-shaped lips and a small nose, the face of a princess. She was naturally skinny, her body softly curved on her hips, her chest and her behind, with graceful doe-like legs. An alive version of that fairy tale princess, the Sleeping Beauty, if you please.

“Look at you, Lucy, you’ve changed! I see you got your mom’s hips, I always knew you’d have them. And you cut your hair, didn’t you? Short definitely suits you more!” Her eyes sparkled like a flare exploding against a ghost as she cheerfully regarded me, commenting about this and that. I had once been really good friends with her, closer than I ever was with Ethan, but after I left town, we never stayed in touch, and when I came that winter when Lockwood hired Holly, I didn’t bother trying to look for her (or anyone else for that matter) “It has been so long, I’ve missed you so much!”

“I know, I’m sorry we haven’t talked, its just-”

“Oh, its okay, I’m sure you’ve been very busy. Working on London must be great, you never run out of work, do you?” She smiled angelically "How I miss working on hauntings! What I wouldn’t give to reopen the agency, even with old and no-fun Mr Jacobs, at least then we’d have something to do. Oh, hi Ethan” She turned to look at him and batted her long eyelashes playfully at him, then pushed her golden, wavy mane over her shoulder “I haven’t seen you around in a while”

“Ah, yes, well, not much to do outside” He stammered, looking over to the side of the road. I spied a blush that crept up his face, his eyes half coming back to gaze at her. Bunny giggled softly, once again fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I see you let your stubble grow” She purred, a hand coming up to his chest “Last time I saw you, it definitely wasn’t there”

“Well, its been a few months, Bunny” Ethan noted.

“Think we can maybe, meet up soon…” Bunny prompted, her hand playfully twirling her golden locks “Maybe, get a cup of tea and talk…?”

“I’ll have to think about it” He said “But I’ll make sure to let you know”

“Alright then” She looked back at me and hugged me tightly once more “I’m glad to see you again, Lucy. Hopefully we’ll have time to catch up soon!”

“Yeah, me too” I said.

“Bye Ethan, see you around” She walked away to where she came from, remarking a little the sway of her hips as she walked.

“Well” I said, my voice becoming suggestive and playful.

“Well what?” He asked, now both of us having returned to walking.

“I didn’t knew you and Bunny were getting along better” I purred. Ethan blushed once again, lowering his head so that his uncombed mat of a hair somehow hid it.

“We’ve talked more with each other on some of the most recent events, I guess” He muttered timidly “And maybe we’ve met on occasions to talk and take a cup of tea, but I wouldn’t say we’re ‘getting along better’”

“Sure thing” I refuted “So she wasn’t batting her lashes at you, and she didn’t started playing with her hair while you talked, and she was not pointing out how she obviously likes your stubble, and she most definitely wasn’t inviting you out”

“What are you trying to imply, Lulu?” He asked, regarding me suspiciously with his only eye.

“She swung her hips! Didn’t you noticed?” I blurted, my hands moving about in the direction Bunny walked away “She was flirting with you!” Ethan scoffed.

“As if, we don’t do anything other than talking”

“Is she married? Does she have a boyfriend?”

“Not that I know of, and if she was married I would know”

“What makes you think you’d know?” I asked

“Because I’m invited to every event there is in this town” He divulged, his eye rolling exasperatingly “Every single one of them; every wedding, every funeral, every birthday”

“But you said people mostly avoid you”

“In the streets. But I’m the rich boy in town, they want to have me as a friend, they think I might do them favors. And what better way to get to the rich boy’s money than inviting him to all of our events so he feels important” He sighed “But we’re straying from topic, Bunny is not married, but she wasn’t flirting with me”

“And what reason would she have to not flirt with you?” I asked, my hands coming to my hips.

“First, I am a cripple” He said, wooden stick pointing to the metallic stump that came out his pant-leg “Second, I’m not allowed to work, and third, I’m still a cripple”

“Wow, you truly are blind” I scorned “Ethan, we both know you are more than just a cripple. Bunny would be very lucky to date you” Again he scoffed.

“You say this because you’re my friend, Lulu”

“And because I’m your friend I know so” I smiled at him, his drowsy smile returning to his features “Now, lets go back and make sure George and Quill haven’t set your house on fire, or drowned Makayla”

When we got back, Ethan’s house was still standing and intact. George and Quill were sitting at the kitchen’s table with many books, and a plate of Ethan’s home-made muffins, sitting on the it. Most of them were records of the cemetery from centuries back. George had his notebook beside him, his hand writing on it from time to time as he kept reading.

Makayla, still thankfully alive, was sitting on George’s lap, the book he was reading sitting on top of her, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“She seems to like him better than me” Ethan told me “Guess my legs are too skinny for her liking”

Our supplies arrived only an hour later; a box of magnesium flares and another of salt bombs, plus bags of fillings. Ethan and I got around to sorting them and preparing our bags for when we had to leave. There were, however, much more flares and bombs than the ones we needed, even for the extra and emergency equipment.

“Ethan, how much supplies did you actually bought?” I asked, my eyes on all the remaining flares in the box, which was about half of it.

“Oh, just the necessary amounts for a safe haunting” He mused. I must say, I hadn’t seen that many equipment left unused.

“But this is more than what we need” I protested.

“Lu, look at this house” He said pointing around us “Its huge, like the amount of money in my family’s bank account. And do you know how much I spend?” I remained silent “Less than the one that’s gained from the company in a week. I don’t need that much money, I can’t spend that much money on my own. Let me spend it on something that’s worth”

After finishing sorting our bags and making sure our chains were there too, Ethan went to the kitchen, taking his cat with him, and took out his baking items. Me? I decided to make good use of the time I had away from the team (George and Quill were still working with those documents) and from Lockwood and take a bath. Hopefully it would help me clear my thoughts.

The bathroom in my room (all rooms, even the guest one, had its own bathroom) was quite spacious for being a bathroom. It had a toilet and a tub with shower. The sink atop a long counter, probably once filled with products but was now empty. A full length mirror on the other side where it became a sizable wardrobe.

The water was nice and the soap felt good as I rubbed myself with it. It helped me relax, my thoughts finally taking clear form in my mind. The events from last night still weighed hard on my conscience. The ghost train, the howling, my memories, the ghost of my father. Suddenly I understood why Lockwood wasn’t keen to talk about his past; not because of embarrassment, I certainly wasn’t embarrassed of throwing a flare at a wolf’s face, but because it wasn’t easy. It just wasn’t easy.

How was I supposed to tell my friends that something that happened years ago, and that had never bothered me, had suddenly come back to haunt me? I couldn’t bring myself to say it. But I knew I’d have to, eventually, and probably soon. Still, I wanted to keep it with me for a little longer.

“We are back!” Barely an hour later a knock on the door told us Lockwood and Holly were back. Plus Lockwood felt the need to announce it as they entered “And with our backup!”

Behind them, the smell of sewer-water, mud and lavender drifted in, and with them walked, in all her unwashed, unsanitary and grimy glory, Flo Bones, relic-woman, queen of the Thames and Lockwood’s idea of a backup plan.

“Nice house you’ve got here, Locky” She said as she entered, her eyes drifting around under her muddy straw hat.

“Actually, Flo, this is Lucy’s friend’s house” Lockwood said “He is letting us stay here while we work on this case” Flo huffed from behind her puffa jacket. Her huff, however, died there when Ethan walked into the room.

“This is Ethan, my friend and our host” I said, noticing how Flo just blinked “Ethan, this is Flo Bones, hopefully you remember her from my letters”

“How to forget the relic-woman that helped you get the skull back, that letter was like five pages long!” He exclaimed.

“Is that a glass ball?” Was the first thing she said.

“Silver glass, yes”

“Can I have it?”

“No” I intervened “And you also can’t touch his scars, you’ll pass him a disease or some other bacteria” She only scoffed amusedly, but didn’t press on the matter.

“I’ll take you to your room so you can settle before leaving” With that, Flo followed Ethan out of the threshold and up the stairs.

“How did you managed to get her on the train?” I asked once they left.

“All we’re saying it, it was hard” Lockwood huffed.

“You got the supplies?” Holly asked.

“We’ve got enough equipment for at least five more cases” I boasted.

“What?” They blurted. I showed them our remaining boxes of flares and bombs and our packed rucksacks. Lockwood, Holly and I then went to see George and Quill with their stack of notes so they could explain what they found. Though, before they could get too far with their findings, Flo and Ethan came back down. Flo took my place at the table and I left the room to make my friend some company (I had already listened to the explanation an hour before, I didn’t need to hear George rambling about the interesting history of Cheviot Hills once again).

“You let her touch your glass ball, didn’t you?” I asked him.

“Mmm, yes”

“And she asked to touch your scars, didn’t she?”

“Maybe”

“And you let her touch them?”

“Maybe”

“As I said, diseases”

A while later, Lockwood called me back to the meeting so we could discuss our strategy, and soon, it was time for us to leave.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be ok” Ethan told me before I walked out “Just remember, beware the wolves”

“I will”

#lockwood and co #Anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #holly munro #quill kipps #oc #original character

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thesnhuup · 6 years

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