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portlandrowismyhome · 11 months

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Borrowed Time: Chapter One

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

This is that Lockwood and co serial killer prompt…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A favor?”

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

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

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

“Yes?”

“There was a strange whispering.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Carlyle—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Miss Younge.

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

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

“Miss Carlyle —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He swore under his breath.

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

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

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

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

The door was unlocked.

Lucy tapped it hesitantly and it creaked slowly open.

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

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

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

“Skull! You could have warned me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy froze. “Who is this?”

“A businessman. Looking for a deal.”

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

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

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

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

“A payment for what?”

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

“I’m not dropping the case!”

“Oh?”

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

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

“The Type One, then?”

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucy?” He said blankly.

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

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

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

“Oh, Lucy,” Holly whispered.

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

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

Lucy swallowed. “I..”

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

The world was spinning again.

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

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

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

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

“He wasn’t with me,” Lucy said.

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

“Wish I could say the same for you.”

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

She gripped the receiver. “Where is he?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lockwood,I—”

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

“Lockwood!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,I—”

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

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

~ To be continued ~

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biscuitrule · 4 months

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Hiiiii I am new to the lockwood and co fandom, and your blog is an absolute port in a storm!! I watched the show when i was bored one night knowing it was canceled and was like, okie doke can't get too attached now, but was THOROUGHLY UNPREPARED for the unequivocal amount of love I would have for lockwood, lucy and george 🖤💙🧡😭

anyway i finished the whole series in two days and i miss them dearly already and I am very much enjoying seeing all your l&co thoughts on your blog <333

if you know any other active/semi-active l&co blogs you could point me towards that'd be wonderful <333

Hi anon welcome to the fandom!! Thank you so much this literally made my whole week! I’m glad you enjoy my ramblings, screaming, etc. (especially because compared to people like the fic writers, gif makers, etc. it’s really not much haha).

Here are some of my other fav blogs off the top of my head!

@wellgoslowly @givemea-dam-break @lucy-j-carlyle @lucyjlockwood @jesslockwood @ikeasupremacy @neewtmas @paranorahjones @rainysaturdayafternoon @krash-and-co @the-biscuit-agreement @you-know-id-die-for-you

There’s literally countless more! (Lock Nation please feel free to mention more in the replies). I know it’s devastating Netflix cancelled the show but @savelockwoodandco is an amazing blog dedicated to keeping attention on the fandom and our desire for more! We’re a moderately sized group, but we’re going strong! So glad you’ve joined us at Portland Row!

#lockwood and co #locklyle #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co show #l&co #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #l&co. netflix #lockwood & co #lockwood #lockwood netflix #locknation #lock nation #my post #asked and answered

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wellgoslowly · 3 months

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SURPRISE!! POLISH LUCY PART ONE IS HERE

Nad Wszystko Ty i Ja (Above All, It's You and Me) - wellgoslowly - Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud [Archive of Our Own]

@oblivious-idiot @ikeasupremacy @sciencefantasy93 @neewtmas @losticaruss @waitingforthesunrise @rainysaturdayafternoon @avdiobliss @krash-and-co @tangledinlove hehe thought yall might enjoy this

#lockwood and co #renew lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #locklyle #george cubbins #lockwood netflix #save lockwood and co #locklyle brainrot is real #polish!lucy carlyle #lockwood and co.#lockwood & co

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seraphimcollections · 10 months

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AND YOU WEREN'T THERE | Alejandro x Reader | Ch. 2 |

summary: he's finally come back to you, waltzed willingly into your web. Now or never.

warnings: +18, MDNI, mentions of blood, death, dark themes, gun violence, sorry if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6

a/n: first, thank you for everyone showing love to this new series! I really appreciate all of you. Second, have your translators ready (if you don't know spanish) because there's a lot in here! Disclaimer: I do NOT speak spanish and much of this was translated so I apologize if the language is correct. Third! I added a link to a song but it's not necessary to play if you don't want to but I got a lot of inspiration from it. Anyway! Enjoy!

chapters: | ch. 1 | ch. 2 |

The elevator doors slid open and you pushed the Mexican Army general to walk in front of you. The poor man stumbled daring to look over his shoulder to you as you glared at him.

“Walk,” you ordered.

You could see the fear in the man’s eyes as he turned to walk down the hall. There were a few stragglers in the hall but once they had seen you coming walking down, they were quick to get out of your way. Finally the hall ended at a partially opened door. You shoved the man through the door, slamming the door open to the dim room. Inside was Diego, standing over a struggling man tied to one of the three chairs with a bag over his head. With a twisted smirk, Diego twisted the knife in the man’s chest, watching him struggle until he slowly went limp.

“Diego,” you said.

The man’s smirk immediately fell from his face after acknowledging your presence. You nod your head to the general.

“Subdue him.”

“Yes, jefa.”

You walk further into the room and over to a table with a TV showing surveillance footage of the perimeter. You could see a row of expensive cars driving to the gate, the guests were arriving. You’d forgotten that El Sin Nombre was having another one of her donor parties, inviting the rich and influential from all over the world to your doorstep. You understood networking was instrumental in running a successful narcotics cartel, but you could care less. All this seemed pointless, everything did.

Your eyes narrowed when the figure of a man appeared from the bush, walking over to the guards standing at the gate. As he came closer, you immediately recognized the man. It was the man from the cliffside, the one with the funny haircut. You could see he had his hands up as he approached. The guards shot at the man’s feet, forcing him to a stop. You patched into their radio.

“What’s happening?”

“La Arana! ¡Aquí hay un hombre, extranjero!” One of the guards said.

From what you could see, the man wasn’t nearly as armed as he was hours before in the wilderness.

“Bring him to me,” you ordered, terminating the channel.

You turned to Diego, seeing him finishing up restraining the General.

“Diego, we have a party crasher, retrieve him.”

“Claro,” Diego left the room in a hurry.

Your attention returned to the screen, watching as the rucksack was forced over the soldier’s head before being led inside. Something wasn’t right. You knew the man wouldn’t be able to find the Villa completely on his own, leading you to believe that he wasn’t alone and likely had the help of Los Vaqueros and whoever else they had up their sleeve. Meaning…

“Hermana,” Valeria’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked at her over your shoulder, “we have a visitor, likely a friend of Los Vaqueros.”

Valeria smirked, swaying her hip to the side with her hand on top of it.

“Supongo que son tan estúpidos, ¿eh? Ha! Men,” Valeria rolled her eyes.

“I’d thought you’d be a little more concerned seeing as they are obviously coming for you, hermana,” you frowned.

Valeria huffed, waving her hand, “come on, lil sis, we should celebrate! The idiots are practically offering up their heads on a silver platter!”

“It’s not that simple,” you said, receding back into the shadowy corner of the room.

“Sit in on this one, let me know if the fucker is lying,” Valeria said.

You nod, letting the shadows of the room conceal you from everyone else except Valeria. You leaned against the wall, crossing your arms making Valeria smirk as Diego shoved the unknown man through the door. There was no mistaking that it was the man from the cliffside but now you had an up close look at him. He looked to be close to your age and had the fitness of a soldier his age. He wore a simple blue tee and jeans, like a normal civilian but having watched him and the others take out your men, you knew he was anything but. His hands were bound with zip ties and from simply looking, you could tell he was unarmed. Fool.

“Sit,” Diego shoved the man again toward the empty chair.

With hardened eyes the man took a seat before Diego tied his wrists to the arms of the chair, sitting away from you and directly across from the General.

“¿quién es?” Valeria approached Diego.

“Su nombre es jabón. Él vino a nosotros.”

“¿Jabón? No mames,” Valeria laughed. “And you let him in?”

“Dice que tiene informacion-”

Valeria kicked Diego in the back of his knee, forcing him to kneel before holding a knife to his neck.

“¡Mierda! No lo conocemos y él ha visto sus caras” she growled.

“But-!” Diego found you in the shadows, seeing you stare into his soul, warning him.

He let out a visible sigh, “Valeria, necesitamos la información. Él podría ayudarnos.”

Valeria looked up at you and then to the man known only as Soap with a wicked smirk, “Será mejor que... o después de que lo mate... estarás en la silla.”

With this threat, Valeria released the poor man, letting him go and sit on the stairs behind her with his tail between his legs. Valeria came closer to stand in the circle of chairs, gun in hand.

“¡niños!” she said. “This is simple: I ask questions. You answer truthfully. Do not lie to me.”

This was a game, another one of Valeria’s games. She loved them. You nodded for Valeria to continue, ears honed in.

“Recently, we were protecting a friend in the mountains. Someone attacked us there…Who?”

Both you and Valeria knew very well who the culprits were, having had filled her in hours before. It was obvious, this was a game of who could give the best intel, and your bets were with the soldier.

“Fue... fue un caos, no vi-” the pathetic general responded.

“En Inglés. Pará gringo,” Valeria ordered.

“I-I think it was the rival cartels…” the poor man answered.

You shook your head, letting Valeria know that the general was wrong.

“Hmm, your turn, blanquito. Who attacked us?” Valeria turned to Soap.

Soap didn’t flinch, showing no signs of fear toward Valeria, which was somewhat refreshing. Everyone was afraid of the cartel, people survived off of fear and that’s how the city ran. But for once, this man wasn’t afraid. It intrigued you.

“It wasn't a cartel. It was Mexican Special Forces,” Soap said, his accent strong. Scottish perhaps.

You smirked under your mask. So the man wasn’t stupid after all. You nodded to Valeria, letting her know what he said was true. Valeria cocked her head with a smirk.

“We found the bodies. Fuerzas Especiales,” she nodded, “Now, how would an outsider know they were Mexican Special Forces and not you?”

The sweat became clear on the general’s brow as he squirmed nervously in his chair. Pathetic.

“M-maybe he was there!” The general tried to defend himself.

“Estuviste ahí, pendejo,” Diego hissed in his ear. “Maybe he was too…”

“There were outsiders, helping the Mexican Special Forces,” Valeria stared deep into the foreigners blue eyes, “Who were they?”

Your brow rose, interested to see if the man would rat out his comrades.

“W-we heard them yelling, some in English. They were gringos, like him!” The general said, voice trembling.

“American PMGs. A group called the Shadow Company,” Soap answered.

You were almost surprised but even more intrigued now. You gave Valeria the signal, your eyes never tearing away from the back of Soap’s head.

“Los vaqueros está trabajando con mercenarios,” Valeria said, sounding half impressed.

“Those snakes,” Diego growled.

“See?! I was right, it was the gringos!” The general said.

“Can you even prove that this ‘Shadow Company’ exists, pendejo?” Valeria’s gaze landed on Soap again, “can you?” “The Company is run by a man called Philip Graves, he’s their commander. Revisa mi bolsillo,” the man’s voice never wavered for a moment, even with his scratchy Spanish.

Valeria spared you look as she approached the man, digging in his pocket and fishing out what looked like a patch with gray stitching.

“This man, Graves, what does he want?” Valeria asked.

You stepped off the wall, your steps light as you stepped closer ot the edge of the shadows, never stepping out.

“He wants the missiles your moving,” Soap said.

You stopped mid step, your brow furrowing. How the fuck did know that? Diego had the same question, voicing his concern. Valeria’s gaze hardened, flickering to your own. You looked back to Soap.

“He’s speaks the truth,” you said, your voice cool and venomous.

You could see Soap visibly stiffen, having finally realized that you were standing behind him the entire time. He tried to catch a glimpse of you from the corner of his eye, but there was no use -- he couldn’t see you from within the shadows.

“Y-you can’t believe what he says, he’s lying!” The general said, quickly realizing his worth was diminished.

“You’ve told us nothing! ¡Callate!” Valeria ordered.

The man continued to plead for his life, but there was no use, his fate was sealed. Diego pulled out his gun, pressing it against General’s temple before pulling the trigger, letting the poor man’s blood and brain matter splatter against the hardwood. Valeria didn’t flinch, just continued to stare down Soap as she leaned over him.

“Well done,” she smirked, using her knife to cut Soap’s restraints before making her leave, “let’s get to work.” You watch Valeria wave back at you as she leaves the room. Diego yanks Soap to his feet, shoving him forward to follow Valeria. Soap tries to glance back at you, but Diego shoves him again, forcing him out into the hallway. With a sigh, you open the other door, entering another hallway. You knew this soldier known as ‘Soap’ had come here as a suicide mission, but that couldn’t be it. Something was about to happen, and you needed to find out what it was before it did.

“Fucking gringos,” you curse, finding the stairway up to the viewing deck.

You slipped through the door frame, walking over to the glass bannister and looked over the pool area. By now, the guests had found purchase in certain parts of the patio, some by the pool, many by the bar and a few inside the mansion. All guests wore the same beige mask, hiding their identities from each other. You scanned the crowd, assessing any threats but found none. You couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were being watched. Your eyes lifted to sparse woods outside of the villa, squinting to see anything out of the ordinary. For a second, you thought you saw the glint of scope, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.

With a sigh, you turn to look at the towering skyline. Once upon time, you would have thought the view was beautiful. This was your home, where you were born, but now…it all felt empty. The old times, it would be a lie if you said you didn’t miss them. Part of you still misses your old life, your old face…

Miss him.

You frown at the thought, burying it. Voices began to crowd the radio, their tone sounding urgent. Your brow furrowed, listening in.

“¿Dónde está Miguel? ¡Oye, responde idiota!”

“¿Alguien tiene ojos en Fernando?”

“Shit, I got a body!”

You immediately went on alert, patching in: “Where’s the gringo?”

“I got someone in the armory- Mierda, get down!”

His correspondence was immediately followed by gunfire. You grabbed your gun from your back holster, checking it for ammunition. A string of curses left you lips as you leaped onto the roof shingles, sprinting toward the penthouse.

“Get to the penthouse, they’re after el jefa!” You shout through the comms.

“Si, La Araña!”

You knew it was too good to be true. There was no way Soap would waltz into the lion’s jaws if he didn’t have a plan. You had thought it was him walking into your trap, but no, it was you who became entangled in theirs. You grunt as you jump over the gap of the roofs, breaking some roof tiles along the way until you slip through an open window of the hallway leading to the penthouse where undoubtedly Valeria was. Your eyes immediately land on one of your men lying lifeless on the floor.

“Shit! Valeria, come in!” You shout.

All you could hear was gunshots as you sprinted into the penthouse, only to find more of your men slaughtered. Your head immediately snapped to the open back door leading out onto the roof once more. It’s then you could hear the gusts of wind and turbines. Carefully, you make your way outside, just in time to see a military issued helicopter hovering over the roof, it’s storm beacons lighting Valeria up.

You quickly find cover behind the archway, peering around the corner to see Soap with a gun drawn on your sister. But there was someone else. You knew who it was immediately, seeing his broad shoulders and gelled back dark hair. The air left your lungs as his face became illuminated by the copter’s lights.

Alejandro. He was here.

Your eyes narrowed as a familiar rage began to well in your chest. You felt like you could tear him apart. He was only a few feet away, if you got your hands on him, for even a second, his fate would be sealed. But there were too many eyes, too many obstacles. And now, they had Valeria. Your hands were tied, whether you liked it or not. You cursed underneath your breath as you watched Soap tie Valeria’s hands behind her back. Another man, you assumed to be Graves, hopped out of the copter with one of his men.

Alejandro’s expression said it all but all he could do was stare at his former comrade. Valeria chuckled with a smirk.

“Does she know?” Alejandro shouted over the whirring blades.

This question made you stop in your tracks in the shadows. Valeria’s smile became even bigger as she laughed in the man’s face.

“¡Sabía que eras estúpido, pero esto es un nuevo punto bajo, incluso para ti!” Valeria snickered. “Find out for yourself, ¡pendejo!”

Alejandro glared at Valeria, “get her onboard!”

Graves’ men forced Valeria to walk up to the copter and you could only look on helplessly. Valeria caught you hiding in the shadows and smirked. You let out a sigh, knowing what you had to do.

“Hermano, what’s up?” Soap shouted.

“I know her!” Alejandro answered, “we-”

His words were cut off when a throwing knife landed right between his legs, making him jump. Both the men grabbed their guns, swiveling around to see where the attack had come from. Alejandro kept his eyes trained on the shadows, seeing a figure emerge from the darkness. Your heated gaze didn’t stray from him as walked fully into the light. Alejandro’s eyes widened as his complexion became pale, as if he’d seen a ghost. He lowered his gun as stood frozen.

“Amor-”

You didn’t allow him to speak his sickly sweet words, swiftly disassembling your rifle and pistol, throwing the parts on the stone tile. You threw the rest of your throwing knives and radio, everything, down on the ground. Your glare never left him as you stretched your hands out limply to him. Soap looked at Alejandro, obviously confused.

“Who are you?!” Soap shouted.

You chuckled bitterly, “I’m hurt, mi vida, you didn’t tell your little friends about me? What you did?”

The words drowned in Alejandro’s throat as he continued to look at you like you’d risen from the dead right in front of him. You smirk under your mask.

“I’m Alejandro’s fiancé.”

TAG LIST:

@develised @flammenwerferpanzerkampfhund @lizx13 @kursedkaci @callmejod @notfeelinggoodrn

want to be on the tag list? Leave a comment!

#seraphimcollections #seraphimcollections: AND YOU WEREN'T THERE #alejandro #alejandro vargas #alejandro mw2 #alejandro x reader #los vaqueros #task force 141 #soap #reader insert #mw2 x you #alejandro x you #angst #mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #valeria #las almas #SoundCloud

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batteredbooks · 1 year

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Ok I have this major theory/headcanon about Marissa fittes from lockwood and co....

MAJOR SPOILER ALERT, THIS THEORY WILL SPOIL THE ENTIRE SERIES FOR YOU SO GO AWAY IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THE BOOKS

Ok now let's get to the point. I think that Ezekiel (the type 3 ghost with Marissa) was somehow mentally controlling or manipulating her. Coz the stuff that she was doing, like creating a portal, required a lot of knowledge about the other side. And during her time the Problem had barely started so she wouldn't have access to that info. And I think Ezekiel was the one who made her do that. Maybe he was doing it coz he was a type 3 (who are known to be extremely tethered to this world) and wanted Marissa to stick forever coz he knew that she was the only person who could talk to him. And we know how skull was so desperate to have some communication and connection, so Ezekiel's behaviour makes sense. And as @krash-8 rightfully pointed out, he just lucked out by finding a person who was selfish enough to do this.

Thoughts on this??

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #the empty grave #spoilers #headcanon #theory #locklyle #lucy carlyle #george karim #george cubbins #anthony lockwood #marissa fittes #type 3 #skull

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radiation-risk · 4 months

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Sudden Sickness - Chapter 5

Holy fuck I’m writing. Anyways, this was gonna be made tomorrow, but seeing as we’re going to a concert as me and krash’s big gift this year, I don’t have the time to write it anytime but now.

@a-narcissists-warren for the fic idea (a singular shitpost)

anyways TWs are the usual rabies/sickness warnings plus mental breakdowns!! We’re also timeskipping about 4-5 days so keep this in mind.

Edited to update the TWs in the final cut.

Liam was worried. This was the first time he’d truly felt fear concerning Airy rather than Airy harming him. Airy could barely drink water, and food was the only liquid source he’d be able to consume in good amounts.

Airy, however, was confused. He knew what was going on around him, but he couldn’t think straight at all. Lights were too bright. Who was this backpack guy again? Why does he spend all his time in that cave? He could no longer tell. He could finally sleep, as the silver wolf in his dreams was gone. Gone. Like everything else that came to his mind.

Liam was talking to the contestants, asking for any bits of advice he could get. There was nothing coming from them. They couldn’t help with sicknesses like those, because they were so used to living in cities, thus meaning they’d never encounter one. There was one contestant who knew a few things as a guy from the woodlands up north, but even he wasn’t a good help.

One quote from that man, however, raced in Liam’s mind. “That Airy guy is done gone. Expect a death in three days or sooner.” He said that one day ago. Airy could die at any moment. With that in mind, Liam began to cry.

He couldn’t do anything. Nobody could. What would The Waiting Room even have in store for him if he couldn’t even think right? Would Airy be cured, like how he had his leg suddenly fixed when he drowned? It was a horrid thought.

Airy was walking in circles in the cabin. There wasn’t much else to do except exhaust himself of the last energy he had. Everything. Most memories, basic thoughts, knowledge from years upon years, gone. It was a death trap that night anyways. Should’ve known better.

Questioning was the first thing that came to Liam’s mind. He tried to ask the contestants things. Should there be a burial? Or should his corpse be tossed to the world and let nature do its thing? These questions plagued him. It’s only the first thing you think of when someone is to die, after all.

Either way, the ending wouldn’t be a great one.

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duelistkingdom · 6 months

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In plain sight!!! Violet and Karma my BELOVEDS <3

here's an admittedly long snippet from chapter nineteen-ish. tw for discussions of diets and weight talk

KARMA KRASHES GRAMMYS: Karma Carter was recently spotted sneaking into the 47th Annual Grammys. Rumors are that she wanted to show up to support her best friend, Violet Foxglove. Official word is that despite her not walking the red carpet, she was, in fact, invited by the hosts themselves. We wished we had a best friend who would be willing to get in trouble for us! Tragically, Violet Foxglove did not win the Best New Artist award and went home empty ended. At least she was comforted by her boyfriend and best friend, both of whom seem willing to do anything to support the pop star. Hey, there's always next album, Violet!

The day started at five am sharp in a hotel room that Violet’s family couldn’t even afford - a suite with two private bedrooms and bathrooms. A home away from home, she was sure. A publicist rapped hard on the door, ordering her to get up. Violet shoved herself awake, groaning that she didn’t want to be up. It didn’t matter. She was yanked out of bed by a beauty team, who shoved her into the shower and ordered her to shower.

She rubbed at her arms, certain that their grip would leave bruises on her pale skin while one of them barked an order to prepare body make up to hide her freckles. She blinked slowly, deciding it would be better to not ask questions. Instead she obediently used the products provided to her for her body and hair. She was at least given the dignity of privacy as she dried off with the fluffy white towels, pulled on the thong provided and put on the nipple pasties, finally pulling on the admittedly short white silk robe over the underwear.

The minute she opened the door, two people shoved their way in, knocking her back. Panic set in before she realized she recogonized these people: Jolene and her assistant. Jolene gave her a bright smile, shoving her into a chair. “There’s cameras out there, honey, you’re going to want to step out looking effortlessly beautiful,” she said, immediately putting gel and heat protectant on her hair. Her assistant had begun blow drying her hair. “What are we thinking for your first ever Grammys, honey?”

“Princess,” Violet said before she could even think. “I want to look like a fairytale come to life.”

“Leaning into that ‘living the dream’ image, huh,” Jolene said as she got to work braiding, twisting, and pinning her hair up. “Don’t worry - we’ll do your make up in here. We also have your shape wear built into the dress, so no need to put any on.”

“Shapewear? I thought that the diet -“

“Oh don’t be so naïve,” Jolene laughed as she braided a ribbon in her hair before twisting it up. “Of course you’re going to need some shapewear to assist. But since it’s built into the dress, no one will know you’re wearing it. You’ll look perfect for your first ever Grammys - and you better let me style you for the next one.”

Violet couldn’t help but smile as the assistant started spraying her with the body make up. “This could very well be my first and last Grammys, you know.”

“Don’t be silly,” her assistant said in a thick accent that Violet couldn’t place. Last time she asked for her name, the assistant had told her to not ask any personal questions in a way that scared her. Now she felt too nervous to even ask where the accent was from. “You’re talented. People like you. You will be nominated again.”

Hours later, Violet emerged from the bathroom with her hair coifed into an updo that no one could recreate on their own and natural looking make up that took two hours to apply with a bold magenta lip. The lipstick matched the dress she’d picked out - a magenta prom dress with a swishy skirt and form fitting bodice.

She didn’t look a thing like herself. In her mind, Violet Foxglove was synonymous with an awkward, slightly geeky, too tall and too spindly to be attractive girl. A girl who didn’t know how to control her limbs properly and was always bumping into things. But staring her in the mirror was a tall woman, who looked graceful and elegant.

Violet Foxglove was no longer a girl. She was a woman. And in the light of day, she wished she’d enjoyed her girlhood more.

Flashing lights went off from every direction and Violet couldn’t see that far in front of her. Her publicist’s hand on her lower back directed her while paparazzi screamed at her to pose for them. She blinked as purple splotches began to cover her vision, and her publicist hissed, “Try not to blink too much. And smile.” The last sentence sounded almost like a threat as Violet forced a smile. “Think happy thoughts. You’re not here - you’re on a beach in Maui. White sand beaches.”

“Next time get me a drink before getting me in front of these vultures,” Violet whispered through her teeth, trying to think of what her happy place would even be. It hit her like a train that her happy place automatically included Karma by her side. Any beach, any home, anywhere she imagined - Karma was there.

A new warm body was by her side, and she had the impossible thought that it was Karma. Logically, she knew it couldn’t be. There was so many cameras that no way would Karma ever dare to wrap an arm around her waist. She was pulled to look directly at the flashes, and a paparazzi yelled Liam’s name. Of course. He wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be photographed with her like this.

Anger surged through her as she realized that her first ever Grammy show would be forever associated with him. This isn’t what she wanted from this. She politely posed with him, forcing a bright smile as he spun her around in front of the cameras as if he was dancing with her. It didn’t feel natural - it felt as if she was putting on a show for the cameras.

She laughed, almost instinctively aware of what the paparazzi wanted out of her. And once again, she couldn’t help but feel like a lamb meant for the slaughter.

Once she made it to the end of the red carpet, the purple splotches started to fade. And once they faded from her view, she caught a glimpse of the one and only Karma Carter in a white slip dress that hugged her every curve and accented a peachy tan she’d obtained in some way.

Karma Carter had crashed the Grammys. And Violet Foxglove was well aware of the reason why. Suddenly she was certain of one thing: Karma felt the same way she did. Nothing could stop her now.

#oc: violet foxglove #oc: karma carter

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nintendouniverse2023 · 11 months

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Scene I did my OCs in my AU, for their designs and anything, I thought it would be fair if each of the Mario Characters a redesign in my version. Some I design them will be the same but change it up a little bit.

Bio: King K Rool is a big green scaley tyrant, a single father and King of Krocodile Island leading an empire called the Kremlings. He and his army set the seven seas known as a vicious, frightening, self centered one of all of the of islands around. No one really knows where he got a very bad scar on his eye during one of his travels along time ago.

One of his main goals in his army is to take the Crystal Coconut in hopes of ruling the island we’re it is and total domination of the seas. This is we’re he goes to Kongo Bongo Island we’re he comes to rule, but he and his empire was venally stopped by Donkey Kong. When he plans to get his revenge on the Kong Clan the second time, he would team up with Scar Kong and later got betrayed.

This would eventually the He and His Kremling army would become sworn enemies to the Kong Clan, that is an unknown story for another time as K Rool didn’t know. He would invade the island, Planing to make a moves, kidnapping DK and several Kongs, Salvatore the Kongs, Steal and Attempt to Steal the Crystal Coconut in the past but ends up in failure.

When he was invited to Mario’s events he seems want to get his claws on any of his rivals None Kong friends and has a short rivalry with Bowser. He and the Kremlings has captured Mario’s sister along with Diddy and Dixie holding for ransom of the Crystal Coconut but ends up in failure once again. He was the reason why Mara was scared of King K Rool.

Voice Actor: Chiwetel Ejiofor

Appearance: King K Rool was quite a tall one, His tail was kind of tall, His cape was ripped up and his right eye was a quite of an injury.

Age: 50s

Height: 8 incs

Weight: 320 ibs

Personality: Viscous, Self Centered, Frightening, Middle tempered and Threating

Favorite Foods: All meat, Fish and Blood

Family: Wife (deceased), (Children and Child in law) King K Rool the second and his sons wife.

Allies: Krusha, Klump, Krunch, Kalypso *Sometimes*, Waluigi *Sometimes*, Kudgle, Kip, Kass, Kopter, Kremlings Army *Kritters, Klaptraps, Krochead, Rock Krock, Koin, Kobble, Bazuka, Kopter, Koindozer, Kasplat, Kosha, Knocka, Re-Koil, Krobot and Krash*, Kaptian Skurvy and his Pirate Kremlings *Klobber, Klomp, Klinger, Kaboing, Kruncha, Kutlass, Krook, Klank and Kaboom*, Captian Syrup *Sometimes*, Wario, Bowser and his Koopa Empire, Kamek, The Koopalings, Bowser Jr *Sometimes*, King Boo and King Bob-Mom

Enemies: Donkey Kong *Arch neniscus*, The Kong Clan, Super Mario Bros and Sis, Mushroom Kingdom Resedents, *Sometimes * Wario Squad and Many other islands

Likes: Putting everyone to slavery, Winning, Bullying, Being one step ahead, Explosions *Unless they've been using against him* and Massacre's

Dislikes: Banana's, His Plans in failure, Humiliations, Mocked about his weight, The Lack of Slack of his minions, and Sometimes Dealing with everything himself.

#nintendo #super mario rebirth show #donkey kong country #king k rool

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krash-8 · 6 months

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“they can’t all be autistic that doesn’t make sense” first of all have you seen how neurodivergent friend groups work

#it’s either you befriend that way #or you slowly realize ‘oh hey i have something too’#nothing else /hj #actually autistic #autistic headcanon #autism headcanon #krash thoughts

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krash-and-co · 1 year

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idk if anybody's posted about this yet but I've noticed Lockwood likes nicknaming other people. Like, we have Luce, which we all know, which could be just pushed aside as him liking her until we remember holly has Hol and Holls. that's two nicknames. sounds like a small amount but seeing as the other characters would be a bit difficult to nickname not really. (George, Kipps or Quill, one syllable names, and flo's already a nickname so there's that) and correct me if I'm wrong but did he call Jessica Jess because if so that makes three important ones. or is that just a fandom thing I confused with canon for the bajillionth time in my life

point? names are a way lockwood shows/has been shown affection that's meaningful to him and that's probably why he's so sensitive to the use of his own, whether it be positive, negative, or just casually in a way that may not mean to much to others but does to him.

#common knowledge? probably #but I still wanted to say it because with me #things usually go “krash everybody knows that” or “krash I can't believe you thought of that” and no in between #unfortunately I can't tell the difference #50/50 chance of sounding insanely stupid or actually smart #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #Anthony Lockwood

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krashingallalong · 2 years

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Been putting off making an introduction post for a while, but now I’m actually engaging with other people here, so here we are.

Hi! I'm Krash, resident (unofficial official) IT operator and meteorology enthusiast.

I don't care what you call me, as long as it's not derogatory.

If for whatever reason you follow me and I said something that made you uncomfortable, feel free to message me **politely/calmly** informing me that I made you uncomfortable, and if I crossed a line it won't happen again.

Otherwise, there's a block button and you can feel free to use that instead. :)

Tags I'm going to be using to *try*to organize my blog are as follows;

#reblog - kinda obvious, I'm reblogging something from someone :)

#art - typically going to be used with reblog tag, it's someone else's art, and I thought it looked nice and wanted to be able to find it again without doom scrolling (as much)

#my art - derp de durr, one my works, Doodles, or whatever

#electrical nightmare - stuff I'm taking apart, building, or just swiped from my local electronics store

#Krash Rambles - anything and everything that I post where I've got text on it :)

# Imagine That - any sort of tumblr history that Magicks it's way to my dash to be reblogged

#why not - this will typically be attached to me shit posting, so do be aware of that.

# the more you know - anything neat/interesting/what ever that I've found. I may wish to share, I may be entirely self Indulgent

For now that's all thats on my mind. I'll likely update this as the day progresses and the caffeine actually does its job.

Regardless the use of tags are mostly going to be for filtering stuff. If you follow me for a certain kind of Content and don't want to see everything that I post, just filter the tags you don't want to see.

You don't get spam notifs, and I can continue to be an AMTRACK of content :)

#intro post #Krash Rambles

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portlandrowismyhome · 10 months

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Borrowed Time: Chapter Two

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

She was in Lockwood’s bedroom.

More correctly: she was in Lockwood’s bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If he dies —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He wasn’t…”

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

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

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

“You’re in a jar! You can’t smell.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would have walked into the trap singing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Across the city, same time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

to be continued ~

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