Uh,,haha I really don’t know how to start.I love pride shipping so much.Thinking about them defeating a Common enemy just proves to me how great they are when they’re together.God even that..when they stand Side by side its just so…indesribable.They’re just….so THAT,you know?
Now I dismiss everything related to enemy/hero stuff as them since Iam quite obsessive about them.Although,I wouldn’t want them to be together for real.It’s just,,dating is too much stuff man.Marriage too.I can’t imagine all the work you have to put in for a relationship.Cmon,Atem and Kaiba are closer to each other than they think they ever will be
There’s no need for marriage,or getting serious with them.I feel like,them going steady is gonna ruin the already perfect thing they have.They already have a special way of their relationship.Sure,their relationship is complex but I like where they are now
It’s just the perfect combination of rivalry and friendship,and it’s,its..it’s perfect.They’re in THAT place,you know?
FLASHFIC: Lockwood&Co: the Empty Grave-Madame La Belle: An Embrace
A head canon during the moments of the Madame La Belle case in the Empty Grave, in Lockwood’s perspective. I have embellished here and there on the events. Hope you enjoy!
Tufnell's theatre had grown silent within the last few hours. The team had split off from one another to cover more ground, they stayed near for sometime, due to Holly and Kipps’ interaction with Madame La Belle’s ghost, but eventually gone further off. Lockwood and Kipps patrolled together for some time, while Lucy and the others were on their own. Lockwood figured the experience with the mermaid tank rattled poor Kipps, so he let it slide.
Poor chap.
After Kipps mustered up some courage, he’d gone his separate ways. Lockwood gone down into the basement, where some girls had claimed they’d saw the ghost wander before, but saw nothing as of then. It was quiet, still, and just a little uneasy to him. Sure, he saw Death Glows here and there, but they weren’t bright. There was just something about that stillness that sent him on edge. It reminded him of the time that he and Lucy spent on the Other Side, of how still and cold it was.
That experience wasn't something he thought light of or even often. Hell, Lucy and him hardly talked about it. Lucy… another reason he didn’t like that still feeling, it reminded him of the moments, those split moments when he hadn’t felt her behind him as they ran across the green on the Other Side. It was the time when Lucy’s Spirit Cape had torn and she was bare to the elements of the Other Side.
When Lockwood had realized she wasn’t following him, he instantly scrambled back and saw the still, graying figure on the ground. She was covered in a sheen of ice and she wasn’t breathing. Lucy’s large, brown eyes wide open and staring ahead. For that split second, Lockwood’s entire world tilted and fell away. He called out and ran to her side, he grabbed her and pulled her up and against him underneath the cape. For a second or two, she didn’t breathe or react. He held her tight, rubbed his freehand over her arms, an attempt to coax the warmth of life back into her. When she gasped, Lockwood’s heart sang, he gripped her tighter to him, their faces were so close, but he wanted her closer, then again he wanted to turn her away, fear that the proximity wasn’t welcomed.
All the same, Lockwood detested anything that reminded him of those horrid moments. The moments he had thought he’d lost Lucy. The same moments that what was left of his fragile heart shattered into a million pieces and were irreparable.
Dear God, he hated this theater just for the reminder. His mind often wandered to how Lucy was doing, or that if the theatre affected her, or that she was safe enough…
“Lockwood,” there was a low, familiar chuckle. “Where are you, Lockwood?”
Lockwood tilted his head in question at the voice. “Luce? Is that you? Why are you down here? Did something happen?”
“Don’t be stupid, Lockwood; I would have already told you if I did see something.” she said in that gravelly voice that sent a thrill of pleasure through him. His heart clenched, suddenly, whatever gap there was between them in that moment hurt.
“Then why are you here? Where are you?” Lockwood asked.
“Over here, come here, please.”
“Lucy…” he hesitated, but the tug of need to be with her yanked, and his feet was moving on their own fruition. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Holly pass the doorway, she nodded to him, and asked Lucy if she had seen George. Oddly, Lucy hadn’t answered back.
Lockwood followed the echoes of Lucy’s voice, until he found her. She wasn’t dressed in her usual leggings and skirt, nor was her hair looked as if brushed once through, but rather neatly brushed and had a shine. Lucy was in a white, cocktail gown that hung just above her knees, which clung to her every curve and emphasized them. She had grown taller within the last year, with that, she’d grown into her weight and her curves. She was lovely and all Lockwood wanted to do was to tell her just that, but not question why she was dressed so.
Although he wanted to compliment her, the words never formed, like they often did whenever it concerned Lucy, instead he just wanted to show her. To wrap his arms around her, to memorize her warmth and shape against him. Mostly, he just wanted to--
“Come here, Lockwood.” her voice called out to him. “Come to the stage. I have something to show you.” her hand reached forward, coaxing him.
With that, she began to walk in the direction of the stage and he followed without hesitance. He watched how her hips swayed from side-to-side, how the dress flowed with every step. He meant it when he said that she was born for dress up gatherings, the way dresses suited her, and the way she could own a room with her presence. Lockwood knew that Lucy didn’t realize this either, nor really cared about such. She’d rather have a dirty old jacket and muddy boots. Not a girly bone in her body.
Oh, God, her body. She wasn’t aware of her beauty, and that made her even more beautiful to him. Sure, she wasn’t Penelope Fittes beautiful, but she was Lucy Joan Carlyle beautiful, she was her own beauty. He was distinctly aware of her beauty just the other day, with how Mr. Tuffnell’s eyes lingered over her, drawn to the width of her hips. The man had a thing for girls’ with large thighs, he hinted as much by mentioning one of his workers. He also had the gumption to insinuate that he could give her--and Holly a job at his show. Lockwood wanted to hit the fat bloke’s face in for that.
They’d reached the stage by this time, Lucy walked over to the center of it and stood. There was a draft there, which blew the skirt of her dress and hair over to the side. Lockwood’s breath caught at the sight. Since when did he become so captured by this girl? Recently? No. Since they first met? Possibly. How could one tell the exact moment that they became someone else’s? That’s what Lockwood was, he was Lucy’s, if she wanted him, if he ever grew a nerve to tell her as much. To tell her that he was undoubtedly devoted only to her, and could never imagine another in her place. However, having mostly grown up without much parental guidance, let alone someone to converse about romance, Lockwood’s amount of a romantic bone was close to nill.
He was just as hopeless in romance as he was hopelessly lost in his feelings for her.
In that moment, the tug of the distance grew unbearable, he wanted her in his arms. If he didn’t soon, it would be the end of him. He took another step forward, then another, and another. His steps heavy, his muscles tired, but he didn’t care. He knew he’d find relief once his arms were around Lucy.
Something tore through the air and slashed Lucy across the neck. Lockwood’s heart stuttered in place, as he watched Lucy’s head nearly topple off her shoulders, blood oozed down the front of her white dress. He wanted to move, he wanted to go to her, hold her, but his feet were stuck in place. Dear God, he just watched the woman he loved murdered in front of his own eyes, and he couldn’t move an inch.
His fault. His fault. Despair wailed into him. Another loved one died because of him. Jessica...and now Lucy...how could he live with himself? In fact, he wasn’t going to live at all. That was his plan. But first...he needed to be with her.
His feet began to move again, closer, closer, and closer still. There was a pressure of his chest, pushing him back, but he kept forward, desperate to hold Lucy’s still form in his arms. All he ever wanted was her, and now she’s gone. Gone in a blink of the eye. He couldn’t even cry or scream, he was just dead and cold.
“Lockwood!” her voice cried out to him, although he saw her head on the floor, staring blankly up at him. “It’s me! It’s Lucy!”
I am looking at you, Lucy; I am coming to you. was what he wanted to say, but the words fell on still lips. I’ve always looked at you, even when you weren’t looking, did you know that? He admitted to himself. You captured me with your presence. I could hardly ever take my eyes off you, even now. His throat clenched tight.
How could he go another moment without seeing her? After this, her body would go in the ground, behind many wards, just like his parents and sister. God, he’d pray for the day to see her ghost, but he won’t last that long, he guaranteed it.
Lockwood felt warmth on his hand. No more pushing, but desperate comfort and warmth. That got his attention, he drew his eyes from the blank eyed corpse of Lucy and looked in front of him. The image is distant, as if blurred and unfocused. He fought hard to see through it, until finally a shape formed: brown, pleading eyes, sulky lips, and those little, light freckled across her nose: Lucy. His heart leapt with both joy and relief.
“Hey Luce.” he said simply with a grin, realization ebbed its way back to him.
Lucy’s eyes, wet with unshed tears, spilled over, and a flash of anger gone through her features. He felt the slap before he realized that it was a slap, then before he could recover, there was another on the other side to match it. Lockwood took a back for a moment, reeling that Lucy both shed tears and slapped him in the same moment over him. He wasn’t angry at her, in fact, he was angry with himself, as he realized at what just happened.
His knees buckled, drained. Lucy gone down with him too, she clung to his lapels, sobbing lightly. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.” she gasped. “I-I thought I was going to lose you.”
He wanted to tell her the same, but chose to stay silent, instead, he reached around her waist and pulled her into an embrace. Oddly, what started this whole ordeal was his sole desire to hold her, and now he was, and she was shaking and sobbing against his neck. Then her arms went slack around him and her sobs quieted.
“Lucy?” Lockwood asked, leaning from her slightly, but there was no response. “Lucy!”
She had gone limp against him, her brow furrowed, face pale. “Shh, I’m okay, just tired.” she groaned. “She took a lot out of me.” her voice was faint, tired, like years had been drawn from her. “You took a lot out of me.” she gave a hoarse chuckle at that.
“I’m sorry.” was all Lockwood could say as he held her, her head rested against his shoulder. “Just rest for a bit. George, Kipps, and Holly have the rest.”
“What about you?” her eyelashes fluttered.
Lockwood grinned down at her. “Well, I have you, that alone is a big job.”
She forced a glare on her tired face. “I’d slap you again if I had the energy.”
“I know you would.” just the thought of her slapping him again stung. “That bloody hurt by the way.”
“Good.” she grinned.
“Not good, what if there’s reporters later?”
“Well, you’ll have a healthy flush in shape of hands.”
“Not funny.”
“So is.”
They laughed at that for a few moments, and Lucy gone still, resting her eyes, her weight and warmth against him. Guilt had struck him, as he looked up where she had come from. She had used the trapeze and leapt off the balcony above. Lockwood knew that Lucy hated heights and it took a toll on her nerve to commit to such an action. Yet still...she was his hero.
Simple as that. All Lockwood wanted to do was hold Lucy that night, it took a Specter in form of Lucy, and Lucy slicing through the air to save him from said Specter. He savored every moment of it, because he never knew when it would be his last.
As time moved forward, the desire of her in his arms still burned, but another replaced it. His hunger for her presence would never be satisfied, and Lockwood was fine with that, in fact, it excited him.
If I had never been in your arms Never danced that dance Never inhaled your slightly sweaty odor
Maybe I could sleep at night
If I had never held your hand Never been so close To the most kissable lips in the universe Never wanted ever so much To rest my tongue in your dimple
Maybe I could sleep at night
If I wasn’t so curious About whether or not you snore And when you sleep do you cuddle your pillow What you say when you wake up And if I tickle you Will you heartedly laugh
If this enchantment This bewilderment This longing Could cease
