#dead leaf butterfly

[sitting-on-me-bum]

The Master Camouflage of the Dead Leaf Butterfly

PHOTO BY JAMES HOU/SHUTTERSTOCK

[supernova3space]

Doing macro photography after a super long time lmao. I'm rusty dammit.

These are my stuff from yesterday. I'll post today's later ig. Got a stuffy nose and my brain is not functioning.

That's a leaf after rain. That's water on it. Just clarifying it because my mother thought it was something else.

Ant and Dead Butterfly.

I've heard of Dead Dove Do Not Eat. How about Dead Butterfly for this dude?

Drop of water.

Drop off the edge this time

[breakerbeam]

pics from the audubon insectarium :-)

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Poplar Lappet Moths: these moths are able to mimic the dead leaves of a poplar tree (there is at least one moth in each of the photos below)

Above: the photo at the top shows two poplar lappet moths disguised as foliage (the two "leaves" on the left-most end of the branch are actually moths) and the photo on the bottom shows another poplar lappet moth clinging to a leaf

The scientific name of this species is Gastropacha populifolia, but it's more commonly referred to as the poplar lappet moth. It's also known as pappelglucke in German and feuille-morte du peuplier in French.

The moths are distributed across large sections of Europe, Russia, China, Korea, and Japan, but they're regarded as a rare species throughout most of Europe.

The shape, color, wing pattern, and resting position of this species all contribute to its unique disguise, as it bears an uncanny resemblance to a dead leaf. It even has a dark, snout-like projection (the labial palpi) that mimics the stem of a leaf, and its wing pattern completes the illusion with a dark, raised line forming the central "vein" of the leaf; the soft ridges and scalloped edges of its wings also add to the effect.

There are many other leaf-mimicking moths out there, but this species is particularly impressive.

The caterpillars also have a knack for blending in -- thanks to their cryptic coloration and fuzzy, setae-lined sides, they are easily camouflaged against the bark of a poplar tree.

Above: the photos at the top show Gastropacha populifolia caterpillars blending in by pressing their bodies flat up against twigs/branches, and the photo at the bottom shows one of the caterpillars in a more conspicuous setting

These moths are defended by more than just mimicry, though; they can also produce ultrasonic clicks that interfere with the echolocation signals of predatory bats, which allows the moths to avoid being detected (and ultimately eaten) by bats.

Above: the adorable face of a poplar lappet moth

Sources & More Info:

Nota Lepidopterologica: Continuous Long-Term Monitoring of Daily Foraging Patterns in Three Species of Lappet Moth Caterpillars

Catalogue of the Lepidoptera of Belgium: Gastropacha populifolia

Moths and How to Rear Them: Gastropacha populifolia

Wikipedia (German): Pappelglucke

Moths and Butterflies of Europe and North Africa: G. populifolia

EurekaMag: Effect of the Scale Coverage of the Moth Gastropacha populifolia on the Reflection of Bat Echolocation Signals

[herpsandbirds]

Orange Oakleaf aka Dead Leaf Butterfly (Kallima inachus), family Nymphalidae, India

photograph by rajesh_kumar_photography 

[yridenergyridenergy]

do you have pictures of all of kyo's tattoos you could make into a master post?

Judging by how long it took me to reply to this (57 days), I didn't hahah.

While compiling all of it into a sort of encyclopedia of each tattoo would have been possible, I just felt that it was slightly cringe? Sure, it's obviously all skin that he has shown us, but... There's something too uncomfortable about it, until he actually does another full-body photoshoot on his own. I opted for a list instead, and I'll give you links to some posts that show examples:

SCALP

Dum Spiro Spero statue

Chrysanthemum flower(s)

Barbed wire

Flames

Eye fresque (?)

(Nape) Enneagram (nine points, astrology-related)

FACE

Uranus symbol

Handwritten "Vanitas" (?)

Small x at external corner of right eye

NECK

Blended female heads (reminescent of Ochita koto no aru sora cover art)

H.R. Giger art

Handwritten "truth"

"Damned" with skulls

Skull with crown

RIGHT ARM

Noh mask with string

Scribbled-over blue butterfly with the Russian word for "To be born"

White/negative space flames

White flower/leaf

Spider with skull etched on back

Jewelry

Queen crown

Skeletal queen with black censor bars over eyes and mouth "GOD KILL THE QUEEN     MAD STALIN"

Leathery gauntlet patch (?) that quickly covered up the Russian words for:  "Eternal" "Sleep" "Mind" "Freedom" "Happiness" and a blue star

LEFT ARM

Chinese-style dragon

Phoenix

FINGERS

Handwritten "Vice" & "Virtue"

"S A V E"

Christian cross covered by longer black triangle

Skull holes (knuckles)

Norse runes (Mannaz, Laguz, Hagalaz) & upside-down Russian orthodox cross

"God" and "Pain" in Russian

Flame tribal mark (?)

HANDS

Anarchist "A" in circle symbol (right palm)

"The Emperor Is Dead"

Thorny ring

ABDOMEN

Ankh cross (with loop) meaning eternal life, with a Noh mask/face inside it

Inner forearms bound at the wrists, palms facing up with at least one showing a lucky square, a W/M of fortune and a long, straight vertical Life line (re: palmistry, or the characters on the second palm form a word)

Tiger with red flames

Handwritten "triginta duo" (32 in Latin) (?)

Skulls

Yokai with two pairs of eyes

White heron or phoenix

Skull ghoul

Oni mask/head with horn and jewelry

BACK

Eye surrounded by illumination lines near nape

Sanjusangendo Kannon

Black smoke swirls

LEFT LEG

"To live and die with a sense of inferiority is all I know."

Flames, waves, clouds

Large sakura flower (?)

"AXIS"

Swirls

Geisha with burnt left side of the face

Large chrysanthemum flower

White spider web (?)

Skulls

Duplicated Noh masks (art by _suzani on instagram)

RIGHT LEG

Large chrysanthemum flower

Rooster

Negative/black space

Flames, waves, clouds

"LOOP"

Noh mask in a triangle (art by dualflow on intagram)

Honeycomb (?)

Koi fish

FEET

Symbols for Mercury, Sun, Jupiter & Venus (toes)

Handwritten "the reckless love"

Most of Kyo's tattoos were credited to nobuisobe666 (Instagram), while Sezuni did his back tattoo and the anarchist A in his palm.

Unknown tattoos:

Hip area

Ankles

Rest of feet

Some pictures:

Rock And Read 115 - Petit Brabançon

Rock And Read 098 - sukekiyo 1 2 3

Rock And Read 087

MadaraNingen x Milkboy photoshoot

Instagram 1 2 3 4 5

Tour24 Psychonnect screenshots

Tour22 FROM DEPRESSION TO________ 25th Anniversary screenshots

Graphic from Twitter

PHY vol.14

Tattoo Tribal vol.65

The World You Live In gifs

Natalie.mu Petit Brabançon

Barks Petit Brabançon

Don't Forget by Petit Brabançon promotional photo 2 3

sukekiyo Tour24 Tsumetai Chinmoku screenshot

[aggieharkness]

Kneel and please me

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x reader

Summary: The instant you walked through the doors of Dr. Lilia Calderu's office, your entire world shifted. There could never be sleepless nights again, or empty bottles of alcohol, because your life was now filled with her. Hours of the day spent with her and for her. The instant the doors closed, you were Lilia's to explore.

Warnings: therapy, implied self harm, implied abuse, reference to bondage, reference to spanking, not fully Dom/Sub it might become that, sexual fantasies, lingerie, dubious consent, blood mentioned, fantasizing about biting, masochism, psychology, implied alcohol consumption, boobs almost in full on display, hints and dashes of fluff, implied PTSD, non magic AU

Author's note: I have risen from the dead!!! I bring you a new fic that has been created between @p2pecleanerwitheyes and me. The story's sexual tension can be felt from three hundred miles away 😈😈 I hope that you all like it and as always, be gentle but tell me if I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas and suggestions that you might have. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Lilia Calderu, and Jac for writing her so beautifully.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader. I LOVE MY WIFE!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Word count: 16K (No comments your honor)

I ache for the touch of your lips, dear

It was a warm, sunny day, a gentle breeze swaying between the trees that were planted on the pavement, increased only by the moving cars that every once in a while, drove past you, the motors roaring loudly for a moment or two before vanishing, the only sounds left being your own breath and the birds chirping gleefully. There was not a single could in the sky, its baby blue shade crisp and pristine high above, unreachable, untouchable, but it was of no matter to you, there had never been a desire to reach the limits of the atmosphere, only the visceral need to run away from this world and float in the vast darkness of space. In your eyes everything was seeing through a black and white filter, as if nothing could stand out, as if the world had lost all its colour, but in truth you were just afraid of falling in love with it all over again and then being abandoned, suffering each day as if there was nothing else you would rather do. From a tree a small green leaf fell, swirling like a ballet dancer as she made pirouette after pirouette, coming to rest by your feet, barely touching your black boots over the dirty cobblestones, and as sad as it was to see its bright green shade ripped from the branch it belonged to the world hadn’t stopped turning. The sun was still bathing and warming the street, the songs that filled the silence that never ceased as a few butterflies and bees roamed lazily among the flowers blooming late in the season. Your gaze lingered on the leaf for an instant, your body rigid under your thin black jacket as you watched feeling as if you were the one on the ground and not the other way around.

It was nothing in truth, just a leaf on the ground, unimportant, small and that would soon rot until there was nothing left of it, as if it had never existed, it’s thin white veins shinning under the blaring sun, the smooth edges slightly bitten and broken in certain parts, like the cracks that had begun to rise to the surface, slicing through that façade you always wore as if it was silk, ripping and letting small glimpses of your small person through. You had worked so hard to keep that part of you hidden only for it all to crumble at your feet with one swift blow. After a few moments of staring at the plant, the street completely empty, a rare occurrence, you began to walk again, moving past the leaf and leaving it behind, an infinitesimal part of you staying right beside it. Your steps were slow, unsure, over the pavement, stepping over puddles and cigarette butts, wishing you could run away from the inevitable that was coming here and hide in your apartment until your body became ashes, rotting hoping there would be no trace of you left behind. You wanted to be that leaf so bad. Up until last week you thought you had had everything under control, every aspect of your life; your past, present and future laid perfectly before you as if you could pick and choose what parts to keep and which ones to throw away but it was obvious that could never be the case. Walking past an empty coffee shop, your eyes traced the words written in white marker on the glass, drinks and prices glinting against the dim lights that shone inside the establishment, before moving to observe your left hand where a big, white bandage protected a deep wound that you had inflicted upon your own palm not that long ago. The blood that had stained your fingers that night told a different story from the one you had wanted people to believe.

It had been an accident, you and your friend knew that, but at the same time it had served as a way for you to see that the world you had created, that perfect life you were so desperate for people to see was nothing but smoke that hid a burnt body amongst roaring and scorching flames, scabs and pestering blisters oozing from your skin, each memory as painful now as they had been when they had first formed, covering your flesh to the point that you could no longer see where you began and where the terrors ended. The sound of the broken bottle against your kitchen counter still echoed in your mind, sharp and loud as if even the noise could slice through your skin all over again, the smell of your blood hitting your nostrils as if it was still there, coating your skin even if there was no longer a source from which it could drip onto your trousers and tiled floors, a leftover sign of the horrors that you could have committed that night if your friend had not been there to stop you.

Eleven stiches held your rosy skin together, tight and itchy, but it was a price you were willing to pay. That night she had come over to see you, bringing a bottle of wine and some takeaway as you had not gone to work and had refused to answer anyone’s messages, preferring to bask in your own self-deprecating cycle that had begun as soon as you had opened your eyes. You knew, even now, that your reactions had been disproportionate and that you should not have spoken to your friend in such a way, but you hadn’t been in a good place and even her breathing had irritated you. Every time you remembered the harsh words you had spoken to her guilt and shame filled your every cell, but you could not erase what had happened, you could not take it back. In rage and anger as you had been arguing with your friend you had picked up the empty wine bottle and had almost smashed it on her head as she called you out on all of your bullshit, all those disastrous moments and terrifying voices that lingered in the back of your head facing you as she yelled, as she told you the truth.

If it had not been for your drunken state in which your balance made your feet stumble, you might have seriously injured her. Instead, you were the one left in pain and crying as you bleed, as the glass cut through your skin like it was butter from where it had rested on the counter. After that incident there had been no other option but to face your demons. Minutes clocked slowly as the address your friend had provided for you appeared within your range of vision, tall and dressed in black metal and bricks, decorated with what seemed to be thousands of small patterns carved over the metal, flowers, baroque motives, anything really that your eyes could observe, big, tall windows letting the light of day inside each apartment. You had never known Eastview had buildings like this. It had always seemed like such a New York touch with all of its Art Novoa architecture, maybe even something one would find in Chicago, but you had obviously been proven wrong as it stood before you in all its glory and over a hundred years of history hiding beneath each brick and pillar. You had to check the address on your phone three times before your brain accepted the idea that this was the right place and with trembling limbs you made your way to the big iron doors, seeing through the glass a vast sea of white, beauty and elegance meeting your gaze even before you had stepped into the building. 

With dread and a hint of curiosity you pushed them open and all the warmth that had been caressing your skin as you walked here vanished in between what seemed to be miles of cold marble tiles of a pristine white, and tall walls dressed in deep oaks where breathtaking murals of forests and coasts contrasted beautifully with the simpleness of the floors. You could not say that you had ever seen such a thing in your life, much less in your own city, but alas here you were, standing over materials that cost more than your entire salary, let alone your whole family’s combined. You knew you were staring dumbfounded, mouth slightly agape, but you could not find it in you to care, a grandiose staircase of wooden railings and carpeted stairs standing before you as your feet worked of their accord, walking away from the doors and advancing deep into the building as if the world outside existed no more. It almost made you forget the whole reason why you were there in the first place, eyes raking over every mural, every window and pillar you could find. There was no reasoning behind why your friend had suggested coming to this woman, at least not one that made sense to you as her sole description of this stranger had been “stone cold bitch”, but to a certain extent you trusted her and even if things had not worked out for her it didn’t mean they could not work out for you. It was obvious to anyone with eyes on their face and at least a bit of common sense that you needed help but in the back of your mind you were still unsure if this woman would be the one to do so after countless failed attempts with many other therapists.

Her name had fallen from your lips the night you had made up your mind to make an appointment, the perfect calligraphy in which it was written on a business card along with an email and a phone number, calling out to you in a way that you could not comprehend. Lilia Calderu was a well-respected woman in this town, a doctor that no one could say a bad thing about and yet you had not been able to find a single trace of her on the internet, not even a review on some shady website. Nothing. And that scared you but at the same time made you wonder why the secrecy? If she was as good as you had heard, wouldn’t it be better for her to have some sort of profile out there for people to see? This woman you had never laid eyes on was perhaps the most mysterious person you would ever encounter in your life but you liked the challenge, the questions that had inevitably formed in your mind as the days went by, the appointed time getting closer and closer, filling your chest with a sense of trepidation that mixed unexpectedly with the curiosity and expectancy of meeting her. You hadn’t even been able to find a picture, not even a glimpse of her in some photograph. Would she be pretty? You knew it was wrong to ask yourself that but how could you not when not even your friend would describe her to you. The only thing she had said was that she had extremely expressive eyes. What did that even mean? With each step you took as you walked up the stairs left an loop of echoes that seemed to float all around you, banging against the walls and spiralling up the air towards the upper floors as if there was no ceiling. Perhaps there was none, you thought, taking a moment to bend over the wooden banister, it’s complex swirls and figurines carved down to the smallest detail, to look up only to find that instead of the usual plastered grey ceilings you were used to, there was immaculate glass over your head.

 Through each square the baby blue sky was perfectly visible, allowing the soft, gentle rays of sunshine to come through without a fight, glistening against small stained-glass windows that laid scattered across the landings of each floor, creating a mosaic of rainbows and shaped that made a most beautiful, and ever changing, a carpet appear under your feet, more delicate and expensive that any Persian material ever could be. With one long sigh your feet stepped onto the second floor at last, your heart hammering slightly against your ribs in anxiety and due to the effort, hands shaking as you turned towards a big oak door where a plaque, in what you assumed was some sort of metal, like bronze, read “Dr. Lilia Calderu. Therapist”.  Straightforward, you thought, after all there was no need to make people wonder if they were at the right place, though you were sure most of the people who walked into this building came to see her. Just as you were about to lift your arm to knock on the door you found that your body was frozen on the spot, fear and anxiety filling up every pore, keeping your limbs glued to the side of your trembling frame as if you had no control over them, lead replacing each cell to keep you from knocking, a living statue made of flesh in between the cold splendour of gold, wood and marble.

The same thing had happened hours ago when you had been getting ready, your clothes sprawled over the covers of your unmade bed. Your gaze had been fixed upon the screen of your phone, the remainder of the appointment making the device vibrate in your hand, but you hadn’t been able to dismiss it for a good five minutes as your mind had begun to wonder once more. You had been so angry, so upset at yourself for not keeping everything bottled up that night the way you always did, for listening to her, for knowing that you were hurting yourself and everyone around you to the point that you had been unable to leave your own home. You had been too deep in your own head for years but now there would always be the dull pain on your hand to remind you of what could have transpired that night. The thought, the ache on your flesh and within your soul, had been more than enough for you to draw out a defeated sigh from deep inside your chest as a silent tear slid down your cheek.

For an entire week you had done nothing but ask yourself why thing couldn’t have remained the same, why couldn’t everything have just vanished so you could carry on with life as if your past had never happened, as if the terrors and flashbacks weren’t a constant thing for you, every memory, every scream repeating itself on a loop in the back of your head. It had taken you far too long to learn how to live with every image playing like a film behind closed eyes when you went to sleep and to wake up with their voices ringing in your ears only to take a thousand steps back because you had listened. It was barely ten in the morning and you were so tired already, as if you could crawl back into bed and stay hidden under the covers forever, but you had made the journey, you were standing with only a door separating you from this stranger, maybe even only a wall and a few feet keeping you from her, so you could not back down now. Your index finger bent slightly as you pressed the doorbell, a shrill sound drilling into your skull for a second or two, the noise making you grimace, nose scrunched as your eyes fluttered closed for an instant, but you had no time to mentally complain when the creaking of the heavy wood filled the space, pulling you from your momentary suffering. 

A short woman of Asian descent and straight black hair was standing between you and the room, her eyes dark but smiling just as much as her rosy lips were, a bold black and orange eyeliner complementing her features.  She did not ask you what you were doing there, simply looked at you and stepped aside almost as if she had been expecting you, which to be fair she probably had been, for as you set foot inside the apartment you saw her walk over to a black desk where several binders, pens and a computer rested. She must be some sort of secretary or receptionist, you thought, the girl returning to her work as if you hadn’t just disturbed it. It gave you the chance to look around the pristine room, white smooth walls decorated with abstract paintings that to you seemed more like just lines than actual meaningful works of art, picking up on the very few pieces that actually resembled some sort of small coastal village with vibrant blue waves and delicate white villas scattered around the edge of the beach. It was a contrast that you did not know how to interpret, not that you were going to or had the mental capability of doing so right now when you could feel your heart pumping harshly against your ribs, your veins throbbing under your skin as anxiety built. The feeling wasn’t foreign, but it was more intense, as if this time not knowing who was behind the big set of double dark doors was actually bringing forth a touch of fear, a need to be prepared for whatever you were about to encounter.

It was that mix of anticipation and terror that one gets when you were riding a rollercoaster, just when you had reached the peak and were about to witness the fall. Glancing at the screen on your phone, the wallpaper of a Broadway diva you had fallen in love with after seeing a very old, and positively microwaved video of her performing “Evita” on YouTube, glowing before your eyes as you read the time. Only five minutes to spare, not too bad, you thought, the sound of your heeled boots muffled by a greyish carpet that covered up hardwood floors, the sound of quiet voices breaking the silence that had settled once more inside the apartment every once in a while. The hard plastic and metal chairs you were used to had been changed over to comfortable black leather armchairs that looked either relatively unused or brand new, a couple of coffee tables separating them with magazines neatly arranged on top of the glass. If things turned out okay with this new therapist you might take some time to read through a couple of them, but only if things played in your favour and she didn’t either throw you out or you decided not to come back, things that, much to your dismay had happened before. Just as your fingers were about to touch the cool material of the closest seat to you the doors opened up and a tall woman with piercing blue eyes and long dark hair stormed out, scoffing and muttering to herself, her purple jacket and black pants fitting her form as if they had been tailored. Perhaps they had been if the way she tossed two hundred bucks towards the receptionist was anything to go by, talking with her about how she wanted the same day and time for next week.

Stunned and curious your eyes remained glued to this woman, noticing from the corner of your eyes a figure moving inside the next room before the doors closed. Whoever this lady in purple was she held power and a touch of rebellion falling off the edges, and at some point she must have noticed that someone was watching her because as she finished her transaction her head turned to look at you over her shoulder. Her eyes were bluer than you had previously thought, but they weren’t any less dangerous as she eyed you dismissively before taking her appointment reminder and the bill and walking towards the front door. Mahogany with a few hints of bergamot embraced your form as she walked past you, her tall and slender frame towering over you, a smirk on her lips as she noticed the way your breath hitched slightly but she made no attempt to even share a word, simply strutted with confidence towards the exit, throwing one last glance at you as if she was assessing you, an eyebrow raised in curiosity before the hallway swallowed her and you were left alone with the receptionist once again. You had no idea who that woman was but she sure as hell was intimidating. Breaking the spell the young girl that had just been talking with that gorgeous devil spoke loudly to tell you that you could go in, that Dr. Calderu was ready for you, and with a shaky breath, the perfume of that stranger fading slightly, you nodded and began to walk towards the other room. If there had been even a slight possibility of you running away it had vanished completely now.

In an attempt to seem respectful, you knocked on the door, a single “Come in” answering, though the voice was slightly distorted by the wood. It surprised you the sheer amount of that material that seemed to dress the entire building. The hinges were well oiled and made no noise whatsoever as you pushed it open, slighter than you had anticipated, eyes raking all over the office. The hardwood floors weren’t hidden by expensive carpets here, massive windows let the outline of the city through along with the sight of birds and insects that rested over the sills and edges to bathe under the warm sunlight, the atmosphere inside the room was calm and quiet. The walls were still white but the art here was different, simpler, and more detailed, like an expression or even an extension of the woman who owned this placed, making it her own and telling a story that you doubted many people had asked about. Diplomas and certifications hung by the doors, your eyes darting between each paper as it clicked shut, trapping you with a complete stranger, making you feel like a caged animal that had no chance of escaping, but as your eyes followed the painting on the back wall, a copy of “The Three Graces” by Rubens, presiding over a cherry wood desk that was obviously unused, the feeling faded. In the middle of the room, overpowering the atmosphere with confidence and dominating the session sat a mature woman, though perhaps woman was not the right word to use. It seemed too small, too weak and lacking in sentiment as you observed her for an instant.

Peppery curls covered her face partially, ringlets that bounced gently with each small movement of her head, messy and piled on top of her head by what you assumed was a claw clip, a hint of its edges coming through the wild waves. Your fingers twitched in need to trace the pads of your tips over her profile, following the curve of her long nose where a pair of black glasses rested, though they were placed too low for her to be seeing through them and rather over them, perfectly sculpted cheekbones peeking through the white curls that framed her rosy skin. It was impossible not to trace the length of her exposed neck with your eyes, but your trip down Lilia Calderu’s body was cut short suddenly by the woman in question, almost as if she had known what you were doing. Lilia looked up from her notebook, red pen in between her cherry lips, leaving carmine marks over the metal as you stepped inside the room, a whiff of an unknown perfume filling your lungs, making you forget all about the woman in purple. It was a mix of something musky, a touch of amber floral and a hint of a certain sweetness that seemed to fit with the way Lilia’s eyes watched you. Your friend had not been kidding when she told you that the woman possessed extremely expressive eyes. It was as if thick Madagascar vanilla was dripping lazily on your tongue, knocking your senses off for an instant as you took her in, feeling the way her gaze stripped you down to your very soul and you hadn’t even spoken a word in her direction. They were drawing you in, but she did not leave you time to think about anything else before her velvety voice, deep raspy tones bathing her words, spoke into the room.

-Sit. 

I’m sat ma’am, was the first thought that crossed your mind, clumsily making your way towards the long light grey couch that rested opposite her chair, cushions scattered over the soft fabric in gentle sage tones half covering a mustard throw that had been neatly placed over the back. Lilia’s eyes were glued to your form as you placed your bag beside you and took of your jacket, finally taking your right place before her, seeing her properly for the first time. You had not been aware but Lilia, observant of every single detail that happened in that room, saw the way your breath hitched slightly in your lungs, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly as soon as you took one proper look at her, the instant your pupils dilated just a millimetre. She had seen that reaction so many times, mostly with men if she was honest, their gazes assessing her as if she was meat, as if by the end of the session there would be a happy ending, and once or twice she had had to cancel sessions of thrown people out because of their unwanted advances, but the way you observed her was completely different. There was a hint of lust deep withing your eyes, she had picked it up the moment she had lifted her head from her notebook, your berry perfume caressing her cheeks as she inhaled it, sweet and slightly sharp on its undertones, but what took her by surprise was the unconditional adoration that had dressed every inch of your face. You knew nothing about her, and you were already looking at her as if you had never seen natural beauty before in your life.

And she was partially right, because never before had you seen eyes so deep, so big and expressive even if her features remained neutral, pools of melted chocolate that left a rich and sweet taste on your tongue, the tip of your tongue tracing the inner edge of your lips without you realising it as if that could prolong the phantom flavour in your mouth. It was as if you were walking through a forest in which all you could see were trees as tall as they sky would allow, oak, mahogany, ebony, cherry… an endless sea of browns that embraced you and walked beside you down a road that you had no clue where it would end or where it was going. It was so easy to get drawn into her eyes and let yourself fall deeply into them, not caring about the endless void, the floorless darkness. It was hers and for some reason, it made you feel safe. Never before had someone without so much as one word had made you feel this way, as if you could tell her everything, as if you could lay your entire life before her and let her do whatever she desired with it all, but as soon as Lilia rested against the back of her chair doubts began to fill your head. You had this woman sitting in front of you, dark glasses perched on the tip of her nose looking at you, observing your every move, drinking every inch of your body language in as if it was water and she needed it to live, her expression telling you that either she did not care one bit about your flustered state or she was hiding her emotions like a pro, her posture relaxed.

Her right arm was placed on her armrest, fingers toying with the red pen you had seen in between her lips a few moments ago, her left arm across her lap holding her notebook with two fingers, two very specific fingers, the pages tilted away from you as her legs were crossed. Everything about Lilia Calderu screamed luxury, power, as if she had everyone wrapped around her finger and she could do what she pleased, calm and resolute in every single thing she did in life, and all that confidence that very clearly seeped from her body into the atmosphere that was building in the room, slightly charged, was leaving you breathless. You were a ball of nerves, hands sweaty as they held onto the hem of your t-shirt, while she was just sitting there, neutral, assessing everything, like a predator waiting for the kill, savouring every instant before she plunged. Lilia on the other hand was quite curious about you. You had waltzed into her dominion seeking help, like countless others did every day, and suddenly she was presented with a gorgeous woman who clearly was instantly taken by her. The human brain had a tendency to surprise her at the strangest of times, because how was it possible for you to be so brutally attracted to her when she had only spoken one word to you? You had barely been in that room for more than a few minutes, and she was sure she could get you to do anything she wanted if she so desired. Clearing her throat seemed to force your gaze to stop wandering all over her face, taking in every inch of skin and makeup that Lilia was wearing.

-Good morning. My name is Lilia Calderu, and for each of our sessions, I will be your therapist. You can address me as a doctor if you prefer; it is of no concern to me, but I do have a rule, and that is that you call me Lilia. I firmly believe that if we are both on a first-name bases, I can connect with you better and you can grow to trust me rather than if we stick to titles or surnames. You are Y/N S/N, right?

-Yeah. I mean, yes. Y/N S/N, yes. – had you stuttered? God, you had never done that before, but how could you not trip over your own tongue when your name had fallen from her lips so beautifully? You had to get a grip, you were here to get help, not to get turned on by your therapist.

-Then I will call you by your name. Is that alright with you, Y/N?

-Yes. – she could call you whatever she wanted. Jesus, it had been too damn long since you had got laid, your hormones were all over the place. You were sure you were leaving puddles of pheromones on the couch that perhaps Lilia’s sharp nose would pick up on.

-Perfect. So, tell me, why are you here?

It felt as if ice cubes had been poured down your back, freezing your skin and cooling your overheated system down as her question registered in your brain. There were so many reasons why you were there, but you had no clue where to start, what things she would consider boring, and which ones she might not like, wondering for the first time if you could actually share your torments with her. There was no doubt that she made you feel safe, a motherly aura simmering behind the confident and professional mask she wore, but there was a voice in the back of your head telling you that she would listen for a while and when she got bored she would send you on your way and tell you to never come back again, that you were either a lost cause or that your trauma wasn’t really that and you were just being childish. Your mouth opened for a moment, but no words came out. Your mind was reeling with thoughts and memories at such a speed that it seemed to be blank, nothing worth telling coming forth, volunteering to sacrifice itself for the purpose of getting this session started. Lilia watched intently in silence, listing the way your hands were gripping the hem of your t-shirt even harder, almost to the point where your knuckles had turned white and the fabric was being pulled, the way your eyes drifted down to look at her legs, avoiding locking your gaze with her almost as if you were trying to hide your mind from her.

-It is normal to not know exactly how to begin. You might not be sure where the beginning even is, so how about you try to go back to the very first memory you have related to whatever issue you have encountered and tell me what happened from that point onward?

-It’s… I don’t know which one it is. There are too many to count.

-Is that so? Why are there so many Y/N? – You were a creature that lived inside a hard shell that she had to crack, one way or another, slip inside your head and pry everything with both hands until you lay bare before her eyes.

-Things happened.

-What things?

-I don’t know. Just… things. Life, I suppose.

-So, life is meant to be rough with you? That’s what you are trying to say?

She was simply asking questions, but why did it feel like there was a second meaning right there, staring at you? The way you head whipped up to look at her was almost hilarious, leaving your eyes wide open while Lilia raised an eyebrow gently. She knew perfectly well what she had asked and she knew perfectly well that she was teasing, tempting to see how you would react because there was part of her that wanted this session to go like the others, boring, emotional perhaps and call it a day after an hour, but the other part, the inquisitive one, the side of her brain that Agatha sure as hell knew how to turn on when she spoke to Lilia about her sex life with Rio, was curious to see why you had had such a reaction to her and to what limits you were willing to go to. You were her patient and at the same time an experiment of sorts, one that she hoped turned out to be successful, after all her own brain was reacting in ways that weren’t foreign to her, but the chemical response to your presence in her dominion was far stronger than anything she had experienced before. Lilia sat a little bit straighter on her chair, the red pen returning to rest against her lips, eyes never straying from your frame.

-You can share anything you want with me, Y/N. I’m here to listen to your every word. Why do you think life is treating you so roughly?

-Why not? – Two could play that game. Lilia hummed, but you weren’t sure if it was in agreement or not, her notebook a simple decoration on her lap, not a single word written in the few minutes you had been there. – Shouldn’t the question be why people don’t let life treat them roughly?

-That would indeed be the right question to ask if that was the normal outcome to be expected. But it is not. Life shouldn’t be a walk in the park, but it shouldn’t be a constant battle. So, I ask again, why do you think life is doing this to you? Do you like being mistreated? Have you found an emotional connection to being punished?

-I don’t like being hurt if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not a masochist.

-That is not what I was implying. Let me ask it more plainly. Have you developed a need to be reprimanded and punished by someone because you feel you deserve to be mistreated? Someone has to be above you at all times, reminding you what your place is?

Swallowing was hard, your mouth and throat suddenly too dry, the collar of your t-shirt making the heat in your body rise up to your cheeks. You did not like being hurt over and over, yelled at, abused and pushed to the ground, but there was something in her tone that you could not quite catch, or make out, that gave the impression that she didn’t mean the last question as professionally as she had delivered it. All of a sudden, your hands were the most interesting thing in the room, not Lilia and her deep eyes that could turn into black holes in a matter of seconds, swallowing you whole until there was nothing left. You were afraid that she would see just how much these “innocent” questions were getting to you and use that to either throw you out or ask for things that you were ashamed to say you were willing to give to her. Never before had you been drawn to a stranger so fast and so strongly, not even when you were drunk out of your mind with barely any control over your actions and no recollection of activities the next day. For some reason you felt as if Lilia would certainly be someone you would remember in any state of mind you might be in. The skin of your fingers had been peeled raw, scabs and brand-new bleeding wounds dressing your nail beds like mosaics that spoke of past events you could not handle or had been too stressed about, and Lilia had most certainly picked up on the fact that you were skinning yourself alive before her, a unhealthy coping mechanism that she hoped to erase. Your skin was far too beautiful to always be covered in blood and scabs.

-Y/N, if you don’t answer my questions or at least try to tell me a basic reason as to why you are here today, I won’t be able to help you, and that means wasting my time. – perhaps the approach she was going for might come to bite her in the ass in the future, but something had to cause the spark to glow otherwise she was getting the impression that you would not share anything with her. The pen smudged the tiniest bit of her lipstick, a reddish mark under her lower lip as she bent forward enough to make her point clear. – If you have come here to waste my time and laugh at my face, I will be very angry and upset, and if that is the case, I trust you know that I won’t hesitate to make that very clear to you. I am not here to be toddled off by a grown woman when I could be helping someone else, and I don’t think you would want me to be on top of you to make you talk. Unless… - you could feel her eyes boring into your skull, your frame shaking slightly, breath held as you waited for her to speak. – Is that what you require of me?

The way your eyes moved from your hands to her face was outstanding, the speed of light unable to match the way you had lifted your head to look at her, slow even, a sharp intake of air the only signal Lilia needed to see that she had definitely hit the spot. It might have been lust, or it might have been surprise, but she was sure that your attention was fully on her at last. Like a snake she would slither into your head and pry every single thought, want, memory and desire she could find, and build her own puzzle of you until there was nothing else for her to do but tell you that there was nothing left for the both of you to discuss, but that point was still quite far away in time and therefore her experiment could begin and run its appropriate course, the results and conclusions fantasies that she would never share and that would live in the back of her mind forever, after all she was your doctor and you were her patient and the things that her brain was coming up with were definitely not appropriate for the kind of relationship she was meant to have with you. And yet she had no desire to stop this delicious banter of double meanings that had settled in between you.

For a minute, you were stunned out of words, simply watching her. There was no way in Hell that she hadn’t meant it in some unseemly way, even if her face was completely neutral, like she did this sort of thing all the time. Perhaps she did and you were seeing ghosts where there were none, but the feeling that there was more was so strong that it was driving you insane and you had barely been with her for a few minutes. Either way, that moment of silence turned into something longer as you fully took her features in, from head to toe and beyond. Her hair was longer than what you had previously anticipated as you saw a rogue curl falling neatly over her shoulder, brushing her collarbone over her white shirt, the ringlet bouncing with each moment of her head. That mass of peppery waves that was piled on top of her head, held together by some sort of pen, glistened under the sunlight that bathed the room and your own head surprised you as you nearly said out loud how much you wanted to run your fingers through them and see if they were as soft as they looked to be, your lips parting before you caught yourself. Lilia lifted an eyebrow at the action but made no comment, simply observed you and sat back in her chair, knowing very well that she had planted the seed; she just needed to let it grow and watch.

Her nose was as unique and beautiful from the front as it was from the side, not too wide but not too narrow, it just complemented her high cheekbones and full lips to perfection. Your eyes became wide when you saw the lipstick stain, wishing that your own mouth had achieved such a thing, desiring nothing more than to smudge it completely until her chin was painted in red and her lips were swollen, quietly begging for more. It was undeniable at this point that the temperature in the room was rising, and it wasn’t because of the sun that was beginning to creep into the room, crawling over the wooden floors towards both ladies, the cardigan you had been wearing under your jacket suddenly too warm, your boots, your very own skin but your body was frozen on the spot. You began to wonder how it would feel to trace the skin of her neck with your fingertips, to feel her pulse rushing under your flesh, blood boiling in her veins, to unbutton that fucking shirt that was two sizes too small and was clinging to her in every perfecto spot almost as if she was meant to wear clothes like that.

Peaking from in between the undone buttons you could see the soft wrinkles that time had painted on top of her breasts, but you weren’t thrown back by them, no, you only wanted to release her ample boobs from their lacy cage, black and nearly see through, her shirt doing nothing to hide her from you. Lilia was no fool, she knew what you were doing, drinking in every inch of her, undressing her with your eyes until she was sitting completely naked on her chair, but this time she was going to let you do it. No other patient had ever gotten this treatment from her so early in a session, much less in the first session, perhaps she had never allowed it in the first place, but the way your pupils were blown wide was like a boost of confidence for her and she still had many questions she was hoping would receive better answers than the ones you had been giving her, so she would watch you as you pictured her in your arms, lips tasting, teeth biting hard until her skin was bruised, until your fangs drew blood and you drank her in, every drop of her essence, tasting her on your tongue and becoming high in every single one of her atoms, pushing her against the couch and pulling her close to you.

-What is it you want from me, Y/N? From this session?

Her mouth had spoken but it seemed as if your brain was taking longer than before to register her voice, soothing like caresses at dawn and thick as honey falling on your open mouth, and it wasn’t until your eyes moved down the valley of her breasts towards her legs, dressed in black thighs or stockings, you couldn’t be sure from the angle you were sitting, that your eyes shot back to her face, redness covering your cheeks in shame and a hint of arousal. Your voice shook as you spoke, unable to comprehend what was coming out of your mouth and therefore unable to stop yourself before you could keep your armour up. If this was her way to get people to talk, to render them speechless with a few double meanings and her gorgeous body no wonder her name was so well known and her patients, people like the woman in purple, stunning and powerful enough to make you vanish into the ether if you crossed them. Your brain was far too busy still fighting the image of her hands taking her shirt off to register what you were saying.

-Help.

-Help? And yet you do not converse with me. I cannot do what you need me to unless I get something from you first. I need you to bare yourself completely for me otherwise I will be talking to a wall that I won’t climb or break through with a hammer. The hard work has to come from you first Y/N and then, and only then, will I be able to walk with you down the path that you need to be on.

-Bare myself?

-Yes. This office is a safe space for you. You need to feel comfortable, as if it was your own home. So perhaps we should start by ensuring that you don’t feel as if you’re on death row and then begin with the questions again. It’s quite warm in here, you can take your cardigan off if you’d like.

The idea wasn’t completely unappealing to you, the heat inside the room matching but never surpassing the scorching lava that was coursing under your flesh, one spark away from setting your entire body aflame, but if you removed that layer your body would be exposed to her and there were things that you could not bring yourself to share with anyone, not even your friends. The redness in your cheeks was no longer due to arousal and heat, shame suddenly overwhelming your senses, your eyes watching the way Lilia’s features remained neutral for a moment before softening as she saw your hesitation. In her profession there was no room for attachments, not the way that she knew part of her patients wanted or desired, but that didn’t mean that she could not feel bad nor was she a stranger to the things that people did to themselves to escape the pain, to feel anything else even if was just for a second and it seemed that you were to be counted amongst those people. The grip on her pen hardened even if her eyes looked at you with a touch of concern and patience, promising herself that she would not ask you again unless it was strictly necessary. You cast you gaze down, and the way you began to play with the skin around your nails and the bandage that wrapped around your palm sent a jolt of pain straight to the heart that she had not been expecting in the slightest, taken aback by the sudden wave of emotion.

-I… I think I’ll keep the cardigan on for now.

-Of course. Whatever you are more comfortable with. I see that you have injured your hand.

-Yeah.

-Want to tell me how it happened?

It would be so easy to say no, to just remain silent and never look at her again, but the way she asked, losing every ounce of bluntness she had laced her words in and dressing them instead in kindness felt like a wave of reassurance that cooled you down and made you feel like you could indeed tell her how it had happened. Not ten minutes ago you had believed yourself able to tell her your deepest darkest secrets and now reality was slapping you in the face once again and your body and mind fought with the idea of speaking to Lilia about everything. What if she thought that your problems weren’t worth solving? What if she actually didn’t care and you were clawing at the possibility of her showing you not even an ounce of kindness when there had never been none? Lilia was something you had never seen before, she made you feel things that you had never felt before, not this way, and to a certain extent you were beginning to think that it wasn’t so much telling her all the things that had happened to you but the reaction she would have to everything. You had barely been with her for ten or fifteen minutes of your life and you didn’t want to let her go, to watch her slip away when she wasn’t even yours to begin with. And yet your lips parted, a shaky breath slipping through them to float invisibly around you as your voice trembled.

-I broke a bottle.

-Accidentally? – Sometimes Lilia could forget that beneath all those macho acts and distant conversations there were people, well, not just people, little kids who were scared and weren’t sure how to make people hear them. There was a hint of shame in her system at the experiment she was conducting on you but she wasn’t going to stop it, instead she could widen the research and try to understand why she felt like she was being stabbed in the chest when you were but a stranger, a passer by that would leave her once your problems were solved. It was like getting a taste of a special chocolate at Christmas that she would enjoy too intensely for a short time and then be left craving it for the rest of her life, but she could not make you leave and prevent herself from falling the way she was sure she was doing. She’d rather taste the chocolate than watch it remain in the cupboard until one day it would no longer be there. She could not wonder if your skin was as soft as it looked, if your hair didn’t smell of cinnamon or perhaps vanilla, if the whiffs of sweetness she had caught when you had entered belonged to your perfume or if the belonged to your flesh. She began to feel herself drifting away from you and into those fantasies she was trying to keep at bay and instead of letting herself be snatched away she was pulled back into the room by your voice, quiet as the words fell from your lips carrying a hint of pain and defeat that she made a mental note about.

-Not quite. I was arguing with a friend, got pissed and smashed the bottle on the counter. I cut myself instead of hurting her.

-What was it you were arguing about?

-Don’t know. Stuff. I don’t quite remember. I was drunk and she kept going on about I don’t know what and then she started yelling and I got angry and she kept yelling and I got even more angry.

-So why did you pick up the bottle?

-I… I don’t know. I think I wanted her to just shut up and get off my case for a minute.

-So you wanted to hurt her?

-What? No!

-But you did pick up the bottle with the intention of doing something to her with it.

-I would never hurt her. I was just pissed and drunk and in the end, I was the one who ended up on the ER, so stop trying to tell me that I wanted to mince my friend or whatever shit you are trying to imply.

-I did not ask a question. I stated a fact that you yourself inadvertently told me.

-I never said that! Don’t put words in my mouth lady!

-I would never dream of doing that Y/N, but you must admit, for your own good, that when you picked that bottle there was an intention that wasn’t headed for you but your friend. I am not telling you that you did it on purpose, that you were aware of your actions and therefore knew what the outcome would be, but I am telling you that by what you are saying she was the one that your anger was focused on.

-So, you are telling me that if I hadn’t broken the bottle on the counter, I would have smashed it on her head?

-Is that the outcome you believe would have happened?

She was lucky she was so fucking beautiful, otherwise you would have already stormed out of her office calling her a cunt. Of course, you were aware that the bottle could have seriously hurt her but to be told so bluntly to your face that that could not have been but would have been the outcome made you feel even worse about it all and yet furious at Lilia for being so brutal about saying it. For fucks sakes you were already going through Hell, there was no need to be so bitchy about it all! Your fingers had stopped fidgeting with the scabs and bleeding cuts, now holding onto the hem of your shirt with such a grip that your knuckles were beginning to turn white, your gaze no longer on your lap but on her face instead. All the softness that had washed over Lilia as she asked you about the incident was a harsh contrast with the fury that was suddenly in your eyes, and it caught her off guard. She was ticking you off, cracking you open with her bare hands and in that process she would have expected insults, maybe accusatory monologues about how she was only trying to convince you that you were nuts or something, it wouldn’t have been the first time, but the rage, the simple unadulterated rage that was practically steaming off your body was something that she hadn’t expected and was not happy about.

-Are you going to answer the question or keep sulking in your seat?

-How about you get drunk and get told off for every fucking mistake you’ve ever made? Let’s see if you know then if “that’s the expected outcome” or whatever you just said.

-Excuse me? I don’t tolerate such tones young lady. I understand that some of the things that might be said here can be hard but that is no excuse to talk to me or anyone that way. So how about you try again and show me a little more respect?

-Where am I now? Third grade? I pay you to help me, not to tell me that I’m some sort of pyscho.

-Words I have never uttered. I think that you need a moment to calm yourself down, because no one here is telling you such things. – Lilia felt her anger rising with each passing second, fighting to keep it at bay and remain as collected as she could even though you were most definitely reaching boiling point.

-Calm down? Are you seriously telling me to calm down?! How dare you?! Who do you think you are?!

The instant those words escaped your mouth Lilia’s entire calm demeanour shifted into something you had never seen before, a fury that no human being should have. She stood up from her chair in a fraction of a second, throwing her notebook on top of the coffee table that separated each other, nostrils flaring and those gorgeous curls bouncing as she stomped in your direction, her black skirt riding up her thighs and showing the edge of what you now knew were a pair of black stockings, lacy contrasting with the olive-kissed skin that you could see peeking just above it. She had no business coming towards you like that, breasts rising with each breath she took, spilling almost from her black bra as she bent over the table, both of her palms pressed firmly over wood. Dangling from her neck was a golden chain, a pendant of two turquoise hands catching your eyes for a moment, only an instant before your eyes travelled elsewhere. With Lilia only a foot or so from you, you could practically count every freckle on her face and chest, your fingers twitching to touch her all over, to dig every single one of your digits on her skin until your fingerprints were engraved on her flesh, marked forever. But Lilia wasn’t that willing to be touched, not right now when she was about to blow the top of your skull off.

-How dare I?! Who do I think I am?! I’m the woman who’s trying to fix your life, unless you had failed to notice that in your self-deprecating rant. I have had many people sit exactly where you are and never, never, have I seen a person as disrespectful as you! You come to me for help and then pull a stunt like this?! I don’t think so! – her perfume didn’t seem as sweet as she pointed her finger at you, her short nail shining under the sunlight that was slowly creeping in, like monsters that were turning everything dark around you, no warmth, just Lilia and her rage. She rose her hand just a little above her head in fury to make her point clearer, exactly at the perfect height for it to collide with your face and leave you bruised for a week if she so desired, if she turned out to be like everyone else, taking pride in hurting and mocking your pain. All the rage that had fuelled your body vanishing as your eyes followed her movements, panic filling the spots that anger had left behind, mixing with a touch of fear that her raised voice didn’t help with as she carried on with her rant. The fury in her eyes was like a wildfire burning forests with a brutal force not noticing the way it ravaged and killed without mercy, ripping souls from the ground until only ashes were left. – Children have shown me the respect you are denying me, and I won’t have you nor anyone mock me and ask me who I think I am in my own office! I know perfectly well who I am, the question is who the hell do you think you are?! Either you apologise and start behaving like an actual grown woman or you can get the hell out of here!

If for some reason Lilia had turned her face to look at the door instead of maintaining her eyes fixed on you she would have missed the way your body pulled away from her and her raised arms, the way your back pressed against the couch as if you were looking for some sort of exit that your eyes could not find, shooting from side to side hoping for a door but unable to see anything past Lilia. Your entire field of vision had become the woman before you, watching like a scared child every single movement she made, from the way her face stared at you in confusion before realization sank in, to the way she lowered her arm slowly, allowing you to follow the path of her hand until it rested on top of the coffee table once again. Never before had she behaved like this, lost her composure so easily, had let anyone get to her so fast when she barely knew them and she had been called many things since she had begun to work as a therapist, but to see you like this, afraid of her, seemed to break something inside her. This entire session had started the wrong way, and it had only gotten worse. As gently as she could Lilia knelt before the table, ensuring that her every move was gentle, and allowed you to watch her and see where her hands were at all times.

-Y/N?

The moment you had woken up, everything had seemed like the beginning of a rollercoaster, getting higher and higher until suddenly you were falling with no breaks in sight and an infinite number of loops that you had to go through to get to the end, a straight line above ground. Seeing Lilia, talking with her and getting to this point felt like you were going through smaller loops inside a big one, but you couldn’t get out, not now. The way she could switch from being all kind and soft to cruel and brutal seemed insane to you, like some sort of superpower that in truth you had no idea why nor for what it could be useful, unless scaring the crap out of you counted as its main purpose. Once again her voice was velvet caressing your cheeks, tears you had not felt until now falling slowly, running down your skin leaving bitter trails of abuse and pain behind that you had not wished to show her, not this soon, but life had had other plans for you it seemed, and as she called your name your eyes settled on her calm face again. Had you been this cold before? You could not recall feeling your skin as if it was ice, nor seeing Lilia crawling over the carpet towards you, your mind foggy momentarily and then all of a sudden there was the touch of a hand on your thigh, warm, comforting, almost as if it was meant to be there, and as it spread its heat the turmoil in your head dissipated.

Somewhere in the room a clock was ticking, the noise quiet but it seemed to reverberate inside your head along with the rushing of blood as your panicked heart tried to calm itself down. Lilia’s hands were small, of soft skin and prominent veins, and they did not move against your thigh, only rested there, and that simple gesture was more than you had received in weeks, perhaps the first actual touch in months but you could not be sure, there were gaps that you could not fill and that brought along questions that you had no answer for. Through blurry tears you counted three golden rings, one on her index finger dressed in round opal stones that brushed coldly against her own skin, and two on her ring finger, one a simple golden band while the other was of a silvery undertone encasing a small pearl that reflected all the colours of the rainbow in gentle pastels, iridescent lakes that Lilia could see in your tears. A voice in the back of your head whispered that none of them were attached to a marriage or engagement, or at least that’s what your heart was feeling, at last your mind and blood agreeing on something. In your life you had met many women you had considered gorgeous, but with them there had never been anything beyond seeing them one time and moving on with your life, no attachments, not really. Lilia was different though in ways you could not describe, and it confused you, because what if everything was just in your head and the sudden pull to woo her was destined to disappear into smoke? She had to be kind to you, it was her job, and yet she had been brutally honest to the point that she had scared you and you were certain that that wasn’t usual behaviour, she even seemed to be taken aback by her own reaction, which wouldn’t be too far off, so maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t some paranoia you had suddenly developed because you were touched starved. After all, you were begging and craving for a love that didn’t seem to ever arrive and you were growing tired and driving yourself insane by it and in the centre of that amorphous mass suddenly Lilia appeared, and like the Big Bang a complete universe seemed to be forming, stars, galaxies and systems that were each part of you for her to see.

-Y/N, talk to me. Are you okay? – what were you meant to answer to that? You weren’t alright but you didn’t want to tell her that, not as plainly anyway but if you lied you were sure she would pick up on that, so once again you were back in square one. Her hand made no effort to move, nor did the rest of her, kneeling at your feet with a look that could only be described as heartbreaking. There was sadness behind her chocolate irises, but underneath all that there was a layer of a thousand emotions that rushed from side to side as if none of them knew which was more prominent. Defeat, shame, guilt, anger, but that one didn’t seem to be projected towards you, and rather on herself, as if she was flagellating herself mentally for losing her temper like this when she did not know what your triggers were nor the things that you feared the most. She was supposed to be the professional here and she felt as if she deserved nothing else than to be punished for her outburst, perhaps have her license revoked, though as she looked at you, your body still pressed against the back of the couch firmly, she thought that perhaps that was a bit harsh. Everyone makes mistakes, but only a few people acknowledge them and actively try to fix them and change. She had said that more times than she could count, so she should set an example and do it herself. You had come to her for help, not for whatever this had turned into, and she wasn’t going to let you leave scared of her. – I’m terribly sorry I shouted at you. I shouldn’t have done so, and I apologise. I know it’s no excuse, but It’s been a long day.

-It’s ten in the morning. – there was no need for the both of you to feel as miserable as you did, and in moments of stress or deep emotion humour seemed to be a good escape. The jab came out softly with a smile that trembled on your lips, a way of lightening the mood so the despair inside you wouldn’t crawl out of your chest and steal you away. 

-True, but after talking with Agatha it feels like six in the evening. Still, I apologise. Are you alright?

-I think so, yeah. I just need a minute to… sort myself out?

-Of course. I can step out or you can go to the bathroom if you need to.

-No, it’s fine. I’d actually prefer it if you stayed. My stupid brain won’t think of you as a threat. I think.

-We should get into that. Your response wasn’t something foreign, but it wasn’t expected either. By the hints you have dropped I believe you’ve been hurt more than once and more than twice, but perhaps we could address this at another time. Once you are more comfortable with me and your surroundings.

It had been barely an instant, a reaction that happened in less than a fraction of a second but what felt strange to you wasn’t so much the panic itself that was already fading into the ether, barely a few strings left around your heart, but the fact that Lilia did not make fun of you or call you weak, mocking your fear, your memories that came to threaten you as if they were demons standing in the room. Perhaps you had been surrounded by the same people for too long and could no longer differentiate between what was good and what had become your normal. There, on the floor, with her face barely half a foot from your bare knees Lilia looked like an angel, her perfect oak eyes holding nothing but softness for you, the fury a distant memory in your mind as you let yourself get pulled into her, falling inside her mind as if you could swim in between her thoughts and construct her from every little piece she was willing to give you, from every whisper and every touch. The way the golden rays reflected on the wood created a halo around her face, her cherry lips slightly parted as if she wanted to say something, but she could not find the right words, or perhaps she knew what she wanted to say but wasn’t sure whether to let them escape or to keep them for herself. The air had been charged the instant you had set foot inside the room, but it seemed as if the electricity that was now sparkling invisibly through the atmosphere had shifted into something completely different, something as intimate and deep as the way your body was moving towards Lilia and away from the back of the couch.

Had anyone ever told her that there were specs of honey in her irises? Touches of a sweetness that your tongue could almost taste, but everything was but a hallucination, a delusion of your mind. Of course, Lilia’s attentive nature had picked up on the way your fear and panic had turned into small bubbles that danced over your irises, like floating stars that reflected your persona the same way they did in that scene in Cinderella as she sang about a mockingbird’s song, almost sure that one was chirping outside her windows under the heat of morning. With every caress of her fingers on your skin one of the bubbles seemed to pop, the feelings trapped inside fading into nothing, making room for a sense of adoration that sent shivers down her spine. Not a single touch or look anyone had ever sent her way could compare to the way her mind and body reacted to you, confusing her with the longing that was begging for her to pull you closer, to perhaps answer all those questions that the both of you had reeling in your head. Still, she fought. You were a patient, an experiment for her to examine in her free time, research that she could get her hands on to understand her own brain, her chemical reactions, or perhaps overreactions, to see if things were as primitive as some of her colleagues had told her, if there was an underlying reason why she would suddenly be so attracted to someone with only one glance, one conversation.

-If you are alright with it, I would like to begin the session once again. I believe we started off on the wrong foot and we can’t have that, not when I’m here to help you. Are you okay with that?

-Yeah. Sure.

There had been the expectation that she would remove her hand straight away, but she instead used it as leverage to stand, her face nearly brushing against your legs, her hot breath nearly seeping into your skin under your clothes, but it never quite reached it, her breasts though, that was a whole different story. Her other hand came to rest over the fabric of the couch, right beside your left thigh, the heat of her skin begging and clawing at the clothes that separated you from her but unable to break through them, and as she pulled herself upright her breasts came into contact with your knees, sliding over your thighs making your skirt ride up slightly, feeling the way her satin shirt brushed and caressed your skin. You had expected it to feel cool against your flesh, to draw out goosebumps and send shivers down your spine but the fabric was surprisingly warm or perhaps that was your own body that was rising in temperature as her cleavage came into full view for your eyes to feast on. There were indeed freckles all over it, some slightly darker others faint against her caramel skin, and the sight made your mouth run dry and at the same time water, wondering if there would be a sweetness or saltiness to it, if she would melt to your touch, if her body would mould to yours, to your fingers and kisses. It was insanity to have her this close, to see her black lacy bra peeking from under all that glistening white and not be able to unbutton it, to grab her by the waist and sink your teeth into the plump skin of each boob as if there wasn’t anything as delicious in the entire planet as her.

The whiff of her floral and burnt amber perfume was intoxicating, ropes that wrapped around your wrists and kept you trapped, grounded on her couch, watching the slightly wrinkled skin of her chest blending down into a forbidden path that neither your eyes nor your fingers could set foot on, feeling the way the air was filled with only Lilia, her breasts bouncing with each motion and each breath as if she was greedily taking all the oxygen in the room, or perhaps your lungs were not working with her being so close to you. Lilia had not even thought that this could happen, her height hadn’t even crossed her mind nor how it might make her brush against you, but she could not say that your reaction was unpleasant, nor particularly unexpected since every single thing she had done had had a similar response from you, and it was undeniable how your eyes dilated and mixed adoration with arousal in a perfect cocktail that slid down Lilia’s throat with that delicious burn she had not experienced in a while, your delightful sweet undertones knocking her taste buds out as if she could actually feel the way your essence would float across her tongue. The way your teeth barely bit down on your lip as to stop any rogue sounds from escaping when her nipples, stiff as the lace brushed against them, caressed your body, even if it was for an instant, dizzying your senses for a millisecond. And then the moment was gone and Lilia stood before you instead of practically straddling your lap and smiled down at you as if nothing had happened, but you knew better. She knew better.

The notebook on the table had been forgotten but as Lilia turned around, her round ass aligning perfectly with your line of vision, she saw it from the corner of her eye and bent to pick it up. This time she did not see that way your eyes darkened, the way your hands twitched in need to grab her by her hips and press yourself against her, to whisper the most filthy things in the universe against her ear while your hands did quick work of that tight black skirt that she had no business wearing, imagining how it would look pooled around her feet, her gorgeous legs dressed in nothing but the stockings you now knew she was wearing, almost daring to imagine her with nothing else but her bra and stockings, skin bare for you to roam with your kisses and for your hands to hold onto, to push and bend her over. You wanted to see it red with the shape of your hands all over the soft flesh, because there was no doubt in your mind that every inch of her was like the most expensive velvet, like all the silk and satin that existed in this universe, hoping that her skin was as smooth as diamonds and as delicious as caviar. As soon as the notebook was back in her hands, she straightened herself and walked back towards her chair oblivious to every fantasy that was crossing your mind. The purpose of coming to see Lilia was no longer to get help, you thought, or at least not fully, but to see if you weren’t going insane with lust and to find out if what you felt, if what you could see in her eyes, in her body, was true and not just your craving for a real attachment. Lilia did not sit down though, no, she turned around and rested her hip on the side of the chair, the red pen you had lost sight of for a moment back in her hands, moving in between her fingers, the cherry of her lipstick visible against the bright scarlet shade of the metal.

-Y/N, please, do tell me, how did you know that you had to come and see me? What was the reason for you to make this appointment?

-A friend suggested it.

-Suggested it? Was this friend the one who was with you when you injured yourself?

-I… She… Yes.

-And did she suggest it because she was worried about you or about what you might do to her?

-I wasn’t going to hurt her. Lilia, you said we were going to start from the beginning, not go back to this topic.

-You don’t want to talk about it?

-No. I don’t think… I’m not ready.

-Alright, if that is what you want to do let’s go back to our previous conversation. You said that you expected to be treated roughly. Is that a reflection of how you desire to be treated or is it something that happened and you had no say in it?

-I don’t think… I don’t understand the question. – oh, you most certainly understood the question but there was a certain level of curiosity in you that wanted to see her break, to slip and say out loud what you were sure she was simply bursting to say. Perhaps she was the one who liked it rough.

-Let me rephrase. – she turned her back on you, tracing the stitching of her chair with her index finger as she spoke, rounding her seat as if she were a predator that was waiting for her next meal, stalking it, assessing it. Her gaze shifted from her fingers to your face almost with each word she spoke, not wanting you to see the anticipation in her eyes but without wishing to miss any reaction you might have. – Let’s take this scenario and you can explain to me exactly what you want me to understand. If you and I were in a different place with a different set of circumstances, let’s say having dinner at your place, you would expect me to order you around? To force you to do all the things I don’t want to do without a single regard for your feelings? Or would you expect me to wait until we were in the bedroom for me to grab you and do what I desired with you?

-I… I still don’t understand what you are trying to ask me. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to force me to do things, but I’m not quite following your line of thought.

-I shall be as plain and straightforward as I can then. When you implied that life treated you this way does it mean that you would expect me to bark at you and hit you with no pleasurable ending in sight because you are not doing or behaving as I expect you to, or would you expect me to wait until we were in the bedroom for me to grab you by the hair and tell you all the things you have done wrong while I rip your clothes off and do whatever I desire with you?

Lilia was hoping for the latter. There were a thousand things she could do to you, a million ideas crossing her mind as she watched you gulp, the shape of your neck a blank canvas that she could picture filled with bruises and bites, your pulse point abused to the point that one single brush of her fangs over it would draw blood. Part of her was wondering what things others had done to you, if they had pulled your hair, if ropes had ever been involved, if men had ever taken a taste of you, or if that had been a female privilege. Either way she knew she could surpass them and make you feel things that could have never even crossed your mind, to have you writhing under her, on top of her until you were begging her to let you take a break and breath, to rake her perfectly cared for nails all over your skin until you were one inch away from madness only to be pulled back into sanity by her skilled fingers and mouth, to send you over the edge with her tongue as if there was no time or space in the universe, the only beings solid in this planet her and you. The seconds that were passing by were excruciatingly slow, nearly painful to watch from the clock on her wall that she could see from the corner of her eye, waiting for you to either shatter her fantasies and remind her why you were there in the first place or to fuel them even more.

-I would expect you to scream, perhaps, if you were really pissed at me, I suppose. But I think I would expect you to take your rage out on me by fucking me senseless. You would have more power over me that way, I think.

-More power over you? Have you reflected on the roles that you perform in bed compared to your normal daily life?

-I don’t have roles in bed.

-That is not quite what I understand from that statement. What you are saying is that, if we still carry on with the same scenario, I would dominate you, abuse your body in ways that you normally wouldn’t let me, that I could bite you, spank you, bruise you and hurt you and you would take it without complaint. – The satin of her shirt was suddenly too thick, sweat collecting at the base of her spine and in between her breasts as she forced her voice to remain steady, professional. This was exactly the material Agatha provided her with when she never asked for it, the younger woman knowing perfectly well that everything she told Lilia had a physical reaction, almost as if she was expecting her to have them, but pulling this out of you, squeezing you so your juices would drip onto her awaiting hands and drinking it as if it was water was far more challenging and therefore rewarding to her than any story Agatha could tell her. You were turning her on because of the mystery you were to her, because of the way your body spoke to her to such levels that she could not comprehend and not because you were being a tease that would leave her high and dry. Not if she could have it her way. - You would be completely submissive to me and you have moved that role to your daily life.

-I don’t think that is what I do. I can dominate as well, and I don’t let my actions in bed reflect on my ordinary life. I don’t know how you got that conclusion.

-You seem certain you dominate as much as you behave submissively.

-I am.

-Alright. Let’s change the scenario. Stand up. – you were stunned by her command, perhaps by the way she spoke to you with an authority you had not heard from her, though you had only met the woman over thirty minutes ago, there were many things you didn’t know about her. You remained seated, not out of fear or because you did not wish to comply, simply because you were surprised. Lilia did not take it as lightly. – Y/N I don’t like repeating myself, so if I say “stand up” you do so. Stand up!

Lightning had coursed through your veins at the power, at the way her hands gripped the back of the chair, at the way a few rogue curls had escaped her messy updo and were framing her face, the kindness that had painted her features instants before subdued, an air of confidence pouring out of her like water racing down steep rocks in a waterfall. She knew what she was doing, there was no doubt about that, and you had answered her command without a single question racing through your mind, sprang to your feet as if the couch was fire and you had to run away from it, though if the destination was Lilia’s arms you would not complain. Authority suited her, you thought. She made no attempt to move from her spot behind her chair, instead lifted an eyebrow and looked at the floor in front of her. She didn’t utter a word and yet you moved, your body shaking but it was no longer just arousal, want and desire, it was anticipation, not knowing what to expect and not understanding what Lilia’s method was nor what the outcome of this was supposed to be. If there was no title before the name Lilia nor the knowledge that this was her office you would know perfectly well how things would end but this wasn’t some hot woman you had picked up at the bar, and this scenario was beginning to feel like more than just some psychological method to understand you. But you did not wish to stop her. Your steps were slightly clumsy as you rounded the coffee table, but you made it to the appointed spot, waiting for her to either move or say something.

-I want you to tell me to my face, no stuttering or half arsed answers, if you would do what I’m about to ask you. Understood?

-Yes.

-If I asked you to undress for me, would you?

-I… I…

-No stuttering! It’s a simple instruction.

-But the question is not that easy.

-Isn’t it? Undress!

-What?

-Perhaps the issue is that I asked if you would do it. The circumstances that I have set for the scenario make questions irrelevant. I am ordering you, commanding you to undress.

-And if I don’t?

-Defiance. Perhaps you are not as submissive as I previously thought. Still, let us carry on. You do not wish to undress for me; what would the outcome of this rebellion be?

-A punishment.

-Rough treatment as stated before. Kneel.

You could easily say no, to tick her until she broke but why would you want to reach that point? It was much more fun to see where she was heading with this, if there was an actual reason for her to be doing this and not just because she might want to get a taste of what it was like to be in charge, though by the way she held her head high and waited for you to move with the pen hitting the back of the chair, there was a voice in the back of your head telling you that perhaps you weren’t giving her enough credit. Slowly you complied with her command, your gaze locked with hers as your right knee hit the hard wood, followed by the left, leaving you with the cold of the ground seeping into the scars that decorated your skin around your patellas, but even though you were doing what you were told your head was held high in defiance, as a way to tell her that you could say no at any time and she would have to suck it up. Lilia’s first step towards you was calculated, as if she was showing you who was truly in command in this room, your eyes shooting to watch her dainty foot, inside a perfectly polished black stiletto, as it lifted from the ground to round her chair, following the shape of her shin, hidden behind black stockings. You wondered for a moment if they would feel as smooth as they looked, if perhaps the expensive fabrics she seemed to be wrapped in could match the feeling of her skin protected underneath.

Travelling up her leg, her thigh became a fixated point for you to feast on, her short pencil skirt having ridden up almost to the top of her thighs revealing that the top of her stockings were indeed intricate lace patters that wrapped around her, jealousy building inside you at the fact that such meaningless fabric was touching her and not you. Of course her hips were perfectly shaped by the lycra of her clothes, nearly tailored to her specific measurements you thought, and it wouldn’t have been a total lie, not when things fitted her as sexily as they did, but it wasn’t your hands that rested there, it was her own, like a teacher who was about to scold her student. Every movement she made had been measured to the smallest detail, to the sway of her hips, to the way her legs crossed each other as she walked towards you, the fingers of her right hand still following the shape of the back of her chair. If Lilia had been a lioness, she would have been able to smell your arousal all around you, pooling in between your legs, but you could not let your most primeval feelings get the best of you. There was a purpose for this experiment, or whatever it was, and you would see it through, and show her that you weren’t as submissive as she was sure you were. Lilia, of course, was a thousand steps ahead of you already, and knew perfectly well what your role was, after all, it wasn’t the first time she had had a woman kneeling before her in less than five minutes flat.

The hand that she had purposely placed on her hip slid upwards over her stomach towards her chest, making the motion of her fingers around the buttons of her shirt slow, letting her right hand join the satin that cupped her breasts as she got closer and closer to you, faking a surprised look when her already very low-cut shirt suddenly became even more so, a button popping open by her skilled fingers, her plump chest spilling from in between the fabric as if they had a spring attached. Your eyes widened, darkening to such a shade that they could match the blackest coal on the planet. The freckles indeed travelled down to her nipples, pink and stiff behind all the translucent black lace, and Lilia did seem to be trying to close her shirt back up, but there was something in the movement in her hands that told you she was in no hurry to actually do so. In no time she was standing before you, chocolate eyes having watched your every reaction, the way you squirmed on your knees, the way your hands held onto the hem of your own skirt with such strength Lilia wondered if perhaps you could rip it and bare yourself for her. Fumbling still with the buttons, though to you it looked as if she was fingering and toying with them, she proceeded to bend forward, everything, her very own soul in display for you.

-You are sure you don’t fit the mould of a submissive?

-Yes.

-And yet you are at my feet hun. I’m certain that if I told you to do something else you would.

-How are you so certain I will? You don’t know what I’m capable of or how my mind works.

The laughter that erupted from Lilia was deep, as if it had been ripped from the very back of her throat, raspy tones lacing it, echoing against the walls and entering your mind as if it was the most expensive whiskey you could have, smoky and fiery as you swallowed and watched mesmerised as she threw her head back and completely let go of the buttons, the satin folding around her breasts, the perfect contrast of white and black. You were simply bewitched by her throat, by the way it moved with each bout of laughter and could not help but wonder how it would look as she drank your juices greedily. That intoxicating sound became nothing more than chuckles after a moment or two, Lilia returning to what you could only describe as her dominatrix persona, tilting her head to the side as she observed you.

-Oh, hun, I already know more about you than you can imagine. – The pen was once again in her hand, but your mind was too aroused to even wonder where it had gone before, if it had ever left her fingers. Those fucking fingers dressed in rings and made out of the softest velvet in the entire universe that had touched your thigh, that you craved for to such a point that it was beginning to be borderline insanity brought on by lust. The metal touched the underside of your chin, forcing your head to be lifted slightly and therefore changing the line of vision from her breasts to her eyes. – I know that as we are now, I could do whatever I desire to you, and you wouldn’t stop me. If I told you to undress you would do it; yes, you might try to play hard to get, perhaps defy me but in the end, you would be kneeling at my feet completely naked. If I told you to crawl to me and kiss my shoes you would do it. All this you would do simply because your mind has become used to being ordered around, inside and outside the bedroom. You have been built and shaped to do what others want you to even if you have complete free will, and you do it without much protest because if you don’t you expect a punishment, as you have already stated. You think life should treat you roughly because that is what you have been conditioned to believe.

-I… I wouldn’t let you…

-You wouldn’t? Then why are you still on the floor? Do not be ashamed Y/N, this sort of treatment can be quite enjoyable in the right setting, but I most certainly do not want you to reflect it on your daily life. – And just like that the pen was gone and so were Lilia’s gorgeous breasts as she rose to her full height, leaving you to stare at her legs. - I’m going to give you some homework.

-What? Am I really back in school?

-You can choose to do it or not. Up to you.

-And what happens if I don’t do it? – Even from your place you saw the smirk on her cherry lips, her hands toying with the button again as if she was considering whether to close it or leave it as it was for a bit longer.

-Perhaps my assumptions were partially incorrect, and you do like to be punished. What do you think I would do if you do not complete the task I’m going to give you?

-I don’t know.

-Then let me ask you. What would you like me to do to you if you do not complete the task?

Fuck you. You could say it, you knew you could, it was only two words, but you had been rendered speechless. Fantasy after fantasy built in your head, each filthier than the previous one. You could tell her to bend you over the couch and spank you, to feel that delicious tingling that came from the colliding of her palm against your bare ass. You could ask her to keep you kneeling at her feet for the duration of the next session, to allow you to kiss her feet, her shins, her thighs and everything that was in between them. Or you could tell her that she had free rein to do as she desired as you were sure that in that clinical mind of hers there were many scenarios already built and waiting to be used, just like you. Perhaps she would undress you herself and leave you completely naked while she remained dressed, or perhaps she would tie you and tell you how much a dirty slut you were. So many scenarios. Lilia interpreted your silence as many things but as much as she wanted to press the subject even further, but the forty-five minutes were coming to an end, and she could not leave you like this until the next session. Or perhaps she could leave slightly dishevelled and bothered to match how she felt.

-Alright. Let us consider this Y/N. If you do the task, we will continue our next session exploring this need to be ordered about and being reduced to simply a servant in the eyes of your friends and partners. If you do not do the task, you will be given a choice between me choosing an appropriate punishment or doing something out of your comfort zone.

-My comfort zone?

-Yes. Everyone has one. Things we like over others, places, foods, even people, and we tend to choose them over everything else. We might talk about that in our next session and see what your preferences are, what things you find triggering, your fears…

-So, if I do the task, we carry on with this but if I don’t we talk about my fears and whatnot?

-Yes.

-What’s the task?

-I want you to write a list of all the things that you do throughout the week that are told to you by others and the ones that you do of your own free will. That includes any sexual encounters you might have until we see each other again. If you get told to moan, you add it, if you get told to swallow, you add it, if you get told to cum, you add it. Everything. And in our next appointment you hand me the list and we go over it and how it made you feel.

-Will I have to tell you how cumming feels?

-I might be the one who will have to tell you how it should feel hun.

Without another word she turned away and began to walk towards her chair again, her notebook resting on the seat waiting to be filled with every single detail Lilia had mentally written down, her hands working quickly on the button she had undone. You remained on the floor still, your knees beginning to protest against the wooden floors, but you weren’t sure whether you could stand and leave without Lilia telling you to do so or if you had to wait for her command. To a certain extent you were curious as to how she would punish you if you did not follow her orders. The skirt returned to its original length, the curls that had been framing Lilia’s angelic face making their way to her updo giving you the impression that she had forgotten all about you already but in fact Lilia was waiting. If you did not stand on your own it would confirm what she already knew, that she could make you her pet and you would not even bother to run away from her, and as the minutes passed and you made no effort to do so, not even when Lilia walked past you to get herself a glass of water, her thigh so close to your face you could have grabbed her and lifted that skirt and eaten her out until the entire building heard her. It wasn’t until she sat back on her chair with her water and her notebook that her eyes settled down on you once again, spreading her legs and bending forward, the knowledge that you could see what she was wearing underneath perfectly clear in her mind.

-Get up Y/N. There will be plenty of time for you to be right in that spot in the future.

[volturissideslut]

What if the Humans adopt a child just to see what’s so special about humans and why the Cullens like them so much, not knowing how troublesome a 8 year old can be?

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎

strap in because this is going to be one hell of a ride (also I'm assuming asker meant volturi adopt a chaotic human child)

Aro, ever the curious one, cannot even fathom why dear Carlisle cares so much for these... creatures

And it's been like over 3000 years since he was human and he can't really remember much about living

It would also help if it would stop making Marcus be such a miserable slab of stone, and perhaps even Caius could do with a new toy

It just seemed like destiny when an 8 year old child strayed from the feeding group one day, too entertained by chasing a fat tabby cat that had jumped the wall to the garden

Whatever parent or guardian that came with seemingly hadn't noticed - not that they were alive long enough too

And, of course, Felix was the one to deliver the child to Master Aro considering he's the only one with a modium of decorum or respect for life in the castle

Any of the other guards would have eaten you on sight to be honest (they wouldn't in the future but you're just some random human child right now, they don't care about you yet)

Aro takes one look at you're little form, sticky fingers; muddy knees; grazed elbows; a leaf in your hair

Perfect

They're keeping you

easy, right?

wrong

Why is a overexcited yet hysterical human child such a lovable inconvenience, you may ask

well

1) none of them can fully keep track of you're emotions,why are children so confusing???

2) they can't fully keep track of your whereabout either

"HOW ON EARTH DID YOU GET OF THE ROOF YOU HEATHEN CHILD" - Caius probably

3) they know nothing, and I mean nothing, about humans. Expect them to ask the secratery for help next time you're sobbing, only to find out you're hungry because they haven't fed you a proper meal in days thinking you'd forage for it yourself

I swear Marcus is the only one who is knowledgeable, despite how small it is

"the child requires sustinence again" - Jane, fed up of this shit

4) they're used to the traumatic stuff of vampire life, you are not, they don't realise that

poor kid is gonna be so traumatised, by the age of 10 killing someone over cereal seems socially acceptable

At least Caius actually has a soft spot for you, otherwise you'd be dead dead by now

Marcus reads you bedtime stories

Aro wants you to grow up appreciating everything he does, there are many 'daddy/daughter dates' where he takes you to see plays, musicals, concerts, or whatever that he deems suitable

Caius pretends to be impressed with your drawings and fakes excitement at whatever lego monstrosity you've made

Alec shows you the world, taking you around on his days off to Scotland, Brazil, India or wherever you randomly point to on a map

Felix let's you use his cloak as a blanket when he's not using it, you like to play with it and use it for dens and pillow forts (it can also be used as one of those massive fabric parachute tent bubble thingys the class played with in nursery/FS1/kindergarten and hid under (you know what I'm talking about))

Demitri let's you win at hide and seek despite his gift letting him know where you are at all times. He is also not above pretending to play to keep you out the way and quiet for a solid five minutes before you come out giggling saying you won again

Jane will capture butterflies and set them free with you because she knows you love them and you also love to chase them

The queen's are always dressing you up like a doll and doing your hair, they basically get a list from the secratery of everything humans need (food, water, socialising etc) and fulfil those needs for you

The secratery is the only one who actually knows what you want and need most times, being human herself. The kings are seriously considering turning her instead of just killing her you your sake

And God forbid anyone touches their precious baby, you've grown on them and they'd burn the world for you in an instant

[thehollowwriter]

ding dong~

WAAAAAAAAH ABSDBDBDHD HE LOOKS WONDEFUL THANK YOU GAR 😭😭😭😭 AND HE'S GOT A LIL BUTTERFLY TOO MY BOY IS ECSTATIC HEHEHE MERRY CRISIS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS! YOUR ART EATS EVERYTIME

Hmm I wonder what butterfly he's holding... ahem *Finn voice* butterfly of the day: the orange oakleaf or dead leaf butterfly! They have polymorphic wings that let them camouflage as dead leaves. It's also India's national butterfly and it's very cool :D

(Also Gar I deeply apologise bc when I read your ask the first thing that popped into my head was "Ding dong the witch is dead! BAGEL!" From Brooklyn 99 sndndnfn)

ANYWAYS I'M SQUEALING THANK YOU SM FOR DRAWING HIM LOOK AT MY BOI

I really appreciate it and it's been really wonderful being your moot and getting to know you ^^

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst

@yuizenihaswriten @devosin @oya-oya-okay @b0njourbeach @kirans-wonderland

@coffinkissez @idikeis

[base0h]

HOW HAIKYUU CHARACTERS REACT TO BUGS

a/n - watched a TikTok vid by @emmafischer8 about how setters would react to a spider and it was hilarious so I had to do everyone else too 😀👍

Warnings ⚠️ - g/n reader, s/o reader, crack

- he’s not very scared of them so you can probably count on him to kill them for you if you ask 😭🙏

- but honestly he’d probably name a spider Fred and give it a leaf to sit on when he puts it outside

- and in the morning when he wakes up he’d also say good morning to Fred even if he doesn’t see him because he thinks Fred might still hear him

- “Bokuto who’s Fred..?” -you

- “That spider fella from last week! The one that was on the ceiling :)”

- “…You named it?”

- “Mhm!”

- “I love you Bokuto 😭”

- “Oh I love you too y/n :D”

- He has a lot of bug friends

- especially during summer he gets a lot of ladybug and butterfly buddies

- he prolly has named them after which friends he thinks they remind him of

- theres a praying mantis named kuroo 🙏

- he’s scared of them

- he hates them with every fiber of his being

- never take him to Australia or ANYWHERE remotely outdoorsy 💀

- he’s the type to get even quieter when he’s afraid— and he can’t even bring himself to move away from said danger he just stares at it helplessly 😭

- he could be doing homework or something and then all of the sudden his pencil will stop, and he’s just frozen in place

- you can’t even tell if bros still breathing

- “Akaashi..? You ok?” -you

- there’s no answer

- no acknowledgment

- just dead silence

- then you see why, and it’s a tiny little spider on the wall in front of his desk

- you have to kill all the bugs or take em outside, akaashi will do everything else but that for you so yeah 😭

- you also might have to comfort him for a while after because he’s so scared he gets nightmares about em 💀

- I swear yk those jumpscare vids on TikTok where the bug legit jumps out at you and that Asian dude is like: hey, you ok?

- BUT THE MF COMES WAY TOO FREAKING LATE SO IT DOESNT EVEN HELP

- yeah akaashi has beef with him

- he wants to set his house on fire and lock the doors with the guy still inside :)

- seriously you could be just chilling and all of the sudden he’ll chuck his phone across the room and he looks like he looked at Medusa or sum 💀

- those vids that try to like make you feel bad for bugs because they’re just trying to exist mean nothing to him

- “Ok then exist somewhere else? Preferably nowhere near me?” -Akaashi (probably)

IM TALKING ABOUT THIS GUY. (JUMPSCARE WARNING)

- ok see— he doesn’t call it ‘fear’

- he calls it ‘disliking things with more than 3 legs’

- he acts all tough and mighty until you’re faced with the final boss…

- summer

- Idk why but I feel like he’d have a tiny little dog— like a corgis or a terrier or something

- it sometimes eats flies and stuff— and Kuroo worships it 😭

- he’s totally the type to like try and create some intricate trapping system for bugs so that his dog can take care of it for him

- Kenma thinks he’s insane :) (he is)

- side note he also probably cuddles with his dog and has good dreams whenever he sleeps with it nearby him 🥲🙏

- anyways, you’re basically his knight in shining armor now, congrats! :D

- “Oh y/n you look absolutely gorgeous today—“ -kuroo

- “Where’s the bug.”

- “…..Corner wall.”

- sly mf 💀 bro thought he could fool you

- don’t worry he’ll make it up to you however you want 😭

- you name it and he’ll do it

- anything for his knight in shining armor

- his heroic insect slayer

- his courageous promised messiah—

- yeah you get the gist lmfao

- you should probably start taxing him for it

- he MIGHT boycott you though 💀

- I honestly think they’re scared of him

- I feel like no bug has ever escaped osamu’s sight

- like if a fly lands on his food it’s genocide time

- he will find its cohorts and kill every single last one

- kinda scary ngl 😭

- in the kitchen he’s probably armed with a fly swatter 24/7

- not one of those plastic flimsy ones though, the heavy duty high voltage shit, only the best

- Let’s be real though, if a fly noticed Osamu looking at it— it’d run and not be able to escape 💀

- Those vids that are like: “no but the bug was just existing— what if it had a family?” Yeah no Osamu doesn’t give a shit

- “It’s their fault for touching my food. Not my fault they might not have a parent anymore.” -osamu

- “Yeah but you didn’t need to like— chop it up like an onion—😭”

- “It reminded me of Atsumu so I was extra pissed at it.”

- “Hey! :(“ -Atsumu

- “Ah I see, makes sense.”

- “HEY! >:(“

a/n - I need an osamu to kill the mosquitoes in my house I can’t kill em all myself— I’m losing the war here 😭

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Fate vs. Choice - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx has a decision, and a deadline.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Six o’ clock. Late evening.

The Cathedral of Progress.

Lanterns burned in their iron-scrolled brackets; the shadows cut flayed patterns on the granite walls. In the nave, the acolytes chanted, cloaked and cowled. In their palms, the lit tapers cast long, lean shadows across the stone floors. Their voices were a mechanized hymn: harmonized down to the smallest atom vibrating in the air. There was no music riding the currents. Only silence, draping a veil of total stillness over the congregation. Perhaps even eternal damnation, to those who dared trespass.

Jinx didn't give a ripe toot about damnation. She'd already fallen from grace: the moment she'd set a wind-up monkey loose to rescue her family, and jinxed them instead. Her own jinx, since that fateful night, was an inevitability, and a long time coming.

Now, at nineteen, she was the living, breathing epitome of it.

The harsh sweetness of coffee cut through the chants. Jinx cracked an eyelid open; for one long giddy second, the world spun in a sickening circle.

Then it righted itself. Or Viktor did: a cool hand clasping hers.

“Wake up, Jinx.”

Her eyes fluttered open. She lay, starfished in an indolent sprawl, in sweetgrass that swayed as if under an invisible caress. The aroma of lilies was ascendant; twilight had deepened their perfume. The night-garden was tucked into the courtyard at the heart of the Cathedral, abutted by a small cemetery of granite.

Under the surreal refractions of a stained-glass dome, it was a wonderland: teeming with long-dead saints, and the perfumes of late-blooming flowers, all a-glow in holy light. Upon closer scrutiny, the holiness inverted into the uncanny. Every plant, aspirating beneath the multicolored rays, was revealed to hold an almost numerical symmetry: logarithmic spirals of orchids, geometrically-profound petunias, grid-patterns of clovers all fractaling in golden ratios.

As if every organism—from soil grain to leaf tip—had coalesced into life under the touch of a divine hand. Or a very obsessive mathematician.

Or—both.

Then there was the tree.

It was a prehistoric sycamore of darkling wood: five times the height of the average Piltovan oculus; three times as broad across. The branches fanned out into spokes as big as a ferris wheel. The ends of each spathe, splayed wildly under the skylight, erupted into iridescent blooms. They were nearly gem-like in their purity: their crystalline petals glowing in colors of multicolored amethyst, chrysoprase, quartz, topaz, ruby. The canopy spread over the entire garden; the roots curled deep into the bedrock.

By nightfall, it gave off an eerie luminescence: bathing the garden in an ephemeral glow. By daylight, it cast a rainbow halo across the grounds. Its fragrance changed constantly: one minute pungent as wormwood, the next citrusy as lemon zest, another woody as cardamomh. Insects swarmed about its roots; butterflies flocked its boughs. Some even swore they'd spotted faeries dancing in rings beneath its shadow.

The hallucinogenic effects were, by Viktor's accounts, an ur-example of magicoreality: an object, space, or phenomenon that is created through the combined imagination of multiple entities. It was real, because they believed it real. And vice versa.

Like a mobius strip blossoming into being.

Viktor's acolytes had transplanted the tree—roots to stem—from Singed subterranean laboratory. Something in the soil of the Cathedral's grounds nourished it with unique potency: the tree flourished where naysayers, Silco chief among them, predicted it would rot. By the first month, it'd become the centerpiece around which every botanical beauty revolved. By the sixth, it was the brilliant heart of a preternatural paradise: creepers, ferns, lilies, ivies, marigolds, all erupting in a palette of purest life.

By the tenth?

The tree was worshipped as an entity unto itself. It dominated the cultists' rhetoric; it haunted their reveries. It was rumored that Janna herself had breathed life into its veins, rescuing it from the brink of collapse. Pilgrims from the depths below, voyeurs from the heights above, arrived in droves to seek the sheltering boughs as if for the same restorative breath.

And under those twirling branches?

They were never the same again.

Formerly pallid patients were rumored to stagger from their sickbeds, sit beneath the blossoms in solemn ceremony, then unfold from their atavistic comas miraculously reborn. Like larvae metamorphosing into butterflies.

From devolution to evolution.

But though the tree restored a measure of life to its devotees, its own was an hourglass suspended between grains. The fruits hanging off its branches evoked a spectrum of incandescent sea-shells washed by whitecaps onto arid shores. They were entirely inedible; ash and air. And as soon as they fell, their shells fossilized: petrifying into stone-crusted facets within minutes of detachment, before dissolving into inert dust.

It was the tree's perpetual paradox: the promise of life, forever beyond reach. And death, ever-encroaching at its heels.

In its shadow, Viktor, the most devoted disciple of one, held court weekly with the most notorious apostate of the other.

"Wake up, Jinx."

Viktor's hand, freed from its tight leather glove, squeezed hers. His fingers, long and thin, held a delicate strength: there were calluses, velvety, at the tips, and a roughness along the heel. A scientist's hands, evolved into a healer's. Tonight, Jinx saw ink smudges on the knuckles. There was also a tiny nick, from wielding a scalpel during the evening's surgery on a young boy's ruptured appendix.

The boy was safe. Tucked into a cot at the infirmary, with the others under Viktor's care: each dosed with enough poppy-milk to see them through the night. The boy's mother, one of the dozen souls who'd flocked to the Cathedral seeking the Machine Herald's aid, had wept at her son's restoration, kissing the hem of Viktor's robe in a show of gratitude.

It was a scene that Jinx had witnessed, over and over again, during her visits. And it never failed to unsettle.

Devotion, undiluted, had that effect. Especially when it was devoid of desire.

Daily, scores of souls passed in and out of the Cathedral. Each brought with them a problem, a poison, a plea. Each, Viktor addressed in their turn: salving their sores, purging their pustules, and bestowing, with a steady hand and a soft voice, his personal brand of salvation.

He never charged for his chem-modifications. Even the most complex, which took months to design, were given for free.

His payment, his only payment, was everything.

From the start, he’d made plain that his services were offered on a strictly non-partisan basis, and would cease immediately should any faction in Zaun attempt to co-opt his work. Except that was a lie. Everyone knew, in Zaun's hierarchical honeycomb, Viktor had no love for politics. But he was fiercely political: his sacrifices, solely and exclusively, were for the elevation of Zaun's future.

It was his singular obsession: the evolution of the present into an age of transcendence, and the eradication of the past into obscurity.

Viktor hated the past. A past that’d left him broken, disfigured, discarded: an imperfect specimen, unworthy of survival.

The same past, which had yet forged him.

And Jinx, his muse and mirror, who'd been reborn in its bloodshed.

"Jinx," Viktor repeated. "Wake up."

His hand squeezed hers, then let go. A moment later, a metal cup was pressed into her grasp.

The warmth radiated; Jinx's flesh drank it up. The coffee gave off its curls of aromatic steam: a nutty blend of chicory root, black chocolate liqueur, and the sweet whiff of anise.

Diluted, as always, with sweetmilk.

Viktor, his own cup balanced precariously between two fingertips, reclined with an easy elegance in the grass. His staff lay within arm's reach: the undying habit of a boy whose mind is always five steps ahead, but whose body is forever falling behind. Everywhere, leather-bound books were scattered, some facedown with cracked spines, others bristling with raven's feathers that doubled as bookmarks. An inkwell glittered, half-empty, on a stack of maps scribbled with notes.

In this garden, Vitya was ever-studying, ever-searching. Never satisfied with the knowledge already in hand, and the miracles already in motion.

Something he and Jinx shared in common.

Reclining on elbow, Viktor sipped from his cup with the other hand. Then he plucked a notebook from the pile, stirred through its pages with a fingertip, and resumed writing with his cockatrice quill: a rapid series of symbols that, unfurling, imprinted themselves in a secret pocket of Jinx's brain, and the darkest recesses of her heart.

Destiny: charted beyond the stars.

Jinx sat up, knees tucked against her chest, and drank from her cup. The flavor was just as it should be: bitter chased by sweet, complexity balanced by simplicity.

Viktor's handwork: the paradox distilled into metaphor.

Just like the garden, where every blade of grass grew exactly the same height, and every flower, in its arrangement, was a repetition into infinity.

Sipping, Jinx's eyes flicked from bloom to bloom. Then, she noticed:

A single blossom out of place.

A lone iris, curling its way from between the tree's roots. It was sly as an intruder, bright as a fallen star.

The same hue as Powder's wishful blue eyes.

Jinx's lips curled. Tentatively, she reached out. Her fingers traced the blossoming petals. They were silky, smooth. Almost too flawless to be real.

"Is this place," she whispered, "alive?"

It was only half-joking. During each visit, she could never escape the sense that the garden—multiform, deviant—was suffused with a spiritual awareness sister to sentience. And the tree, gathering them both under its protective penumbra, was rooted right to the crux of Zaun's stony heart.

"Not exactly," Viktor replied, without looking up from his notes. "Not by our reckoning. More a kind of... meta-life."

"Meta-life?"

Viktor, dipping the quill in its inkwell, shrugged.

"This tree is but a reflection—an iteration—of something larger-than-life. Something of a piece with the city's vital flow. A conduit of sorts."

"Like, what? A portal?"

"Perhaps," he said, and absently rested a palm on his leg, the site of his first augments. "Or perhaps a lens. Something which reflects, refracts, magnifies. An imperfect metaphor."

"Serpent's tongue. Apple's flesh. Devil's promise."

"Precisely. A system of shorthand within which meaning can be imparted, and context given."

Jinx's eyes lingered on the flower: a star's winking light, buried under layers of soil.

"What's the point, though?" she wondered. "I mean, yeah, I get it: a symbol's powerful. But if you're trying to forget the past—"

"Forgetting is not the same as erasing," Viktor corrected, patiently. "And what good is a symbol, Jinx, if no one knows what it stands for?"

Double-edged question and double-pronged answer: classic Viktor.

Sighing, Jinx returned to her cup. The coffee, cooled, had lost its bite. She drained it anyway, then let the cup rest in her lap. Her eyes, half-lidded, took in her companion.

He was still garbed for his duties: a mauve linen robe with a high collar, its sleeves rolled up, the hem draping past his knees. It was a garment, once, meant to conceal. Now, it served a purpose quite the opposite. Its folds bared the armature that held Viktor together: once emaciated, now elegantly streamlined beneath a segmented exoskeleton of synth-plates. His bad leg, encased in gleaming obsidian augments, now held the flexile precision of muscle, and the springing strength of a steel cable.

The fusion was seamless: the stuff of futuristic fairytale. When he moved, it was with an almost regal glide. As if, somewhere in the gaunt structure of Viktor's frame, there was an ancient drop of royalty, finally emerging from its hardscrabble shell in a blend of princely asceticism and common-born resilience.

Under the tree's canopy, Viktor's pallor was offset by his deep-hued robes. The effect wasn't peaky so much as pearlescent. His untidy curls tumbled freshly-glossed along his shoulders: the barest delineations of a beard teased the contours of his jawline. The sum total was neither masculine nor feminine. Only androgynous; ethereal.

Transcendent as stardust.

The rim's of Jinx's eyes burned. Why was it that even at their closest, Viktor seemed as if he was dissolving into astral orbit, a beautiful moon drifting farther from reach?

And why did Jinx feel herself hurtling on an opposing trajectory: crashing to earth with fatal velocity?

The wind, still unseen, sawed gently through the tree's branches. Its blossoms whispered: the susurration of silk sheets, or a lover's sigh. Jinx found it fitting that, though the Cathedral of Progress was, technically, the building's newly-christened designation, ordinary Fissurefolk referred to it, unofficially, by a different epithet.

The Resurrection Root. The Everbloom. The Glass Garden.

And the most popular—

Der Wunschbaum.

Ur-Nox for Wishing Tree.

Except Ur-Nox was a double-edged sword. It was the language of the ancients; Mages and Guardians who'd lived in the time before Zaun had ever been. Their language, therefore, was the language of enchantment: one half lofty, the other half sinister. Wish, for instance, was rooted in the word Wunschet: to want. To desire beyond the bounds of reality.

But it was also rooted in Wählen: to choose.

A wish could be a heart's deepest desire unlocked. Or it could be a will to power: to take what you want, no matter the cost.

And me? Jinx wondered. What do I want?

And what will I give to seize it—or throw it away?

At her silence, Viktor stopped scribbling. His eyes, deep-gold, met hers.

"All right, Jinx?"

"Y-Yeah."

"You should wake up."

"Don't wanna."

"No?" Scritch-scritch went the pen, runes blossoming in its wake. Distantly, Jinx heard the acolytes singing, a ghostly engine of harmony. And—could it be?—Sparky's yips, cutting through the choir: a dissonant counterpoint. The greedy mutt, somewhere, was begging for treats. "If you do not wake, how will your Name Day be celebrated?"

"Multitasking's a thing. I've always been a pro."

"You are terrible at multitasking."

"Am not!"

"You fell asleep during the surgery."

"You told me not to interrupt. So I closed my eyes. But I was listening. I always listen."

"You were drooling." And, closing the notebook with the coordinates plotted inside, he set it down. In a single graceful movement, he'd shifted closer. Close enough to touch his thumb against the corner of her lips, where a grin had stolen in. Viktor's own lips, palely-parted, were a few inches away. "You look like a child when you sleep. Peaceful. It is... rare."

"I was havin' a sweet dream."

"Oh? Tell me."

"A night full of stars. Wishes a-popping like fishes. And a beautiful boy." Her voice, at half-octave, came breathless. Always, his proximity did that to her: an unravelling of everything she held dear about herself. Like deja vu—except more desolate. Dying, when you longed to be reborn. "Except he won't wish me a Happy Name Day. He won't even gimme a kiss."

At that, Viktor smiled: a slow, secret curl that was yet the saddest expression in the world.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "he is a fool."

"Yeah?"

"And a coward." The thumb, tracing the full jut of her bottom-lip, was cool as snowfall, and as chaste. "Because he knows, deep in his heart, that you are still a child. The child he sees when you sleep. And because, despite whatever tradition or legality declares, you are not yet a woman. Certainly, not the woman who, once she comes into herself, will outrace him, and his grand designs, and fly off on wings of stardust."

"You talkin' about Silco?" Jinx quipped. "'Cause, no offense, but he's no competition. I can outrun that fossil anytime."

The levity fell flat. Viktor's golden eyes, augmented to their depths, lost their imperceptible luster. A moment later, his hand retreated, as if it'd never been.

"I know," he said, "that this is only an interlude."

"You think so?" Jinx, impulsively, caught the hem of his sleeve. "Pretty harsh frame to put 'round forever."

"Forever means little in a cosmos of infinite permutations."

"Not so long as we're still us, right?"

"A conundrum in itself." He didn't withdraw, exactly. Only laid his fingertips over hers, knotted into his sleeve. "Are our mirrored selves—in the physical, in the quantum—so very different at their crux? Is one less worthy, less agentic, than the other? Or are they simply two sides of the same coin, flipped endlessly, until the universe collapses on itself."

"Yikes. Talk about buzzkill."

"I am not a man for platitudes, Jinx." The smile, sadder, stayed on the surface. "Not will I feed you falsehoods, in hopes that the future may hold more than the present."

"So you say."

"So I mean." And, surprising her, he caught her hand in both his own: a tender clasp. "We've pledged our spirits as one. We've plotted our course. Escape velocity is inevitable. But the path ahead will not be easy. Not for either of us. If anything, it will be harder, given what we must renounce to see the destination through. And I—I cannot be sure—"

A crack in his faultless equilibrium. In turn, Jinx felt her own fragile serenity evaporate.

"Sure of what, Viktor?" she said, with quiet ferocity. "That I'll change my mind halfway? Chicken out before the starting gun goes off? Let Silco dictate my choices, like I've always done?"

"No, Jinx, no."

He shook his head; the curls danced, a ribboning cascade of cornsilk. There were silver streaks beginning to thread at the temples. Thirty-three, and a full-grown man where Ekko was still shedding the last vestiges of boyhood. But moments like this, it struck Jinx that Viktor was, at his core, even younger than Ekko. Two orphans prematurely thrust into roles before their time: the savior leading his flock to the promised land, and the savant saving souls that the world would sooner crush underfoot.

But both, in their hearts, still children. Still seeing Jinx, and what she'd become. But never, ever seeing her for who she was: the girl, not the legend.

The woman, not the jinx.

"Never that, Jinx," Viktor said. "Never would I think so little of you."

"...But?"

"It's been difficult, these past months, for us to speak frankly."

"Vitya," Jinx said, a touch exasperated. "We're speaking now. Aren't we?"

"We are." A squeeze, gentle, on her fingers. "At risk on both ends. But I have never once doubted your commitment. Your passion far exceeds mine; far exceeds whatever designs I may conjure. The world will be a better place, with you striving to make it so. My only fear is that, if you choose this path, yours will be the lonelier one."

"Lonely, how?" The ghost-prick of tears. "We're bonded, aren't we? Even if it's not what either of us planned—"

"A bond that can never be consummated. Never, in any sense, bear fruit." His grip tightened; yet the timbre of his voice held no rebuke. Only truth. "I am a creature born of disappointment, Jinx. Faulty in form and function. Unfit for any world except the one I will create, and even that shall be a long time coming. Yet, in the Void, you gave me a glimpse of paradise, and it was... indescribable. All I will ever want."

"And?" Her lip quivered, but held. A child, he'd called her, and yet her voice was steel. "Wasn't it enough? Wasn't I—?"

"You? Not enough? My dearest." Even though his sigh was bittersweet, a mote of passion shot through: the same passion that'd flowed, so effortlessly, between them in the otherworld. The same passion that now translated itself—sublimated and yet quartered—into the gentle dexterity of his hands on a circuitboard fused to a sobbing boy's flesh, and the consoling caress afterward as the boy's mother, sobbing too, laid a kiss of gratitude upon her savior's robe. "You are the only star in a universe without light. But because you are, you are far too much. For anyone's good. Least of all mine."

The tears, against Jinx's will, spilled free.

"So I was a mistake?"

"Yes. And no"

"How?"

"You were a miracle," Viktor said, and his smile, in its sadness, was radiant. "And a miracle is a gift bestowed by Fate. Without factors such as deservingness, or suitability, or even equity, thrown into the equation. A miracle, simply, is. As you, Jinx, always are. I know you've made your peace with our bond. You've acclimated yourself to it, the same as I have. But if we commit—truly commit—to the path ahead, we must renounce the rest, in every way. And Jinx... I cannot, in good faith, ask that of you. Not when I know what you stand to lose. Not when I know all the ways you need, and deserve, to be loved."

The tears kept falling. Jinx made no effort to stop them. The garden, with its Wishing Tree, was a time-out from pretense. Not sanctuary, but as close as Zaun's chaotic confines allowed. The other one—the Wishing Wagon, in civilization's shadowed cul-de-sac—was her true refuge. But that was a different her, with a different future.

A girl who'd yet to realize her greatest wish. A woman who, at the crossroad's fork, could take a chance.

She'd never told Viktor about the Wishing Wagon. Same way she'd never told Ekko about the Wishing Tree. Both were secrets within secrets: mirrored halves of a fractured whole.

And Jinx, at the liminal space in between, wondering: What's it mean?

What did it mean that one man had her soul at knifepoint, but another was holding her heart hostage? What did it say that she and Viktor fit together just right, but she and Ekko were built from perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces? What did it matter if she needed them both, but in ways so opposite they might as well be a different language?

How could she make the ends meet?

Especially when her life—her death—still hung on Silco's strings?

And her past—her future—still hinged on Vi's?

"Maybe," she said, and caught her lip in her teeth, "that's the point."

"Oh?"

"Maybe... the glimpse of paradise was all it was. A glimpse. The rest's about struggling to make it happen. Because it's the only way. Because choice is nothing but fate with a kick."

"Jinx, no."

"Why not? It makes sense. In a twisted sorta way." Her eyes, smarting-wet, blinked hard. "Fate's not a pretty delivery-gal on the front step with a package. He's a blind old pirate, throwing darts at a map and laughing as they land. Doesn't matter who gets skewered. Once that bullseye hits, it hits. And you're on the hook. No takebacks." Her other hand, lifting, aligned itself with Viktor's jaw: stubble yielding velvety beneath her palm. "We were always gonna be on the hook, Vik. At least, in the Void, I saw where we’re headed. What, in the end, we could become. And sure, the path's not a fairytale. But if we don't take it, the rest'll be fucked. And blind old fate'll be laughing his ass off, watching us sink under the waves."

"Perhaps," Viktor said, and leaned into her touch. But the smile, always, stayed sad. "But Jinx?"

"Yeah?"

"Fate is not the same as choice." Turning his head, he laid a kiss, pure as a snowflake, in the heart of her palm. "Even the cosmos, no matter its dictates, allows breathing-room for free will. I have mine, and I know what they will cost. Now, and in every incarnation. But you, Jinx: you are still so young. Your wishes, the ones that matter, have yet to be made. And once they are lost, you will not have the chance to reclaim them."

"Because I'm a child, right?" The anger, a flashfire that filled her to the seams, in this garden only left her aching. "Too dumb to know what I want. Too naive to make the tough call."

All at once, Viktor closed the gap.

Silently, he swept Jinx into an embrace: a cradle and a coffin holding both living and dead in sacred embrace. His arms made a crossbones at her shoulderblades; his breath stirred the top of her scalp. They were both clothed, but Jinx felt her heartbeat resonating through their ribcages, keeping time with the rhythmic dirge of the Cathedral's chants, and the Old Hungry's distant chimes

Reality and dream: melded into one.

Somewhere, Sparky was pawing at Jinx's slumbering shape in search of belly-rubs. Behind her eyelids, neon bled through. She heard fireworks; smelled engine-grease. Felt an odd pressure on her spine that had nothing to do with Viktor's cool fingertips tracing its curve, and everything to do with being bound, on a visceral level, beyond this communion they both shared.

"Fate," Viktor breathed, and his lips, against her temple, imparted prophecy, "will always come due. But choice? That, my dearest Jinx, is an arrow aimed straight for the heart. And to deny it: that is an error far graver than anything science, or the cosmos, could dole out." He kissed her forehead: the sweetest absolution. "Your choice must be yours. Do not allow a hand, no matter how divine, to dictate it."

Jinx, closing her eyes, lay her cheek to his chest.

"Not even yours?" she whispered, as the tears stopped falling.

"My hand, like my heart, will belong with you, Jinx. Even if you choose another path."

"Mirror, mirror on the wall."

"In every iteration," Viktor murmured, a tender withdrawal, "of this cosmic joke. An imperfect metaphor. Do you understand?"

"I do," Jinx lied, and lifted her face. "Kiss me?"

"This is not a space for secrets, Jinx."

"Then it's a perfect place, ain't it? 'Cause I won't have any left, after tonight."

"You will," Viktor said, and his thumbs smoothed the fading tear-tracks from her cheeks. "You do. We all carry secrets within ourselves. But to hide one, here, is to desecrate the very vow we must keep. And to deny our truth—any of our truths—is the greatest dishonor to the other. Do you understand?"

Foreboding rippled over Jinx's skin. The garden, the tree, the chants: all the beautiful trappings of ephemera, slipping like sand through the hourglass.

"Viktor." She caught his hand in hers, holding it fast. "Please."

"I'll see you tonight, Jinx."

"Don't—don't go—"

"Tonight. When you make your choice. Whatever that choice may be."

"But—"

"Wake up now."

The hourglass, upended. The Cathedral, the garden, the embrace, dissolving. All the dreamscape and its dazzling details, blotting out.

"Viktor!" Jinx cried. "Viktor!"

"Happy Name Day, Jinx," he said, and the ghost-imprint of his kiss died before it met her mouth. "I will kiss you, truly, tonight."

The ceiling spun above: a galaxy's worth of stars, winking out. Her hands, searching, found nothing.

Nothing but the blue iris, unfurling at the tip of a finger.

And Viktor's voice, deep as midnight.

"Make a wish."

The last winking star: her own.

[sunlighthroughthe-ashes]

i don't think we talk often enough about how tender sol is with sunjae.

my case in point is this scene during ep 6: even before sol properly realizes her feelings for sunjae; they bleed through her smallest action. the unsaid gestures of love; the tiny overtures of devotion: these are what k-dramas excel at, and lovely runner is its greatest example.

the way sol switches the fan on for sunjae (a beautiful parallel to an earlier scene where he did the same for her), and is content to marvel at his innocence, his sleep-smeared face. look at the pure delight in her smile — just to be able to witness this ordinary moment with the person she admires most in the world: her literal reason for survival.

how her expression sobers when she realizes he's as still as death: that in the dark waters of the future pooling at their feet — he IS dead. how she instantly needs to physically feel that sunjae is still breathing — how sol measures the butterfly wingbeats of his heart under her hand. how, even in his sleep, sunjae reaches out, recognizing her touch.

i need to keep your heart beating, you can almost hear sol's thoughts. i need to keep you alive.

the unsaid affection in her face is so strong, so palpable in this episode. she's always adored him; and how that sapling of care turns into a tree green-leafed with real, true romantic love — it's just as beautiful to watch the second time around.

[natureisthegreatestartist]

Talk about a transformation! When an orange oak leaf butterfly (Kallima inachus) closes its wings, it looks like a dead leaf. When it opens its wings, there's a dazzling display of color.

[gina025]

A dead leaf which is actually a butterfly

[atreyucannamos]

XI: Carnelian

5016u FIVE DAYS AGO

LEAF: Rawan, I need to ask a favor.

SAXIFRAGE: why hello lord cannamos

SAXIFRAGE: ask and perhaps ye shall receive

LEAF: I need paint in Ungrateful colors; enough to repaint Assembler.

SAXIFRAGE: for the cadenze

LEAF: Yes.

SAXIFRAGE: done

SAXIFRAGE: itll be delivered within the hour

LEAF: Wait, what? It was that easy?

LEAF: Did you just have it lying around?

SAXIFRAGE: ill be answering no further questions at this time

5016u TWELVE HOURS AGO MORNING OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS

The guantlet had been thrown down.

When Dean-Commander Hebriyah saw Assembler, she looked like her teeth might shatter from the sheer force of the grinding. The Archchancellor had tightened her lips and heaved an exasperated sigh. Stablemaster Imani had read the room in the blink of an eye, and invented a sudden excuse to leave it. Lord Castor-Eyros was desperately trying to stifle his laughter. Underbaron Iphiannassa had fixed Atreyu with a stare that could cut through a bulkhead, and then raised a single eyebrow.

The Dean-Commander, the Archchancellor and the Underbaron went over every inch of it with a fine-tooth comb. Every petal of every flower in every wreath was examined for blight. The paintjob was checked and double-checked - had it been properly waxed? Was there inconsistency in the linework? Were there scratches? Every single element of the heraldry on the tabard, banners and streamers was scrutinized extensively, checked against a list of proscribed symbols.

Eventually, after three full hours, the Dean-Commaner was forced to admit - through gritted teeth, her eye twitching violently - that everything was in order. Atreyu had "somehow" managed to conform to every single regulation in the book; though their livery was certainly "unconventional, audacious... some might even say controversial," it violated no statute the College currently had on the books.

"Perhaps we shall draft a new one, and name it after you," the Underbaron had said, with a tone dryer than the Blanca Desert.

They all turned to Lord Castor-Eyros, who had spent the time grading papers. He looked up, eyes innocent, as if he had no idea what he'd been asked.

"Well, it's clearly a striking artistic statement that had senior members of the faculty examining its intricacies and implications for hours. Excellent juxtaposition of symbology; the use of yellow carnations around your house's canton-sigil was particularly provocative. Don't think I missed the gemstones in the broach, either; carnelian and fire agate - how daring! I agree with my erstwhile colleague the Underbaron - we should put this one in the books, as a prime example of how a Kavalier speaks without words. Good work, Lord Cannamos! Top marks. You've clearly been paying attention."

"It's an insult, is what it is," growled the Dean, finally losing her compsure. "An intentional provocation! Disrespecting the spirit of this institution's statutes by malicious compliance with their letter!"

"My dear Doleros," Castor drawled, returning to his grading, "I already said I loved it. You don't need to keep recommending it to me."

Atreyu was certain: whatever problems this might cause down the line, it was all worth it, purely for the noise that the Dean made in response.

5016u NOW NIGHT OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS

Soundtrack: One Hour of Waltzes

The Reis twins were entertained - finally.

Everyone made the same assumption about the Primors Valentine and Vivian: social butterflies from the House of Glass, in their element at the center of a crowd - of course they'd love banquets and balls! Wrong. Dead wrong. Banquets and balls were so rote! Proceedural! As Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - said, "once you see two fashion victims stumble about to drab music, you've seen them all."

What they loved was drama! Intrigue! Passions rising, egos clashing, schemes colliding, sparks flying, rapiers drawn, fireworks and fallout! Banquets and balls were only as good as the drama they could produce. The Matriculation Ball had been soul-crushing until the latecomers had blundred in and injected some life into the proceedings. The storied veteran trying and failing to take responsibility on her shoulders? Delicious. Two animal-themed full-body augments upstaging one another? Sumptuous. The scion of House Delamar feuding with the scion of House Frostfounder over the fate of an ignoble? Delectable. And last but by no means least, the least favourite child of House Cannamos getting into a spat with their cousin? Ambrosial.

The Candenze de l' Pavillos had threatened to be another unstirred pot. It was all interminable speeches, droning music and gaudy, blundering oafs - with the preening lackwits that piloted them. Once again, however, the latecomers - or the Lunar Falcons, as they called themselves now - had saved the evening.

Atreyu, clearly flush with confidence after their recent triumphs, had turned every head in the College with their positively scandalous livery.

"Why, look," Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - remarked, gently tapping their twin's shoulder and pointing towards the young Cannamos' kuirass. "Yellow carnations around the canton-sigil!"

"Shocking," Vivian - or perhaps Valentine - exclaimed, feigning outrage. "And do you see? Three black stripes over burgundy! My, my, but our Lord Cannamos isn't so much sending a message as screaming it from the rooftops!"

Lady Persephone Helsing has arrived next, purposefully placing her brand new Viceroy right next to Argo-Laurent's Atlas.

"They say size isn't everything, dear sibling," one of the twins quipped, tilting their head, "but I have to say, neither is it nothing."

"It's true," replied the other, "it does produce a certain effect."

"Casts a certain aspersion," suggested the first.

"Shade in the desert," ventured the second.

"Shade on the desert," dared the former.

"A dark cloud," mused the latter.

"A pall of smoke," their companion murmured.

"Quite the impression," concluded Valentine, or perhaps it was Vivian.

"Quite the impression," conceded Vivian, though it might've been Valentine.

Tuera, they realised, had been there all along - they had not noticed her arrive.

"Unlike us, to miss such a thing." The sibling placed a finger and thumb to their chin, as if chasing a thought.

"Quite unlike us." The other sibling mirrored the motion with the opposite hand, though perhaps they entertained a different thought - or none at all.

"Though she does rather sneak up on you, that one."

"Can't figure her out. And I do consider myself quite good at that."

"Figuring people out?"

"Among other things."

"Do you perhaps suppose she has us figured out?"

"Do I perhaps? Why, what's there to figure out?"

The addressed sibling smirked. "What, indeed."

Praya's looming colossus arrived next, staking its claim in a space that was markedly removed from Count Argo's. She leapt down from her cockpit, glaring about at the assembled dancers. Though a considerable amount of makeup hid it, the twins' sharp eyes could make out the telltale signs of a black eye.

The one standing nearer sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth. "So, she took the erstwhile El-Ahrairah's advice, then."

From their vantage slightly further away, the other tilted their head. "Oh yes! She attempted to apologise to Ms. Azar."

"Attempted carries implications, dear sibling."

"It most certainly does, sibling mine."

"Are we then to conclude Lady Ironhand's ego got in the way?"

"Were I a rake for gambling, I should never bet against our erstwhile Lord Praya's ego providing impediment."

"Alas the day."

"Alas the day," repeated the other twin, taking a sip of their drink - or perhaps it was their sibling's. "But it was good of her to try."

"It was proper, given the circumstances."

"Credit to her, though, she took the blow without retort, walked away with her head held high, and didn't snitch."

Their sibling hissed. "Hate a snitch."

"Despise a snitch," growled the other.

Praya shot both of them a glare, as if she knew precisely what they were talking about. Both of them hurriedly averted their eyes.

"Perhaps we'd best light upon a different topic," the first whispered.

The second nodded curtly. "Perhaps we'd best."

Delamar and Caelan arrived just afterwards, mechs arm in arm.

One of the twins glanced up and whistled. "Chemistry between those two, do you think, V?"

"Chemistry most certainly, V." The one who'd been addressed lifted a glass - even chances it was the one that belonged to them - and took a swig. "But what manner of chemistry?"

"I've had it on good authority they've shared a room."

Their companion touched a hand to their breastbone, eyes wide. "Never."

"Shared a bed."

Their companion gasped, hand flying to their mouth. "Shocking!" They paused for a moment. "Which one was on top?"

"Tragically, my sources fail us on this matter," their mirror image replied, shrugging and simply taking the glass from their twin's hand.

"Well that's no fun," pouted the robbed twin, who simply picked up the other glass. "My money's on the wolf."

"Oh? I would've said the Sandman. The wolf is compensating far too much. And over far too many things."

"The Sandman chose as his manservant a tireless machine in the image of a gorgeous man twice his size with three times his muscle mass. Please, dear sibling, face the facts."

"You do make a compelling point," conceded the other.

The Lunar Falcons convened briefly, exchanging a few words, before spreading out through the grounds and to various conversation partners.

"Ah, do you see? Caelan is attempting to impress the most esteemed Marquess Fontague. What shall we call this?"

"Wolf, drinking Shrimp Cocktail. Now, what do you make of Delamar's wooing of the rich and beautiful Lady Carlotta?"

The reply came with a sly grin. "Two nobles of Sand danced together. Three hundred dead, sixteen hundred injured."

Rawan had already met up with Kay by the time Atreyu arrived, and so they had the unenviable task of impressing two people at once. To their credit, they seemed to strike upon some subject that enthused Kay, and the striking appearance of their mech seemed to earn Rawan's approval as well.

As one sibling took a drink, the other gestured to the trio. "Our beloved underdog doesn't do anything by half measures, do they?"

Finishing their drink and setting the glass down, their companion glanced over. "Something to prove?"

"Oh yes," their twin replied, setting their own empty glass down. "Our Prince must actually conquer those Thousand Kingdoms, no? Else how do they silence their detractors?"

"Is that what it translates to? I had always thought it meant Prince With A Thousand-"

The thought was interrupted as Tuera and Persephone wandered over. The twins, to their credit, refocused their attention almost immediately, giving no outward indication that the pair had caught them by surprise.

"Why, Ladies Tuera and Persephone, welcome," said one, whom Persephone thought might be Valentine.

"Welcome, Ladies Ashama and Helsing," said the other, whom Tuera was pretty sure was Valentine.

"Hey," Tuera grunted, narrowing her eyes.

Persephone waved, several of her tails twitching excitedly. "Hello! I hope you're having a good evening!"

The one Tuera suspected wasn't Vivian smiled. "Oh, now that you've arrived, most certainly."

"You and your companions have quite failed to be boring," elaborated the twin Persephone knew not to be Vivivan.

"Glad we could be... entertaining, then," Tuera growled, plucking a glass from a masked servant's tray and taking a sip. "I take it you've been keeping an eye on the crowd, then?"

"Oh yes," exclaimed one of the twins, who Persephone felt sure had switched with their sibling when she wasn't looking. "You mustn't let this sort of crowd go unobserved. The things you'd miss. The intrigue. The gossip. The drama."

"The daggers hidden behind smiles," their equal and opposite added, with a disconcerting leer. "The aside glances. The false airs. The scheming."

Tuera folded her arms. "Well you're clearly just dying to tell us. Don't keep it all for yourselves. Share with the class."

The twins turned to one another in perfect unison.

"Are we so very obvious?"

"Oh, she's read us like a book."

"Very well. Firstly, if you incline your head towards our erstwhile Praya..."

The conversation proceeded in this same manner for a while, with the twins relaying all that they'd observed: Praya's ill-fated apology to Rawan, Argo's estrangement from his fiancé, Caelan's daring play for Fontague's respect, Delamar's eye-catching dance with his fellow Housewoman.

As conversation turned to the subject of Atreyu, however, the four students happened to turn to look at them - and found that they had begun dancing with Rawan, and that at the exact moment they'd looked over, Rawan had dipped Atreyu low and was kissing them fiercely.

"O-oh my," mumbled Persephone.

"Well I'll be damned," whispered Tuera.

Both twins turned to one another.

"Oh. Finally."

"Talk about striking while the iron is cold, dusty and put away."

"But at least she struck, Valentine."

"That she did, Vivian."

[rederiswrites]

I think one of the really interesting parts of designing spaces for shared human use and natural habitat is that nature relies on a certain amount of messiness. A lot of the moths, native bees, and butterflies that people explicitly want to help rely on things like standing leaf litter and rotting wood to complete their lifecycles. A lot of birds need dead and dying trees. And yet in order to really catch on and spread, ecological plantings need to appeal to people and work for their needs as well. Our "for the bees" plantings can't be untidy messes or no one will want them, and yet a lot of insects winter in the dead stems of spent flowers and plants, for example.

It's something I'm relatively new to thinking about, but I think if we envisioned plantings as giant terrariums, we might be getting somewhere. A driftwood branch, a large rock, some moss, some occluded spaces--these are things we consider normal and attractive in, say, our pet turtle's enclosure. I think those things have a place in the "flowerbeds" of suburban houses, as well. Translate that to a fallen tree arfully placed under some small trees or large shrubs, with native ground covers growing around it. A mossy boulder. If you have a stump, you can put a cute toad house on it, maybe seed it with mushroom spores if it's in a sheltered area. Think of it as a careful composition.

And we need to let go of the idea of bare ground in plantings, at least in my part of the world. Xeriscaping is amazing, but something I cannot speak to at all in my (usually) humid biome with (usually) regular rainfall. Here, if you leave ground bare, it will fix that for you. Fighting it by weeding and mulching forever and ever is a loser's game.

Framing matters, too. You can communicate that a planting is cared for with a neat frame--a nice edging, a small area of neatly mown grass. Lawns and landscaping, at least in the US, are a big signifier of status, and a messy yard will be frowned on and may even bring problems with the HOA or the township. Things like a neatly-kept path and an area of well-maintained lawn are great signals that this is actually a deliberate design.

My succulent garden has also taught me that working with small areas at once makes it a lot easier to get a design the way you want it and get things established. That bed is a real joy, where some of my larger efforts are either definitely a work in progress or "what were they even going for here".

Anyway, lots of thoughts to be had.