Getting a jumpstart on our Monster month in October, so you have plenty of time! 31 prompts, mix and match for writing, art, and all other mediums. Do a drabble a day or one big epic—up to you! Kink encouraged (thanks to @sciroccoorion35 for the Monster Mash title) but not required.
For more inspiration, listen to @jennyanythot’s fantastic playlist: it was a graveyard smash 😏
Add yours to the collection on Ao3 here. Anything added before October will revealed on October 1st.
Prompts in plain text below the cut. Please reblog!
Week 1: Choose Your Hero/Horror (Mix and Match)
Lucy
Lockwood
George
Skull
Flo
Holly
Kipps
A. Werewolves
B. Vampires
C. Witches
D. Grim Reaper
E. Swamp Monster
F. Zombies
G. Corpses
Week 2: Choose Your Weapon/Weakness
8. Holy Water/Crucifix
9. Salt & Iron
10. Lavender
11. Wooden Stake
12. Silver Bullet
13. Flamethrower
14. Magic
Week 3: Choose Your Setting
15. Haunted House
16. Graveyard
17. Crumbling Castle
18. Black Lagoon
19. Moonlit Forest
20. Broad Daylight
21. Abandoned Hospital or Laboratory
Week 4: Choose Your Power Source
22. Virgin Sacrifice
23. Full Moon
24. Ancient Curse
25. Fear & Emotion
26. Electricity/Lightning Strike
27. Science Gone Wrong
28. Possession
Bonus: Candy Bag
29. Bite Me/Sweet Tooth
30. Bride of ______
31. Give Into the Call
Lockwood decides they’re in dire need of a holiday to Italy. Awkwardness ensues when you take them out of their comfortable bubbles.
Sample under the cut:
“They aligned, the three of them. They balanced perfectly. They were the sun and the earth, spinning and spinning, Lockwood dragging them into the dark unknown. And George could be the moon, he mused to himself. He would never tell them, of course, they’d probably laugh him out of Portland Row, but in the liminal space between dusk and sleep, he could imagine it for himself. He was the moon and he’d been lucky enough to eclipse. Nestled right between the two of them, in perfect alignment.
Like this, in some anonymous flat in Rome, Lockwood and Lucy tucked safely around him, George could almost feel it. Maybe they’d beat the odds and find themselves still sitting around the thinking cloth in ten, twenty, thirty years. Maybe they’d make it.
on second thought maybe hockey fan lucy is a dangerous idea bc my ahl team just lost the 6th game in the eastern division playoffs for the calder cup and i want to break a lot of things. imagine lucy watching ahl on her shitty little loft tv and her team loses and she just fucking breaks it in half
got the sudden urge to finish my cot3 fic but it’s literally been so long that i barely remember the characters????? i need to sit down and rewatch the show and meet them again i need a little ice breaker challenge yknow what i mean
Hello and welcome! This is a place for all things Lockwood & Co, but highlighting and celebrating our bestest ot3: Lucy/Lockwood/George.
Things this page does:
-Fic Recs: Send me any good ot3 fic you find and I will do my best to showcase it here! Master list of fic recs below!!
-Showcase other L&Co community stuff/fanart - screenedits, memes, gifsets, art, etc!
-Accepts Prompts: Send me asks with your ot3 prompts! I will do my best to fill them, at least 4-5 sentences, hopefully more!
My Lockwood & Co fanfic on Ao3, (Rainshadow07):
nights were made for saying things, Rating: M
Lucy had thought, after the Bone Glass, rescuing George, reminding the three of them what this was really all about - family and not dying - that things would get better.
She was wrong.
Through the Open Door, Rating: E
“It didn’t use to matter,” Lucy said. “If I was angry at you, or George, because a part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to, I don't know, fire me, or get yourself killed, or for George to get fed up with our bullshit, but now, now, you and George are my family, and being angry with you scares the shit out of me!”
Lucy, Lockwood, and George at a seaside resort. Can they unravel the secrets of St. Michael’s and the strange changes in their psychic abilities?
Direct sequel to "nights were made for saying things"
FIC RECS: Lucy/Lockwood/George:
I Found A Fox, Caught By Dogs by ghostlin
Some of the best tension in a scene between L/L/G I have read. My goodness. light kink & D/s tone
Interpolation (A Line We Drew In the Array) by @iantalks
Great pacing, and ballet.
want want by @fromjannah
Pre/developing Lucy/Lockwood/George; George & Lockwood are exes. Lucy notices.
aftershocks by @aberfaeth
Fantastic magic system theory concept, well-executed
Kiss It Better by @wolfjawswriter
Cute, with fun banter.
whiskers on kittens by 11pmbed
great pacing, Locklye --> ot3 progression with fantastic confession from Lockwood
at waterloo, napoleon did surrender by @fromjannah
sick!Lockwood; painstaking vulnerability. more pre-ot3
at last, peter rabbit made his way home by 11pmbed
drunk!Lockwood & spot-on dynamics between the three of them
Tea for Three by IceAngels
sweet ot3 w/ plenty of tea & an observant Portland Row neighbor
Could Never Want For More When I'm Here by @dont-offend-the-bees
like a warm hug. fantastic ot3 dynamics!
Gunshots Are More Powerful Than Sheer Stubbornness by @between-two-fandoms
such great Lockwood POV, showcasing how & why it's hard for him to be vulnerable. so sweet <3
thunderbolt through my body by meher
amazing view of George thru Lockwood's perspective
and it feels good to be known, so well by @paladinbaby
Lucy & George, then George & Lockwood. it takes Lucy & lockwood a minute but they get it together
Lockwood Sandwich by TheMalapert
Hilarious, fantastic banter, very hot, caught in a coffin sex with our fav ot3
dreamer's ball by @fromjannah
AMAZING George/Lockwood tension here
pieces of you and me (and us) by @grasslandgirl
bright and dark and beautiful
IF you are an author and I have linked your fic and you do not want me to - please message and let me know!
IF you found a fic you think should be on the list, send me a message
hug all your friends and let them know | a cot3 fic
It’s been informative. Being in love with both people you live with means you’re constantly surrounded by them, observing them (not closely enough clearly in George’s case for the past few weeks of the Bickerstaff case, but she’ll process that guilt later and double down on paying attention to him now) around her and around each other.
She notices that Lockwood’s eyes go soft when George wanders into a room, that they dart guiltily down to his bare legs when he walks around without trousers. George gripes and complains about constantly having to feed them, but the kitchen table has been laden with Lockwood’s favourite meals every night while his shoulder heals.
George always flushes when Lockwood takes the first bite and moans in appreciation (so does Lucy, but she already knows about her - now she’s focusing on working out them).
Tugging - being able to feel a tug in the direction of your soulmate if they are feeling a strong emotion
Lucy had always been pulled south.
She hadn’t always dreamt of moving to London. As a child she’d been content with her life in the north, running barefoot through the fields and climbing trees with Mary. Even after she began at Jacobs, Lucy thought she’d end up in Newcastle like Jody and Beth, or Durham like Sarah, or stay in her little village and marry a nice boy like Michelle. London was worlds away, a pipe dream at most.
But when she felt her soulmate’s tug, it was always south. It never mattered where in town she was, never mattered how far she wandered or how far she traveled for a job. Lucy’s soulmate was always south.
The first time she felt the tug, Lucy cried. She barely remembered it now, she’d only been three or four at the time, but the overwhelming sense of grief that pulled at her heart was too much for her to bear. Mum had scolded her for throwing a fit while she cooked supper and Dad had yelled at Jody and Michelle to shut her up. Lucy hadn’t had the words to describe the sadness that had overcome her, but she knew that it was leading her somewhere, somewhere away from home. She’d made it to the garden before someone scooped her up and smacked her bottom, which only made her cry harder. In the end Lucy had gone to bed without supper; she was far too upset to eat, anyways.
After that, Lucy didn’t tell anyone when she felt the tugs of her soulmate. Not when she was overcome with rage and shame while picking flowers in the schoolyard. Not when she felt an elation on Christmas that didn’t correspond with the secondhand rapier her mother had foisted on her, a silent command to become an agent. Not when her heart broke in two during a normal training session and she’d been sent home for her hysterics, pay docked for the lost hours.
Everyone else spoke of their soulmates openly. Sarah found hers in town, a sweet lad who lived down the street. Before she left home, she’d told Lucy that he’d found her on the day their father died, when she’d been so overcome with relief that she’d wept. He could feel her, he’d said, knew how to find her without even seeing her. Lucy thought that sounded useful, if not a bit creepy.
Once, after a long day of working and a long night of drinking, Mum had told Lucy and Mary that she’d felt it when their father died. She’d felt his fear and his pain, had felt a sudden pull east towards the rail station, then…nothing. All that remained had been a cold, empty nothing.
Mary had cried but Lucy’s eyes remained dry. The nothing meant her father wasn’t a Visitor, and that was more than enough comfort for her. People whose soulmates returned were said to be driven mad by the pull, by the constant loop of anger and sorrow.
It was almost a relief to Lucy that she didn’t feel that fear, that pain, that nothing after the mill incident. Her team had been her closest friends for half of her life and they’d been snatched from her so horrifically, but at least she hadn’t felt it. At least none of them had felt her terror as they died.
So when she left home in the wee hours of the morning, Lucy didn’t have to think twice about where she would go. The answer had always been: south.
---
Lucy didn’t feel her soulmate much after joining Lockwood & Co.
That wasn’t unusual. Most people didn’t live in a state of constant heightened emotion. Her soulmate probably had a normal job or went to school, lived a life free of danger and excitement. Lucy often wondered if she kept them up at night, when jobs went a bit sideways or she walked in on George in the bath. She wondered if they thought of her at all.
George had asked her about her soulmate once, when they’d been reading in comfortable silence at the kitchen table. He had some Xeroxed articles in front of him from the Archives, studies on soulmates and the dead. Lucy wasn’t very interested in her own mystery novel, so she’d tossed it aside to answer his questions.
“I’ve never met them,” she’d said with a shrug. “Not even sure where they are. South of my hometown, I know that for certain.”
George nodded, peering at her over his glasses. “Mine’s all over the place,” he admitted. “Most often North, but not always. They must live in London, I just haven’t pinpointed them yet.”
“When was the last time you felt them?” Lucy asked, propping her chin in her hand.
To her surprise, George looked a bit bashful. “Well…don’t misunderstand this, but…the night you and Lockwood burnt down the Hope house.”
“What, you don’t think…?” Lucy glanced up at the ceiling, to where Lockwood’s bedroom sat just out of sight. George shook his head.
“I thought so as well, at first, but there have been times I’ve felt the pull while with Lockwood, and it wasn’t towards him.” For some reason, Lucy felt relief, but she couldn’t be sure why. “What about you?”
“Well…” Lucy paused. “I thought felt it at Combe Carey, but it was all over the place, and everything happened so fast. I think I get it confused with my Touch sometimes.”
George gave her a shit-eating grin. “Is your soulmate an evil monk ghost?”
Lucy pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against her lips. “Well, I do like them tall, dark, and crazy.”
“What about me?” Lockwood stood in the doorway, society magazine tucked under his arm. His shirt was rumpled, tie draped loosely around his neck. Lucy wondered if he’d been dozing in the library.
“We’ve decided Lucy’s soulmate was one of the demon monks from Combe Carey,” George said.
Lockwood didn’t have the courtesy to look fazed. He simply chuckled and plopped down in the chair next to Lucy, tossing his magazine down next to Lucy’s discarded novel. “I’d have thought it would be Annabel Ward, if we’re choosing Visitors who died before we were born.”
“Do you know your soulmate, Lockwood?” Lucy asked.
“No,” he said simply. “If they want to find me, I won’t oppose, but all that—love, dating, marriage—it’s not in my plans.”
“That’s a bit of a reductionist take on soulmates,” George admonished. “It’s not just about getting married and having 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. They could be platonic or familial, a lifelong companion of some sort, a twin flame—or flames! There have been instances of three or more soulmates all finding each other, or soulmates who have other soulmates outside of each other. It’s a literal connection of the soul.”
Lucy liked listening to George talk when he was excited about something. His eyes would light up and his hands would dance all over the place. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lockwood watching him, too, with an easy grin.
“I surrender, George,” he said, hands raised in defeat. “I was being reductionist. Maybe one day I’ll find my soulmate, but it’s not at the top of my to-do list. I’ve got my team; that’s all I need.”
“That’s insane,” George retorted, but he was smiling.
Lucy decided then and there that she agreed with Lockwood. She didn’t need her soulmate, not as long as she had her boys and her home in Portland Row.
---
In the end, it shouldn’t have been surprising.
Somehow, in some stupid way, they were all still blindsided by it.
The job had gone wrong. Lucy thought that should have been the agency’s motto: Something WILL go wrong, guaranteed! Nothing was on fire and nobody had broken any bones—yet—but if they didn’t hurry up and find the source, someone was bound to die.
The poltergeist was a strong one, throwing knives and chairs and other detritus all throughout the house. They’d all been separated pretty quickly, torn apart by the raging wind and flying projectiles. Lucy was trapped in the hallway between the kitchen and the sitting room, shielding herself behind a tea tray that had nearly decapitated her. She could hear the poltergeist’s screams, could feel that the source was somewhere nearby, but without anyone to guard her back she had no hope of finding it.
Then—a flash of terror, searing pain in her ribs, and an overwhelming pull in her chest had her sprinting toward the kitchen, dodging flying books and debris. Something glanced off her head and she could feel blood trickling down her temple, but Lucy couldn’t concentrate on that, not when her soulmate was in trouble.
When she found George, he was pinned to the wall by the kitchen table, struggling to break free. That explained the pain in her ribs. That explained why she’d been pulled to London her whole life.
That didn’t explain why she now felt a pull upstairs.
“George!” She cried, stumbling across the room to him. She batted down pots and pans that came at them with the tea tray, ignoring the ones that met her back as she wrestled the table away. George sank to the ground, gasping for air, but he grabbed Lucy’s arms, eyes wide and terrified.
“Lockwood,” he panted. “He’s in- he’s in trouble- I can feel-”
Lucy nodded, pulling him to his feet. “Me too.”
“And- your head- I could feel-”
“Yeah.” Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged. “Yeah, I know.”
“Okay.” George followed her from the kitchen, slashing at the airborne cutlery. “Source?”
“Hallway. Under the floorboards, I think.” Lucy ran past the spot, not giving it a glance. “Lockwood first.”
“Lockwood first,” George agreed. His grip on her hand tightened. “Hurry.”
Lucy felt it as well, a swell of fear and then…nothing. That nothing scared her more than the poltergeist at her back, more than the way her head spun from the scent of blood, more than any pain she’d ever experienced. She sped up her pace, taking the stairs two at a time.
On the landing of the top floor, Lockwood’s body was sprawled across the pea-green carpet, rapier still clutched loosely in his hand. His eyes were closed, face too pale, chest too still-
“He’s breathing,” George said. “Lucy, he’s okay, he’s alive.”
Lucy didn’t realize she was crying. She hadn’t cried over her soulmate in years, and now look at her, weeping like that little girl in the garden all those years ago. She collapsed on top of Lockwood’s chest, hand still entwined with George’s, and sobbed. Sobbed for all those times she felt their pain and grief, sobbed for all those times they’d felt hers, sobbed for the nothing she’d feared so viscerally.
“Did I die?” A voice below her asked. “Why’s Lucy cryin- George, are you crying?”
Lucy pulled back to see Lockwood’s eyes open and trained on her. He was wincing a bit, struggling to sit up, but his gaze seemed clear and lucid. A goose-egg was forming on his forehead, where the poltergeist must have nailed him with something heavy.
Before either of them could say anything, Lockwood put a hand to his chest, face twisted in confusion and sadness. Then he looked up, glanced between them, and said, “Oh.”
“Yeah,” George said, voice thick with tears. “Guess we found you after all.”
“We should probably-” Lockwood motioned vaguely. “Poltergeists feed on emotion, and all that.”
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ve realized we’re all soulmates and that’s your reaction?”
Lockwood grinned at her. “Well, it makes sense. You’re my team, my- my family. Of course we’re soulmates.”
“I don’t care how injured he is,” George muttered to Lucy. “I’m drowning him in the tub when we get home.”
“C’mon, I know where the source is,” Lucy said, pulling her boys to their feet. “Someone fetch me a crowbar and a net.”
Containing the source would be a remarkably simple task, once they were all together. In fact, it would be downright dull. The real excitement of the evening would come later, when they were safe at home, icing heads and cleaning wounds, exchanging stories and secrets and little, whispered confessions. Lucy wouldn’t feel the tug south any longer; they would never be out of her reach again.
