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selarina · 10 months

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Ode to Psyche

The King's Gambit

-> Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Summary: A fallen Princess battles against her captivity in a tower pitted against the usurper Gojo Satoru, but soon their relationship shifts from hostility to a delicate alliance.

Content Warnings: usurper gojo, war, gothic au, politics, power dynamics, isolation, manipulation, forced marriage, psychological drama, enemies to lovers, dubious morality, beauty and the beast motif, implied sexual undertones, violence (non-graphic), feelings of inferiority, infidelity (but not really), suicidal thoughts, mention of death

Read on AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3

You're a member of the Royal Family, and after a lengthy and frankly boring fight against the enemy, they emerge victorious. They're led to glory by a few distant allies, clans to be precise, who seemed to have turned against your family.

At the front of this alliance stands a man called Gojo Satoru — with otherworldly features like white hair, and a general tall looming presence that you can't fully explain. His eyes seem to have never seen the light of day for you to even place color to them. It's always tightly wrapped with a gray or eggshell white cloth, and yet he moves the same as any other able person if not better. He seems to be faster and stronger than anyone else in this entire kingdom.

Some days you find yourself believing this yourself. You hate him but he is strong, and a strategist at heart. When you play chess with him, he's always playing the Closed Ruy Lopez, the Slav Defense, and of course, the Queen's Gambit — your personal favorite. He's always playing the long game and alas, always winning.

But mostly you think you hate him because he makes you feel less than what you were, less than god to be precise. You are Royalty — were — it's complex, but you were once always bathed in gold, and your hands were always soft because you never had to lift a single thing in your life unless it was you who wanted. But now they bear a calloused nature with bruises because you are stubborn and will not let these foreign hands touch your skin. But mostly, you hate him because you were smart. You were smart because you could be — I mean, who's to question a Princess?

But now you're talked over — walked over — by men and women alike who were previously less than dirt to you, and it leaves you reeling with enormous sadness and pure unbridled rage.

You want it back, you want it all back.

You're still a Princess, you think as you're trapped in the tall tower. You will feign incompetence, and they will believe you because who's to question a mere Princess? And then you will strategize, and you can marry or slit all of their throats — whatever works out faster, you will do.

But Gojo Satoru is cruel at heart. It may be a game of strategy that you know to play all too well, but it twinges something in you. He refuses to let you bury your father in your family grounds that have been told to hold a divine link between Heaven and Hell themselves, all because he needed to make a message and couldn't be seen to show empathy to your family — even in death.

And you're almost certain he considered just killing you but kept you strategically alive because the very first time you sneaked out of your tower before you realized you could never truly escape his eyes, you realized that his hold on this kingdom wavers greatly, and you could easily find a few allies and win the kingdom over yourself.

But it seems Gojo Satoru knew this all too well, because now you stand to be forever betrothed to the man. He announces this the very first time you win against him at chess. Maybe he knew of this and let you have a small victory as comeuppance. Now your gloating seems to akin to a player gloating over collecting pawns on the board.

After refusing to let you leave the tower, refusing to make your marriage a real one, after he married and brought in another mistress to further strengthen the kingdom after he killed your brother — your only remaining family — you think you've had enough of this indignation. You don't just feel less than god, you feel less than human, less than mere dirt.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, almost nearing a year after the war, you found yourself increasingly trapped in a peculiar dance with Gojo Satoru. His visits became a regular occurrence, and he no longer visits just for intel on the proceedings of the kingdom. Each time he entered the tower, he brought with him an array of gifts. His gifts varied from rare and exotic books to delicate trinkets from distant lands. You couldn't help but wonder if these offerings were genuine gestures of goodwill or just another move on his intricate board.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Gojo Satoru walked into the tower. The golden hue cast across his face as he carried a small, intricately carved box. He placed it before you, and as you opened it, you saw a delicate silver pendant, a radiant sapphire at its center.

"It belonged to my mother," he said softly, his eyes betraying a hint of melancholy. "She once told me that it held a piece of the night sky within it."

You casually dismissed the pendant, fully aware of the history it carried. Throughout the kingdom, the tales of Gojo's tumultuous relationship with his mother were well-known—filled with heated arguments that culminated in her tragic demise, a victim of a mysterious poison. With a derisive snort, you sneered, "And what of it?"

"Perhaps nothing," he replied. He smirked. "Merely a token of my appreciation for our… ongoing conversations."

As the pendant lay discarded on the table, Gojo's smirk only seemed to grow. His eyes appeared to study you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The year at this tower and his occasional company have driven you a bit insane. If only you could unravel the cloth that hides his eyes. You would be content. You think you could fling yourself off this tower, and you would be okay in Hell with the company of his eyes and only his eyes. You think again.

"What do you want, Gojo?" you finally spat out, breaking the tense silence. "Your trinkets mean nothing to me."

He chuckled. A low and slightly chilling sound that reverberated through the room. "Oh! But isn't that where you're wrong, my Queen?"

He stepped closer, his presence seemingly filling every inch of the space around you. You clenched your fists. His presence never intimidated you before, not when he treated you with disdain or mere dismissiveness. But now that he's trying to show and have the first conversation that holds something real, it's scaring you. It makes you want to go hide under your bed.

"I won't be swayed by whatever this is, Gojo. You should stop, and we should be as we are."

"Hmm?" He bends to look straight in your face. You wonder if he even sees you, even from under the cloth. "But I wonder, have you truly considered your situation? You're alone in this tower, isolated from the world, and your kingdom is under my control. You may resist now, and the next year, and maybe for the next 10 years after that. But what will you do when the weight of your isolation becomes too much to bear?"

He steps in closer, and closer until you’re backed up against the stone walls of your castle, “What if you go absolutely bonkers and off yourself as your mother did?”

At that, you snap, punching his chest, over and over, and yet, he remained unmoving, an unyielding monolith. You continue your trivial rampage until you grow tired, your eyes weeping blood, and your hands aching for more, but falling against your side — you’re only human and he’s — you’re not sure what he is.

He doesn’t say anything as you you fall against his chest, your forehead resting as you think about nothing. He merely picks you up, placing you under your sheets as he kisses your forehead. His lips were as strangely tender, an unsettling contrast to the turmoil he had wrought.

In your weariness, your eyes half-lidded. You speak up but your voice comes out as a soft whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

"We are more alike than you care to admit," Gojo remarked. “I guess I want you to understand me as I understand you,” he replied, his voice mirroring your softness.

After that, you change. Your heart remains unwavering and loyal to yourself but you try with him, if only to unravel the cloth around his eyes. You take his gifts, with the occasional thanks. You start making requests, requests he fulfilled in excess. One time, you asked him for a rare book – one that only had about 11 copies in the world, and he got you all 11. Plus, a 12th one that seemed to have been hidden from conversations.

And on one fateful night, that you still can’t seem to forget — a storm raged right outside the tower, casting an eerie glow through the windows that you left ajar on purpose. Satoru decided to accompany you, and the two of you found a comfortable tune in the silence.

You turn as you feel him shuffle to sit closer to you, and as a bolt of lightning split the heavens above, he reaches up to his eyes as he slowly unwound the cloth from his eyes, revealing eyes that held the same depth as the sapphire that sits in your bureau.

You reach up before it fully unveils his eyes to assist him, your hand sitting on his cheek as you’re halfway done.

“Do you see me as I finally am?” He implored his question lingering in the charged air.

But you don’t respond, merely a puppet to the moment as you inch closer and closer and closer until you feel his breath against your lips.

That night, he lays against your body, awake as his hand caress the slope of your hip, as you finally don the sapphire he got for you as your eyes come to close.

You wake the following morning greeted with the sight of the same man offering breakfast, and as your gaze entwines with his, his eyes no longer obscured by cloth, you're uncertain how to confess to the dreams that have been haunting your sleep — dreams of a raven-haired phantom. With black eyes that seemed to eclipse his blue.

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poniranje · 5 days

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The Slav Epic No. 1: Slavs in Their Original Homeland, Between the Turanian Whip and the Sword of the Goths

The Slav Epic No. 2: The Celebration of Svantovit, When Gods Are at War, Salvation Is in the Arts

The Slav Epic No. 3: The Introduction of the Slavonic Liturgy, Praise the Lord in Your Native Tongue

The Slav Epic No. 4: The Bulgarian Tsar Simeon, The Morning Star of Slavonic Literature

The Slav Epic No. 5: The Bohemian King Přemysl Otakar II, The Union of Slavic Dynasties

The Slav Epic No. 6: The Coronation of the Serbian Tsar Stefan Dušan as East Roman Emperor, The Slavic Code of Law

The Slav Epic No. 7: Jan Milíč of Kroměříž, A Brothel Converted to a Convent

The Slav Epic No. 8: Master Jan Hus Preaching at the Bethlehem Chapel, Truth Prevails

The Slav Epic No. 9: The Meeting at Křížky, Utraquism

The Slav Epic No. 10: After the Battle of Grunwald, The Solidarity of the Northern Slavs

The Slav Epic No. 11: After the Battle of Vítkov Hill, God Represents Truth, Not Power

The Slav Epic No. 12: Petr Chelčický at Vodňany, Do Not Repay Evil With Evil

The Slav Epic No. 13: The Hussite King Jiří of Poděbrady, Treaties Are to Be Observed

The Slav Epic No. 14: Defense of Sziget Against the Turks by Nicholas Zrinsky, The Shield of Christendom

The Slav Epic No. 15: The Printing of the Bible of Kralice in Ivančice, God Gave Us a Gift of Language

The Slav Epic No. 16: The Last days of Jan Amos Komenský in Naarden, A Flicker of Hope

The Slav Epic No. 17: Holy Mount Athos, Sheltering the Oldest Orthodox Literary Treasures

The Slav Epic No. 18: The Oath of Omladina Under the Slavic Linden Tree, The Slavic Revival

The Slav Epic No. 19: The Abolition of Serfdom in Russia, Work in Freedom Is the Foundation of a State

The Slav Epic No. 20: Apotheosis of the Slavs, Slavs for Humanity

Alphonse Mucha

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#alphonse mucha #czech republic #czech art

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blueiskewl · 7 months

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'Magical' Roman Wind Chime with Phallus Found in Serbia

Phallic objects like this were common in the Roman world to ward off evil.

Archaeologists have unearthed a Roman wind chime called a tintinnabulum — featuring a prominent phallus — at an archaeological site in eastern Serbia.

Such objects, which were hung near the doorways of houses and shops, were believed to serve as magical protection for the premises. This one was discovered on the porch of a large home on a main street in Viminacium, an ancient Roman city, the extensive ruins of which now lie near the Serbian town of Kostolac, about 30 miles (50 kilometers) east of Belgrade.

"The building was destroyed in a fire, during which the porch collapsed and fell to the ground," Ilija Danković, an archaeologist at the Institute of Archaeology in Belgrade, told the Serbian-language website Sve o arheologiji.

Tintinnabulums were designed to catch the wind, supposedly so their noise and unusual appearance would frighten off evil spirits and ward off the curse of the evil eye, which was greatly feared in antiquity.

Viminacium was the civil and military capital of Rome's Upper Moesia province from the first to fifth centuries, until it was sacked by the Huns under Attila in 441. The city was rebuilt under the Byzantine emperor Justinian, but it was finally destroyed by invading Slavs in about 535.

Magical phallus

This is the second tintinnabulum found in the ruins. The first is now in a private collection in Austria; nothing is known about its discovery, he said.

However, the newly discovered tintinnabulum was discovered in its full archaeological context. "As soon as we started uncovering it, we knew immediately what we had discovered," he said.

The latest tintinnabulum from Viminacium is made of bronze, but it is being kept surrounded by soil until it can be properly restored. As a result, its exact configuration isn't known. But it is centered on a "fascinum" — a portrayal of a magical phallus — with two legs, wings and a tail, he said.

"Judging by what can be seen … it had four bells and the chain from which it hung," Danković said, adding that there also seemed to be other elements to the design not seen on other tintinnabulums.

Roman beliefs

The symbol of a phallus wasn't always erotic or obscene for the ancient Romans, Danković said. "It was a bringer of good fortune and happiness, and an efficient weapon to combat the evil eye," he said. "For this reason, phalluses can be seen everywhere in the Roman world, from wine cups to the amulets worn by children."

He added that the symbol was often publicly displayed to summon prosperity and deter thieves.

The discovery of the tintinnabulum is evidence that Viminacium was "in every sense a part of the Roman world," Danković said.

Not only did its people share many Roman beliefs, he said, but it's likely that the tintinnabulum was imported from elsewhere in the empire, showing that there were social elites at Viminacium who were willing to pay a significant amount of money for such an object.

Ken Dark, an archaeologist and historian at King's College London who wasn't involved in the discovery, said the Viminacium tintinnabulum was a type of "apotropaic" amulet that was designed to ward off evil influences and give protection to people or their property.

Such amulets "were common in the Roman world, and these sometimes took forms which would seem very strange — or even comical — to us today," he told in an email.

By Tom Metcalfe.

#'Magical' Roman Wind Chime with Phallus Found in Serbia #tintinnabulum #phallus #bronze #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #roman history #roman empire #roman art

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lewkwoodnco · 6 months

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Heyy:) I just wanted to request a George x fem!reader one shot :P I totally understand if you don't want to write it or if you don't like the idea or anything but I was thinking a fic inspired by "wildest dreams" by Taylor? Just some silly teen romance vibes you know🤭 (and please no Angst or anything, I can't take that shit atm😔)

Wildest Dreams - George Karim x Reader

A/N: going to be taking a break from the requests in my inbox to work on my 12 days of fics series! (but will get back to them after im done heheh) I might have completely butchered this ask im so sorry BUT I made it as fluffy as I think it gets (w George at least), just had to do the 77 thing i have no self-restraint, also this poem is soso beautiful one of my absolute favesss but idk whats up with the formatting :(((, wc 3.3k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Subtle Bridges

Walking with me, you'd once pointed to the fragility and ingenuity of a spider's web. Subtle bridges, you said, On bridges some men hang. A warning that has stayed While I read history traced in blood and tears of men. I was caught in the end with a nest of books. They burned anyway, and now I bend to build an emperor's endless wall. Like a thread of longing the border runs in loops and bends, and along it we root the gravestones of nameless men. A king's metaphor, This is, history raised from ash and bone -- a symbol Of its vast futility, or of eternity. Which it is I do not know, But since leaving home some things have come clear. No one literally breaks from loss, not even here. And some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang.

By Yvonne Koh

She was at the Kensel Green Cemetery with the rest of her team from Fittes, after being called down by DEPRAC because of a robbery. They had spread out over the building, looking for any sign of the missing relic or the culprit, when she heard a slow, grinding noise from inside the hall. She quietly crept in to the silhouette of a shadowy figure bent over the casket.

"Can I help you?"

The boy's head snapped up immediately, painfully slamming against the stone shelf behind him. She let out an involuntary gasp, briefly wincing at the hollow thunk.

"Didn't do it," he groaned, steadying himself against the wall. "...whatever it was that...someone did."

She squinted at him using the little light spilling in from the corridor. He couldn't have been more than a year or two older than her. Against her better judgement, she kept her voice down.

"This is a crime scene!" she hissed at him.

"I - what?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm not a thief, or a relic man. I promise."

Her eyes swept his scruffy appearance critically. "Why would I think that?"

"Ms L/N?"

She turned, momentarily speechless, barely registering the rustle of the boy stealing away into the darkness. She blinked against the brightness of Inspector Barnes' torch, glancing back to check that he really was gone.

"Everything alright?"

She paused for a moment longer, as if willing him to rematerialise in the corner he had been crouching in just a moment ago. Nothing. Her eyes narrowed. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

"Must have been the wind."

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

George was staring out the kitchen window glumly, lazily stirring his mug of tea. The weather was as pleasant as it got, and Lockwood had roused them all at the crack of dawn for a breakfast picnic, to 'boost morale.' Of course, George should have known better than to hold his breath, especially when loud angry voices had started to shake him awake when he had been halfway through groggily packing their picnic basket. Now, he sipped his cold tea through thin lips, listening to the slow, steady footsteps approaching the kitchen and the wan face belonging to them.

"Let me guess. You and Lucy are no longer in the mood for a picnic?"

Lockwood sombrely shook his head. George sighed, picking up the picnic basket. Seemed like a shame to let his slaving away go to waste. And he was still very much in the mood for the strawberries and cream he had packed inside. Which is why George had been heading out for a solo breakfast picnic with enough food for three when he heard a foreign voice stop him.

"George Casper Karim."

He looked up from the doorknob in alarm. It was the girl from Kensel Green Cemetery. He hesitated, trying to gauge her expression.

"Ex-employee of Fittes Agency, fired after six months for insubordination, currently a researcher at Lockwood & Co."

"Brilliant. Astonishing, really, how you've repeated my own job history back to me."

She frowned. He relished the stab of satisfaction. He'd had a shitty morning and was likely going to have a shitty day, so really, having a go at someone was probably going to be the highlight.

"There's no need to be rude."

"I think I'd know where I've been the past couple of years, thanks very much. Forgive me for not being more impressed."

Still looking a little disgruntled, she pressed on, firmly clutching the waist-high gate. "I've got a bone to pick with you, if you don't mind."

He eyed her warily, and decided against approaching her any further. "You can pick it just fine from over there."

She looked mildly peeved, but he didn't trust her as far as he could throw her. After a few long, tense seconds, she relented, not that she was happy about it..

"So...you were right. You're no relic man."

That was quick. "Thank you. Have a nice day." He closed the distance between him and the gate in a few quick strides, pushing against it, but she pushed right back with a steely look in her eye.

"Don't know about the other bit, though."

He didn't like the look in her eye; the look of someone knowing something he didn't. His mouth went dry.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Might be more convincing if your associate hadn't mentioned a talking skull. Awfully difficult to contain a visitor without a ghost jar, wouldn't you say?"

He swore under his breath. "Fucking Lockwood can't keep his mouth shut."

"I don't expect DEPRAC takes kindly to thieves or hooligans-"

He let out a bark of laughter. "Hooligan? Me?"

"-or strange boys who break into places they shouldn't be-"

"You can't prove it was me."

"Wanna bet?"

A challenge. A dare. His mouth was already open to call her bluff when the self-satisfied smirk curling at the corner of her lip gave him pause. Lockwood wouldn't be much pleased if he gave DEPRAC another reason to steer the agency dangerously close towards closing. He wasn't like Lockwood or Lucy - he was careful, very careful. Too late George wished he had been a little more careful all those years ago in covering his tracks - but, to be fair, he had no reason to think anyone at Fittes would have been capable enough to put two and two together.

Until now.

"Look, why don't we...talk about this, like civilised people? I've got strawb - you like strawberries and cream, don't you?"

She sneered again. George was beginning to think that was just how her face looked.

"You want to bribe me with...strawberries...and cream?"

"It's not bribery. Just...a friendly chat. Agent to agent."

Which was how they ended up on a grassy hill at one of the meadows at the outskirts of London. He had never been there before, but Lockwood had remembered it as a prime spot for cosy family picnics.

"So what else do you know about me?"

She chewed a bite of scrambled eggs thoughtfully before responding.

"You're obsessed with the Problem. An obsession that made you an asset, initially."

She had heard that he was the one who had identified the visitor, Edmund Bickerstaff, but what she had had difficulty wrapping her head around was how he had managed to do it with only the vast yet imprecise volumes of the Archives at his disposal. Imagine what he could do with the carefully curated library at Fittes. She stared at him, trying to figure him out. There was a gentle breeze blowing and the slight movement made him look marginally more affable but not any more comprehensible. She let out the breath she was holding.

"You must have really screwed up for Fittes to have let you go."

He shrugged. "It was a long time coming. Fittes never really was the type of company I was interested in working at, and I was never the type of employee Fittes was interested in keeping."

"What about now? Have you ever considered leaving?"

"Why would I?"

"I've taken a glance at Lockwood & Co's financial records. You can't be making much, if anything at all."

"And go from being broke to being broke and homeless?"

"Homeless? What about your parents?"

"I visit them, occasionally, but they're a right piece of work. Last time I saw them was my grandmother's 77th birthday. I think there was a row but I can't be completely sure because I was a little, er, sloshed. The party ended, and I expect the champagne went flat, and my aunt was the last to leave. She was sitting on the floor with a merlot in her hand, and her voice was ringing through the halls. The curtains were burnt, my parents didn't talk to each other for a week, and one of my brothers had broken his hand. But I could never forget sitting in that empty dining hall, holding those sodden, scorched curtains, listening to her saying nothing lasts forever, nothing lasts forever."

The sunlight had a diffused quality to it, at least the little of it that managed to pour through the layer of clouds blocking the sky. The ashy light threw a powdery glow on George's face, and for a moment she felt as though she was in that dining hall with him, listening to those same laments. He glanced at her, and she felt a sudden, foreign uncertainty grip her heart.

"Now I feel really bad about lying."

His hand slipped, missing his mouth by a good couple of inches, nearly sending the contents of his glass down his shirt.

"Lie? What lie?"

"I kind of haven't, not really...actually spoken to any of your associates."

He chokes on his laughter, and when he throws his head back she wonders if she's ever seen anyone laugh as freely as him. It's a ridiculously enticing sight.

"Touché. Touché."

He looks at her in the eye, unabashed, with an unnaturally casual intensity. It almost feels impolite.

"So...yeah. Maybe I was suited to be a Fittes agent, once upon a time, but not anymore."

"That's a pity."

He looks at her weird, and she hastily changes the subject.

"Do you do this often?"

"What, taking strangers out for breakfast?"

"No. Bring a girl out here, feed her some strawberries and cream, maybe a Shakespearean sonnet or two..."

"I don't set much store in Shakespearean sonnets. I'm not...I'm not much of a poetry person."

There's something reserved in his face that makes her feel terrible for asking.

"I've really only read one worth remembering. Subtle bridges, you said, on bridges some men hang. Some ties won't give. I sometimes dream of you, and walking, in gardens where love and knowledge hang."

He bites into a strawberry, which stains his lips a bright red. She looks away a second too late.

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

After reluctantly agreeing to keep the matter of the stolen ghost jar between the two of them, she never expected to see him again. And yet, as fate would have it, they crossed paths again roughly a week later. She and one of her teammates had been assigned to a Church to handle a relatively weak Type Two, when she heard a scuffling sound from one of the rooms whose door was ajar. Her teammate froze, and she didn't feel much braver either. They approached the room cautiously, rapiers at the ready.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

"Y/N?"

The glare from their flashlights blindly darted over the room before it settled on the floor, illuminating a bleeding George looking the worse for wear, hissing at the harsh florescent light.. She visibly relaxed.

"Oh. You again."

Lockwood and Lucy exchanged a look.

"Do you two know each other?"

A silence followed. George looked to be at a loss of words and she, too, couldn't quite find the right answer.

"We've...met."

They helped George up while Lockwood smoothly explained the situation, and how they would never dream of intentionally From the derisive eye rolls of his remaining, uninjured associate, there was clearly more to their presence than he was letting on, but she wasn't paid nearly enough to go through the trouble of finding that out. Apparently, they had already dealt with the Type Two, so she filled out her report as vague as she dared to be, while they wandered out to flag down a cab.

George lingered behind briefly, dabbing at his nose experimentally while she put the finishing touches to her file.

"We can't keep meeting like this, you know."

"Like what?"

She shook her head, surprisingly having to bite back a smile. "You're incorrigible. If you keep sneaking around for much longer I'll have to report you one of these days."

He pulled his face into an exaggerated sulk and ducked as she tried to smack him with her case report.

"Alright, alright!"

True to his word, their less-than-ideal meetings came to an end. Instead, they continued to occasionally meet at that serene, refreshingly Edenic sloping hill. She'd return from a client meeting or from scoping out a location and the front desk would have a message waiting for her, from one vaguely snippy anonymous man. Sometimes he'd be waiting at the hill with snacks, which she'd ravenously dig into, though he was less generous on the biscuit front. He tells her about the happenings of 35 Portland Row and his research and bounces his latest theory on the origins of the Problem off of her. She tells him about her week, and the bothersome, inept people she works with, and on their joint cases he's snarky towards all the right people. It makes her feel special.

On one such evening, they were lazing on a picnic blanket, and a pleasantly warm breeze was toying with their hair. George was looking at the severe, fragile branches encroaching on the powdery blue sky through heavily-lidded eyes. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with his surprisingly soft fingers, distractedly breathing in the faint, antiseptic smell of ammonia that clung to his clothes. She was thinking about how sharp he was and how quickly he picked up on details on their joint cases. No matter how many times she saw him pick apart a case with a carefully perfected elegance, she felt like a part of her would forever be in awe of his beautifully intricate mind.

"Sometimes I feel like your talents are so wasted here. Imagine what you could do with access to all of Fittes' resources."

"i don't need Fittes's resources to be a good researcher."

She watches the yellow daffodils tossing their heads back just inches in front of them through her eyelashes.

"i know you don't. It can't hurt, is all I'm saying."

"Why do you care?"

She paused. Why did she care? She cared about him, sure, but it was no different from how she cared about her teammates, her friends, but with George...it somehow felt more personal. She sighs irritably, releasing the bubble of frustration lodged in her throat all week. She just wanted what was best for him. It takes her a minute to come up with her hesitant response.

"I...don't know. I don't care. But sometimes I can't help but wonder...what if this was what you needed to uncover the root of the Problem?"

He half-laughs, but stops short at the sight of her face as she lifts her head off his chest. "You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

"Y/N...statistically speaking -"

"All I'm saying is the answer could very well be in the Fittes library and you might be the only one who'd know where to look."

She lies down again, and whispers to the trees rather than George.

"Just...something to think about."

As time went on, their relationship began to bleed into more public spheres. She dropped by Portland Row occasionally, and they even had tea at her apartment once. On this particular afternoon, they were in George's room at Portland Row. She was looking through the titles on his alarmingly tall bookcases while he was at his desk, copying some runes from a book while telling her about his latest experiment with the skull. Her eyes roved over the titles restlessly, unseeingly, in a futile attempt to distract herself from her upcoming assignment. She let George's voice wash over her, pleasingly varied in tone and comfortingly familiar, soothing the itch in her brain. After a moment or two, she realises he's stopped talking, and looks up to see him staring at her with a frown on his face.

"Er, sorry. Drifted off there for a while."

"I guessed."

He studies her with an inscrutable expression and she's been caught too off-guard to come up with anything other than the letter burning a hole in her desk.

"You alright?"

She sits on a chair next to his and rests her chin on her knee, feeling oddly wooden. After getting to know George, she had taken the comfort of being able to somewhat predict his mannerisms for granted, and the thought of heading into this blind made her nervous.

"My team's been assigned a case outside of London."

"Oh. When?"

"We leave this weekend."

He looks too stunned to ask the question weighing on both their minds.

"It's for a month."

"A month," he echoes distantly, as if not quite sure what to make of that piece of information. His face remains impassive and she waits for a reaction which never comes. "What about that celebratory dinner?"

"We leave after it."

"Oh."

For someone who usually always had so much to say about anything and everything, his current conversational skills were desperately wanting. Say something. Be affected, she begs internally. She needs to hear him say it. She needs the sickness in her chest to be real, to be founded.

"It'll be...different without you." The careful look on his face makes her feel like he's picking out her emotions from her face and engineering an optimal response. "I'll miss you."

It doesn't comfort her in the way she expected it would. Suddenly, she can't even bear to look at him.

"You don't have to."

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

Either George had decided that she needed some space or he was just as pissed as she was, because she didn't see one sign of him over the next few days. Good. She hardly noticed. The thousand times a day he crossed her mind were only out of relief, and nothing else. But as much as she pretended otherwise, by the time the celebratory dinner rolled around, his absence had taken a toll on her. She couldn't tell if she was hoping or dreading seeing him again.

She was on a balcony on the upper floor, looking miserably into the radiant foliage of the gardens below, where unfamiliar faces flitted with a lightness of heart she envied. Their shadows are tall and intertwine ceaselessly, making her dizzy. Her bags were packed, her ticket was waiting on her mantle, and all loose ends were tied up. Even her one chance at happiness for the rest of her life.

There's a rustle behind her and she turns to see George standing a considerable distance away from her. He's only marginally closer than the first time they met, properly, when he was standing outside their front door and she was pacing behind the garden gate. She wants to cry in relief. Instead, she finds it in her not to look away. Maybe it's the confusing lighting, but there's a soft edge to his face.

"I thought I saw you come up here."

She doesn't say anything; she's too happy to. And yet, a part of her is still deeply unhappy with the sight in front of her.

"Have you...tried the food?"

"...it's not as good as yours."

"You must be leaving soon."

"Tomorrow." The thought makes her want to rip her face off.

"You'll be back in a month."

She drummed her fingernails against the marble railing, carefully choosing her words.

"What if things change in a month?" What if, she wanted to say, you meet someone else who loves you better than I can?

"It's only a month."

"A whole month."

"I don't understand. Why are you so afraid?"

"Because - because you'd forget me. You'd forget me, and our memories would sink six feet under, and you'd move on and my heart would break and...you wouldn't care."

She's never felt this way about anyone before, and she doesn't know how to express how badly she needs him to stay.

"I don't want to go back to not knowing you, George."

The setting sun burns into her neck and all of a sudden, she feels unbearably hot. Her hair is plastered to her forehead and her hands feel clammy. Her face is flushed and she feels ridiculous in her dress. But he's here, and she's said it, so she lets herself dream, if only for a moment.q

"I think about you every day. One month, two months, three months...I'll wait."

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

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfiction #fanfic #george karim x reader #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george karim x y/n #taylor swift #wildest dreams #1989 tv #1989 era #1989 taylor's version #1989 #taylor swift 1989

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shimyereh · 1 year

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“…Impressed by the power of Charlemagne (died 814), Slavic people took his name Karl as the common name for ‘the monarch, sovereign.’ However, according to the rules of late Proto-Slavic phonology, the consonant cluster [rl] could not hold. The pressure to dispose of it was common to all speakers of Slavic dialects, yet the way the problem was resolved turned out to be different in the South, North-East, and North-West. The Southern Slavs employed a simple metathesis ar > ra: Serbian кра̑љ, Bulgarian крал (also Czech král); in Polish, the metathesis was accompanied by a shortening and eventual change of the vowel: król; in East Slavic languages, the problem was resolved by adding another vowel between the consonants (the so-called pleophony): Russian король. The meaning remained the same everywhere: ‘king.’”

[from the introduction of Boris Gasparov’s Old Church Slavonic]

#words words words #linguistics #(I just thought this was a delightful bit of etymology)

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hood-ex · 5 months

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Finally finished all of Voltron. Some thoughts:

The last seasons actually weren't as bad as I thought they'd be based on what I heard. I mean, yeah the Lance/Allura ship was unnecessary, and yeah the final episode wasn't super satisfying or good lmao, but all in all, the plot still kept me invested. Only time I felt truly bored was during those god awful filler episodes. Genuinely only liked one filler episode which was the carnival one where Shiro was arm wrestling people.

Wish Shiro had a heavier presence in the show after he got his conscience shifted into the clone body, but at the same time, it was cool to see him captain Atlas. I was so glad they at least included him in the final battle with Honerva.

Lance and Hunk definitely felt like they took more of a backseat in the character focus department. Like yeah, they had arcs of sorts though not super obvious ones imo. Lance was a big flirt who could be cocky, and he matured and became a reliable second hand. Hunk ended up showing more courage and willingness to bring people together, and he did have a passion for food, so I like that he had least had a hobby/passion of sorts. I just feel like I didn't really know them quite as well as the other paladins, Lance especially. I'm honestly very surprised Lance didn't get more focus as say Shiro or Keith. He seems like the type of character to have a bigger focus.

My main beef with Shiro is that he didn't really have any flaws over the course of the show. He was always the loyal and caring leader. Of course, we got to see him lose his patience with Slav which was really fun. Other than that... he was almost just like... too nice. Too perfect. The change for his character mostly happened through life events. I think if they had fleshed out that side of Shiro more, Shiro would've been my favorite character.

It wasn't until maybe Season 3 or so that I finally got over the fact that the paladins were flying lions around. I'm sorry but I thought flying lions were so lame when I first started watching it. These are supposed to be made by King Alfor, an Altean, so why did he choose an Earth animal as the design for Voltron? Like huh? Allura and Coran didn't even know what a cow was, how did they know what a lion was alkdjsa. Whatever, I got over it eventually. (Edit: I just remembered that the white lion is a thing that exists and that Alfor knew about it sooo I suppose he got inspo from that).

"Form Voltron!" and then the long ass sequence of all the lions forming together. I got so sick of seeing that every single episode. Voltron actually would've been cooler had the paladins only transformed into it like once or twice every season rather than every episode. Like only bring Voltron out for the biggest baddies. I found it so much more fun when the paladins all fought separately. And a lot of the time, the paladins had to end up dissolving Voltron to win a fight so like??

Black lion my beloathed, red lion my beloved. Nah idc, I have beef with the black lion. The red lion was by far my favorite lion, but I liked it more when Keith was with the red lion. Feels like they could've done more with the red lion as well with it being the fastest and all.

The Blade of Marmora was cooler than Voltron to me. All their fight sequences were sick. Also, Keith looked so good in that uniform, hello. I definitely enjoyed the hand-to-hand combat in this show possibly more than I enjoyed the lion fights.

Lotor/Allura was the only ship I enjoyed until Lotor went off the rails. Idc, Lotor was a fun character with an interesting backstory. It's too bad his character arc had to go the way that it did. Also not totally opposed to how it ended up though.

Matt gave me the ick as soon as he started fawning over Allura in an obnoxious way. Felt kinda ooc for him as well. But after that was over with, I enjoyed him well enough. That one episode where Pidge went to the memorial planet with all the graves... that was heavy as hell. Kinda wish Matt actually had died for the full weight of that episode to hit bc that was such an intense moment.

Loved how Pidge was shown to do basically anything to get cool video games in some episodes lmao. I also thought it was interesting how she was the most tech savvy of the team, but she formed a connection with the natural world, as did her lion.

The first 2 seasons were definitely funnier than the rest. The first season had me laughing at least once every episode. The jokes tapered off later on, which I suppose makes sense bc the plots got heavier.

Loved the Hunk and Shay relationship. Balmerans were pretty cool in general.

Tbh, I didn't really care that Shiro's boyfriend died because we only saw him in a short flashback. I do think they should've given Shiro a longer or better reaction to finding out that his boyfriend died though. Also, speaking of Shiro and men, it was so fruity how the last scene of the entire show was Shiro kissing his husband. Voltron said gay rights for space dads.

Kosmo was cool, and I especially liked how he was Nightwing color coded. Plus teleportation powers?? Nice.

Keith and Shiro's bond was really touching. I just wish they would've divulged their shared backstory together earlier on in the series to help me understand why Keith had so much respect and loyalty to Shiro from the jump. That goes for a lot of the paladins, actually. A lot of their backstory info should've been released earlier on in the series instead of shoved into the last few seasons. The only ones who didn't suffer from this were Pidge and Allura.

Some seasons were only 6-7 episodes which was wack.

Keith definitely had some good moments giving advice to Lance or Hunk. He had a pretty satisfying arc overall. Well, out of all the other characters anyway. He's gotta be my favorite character in the show. He had flaws that he worked through, and he came out as a strong leader. I also can't forget how he and the Blade of Marmora planted bombs to destroy the Galras in line to rule the Galra empire, but when Keith realized Shiro was with the Galras, he immediately raced back to deactivate the bombs. We love a loyal man who will do anything for his brother.

Shiro took on a lot of damage and trauma that just wasn't addressed in any satisfying way, especially in regard to his arm. He did make one sarcastic remark to Lance about how he wasn't in tip top shape because he got his arm cut off/his conscience moved into a clone body. Wish they would've touched on the loss of his arm more. And not just his human arm, but his other arms as well.

Allura's death was just like... I don't remember what she said to Keith before she decided to give up her life, but all I could think about was when she was cold to him because he was half Galra.

I thought it was so funny in the last episode when they showed all the realities in every universe and there were just like... 50 of them or something lmao. Like Honerva really didn't have to do much to end them all. They really did rush the ending, huh?

Even though I haven't watched the original series this was based off of, I enjoyed the small references I did catch like with Sven and such.

All in all, I had a fun time. Will I rewatch it any time soon? No... but I will definitely be reading fanfics of it going forward.

#finallyyy i can go read some dad shiro fics #voltron thoughts #voltron spoilers

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