#is magnesium safe

[marketxmax]

A Restful Revolution: My Experience with Magnesium Breakthrough

For years, I battled with restless nights and an inability to truly unwind. Sleep evaded me, leaving me perpetually tired and foggy-brained. I tried various sleep aids, from natural remedies to prescription medications, but nothing provided lasting relief. Then, I stumbled upon Magnesium Breakthrough, and it proved to be a sleep (and life) changer.

A Comprehensive Solution

What initially drew me to Magnesium Breakthrough was its unique formula. Unlike other magnesium supplements that offer just one or two forms, this product boasts a complete complex of seven different types. This includes magnesium glycinate, known for its gentle and easily absorbed nature, as well as magnesium citrate, which supports healthy digestion.

The inclusion of these various forms ensures that my body receives a well-rounded dose of magnesium, targeting different functions and maximizing its effectiveness. This multi-pronged approach is what I believe sets Magnesium Breakthrough apart from the competition.

Enhanced Sleep and Relaxation

Since incorporating Magnesium Breakthrough into my nightly routine, I've noticed a dramatic improvement in my sleep quality. Falling asleep is now a breeze, and I no longer wake up feeling groggy or unrested. Throughout the night, I experience a deeper, more restorative sleep, which leaves me feeling energized and revitalized in the morning.

Beyond sleep, Magnesium Breakthrough has also positively impacted my stress levels. I find myself feeling calmer and more resilient throughout the day. This newfound sense of peace has significantly improved my focus and productivity at work, as well as my overall well-being.

Gentle on the System

One concern I often have with new supplements is potential side effects, particularly digestive discomfort. Thankfully, Magnesium Breakthrough has been incredibly gentle on my system. The capsules are easy to swallow, and I haven't experienced any negative reactions whatsoever. This is likely due to the high-quality ingredients and the careful selection of magnesium forms known for their gentle absorption.

Investing in Your Well-being

While Magnesium Breakthrough isn't the cheapest magnesium supplement on the market, I firmly believe it's an investment worth making. The improved sleep quality, reduced stress, and overall sense of well-being far outweigh the cost. For anyone struggling with similar issues, I highly recommend giving Magnesium Breakthrough a try.

A Final Note

It's important to remember that everyone's body reacts differently to supplements. While Magnesium Breakthrough has been a game-changer for me, it's always advisable to consult with a healthcare professional before starting any new regimen, especially if you have any pre-existing health conditions.

Shop Now 👈

[unanchored-ship]

google and my chemistry teacher are conflicting rn

im confused about the argon d orbital now ToT

NOW IM QUESTIONING LITERALLY EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT THE ELEMENTS @allhailhelium send help

anyways, take some more atom doodles

[strawberry-jackalope]

i love vitamin deficiencies, you learn the most random shit happens, like I didn't get enough sunlight this week so I've been clenching my teeth more bc that makes fucking sense

[mejomonster]

I'm craving kimchi so bad

I hope it's a positive for my tummy and not a negative

My tummys been in so much pain this week and I genuinely have no idea how to help it except avoiding food entirely, which creates a different problem

[reasonsforhope]

ETA: Article here (can't believe I forgot this rip)

A new study finds you can reduce the amount of microplastics you drink simply by boiling your water.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposure.

Nano- and microplastics are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter.

Boiling and filtering your tap water may dramatically lower the amount of microplastics you drink, according to new research.

Recent studies have found that nano- and microplastics (NMPs), which are bits of plastic as tiny as one-thousandth of a millimeter in diameter, have been found in a host of products and even in tap water.

A new study, published February 28 in Environmental Science & Technology Letters, found that boiling mineral-rich water for just five minutes can reduce the amount of NMP you’re exposed to by up to 90%.

Scientists are just beginning to understand the health risks associated with microplastic exposureTrusted Source, but growing evidenceTrusted Source suggests the plastics can accumulate in the body and trigger oxidative stress, inflammation, insulin resistance, and liver issues.

Certain advanced water filtration systems can capture and help remove some NMPs from tap water. But researchers wanted to figure out other options to remove microplastics, especially since in poorer countries cheaper, more accessible solutions for clean water are needed.

Boiling water may be a safe, simple solution that can effectively decontaminate household tap water, the new findings suggest.

“Boiling water before drinking is a great example of an ancient cultural practice that can help reduce an environmental exposure,” Dr. Luz Claudio, PhD, a professor of environmental medicine and public health at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, told Healthline.

Claudio was not involved in the study.

How boiling water can help remove microplastics

The researchers found simply boiling water is the first step to removing NMPs from tap water.

The researchers collected multiple samples of tap water from Guangzhou, China and contaminated the samples with varying levels of NMPs.

Each sample was boiled for five minutes then left to cool for 10 minutes.

Boiling hard water that’s rich with minerals — such as calcium or magnesium — creates a chalk-like residue known as limescale, or calcium carbonate (CaCO3), which can trap the plastics.

That solid, chalky residue then had to be separated and removed from the water with a standard coffee filter or stainless steel filter, thereby removing NMPs.

The team found that the impact was greatest in harder water: In samples that had 300 milligrams of CaCO3, for example, nearly 90% of NMPs were removed.

In softer water samples with less than 60 mg of CaCO3, roughly 25% of NMPs were removed.

“What’s important to note here is that the effectiveness of trapping these micro/nano plastics in these mineral solids is tied to how hard the water is – the harder the water, the more solids are formed, the more microplastics are trapped,” Dr. Anja Brandon, PhD, the associate director of U.S. plastics policy at Ocean Conservancy and an environmental engineer, told Healthline.

Brandon was not involved in the study...

How to limit your exposure to microplastics 

Anyone who wishes to boil their water should do so in a glass or stainless steel pot.

After boiling the water for about five minutes, let it cool, and do not stir it, Claudio says.

The microplastics need to bind to the calcium and fall to the bottom of the pot so they can filtered or scooped out."

-via Healthline, February 28, 2024

[wanderlustrachelblog]

What Are Magnesium Flakes and How To Use Them

Until recently, I had no clue what magnesium flakes were. I was actually searching for natural ways to remove chemicals from my tap bath water when I came across this article by Wellness Mama. Although magnesium flakes don’t remove chemicals from tap water, I found they actually add nutrients. Immediately, I wanted to test them out. So what are magnesium flakes and how to use them? Let’s find…

[thefirsthogokage]

Very helpful thread made for those walking the picket lines by an EMT in Florida:

(screen shots from here on out. Too many images to put in one post. Sorry for the dark mode switch ahead of time)

[Image ID: a tweet thread made by @TheMaryGirls on July 18th, 2023 that reads in its entirety (though combined where appropriate and tweet numbers removed for condensing):

This is for the strikers everywhere since I'm nowhere near a picket line. This is the least I can do:

I am an EMT in Florida, one of the hottest states in the country on a regular basis. These are things you can do to protect yourself from the heat

1. Water

Water is great, your body needs it to live. You can go longer without food than you can without water. It's vital. If you become too dehydrated you can lapse into something called Hypovolemic shock which is the most dangerous form of shock because, usually, by the time you realize something is wrong, you're already in a bad position.

When you sweat, you're not just losing water. You're also losing salt, potassium, chloride, magnesium, & calcium. To combat this, you should drink something with electrolytes.

You can also eat a banana in order to avoid cramping that can occur with the loss of potassium. You don't want to be the one doing the Charley Horse Hustle on the line when people have phone cameras. You can also eat fruit and veg with high water content. They helps.

A word of caution about ice water. I know the idea of a big bottle of ice water sounds great when you're sweating your balls off on the line but NO! That can be dangerous. Your body temperature is up due to the heat. You chug a bottle of ice water like you used to do with Smirnoff Ice in college, you'll regret it. Ice water will cause your body temperature to drop which fraks up your homeostasis. You can experience stomach craps, fainting, and, on some weird occasions, cardiac arrest. Face planting on the pavement isn't cute.

One way you CAN use ice water safely is by soaking a t-shirt or towel and putting it on your head to help cool you off. Also, cold rags around the wrists can also cool you down. You've seen construction workers with the t-shirts on their heads? This is why.

2. Whole body

If you get blisters on your feet, you need to treat them. Also, don't force pop them, you're just asking for trouble. When they rupture, they need to be cleaned with soap and water (no alcohol or peroxide) and protected. Band-Aids won't really help here.

Band-Aids can easily slip off and give bacteria a chance to move in and really get gross. Liquid bandage is the better option. It's waterproof but it does sting when you put it on so be warned.

If you experience muscle cramps on the line, you need to deal with them. This is your bodies way of telling you something is wrong. Sit down, drink something. Stretching before picketing can also help prevent them. Let's be honest, as writers, we sit. A LOT.

Going from a cave dwelling hermit to bright sunlight and exercise is going to piss your entire system off. Icy Hot and hot baths will be your friend.

3. Dehydration warning signs.

Muscle cramps

light headed

headaches

feeling very thirsty

dark urine

urinating less often

feeling tired

dry mouth, lips, or tongue

skin tenting

confusion

That's all that I can think of at the moment.

GO FUCK EM UP!!!!!!!

/End ID]

Bonus:

[Image ID: Tweeted comment on the thread from @/sardoniccomment that reads:

Every word of this is good advice, but, as a former desert-dweller, there’s something I need to add: dehydration makes you stupid. It can literally prevent you from being able to figure out the source of your problems is dehydration.

/End ID]

[garciaasfluffypen]

the suit stays on (we're feral for you)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 2.5k warnings: SEXUAL CONTENT. MINORS DNI. (we’re operating under the assumption that y’all have fucked or at least seen each other in various states of undress prior to being in an established polycule), toy usage, fingering (reader recieving), female terms of endearment -- "our girl", mentions of mental abuse/belittling in previous relationships request from this ask a/n: i have no clue if this stayed on prompt or not but its here and its all i could think about while i was at work today

gods, you looked good in a suit. 

you adjusted the jacket that tara had helped you pick out for the upteenth time, smoothing invisible wrinkles off the dark maroon fabric as you made your way to the door of the bedroom. well, technically it had become your shared office, but you knew your favorite women barely looked into the closet in this room unless there was a gala they had to go to. it was the perfect hiding spot. you ran into their bedroom real fast, hearing emily humming to herself in the bathroom as you went over to the bag you had brought over to grab your black pumps. you rarely wore them, but you figured since rossi was paying for emily to treat you and jj to an anniversary celebration it was only fair that you pulled them out. 

while it wasn’t jj and emily’s anniversary (considering they had been together for years and married before you came along) it had been five months to the day that they had asked you to officially join them, to be more than just a friend and a confidant. to be their girlfriend. sure, it had scared you, but now it was second nature. you had fit into their relationship like a hand sliding into a glove. it was so easy for you to find your place with them. they made sure you felt comfortable from the beginning- separating work from pleasure, each taking you out on separate date nights at least once every other week and a trio date twice a week. making sure to remind you every day that you were loved and appreciated. to let you know it was okay to not mask your stims or feelings- they were always making sure you felt safe. none of your previous exes did that, always belittling you when you would stim in public or forget to take your medication. but with emily and jj? it was easy. 

loving them was easy.

your feet slid into the pumps with ease, welcoming the extra few inches they added to your height. with a smile, you went over to the front door to scan the checklist jj had put up for you, reading it over. keys, check. wallet, check. badge, not necessarily needed but you had it in your wallet just in case. meds, which were only a morning thing, not including your magnesium that you took at six pm each day. you didn’t need to take them unless you forgot them, but jj and emily had been good at making sure you had taken them whenever you were over. the adhd brain fog you got when you don’t take your meds was rough, you’d hate for it to show up in front of them. 

“baby are you--” jj stopped in her tracks as she looked you up and down, her jaw dropping slightly. 

“do i look okay? i don’t, i knew the suit was a bad idea, i’ll go--”

jj grabbed your hand, turning you to face her. “absolutely not. you look….” 

“beautiful.” emily joined you two by the front door, slipping an arm around your waist and placing a kiss on your cheek. “the word she’s looking for is beautiful.” 

emily had put on a pair of slacks and a fancy blouse, one that she had most likely gotten from her mother at some point. you didn’t know much about ambassador prentiss, but you knew she almost always sent emily stuff that she barely wore. most of those clothing items hung in the guest room closet. jj wore a baby blue sleeveless top with black jeans, her hair falling down behind her in those beach waves that you loved and adored. you had no idea what they had planned for tonight, but all you knew was that they looked hot and you were in fact, very in love with your girlfriends. even if you couldn’t find the words to say it to them yet. 

“where’d you get the suit?” 

“uh, tara took me shopping the other day. when she heard about the date.” you swallowed nervously. “i hope thats okay.” 

jj stepped closer. “you should buy more suits. i can’t even put into words how hot you look right now.” 

you blushed. “are you sure i’m not overdressed?” you moved to take the jacket off. 

“absolutely not.” emily gave you a stern look. “the suit stays on.” 

“you’re not overdressed at all, lovey.” jj squeezed your hand. “you look amazing.”

“are you sure?”

“i promise.” she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “we got reservations at fiola, that italian place you wanted to try. you’re perfectly dressed.” 

the glint in emily’s eyes pointed to other undertones, but you kept your mouth shut. better to not start anything in case you were reading the situation wrong. you let them lead you to the car, making sure you were buckled in before heading out. jj leaned forward to rest her hand at the crook of your elbow, keeping light conversation with you so you didn’t get lost in your thoughts. the two women knew that you didn’t do the best with plans you didn’t know everything about, so they made sure to keep you in the loop as much as they could. granted, they didn’t even know the restaurant they were going to until this morning, but they told you what they were doing as they were doing it. it was a nice change, especially since in the past you would have to deal with your exes just scooping you up and taking you places without asking for your input. 

you enjoyed the meal, despite feeling out of place. rossi had made sure to get you a secluded corner booth, far away from everyone so you could make the most of your night together. after dinner, emily and jj took you for a walk through the georgetown waterfront park while you awed at the sights. they knew you would love it, since you always found beauty in small things like this. it was rare that you let your guard down like this, but they knew you trusted them enough to do so. even if these nights were far and few between, seeing you be your true self was something they adored deeply. to end the night, the three of you got ice cream at a little local shop before heading back to the apartment. 

minutes within getting inside, you kicked your heels off and went to take your jacket off, only to be stopped by a set of hands. emily walked in front of you, silently telling you to let her take care of it. jj had momentarily disappeared, and you searched for her as emily took your jacket off with care. it was folded neatly on the back of the couch before she ran her hands lightly over your arms again, stopping to hold your hands. you searched her eyes, attempting to figure out what your women had planned for you.

“how are you feeling, y/n?” her voice was low and husky. “are you up for more? if you’re not, you can tell us.”

“can we do whatever it is with jj?” 

“of course, lovey. she should be in the bedroom, do you care to join us?”  

you silently nodded, letting emily guide you to the bedroom. as she opened the door, you saw your favorite candles lit on either side table, with jj leaning up against the wall as she waited. her eyes practically lit up as she saw you and emily walk in, stepping over to you. 

“if you’d rather just curl up in bed, say the word and we can do that, okay?” jj gave you a smile. 

“okay. but what are we…”

your voice trailed off as you started to notice that jj had changed into a satin robe, one that she only took out for special occasions. you remembered buying it with her years ago, when penelope had invited you to girls night as a way to introduce you to emily before she had gotten with jj. before you had been asked to join the BAU, even. your hand ghosted over the satin fabric, subconsciously finding the string and fidgeting with it. your head fell to jj’s shoulder, slowly shuffling closer to her. 

“we couldn’t help but wish we could have you all night,” jj started. “you’re just so hot and all we could think about was you. we're feral for you." jj paused, looking at you. "is this okay?”

you nod. “more than okay.” 

“you’re in control, tonight is about you. you want us to stop, you tell us.” 

a noise fell from your lips. “mm”

“i need words, y/n.” 

“yes.” 

within seconds, jj’s hands started exploring your body, waiting for you to initiate a kiss. you leaned in, your hands wrapping around jj’s midsection and pulling her close to you as possible. emily came up behind you, her hands moving around your waist and starting to kiss your neck. your head fell back, giving both women full access to you. slowly but surely you feel yourself being taken to the bed, emily sitting down behind you and letting you lean against her knees. jj slowly started to undress you, taking her time and practically worshiping your body. emily placed kisses down your back, her hands exploring your upper body. they were taking care of you, taking their time and letting you know how much you truly meant to them. your hands found their way to the tie on jj’s robe again, un-tying it and pushing the fabric off her shoulders. with a swift movement, jj moved you so you were on the bed, emily shuffling to give jj room to adjust everything before continuing. you grabbed at emily, pulling her close and giving her a kiss while starting to unbutton her blouse, being sure to be careful. even if she didn’t care about it, it felt expensive and not worth ruining. 

emily helped you push her blouse off her shoulders before laying down next to you, the red of her victoria’s secret bra a stark contrast from her porcelain skin. you found your way to her breasts, kneading one with one hand while you pestered kisses all over the other one. emily’s hand made it's way into your hair, the other gripping the side of your arm lightly. moans fell from emily as you switched breasts, repeating the same process. as you did so, your free hand went down to your center, which was hot with need as your girlfriends took care of you. she slowly pushed you back onto the bed, pushing the hair out of your face and trailing her hand down to your jaw, turning your face to look at her. emily shifted so she could turn your head and envelop you in a kiss. as you kissed, her hand went to replace the one hovering over your center, easily slipping two fingers in with a smirk on your face as you moaned out. your head fell into the crook of emily’s neck, biting and nipping at the skin in an attempt to leave a semblance of a mark. 

“emmy… emmy please.” 

emily’s free hand grabbed your hip, holding you in place as you tried to move your hips. she was teasing the hell out of you, knowing you all too well. you mewed out as emily’s fingers slowed, the high you were chasing fading away. a pout flew over your features as you clawed at emily’s shoulders, silently pleading with her to continue. you finally regained movement of your hips as emily’s hand loosened, letting you find that high again at your own pace. noises fell from your lips as fireworks exploded all around you, the skin of emily’s shoulder becoming victim to yet another set of bite marks as you worked through your high. 

a blush crept up on your cheeks as you remembered jj had been there the whole time, now noticing the baby blue strap now situated over her hips. jj placed a hand on emily’s back and stood next to her, looking over to you to ensure you wanted to continue. you nodded, pulling jj closer so you could grab the strap. jj lightly moved your head to the strap, holding her hand at the back of your head while emily positioned herself behind you, her hands going to knead your breasts as you sucked jj off. 

“do you need more, y/n?” you nodded. “words.”

“yes. more.” 

 “so beautiful,” she placed a kiss on your cheek, then your neck. “our girl.” 

“what does our girl need?” emily looked at you.

“more, please.” 

you clawed at jj who pushed you down on the bed, hovering over your entrance as you nodded again as a signal for her to continue. slowly she pushed the strap into you, her hands going to hold you in place as she bottomed out. a moan of pleasure left your lips as she sat there for a second, waiting for you to adjust before she started pumping in and out. your hand reached for emily and went straight to her center, finding her clit and starting to rub. 

“look at you, taking me so well. laying there and taking me like a good girl should.” jj pressed into your hips. “getting emmy off while i fuck you so good, huh?” 

your free hand gripped at the sheets. “oh, oh fu--”

“yeah? jayje is so good to you, huh?” you nodded. “tell me, use your words.”

“so good, jay, so-- fuck-!” 

emily came to a climax first, with you following closely behind. jj smirked as the two of you rode your climaxes out together, both of you moaning out in tandem. as your high faded away, leaving you breathless on the bed, jj’s hips starting to stutter as her own climax hit her. emily slowly pushed your hand away from her and watched you through hooded eyes as you whined at the sudden emptiness you felt below. jj fell on the bed next to you, pulling you as close to you as she could before emily joined the two of you. 

“was that okay, y/n?” 

you covered your eyes and let out a breathy laugh. “how are you so good at that?” 

“at what?” jj smirked. 

“oh shut up,” you playfully nudged her shoulder. “you know what i’m talking about.” 

“what can i say, the best of me comes out when i’m with you. the both of you.” 

you couldn’t help but blush. “really?”

“really. we wouldn’t have asked you to be ours if we didn’t both adore the hell out of you.” 

emily wrapped her arm around your midsection. “you mean the world to us, y/n. truly. we’d do anything for you.” 

it felt as if your heart grew three sizes in that moment. you snuggled further into emily and pulled jj close, inhaling the subtle scent of sea salt from her shampoo. you closed your eyes and let the two women draw patterns over your skin, relishing in the moment before ultimately one of them got up to get a washcloth. your eyes started to slowly shut, the warmth of your girlfriends bodies engulfing you in a hug. 

you could get used to this. 

and maybe… maybe you were almost ready to say those three words.  almost.

[crxnberrykxng]

daily reminder to drink water!

cutting back on your water intake may seem like you're losing w3ight faster- you aren't.

in fact, drinking less water actually causes it to hold onto water w3ight more, since it assumes you're in a "drought", so to speak

here are some healthy (and actually effective) ways to lose water w3ight:

drink the recommended daily amount of water for your height and weight

cut back on your sodium and sugar intake- both cause your body to hold onto extra water

staying physically active

getting enough sleep

do not use diuretics- they are dangerous and can cause dehydration (and if you go to the hospital, they may possibly notice other things that might get you caught)

cut back on carbs, these also cause your body to hold onto water

take electrolytes, like magnesium and potassium, which help your body regulate water

be safe my friends, and remember to drink water ♡

[catsoupki]

CHP. FIVE | YOU'LL FALL IN LOVE ON YOUR OWN PACE (WITH MY LITTLE THINGS)

SUMMARY: Katsuki has settled into a routine-like dance with you ever since your debut as a hero. He takes care of you like harmonious clockwork, but as he peels layer after layer, he’s caught up with his own tantalising feelings when he finds your blood staining his hands. You teach him, slowly, of what it means to fall in love.

TAGS: pro hero au, fem reader, banter, hurt/comfort

CHAPTER LENGTH: 1,288 | SERIES MASTERLIST

When you wake up, the sight before you is beyond gorgeous. 

Last night, plagued by the heavy sleepiness in the afterglow of sex, you two had tumbled onto the bed before he had the chance to shut the curtains. Now, rays of golden sunlight stroke themselves across Katsuki’s face meekly, as if they’ve afraid of being grazed by the sharp corners of his visage. The ash blond of his hair becomes sandy in colour, edges rounded as he stirs in his sleep. You breathe, and you get lungs full of him— woody caramel sweetness. 

You fight the urge to hold his face with all your might, so much so that your concentration wakes him from his slumber. He looks domestic in the way he slowly blinks to get the drowsiness out of his eyes, eyelids barely staying open as his pupils begin to focus, and you see the moment everything registers in his head, the memories flowing from last night and the view in front of him right now clicking— and he lets his eyes widen and his lips part, before yawning and rolling into the bed again, with you in his inescapable hold. 

Getting up proves to be difficult after that, only with the umpteenth ringing of your alarms that you finally decide it’s time to leave the safe haven and begin your day. 

You can tell he’s in a chirpy mood, despite not being a morning person. The way he shuffles from hallway to bathroom and back, the way he slips on his clothes, they’re all done with less aggression. 

You also cannot deny that your mood has been lifted from the slight change in routine. Your morning run was shorter— two minutes faster than your usual time; when you had your shower at the agency, the cold water hit your back more pleasantly; usually insufferable sidekicks became more compliant, easier to deal with. 

An hour before your first patrol, your manager stalks into your office with a cheshire grin, demanding you to tell her every little detail of last night’s rendezvous with the Nation’s favourite hero. You put up little fight, though you knew you’d tell her someday anyway, you comply and begin the retelling of your favourite story, how careful he had held you in his palms, how loving he had been shampooing your hair, and all the other moments in between that are still burned into your mind as clear as day. 

Your work goes by in a breeze. You find that little inconveniences in your life can be smoothed over by imagining how Katsuki looks when he wakes up, but recalling might be a better word. 

It’s six o’clock, you’re packing up and getting ready to leave the office, your glass desk is wiped clean, shreds of paper thrown away. The door knob is cool when you hold it, you have your earphones in your pocket, for when you finish greeting the passionate interns working overtime out in the hall with tight-lipped smiles. 

The evening sun is particularly orange when it hits the tall potted plants, giving the sacramento leaves a brownish shine; the off-white walls look old, like they’ve already been filled with memories of past owners. When you walk through the corridors and lobbies, you’re thankful that you haven't lost your quirk, your heartbeat, nor your Katsuki. Maybe a few months back, the disappearances of these everyday occurrences wouldn’t cross your mind, they’re regular constants in your life that have made their markings on you— made you a mosaic of them. It strikes you that just as Magnesium is a metal, death is always walking next to you, no matter where you go, he’ll be stepping with you when you cross the road, when you go on the balcony, and when you cook dinner. An inescapable truth that cannot be denied by anyone, not even the most powerful parts of society. 

So when you leave the door of your agency and see a familiar-looking Lexus parked on the side of the road, with that unruly bunch of blond hair that you’ve found yourself too enraptured by, your smile is uncontrollably vehement. 

When Katsuki drives you home, it’s done without a word. You know this path by turn, every street name and every corner is familiar, you know that he’ll strum his fingers against the steering wheel aimlessly while he waits for the red lights to turn green, and when he pulls into his penthouse building’s parking lot, you know that the monthly cost is roughly ¥70000 and that his assistant pays it on the first day of each month. 

You know him, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door for you, his house unfurled and vulnerable in the dimming golden rays, laid bare in front of you, letting you take in all its glory when it’s still daytime, and similarly, you do the same to him, Katsuki. 

You think he had just finished showering before he came to pick you up, the way his hair sticks up is funny-looking, wild in every sense of the word, when he walks past you to grab your bags and shoes to set them down, the woody scent trails after him. You wonder whether you look awkward and out of place, unmoving in the entry with your hands at your sides, covered in fabrics that are dark in an apartment that is warm and next to a person who is bright. 

He doesn’t let you think far, he soon takes your hand in his, and gently leads you to his living room, where your feet drag and thump on the carpet in dull thuds. He leaves you, awkward and out of place, in the middle of the room, in front of the TV and next to the signed All Might poster he framed, he walks over to the— oh, the record player you gave him for his first ‘Hero of the Year’ award. It’s placed neatly on a dark wooden stand, and under it are stacks of vinyls, from local bands to overseas artists that you introduced to him, he clicks it on and gravity takes you with both hands as you put one foot in front of another, stumbling along the rhythm of music. 

Bakugou has always been a hummer, but when he sings to you for the first time tonight, it’s thick and heavy, laced with something he can’t say aloud, it sounds a lot like a confession that soothes over you like a second skin.

In a few, dinner will be served, you two will eat shoulder to shoulder with a quiet chatter, and in between are the whispers and soft spoken words, as if there’s someone eavesdropping behind you, he’ll lean closer towards you as the night settles in, drowsiness and exhaustion will begin to creep onto the way he speaks and into the way he looks at you with half-lidded eyes. 

In an hour, you’ll be hands deep into his sink, scrubbing hard at the dishes while he stands next to you with a torn rag in hand and with a dish rack to his right, he’ll take the two plates and the four chopsticks you hand him, then he’ll place them tidily into the rack, like you’ve been doing this for years— like harmonious clockwork. 

You’ll shower, then his fingers will tease and dance around yours under the sheets, you’ll feel for his callouses, the rock solid proof of his hard work, and you won’t be able to brush lotion onto them, but only snuggle your head closer and tighter and more intimately to his shoulder. 

He’ll learn to say I love you on his own terms, he’s got all the time in the world. 

[milomaxxy]

I fucking hate being so broke I don't have spare funds for getting fucking laxatives bc I've been so constipated that I literally haven't had a regular movement in a month. My spouse asked our friends for some money to go get some, they're able to send it, great. We got get it, get home, I take the softeners and the magnesium citrate (after making sure it was safe). I get violently ill maybe an hour later, puking my guts up and damn near dialing my friend while trying to call my spouse. Now it's 8 hours later. I still haven't had a bowel movement. My stomach is still wildly uncomfortable. And the reason for it all? Bc I'm disabled and have scoliosis, so my pain and misalignment backs me up like crazy. And bc I'm too poor to afford fucking laxatives, I'm definitely too poor to go to a doctor and complain about being constipated bc of my spine and hips, only to be told to take some exalax and grit it out. I'm definitely too broke to go to the doctor several times just to get a referral to a chiropractor to try to get an alignment. And yet I'm still not classified as disabled enough to fucking qualify for disability benefits according to the last 6 fucking times I've tried 🫠

This is the bad place

[ghoulspots]

Girlies don’t forget to take your vitamins!

Here are a few vitamins that I swear by:

Fenugreek

Fenugreek is my favorite it’s honestly so neat

It helps with removing b3lly f4t and bloating by helping you pøøp

It makes your Boøbs grow if you’re up for that

But best of all, it makes your sweat and your cøøchie smell and taste like maple syrup !

Some people may be allergic to this one and also don’t take too much at one time ts is powerful, it starts working 24-72 hours after you first take it

Biotin

I like the olly gummies because they’re fun

But seriously if we could stop our hair from falling out permanently we should at least try

It also helps with nails and skin so go off

Magnesium

Ts has me sleeping like I did when I was f4t after a b1g b4cked serving of biscuits and gravy AND it helps me p00p in the morning bye bye bl0ating

Vitamin B12

This is the vitamin that you get from eating red meat. It helps a lot with getting hangry or just anxiety. It helps your brain create dopamine/ serotonin which are the happy hormones.

I’ll be adding to this list as time goes on and I find more vitamins to reccomend

Please comment if you have any suggestions 🖤

The calories In supplements don’t count 🖤 stay safe

These are just the vitamins that I take. I’m not a doctor.

[afledglings-guideto-witchcraft]

Candle Color and Flame Workings in Witchcraft.

Color Association in witchcraft can be important as it's associated that different colors are connected with emotions, elements, times of the week, and deities.

Common Candle Wax Color Associations:

White- cleansing

Black- protection

Silver- can be used to connect with Lunar deities

Red- anger (fire, or extreme passion)

Orange- courage

Yellow- Happiness (is associated with the sun and sun deities)

Green- money, luck (earth and grounding)

Blue- sadness (water associations, also cleanisng, can be used to connect with Lunar deities)

Purple- connecting to spirit, (connecting to spirit guides, or deities)

Pink- romance, feminity, grace (can be used to connect with Love/fertility deities)

Brown- grounding (also earth)

Of course your own personal connections with colors can be used, though these are the most common associations.

Adding herbs to your candles that have similar associations can boost your intentions and energy which can help you in your spellwork. However, please be aware that when adding herbs to your flames can be very dangerous! Keep your flames in a well ventilated area, never leave them alone and burn them on/and in fire safe containers and always have a fire extinguisher near by!

Another thing to note, is that when you add herbs to a candle they will burn hotter and faster, so if you're trying to connect with a deity and your flames erupt and dance quicker than they do without the herbs this is because you are giving the flame something other than the wick to burn. (I'm not saying that your deity isn't contacting you, but this should be heavily remembered while working with flames.)

Flame sizes and the way it behaves, witchy and mundane explanations. (without herbs).

If your candle flickers towards any of the four directions (North, South, East, West) then a Spirit or deity may be trying to reach you. (Mundane: there may be a draft pushing the flame in that direction.)

Crackling or popping wicks may indicate that a Spirit or your deity is arguing or trying to communicate with you. (Mundane: sometimes the wax from the candle may get on the wick and this is what's causing the wick to pop, also humidity can cause the flame to crackle.)

A blue flame may indicate that a Spirit or deity is near. (Mundane: your flame is safe, it's burning just as it should be.)

A Red flame indicates that your energy is being fueled by an intense emotion. Usually grief, anger or passion. (Mundane: the flame is in a cooler environment.)

A white flame may indicate peace, harmony, and prosperity. (Mundane: your candle is burning magnesium.)

High flames indicate that there is positive energy around you. (Mundane: it's too hot, causing the wax to melt faster than it's supposed to.)

A smoking candle may indicate that you are looking at things from the wrong POV. (Mundane: your flame is contaminated by either carbon dioxide or water.)

Dual flames can indicate either a solution in your energy, your mind is too unfocused to continue. (Mundane: the wick is split.)

Heart shaped flames can indicate that a loved one is present, or if you're performing some sort of romance/love spell then it is connecting you to the other person. //please perform love spells with the consent of the other person!!! Do not take away their free will/choice in being with you because you cannot handle rejection.// (Mundane: your wick is splitting/has split.)

A bright/big/steady flame may indicate that your spell is working perfectly, or that a Spirit or your deity is pleased with you. (Mundane: the length of your candle or wick is too long.)

A sputtering flame may indicate that your spell does not have enough energy. If your candle goes out on its own then your spell is finished, the spirit or deity has left. (Mundane: the wick was too short and the wax put the flame out.)

A small candle flame may indicate a lack of energy. Perhaps the spirits or your deity are trying to communicate that you need to be patient. (Mundane: The wick is too short or there is not enough oxygen fuelling the fire.)

A jumping flame may indicate hesitation. Either your energy is reflecting that you are hesitant or the spirit or your deity is telling you to be hesitant. (Mundane: the flame temporarily goes out but the smoke from the candle catches on fire causing the flame to jump back into life.)

Understanding how a flame can be interpretated through witchy and mundane reasonings can assist you with your spell work or spirit/deity work. Knowing that there is always a mundane explanation can help you avoid false hope.

If you believe deep in your gut that your flame is a sign from a deity, or spirit or you believe that your spell is Manifesting then that's great!

This guide is simply for educational purposes to help you gain knowledge on the mystical and also being cautious of mundane interactions.

[lewkwoodnco]

Hi I want to request Lockwood×fem!reader with the song You Are In Love. I don't really care about the plot that much, I just love the vibes of the song. Also sorry for requesting so much, this is my last request I promise.

You Are In Love - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: no problem abt the requests :))) 2.4k, enjoy!

"I'll get you the paperwork," Barnes was saying, as he signalled to a DEPRAC officer before being accosted by a particularly tenacious reporter. She let her eyes drift across the dimly lit scene even as she was distantly aware of herself beginning to spiral as she tried to process the past few hours. It all happened so quickly that she didn't have time to feel scared, but now she felt paralysed. She jerked back to the present when she felt fingers brush against her elbow. She looked up to see Lockwood looking at her with concern as he walked away, following some other DEPRAC officer, but in that fleeting look the whole room had been enshrouded in darkness, and there was only him and her and the look in his eyes that he kept safe just for her. The officer was back, hurriedly handing her the forms she needed to fill on the source they had found, and she numbly began, mind wandering back to the beginning of it all.

It was almost dreamlike, how idyllic the beginning of the case had been. For once, they weren't running late, and Lockwood was in too good of a mood over the new type of salt bombs to fight with George.

"I still think we should test the bombs out first. What if they don't work?"

"Then we'll just chuck you at the visitors. That'll properly scare them off."

George huffed, but he was still in one of his better moods. She was buttoning up her coat as she watched Lockwood shrug his on. His habit of leaving his coat unbuttoned had irked her in the beginning, how he didn't have a coat so much as a robe, though he somehow rarely got his crisp white shirts stained unless his feathers had been seriously ruffled.

They were handling a Spectre that evening: an extremely aggressive bride who had unexpectedly died the night before her wedding. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that she frequented one of two locations: a bench outside her favourite cafe or her house. George and Lucy had taken a cab to the house and Lockwood and her were now driving to the cafe, and whichever pair saw her first was supposed to tell the others via their walkie-talkies.

"So...murderous bride."

"How fun." She groaned as she shifted in her seat, resting her forehead against the cool window. It was much too cold for running about, trying to stay alive as a ghost tried to gouge their eyes out.

"Should be easy enough. The only issue is that the source is probably some kind of ring, and that would take ages to find."

"It's such a tiny house. One good magnesium flare would finish the job."

"And finish us too, mind." He was looking over his shoulder, watching the incoming traffic, so she felt rather than saw his smile. Once they reached the cafe, they took some preliminary readings and set up their chains. After that, there was nothing to do but wait. She hugged herself, trying to trap some warmth inside her coat. Beside her, Lockwood stood poised as ever, as if he didn't even notice the low temperature.

"Aren't you cold?"

He shook his head stiffly, then shivered violently as a cold gust of wind flew through their clothes. She reached over, laughing, and buttoned his coat. "Maybe you wouldn't feel so cold if you actually buttoned your coat once in a while."

"It makes me feel stifled."

"You just like how cool it makes you look, the way it flaps behind you as you run."

He grinned. "You think that makes me look cool?"

"Shut up."

But she was smiling, and there was no real heat behind her words. Lockwood could be utterly ridiculous, but that didn't mean he wasn't amusing too. She felt a jolt in her stomach as their smiles aligned, a sudden spark, but it was gone before she realised.

"We'll be here a while. Coffee?"

She felt miles better once Lockwood had returned with their hot drinks. She sipped nervously, feeling oddly unsettled, but there weren't any apparitions yet, as far as she could see. "I hope George and Lucy are alright," she murmured.

"They'll be fine. They're professionals."

She stared into the murky coffee, her necklace glinting as it reflected light from the ghost-lamps onto her chin. "I just...I get so in my head sometimes. I can't help but worry."

"I know what we do is dangerous, and you never truly know, but we hope for the best. And...it's taken me a while to truly believe this, but I don't think everything always ends in disaster." His eyes lifted and she followed his gaze to the hazy constellations above them, blocked by the harsh ghost-lamps yet still undeniably asserting itself through the more stubborn stars. "The world somehow...perseveres."

She shifted, accidentally brushing her shoulder against Lockwood's. His eyes flickered down to hers and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. That same connection roared back to life, outlined by the delicate trim of the stars above them, holding them together but not pulling them into each other, like planets circling each other, round and round. A pregnant silence lazily stretched out in front of them. She didn't need him to say anything, or do anything, because the feeling was all around them, enveloping them. Every time he walked into a room it was as though the winds shifted and sounds died away to give way for that pulse that they shared.

A crackle from the walkie talkie broke the silence, and she looked away as Lockwood cursed under his breath, trying to get it to work. After a few seconds of panicked fumbling, he started heading for the car, her close behind.

"We should-"

"Yeah."

When they arrived, the house was a light show from the glow of flares being tossed. Lucy was screaming bloody murder at George, who they identified through the dragging of the chains (he would rather die than lose chains he 'spent perfectly good money on.'). Unfortunately, she had been quite close to the front door when they entered, but luckily Lockwood managed to distract her but feinting straight ahead before rolling to the left. She darted right, forcing herself to look straight ahead even as every part of her screamed at her to look back, just to check that he was alright. All the rooms had been torn apart, and she clutched her hair with desperation. Her eyes finally landed on a deceptively ordinary dresser at the end

She was frantically rummaging the drawers, cursing the fiddly knobs and flinching at the bride's every sharp, heart-rending wail. She had just yanked open the last drawer, but it was empty, and she cried in despair. But the drawer didn't seem to open fully, and in a sudden stroke of inspiration, she pushed against the back of the drawer, and it gave away. She nearly choked on the onslaught of resentment that washed over her. This had to be the source. She scrambled for it, but was stunned when she pulled it out. Lockwood wasn't far off in his guess. But she didn't expect the river of misery that flowed from the crack that nearly split the ring's stone in two.

She heard another door burst open, a distant hiss, and then the ceiling started to crumble. She tried to run, hopefully towards the exit, but then the ceiling lights shattered and the house was plunged in darkness. She heard screams from her thankfully-alive friends, and somehow she continued to stumble her way ahead, gravitating towards Lockwood, sensing rather than seeing him. He was in her reach, all she had to do was stretch her arm, but then he was gone, and that sudden emptiness was the last thing she remembered.

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

Her face was smarting when she came to, and dust threatened to suffocate her, but she was possessed by this blind rage, this force which demanded immediacy and compelled her to stretch her hand through the sharp debris; feeling around for what, even she didn't know. But then she felt a warm hand tremble as it covered her own, and it all made sense to her.

"Lockwood," she choked out, as she carelessly shoved off the rubble burying her with shaking limbs. Lockwood was a bit harder to extricate - his leg was stuck under a chunk of concrete - but eventually he was free. He coughed for a good minute or so, and when he finally looked up, he immediately winced.

"Your nose."

"What?"

"God, it looks something awful."

"Can't be worse than your face." Lockwood laughed, and she did too, but for different reasons. There was absolutely nothing wrong with his gorgeous face. By then, George and Lucy had stumbled over, luckily all with minor bumps and scrapes. They dug around for a while and managed to extract the source, thankfully still bundled up in their iron net. Lockwood turned to call DEPRAC over but the bomb had evidently already informed them, and they were pulling up to the scene with their irritatingly obnoxious sirens.

Barnes didn't look happy but sent her and Lockwood to have their nose and leg bandaged up respectively. Lockwood was done first (probably because the paramedic kept wincing every time he looked at her nose - "It's not that bad - get a grip!") so he started to file their incident report. When she was finally done, she was struggling against the weight of the past few hours. It was probably partly because of the negative feelings emanating from the source she was clutching, but there was some strange understanding she shared with the bride that made her reluctant to let go of it, even for a while. But Lockwood had finished the report soon enough and rejoined her.

“Lockwood and Co.?” The two of them spun around, her nearly slipping on the icy floor. It was the photographer accompanying the reporter who was interrogating George and Lucy. “I’d love to take some photos, if you don’t mind.”

After taking the pictures, the DEPRAC officers were finally ready to collect the source, and she scrambled to find the paperwork spotted with blood that she had been fighting for her life to do. When she returned, the reporter was gone, and Lockwood was holding a few of the photos. “Didn’t need some of them for the papers, so he gave them to us.”

The drive home was fortunately much less eventful. She tried to sleep, but her brain was too wired from the coffee, and adrenaline, and the drug that was Lockwood's smile. Finally giving up on the losing battle, she padded downstairs to the kitchen, before she saw the door to the library being ajar.

Lockwood was sitting at the desk behind the armchairs near the fireplace, and she could see the exhaustion knitted into every wrinkle of his face as he wrote something. She turned to leave, but the floorboard creaked, drawing his attention.

"Sorry," she smiled, slightly abashed. "Just going to get some tea. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, it's fine," he put his pen down, leaning back slightly, and she took it as an invitation to enter. Of the few times she had been in the library, she had only vaguely registered that desk. Now, it seemed impossible that she ever missed the dozens of personal trinkets lined up along its edge, and the files and notebooks that littered it. There was even a bulletin board where he had neatly pinned up clues from a previous case where they had struggled to narrow down a specific building to look for the source.

"Hmm. I thought you did all this in the kitchen."

"I do, mostly, but George hogs the thinking cloth sometimes. Most times. All the time."

She pulled her eyes away from his bookshelf and turned to see him watching her over his shoulder, with the barest hint of a smile on his face. The smile faded, and something more subdued took its place. Something quieter, something vague yet...melancholic. Like missing something that you couldn't quite remember.

"I was thinking about the bride, before."

"Mhm."

"I'm really sorry she died so young."

Lockwood nodded solemnly, and for a person typically so adamant on distancing themselves from the visitors they handled, it was a surprisingly sympathetic response. She couldn't tell what he was thinking about, but she was considering what it would have been like if Lockwood hadn't immediately woken up just now. Here one moment, gone the next. She wondered if she could have even beared to come back to 35 Portland Row. They looked at each other, but the silence was different this time, as if they were building up to something, a subtle underlying urgency making them rush towards...something. They probably would have found out what that something was if she hadn't suddenly gotten distracted by a dusty frame on his desk.

“Is that…the picture of me?”

Lockwood stills, and for a moment she thinks that she can actually hear the cogs in his head go into overdrive. “…yeah. I have one of Lucy…and George…somewhere under this mess.”

In the picture, she was holding up the bagged source with tissue stuffed in her nose (Ah. So she really did look that terrible.) to stem the blood. That, coupled with the wall of coats surrounding her face, made her look like a misshapen blob. Not her most flattering picture, but something tugged at her when she saw how relaxed her smile was, looking not at the camera but at someone standing a bit behind it: Lockwood. Suddenly, it felt too intrusive to be in his office, to see this physical landscape of Lockwood’s mind. It was so intimate, so nerve-wracking. How did people ever fall in love?

Violently so, it seemed. That bride had been rolling in her grave, screeching and scratching anyone who tried to keep her away from her beloved. And when she saw that photo on Lockwood's desk, she was possessed by this overwhelming urge to keep him safe, to have and to hold him. It was a flicker of emotion, but enough to propel her to wage wars.

She put the frame down, staring at the wood grain of the desk, at Lockwood's index finger which was mere millimeters from her pinky. In that inky night, which was slowly but surely giving way to sunrise...it felt like love.

[sickmachete]

HEY !! HERE ARE SOME RANDOM FIRE SAFETY TIPS !!

AVOID HILLS. seriously. the radiant heat coming off the flames pre-heats nearby grasses/fuels located above (heat rises!) which is what cause fires to "run" up hills lighting up long strips in the blink of an eye. you cannot outrun a fire that's chasing you up hill.

EVEN IF you are standing below the fire all it takes is one stray ember blown in the wind to start a fire below YOU and then you're really screwed. if you're caught on a hill, run to the side and (if possible) try to get to any charred/burnt zones behind the fire.

charred/already burnt black areas are safe zones. they will not easily re-burn and can become refuges to retreat to (but still be mindful of smoke inhalation).

healthy green grass lawns can also be temporary safe zones. the moisture held in lush grass makes it a lot more difficult to catch fire and can work as a temporary refuge in the case of a house fire. however, TO BE CLEAR: this does NOT apply to tall forest meadow-type grasses. when i say healthy grass im talkin like suburban manicured lawns okay? if your lawn is looking crusty dry brown then thats not gonna be a good place to run to.

most mild carbon monoxide poisoning (aka smoke inhalation) can be cured by simply taking in fresh air. severe smoke inhalation may require further medical treatment though.

fire needs FUEL + OXYGEN + HEAT in order to burn. if you removed ANY of these 3 things, the fire will go out. this is known as the fire triangle. the reason why water works against fire is mainly because it's cold, however it also helps by "drowning" the fire, depriving it of oxygen.

on this note!! if you're cooking and your food catches on fire inside the pan, DO NOT! pour water onto it!!!! that will only make it splash. what you're gonna wanna do is grab a pot/pan lid and gently slide it onto the pan. this will cut off its oxygen and put the fire out. DO NOT! slam the lid onto the pan!! this rush of wind/air could blow the fire right out of the pan and directly onto you/nearby furniture!

CHECK YOUR FIRE EXTINGUISHERS!!! please!! not all fire extinguishers are meant to be used on the same fire!!! while it can vary (and you should definitely look up the ratings for your own location/extinguishers) many of them will have specific class ratings written along the label. here in the USA, those ratings are in letter form (ie: Class A, Class B, Class C, Class D, and Class K). sometimes these ratings are combined (ie: Class ABC), meaning that a Class ABC fire extinguisher can be used on a Class A, B, or C fire.

FIRE EXTINGUISHERS AND THEIR ASSIGNED FIRES

CLASS A: these extinguishers should be used on wood/paper/plastic (ie: your basic trash fire).

CLASS B: these extinguishers should be used on flammable liquids (ie: alcohol, gas, petroleum, greasing oils <- not food oils though!!).

CLASS C: these extinguishers should be used on electrical fires (ie: sparking cables, your computer spontaneously combusted and is on fire, etc).

CLASS D: these extinguishers should be used on combustible metals (ie: magnesium, titanium, potassium, sodium, etc. if that metal shit in your garage is burning, use Class D).

CLASS K: these extinguishers should be used on flammable cooking oils/greases (ie: your stove is on fire, your barbecue's on fire, etc).

CLASS ABC: these extinguishers can be used on any of the Class A, B, or C material fires.

DO NOT USE THE WRONG EXTINGUISHER. they are labeled differently for a reason!!! a Class ABC extinguisher (for example) will make a Class K fire splash! you will cause that big old greasy fire to splash right back onto you!! Class K extinguishers are specifically designed to safely put out fires without disturbing the liquids/oils so please please please check the labels of your extinguishers.

AND REMEMBER TO "PASS" !!!

HOW TO USE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER — P.A.S.S.

PULL the pin in the handle.

AIM the nozzle at the base of the fire.

SQUEEZE the lever slowly.

SWEEP (across the base of the fire) from side to side.

[hailqiqi]

these secrets beneath your fingertips

I'm going to (eventually) post all of my fics over here on tumblr, so here's the next one! Content warning for non-graphic L&O SVU style content in the first part. This fic was originally supposed to be crack. I'm not sorry.

Characters: Lucy, Skull, Sir Rupert Gale, Lockwood.

Words: 6,207

Read in full below or on AO3 here.

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

Three in the morning was a good time to be out if you didn't want to be seen. It was still dark for a few hours yet, so most of the country was asleep indoors safe behind their ghost wards and lavender smoke. It being the end of the night, most agents were safe at home, too — maybe clean and in pyjamas, or maybe conked out on top of their quilts, still covered in grave dirt and magnesium ash and the other detritus of the profession (as I’d been known to do on particularly hard nights).

The only people on the roads were night cab drivers, DEPRAC workers, and the Night Watch — but few and far between, and all at the ends of their shifts. I’d only seen a single car on the short walk from Marylebone, and it hadn’t seen me. That suited me fine.

Now I crouched outside the front door of a semi-detached townhouse in St James’s. The windows were dark, as they should have been at that hour. The front garden was lovely and well-tended, with luscious fronds and rows of short palm trees celebrating the last vestiges of summer, and offering almost complete privacy from the road. My rucksack — with the ghost jar — was upon my back, my rapier hung at my hip, and my belt was well stocked, though I’d swapped most of the salt bombs for extra flares. I was after human prey tonight.

‘Since you’re picking locks like a cracksman, I assume this isn’t a social call.’

I hushed the skull quietly and turned my wrist a fraction, intent on hearing the tiny ‘click’ as the bolt slid into place. Two more seconds and the lock came free. I caught the door before it could open all the way, but paused.

‘There’s still time to turn back, you know. You haven’t told me what you’re up to but I know it’s a terrible idea.’

He had a point. I thought of the fight on the bridge, when swords had been drawn so quickly I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice Sir Rupert had challenged Lockwood, and twice Lockwood had been hard-pressed to fight him off. And I’d never beaten Lockwood in a proper spar yet, despite my suspicion that he was still going easy on me. I was definitely outmatched here.

But then I thought of George lying in Lockwood’s bed, so small and weak and broken and everything George wasn’t. I slipped inside the house.

The door closed silently behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. To my left and right were doors; presumably leading to the sitting and dining rooms. Ahead of me was a dark flight of stairs leading to the first floor, and a dim hall that probably led to a kitchen at the back of the house. The decor was surprisingly tasteful, given Sir Rupert’s garish fashion choices, though I couldn’t make out the colours in the dark. The walls were mostly bare save for some classical artwork, and the carpeting and furnishings in the hall both had a luxurious, moneyed look about them. At a glance, it all looked like the type of aesthetic Lockwood would pretend to like.

Out of habit, I closed my eyes and opened my inner ears to Listen. The streets outside were quiet, the area was well-defended, and the house itself had the usual iron and silver ghost charms (along with a costly runnel outside) so I expected it to be quiet. It was. I moved on.

The skull was quiet as I did a quick sweep of the ground floor — the kitchen was a modern, airy room that ran along the back width of the house, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading straight out into the back garden that made it feel more like a conservatory. An open doorway led back towards a room of thick carpets and white chesterfields, and a matching doorway at the opposite end of the wall led to what appeared to be a library. Another door was set in the side wall close to the library which presumably led to a cellar of some sort.

I’d already decided not to open any unnecessary doors — silence was the name of the game here — but the cellar door gave me pause. The door was wooden, painted white to match the wall, but decorated with silver tracework that ran in thin curves to cover the entire length and width of the door. The handle was small and unobtrusive, but undeniably silver. 

‘Do you feel that, Lucy?’

I stood before it and Listened, one hand on the wood; the only sounds I couldhear were the ticking of the clock on the wall, almost echoing in the quiet, and my own soft, even breathing. Still, the skull was right — there, underneath the darkness, hushed by the expensive carpets, was some sort of disturbance. It was muffled and restrained to the point where I couldn’t tell you anything about it. It didn’t have a discernible sound, there wasn’t an underlying current of distress or fear or anger like many psychic disturbances emanated. All I could recognise was a feeling of wrongness, and it wasn’t malaise.

Two nights ago — or was it three nights ago? I couldn’t remember at this point — Sir Rupert had quite clearly Seen the Clapham Butcher Boy in the pillar at Fittes House. Something told me that, despite the defences, he didn’t fear Visitors as much as most adults. Anything could be behind that door.

Carefully, I re-checked all the pockets on my work belt. Then I stepped away and padded back towards the stairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as I could.

‘Not going to check, Lucy? How very sensible…and un-like you.’

I couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The skull was still acting much more subdued than its usual abrasive self; likely it had realised how tenuous the grip on my sanity was these few days and had wisely opted to cut the snark out of self-preservation. It certainly hadn’t offered any sympathy for George’s condition — but it had made an effort not to twist the knife, and for that I was somewhat grateful. Still, I couldn’t really tell you why I’d brought it with me tonight. Perhaps I just wanted the company.

Boots weren’t the best choice of footwear for this kind of job, but thankfully rich people loved their peace and quiet. The carpet absorbed most of the sound as I crept up the stairs towards the first floor.

The same hushed stillness permeated the first floor landing. Artwork hung on the walls, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in from the window at one end. To my right, a staircase led to an upper level — likely guest rooms, or rooms that used to serve as servants’ quarters. Only three doors led off this landing, and it was anybody’s guess as to which one I wanted.

Maybe the skull could help. I jostled my rucksack quietly, hoping it would offer some insight. Luckily, it caught on quickly.

‘You’re not alone up here,’ it said, its voice pressing against my mind. ‘I don’t think I want to know what you’re actually planning, but stay quiet.’

I risked a whisper. ‘Is anyone awake?’

A pause, and then: ‘I don’t know. Tread carefully.’

Not very helpful, then.

One out of three, pick a door. It was a game agents often played in the dead of night, one we dreaded. It was a game that was always worse to play alone, of course, but at least I’d grown used to that the year before. I crept towards the door closest to the window and eased it open.

For a moment, I thought I’d found another library, this one more modern in décor and lit by coloured string lights, like my attic was now (George had once called it ‘basic teenage girl lighting’ and I’d immediately stormed out to buy another string). But then my eyes adjusted to the strange light in the room and I began to make out the details.

Thick, dark curtains covered two large windows, blocking out the light from the street and the ghost-lamp outside; the room itself was mostly open space, furnished with a few trophy cabinets and display cases, and the walls were covered in frames clustered around individual wall-mounted boxes. It was a trophy room, like we had back in the basement at home. I turned to leave, then paused.

It was a little too like the trophy room at home, actually. The pale blues, yellows, and lilacs were eerily familiar, as were the shifting glows cast as they shimmered across the floor in swirling ripples. Too familiar.

I walked softly towards the nearest light source, my mission momentarily forgotten. The pale blue light was contained within a small wall-mounted display case, a silver-glass box stuck to the wall at around waist-height. Inside the case was a severed finger, still wearing a ring — and, of course, a ghost.

As an experienced agent, these things shouldn’t affect me anymore. I’d seen worse — just five months prior I’d walked in another world of glittering frost and starless skies, a place where the only living beings were myself and Lockwood beside me. But sometimes the shock still gets to you, even when you were expecting it.

This one wall held at least five similar display cases interspersed between ordinary picture frames, all containing Sources glowing various colours. I counted seven on the long wall — the one with no windows or doors. The other two walls, with their large windows, held only one or two each, and each display cabinet held at least three Sources, scattered amidst dark frames and boxes. Gaping at the sheer scale of it, I shrugged my rucksack onto one shoulder and loosened the top so that the ghost in the jar could see out. 

‘Oh, so now you want my— that’s…unexpected.’ The ghost inside swirled with a green light as the face spun, taking in the vast array of Sources on display. ‘Lucy… Where are we?’

‘Sir Rupert Gale’s house,’ I muttered, transfixed.

‘Marissa’s bodyguard? The bully with the bum-fluff moustache and terrible fashion sense?’

I nodded. Maybe he’d been an agent before, back in the day. Maybe, like Lockwood, he collected trophies from successful cases. He was admittedly an excellent swordsman; likely he’d had a great deal of those. And, I supposed, like many adults past their prime he longed for his glory days — the days before his Talent deserted him, the days when he was still useful in the fight against the Problem — and with all the money at his disposal, he’d decided to create a display room to help him remember.

But Sir Rupert’s glory days weren’t behind him yet — he still had excellent Sight, if the other evening was anything to go by, and it was hard for me to think he might be trying to fight against the Problem, when he seemed so devoted to the person we suspected of causing it. No, whatever this was, it was something else.

With a glance at the open door, I took my torch from my belt, set the light to low and flicked it on.

I expected the frame directly next to the box containing the finger to contain a newspaper cutting or perhaps some information on the Source itself. Instead, it contained a photograph: a simple picture of a slim boy about my age, dressed in an old-fashioned agency uniform and holding a rapier. He was smiling at the camera, all confidence and easy charm.

The next frame contained a newspaper cutting featuring an article about a successful case from the 80s, the sealing of a Dark Spectre that had caused several deaths by a team from the newly-established Sebright Agency. The boy in the first photograph was part of the team, again pictured holding his rapier. His name was James Hynes and he was 16 years old.

Above the article was another photograph of the same James, this time crossing the road with a smaller boy. He seemed unaware of the camera in that one. Next to that one, closer to the case, yet another photograph, this one taken in a shop. Then another of him on a street I didn’t recognise, leaving a building with the DEPRAC logo hanging above the door. There were a few more shots, all clustered to the right of the Source in a haphazard semi-circle — all candid shots where he was seemingly unaware of the camera.

I followed the images round, slowly moving my light up and around, to the frame hanging above the case. This time James was looking at the camera, but that charming smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were bound behind his back, a gag was around his mouth, and his naked body was bruised and bleeding. He looked terrified.

Heart in my throat, my eyes roved frantically roving over the next few photographs. Clustered around the other half of the case were similar pictures of James naked, beaten, and terrified, his body growing more and more broken as the photographs went on. I didn’t get very far along that terrible journey — three or four more photographs, and then I looked away. I didn’t need to see how it had ended.

Perhaps in response to my turbulent emotions, the blue glow from the Source in front of me brightened, James’ ghost shifting restlessly, swirling and ebbing with new urgency as it tried to escape the confines of the silver-glass. Taking a calming breath, I reached out with my senses, trying to establish some kind of connection, but could only pick up the barest whispers of anger and frustration through the glass. Opening my mind further, I concentrated, trying to pick up a sense of the other Visitors in the room.

The feelings were muffled, but they were there: anger, sadness, and an almost overwhelming sense of frustrated helplessness. And so many of them. The sheer scale of it made my breath catch; for a moment, I was back under Aickmere’s, with the ghosts of those who’d been left to die, forgotten and abandoned until I’d found them — and then they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the fires at Clerkenwell, removed from this world without a shred of justice. Maybe I could do better here.

Determined, I stepped away from James’ display and moved further into the room, towards the next. Before I could take a proper look, however, the skull spoke.

‘Lucy…I think you should leave.’  

I paused, my hand on the hilt of my rapier. ‘Why? Is he coming?’

‘No,’ it replied slowly, as though carefully weighing each word. ‘But I’ve…known people like this before. You don’t want to be at their mercy. They don’t have any.’

I checked my watch; it was half past three. I still had at least two hours before dawn, and likely more than that before Sir Rupert would wake up. I could afford to spend a few moments learning their stories, and I told the skull as much. It grumbled, clearly displeased, but by now it knew me well enough to know when I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The next case held a human ear and a swirl of lilac plasm. The photographs to the right — all seemingly candid — showed a tall slim boy; the ones to the left showed the same boy, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the same windowless room that James had been in. I didn’t look too hard at those ones. A newspaper article on his disappearance named him Harry Newman, a 15-year-old agent who had worked at Grimble’s in the 90s.

I moved on. The next set of photographs showed an unnamed smiling boy with dark hair and a slender build, dressed in a Rotwell’s uniform. His Source was a rumpled and bloody prayer booklet. Another case contained a ring, like the one Lockwood wore, belonging to a dark-haired 17-year-old called Denis Butler who’d worked for Tendy’s just before I was born. Next to Denis rested Reginald Spencer, a tall 16-year-old Fittes agent in the 70s who was now a Dark Spectre tied to a mummified hand. I kept going.

Josh Murphy, 18, tall, dark-haired, cocky smile. Went missing ten years ago and now resided in what looked like his kneecap. Noel Hart, fifteen with a floof of curly dark hair, was an agent at Sinclair and Soanes eight years prior, now tied to a broken rapier hilt. Smiling Louis Burton, 17, a team leader at Mellingcamp in the 80s before being reduced to yellow light and a couple of teeth.

On and on it went, boy after boy after boy. My head was spinning, but somehow I managed to keep it together as I swiftly worked my way through the room. The last one made the bile rise in my throat: Lachlan Thomson, a tall, friendly Scottish Listener from Staines that I’d worked with over the Black Winter. One of the astonishingly few agents I’d enjoyed working with during those cold, dark nights, I’d been upset to hear of his disappearance five months back. I stared at the shifting maroon hues of his ghost with sorrow, remembering how he’d put himself between me and the Spitalfields Horror with zero hesitation, holding the Changer back while I broke free of the ghost-lock and gathered my wits. He’d been brave, and kind, and competent (which was shockingly rare), and he’d talked me into meeting him for coffee as thanks for a job well done. I’d had hopes that I’d made my first new friend as a freelance agent, but we’d never found the time to meet up.

‘Lucy! Lucy, look at this!’

The urgency in the skull’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and I glanced quickly at the door, hand on my rapier. The landing was quiet.

The case next to Lachlan’s was dark — I’d initially suspected another Dark Spectre, but a brief inspection showed it to be empty. There were, however, photographs, and the first one stole my breath in an instant.

It was Lockwood. I knew the photograph well, as it was one of my favourite images of him in our album back home: a mid-air shot of him leaping between two floats at the doomed ‘Take Back the Night’ Carnival last year, sword in hand, coat billowing behind him, the thrill of the chase clear on his face. George had cut it out of the Times and pasted it on the inside cover of our album.

But this wasn’t our album, and it wasn’t our cut-out. And it shouldn’t be here. In a panic, I checked the case, but of course it was empty; Lockwood was safe at home, hopefully still asleep on the library sofa. The frame hanging above the case — the one that would show the initial stages of the torture — was empty too. I stared at it, breathing hard. It seemed to me as though it were waiting.

‘Lucy, isn’t that you?’

Wrenching myself away from the empty frame, I shone my torch on the other frames to the right. It was a collection of candid photographs — Lockwood at Arif’s, Lockwood and Holly outside The Times offices in town, Lockwood sweeping the steps at home, Lockwood at Satchell’s. And there, as the skull had said, a picture of Lockwood and myself, though my back was to the camera. We were standing by the penguin enclosure at London Zoo, on a day last summer after the business with the Bone Glass — I’d mentioned that I’d never been to a zoo before, and Lockwood had managed to scrounge up a pair of tickets a week or so later, so we’d gone. It had been odd, walking around with Lockwood in the daylight without the excuse of work to distract us, but pleasant, too, in ways I wouldn’t have wanted to admit to anybody else.

He’d bought a flower from a passing vendor and presented it to me, and the photographer had captured the moment he’d tucked it behind my ear. It had been a sweet, unexpected gesture, a private moment between friends that cemented our closeness…but now it was here, hanging on the wall in a serial killer’s house.

I was horrified. ‘He’s been following him for over a year…’

‘Yes, well, he has proven rather difficult to pin down.’

The skull at my back let out a litany of profanity and I whirled around, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and dropping into a defensive stance. Sir Rupert Gale leant against the doorframe, sword held casually at his side, dressed in garish purple silk pyjamas that reflected the shimmering lights of the Sources in the room. For once, his arrival wasn’t heralded by a cloud of aftershave — I suppose that was his one concession to the late hour — and the smile he bestowed upon me was polite and genial, his eyes glittering with a benign amusement like a jolly old grandfather at a family dinner who had caught the children hiding their vegetables. He terrified me.

‘I rarely have guests, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, pushing away from the doorway and slowly moving into the room. I took a step back and strengthened my stance. ‘And when I do receive visitors, they tend to stay downstairs.’ His smile grew. ‘Only very special visitors get to lay eyes on this room, and unfortunately you don’t meet the qualifications yet.’

‘You mean I’m not dead,’ I spat, my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on his hips — after the chase at the carnival he’d attacked so fast I hadn’t even seen him move.

‘Lucy!’

He paused by one of the display cases in the middle of the room and raised a hand, as though to greet the Visitors on the shelves within. For a moment, his face took on a curious expression, something blank and almost gentle. An instant and then it was gone, his posture taking on a predatory air as he turned to me again. ‘I rather think, Miss Carlyle, that they failed to teach you proper manners in that hovel you hail from. I can fix that, if you accompany me to the cellar.’

I’d seen enough photographs of the cellar to know what that meant. My lip curled. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Are you sure? I’m a rather good teacher.’ He tapped lightly on one of the wall-mounted display cases as he prowled closer. ‘This young man was rather polite by the time I was finished with him. Used all his P’s and Q’s perfectly.’

‘And look at where that got him,’ the skull interjected. ‘Lucy, you have to get out of here.’

‘I know,’ I answered, gritting my teeth.

The problem was, there was nowhere to go. We were trapped in this strange dance, him slowly prowling closer, me slowly edging backwards, trying to keep up the niceties when in reality we were circling each other like two tigers waiting to strike. Only I didn’t feel like a tiger. I felt like the prey.

I’d never been foolish enough to believe I could beat him in a fair fight; the plan had been to slit his throat while he slept. But it seemed that, in all my hurt and fury, I’d forgotten something: I was an agent, not a killer. God, why hadn’t I listened to Lockwood? He’d said he had a plan. For once, couldn’t I have just listened? 

Sir Rupert moved closer, regarding me appraisingly. ‘While it’s unfortunate that you’re nothing like my usual preference, I suspect I’m going to rather enjoy your extended stay.’ His smile was all teeth, like a shark. ‘At the very least, you’ll make excellent bait.’

A wave of fury rushed through me. ‘Never!’

‘I think you’ll find you don’t have much say in the matter,’ he said calmly, and in the same breath he lunged.

I parried the blow, barely dancing away from his follow-up in time to avoid having my thighs sliced open. He pressed the attack, and even as I tried to counter he caught my rapier with his own and tried to push it to one side. I only just managed to disengage before he twisted his wrist, scarcely avoiding the attempted disarm.

‘Lucy, let me out!’

‘How?!’ I cried, whirling out of the way of another swipe and letting the momentum carry me, futilely trying to put more distance between us. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the hands to do it; Sir Rupert was relentless.

Yellow light flared at my elbow and on impulse I feinted high, then used the split second of time that bought me to fling myself to the side and smash the hilt of my sword down hard on the display case. At once I was engulfed by a wave of fury, a desperate need for freedom and revenge that was abruptly cut off as Sir Rupert dispatched the Visitor with a swipe of his sword.

But the distraction had already served its purpose and before he could turn on me again I threw a flare at the display cabinet behind him. In an instant, it all changed: glass shattered, bright light burst against my tightly-closed eyelids, and a freezing cold wave of psychic energy slammed me back against the wall. My inner senses were immediately bombarded with a cacophony of sound and I winced, blinking away the last of the flare-light to see three or four Visitors converge on Sir Rupert.

He burst into movement with a roar of fury, his blade flashing as he whirled to defend against the advancing ghosts. Two were already rematerializing as I scrambled upright.

‘Oh, you’ll let them out, but not me,’ the skull groused.

‘Shut up,’ I answered, ripping another flare from my belt and lobbing it at where two cabinets stood close together. ‘You’re not as accessible.’

‘I’m also less likely to turn on you.’

‘Or more likely, depending on your mood.’

I braced myself and covered my face as the second flare exploded and more glass flew. Sir Rupert was — in a feat of particularly impressive rapier work — somehow holding his own, though I doubted it would last as the numbers grew. The most important thing was that he was no longer after me.

The ghosts weren’t after me, either. The first ghost I’d freed had rematerialised less than a foot away and completely ignored me, instead moving towards where a wild-eyed Sir Rupert fought for his life with a single-mindedness reminiscent of George with a new book. I moved along the wall towards the door, smashing cases as I went for good measure.

‘Are you going to let them all out? What’s the plan for when they’re done with their revenge?’

‘No idea,’ I huffed, ducking as the Dark Spectre floated to hang overhead. ‘He’s making a good go of it, hopefully I'll be out by then.’

The skull grumbled a response, something about a lack of planning. Part of me wanted to point out that I had no other choice, but as usual: it had a point. Annie Ward had moved on once she’d exacted her revenge on her killer, but there was no guarantee these spirits would. And there were so many of them — Spectres, Wraiths, a Raw-Bones, plus a few Type Ones. Leaving would be the smart option.

But I had one thing I wanted to do first. I spun around, carefully avoiding a Shade hanging at the edges of the fray as I cut the corner and flung myself at Lachlan’s display case, driving the hilt of my sword into it with my full body weight. The maroon glow flared brightly then disappeared, reforming right where I’d stood a moment before into the shape of a boy. His naked torso was covered in bloody gashes and bruises, the skin hanging off in places, the bones twisted and broken. I blinked back a tear.

The Wraith regarded me silently, and I held its gaze, my breath fogging in the frigid air.  There was no trace of Lachlan’s confident smile on its visage, only a deep, hollow exhaustion. Then Sir Rupert screamed, and it turned and glided away towards the centre of the room.

I didn’t see him hit the ground but I felt it all the same when he lost the fight; the energy in the room suddenly shifted, expanding as the frenzied, focused rage lost some of its strength. Whether he was dead yet or not didn’t really matter; he would be soon.

‘Time to go, Lucy.’

‘I know.’ I stopped in front of the empty case beside Lachlan’s and snatched the photo from the zoo off the wall.  Then I got the hell out.

⚔⚔⚔

The dawn chorus was in full swing when I slipped into the front hall at home. Quietly, very quietly, I placed my rapier in the umbrella stand, removed my boots, then tiptoed towards the library where Lockwood slept.

He’d shut the door.

‘You’d think he’d at least leave it open so you could watch him sleep.’ The skull sighed dramatically. ‘How short-sighted of him to deny you one of the few simple pleasures in your miserable existence.’

I scoffed and turned for the stairs. It was past four-thirty in the morning; I didn’t need to see him to know that Lockwood was fast asleep on the sofa, long legs slung over one end. George’s harsh breathing was audible on the landing, so I knew he was safe too. All was well.

Still, twenty minutes later I stood outside the library door, my hair damp from the shower. The skull’s derisive laughter echoed in my ears. It was irrational, and it was stupid, but…I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t rest until I’d checked.

The door opened with a soft creak and my entire being sagged with relief: there lay Lockwood, one arm thrown up above his head, his too-long legs hanging off the opposite end of the sofa, the spare blanket he’d taken from my room cutting out at his shins. I drank him in for a moment, studying the way his fringe flopped over his brow and the way his expression was relaxed and serene. Tomorrow he’d be a force of nature, a tornado of sharp focus and purpose as he rallied the troops for the next great challenge. Right now, he was just a boy.

The clock in the hallway chimed five, and he stirred.

‘Luce?’

‘Go back to sleep, Lockwood,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

‘S’okay,’ he mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

I thought of the photographs covering the walls, of breaking glass and the smell of magnesium smoke. I thought of Sir Rupert’s shark-like smile as he moved towards me and found I couldn’t quite dismiss it. ‘Something like that.’

‘C’mere then,’ he said, shifting and lifting the blanket with a yawn. ‘There’s room for two if we squish.’

On any other night, I would have declined. I’m sure my face would have turned scarlet at the offer alone — surely only made because he was half-asleep — and I would have insisted that I was fine, that all I needed was a bit of warm milk and a book and then I’d be out like a light, all by myself. But tonight? Tonight I was haunted by images of an unaware Lockwood on the street, by wide, terrified eyes and horror and gore and cruelty too great to name. Tonight I had no strength to resist.

I crawled under the cover and he shifted to accommodate me, arms coming around to press me to his bare chest and keep me from falling off. Our legs tangled together, and I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders before wrapping my free arm around his back. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, time dipped and whirred; the clock on the bookshelf ticked softly, but my world was spinning with the way my face fit perfectly in the hollow of his throat, the way his breath tickled my ear, the way his hand felt so warm on the skin of my back where he’d slipped it underneath my top. We’d never been so close before, not even when we’d sheltered under the same spirit cape. And the circumstances had been quite different.

Eventually, though, I relaxed, the tension gradually drawn out of me like a slow sigh by the warmth of his body, his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. This was new, but this was Lockwood. I’d wanted to reassure myself he was alive, and really: how much more alive could he get? Neither of us had spoken since I’d lain down with him, but I could feel the lines of his muscles relaxing as I melted into his embrace.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ The question was soft, murmured into my hair. I shook my head. ‘Okay then,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep, Lucy.’ His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture sparked a memory.

‘Lockwood?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you remember that day we went to the zoo?’

‘Yes?’

If I hadn’t been safely ensconced in his warmth, my face hidden in his neck, I would never have asked. But it turns out certain things are easier to voice when you’re snuggled up in the dark, and the way he’d looked at me in that photo…it was making me connect all kinds of dots. I needed to know, so I asked.

‘Was that a date?’

‘...Yes?’ His voice was laced with sleepy confusion, but the answer still made my heart skip a beat. ‘Wait, Lucy, did you not know that was a date?’

He tried to shift away, probably to get a look at my face, but I stubbornly pressed closer and shook my head.

‘Lucy, I gave you a flower!’

‘I thought it was just…you know, a flower,’ I said, my voice a strangled whisper. ‘You never said—’

‘I’m quite sure I did,’ he replied, his tone incredulous. ‘Even George knew.’

‘Oh.’ That explained why George had given me such an odd look when I’d invited him to join.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘I really didn’t know,’ I said, shaking my head again. My cheeks were burning, and I was very glad for the darkness. ‘Um…Do you think, maybe, when all this is over, we can go on a second date?’

Lockwood was silent for a moment, then his chest began to rumble with laughter. ‘Lucy,’ he began, ‘what did you think that day at the fair was?’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh,’ he agreed, burying his face in my hair as he laughed softly. ‘Oh my god, Luce. This explains so much.’

I was starting to laugh now, too, embarrassed though I was. ‘Like what?’

‘Like why you were always so hot and cold. One day I’d feel like we were doing great, and the next day I’d be wondering where I stood with you.’

‘Oh my god. Wait, so how long were we dating for?’

His arm around me tightened. ‘Well, you broke up with me when you left—’

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’

 ‘—but if we ignore that, about a year?’

‘Wait, really?’ I finally pulled back so I could look at him. He looked as exhausted as I remembered from earlier — his smooth face lined and weary, the bags under his eyes prominent even in the dim dawn — but his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Did you think we were dating now, too?’

‘Didn’t we just go out for lunch last month?’

‘That was a date?’

‘Lucy.’ He threaded a hand through my hair, drawing me closer. ‘It was a fancy restaurant. You wore a dress. Remember?’

His breath ghosted across my lips, and my laughter died away as we gazed at each other. Dark hair fell across his eyes, that floof I always wanted to reach out and push back, and I suddenly realised that he definitely wouldn’t mind if I did.

His hair was soft and silky beneath my fingertips. ‘Have there been others?’ I whispered, searching his gaze. ‘Since I came back, I mean.’

‘A few,’ he breathed, gently touching his nose to mine. ‘How did you not know?’

‘You never kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I could fix that.’

‘Please do,’ I replied.

His lips met mine — soft, gentle, tentative — just for a moment, and then he pulled back. I closed the distance for a second one, laughing as our noses bumped, pulling back just as quickly. But we were fast learners, Lockwood and I, and years of living and working together had us pretty in sync; it didn’t take long to find our bearings, to figure out how to melt against each other as what had always been between us deepened into something slow and warm and perfect.

Outside the window the first rays of sunlight spilled across the street, chasing away the last remnants of the night; here, inside, I held my own piece of sunlight safe in my arms, and let his warmth melt away the remnants of mine. Later, I’d have to tell him what I’d done, but for now? I’d let him help me forget it.

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