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versadies · 1 year

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this time (alhaitham x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. this time (part two of next time)

ADDRESSED. alhaitham (w/ gn!reader)

STAMP. in which things have never been the same since your lover found you after you’ve been kidnapped, and tries to win your heart once more as well as for your forgiveness. (this is mostly on alhaitham’s pov after saving you)

CONTENT. angst/with-comfort, slight spoilers to sumeru archon quest (3.2), mentions of kidnapping, mentions of violence, reader now has a vision and is slightly traumatized, grammar errors, ooc alhaitham (only skimmed through his lore while writing this fic)

POST-SCRIPT. yipeeee it’s finally done !! special thanks to @crowbird who sent an ask about this fic, it’s acc what i was going for as well (but ive made reader suffered enough so i didnt go all out)

LINKS. masterlist \ taglist

How long has it been since Alhaitham has been waiting outside of Bimarstan?

He couldn’t recall, but neither did he care about that. What he cares more is what’s happening inside the hospital where you’re currently treated.

As soon as Alhaitham’s done with his part on the mission, he didn’t waste any time to start looking for you, his heart beating faster than ever from his worries of what the Akademiya has done to you.

Whatever they did, he hoped that you were okay.

With the help of Cyno and some of his friends, he managed to find out that you’re located in the desert, but not in a state he had hoped he’d find you in.

It took him two days until he finally found you in an abandoned hospital, only to see you standing in the middle of the room with a hollow look on your face, surrounded by fallen eremites and other people who are working for Azar–

Not to mention.. A vision in your hand, one that holds the symbol of anemo.

What happened?

Alhaitham paid no mind to the unconscious bodies on the ground, his focus is on you – who remains unaware that you have other company besides your captors.

“...( Name )?” He cautiously called out.

You immediately turn around when you heard a familiar voice, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of your lover standing not too far away from you, his weapon in hand–

Oh gods, what have you done?

It begins to dawn on you when you realize what you just did, causing you to start breathing heavily. “I… I didn’t mean to–” You look down at your shaking hands with wide eyes, “I didn’t mean to knock them– th-they tried to take me away, to some… to some guy who goes by the Doctor and I-I was so scared, I was freaking out and, and one of them was about to hit me and suddenly everyone’s jus–”

You find yourself falling onto your knees with a sob, the fear and anxiety you tried to hide for the past two days as you were pushed and dragged through the sand and heat slowly started to come out in the open.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” were all the words you could muster at the moment, not noticing how Alhaitham starts walking towards you.

It was only when you felt something warm beginning to wrap around you when you realized your lover’s hugging you in a comfort embrace, causing you to let out a shaky gasp.

“I don’t care what you did to them,” Alhaitham tells you, his heart shattering at the sight of you being frightened with yourself, “I’m just glad you’re okay now. You’re safe, ( Name ).”

He closes his eyes shut, not intending to let you go just yet. “I’m… I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry for leaving you. I regretted leaving you out of the dark with what I was doing and… I just wanted to keep you safe, but it seems it only made things dangerous for you instead.”

You couldn’t help but be taken back from how his words sounded so sincere, so genuine – you knew how your lover is with these kinds of things, so you knew just how much he means it when he apologized.

You couldn’t help but break into tears.

“It hurts so much…” You hiccuped, hugging him back as you sob. “I thought… I thought I did something wrong that made you–”

Your breath hitches when he holds onto you tighter. “This is never your fault. It’s mine alone for never considering how this would affect us badly. You’ve been nothing but an amazing person in my life and I took it for granted.” He said, angrier with his foolish self for making you feel this way for all this time.

“I… When I found out that they took you, I felt like I.. I’ve...” He struggles to find the right words to tell you just how scared he was when he found out about you being held captive by the Akademiya.

He relaxes when you start moving your arms around him. “I know..” You whispered reassuringly, as though you read his mind. “Just take me back, ‘Haitham.”

–

“Mr. Alhaitham?” Alhaitham’s thoughts are cut away when he hears the familiar voice of the doctor who took charge of healing you, causing him to stand up when he sees him walking out from the door.

“How’s ( Name )?” The scribe asks.

“They’re doing well. They just need more food, water, and plenty of rest and they’ll be okay. Though, we need to keep them under our watch for the rest of the week to check up on their major injuries now and then.” Zakariya then let out a sigh. “I just can’t believe their captors are heartless enough to not feed them well, not to mention the injuries inflicted on them. It was fortunate enough that you’re able to find them before things could’ve gone worse for your lover.”

Alhaitham’s heart feels broken once more when he hears about your condition, making him all the more angry that he wasn’t fast enough to find you (and the fact that Azar and his pathetic followers’ punishments aren’t enough).

“May I visit them now?” He asks.

The doctor nods in response. “I believe so. They were looking for you when they woke up.”

That was enough for Alhaitham to immediately come inside the hospital (not without thanking Zakariya, of course) and visit you, bringing your favorite meal that he made beforehand as well as flowers.

It reminded him of back when he was on his way to take you out on your first date together, with him always fixing his outfit (despite the fact that you’ve seen him wear it everyday) and checking if he has everything – as though he was a bit nervous.

By the time he eventually arrives to where you are, you notice his presence immediately, causing you to turn away from the view of your window and look at your lover.

The two of you stare at each other in silence, not knowing what to say.

Alhaitham decides to break the silence. “...How are you?”

“...Never been better, I suppose.” You respond quietly, looking down at your hands. “I mean, my lover’s finally talking to me after so long and I’m no longer blind and tied up for two days straight; not to mention how I didn’t kill anyone when I received my vision so… that’s good.” He winces from your words.

You then look up to where he is. “I can’t… forgive you so easily for what you’ve done as much as it sounds selfish of me.” You confessed.

Alhaitham shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. I expected you to not forgive me straight away.” He says reassuringly. “All I ask is if you could give me a chance to make everything up. Let me make up for the time we lost.”

You frowned. “Then what? Will you suddenly get busy again and ignore me for the next few months? A year maybe?”

“I won’t repeat what happened last time.” He said. “Not when it almost cost me to lose you.”

Your eyes soften. “I’m too scared to take the risk and experience the same thing all over again.” Deep down, you were touched when you heard from your nurse that your lover did everything he could to find you and get you back, as well as how he waited for a long long time until he was allowed to come inside the hospital and see you again – without reading a book even.

But you knew that you can’t just let what he did slide so easily.

“Trust me. Just one last time.” Alhaitham asks, almost in a desperate way. “If I mess up again, and I’ll make sure I won’t, then you can leave me.” He wanted to come closer to you, to sit down on the edge of the bed and place his hands on your wrapped hands in a reassuring way, but he didn’t want to overstep your boundaries. “If you still want to leave me without a chance, then that’s alright.”

You quietly think about what to do. As much as you’re heartbroken that your lover had ignored you for such a long time, you still unfortunately love that man, but you can’t forgive him just yet.

You let out a sigh. “I’ll give you one month to make it all up to me, then I’ll decide if I leave.” You said, causing his shoulders to relax.

“I won’t let you down, ( Name ).” He declares with confidence.

You smile lightly, now noticing the things he’s been holding throughout the whole conversation. “You do know that giving me my favorite food and my favorite flowers today isn’t enough to make me forgive you, right?”

Alhaitham hums. “I’m aware. I’m guessing that the hospital didn’t give you any food that you’re craving, so I thought about making it for you before I visit.”

You know he was right, although the hospital did give you food to eat, it didn’t match the sweet taste of the ones you’ve been longing to eat, such as the foods that your lover always cooks for you whenever he can just for you.

“Pretty sure they cooked better than you though.” You joked.

His lips slightly move upward. “Oh? Won’t you try and see if you’re right then?”

You scoot over a little, a small invitation for him to finally come up to you. “Only if you hand-feed me.” You said, thinking he’d refuse and make you eat it yourself.

To your surprise however, you underestimated just how much that man loves you.

“If that’s what you wish then.” Without hesitation, he instantly comes up to your bed and sits down next to you, putting your flowers next to your bed and unpacked your meal (you didn’t bother to point out how he looked so eager to do so).

As you eat your meal that he made, you can’t help but reminisce about the times when he used to do this to you. Particularly when you get sick and he has to take care of you, something that he always reassures you that he’s completely okay with it and willing to do it as long as it’s for you.

“I’ll have to cook meals for you everyday then if it makes you that happy.” He suddenly says as he feeds you, making you realize that you’ve been smiling the entire time. “What do you say about curry shrimp tomorrow when I visit here?”

“You’re going to visit here again?” You ask in a surprised tone. “Don’t you have things to do with the Akademiya?”

“Even in different situations, I’d still put everything down just to take care of you.” Alhaitham explains. “Don’t worry about my duties in the Akademiya, I’m sure they’ll be doing alright without my presence for a while.”

You hummed. “Alright then.”

–

Alhaitham is one dedicated man, you’d admit.

Everyday, he’d always come and visit you with a meal in hand, as well as things that could make you no longer be bored from lying down on the hospital bed all day. On some days, the two of you would play TCG (with Cyno, Kaveh and Tighnari whenever they visit you), read books together silently, listen to music together with his music player that he personally made when he first became the scribe, and even take a stroll around the street together.

You’re still reluctant with his company, but nevertheless, you didn’t feel uncomfortable from it.

Of course, there were other things you’d do whenever Alhaitham is away. Sometimes you’d be found helping the doctors and nurses taking care of the patients, taking care of all the flowers he gifted you, and so on.

Your injuries were slowly getting better, much to everyone’s relief, and you were no longer as shaken up as before from the incident that happened on the day Alhaitham found you.

Not that he asked you about it. Now that you think about it, not a single person dared to ask what happened to you during your kidnapping, nor did anyone ask how you got your anemo vision, excluding some clueless people who were unaware of what happened to you.

Cyno did a good job in making sure that it looked like the eremites and Azar’s subordinates were ambushed by him and Alhaitham and not you, not wanting you to get in trouble for simply defending yourself from your captors. You’re grateful that he never questioned you about what happened.

It was hard to get used to the vision that reminded you of what happened, but with your friends’ help, you managed to slowly live with it as well as learn how to use it to protect yourself better.

By the time you were released from the hospital, you’re surprised that Alhaitham’s still continuing to do the same thing he’s been doing for the past week.

During your meals, it was Alhaitham who’s been doing the cooking instead of you, with Kaveh whining about why he doesn’t get the same treatment. He also made sure to always kiss you goodbye before he sets off to tend to his duties in the Akademiya, something that you missed for so long.

For someone who has an unpredictable schedule, he always makes sure to make time for you, for what is freedom if he can’t enjoy it without you?

Slowly and surely, you begin to forgive him and find yourself smiling every now and then.

Sure, he’d sometimes come back home late, but it was never like last time. Sure, he’d sometimes be too focused on his work in his office, but it was never like last time. Unlike last time, you finally feel like you’re living with a lover and not a stranger.

Whenever you could, the two of you would go out in the woods and train your skills with your vision, something you’re grateful for since using a vision isn’t as easy as you thought it would be.

The kidnapping still haunted you with nightmares that made you lose sleep as well as some things that reminded you of it, but with Alhaitham, you feel less scared and more comforted from him, who always made sure to stay by your side and be with you when you needed it.

He’s more considerate than before, you’d admit.

Of course, you made sure to show your gratitude by visiting Alhaitham in his office in the Akademiya like you usually did before, secretly surprised with how he’s always found in his office despite the fact that he’s usually everywhere but there (it’s as if he’s been anticipating you to visit him), and give him a meal that you made before going your way to the Grand Bazaar.

Until one day, Alhaitham requested you something.

“When you come and visit me at the Akademiya…” You slowly waited for him to tell you to not come there, only for your eyes to widen at his next words. “...Do make sure to bring two meals so we can eat together.”

You processed what he just said to you. “You mean… eat our meals together? You and me?”

He nodded in response, looking as though he’s unbothered with what he said. “Who else if not you?”

You try to hide your smile before obliging his request. “I’ll keep it in mind then.”

Since then, you find yourself eating your meal with your lover whenever you come and visit.

You never dared to point out how his lunchbox is always clean and empty whenever he’s done with it.

Sometimes if time allows it, he’d also visit the Grand Bazaar to watch you perform on stage with Nilou, who’s shocked to see the scribe himself – especially with a fascinated look on his face as he watches you perform.

After your performance, Nilou couldn’t help but carefully ask him about his presence in a place such as the Grand Bazaar.

The man could only huff. “Am I not allowed to support my lover?” He comments. “Don’t mind my presence and go enjoy what you love just like what I’m doing right now.”

“Watching your lover?” She questioned quietly, looking back at where you are, who’s currently helping one of your colleagues with another task. “You must really love ( Name ), huh?”

“Not just love.” He clarifies, crossing his arms. “They’re my freedom and eternal oasis.”

Nilou feels touched by the scribe’s words. She could see now why you’re so willing to give him another chance.

“( Name ) feels the same way, if you’re wondering.” She said with a soft smile. “I hope you’ll continue to make them happy like they are now. It’s been so long since the Grand Bazaar’s last seen ( Name ) being this happy.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” Alhaitham assures the woman, his eyes softening at the sounds of you laughing at whatever your colleague told you. “I’ll make sure they’ll be happy, even if we’re no longer together like now.”

Even when you’re still hesitant to forgive him in fear that it’ll happen again, Alhaitham is willing to wait for you and prove to you that he won’t do the same thing ever again no matter how long it takes.

Just like how you waited for him to come home when he was nothing but distant, he’s willing to wait for you the same way.

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @nejibot @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @astrequa @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino @dudufodd @somberrock @yevenly @lemontum @nghing @shaiah @aintafraidtolove

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x gn reader #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x gn reader #al haitham x reader #al haitham x gn reader #alhaitham angst #genshin angst #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin scenarios #genshin fluff #genshin angst/comfort

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xxmaxwellxx · 1 month

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Can someone help me find some Sagau fics?

1. Alhaitham begs to see author/writer reader’s work and they’re a little insecure about their writing so they hand over some of their work and panic about what he thinks about it, eventually reader forgets giving to him only for him to publish their work. Reader panics and goes over to his house and kaveh opens the door and reader asks to speak with alhaitham and when they do he’s spewing praises. Edit: found this one! It’s Language Shenanigans by thatdeadaquarius!

2. There’s some kind of written language barrier in teyvat where the reader can’t read there and the characters can’t understand what they write and alhaitham kinda recognized what the reader was writing so he took them to the library and there’s like slang from 2015 carved into stone and it kinda horrifies reader. Edit: here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/thatdeadaquarius/706940879634628608/about-language-brainrot-imagine-writer-creator?source=share

3. Headcannons where the reader is playing shirtless and it flusters the characters, I remember reader going to the character selection and all of them were flustered, blushing and one sqeaked and stuttered through their voiceline

4. Reader stimming by clapping their thighs while playing and the characters are confused and flustered because they think something else is going on, I think xiao was in it and was blushing really hard lol Edit: I couldn’t find this on the master list so here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/fandangotales/698730573789806592/500-followers-event-about-your-prompt-could-you-do?source=share

5. Reader gets isekaied to teyvat and is very flustered by the characters because reader thinks they’re hot, they constantly avoid eye contact with the characters and it makes the characters think that looking at reader is some kind of grave sin, eventually reader bumps into zhongli and they make eye contact and reader blushes really hard and stutters and tries to look away but zhongli thinks something is wrong with reader and goes and fetches a healer only to find out that no, there’s nothing wrong with reader they just think the characters are hot. Edit: It’s a simp in Sagau by hiraya-rawr!

6. archons reading readers fanfiction. It somehow got into book form and has been circulating to the archons, I remember zhongli sitting behind the desk at the funeral parlor and being so focused on reading that he didn’t notice reader coming in and reader snatches the book from him only to be horrified because he was reading fanfic they wrote and him being like “is this another universe creator?”

7. The archons reading imposter au fanfic, I remember ei reading it and sobbing because she would never do something like that to the creator and zhongli says he would never kill reader because he’s worshipped them for years and why wouldn’t he recognize the creator???

8. Headcannons where The characters get isekaied into readers world. I remember reader walking into their office and finding the characters and thinking they’re cosplayers so the reader yells to their secretary thinking it’s a joke only for them to be real, I’m pretty sure scaramouche was in this one

9. The reader being isekaied into teyvat and thinking it’s a dream so they go to the dawn winery and gets drunk and accidentally cuts themselves to reveal gold blood, cue everyone freaking out and when diluc comes in for his shift the reader is sobbing asking why he hasn’t come home yet. Edit: Here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/hiraya-rawr/677068166680166400/diluc-drunk-creator-reader-creator-reader-waking?source=share

10. Headcannons where Reader likes to play glider chicken with them. They think their god is going to kill them only for them to pull out a glider last second and if the reader does it to much it becomes a tradition or something. Edit: I looked through their master list and I couldn’t find the name so here’s the link! https://www.tumblr.com/fandangotales/698541977190449152/i-have-a-request-for-the-500-follower-event-if?source=share

11. Venti sleeps with reader in their world and when reader is isekaied to teyvat. venti’s upset because the social standards are different and in teyvat if you sleep together that basically means you’re married so he’s upset because I think reader started flirting with the others? The last part is a little foggy but I remember venti being upset because he thought they were exclusive and reader is just like ‘wat?’

12. Reader being isekaied to teyvat and albedo keeping them at his house. They live with albedo and Klee and they only get discovered because they went out for a picnic or something and someone discovers reader and albedo is brought back and is to be punished but reader stops them from punishing them

13. Characters being isekaied to readers world and having nsfw thoughts about everyday items, this one is a little fuzzy so I can’t remember the details but one of them having nsfw thoughts about a spoon and thinking about readers saliva and other doing their laundry and wanking it over the washing machine. Edit: found this one! It’s Reverse isekai, Childe and Heizou in reader's home (MATURE CONTENT). By fandangotales!

14. Reader gets isekaied to teyvat with a gun and shows the characters how to use it

15. Sagau reader helps wanderer/kuni. It’s where reader goes out to his house to help him and at night when they’re in their futons he gets a boner and reader decides to help him in other ways

#fanfic #fanfic finder #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau cult au #sagau x reader #self aware genshin #sentient genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader

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spacedace · 9 months

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I don't know where this came from but here:

Damian, Jon and Elle are working out at the Teen Titan gym. Jon notices that Elle has stopped and is just staring at Damian and decides to sidle on over, both to tease his girlfriend and join her in watching their boyfriend go ham in the fight simulation program.

Jon: Enjoying the view?

Elle: huh? Oh no - well, yeah obviously, but that's not why I'm staring

Jon: Oh? What's up then? Something wrong with D?

Elle: No, nothing like that, it's just...

Jon: Just?

Elle: Does he pluck his eyebrows to be that shape?

Jon: ...what?

Elle: It just occured to me that his eyebrows are like, shaped like the wings of the bat symbol. Does he pluck them them to get that shape? Or are they natural? I mean, Batcow's "mask" is natural so...

Jon, a dawning realizationin his eyes: ...I - they've been that way since we were kids...

Elle: Yeah, I've seen pictures, but it's Day. Can you really tell me he wouldn't start doing it as a kid to as like a "see I'm totally the superior child, I even my eyebrows are dedicated to the cause" and then have to keep it up forever cause he couldn't just admit he was plucking his brows into that shape when he was a little bratty kid.

Jon: Oh my god he totally would

Damian finishes up at the simulation area and wanders over to his two partners to see what they're talking about

Damian: Hey-

Jon & Elle: Are your eyebrows real?!

Damian stops. States at them. Turns on his heel and just walks away from them without a word with both of them immediately chasing after him badgering him about his eyebrows.

(It takes another three months but they do eventually catch him painstakingly plucking his brows for that optimal Bat-Wing look)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dani phantom #danielle phantom #elle phantom #jon el kent #jon kent #jon lane kent #damien wayne #super serious chaos #they are three of the smartest people in the world and usually the smartest people in the room #but also they share a single braincell and like the fates from the movie Hercules they end up fighting over it & usually drop it #Damian plays it off like he's the one with the braincell here but let's be real #Simultaneously Jon & Elle are sharing it and no one has it #Jon & Elle when thry finally catch Damian plucking his brows for that perfect batwing arch: why don't you just use makeup #Damian unwilling to admit he's never thought of that in all these years: impractical #they're idiots your honor #but idiots *in love*

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rookisit · 6 months

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CROWS

/Just some theories and explanation/

ITS NOT A CROW SKULL!!!

ITS SOME SORT OF DEER

LOOKIE GUYS

this is a deer skull

notice they have teeth

This is a crow skull

See? No teeth

Now you might be asking: Rook, why the fuck would he have a picture of a deer skull? He has nothing to go with deer and everything to do with crows *dramatic hair flip*

With the book the image came with, he does

Deer and deer skulls represent intelligence, creativity, instinct, and regeneration depending on where you look (because of how deer shed and regrow their antlers). In mythology, they're also associated with the Moon, the dawn, and the direction east.

Now this might just be me taking massive amounts of copium, but I think everything that the skull represents can be tied into some sort of symbolism. The intelligence and creativity bit goes with qphilza's previous actions, as well as the instinct bit with his play style and how naturally cautious he is with things. The regeneration could be foreshadowing the regrowth of new feathers, and the renewal of his flight. The moon signifies the night (as mentioned it the book, it seems that night is important) the dawn could mean new beginnings, or again, regeneration. Also, for the non witches out there, the direction east is also associated with air. And if the book keeps calling him the child of the sky, well...

AHH IGNORE ME JUST KNOW ITS NOT A CROW SKULL

#qsmp #philza #qsmp philza #birdza #mcyt #philza minecraft #qsmpblr #Qsmp Philza #qsmp phil #qsmp theory #qsmp the horrors #Admins if you did all of this on purpose I am kissing you on the mouth

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roseofthewind · 3 months

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Every week I watch the new Frieren episode, and every week I go a little insane over all the moments Frieren and Fern have in the OP and ED. (This is just the second opening and ending, I'm not even going to touch the first ones.)

Fern doing Frieren's hair

Master - student parallels

The tassels on their staves touching? cmon

The outro is even better. Frieren starts off alone.

She's lying by a gravestone, at night.

Then we have the section with the sculpted figures. Frieren reaches for a blue flower- it hasn't bloomed yet, but any blue flower is going to bring to mind the Blue-Moon Weed, Himmel's favorite flower.

There's been a butterfly following Frieren around for a while. It lands on the flower.

Himmel has an association with butterflies, since there's one on the ring he gave Frieren, but Fern arguably has a stronger association with them. Fern's butterfly pin makes an appearance earlier in the outro, and the pin transforms into the butterfly that follows Frieren.

We also have this shot of Fern and many blue butterflies in the intro.

The butterfly and the blue flower transform into a girl with long hair and a long dress. The sculpted figures are almost completely white, so we don't see Fern's distinctive purple hair, but the figure resembles her regardless.

The line of the song that plays when the butterfly and the flower transform into Fern is: その涙だって大丈夫きっと夜が明けるよ "It's okay to cry, the dawn will surely come." This is a line referencing past grief but also showing hope for the future, and it's so poignant that it occurs while a symbol representing Himmel (past) and a symbol potentially representing both Himmel and Fern transforms into Fern (present/future).

Finally, we get a beautiful shot that starts on a blue flower, now fully opened-

and pans up to Frieren lying down, like she was earlier, but this time on Fern's lap.

It's daytime now, instead of night, and if the image has retained its quality, you might see Frieren has the most unbelievably tender expression on her face.

What this tells me, is that Frieren absolutely loved Himmel, in her own asexual-aromantic elf way, and that she also loves Fern, in much the same way.

I've been noticing Himmel and Fern parallels all over the place and I barely get into any of them here. If I included every moment in the actual show where it's obvious how much Fern and Frieren care about each other I would be here all day.

#frieren beyond journeys end #frieren at the funeral #sousou no frieren #frieren #fern frieren #unsure what ferns most popular tag actually is #its not like you can just tag her name and nothing else its kind of a plant...

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ladykinrannoch · 2 months

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Reading - Lots of secret planning behind the scenes for an abdication and succession?

So this morning I was listening to Tibetan Zen while I did my yoga stretches and 🧘‍♀️.

King Charles came across my mind this morning so I decided to check in with his energy.

As usual I had only three questions health, will we see him out and about this year and how does he feel about his reign.

Overall situation

Eight cups - this is tremendous sadness and regret and leaving something behind. As you can see on the card it is dawn but the full moon still high in the sky. Does this refer to radical life changes in eclipse season? Next solar eclipse is soon! Two cups are precariously placed. I am reading this as his two sons. There is a crab. As we know Diana was cancerian and the King is Scorpio. Two water signs. Camilla is also Cancerian. This is a card of leaving. The word that came to mind first was abdication. But this can also be a card of bereavement. 😥 Trigger warning now if you don't want to read further.

His health

Two Swords - a stalemate, a crossroads or a decision. Spookily they look like grave crosses. Notice the daffodils. The flower of Wales. Swords can also mean professionals like doctors. Because of the stalemate energy it makes me think the treatment is not working as it should? He could have asked for a second opinion? But in any event he is faced with a difficult health decision and he can't see all his options yet.

Will we see him out and about this year?

Six Cups - this is traditionally fond memories, peace and a visitor. A card of reminiscing about the past. It is a homely energy. In the context of the overall situation card I am saying it is not likely we will see him out and about as his treatment will possibly continue.

How does he feel about his reign?

Ace Swords - a beginning. This depiction of a Goddess Sword above the clouds with a fiery crown aloft. It made me think of Excalibur from Welsh mythology of King Arthur and the Arthurian Legends. And also sitting below the situation card of regrets makes me think he has regrets, and maybe the idea of being King didn't work out the way he expected. I also had the words of the song We've only just begun....by the Carpenters as an earwig ever since.

Outcome

The Magician. Typically using all the tools of the Craft to manifest reality. Notice the staff, sword chalice and wand. But also notice the eight point chaos magic star. Repeated twice. The 8-pointed star holds immense cultural and religious significance across various historical contexts. It symbolizes celestial entities like the moon, sun, planets, stars, and comets. Its origins trace back to ancient Mesopotamia, particularly Babylon, where it was closely associated with the goddesses Innana and later Ishtar.

The energy I am getting from this card relates to pomp and pageantry and I am reading it as succession planning which we know is going on at the moment. I think the card is highlighting that it is going on in earnest behind the scenes. It can also be trickster or illusion energy so this might not be straight forward succession planning there may be a twist to it. But in any event what is happening intensely behind closed doors is the setting of these highly secret plans.

Underlying energy - I took both. First was The High Priestess, keeper of secret knowledge, church and institution, also in these readings the BRF and LOS. Notice the the pillars and cloth in the background. It is reminiscent of the embroidered screen from the coronation. And The Tower was directly next. It is the toppling of a leader traditionally. Although in these readings it has come to mean any chaotic situation or sudden unexpected announcement/disaster/massive backfire. The Tower energy is sudden unexpected and devastating. As we know succession planning is underway and it really usually has two parts. A funeral and a coronation. And at the moment of the death of any monarch it is swiftly done. The King is Dead. Long live the King. What do they say on abdication? I have David's abdication speech on a CD of greatest speeches of all time. I must look for it.

I am sorry guys this is a really devastating reading. I am overwhelmed and crying. The energy is so sombre and sad. How difficult it must be to sit around a table and discuss these things... making decisions and scripting the whole process.

Dominant suits Swords and Cups. Weeks or months until we see any announcement. But I think it will be an abdication because of the Magician with 8 cups. I.e. not the usual way of transition. In any event, it will take us all by surprise, whatever happens.

Note I did not ask about abdication but the Universe wanted to give me its own answer. I never ever read on death not even on a gravely ill person. It is unethical to do so. So please no requests or speculation on this post on that matter. I am reading abdication.

#brf #british royal family #royal reading #tarot by ladykinrannoch

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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

Text

The Death Of Me (Daemon x Reader)

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(Y/n) Baratheon was a young maiden when she stepped foot at the red keep for the first time, the second born child of Boremund Baratheon, her brother was to inherit the throne after their father, she had only one reason and that was to wed, so naturally her father instructed her to visit the red keep for an eligible suitor.

She was present when prince Daemon became an official member of the kingsguard, under the eye of the seven he swore to never take a wife and devote his life to the kings guard, a symbol of his loyalty towards his dear brother and king Viserys.

“Such a shame, many women would love to ride the dragon”

Another woman whispered that stood pretty close to (y/n), she smirked at the promiscuous comment and internally agreed with the woman. Prince Daemon was a rather handsome man, his silver locks framed his masculine features perfectly.

Alas, the prince had made his decision and (y/n) was betrothed to king Viserys, her father had congratulated her by a sparing a kiss on her head and a forced smile, (y/n) was a simple obligation and a way to gain power for her father, affection was never shown to her.

The cycle continued even after she wed, she prayed that her husband would be kind and endearing to her, it quickly dawned on her that the king had married from obligation, on their wedding night he had called her by his late wife’s name “Aemma” he had whispered during the rather cold act of babe making.

(Y/n) had cried herself to sleep while the king snored, the next day she had requested to sleep in a separate chamber, a choice that found her lord husband to be relieved by it, not having to pretend to be a couple before bed, he was not cruel he was just… absent at everything.

“Your grace?”

Daemon questioned as he found the girl in the library, he had heard of someone whimpering in the room and was intrigued to find out who could it be. He was met with the wife of his brother crying with her face in her hands as her body shook from the sobs, her hair fell messily on her face and her cheeks were puffy from crying.

(Y/n) wiped her nose and tears quickly but not quick enough for Daemon to not notice them, he puffed out a breath and closed the door behind him before anyone saw her in this state.

“Has something happened?”

“No, no I am alright prince Daemon, you may go”

“You are clearly upset your grace, you can trust me I won’t tell a soul”

“I… I am just… lonely”

It was true. Every girl would kill to be called the queen of the seven kingdoms still the prince to pay for that tittle was a never ending loneliness, she had gone from a father that dismissed her and belittled her to a husband that acted like she had the black plague.

(Y/n) fiddled with her rings as she focused in stopping any other tears from falling. Daemons heart clenched at the sight of her, such a shame to see a woman cry due to the misery her wedlock had brought her, slowly he approached her and bend down in front of the queen, with his thumb he touched her chin and lifted her head to face him.

“It should be considered a sin for a man to make such a beautiful eyes cry”

“Why am I not good enough?”

She mumbled. Daemons lips stiffened at the question as (y/n) burst into tears again, Daemon loved his brother but to see a woman in such a terrible state of mind to the point that she questions herself was horrible and dishonourable, “why did he even marry her?” He thought as he took her in his arms to hug her.

“Hush now it’s not your fault”

He whispered to her to soothe her pain. (Y/n) looked up at him, he was so alluring with his armour and the light of the moon did wonders for him, he looked like an Angel the Gods send to her.

“Thank you”

She mumbled as her eyes focused on the princes lips, they looked so soft and… plump. Daemon started to notice the girls head leaning closer to him, his mind screamed to move away and leave but something in him compelled him to remain seated, to wait for her and see what she will do.

Her lips brushed against his hesitantly, anticipating to be denied and for the soldier to ran off probably never speaking to her again. To her shock he stayed, as (y/n) moved her lips to deepen the kiss further and out of instinct she sat on his lap with her legs straddling him.

Daemon had seem to forgotten where he was or what he was doing, he simply took in her faint smell of vanilla and wrapped his arms around her waist to bring her close, her lips felt heavenly as her body was hot against his finger tips. It only took the book that (y/n) had nearby to fall on the ground making a tug noice for Daemon to come out of her spell, pushing her back by holding her by her biceps.

“No”

“Why? Just a taste”

Her voice was low as she leaned into his neck and placed a few kisses, she had lost control of her morals nor did she care of the consequences, she wanted to feel good, to feel like someone wanted her.

Daemon leaned back and a groan left his lips, toying with the idea still in his mind a memory of his brother appeared, he pushed (y/n) away and went to the door, to his mistake he looked back at her as she stared at him and bit her lower lip, her nightgown was sheer he could see her nipples piercing through the material as she let out a girly giggle, she had the image of a succubus that had just found it’s next victim

“We shall never speak about this again”

“Whatever you say”

Daemon had done everything in his power to stay away from the queen, he had hated himself for going behind his brothers back and having an affair with his wife, he had broken his oath to the kings guard, he had brought shame to the bond with his brother, yet it only took a sweet touch and a pleading look as she stood at his doorstep almost naked for him to give in and spend another night with her.

Oh how sweet she was when she made love to him, she rode the dragon until the wheels fell off and the sun started rise, Daemon would sometimes wonder why did her brother dismiss her, (y/n) was hot as the dragons breath and burned everything.

(Y/n) found sanctuary in his arms, as she laid on his chest both of them naked and spoke about everything and anything, she finally found someone that listened to her, that took care of her, he had even taken it upon himself to become her sworn knight, spending his morrows protecting her and his nights nibbling in her intoxicating nectar, devouring her until she became a mess on his bed sheets and until he collapsed on top of her with the feeling that if he did not catch his breath he would die.

“We can keep doing this any more”

“What?”

“This is the last time you visit me (y/n)”

“I don’t understand, what did I do?”

She rose up from his chest to sit up on the bed and meet his eyes, they had just finished making love for the third time this night and now he was… announcing the end of their affair.

“(Y/n) we cannot keep up with this lie any longer, if we get discovered we will both be dead”

“Is that what this is to you? A lie?”

“You know I did not mean it this way”

“Fine, as you wish soldier”

“(Y/n) do not get angry”

(Y/n) ignored his request as she jumped off her bed to put her clothes on, she ran to retrieve her nightgowns with Daemon leaving the bed as well to stop her from getting even more irritated.

“(Y/n)-“

“No I understand, it is just a misfortune I wanted to let you know i am with child, your child but do not fret, it is not your problem any longer”

He stood there dumbfounded for a moment before he opened his door and called for her with a sheet covering his private part, she did not turn back she just left.

(Y/n) was playing chess when everyone was playing checkers, she was certain that on the morrow Daemon would find some time they were alone and question her about her pregnancy, she of course stood correct when he found her in her bed due to morning sickness, (y/n) was not feeling well and she had some nausea however she did lean more on the dramatic side.

How could Daemon stand against the woman that haunted his dreams when she had his child in her guts? He supported her and became her shadow as the months went by and her belly grew bigger, he had become even more protective of her as she walked around the castle, always having his hand on his sword just in case anyone came near her.

When she gave birth to his son it was the happiest day of his life, during the hour of the eel he had snuck in her room and was able to hold the babe for the first time, such a small human being brought the biggest amount of bliss and made his heart grow bigger as the baby cooed in his arms.

(Y/n) smiled at how Daemon was so careful with their little one, holding her like the babe would break under any amount of pressure, how easier things would have been if she had wed the prince and not the king.

“What’s his name?”

“Maegor”

“Such a scandalous choice”

“He is a scandalous son, the son of a love affair”

(Y/n) had given birth to 5 children, Maegor, Healena, Aemond, Gael and Baelon, all of the fruits of her forbidden affair with the prince, all of them loved dearly by their true father who had filled the void of his brother in the children’s hearts, Daemon was a better father than Viserys ever was, Daemon taught them everything from how to yield a sword to riding dragons.

However (y/n) always worried for her children, Maegor was the first son for king Viserys which meant he held a question to the other lords of who was meant to be the heir of the throne, Maegor held the name of a vicious conqueror and some would even say a cruel usurper, Maegor was a noble child but all this talk of his destiny as he stepped into his teenage years started to thrill him, he had grown obsessed with the story of Maegor the cruel and (y/n) feared of his future, he did not have room for such hostility if he were to rule.

It dawned quickly to (y/n) that with her lord husband growing weaker by the hour, the lords questioning Rhaenyras claim to the throne and making it even worst by giving birth to plain looking bastards that set her up for accusations, to add insult to injury Rhaenyra whispered things to her fathers ear about the legitimacy of (y/n)s children, it infuriated her at the audacity of her to expose her when she paraded her husbands and demanded respect for them while pointing the finger at (y/n), she must act if she wanted her children to be safe.

(Y/n) had wed her oldest Maegor with her daughter Heleana and then Aemond was betrothed to Baela Velaryon to keep the Sea snake on her side, Gael had been discussing into wedding the son of the Tully Lord which would give her an advantage if she also had the riverruns on her side.

“The king is dead, we grieve for Viserys the peaceful, our sovereign, our friend, my dear lord husband. But he has left us a gift, with his last breath he whispered to me that he wishes for our son Maegor to be his successor”

“Then we may proceed now with the full assurance of his blessing on our long-laid plans”

“Precisely lord Lannister, my son Maegor will be crowned king tomorrow at dawn with the Maegors crown, he will yield the sword blackfyre that belonged to Aegon the conqueror let the people remember the ancient strength of the house targaryen-“

She was interrupted by the door opening, Daemon had stormed out of the room furious. (Y/n) was scheming against Rhaenyra to usurp the throne, he loved the woman dearly but this had gone too far even for him.

(Y/n) proceeded with her plans and had given clear directions as what everyone must do and what were the plans that they should follow, after the brief meeting (y/n) went to her room, knowing that a furious Daemon awaited her.

Daemon stopped his pace when (y/n) appeared, she seemed to be unbothered by the scenery and casually went up to him to wrap her arms around his waist and reach up to place a kiss on his lips.

“What do you think your doing?”

“What seems to be the problem my love?”

“Problem? You are usurping the throne from Rhaenyra”

“Daemon you know this goes further than ambition, I am protecting our children”

Daemon scoffed at her claim. Their children were perfectly safe, Daemon had spend his entire life making sure of that, all of them had grown to be decent lords and maidens, they were sleeping safely in their chambers as their mother planned to pluck their first born on the throne.

“you think Rhaenyra will accept this without a fight?, her supporters will rally and bring war to our doorstep”

“Do you think of your lover as cruel? I have instructed to send terms for Rhaenyra, true terms that she can accept without shame, a generous act that she would not have reciprocated if she were in my position”

(Y/n) had worked hard for this moment, she had sacrificed her life to secure her children, she had suffered through a loveless marriage and got stuck with taking care of her infected husband until his last breath, she had listened to ladies at court whispering idiotic insults in her name because of her inability to speak up for herself, everyone had placed a target in her back and laughed at her inability to succeed their expectations. She would not bend the knee now, she did not suffer for it to not harbour any fruits.

“We have relied on one another for years my love, you have witnessed how I was thrown into the wolves defenceless, I have never begrudged Rhaenyra for her choices hell I sympathise with her every woman should feel the love of a man that… cares for her the way you have but everyone knows she has not returned the favour and you are the reason, because she wished to be the one you visit at night”

(Y/n) explained while taking steps towards daemon and had sneakily forced him to walk backwards to her bed, (y/n) sat him down before she straddled him and took his knife to rip open her corset, leaving her chest exposed with just a sheer white cloth of her undergarment.

Daemon sharply inhaled at her bold act, (y/n) had grown over the years and to his eyes she was even more thrilling, the experience she had gained suited her, she was not frail little dove anymore, more like a hawk ready to snag its prey.

“If she takes the throne I am doomed, she hates me Daemon. I have done everything and I was still not good enough, I’ve made peace with it but our children deserve better, I won’t let her have this, I sacrificed everything for this moment”

Her talk was macabre, her motions were erotic. (Y/n) had started to leave a trail of kisses on the princes neck, after years of spending their nights in pleasure she remembered exactly what his weak spots were. Daemon could not focus any longer, he moaned under the influence of her touch and lips as she nibbled at his earlobe and her hand found it’s way to his pants, Daemon defenceless against his lover groaned at the touch, throwing his head back at the pleasure her strokes so generously brought.

“(Y/n) she is my brothers daughter”

“do you love me Daemon?”

Her does eyes worked like a charm as she fluttered her eyelashes and stuck her bottom lip out just enough, Daemon was a fool for even thinking he could change her mind, he was always weak when it came to her getting what she wants. With her free hand she took his and placed it on her cheek and held it there, Daemons heart started to flutter, the influence she had over him was unmatched.

“Of course I love you”

“Then protect me, if she can have her bastards on the throne why can’t my child be king? our Maegor, our first… love child”

She guided his hand down to her breast to cup it and so he did, Daemon was flabbergasted and did not know where or how to focus so he resided on instinct and kissed her passionately, with a swift turn her back was on the mattress, she giggled as daemon used the dagger to tear up the rest of the clothing, leaving her like she was born… nude. (Y/n) stretched her hands to touch his face and bring him closer to her, her plan had worked and the dragon once again bows to the Stag.

“My dragon, will you protect our family? Will you take care of me?”

“You will be the death of me”

Requests are open!

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gingerylangylang1979 · 10 months

Text

Sydney, Love, Beauty

I don’t know if many others noticed but Syd seems to have glammed up a little in the later episodes of S2. It’s very slight, you would almost miss it but it’s there. She has on shiny sheer lip color (yes, her lips always looked so dry last season, thank you), a sliver of eyeliner, and a touch of mascara. I also noticed her lighting is much improved showing off her perfect skin.

Syd has always been attractive but it just really stuck out to me that after the arrival of Claire she’s looking just a tad more dolled up. Is it connected? Did the makeup artist just decide to experiment more? Will we see more changes in the future?

As a black woman I’m obviously going to analyze this more. Black women are always going to notice how we are portrayed onscreen aesthetically. I remember being so pissed, along with much of the black TWD fandom, about how wamp, wamp Michonne’s wigs were. Were we being reasonable? Would any of us have amazingly groomed dreads during a zombie apocalypse? It wasn’t like the white women had fresh blowouts. Was it on purpose or an oversight?

Back to Syd. They could keep Syd looking the same. They could change her to look more glam. Either choice has implications.

A lot of people read Sydney’s style as signaling that she’s a lesbian. That could make sense. Plenty of lesbians style themselves like Syd. But it could also mean nothing. I have two black women friends that dress very tomboyish and both are very straight. They are like sisters to me. I could testify in court they love dick. But especially for black women any sign of non feminine coded style signals gay. I think this feeds into people having a hard time seeing Syd as interested in men or having the show’s sex symbol attracted to her. She could turn out to be gay but I doubt it given the slow burn with Carmy. She could be bisexual which leaves possibilities open. But I think it’s very interesting that the production choices didn’t decide to make Syd a girlie girl when the writing is making her an object of men’s affections. Part of me is really into that.

On the other hand part of me would love to see her have a glam moment. But this could be potentially problematic. Syd has style but also seems to dress for practicality. So if she is consciously making an effort to look more feminine where is it coming from? Is she just growing into a new look? Is she trying to catch Carmy’s eye? Are the producers consciously trying to make her more appealing to the general audience as a romantic lead?

Personally, I would love to see Syd switch it up a little but not go too far. I would love her to have a more modern hairstyle. Box braids are classic but I want to see a more sophisticated, trendy style. Someone posted about her getting knotless boho braids or passion twists. I’m into it. I just feel like Syd is up on design and I want to see her step her game up as her career rises. I don’t mind the little bit of makeup we saw and would love to see a slightly bolder look if she has someplace to go that’s not a restaurant. On that note, can we please see her somewhere that’s not food related? I also wouldn’t mind seeing her in some lighter colors in her street wear. Her wardrobe was so dark this season.

What I don’t want to see is her doing like a full extreme makeover and that’s the thing that seems to be the catalyst for Carmy to realize he loves her. I feel like that’s fine in some white girl Cinderella story but leaves me cold in a black woman’s love story. And if they do a silk press and that’s her glow up I would be super pissed. I’m not anti her ever having straight hair but if it’s like oh, now the white boy falls for her I will ride at dawn to FX.

I wonder what Sydney’s perceptions of her looks are. She seems confident in so many ways. But, yeah, why did she decide to randomly have a glossy lip? Does she view herself as pretty? Has she dated? Has she been told she’s beautiful?

I’m rambling but my point is she can glow up a bit but I never want the messaging to be she had to “get pretty” to get the guy. If she makes changes I want it to be because she’s evolving, maybe a little flirty, but not thinking she has to be a different person to get who she wants.

#the bear fx #sydney adamu #ayo edebiri #carmy berzatto #carmy x sydney #black women on tv #black women in cinema #black beauty

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abyssruler · 1 year

Text

death knell

pairing: dottore x gn!reader

summary: you wake up without your memories, alone in a battlefield, and somehow find yourself in the care of perhaps the most dangerous man you could have stumbled upon — not that you would remember that.

note: based on this ask i got before about memory loss except the person who can't remember latches on to the one person they shouldn’t trust

You awake to a dull throb resonating in your head and something wet running down the side of your face. Your hand comes away covered in red after you place it over the aching spot in your temple. As your eyes roam the area around you, what you see leaves your heart pounding and breaths short.

A wreckage. Uprooted trees and scorched grass and large, melting pillars of ice surround you.

You have no recollection of what previously occurred. In fact, you note with wild eyes and clammy hands, you have no recollection of anything at all.

You’re injured and alone in the middle of what once was a battlefield, utterly vulnerable to any attack that may come. When the sound of footsteps from your right reaches your ears, you only have a moment to whip your head to the direction in fear, eyes briefly locking with golden ones that belong to a boy holding a sword. His face twists into something you can’t quite read, opening his mouth to yell something to you — but all you can focus on is the weapon in his hand and the ruins around you and how injured you are and how easily he could kill you if he so desired.

Before you can even make the decision to flee, a sheet of water envelops you, a dull glow emitting from the vision you only now notice. And within one second and the next, you’re gone from the boy’s sight, leaving him and his flying companion worried and confused.

You find yourself transported near the outskirts of a camp.

A man wearing fur coating jumps at your sudden appearance. He turns to you, his mouth twisted into a snarl before it parts in shock. “You’re—”

Your eyes rake over him, frenzied. He’s alone and far away from that field you woke up in and, most importantly, unarmed.

You latch on to his arm and plead, “I-I’m sorry, I know it’s strange coming from a complete stranger, but I need help. I woke up somewhere unfamiliar and I think—I think I may have lost my memories.” You lick your chapped, bloody lips, mind running a mile a minute. “I just need some directions to the nearest town. Anything.”

He seems to stare at you in disbelief.

You squeeze his arm. “Please.”

That seems to put him out of his trance. “I… yes, of course I’ll help you.” Something seems to set in his resolve. “In fact, I’ll show you to my master. He’s a doctor known for his genius, I’m sure he can… help you, regarding your situation.”

At the mention of a doctor, your nerves instantly ease, nearly collapsing to the ground in relief. You turn to the man with wide eyes, hope blooming in your chest.

He leads you inside the camp amidst a sea of similarly masked and dressed people who all stare as you approach. It has you hunching your shoulders but you reason their curiosity is due to the sight you must make — bleeding from the head, clothes singed, hair matted with blood and dirt.

You ignore the trepidation that rises from your mind.

The masked man stops by the entrance of a massive tent, larger than the ones surrounding it, indicating a sort of importance within the group. A symbol stands out stark by the flaps of the entrance, something about it niggling at the back of your head. It brings a strange sort of emotion straight to your stomach, a twisting sort of sensation not unlike that of nervousness.

It only now dawns in you how eery your surroundings are.

Too focused on that symbol, you startle when the man begins to speak to you. “Wait here for a moment. I need to explain the situation to Lord—I mean, the doctor first.”

You nod, watching him enter the tent and wondering why something in you is telling you to run, leave, alarms in your head ringing the more time you spend here in this camp with the strange masked people and the strange, oddly familiar symbol.

Before you can further contemplate your decisions, the flaps swing open, revealing the man who led you here. He gestures to the entrance, a sort of jittery air about him, shoulders tense and posture rigid.

There’s no going back, and there’s no reason for it either. It must be your nerves, strung high at being in an unfamiliar place without your memories to guide you. But still—

A hand makes its way to the small of your back and pushes you to the entrance.

The flaps behind you swing closed, the sound of the tarp smacking against its counterpart ringing in your ears. It sounds like a death knell.

There’s a man with his arms crossed standing just a few feet in front of you, masked just like the ones outside, but unlike them, he carries a sort of aura about him that distinguishes him from others.

He smiles, showcasing rows of sharp teeth that glint under the only source of light inside the tent. The sight of it makes something in you go cold, frozen, feeling like a prey under the gaze of a predator.

But no, you shake your head to rid yourself of such thoughts. That’s silly, he’s a doctor, someone here to help you.

The doctor’s lips stretch wider at your reaction, seemingly amused. But that must be how all doctors are, surely. There’s no reason to think he’s here to harm you, no, how ridiculous.

(Your heart is racing, your palms clammy, and you desperately ignore the voice at the back of your head telling you to turn your back and run.)

“Um, hello,” you start, tentatively taking a step forward, “He said you were a doctor? I’m sorry, I know it’s all sudden but—”

“There’s no need.” His voice carries a richness to it, a sort of drawl that captures the attention of anyone listening, alluring and oozing with authority.

(He sounds dangerous.)

The man stalks closer to you, expression indiscernible from the mask hiding the upper half of his face. Your body tenses at his approach, heart pounding and fingers itching to… to do what?

He stands fully in front of you now, only a mere feet away. Like this, you can see the little details in his clothes, including the symbol you saw earlier. “My recruit has explained to me all about your predicament. Rest assured, we the Fatui will do our utmost best to help you regain your memories.”

Your mind latches on to one thing. The Fatui.

(Leave, now.)

You stay rooted to your spot, looking at the doctor with unease.

Stupid, idiotic, paranoid little thing, your brain is. It must be a result of losing your memories, yes, that must be it. A defense mechanism. It’s the only logical explanation for why you’re feeling so unsettled in the presence of a stranger, someone who’s here to help you, even.

Except—

The doctor brings a hand up, reaching for you, gloved fingers inky dark beneath the lighting of the tent.

Your body moves before you can stop it.

His hand is slapped away, your hand coming to rest on the vision by your hip and your body shifting to a defensive position. Your fingers twitch, an urge to do something—to summon something.

His lips pull up in a grin, seeming almost… delighted by your reaction.

Not a second later and you’re apologizing, breaths shaky and hands twisting themselves in front of you as you look at him with wide eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. It’s just—I’m sorry—”

“You did nothing wrong. It’s perfectly normal for people who’ve lost their memories to be wary of others around them, even going so far as to attack anyone they deem even the slightest bit suspicious,” he explains, tilting his head to you, the light reflecting off his brightly colored hair. You wonder if you’ve seen such a color before. “You’ve reacted better than most in your situation, though. I will commend you for that.”

And something in you shifts, perhaps at his nonthreatening posture, or perhaps it’s the overwhelming feeling of relief that overtakes your entire being at knowing that you were being overly paranoid. The suspicion, the niggling feeling at the back of your mind, that desperate voice inside your head that continues to send alarms coursing through you — all of it is simply a result of losing your memories.

Yet why does your stomach twist with an unknown feeling? Legs tense, eyes acutely aware of the condensation in the air, and breaths short of becoming labored.

“Of course, it would be understandable if you doubt my words. I am, after all, a stranger in your eyes.” He brings his hands up as a sign of peace, and in an instant, you’re wracked with guilt for being so doubtful and untrusting of him. He’s only trying to help, and yet here you are questioning his motives when he’s done nothing to deserve such suspicion from you.

Your shoulders slump, exhaustion making its way to your face. “I’m really sorry. I’ve just been so confused and—especially because of the man holding a sword I saw earlier, I guess I just…”

“You needn’t explain any further, however…” His voice takes on an interested note. “That man you mentioned, could you describe him for me. The Fatui have a large network across Teyvat, we can help make sure this man can never approach you again if you think he’s a threat to your wellbeing.”

Something in you drops at the thought of never seeing that blonde-haired male again, but your reasoning wins out. Why would you want to see someone so dangerous? For all you know, he could’ve been the reason why you lost all your memories.

So, you turn to the doctor and tell him exactly what that blonde man with the floating pixie looked like.

By the end of it, he looks almost satisfied with your answer. This time, when he brings his hand up to gently pat the top of your head, you don’t move away.

You ignore the way your skin crawls at the contact, ignore the way your breath hitches and shoulders tense. But most of all, you ignore the desperate, paranoid voice inside you.

(Deplorable, wretched, idiotic fool! That man is—)

A result of your memory loss. Paranoia. That’s all that is.

“I’ll have some of my… assistants help you with settling in. The tent next to mine would be best for keeping track of your progress as we work to regain your memories.” His voice holds a hint of satisfaction in it, but your mind is too muddled to make much sense of it. Of why.

But you’re not in a hurry to look past that mask of his. Right now, you’re much too relieved at the thought of getting help, of having someone be there for you.

So you let him drape his arm across your back, his palm heavy on your shoulder as he leads you to a door by the side that he explains is a room filled with equipment necessary to clean up your other injuries.

He wraps the wound in your head with bandages, touch gentle yet lingering, sometimes far too much for your own comfort, but you reason with yourself. It’s the paranoia, nothing more. And when he leans in close, claiming it’s to inspect whether the gauze has been set properly, you ignore the way his hands settle on your shoulders, face close—so, so close (too close) you could almost lean forward and look under his mask.

And after the inspection is done, after he’s sent word to one of his assistants to bring food for you, you push away the doubts in your head. Uncertainty lingers in the corners of your eyes, but you’re willing to work through it, to accept the hand he’s offered to help you return back to your normal self, tuning out the voice in your head and the suspicions that rise at every little thing.

It’s normal, he said, to be wary. And what reason could you doubt the words of a doctor?

After he leads you to the tent you will be staying in for the foreseeable future, a hand on your waist — to assist you should you suddenly feel dizzy, he said — you look up at him and smile. “Thank you.”

And as you’re looking around, curious eyes taking note of your surroundings, you fail to notice the self-satisfied grin that paints itself on his lips.

No, Dottore thinks, relishing in the unguarded expression on your face and surreptitiously leaning in to let your sweet, heady, familiar scent wash over him, thank you.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #zandik x reader #gn reader

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sainttheodora · 5 months

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Arguments and symbolism in TBOSAS, or, why it couldn’t have ended any other way.

tldr: I think the biggest lesson from TBOSAS is that it’s less important to know what human nature really is (even if such a thing were possible) than it is to know what someone gains or loses from trying to convince you that humans inherently act one way or another.

Tswr:

It’s pretty clear that Coriolanus is, and it’s critical we say this as an individual, self important. This is a personality trait of his. He might have had it whether he was born during a war or peaceful democracy. But it’s also safe to say his personal experiences push him towards the belief that humans are inherently savage— which is the Hobbesian view and which has been historically used to justify totalitarian government since even a horrible government is better than a state of nature.

Sejanus is the foil. He represents Locke’s view on human nature which is that we aren’t all that bad, and that sometimes, disorganization and chaos is less bad than a totalitarian regime. I wasn’t surprised to see the m/m tags roll out between him and Coriolanus since there’s some obvious tension between their positions but they both share a common argument: BOTH claim to know what human nature “really” is.

So where does that leave Lucy? Or Rousseau? Or even the bigger takeaway?

In David Graebher’s last book, The Dawn of Everything, he is very careful to describe Rousseau’s social contract and, the dawn of human behavior. Where did the idea that humans were originally egalitarian come from? When did people decide to draw property lines and give themselves more than their neighbors? He uses anthropological evidence to cut through the centuries of argument between Locke and Hobbes to say that, maybe we don’t know, maybe it’s a bit of both.

Lucy Gray is NOT Sejanus, and from the very beginning she is shown to exist completely outside of their argument and even government as indigenous and part of a traveling band. That’s why she makes it a point to say she isn’t district, that’s why she moves in and out of Panem freely, it’s why we never get her POV, and why Coriolanus is constantly second guessing where he stands with her, or some of the deeper meanings of her music. *He doesn’t know her nature.*

And what does Dr. Gaul say? The type of government people need is derived from people’s nature. Coriolanus cannot control or overcome Lucy. Nothing she has “was ever worth keeping”. As an individual character, she is driven to self preservation which is the only leverage he ever has over her inside the games but quickly dissipates when she wins. We also know from later books where Katniss and Peeta are willing to commit suicide that even self preservation isn’t a consistent pillar of human nature either.

So what makes their romance so delicious? They’re drawn to each other because they quickly notice they’re both natural performers and they both need each other’s cooperation to succeed. And it’s no surprise that in a book all about human “nature” and who we authentically are theres also so much discussion about performance and anti-authenticity and why Coriolanus keeps bringing up the way Lucy Gray checks the mirror, dresses like a clown, performs, and stays in a literal monkey zoo. I think that’s why the zoo is so special for them is because it’s literally a place where nature meets performance. When animals are in a zoo, it’s manufactured nature and we know they will behave differently outside the bars. Similarly, when the humans are placed in the zoo, it’s manufactured performance with the assumption that they will soon act “naturally” (ie, self interested and evil) once placed in the hunger games.

I think this is where the cautionary tale for the reader becomes important and where Coriolanus let’s his need for power override his common sense: the hunger games are completely unnatural. They’re a continuation of the circus; the games are NOT humanity stripped bare because such a thing CANNOT exist. His problem initially is that he thinks “bare” human condition is what happens when humans are responding to injustice/crisis/war/poverty but I think he quickly realizes even this is bullshit since he adds a bunch of components to the games to make it more cinematic. He might at some point have thought everyone has an outer performance they cloak their internal “savage” nature with just like he does, just like the compact filled with poison, because he thinks people will do anything to get ahead, but I think that by the end he doesn’t even care about this. Its just another framework that services his ultimate quest for power at all costs.

So snow analyzes Lucy through the same lens he holds for himself but also realizes this doesn’t apply. He thinks she’s a singer and show woman with some interior nature he just cannot know. She’s a black box. She sings but even many of the songs just further the mystery of Lucy Gray who got lost in the snow. She tells him he knows the “ideal her, the real her” but maybe the real her is just whatever she is, or maybe she knew that this is the one thing he ever wanted from her and so she manipulates him with it— or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter to her.

So. If Snow always lands on top, but Lucy Gray exists in a framework where there is no top or bottom, he cannot ever control her. If a government must know its citizens’ nature to lead them, but Lucy Gray’s has no clear “nature” then he cannot control her either. So, he fabricated a story in his head about what she’s really like (Lucy Gray is no lamb). This story is NOT criticizing the idea that people have inherently evil nature— it is criticizing the compartmentalization of authentic and performative self. In other words, it’s a DECONSTRUCTION of the binary opposition elaborated by not only the compact, but the games themselves. This is super clear by the 74th games because by then, the games are clearly set up to have a performative phase with outfits and interviews, followed by the game itself where the competitors are at their most “base” selves. The carefully curated contrast between civility and chaos, or performance and authenticity, is what is supposed to scare people into thinking that the circus, or “authority” of gov’t is what keeps these elements in balance. Deconstructing this binary means admitting that we were always performing, and we were always being authentic, at the same time, continuously and always.

In the text, Snow is uneasy after the games end when he’s sent to 12 for several reasons but I think, whether he knows it or not, he’s most surprised that lucy acts the same as when he met her. She’s not much different from in the arena, and his frustrations when listening to her music or dealing with the reality of her simple country life read to me like he’s thinking: “why is she still doing this? There are no cameras here? Why is she still playing it up like this?”. He literally cannot wrap his mind around the fact that there are people whose very lives “are” performance and that they don’t separate themselves out like he does. He must also have realized that when they first developed their romance at the zoo that he characterized her incorrectly in thinking she was “on” and performing like him, and then he may never know if she meant anything by kissing him at all.

If snow had to acknowledge this was possible, that people do not have an internal and external self, then he would also have to acknowledge that people cannot be hiding raging self interest at all times which is policed by a government— then the world would have no need for him.

(The victor, like in any good story, is really Derrida)

So here’s the part that sucks. HOW do you even write fanfic without violating their personalities and making them entirely different characters? How does someone who enjoyed these characters get more than 2 hrs and 48 minutes or the og novel out of them when every decision is so clearly character driven? Either of them would have made the same choices in any universe together! And I think that’s what so maddening about this story for me and why I have reread the book so many times. Just like Snow says at the very end, not only is his rise to power inevitable, so is this story.

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #president snow #ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas spoilers

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afishmushy · 11 months

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Luffy = sun god, Law = moon god?

Some long-ass Analysis of this Theory! Enjoy !!

Warning: op manga spoilers ahead

first thing first,

Let us break down Law's name again. I found on Twitter, a translated tweet from a Japanese fan explaining that Law's taboo name isn't actually 'Water' but 'War Tale'.

The word used is ワーテル which is pronounced as "wāteru" and has no direct translation in English or any Language, unlike "水" (mizu) in Japanese. they point out that the same 'word manipulation' that happened to 'Laugh Tale' is applied here.

'war tale' according to Law is a taboo name, and his family for generations has...?

Let's take a minute and look at the Nefertiti family, for example, their duty was to protect the Ponegliffs all these years, also, The Kozuki Family's duty was to write the History on those Ponegliffs. ( there's actually a theory of them having a secret D as well)

Then, what is Law's Family rule? I am guessing something relating to inheriting or maintaining the records of the war that happened in the void century -The Story of War/ War tale- or some sacred wisdom or piece of Information. maybe Law had heard of the name Imu from his parents just like Copra did and that is why they keep their names secret - from Imu, which shockingly, knew Liliy for 800 years, and just now did Imu realize she is a D. So it runs in families?

Let me go back to why I think Law is related to the moon god despite the popular belief that Blackbeard is, in fact, the moon god.

here is Oda's statement for their flower:

Luffy=Sunflower

Law=Queen of the Night

So, these D boys are:

Luffy is the sun, Law is the moon, and Blackbeard is the eclipse and not the moon.

(Credit: @moustawott, on Tumbler)

Let's ponder Egyptian mythology for a sec, The god of the moon, Thoth, he is known for several things that sort of matches Law's actions and Characteristics:

( please notice the blue feather im dying)

Thoth helped the sun god ''Ra'' by providing him with magical spells to overcome obstacles during his nightly journey through the underworld( Luffy+ Law = Marineford).

2. He was depicted holding a writing palette and a reed pen, symbolizing his role as the divine record-keeper and lawgiver(war tale- Law's Family duty).

3. Thoth was also associated with medicine and healing. He was believed to possess knowledge of magical spells and remedies that could cure ailments and protect against diseases ( basically Law).

4. He was responsible for recording the verdict of the heart-weighing ceremony that determined if the person was able to continue on to the Afterlife (final operation theme).

5. in the eye of Hours, the sun is a symbol of good luck& the moon is a symbol of healing powers.

The moon is not the enemy of the sun, they co-exist, the moon is an ally that comes before the dawn. As Law broke the gear of the world in Punk Hazard, and announced the beginning of the new Area, a.k.a beginning of the Dawn.

Maybe Law isn't the moon god himself but he acts like a moon knight at least, since Luffy got to the new world, Law was at his side, as his guide from the darkness to the new dawn ( a bit romantic lol? not my intention really) and what drove Law to save Luffy at the Marineford was his instinct to protect the sun.

Another point is, Law's chest and back tattoos are clearly devoted to Cora, but his arms and hands show a wheel and sun-shaped circles, plus, his jolly roger, which I know is a rip off of doffy to piss him off BUT

when putting those next to each other, makes you wonder, right?

what made me come up with those biased, wild, and crazy ideas is this:

this cross is within a circle, the Solar Symbol cross. ( pointed out by @DawnDuskJapan on youtube, check it out)

the cross representing the rays of the sun and the circle representing the sun itself. It symbolizes life, vitality, and the power of the sun.

The ancient Shandians worshiped a Sun God, and The giants of Elbaf worship a Sun God as well, so maybe, The white city also worshiped the sun god? which Law subconsciously, added those features to his jolly Roger and tattoos.

Let's not forget, Both Law's and Luffy's devil fruits were what the WG wanted THE most.

in the end, I am ok with anyone calling me a nuthead.

#onepiecec1085 #trafalgar law #one piece #monkey d. luffy #will of d #sun god nika #onepiece theory #moon god #one piece imu #trafalgardwaterlaw #not a ship post but if you want to

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astralexpressarchives · 7 months

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Bird Symbolism on the Xianzhou

This all started with a question I asked my friend: "Well, have you ever seen a bird on the Xianzhou?"

Birds have played a major role in my very autistic investigations of Xianzhou lore. My intuition just knew that they were important so I started cataloguing every instance of birds appearing on the Xianzhou. I'll start with the more common appearances and then delve into the more obscure ones.

I would also like to preface this by saying I am not a bird scientist nor am I particularly interested in birds outside of the context of HSR. I simply noticed there were some repeating patterns and really wanted to make note of them.

So here's all the times I've seen a bird on the Xianzhou.

The Boring Ones

Sky-faring Commission/Starskiff Bird Symbol

This bird shows up all over the Xianzhou on buildings and signage. It is used on the signs indicating starskiffs but honestly can show up anywhere. Large associations with the sky-faring commission. Highly likely it is inspired by the white bird later in the post.

Jing Yuan's Finches

Another really obvious one as most people are familiar with his finches. As far as I know, they only appear in relation to Jing Yuan and don't seem to have any meaning outside of sheer vibes.

Before Dawn Lightcone:

"Do not make this decision lightly, general... Think about how you will be remembered in history..." The general of the Cloud Knights listens to his subordinates' words with eyes half-closed. "History will make its own judgment, but I have no interest in my legacy." "If I succeed, history will state that I am currently supremely confident in my masterful strategy." "But if I fail, then history will state that I am currently neglecting my duties in wanton pleasure, preferring finches over my people." A finch jumps down from his shoulder, and he extends his hand to catch the small creature. "I have simply made my own decision."

Yukong's Kestral

Similar to the bird that appears on Yanqing, Yukong's Kestral is a symbol that is connected to her beloved Caiyi.

Past and Future Lightcone:

The wings of the paper kite in her hands were broken, brutally reminding her of her beloved's tragic passing. She kneeled next to the fire of war, eyes full of sorrow. "If you are the only one left to do this, then our sacrifice would..." Gunfire raged on, painting the sky red without dampening its majesty. She looked up at the sky, eyes full of fury.

Edit: Qingque and Phoenix

These aren't related to anything as far as I can tell but there is also this bird that appears on Qingque's outfit.

There's also a phoenix that shows up in the Palace of Astrum and again in the Seven Arbiter Generals myriad. It may be something related to the history of the Xianzhou (the planet they came from in particular) because it appears on each of those panels outlining the backstory.

The Fun Ones

Yanqing's Swallow

Now starting to get into the territory of birds that are actually pretty interesting to the lore. The swallow is a bird that is literally everywhere on Yanqing. The painting is found near the Petrichor Inn. - this is significant because the Petrichor Inn has strong associations with the Vidyadhara. The also appear on the handle of his sword and in his splashart.

River Flows in Spring Lightcone:

The young boy took a short break from his sword practice. The sunlight was baking his already heated neck. He slowly got into the water, whose coldness touched his bare feet. When the bell chimes and birds tweet, even the people far away would know that springtime had arrived.

The Water Birds

Repeated appearance of birds made of water both in relation to Yanqing and found in cages in the Vidyadhara section of the Xianzhou. I believe these are some kind of spirit birds similar to the water creatures that swim through the Scalegorge Waterscape and Dan Heng's own azure dragon. These are probably similar to the Oceanids of Genshin Impact where they actually contain souls that take whatever shape they want in the water - probably the souls of dead Vidyadhara if I had to guess. Why are they being caged and sold around the Xianzhou in Vidyadhara areas? I have literally no idea at this point.

Yanqing has these ice swallows appear during his attacks. There's a recurring theme of swords containing souls in Xianxia stories which is also loosely connected to the concept of Blade's sword graveyard in the Hellscape. I think Yanqing's ice birds are somehow souls similar to the water birds caged around the Xianzhou.

The uber weird part about all of this is how at the end of Yanqing's ultimate you see this image. In the background of the image are the mountains associated strongly with the Vidyadhara and Dan Heng in particular.

I don't know what this means for Yanqing right now but he is an expy of a pre-existing character from Honkai Impact 3rd: Ma Yanqing. They probably have some plan for him that isn't immediately apparent right now but I would like to point out that his grandmaster, Jingliu, is also heavily associated with the mountain moon realm and can also summon a sword made of water/ice. This does not appear to be a technique known by anyone else and Jingliu herself needed to defeat the abomination in order to acquire her singular ice sword.

The Crane

Appearing initially only on Dan Feng's clothing, the crane has made a comeback in the new Cloud Knights Martial Doctrine, On Swords myriad trailer. They are significant because the also appear among the mountain realm and the moon. Notice the association Jingliu, Yanqing, and Dan Heng in particular.

The Black Bird

So not all the birds in this picture are distinctly black but their colour is ambiguous and they are similarly shaped so I'm lumping them together. They all appear in association with the mountain area - Blade's sword graveyard is also in the mountain area. The top right picture is from Dan Heng's first fansong.

The White Bird

Not sure what species of bird this is supposed to be but there's a white bird that appears repeatedly in association with the mountain realm. More specifically, it appears among the clouds and may freely travel from the Scalegorge to the Mountains through the hole in the clouds. Bottom left is from Blade's fansong. I think these birds may represent souls and the dead in the same way that Blade's spiderlilies and swords do.

There's also this bird above the realm-keeping commission that I'm unsure how to categorize because of it's unique shape but it's also among the mountains and moon.

Edit: Dan Shu's Bird

This one is actually important for the spirit bird concept. In the Longevous Disciple relic set she tells us of a story that inspires her:

According to the legend, a certain delvemaster saved her partner by placing their soul into a bird, granting them immortality. However, she eventually could not resist the call of the avian and also transformed into a bird, flying alongside them. Over time, the delvemaster became confused and lost her true form, becoming a half-feathered, half-human monster. When her subjects stormed the palace and pierced her with blazing spears and arrows, the two birds sang a final mournful song and turned to ashes together. She loved this story so much that she took the essence and marrow of birds and transformed them in the alchemical furnace, then had someone weave these materials into a luxurious feather coat. She could not see just how beautiful the coat was, but nonetheless enjoyed walking around the house while wearing it — it was meant to be seen by a person who no longer existed. As the garb fluttered, she always felt that a bird-like soul was flying and passing through her hands and shoulders, ever-present.

It's not clear how much of the legend is actually true but it could be inspired by the spirit birds.

I think I've said just about everything that I wanted to say. I'm curious if anyone else has any thoughts on the birds. I've listed most of them but there are one or two paintings I left out from fear of repetition.

I have a lot of additional Thoughts about the birds but I'll leave that for another post.

#honkai star rail #hsr #jing yuan #yanqing #yukong #dan heng #blade #xianzhou #jingliu #hsr lore #vidyadhara #qingque #dan shu

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philliam-writes · 11 months

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you are in the earth of me [05]

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Warnings: violence, death (minor character), ptsd and anxiety (but also sort of comfort)

Summary: Your name. He snarls your name; your name that is sharpened against the marble of his teeth like a weapon, a spark that rips into the marrow of your bones. Like a hook yanking you back into the present, the now. The fight leaves your body, you sag against the ground as you choke on adrenaline. And his—Lockwood’s nails dig deep, half-crescents of fire into your skin. “Come. Back.”

Notes: [01] || [04] | [06]

Words: 7k

A/N: a longer chapter cuz where i initially wanted to stop didn't feel like enough and i really wanted another cliffhanger. next chapter will be about reader's past and i can't wait to introduce you all to matthew. i also rlly enjoyed writing this (especially the whole possession bit, and after that it sort of turned meh). hope you guys enjoy!

05: carry whispers from the dead

You wake up hours before dawn, anxious and restless. The black bookshelves stand like dark, tall shadows around you, silent sentinels guarding you in your sleep. It’s the first time you’re alone with your thoughts; locking them away behind a brittle door works only for so long until they break out and descend like ravenous hyenas upon your despair.

Astonishing, how your whole life has turned upside down within two days. Working for Rotwell has never been your dream job, but it was secure, the payment always on time and there was prestige to it. If this is a sign to change professions, switch to a safer job with less risk to die a horrible death at the hands of ghosts and ghouls or any other occupational hazards, you’re blind to it.

Imagining yourself doing anything else than what you’ve done for more than a decade is near impossible—you’re good at getting rid of ghosts, swinging a rapier and chucking salt bombs across the yard with a sharp shooter’s precision. Anything else? Hopeless case. Your hobbies? None that you want to turn into a profession.

Freedom is a bitter, foreign taste, but one you know you will grow accustomed to. Getting your business running will have to wait though until you’ve solved the greater mystery. Into the dark, you draw the badge’s symbol with your index finger. Even with your eyes closed, you can still see it clearly, printed against the inside of your eyelids.

Why does it feel so familiar? Where have you seen it before? This feeling isn’t just curiosity; it is recognition and the profound desire to understand like hooks sitting deep beneath your skin.

Time trickles away, slowly like sand passing through an hourglass when behind the heavy dark curtains a slim sliver of grey grows as the world lightens. The house comes alive; wood creaks quietly as someone stalks downstairs. They pause in front of the library door, and you expect the door to creak open any second. But then they move back to the staircase, and down into the kitchen. You wait for a full minute before you get up, change into a new, fresh set of clothes and follow.

Morning light streams into the kitchen, softening every counter. When you enter the room, there is a voice talking—and then suddenly stopping. Lucy whirls around, her hands resting against the kitchen sink as she prepares to brew a pot of tea. Her eyes are wide, and then they pivot to something on the counter, something you haven’t seen until then. It’s a sealed silver-glass with a skull swimming inside the contained liquid. A skull menacingly cutting horrid grimaces your way.

Stopping mid-way to rubbing the remaining exhaustion from your eyes, you drop your arm. “That’s a Ghost-jar,” you notice, surprised. “You guys own a Ghost-jar?”

Lucy looks over—no, exchanges a glance with the skull inside the jar. Then she shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant as if that is nothing uncommon, but her shoulders are stiff. “It’s George’s,” she says quickly. “He’s erm … he’s doing research on it.”

“I thought only the big agencies have access to those.” You cross the kitchen to get a better look at it, bending down slightly so you’re eye-level. The skull manifests bits and pieces of flaky skin onto its bone, as though conjuring what it used to look like before it presses the masses of rotting flesh against the thick class, squashing its nose against it. “For something that’s dead, it seems very lively.”

Suddenly the skull stills. The skin peels back until it’s only bone, and the ectoplasm inside the jar flares in an ominous green light. You think it’s staring right at you, through you, even. Where its teeth stack neatly against each other, it moves them up and down, up and down as though . . .

“That’s funny. It looks as if it’s talking.” And then you remember a voice coming from the kitchen when you came downstairs. You look up at Lucy, brows furrowed. “Wait, were you talking to it?”

But Lucy is staring at you, a puzzled expression on her face. You’re sure your face must be a mirror of hers, because she couldn’t have had a conversation with the skull, right? She must have simply talked to it, like you talk to your pets when you’re alone with them and pretend as tough they understand you. Anything else would mean this is a Type Three ghost. Anything else would mean Lucy is able to hold a conversation with it and understand it. Something like this hasn’t happened since Marissa Fittes.

Lucy is relieved of an answer when her colleagues enter the sunlit kitchen, filling the tense silence between you with idle chatter. Your eyes draw involuntarily to Lockwood—this time not due to the early husky morning voice he unsuspectingly wields like a bludgeon, not knowing what effect it has on you, not because he just said “Stop sticking the skull inside the oven, George.”

You stare at Lockwood because this is the first time you see him not wearing his suit and tie, but a normal, plain, white T-shirt over grey sweatpants. It’s like seeing him without his armour, broken down to something so simple and casual, something so … intimate. The short sleeves end just under his shoulders, showing his arms which are . . . not particularly muscular, but he still fills out his shirt nicely. The neckline dips low against his collarbones, showing his long, elegant neck. He looks like any other boy—man, you think to yourself. Worse even, he looks exactly your type. You like to think of yourself as a very determined person, but nothing in the world can dissuade you from letting your gaze roam down his lean frame, and linger at this hips where his shirt hikes up to reveal a generous expanse of pale skin. Lower, against the grey fabric, there is a clear outline of—

“Let us know when you’re done.” George’s voice pounds like a sledgehammer against your eardrums. You whirl, stare at him staring at you staring at Lockwood, and hope the ground opens up under your feet and swallows you.

Lockwood locks eyes with you, and grins. A boyish, cheerful grin, showing the slightly pointy canines on either side of his teeth—which you find adorable. Why do you suddenly notice all these things about him? Maybe you need to plunge your head under the water tap to cool off. Or a nice punch to the jaw.

“Morning,” Lockwood says. “I see you’ve met our agency’s . . . mascot.”

The green light flares behind you, and when you look, the skull is spinning wildly in its jar, jerking up and down. You imagine if it could shake a fist at Lockwood, it would.

“Charming.” You clear your throat, making way for George who makes a face at you as if you’re an annoying fly that buzzes around his head. “Does it have a name?”

“We, uh . . . just call him Skull,” Lucy provides.

You look at the skull, which impressively manages to roll its eyes. Not that it has eyes. But you got the impression it is annoyed, which must be your imagination. This thing doesn’t understand you. “So you just hang out with it?”

“No, we—” Lockwood rests a pointed look on Lucy as he reaches for the jar and hefts it off the counter to store it inside a cupboard “—usually keep it away because it ruins George’s appetite. We’re no friends or comrades of ghosts.”

“Yeah.” George shuffles past you to put the kettle on. “It’s not like we can talk to it anyway. And it doesn’t talk to us. That would be weird.”

All three of you look at him as he sets four mugs on the counter, nailing the coffin shut with four distinct clings of porcelain on wood. You’re pretty sure they can talk to it, and it talks to them. That indeed is weird.

Breakfast is quickly done though you barely feel hungry, instead just push a lump of scrambled egg around the plate with your fork. It seems like any other day for the agents of Lockwood & Co. You watch Lucy take a huge bite off her avocado-egg-toast, and keep staring for a moment. From the other Rotwell girls you were used to seeing them taking dainty little bites out of their dishes, nibbling at them like soft baby rabbits.

There is nothing soft or delicate about the way Lucy eats. You feel your heart warm up to the sight, a knot in your stomach slowly untying until you relax into your chair.

When she notices your eyes on her, she pauses, even stops chewing as though you’ve caught her in a most horrible act. So you tear into a waffle drowned in maple syrup as if you’re a starving woman without any table manners. To your utter astonishment, Lucy begins to smile slowly, like the moon slipping slowly beneath the waves of a lake.

Now you wish you had agreed to her and George staying. After clearing the table to spread out everything they’d pack into their kit, watching Lucy and George ready and geared-up leaving through the front door after a few quiet words with Lockwood peels your nerves raw.

It shuts with a soft click, throwing the entrance hall in shadow, and then you’re all alone with Anthony Lockwood. A thought that sparks a shot of hot tingles crawling up your lower back, settling in your shoulders and turning the muscle harder than stone.

Lockwood, noticing how tense you’ve grown, draws slowly closer as if approaching a cornered animal. “It’s going to be fine,” he says, and for a moment it seems as though he’s reaching his hand up to—touch you? Place it on your shoulder to take some of the tension off? But then his hand changes course and settles at his neck where he rubs the skin under his jaw. “I—and Kipps—got you into this mess. I’m somewhat responsible for you now, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You are numb from tension. The word responsibility scrapes along your spinal cord like a jagged knife. “I’m nobody’s responsibility,” you say quietly. “Least of all yours.”

Lockwood leans away as though your words are a physical force pushing him away. You see his throat bob as he swallows, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Come on, Tony. Let’s get this over with while it’s not too bright outside.”

He doesn’t say anything but you have grown familiar with his displeased expression—pricked eyebrows, pursed lips, dark eyes unfathomable as though veiled by heavy dark curtains. You begin to understand why Kipps always riles him up; it’s kind of fun to see his composure crack, to get under his skin and see the restrain crumble—it makes him tense in all the right places.

“Wait here,” he orders and disappears back into the kitchen and through the cellar door. He thunders down a spiral staircase, and a moment later you hear a heavy iron door squeal open.

When Lockwood returns, a small iron box in his fist, he juts his chin towards the opposite door from the kitchen, meaning for you to follow. He leads you into the living room where you got patched up when you first arrived at Portland Row. He draws the heavy curtains shut, swallowing the room in shadow, then moves some furniture to the side, leaving the space in the middle of the room empty where he drags a single chair over and motions for you to sit down.

This is it. You take place trying not to look as if he’s asking you to sit in an electric chair to execute you. Lockwood towers before you, arms crossed, tapping his slender fingers against his biceps.

“You really don’t have to do it,” he says, surprising you again with how reluctant he is to go through with this plan. But what else can you do? You take your glove off quickly, like ripping off a band-aid before you can rethink your choice. Something so small and unremarkable like this key shouldn’t invoke so much terror and anxiety in you. It’s like a pair of hot tongues that if left unattended will burn a hole in the rug, but with nowhere to place, you don’t know how to get rid of it so you just have to hold and endure it. Instead of an answer, you hold out your hand, palm facing up.

Lockwood pauses, holds your gaze. “Ready?”

You’ll never be. But something about his dark eyes is like an anchor, and you stare at him, embossing the elegant lines and planes of his face into your mind and hope it will pull you back from wherever your mind will dive into in a second. You nod.

Lockwood takes your wrist gingerly, as if any hasty movement might draw you away. Not averting his eyes from you, he places the key into your open palm.

In that one second before your mind becomes blank, you think he pushes the rough pads of his fingers into your skin, a warm, solid weight in comparison to the ice-cold Source, but before you can wonder if it’s just your imagination, the world goes dark.

Touching is a lot like being suspended in water. Dark, murky water with no bottom, no surface. One moment you see your own face, and then it is another that you don’t recognise and then it just feels like drowning. The psychic whiplash pierces through you like a hot bullet. A roaring tide of emotions rolls over you, drowning you in overlapping echoes of the past.

Fury. Anger. Greed. But beneath all that, deeper than the roots of old trees: hopelessness. Fear.

Countless deaths and unspeakable violence is tied to this Source, but only the very recent was grave enough to tie a ghost to it—to have someone hold onto it with nails that now sink into your flesh and pull you down, down, deeper down as he claws his way back to the other side—your side, and you wonder Why, why, why and as you sink deeper, let your consciousness drop to the dark, bottomless pit, you find the answer inside a gnawing, razor-sharp maw that swallows you in one bite: Revenge.

The realisation pours like ice-cold water over your limbs; locks them tight, like a second skin stretching over yours—too tight, too cold; then too hot. Your heart shrinks to the size of a small, hard stone as the words pour from your mouth.

“It’s not fair,” you sigh. Your voice sounds strange, so feminine. Tears prickle behind your eyes. “It’s not fair, I worked for it. I went through Hell just to get it from this bloody Relic-man. It cost me a fortune, it almost cost me my life. My life.”

You have become lost to the world, a voice says, not yours, a girl’s voice, and you repeat it, in a sing-song voice, quietly, “I’ve become lost to the world.” It feels like something important is missing. “Ah, I wasted so much time.”

There’s sadness, but it isn’t a pitying sadness; it’s a larger sadness, one that seems to encompass all the poor striving people, the billions living their lives, a sadness that mingles with a wonder of awe at how hard humans everywhere try to live, even when their days are so very difficult, even when their circumstances are so wretched.

Life is so sad, you’d think in those moments. “Life is so sad,” you repeat out loud, “my life for that key, so many lives for that key and I did all those things, those things I did—”

“What is the key for?” a voice—a boy’s voice—asks.

You snap your eyes open. You’re in a living room, a small spacious one with comfy old furniture and curious things lining the walls. There’s a lanky boy staring at you, arms crossed. An iron rapier glints off from where it lies on a table, easily within his reach.

When you look down and see the key—the key for the box—the coldness in your chest doesn’t feel as suffocating.

“Oh.” You smile. “I thought—I thought I’d lost it. I thought I—”

You swallow. Your chest hurts, the coldness passing for hot, searing pain that makes breathing harder. Thinking harder. You scratch your arm, dig your nails deep into your soft skin. It’s an old habit, feeling like ants crawl all over your skin when you’re anxious—or is it his habit?

A sob tears through you as you try to force air into lungs crushed by grief. “I didn’t want—I didn’t mean to do all the things—BUT HE LEFT ME NO CHOICE!”

The boy reels back, hand swivelling towards the rapier. “Who?” he asks, his voice is raised and he looks spooked as if he can’t quite believe what is happening. You feel the same. You feel like something is trying to crawl its way out of your throat—black-ink in your throat wanting to spill out and tell and yield and become something (someone).

You press your fists into your eyes, hard. Why can’t you remember how you got here? Your head hurts, the ants—not the normal types, but fire ants—crawling all over your skin are on a death-march to put you under the ground and you need to get out, get out, get out—

—he needed to get out. The sounds of heavy boot slapping on pavement followed him all the way to Lee Tunnel. He thought Relic-men were an easy enough target, nasty people, ugly and disgusting like vermin beneath his boots, but nothing, and nobody, was ever easy when it came to money. And this was exceptionally Big money with capital B. No more debts, no more crawling in the dirt to beg for more time, more chances—he could finally move away with sweet Emily and build a new life after he split the profit. They dreamt of Italy, somewhere where the spring is warm and smells of the earth.

He just needed to get out and away and find— They were supposed to meet here, somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere nobody would ever expect to see esteemed—. The smell of foul sewage mixed with rainwater made him choke back on bile. Last time, this was the last time.

A blind end. He whirled around, all the way back then, but that’s when the Relic-man caught up to him, delivering a pipe right into his gut. He staggered down to his knees (not yet), sprawling on all four (not yet, not yet), spit blood onto the cold concrete ground. When he tried to get back up, the pipe came down again, hard, against his knee and he felt the bone shatter. He’s screaming (you’re screaming), and he presses a hand right against his pocket, that’s where he held the key, that’s where he held his future, but was this worth dying for?

They were supposed to meet here. So he screamed. A soundless scream (you’re no Listener after all), a wailing scream for someone that from childhood on, had been trained to respond to it. To rise from bed when he cried, to run to help him when he fell down (and you recognise this feeling as you crash into the ground—the ground is a mirror, a lake inside an ocean inside a world filled with turmoil, and you’re so, so scared, why is nobody holding you).

The first shot rang out. A heavy body fell on top of him, and grunting, he pushed it aside. The pain in his leg was excruciating now. Saved. He was saved by—.

Reaching into his inside pocket, he pulled out the small box with the key, rising to his feet under so much effort he felt like might faint from it. He lifted the box. He smiled.

The second shot rang out. His heavy body fell to the ground. He was confused. His chest hurt. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. But nothing, and nobody, was ever easy when it came to money. Not even—, but how could he? How could he?

No more debts, no more crawling in the dirt to beg for more time, more chances; he won’t move away with sweet Emily and build a new life. Confusion. Betrayal was its own death by a thousand cuts.

He was aware—was drawing closer. He was aware of the rushing canals under the ground; the labyrinth-belly of a monster running beneath London. With trembling fingers, he opened the box. He picked up the key. That wretched, wretched key. His future. My life, he was thinking, my life. And then he threw it into the sewers.

There’s a hand around your wrist, shaking you. When the room comes back into sudden focus, the boy is looking at you, eyes wide. He looks almost frightened.

“Give me the key,” he says with an impatience to his voice as though this isn’t the first time he’s asking for it. You see red.

“No!” You jump to your feet, bearing your teeth. “Nobody except me can have it, it is mine!”

“No,” he replies, calmly. There is something about this voice, a part of you remembers, something calming and alluring like a cup of warm milk with honey. “This is not you. You are trapped in an echo, these are the Visitor’s feelings and memories. You need to let go.”

You look at him, a pressure behind your eyes wants to remember, wants to trust him. You shake your head. “No. Not again.”

The door is to your left and you charge for it, surprising the boy enough he lets go of your wrist—but you only make it a few steps before hands catch your arms in a vice-grip and he’s shouting a name—not his name, whose name is that, it’s a woman’s name.

You drop your head forward and then swing it back. There’s a crack when the back of your head smashes against his nose. He lets go, loses his balance and falls. Another step towards the door.

Again, his hand, this time around your ankle. The world spins as you fall to the ground, bracing for impact with your hands—don’t let go of the key, never let go of the key—your knuckles scrape along the rug as you twist your hand and kick out, but the boy is already on top of you, pushing you into the hard ground, your wrists next to your head as he pins you down.

“Look at me, hey— Look at me!”

You thrash around, shake your head, if only your hands were free you could curl your fingers around his throat and make him let go—

Your name. He snarls your name; your name that is sharpened against the marble of his teeth like a weapon, a spark that rips into the marrow of your bones. Like a hook yanking you back into the present, the now.

The fight leaves your body, you sag against the ground as you choke on adrenaline. And his—Lockwood’s nails dig deep, half-crescents of fire into your skin.

“Come. Back.” Two single words, punched out of him and hitting you deep in the gut. There’s blood, on his nose and lips, on his white shirt. You’ve never seen this expression on his face, his dark eyes are haunted, his cheeks hollowed as though he’s an empty shell.

“Lockwood,” you croak. He flinches, and something in his face changes. “Lockwood, why do you look like shit?”

Lockwood stares at you. Stares some more. His lips are slightly parted—he’s a mouth breather, you realise. And then he sags with relief, his head falling forward. His face disappears behind the fringe of his dark hair and you want to reach up and brush it away but he’s still holding you. You can feel your pulse hammering against his palms.

He lifts his head back up, eyes locking with yours. His right hand slowly moves to your clenched fist, fingertips grazing your skin and sending shivers up your arm to your spine. He taps against your curled fingers. Like a flower opening her petals, your fingers unwind from the key and he takes it from you.

Lockwood leans back, his body leaving your space. He settles on his heels, his chest rising and falling. His tongue quickly darts out, the tip running over his bottom lip and he flinches from the blood on his mouth.

You keep lying on the ground for another heartbeat, pressing your back harder into the surface to remind yourself this is your body. You’re in control. The memories are rushing back right about now, rising up your throat. You sit up in a rush, and stare at Lockwood who looks dead tired.

He only raises his eyebrows at your expression—seeing something waiting on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t speak around the words, choke on them.

“Matthew. Wake up, my brother. Please wake up.”

Your voice was insistent, and from childhood Matthew had been trained to respond to it. To rise from the bed when you cried, to run to help you when you fell down (is this your or the Visitor’s memory?).

“His brother.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “His brother killed him.” The words were out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. Your breath catches, and a sharp pain cracks in your heart—perhaps the worst kind of all. And then you break down crying and you don’t care that you’re crying in front of Anthony Lockwood because how could he. How could he?

“So that’s how the key got into the sewer system and eventually landed at the flooded C Station. He did all that so it wouldn’t fall into his killer’s hands.” Lockwood reaches into the open package tucked between your and his thigh, pulling out a few dried apple rings.

You’re sitting on the living room’s floor, legs stretched out on the rug, backs leaning against the back of the sofa, arms pressed against each other. It seems possession from a psychic connection and nearly breaking his nose brings people closer than you’ve expected. Your mugs long cold, your eyes puffy and red from crying, you watch him press the cold compress against his face. He winces slightly when he turns to look at you.

“Sorry,” you say for the third time. “I wasn’t aware a Visitor could even do that.”

Lockwood waves you off. “Come off it,” he says. “That wasn’t you.”

“Well. Maybe I did feel a little satisfaction knocking you out like that.”

Lockwood grunts, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “We’ve had something similar happen to Lucy.” He drops his hand into his lap. He’s cleaned the blood from his face, but the collar of his shirt is still stained dark. “It was nowhere near this violent, but . . . I’ve seen it. And I still agreed to this. I shouldn’t have.”

“It was my decision.” You stare down at your gloved hands. Dried apple crumbs stick to the fabric. “And it did give us some answers.”

“But not where the key fits.” Lockwood nibbles on an apple piece. “Let’s hope Luce and George have more luck at the Archive.”

“And there’s still the matter of the man that attacked me. I think Karim might be right. He doesn’t necessarily have to be the killer.”

Lockwood chews on that for a moment. “You said he smelled of what? Liquor? What if he’s another Relic-man?”

“Tidiest Relic-man I’ve ever seen.” You scrunch your nose. “It was . . . something heavy. Whiskey, or rum, I’m not sure.”

“I can ask someone about that.”

“Ah, dragging someone else into this case? Good idea.”

Lockwood flashes you a bright grin—you categorise it as his signature Lockwood grin. “I’ve always been a big fan of the more the merrier.”

You tilt your head, your mouth slowly curling into a mocking curve.

Lockwood dips his head to you, and his voice is husky when he murmurs, “Thank you. For helping us out.”

You didn’t expect this. Heat crawls up your neck, but you have a hard time looking away from Lockwood’s dark eyes. He’s beautiful. The thought rattles like a marble inside your head, a pretty, shining marble that is very hard to catch.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” Your voice matches his volume, low and almost a whisper. “I’m doing this for personal benefits only.”

“I didn’t expect anything different from someone who’s worked for Rotwell.”

You smile at each other. It feels safe, it feels good. Professional. Which is why you ignore the weird flutter in your stomach, the treacherous feeling of hunger and more that is just the post-adrenaline settling. Maybe you should have a second breakfast.

Outside, the phone rings. Lockwood picks himself up, groaning slightly. When he leaves to pick it up, you inspect the marks he’s left on your wrist, from his nails, his fingertips, pretending you don’t like his imprints on your skin as though you’re a thing fashioned from a potter’s—his—hands.

When Lockwood returns, he leans against the doorframe, both hands tugged into the pockets of his trousers. “Luce just called. Seems like your little library pass didn’t just get them insight on the symbol, but also additional info on the case booked for tonight. George found new information that leads him to believe this might be a double haunting.”

That would prove more difficult for only two agents, especially if it’s not clear yet which Types the ghosts are. You think you know the question Lockwood is about to ask, so you beat him to it, “Want me to tag along?”

Lockwood smiles. It seems like a challenge. “I trust you’re capable of working in a team?”

You climb to your feet, using the sofa as support. “We’ve already been through this. We are in this together,” you echo back his words from the previous day. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

“Tragic.” Lockwood doesn’t sound as if he’ll lose sleep over this. “Meet you back here in fifteen. I’ll call a cab.”

You quickly finish the apple crumbs left in the package and hurry up to the library to change into your gear. A dark turtle neck, comfortable pants, and sturdy boots you’ll put on downstairs. You’ve put on your gear harness, arming yourself with everything you’ll need on the case in quick and easily accessible: one canister of Greek Fire, two vials of lavender water, a couple of salt bombs. In your kit are stowed your other utensils like different thermometers (depending on which one still works), a flash (you’re not sure when you’ve last changed the batteries), two chain nets (at least one is without holes), a long rope of iron chains (newly purchased). Last but not least, your rapier. The Solinger Rapier is a good piece of work, you can give Lockwood a little credit for that. It feels good to be ready and in gear, you feel like donning your armour isn’t just a physical thing but putting your mind into a high-defence vault too.

If you think too much back on what you’ve seen in the Visitor’s memory, it’ll shake you up again, and just for the rest of tonight, you want to be a functioning agent doing your job.

Grabbing your kit, you vault back downstairs where you find Lockwood in the kitchen refilling the last of his salt bombs. He’s changed as well, wearing his signature suit and a long trench-coat. His socks peek out from his slippers, a bright pink.

“Take some of those,” he says without looking at you, nodding towards the counter. There’s gum, chocolate barns, cookie bags and a box full of tea bags. You stuff the cookies and tea bags into your kit. Lockwood stashes the rest when the door rings. “And that’s our ride.”

There’s an energy you feel strumming in his bones as though he’s a high-strung fuse read to blow. He turns around—and stops. Lockwood just stares. He stares at your uniform, which isn’t really a uniform because you don’t wear a jacket anymore. He seems particularly interested in the gear harness hugging your upper body, sitting snugly around your shoulders, your chest, your shoulder blades.

You raise your eyebrows to your hairline. “Everything all right, Tony?”

Lockwood clears his throat. “Please stop calling me that.” You might be wrong, but it looks like he’s a little flushed. Maybe all the blood he’s lost from his nose injury earlier is finally rushing back to his head.

“Why, you don’t like being called Tony?”

“I really, really don’t.” He takes his kit and moves to the entry hall, putting on his shoes. You follow and mirror him. “Why? Because of Kipps?”

“Because of my sister.”

You almost topple over. You didn’t know he has a sister, and Kipps has never mentioned her either—and that’s not strange at all, lots of people have siblings. What makes you pause is the way Lockwood said it. He makes it sound as though having a sister is tragic.

When you look at him, his expression is already a shut door, his eyes closed windows. He will not say anything more on that subject, his whole body language makes that pretty clear: he’s drawn a line and he drew it hard, using it as a blueprint to build a brick wall. Whatever door he feels like building in, only he has the key and you don’t think he’ll allow you back in anytime soon.

You wonder if he accidentally slipped up. If he said something he wasn’t planning on saying, and now he regrets it. He regrets that you know.

It’s like the last two hours didn’t happen when you found some sort of solace in each other after the Visitor possessed you. You’re used to rejection, but this still tastes bitter. This tastes like a whole bloody basket of lemons turning your whole mouth inside out.

So you don’t say anything, just follow him outside and into the cab where Lockwood gives the driver clipped instructions where to go. The car speeds off, the silence between you stretches on and settles like an unwanted animal scratching at the closed door between you. You wonder what happens if the door splinters and the creature creeps inside.

Through the late afternoon streets where the citizens deal with their last errands and the city sidewalks begin to thin out of people. Curfew is in another two hours. Soon, only agents and ghosts will roam these streets. The cab halts near Bermondsey station. Lockwood pays the driver and turns sharply to the meeting point. You trudge along. Years previously, when Bermondsey was a centre of industry instead of a trendy neighbourhood full of art galleries and coffee shops, the Crawford Ironworks were a textile factory. Now it is an enormous brick shell whose inside has been emptied and left vacant. The floor is made up of overlapping squares of rusty steel; slender steel beams arc overhead, wrapped with ropes of grimy black wires. Ornate wrought iron staircases spiral up to catwalks decorated with hanging plants. A massive cantilevered glass ceiling opens onto a view of the steel-grey sky. There is even a terrace outside, built out over the Thames, with a spectacular view of the Tower Bridge, which looms overhead, stretching from Bermondsey to Whitechapel like a spear of tinselled ice.

Lucy and George are sitting on the main iron staircase, their conversation is too quiet to hear when you approach. They don’t seem surprised you’ve joined their case, but you don’t miss George’s eyes squinting behind his glasses when he sees you.

“I heard you found something,” you say, holding out your hand to George who reluctantly gives back your library pass. “Hope you had fun while it lasted, Karim.”

He mutters something under his breath. Lucy juts her elbow into his side. “The Leviathan’s Cross,” she says aloud, pausing, you think, for dramatic effect. “Ever heard of that?”

Lockwood and you exchange looks. You both shake your heads. You ignore your heart stumbling over itself. The symbol is familiar, but the name is not.

George’s eyes pin Lockwood to the wall. “They’re something like our dear Orpheus Society.”

“Ah.” Lockwood straightens his impeccably straight tie. “And I assume there was no address? No membership list, no picture of the CEO and their phone number?”

George rolls his eyes. “Don’t try to be funny, it never works.”

You raise your hand like a little kid at school. “What’s the Orpheus Society?”

George, Lucy, and Lockwood hold a full silent conversation with their eyes and facial expressions only. In the end, Lockwood says, “You know, let’s save this for later and get the job done first. After that, we can pour all our resources into figuring out what we’ve learnt.”

“Fair enough.” You clap your hands, rub them together in anticipation for an evening out doing what you do best. “Where did you set up base?”

Command centre, as George likes to call it, is in a former employee kitchen alcove tugged right between two open-plan offices that take up both floors above the main hall. Lucy is cleaning up the empty mugs after you all had tea while George and Lockwood fill you in on the job, explaining that a couple of days ago the owner of this factory (a small man with a slim face reminding them of a rat) asked for their services. He plans to sell the compound, but it’s always been haunted and he needs to get rid of the ghosts before handing the building over.

“At least one ghost was definitely seen on the top floor by the night watch,” George says between two ravenous bites into his cookie. “Worker’s garb, they hear machines going off at night, and there are two cold spots up there. I think the ghosts manage to work in shifts. That’s why everyone thought it’s just one.”

“That’s impossible,” you say, breaking off another piece of chocolate with your teeth. “They’d have to be intelligent to work out something like changing when one appears and the other doesn’t. Ghosts don’t care for that, they haunt simultaneously.”

George raises both hands. “I don’t make the rules.”

“But you research all this, you should get your facts straight.”

“Want to bet? When we’re up there, just start screaming when two ghosts start killing you, OK?”

“It’s not impossible,” Lockwood chimes in. He spends the time until evening falls with a crossword book spread over his lap, his tongue tucked between his teeth. You focus on any part of his face except his mouth. “Remember the two Spectres we got down in Lambeth? Someone put their bones together and when one stirred, the other came back too.” Your eyes land on Lockwood’s crossword puzzle, which he is poorly hiding, and you see that he isn’t solving the puzzle but merely colouring in the empty boxes.

“It’s almost time we go up.” Lucy looks at her watch. “Sun’s setting.”

“All right.” Lockwood slaps the book closed happily, flicking his pen into his kit. “We’ll go up and measure the temperature first, place our iron chains and put up defence rings.” He stretches, that high-strung energy back. You get the feeling if Lockwood isn’t on a case or his mind not occupied with solving a problem, he might combust from all that need to act; to do something.

You’ve got everything you need when you notice Lucy hauling a hefty, bulky backpack onto her shoulders, readjusting the straps.

“Looks heavy,” you notice. “They’re not forcing you to carry all the equipment, are they?”

“No, it’s—” She shakes her head as if trying to shake off cobwebs. “I just like to be double careful. Better have one iron chain more, you know?”

You nod. That makes sense.

All geared up and ready, George leads you past the inoperable lift to the staircase at the end of hallway. He opens the doors and you fill into a rectangular room that you think might have been pearly white once, but years of decay and neglect have darkened the walls. Huge dark rings from water damage stretch like growing mould alongside the iron staircase that you ascend to the upper floor.

Lockwood stops at the door, turning towards you and Lucy. “Ladies, if you don’t mind.” He puts his hand on the handle and pushes it down but doesn’t open the door yet. “I think your Talents might be more useful than mine.”

Lucy and you exchange a look. She nods towards Lockwood, and he slowly swings the door open. Lucy ventures inside, you hard on her heels. You can immediately tell she zones out right then and there, trying to pick up any psychic auditory echoes. You put your gloved fingers to the wall, brushing along the crumbling masonry. Dried, dusty mortar sticks to the tip of your fingers. Exhaustion washes over you, tiredness from overwork, from a general unhappiness of working too hard, working too long but it’s never enough, never enough. If you could sum it all up it would be a feeling of depression, a hopelessness settling deep into your bones.

Unease pokes its crooked finger into your stomach, stirring its contents. Misery. One wave, then another—much deeper, a twin echo that doesn’t quite feel the same. The second echo hits deeper, plummets steeper, the sudden realisation that someone who has been part of your life is gone and why would you remain in a world where they are not?

You rip your hand back from the wall, and slowly turn to George.

“Karim.” You voice is nothing but a whisper. “What did you say those ghosts were? To each other, I mean.”

George scratches his belly under his shirt. “I didn’t. But nice of you to ask. They were twins.”

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#lockwood show #lockwood books #lockwood & co #l&c #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co reader #reader insert #lockwood and co reader insert #phill.l&c

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