#and I tried looking up flower meanings but some of them vary from place to place so... *shrug*

[bongo-clash]

Peacock Au Part 1

Okay so Big Huge credit to @stealingyourbones for letting me do my own take on their amazing eldritch Danny idea!!!! This started out as me just doing a drawing but then I ended up with a whole DPxDC fic that I'll be posting the part two for at some point!!! Anyway, here's the vague designs:

And here's the part one of the fic under the cut!!! :D (Edit: Part 2 is Here!!)

There’s a Lazarus Pit forming underneath Gotham. Normally, this would not concern John Constantine at all, because it’s Gotham, therefore Bat territory therefore not his problem, and honestly he has his own things to worry about. Unfortunately for him, however, the infamous Dark Knight has somehow gotten it into his head that he can do something about it and, Hell, he’d said it would be a ‘big favour’, which meant the man really must be desperate; had to have been in the first place, he supposed, to have even bothered with John in the first place. 

Still, he’d almost kind of forgotten what a huge mess any kind of favour for Batman could be, and thus, he now holds possession of a book that is probably going to get him killed. 

Whether the actual book itself wants to kill him is up for debate, but Constantine has read the contents of this particular Book of Summonings and nothing in here seems remotely safe. He’s absolutely going to be hiding this away somewhere deep in the archives of the archives of the Justice League watchtower with an incredibly pointed ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ on it once he’s done with this, but for now, it’s the only thing he’s got in the way of sorting out this Pit problem. 

There’s an entity that exists, this book claims, that keeps the balance between realms. ‘Closes doors’, apparently, and the doors the pages depict certainly look like a Lazarus Pit. This is brilliant news, obviously, but the book doesn’t describe the entity itself at all beyond that; barely any of the other entries are as vague as this, and that plus some of the frankly bizarre sigils he’s having to draw to summon the damn thing are giving him no comfort. The only remotely comforting thing about it is that the ritual doesn’t require any blood- which either means the entity is benign, or it wants something more valuable than blood. 

…Okay, maybe not that comforting, actually. 

But, before he can consider that maybe this wasn’t his best idea and backing out would be for the best, the sigils flare with light, and Constantine squints to keep track of the way they activate, desperate for any indication of what he’s managed to summon with that stupid book. 

His feet feel feathery against the ground, like they’re barely tethered by gravity and just waiting to float away, and perhaps the seeming lack of atmosphere is fitting with how dust like stars lift from the summoning circle, bringing with them intercepting layers of purple-blue-pink-white, galaxies and nebulae being peeled off the floor. It comes with a sound- something whistling, almost. Seeming hollow, between a shriek and a bell ringing, or maybe more musical than that. It seems to change every moment he tries to focus on it, as if it’s something his ears can’t really hear but his brain is desperate to process, painful to try. 

And then, the entity begins to form. 

Unnoticeably at first, a white glow drifts forming in the centre. It congeals as Constantine’s gaze finally fixates on it, layers forming like jellyfish trails, or flowers, or peacock feathers with runic circles at the tips, fading smaller and smaller as they reach the centre, and a thing akin to a body unfolds into view at the front, a centrepiece. A child’s image of a shadow in opalescence, a strange curving feature where a neck might be, and searing-green spots of varying sizes scattered along the space where cheeks and eyes could’ve been, fading up and down across the lower-half of the ‘face’ and into the ‘hair’. He barely understands what he’s looking at, but maybe that’s the point. 

The sound of a thunderstorm rings across the room, and the curve of the neck unfolds, and it’s an eye, and the tips of a thousand twisted, cosmic peacock feathers become eyes as well, if they weren’t always. They move, wavering, either lashing or flickering from visibility. 

“And what is this?” The voice is a kaleidoscope, echoing off and from every corner of the room, and when they speak, infinite eyes become infinite mouths, too many teeth barely contained by the edges of what seem vaguely like frostbitten lips. To have something even remotely human suddenly etch itself onto the entity is somehow worse than the parts he can’t comprehend. “Who are you, to have summoned me, and seem so afraid?”

Constantine wishes, maybe for the first time, that it hadn’t been an obligation to do this alone; he’s never wanted Batman or one of the Light members with him more than now. It’s a difficult thing, almost impossible, to shake off the speechlessness. It’s a wonder that it’s possible at all, with how the room seems to have been twisted into a vacuum. “I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

“The pits. There are many pits.”

God, this is creepy. “The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. …I heard you can take care of them.”

“I can smell its blood between the gaps of atmosphere, encircling. You, whose soul is bound in so many directions, who may be pulled apart like meat in time- can you sense it? Does it draw you?” John doesn’t know how this- this thing knows that, but he’s scared asking will invoke some kind of consequence, and more and more he’s wondering why the Hell he decided to do Batman this favour. He feels exposed. 

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

“…Will you fix it?”

The chill is getting to him. Goosebumps are running across his arms like a livewire, and he’s never doing anyone a favour ever again. The entity makes an approximation of a hum, his ears shriek with whale song and stars, and after a pause, everything switching up and down on itself, the peacock eyes form into huge, reaching hands. For a second, Constantine’s whole body freezes with terror, because he’s petrified the thing’s going to grab him, but then the arms tumble phasing into the ground, and the green spots on their ‘face’ flare with a supernova glow and they make another piercing noise, chiming or trilling. 

A long moment later, the hands slowly return to the entity’s back, and fade into the peacock feathers or jellyfish bells or whatever they were before, blinking at him. “It is gone.”

“Uh… cheers?”

“It will not return, but this place shall see its dead for some time. Try not to look.”

This is maybe the worst day of Constantine’s life. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“That is up to you.” They say, and though the eyes that appear briefly between sentences bely or reveal no expression, it feels scrutinising. “What is it that closes doors? Is it alive?”

He hates riddles. He hates riddles and he hates cosmic horrors and he hates eldritch entities and he hates Batman for getting him to agree to this horrible favour. He wants to go back to the House of Mystery and pass out for long enough that this whole thing becomes a dream. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“I know of your Bat.” 

Oh dear. Constantine’s stomach sinks like a shipwreck into the Mariana Trench, but the entity moves on like they’d never even said it. “I will recede, and find you in time, perhaps both. You will know when I am coming, and I will find my recompense.”

And just like that, their whole form shimmers into clouds and pearls and smoke and mirrors, and they fade back into the runes that summoned them like tap water down the drain. The galaxies they’d formulated within the confines of the room fold back in on themselves and turn to whispers and then nothing, but the feeling persists on his skin long after weight has settled back onto his bones. He hadn’t known a thing like that existed until now. He doesn’t know what it can do, doesn’t know how all-encompassing it truly is. 

And he owes it a favour. 

Crap. 

[luciusspriggss]

well, went on a date with okcupid guy, and it was fine, i guess. not terrible, not great.

went to the movies afterwards by myself and then went home.

talked to my roommates about it, and it was made clear, once again, that because i am autistic and very gullible, see the best in humans, and take what people say literally and don't look for hidden meanings, it his REALLY easy for me to fall into a bad relationship (which is my usual go-to, besides Jes. Jes was lovely they just became an alcoholic and lost their way).

i brought up things that he said that bothered me, but as i usually do, i tried to defend those things by trying to come up with reasons as to why he said it in the first place

and it took one of my roommates to look at me and say:

"M, you are a great person, you see the best in people. this guy sounds just like your abusive ex Nick. you deserve better than someone like that"

and yeah that's when i got it.

to be fair, the night before the date, i told my roommates that he was either a really cool genuine guy that actually wants to be a good person, or he is a piece of shit asshole who is only trying to get people to perceive him that way.

things he said that bothered me:

regarding a tree wherein someone used a chainsaw to cut a large limb, and to compensate the tree started growing new shoots vertically on the remaining un-cut limb:

"why would the tree to do that? it's so stupid"

🤔 why would you say that??? that is an evolutionary advantage that the tree is able to still grow in adverse situations??

he also had a clear favor of herbaceous flowers over trees, especially over conifers, which...why? he didn't respect trees at all, which i think is weird.

he suggested i work for a timber company because of my degree because it makes really good money

which is a weird thing to say after i explained i dont agree with modern forestry practices because it focuses on making money instead of forest health?

after i explained my love of playing sports but my inability to do them because of my asthma. which i have been trying to "train my lungs" for over twenty years in order to play or even just go on a run, i realized my asthma is bad enough that no matter how hard i try it won't work. there are varying levels of how asthma affects a person, and since around age 10, my asthma has been pretty severe (most people get over a cold in a few days, it takes me 1-2 months to be able to even breathe "normally" again when i get sick).

he told me i shouldn't give up and keep trying, because he knows some people who have asthma and yet can still play sports.

he also suggested that i do go for runs or play sports, but i bring my inhaler with me to use when i get out of breath, and then keep going on

?????? i dunno how other peoples asthma works, but if i push myself to the point of an asthma attack (which is not hard for me to do), i am out of commission for 30 minutes to 2 hours WITH a rescue inhaler. and this is after "training my lungs" for twenty years.

he also implied he was too smart for therapy and all he needs is a good friend to trauma dump to

??????????? that is a bold take my guy. there is definitely more nuance when saying something like that. i tried to talk to him about his views to understand where he was coming from, and to put it simply, it was not good.

he made note of how hard living in a world of capitalism is, so he understands why i am unable to find a job that suits me (fair, but why bring that up. he knows i am currently looking for jobs), but when i tried to explain that i am capable of doing most jobs, the problem is my being autistic in an allistic world, and never lasting more than a year at a job for a variety of reasons (which i explained to him)

he was very condescending? said everyone feels the way i do (after i said the common denominator for every job i have done is i have literally attempted suicide which has led me to quit), and implied i wasn't trying hard enough?

i kept trying to not talk about dark subjects, but it is hard when he does.

also, maybe dont shit talk your ex on a first date? i get we both still live with our exes, but i never shit talked jes? i said that our friendship is better than ever? it was difficult the past year, but we have finally reached an understanding with one another and we are happy to be friends? trying to bring some positivity and optimism to the dark conversation, but nooooo

had to compare my struggles with unemployment to his ex's?? shit talk her in the process? which sort of shit talked me in a way?

what a fucking asshole

also, he asked me to join in the fun of the sport he competes in. never specifying how i could take part of the sport (this was after the date and through text).

A) he completely ignored my discussion about my struggles with asthma

B) he ignored A, as well as my discussion about inequality, sexism, and homophobia in sports that deterred me from doing sports

C) he meant i just come and watch? like a groupie or something? i dunno if this is what he meant but i don't like it either.

overall, yeah this seems super obvious, we are incompatible

but do you know how hard it is for ME to see these red flags??? i was willing to go on another date, but my roommates were the ones who told me it would be a bad idea. and i agree with them, now that they laid things out clearly.

there are even more red flags i just don't want to bring up, because it is really embarrassing that i didnt see them

but, i just don't get it. i have said all the red flags, but the green flags were pretty great.

he's a highschool chem teacher and loves teaching kids, he has a passion for botany (just not trees? he also confidently mis-identified a shrub which i dunno if he was trying to impress me or something, but he didn't believe me when i told him he was wrong), has a similar sense of humor as me, loves going to the botanical gardens, loves going to the river, understands tumblr to a certain degree, enjoys ted lasso and our flag means death (although he doesn't see the point in rewatching shows? to each their own), i dunno i guess i am realizing their were actually not that many green flags.

:/ ah well. live and learn.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hi Pinnie ,Where is the garden located? Is it outside the celergy behind it or in its own floor, is it a roof top garden? How big is it and does it have pond? Does look like a forest? If remember correctly its big enough to practice performances.

Can costumers go there or is it staff only? I imagine its where they grow alot of the produce animals and plants. I can only imagine Nebul sitting in forest with a bunch of animals just petting them. Like a hauntingly beautiful disney princess .

The Garden

The Clergy's garden lies directly in the premises of the building and it never switches place. However, what lies within it is the furthest thing from consistent. It's a very large space surrounded by thick foliage, and while the forest surrounding it is not exactly part of it, it's also uninhabited by the vast majority of animals out there. Krulu's presence tends to do that...

The best way to describe it, is to say that the place is desaturated. Everything there tends to sport muted, dark or otherwise ashy colors. Regardless of how much The Clergy shifts, a couple of things are permanent to the garden, those being a smooth stone path leading to the main doors and forming varying "branches" through fields of flowers. There is usually always at least one waterfall, though the shapes it adopts are never consistent and the flow of water appears to defy gravity. Some droplets just... Hover in the air.

The flowers, well, they don't really act like their namesake. There's a mix or roses, tulips, lilies, orchids- But they're all odd, sporting more petals than they ought to, swaying on their own, featuring darker colors for the most part. Some are mutated, becoming a breed of animal, growing teeth or limbs with which they can actually move. It's not uncommon to get bitten by one of these critters if you stray too far into the garden's more flowery sides. Which no one recommends really.

In fact, a lot of strange lifeforms, especially plant-based ones, originate in The Clergy's garden. This is due to the fact that the infrastructure is very much alive, and since Krulu pays little attention to this area's details, there's a void of "guidelines" which the building can use to orient itself with. So in turn, the establishment merely mimics what it thinks a garden should look and operate like. It doesn't really understand animals or plants, so it improvises based on the information that is fed to it and the stimulus it's regularly exposed to. Meaning, for example, that if you were to dump a carcass in the soil, The Clergy would potentially absorb it and create something random out of it. Nebul, Belo and Patches are endlessly fascinated by the results of this process.

Since it's so reactive, it's quite hard to get a plantation of any sort going, but Patches and Morell have been trying to secure a less anomalous plot for this. It's uh... In a beta stage. Produce still looks desaturated and tastes odd, but at least it's not talking or running away. Growing livestock here is an awful idea for now, they'll continue to use suppliers.

Another unfortunately permanent feature of the garden are gargoyles... There's a rather large flock of them loitering on the roof and they're generally kind of a nuisance. Yeah sure, they help by hunting the little anomalous critters that pop up sometimes, but they also raid dumpsters and make a mess. They've harassed clients once or twice, basically adopted Ludwig, won't obey Nebul and obsessively want to preen Belo. It's a strange dynamic, though if Krulu really wanted them out, they'd be gone by now.

The staff members that enjoy the garden the most are decidedly Nebul and Sybastian. Nebul definitely loves all the fucked up creatures that occasionally surface, having tried to domesticate more than a couple of them. Syb likes to drop most of his mimiclings in the garden, they learn to survive in an unexpected, hostile environment, which breeds stronger and smarter mimics. It's also a breather from how crowded the establishment can get at times, which stresses Sybastian out.

[firesofdainix]

October 17: Flower | Sweet

something short, fluffy, and anti-sun to help you guys recover from yesterday’s prompt. hhhhhh i can’t do this anymore but i love doing this

@morrotober

AO3 Version

*

CW: some mentions of death and murder, minor

*

"My mother was… sweet," Cole tells Morro as he holds a bouquet of flowers, walking through a luscious green field with the company of Morro by his side.

The ghost only nods in acknowledgment, as he looks away from his current companion. Whilst he floats among the living things which make up the ground, his translucent shadow casting only a small light in the grassy patches below, Cole wastes no time stomping on unsuspecting, fallen dead leaves from the trees surrounding them. The shadows of the branches were to thankfully cast out the glower of the sun currently gazing at them, the asphalt path clear but winding all the same. If only the wind can get him out of here by raising a tempest; yet, it was calm today, so out of character for it. The wind, it seems, does not wish to be disturbed. And Morro can respect its wishes, for he is the Master of Wind, after all. The wind rustled between the leaves and branches, a cadence of nature springing from it.

The only reason why Morro is here is, well, Cole requested for him to come, and, confused by the Earth Ninja's invitation, he complies. It's not like he doesn't have anything to do today other than endure the other's judgemental looks. Besides, he didn't even know what Cole was planning to spend the day with and was surprised he opt to buy a bouquet of varied colorful flowers from the flower shop. But, it makes sense as they continue to walk towards his destination.

It seems that Cole Brookstone wanted Morro to be present as he pays his respects to his deceased mother.

Why? Morro did not know either. He is dead and he has forgotten how to both be alive and deceased at the same time.

Is this some form of a sick joke in which Cole indirectly wants to tell Morro he belongs in the ground?

Whatever it was, well, he did not have the evidence for his intentions yet.

So, after another rustling of Wind, he speaks, slow, soft, a tad calmly. "I won't say the same thing about my mother. She is sour, all the way through."

Cole makes the mistake of laughing, thinking the other was joking. However, seeing Morro's deadpan serious face, he clears his throat. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Morro returns to his humanoid form, not wanting to float around grass like some speck of nonfiction being. Or maybe, he wanted to mirror Cole's movements, to get himself to act like he was human again, stepping on leaves and hearing them crunch. He ignores how his steps were as silent as the night, blending in with the quietness of his surroundings, failing to step on leaves as he does so. "I actually met my mother. In the Cursed Realm, I mean. My sisters, too."

The young man raises a brow. "Oh…" He tries to think of something to say, and he chooses the wrong question. "How did you react?"

He shrugs. "I killed the only thing that is alive left— the physical embodiment of their soul. Flayed them when they are ghosts, before casting them off to the Foot of the Preeminent. They were rotting there."

He can hear the pin drop as Cole's voice becomes a bit too hard to decipher and read.

“... Oh.” This one was a more definitive statement. It's funny to Morro if he was not currently in an awkward engagement with the Master of Earth, who is, in fact, going to the burial place of his mother. Morro should do the same, finding his family’s burial place— so he could add insult to injury by spitting on it.

"I'm glad your mother isn't shitty, though." He veers the topic back to the conversation starter in which this happened.

Cole gives Morro a defensive look. “She is the sweetest person you will ever meet.”

Morro bites back the urge to say that she is dead, perhaps slumbering in the Departed Realm so that the Master of Earth would not call to his title and throw soil on his face. It is clear that the young man respects his mother as he does Master Wu.

So, he steers the conversation to a different subtopic. Looking at the sun in disgust (for it was so bright, so hot, to the point it boils his skin alive), he looks back at Cole. “So, what gives?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why did you ask me to come with you on this highly-personal journey?” Morro forcefully inquires, feeling tons of flummoxing emotions, each one of them unpleasant, roiling in his spectral stomach. He looks down, hating the fact he could not see his shadow. “Don’t you have your dad to help you through this… occasion?”

The Master of Earth smiles, exhaling peacefully as the breeze whips past him. He looks up to the branches, “Morro, what do you think of death?”

Out of all the questions Cole has the nerve to ask, he had to choose the most specifically sensitive question out of them all. It was a loaded, very intrusive inquiry that Morro wishes he’s never specifically thought about it for too long. Because, by technicality, he died forty years ago, forever stuck in a body that will not age, but will never forget all the crimes that were done unto it. And he didn’t want to think about death; not then, and not now, either. Because, if he keeps circling back to the topic, he would think of all the dead things in the world — which includes him — and he will go through another needless spiel about how he should have been dead. And, since this little monologue never benefits anyone, he keeps it to himself.

“Complicated feelings over it,” Morro answers, narrowing his eyes as another bout of depression and overwhelming sadness comes to him.

Cole nods sympathetically. “Yeah, I understand that, too.”

“Then why did you ask me about it?!”

The young man chuckles good-naturedly. “You were never mentioning the fact that you’re dead so I just… assumed.”

“The assumption that I’m so blasè about death is getting quite repetitive,” Morro replies with a huff. “I died. I got killed over the delusion of destiny.”

The other man sighs. “Yeah, that’s… I think everyone would have strong opinions over death.”

Morro turns to look at him. “You’ve been surrounded by death all your life.”

Cole’s smile fractures a little. “I… guess.”

“You don’t need to hide it,” Morro says with a small scowl. There was some nuance of softness there. “When are we going to reach your mother’s burial place?”

“Just a little bit further,” he replies with a smile. “You’re not walking, so I’m not sure how you’re tired.”

“I’m perplexed about how you made me accompany you into this stunt of yours.”

He shrugs lightly. “Maybe I’m irresistible.”

Morro frowns. “Ugh, you, irresistible? Has dating Kai rubbed off on you?”

“Hey, as much as I hate people dissing my boyfriend, you gotta learn he sucks at pick-up lines.”

Morro snorts, before becoming invigorated by this conversation. He and Cole never have the chance to talk, outside of more business-related questions or conversations which usually end with Cole loving his physical form more than the corporeal form he had temporarily for almost a year. His green-gold eyes turn to look at the bouquet of flowers that Cole is currently holding, and an idea strikes him. He is, after all, meeting one of his team’s (a term that is so foreign in his tongue that he couldn’t understand why he is currently calling them with it) beloved and esteemed members.

He finds a bush filled with colorful flowers, before plucking one of them from the stem from it. His touch was ginger, and he smells the fragrance of the flowers. The wind seems pacified by this.

“What are you doing?”

“I am about to meet your mother,” Morro replies shortly. “I think that the lovely woman should be offered a few more flowers.”

Cole stares at him with an unreadable look, before he smiles, the earth raising to become a mountain. “I think Mom will appreciate it.”

[lazuli-bloom]

I've been working on a plot outline for a Sgt. Frog/Keroro Gunso story, and got the first half typed up. So, I thought I'd share what I got down so far for anyone interested in reading. I'd love to hear some thoughts on it or answer any questions about it!

Outline Summery Part I

♦ A strange old jar bound in chains gets found and the Keroro platoon get a hold of it

♦ When Keroro's alone the spirit trapped inside makes a bet with him to gain their freedom

♦ They get out, knock out Keroro, and mostly copy his appearance to sneak out of the base only to end up getting caught.

♦ A fight breaks out as the spirit tries to escape, and Keroro accidentally gets the chains from the jar stuck on them both

♦ They all try to talk things out but a fighting breaks out again.

♦ Fuyuki and Momoka get back to the house and see the living room a wreck, the copycat Keroro takes the opportunity to rope the humans into the situation. They demand a trial for their freedom with a human as judge, the platoon get to prosecute/question to varying success

♦ The spirit, calling themselves Kore, debates the terms of the bet made with Keroro and claims that he alone needs to come with them to Wonderland in order to unlock the chains

♦ Eventually gets worked out that everyone is going to go too, and Kore resentfully agrees

♦ While Kore preps means to get there, Kururu makes a pocket dimension for the chain allowing Keroro and Kore a larger range from each other (still limited though)

♦ After prep Kore gets the way open and guides the group to their old home where the means to unlock the chains should be

♦ However it's been built over by a church devoted to the Queen of Hearts, who is there at the time. She steals Kore's jar and kidnaps the humans with it, leaving the rest for her devotees to get rid of

♦ The Platoon, Mois, and Kore fight their way out of the town of eldritch horrors. Find a safe place to regroup but tensions are high and arguing breaks out, causing Kore to stomp off

♦ Dororo trails after them and finds Kore terrified and panicking over the situation. He manages to talk with them as they sit by narcissus flowers to calm down. Dororo also picks one of the flowers to place on Kore's head to help keep them calm as they head back to the others

♦Make a plan to rescue the humans and head out to the closest town on the main river of the land. Once there, they find the town under siege by nightmare monsters and begging for aid

♦ The group push back the monsters, rest in the town and find out the attacks started very recently. Locals believe this is divine retribution for going against the Queen's orders, and point out that the distortions seem to becoming from a nearby temple. Some of the townsfolk plead with the platoon to expel the nightmares to save the town

♦ Kore immediately agrees to help their compatriots, but that causes an argument with some of the others. They argue that given the timing, it could be related to the human's whereabouts, and thus worth looking into.

♦ Find that a Nightmare Natsumi is the root of the of the distortion. She is working on the Queen's orders to wipe out the town. Boss fight with her shadow monster self to break the Queen's control and get Natsumi back to normal.

♦ Town now at peace, and help the group on their quest by giving a spare boat to travel up river in

♦ Next place they find is suffering food shortages. The locals have a similar story to the last, nightmares coming in stealing all the food and destroying crops. The platoon is pointed to the source of these distortions.

♦ They find a nightmare Momoka causing this, and stop her with another monster fight to break her out from the Queen's control. Afterwards, they come back to town with all the stolen food.

♦ Locals hold a small feast as celebration and thanks. They also play a few games and put on a play of the local legend about the Jabberwock Hunter

♦ Next day the group heads further up the river, where they get stopped by Nightmare Fuyuki. He's got Kore's jar and attempts to kidnap Momoka and Natsumi to get them back under the Queen's control.

♦ The manage to keep the girls safe and get away, only to end up wrecking the boat and caught in a sudden snow storm.

[dmvcannabisdeliverysblog]

Do cannabis edibles smell ? The truth is revealed! |DMV Flower Delivery | Washington DC | Virginia | Maryland

Do cannabis edibles smell ? The truth is revealed!

Have you ever tried cannabis edible treats? Or do you want to do thorough research before trying them out?Anyway, there are a lot of questions about edibles, and many of them are based on mere myths. In this article, we debunk one of these myths. Does food have a smell? Let’s check it out.

Edibles: A smart and convenient alternative Consumption of cannabis edibles

is becoming increasingly popular, especially in places where smoking or vaping is prohibited. Edibles have the distinct advantage of being discreetly consumed and have almost no odor, making them a popular choice for those who want to be secluded or avoid attracting attention. These edible products come in a variety of shapes and sizes, including brownies, candies, candy bars, and drinks. They look and taste great, but one question people often ask is, “Do edibles have a noticeable odor?”

Truths and Myths

The question we’re talking about here is, “Do edible foods emit odors?” that’s the truth. However, it has a slight odor. Although not as strong as the odor of a joint, edibles still have a distinct odor. The degree of odor varies depending on the consumables and materials used. However, determining whether a food emits a noticeable odor is not an easy task. The type of food, the ingredients used, and the cooking technique are just some of the factors that influence the reaction.

Read more: Can cannabis edibles cause dehydration?

What should I do if my food smells strong?

The presence of a cannabis odor in an edible may indicate too much THC. may be strong, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re very strong.

The type of cannabis used, the extraction method, and the specific recipe used can all affect the potency of the edible. Additionally, how food is stored and other factors can also affect the strength of marijuana’s odor.

It’s important to remember that edibles have a slower effect and may produce stronger effects than smoking or vaping cannabis. Individual tolerance, weight, and metabolism all affect results differently. It is important to check the THC concentration information on the

edible package or contact the manufacturer or pharmacy to determine its potency. Marijuana use may still be illegal in some areas, so it’s important to understand your local rules and regulations in this regard. Even where it is permitted, standards may vary.

People new to edibles are advised to start with a moderate dose and wait at least 1 hour before considering further intake, as it may take up to 2 hours for full effects to occur . It’s important to practice moderation, be aware of the potential side effects of marijuana, and seek medical attention if necessary.

Which type of edible has a stronger odor?

As explained above, odor is determined by several factors, but one of the most important is how the item is manufactured.

For example, gummy bears may not have a noticeable odor, but cannabis-infused chocolate may have an odor.

Baked goods such as brownies, cookies, and cakes are the most popular delicacies. These treats are often made by replacing regular butter or oil in a recipe with cannabis-infused butter or oil.

The ingredients used in a recipe determine the aroma of baked goods. For example, if you bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies with cannabis extract, the aroma will be similar to that of a regular chocolate chip cookie, but with just a hint of cannabis. Unlike baked goods, fruit-flavored sweets, such as gummy bears and hard candies, usually don’t have a very distinct flavor.

It is important to remember that when preparing food, its aroma may become more pronounced. Cannabis has a strong odor, especially when cooked. Therefore, those who prepare food at home must be very careful not to attract unnecessary attention.

Read more: How to make edible Rice Krispie treats from weed?

Does it impart an odor to the consumer?

The edible itself does not emit an odor as there is no combustion or evaporation. However, consuming edible foods can cause physiological changes in your body that can affect your natural odor. For example, the terpenes found in cannabis undergo metabolic processes in the body and are excreted through sweat and breath, which can change the smell.

After ingesting cannabis edibles, some people may experience dry mouth, also known as “cotton mouth,” which may result in a foul odor and a noticeable change in the composition of saliva. It is also important to remember that excessive consumption of edible food can lead to obvious drunkenness, which, in turn, can become noticeable and attract the attention of people.

How can I avoid odors?

Odors in edibles can be avoided by considering a variety of factors, including ingredients, cannabis strain, and cooking techniques. The variety of cannabis used is important. Sativa strains have a pleasant fruity aroma, while indica strains have a different effect, giving off a harsher, spookier aroma.

The way cannabis is prepared also affects the aroma of edibles. Proper curing and decarboxylation results in a milder aroma. In addition, the cooking itself also affects the smell. The longer the cooking time and the higher the baking temperature, the stronger the smell.

Taking these factors into consideration can help reduce food odors while cooking.

Opening windows to let in fresh air will significantly reduce the concentration of marijuana odor.

Candles, aromatherapy, and deodorants can be used to mask or eliminate overwhelming cooking odors.

Choosing a soft-flavored variety for baking can reduce the flavor of the food.

Read more: How long do cannabis edibles stay in your body?

Conclusion

Despite some of these problems, edible foods have many benefits. They offer a discreet, non-smoking alternative to cannabis consumption and are preferred by patients due to their lasting effects. Compared to smoking or vaping, edibles often have stronger and longer-lasting effects. Another benefit is precise dosing, which allows you to precisely alter your THC intake.

Edibles do have a distinct aroma, but it’s not as strong as smoking marijuana. By knowing what affects your food, you can control how it tastes. Additionally, edibles offer many benefits such as discretion, precise dosing, and long-term effects, making them a smart choice for cannabis fans. It can enhance the benefits while softening the flavor, so you can enjoy your food with confidence.

More Information Visit Over online store :- https://dmvcannabisdelivery.com/collections

[suckitsurveys]

Look out of the nearest window. What do you see? Details, please. There is a giant dust vacuum thing (?) for the carpenter shop below us. I can also see the buildings across the parking lot. And some trees. And a stop light.

When you think of the word “posh”, what springs to mind? The Spice Girls.

When you have chocolate, do you eat it room temperature? Or are you like me and stick the bar into the fridge first? Usually just room temp, but also “chocolate” is a pretty broad term.

What’s the most shocking thing that’s happened in your part of town? Um. I live in Chicago, nothing shocks me anymore.

Which brand are your headphones/earbuds? I have no idea, I got them on Amazon lol.

Do you see planes fly over your house at all? Oh yes, we are in flight path.

Are there any constellations you recognize just by looking at them? The dippers.

Which room of your house/apartment do you spend the most time in? I mean probably the living room.

Which insect do you find the most beautiful? Praying Manti. And Butterflies of course.

Did you have crafts/woodwork at school growing up? There was a craft class but it never worked out in my schedule. I took Ceramics and Printmaking instead.

If so, what was the best assignment you did for it? I made a really cool gingerbread cookie jar in ceramics and a buncha cool prints in Printmaking.

Do you have a friend who likes to tell you everything? Sure.

What was the last thing you got very excited about? Rewatching Pete and Pete lol. You can go to any city in any country you want. Which city do you go to? Somewhere beachy.

Do you like gardening? If so, what do you grow? I do. We grow veggies and herbs in the summer. We also have some established flowers. I really want to plant roses in the front yard this year.

Do you enjoy puzzle games? If so, which one’s your favourite? I do. I don’t particularly have a favorite.

Is there a substance you avoid at all costs? If so, what is it and why? Hard drugs, for obvious reasons.

What would you absolutely hate living next door to? My brother in law.

What would you love to live next door to? A sushi restaurant.

What gives you nostalgia? So many things.

When you think of a classy drink, what comes to mind first? Martinis.

Do you prefer eating out or cooking your own meals? I love getting take out.

Which language do you think is the most complicated to learn? I haven’t tried to learn a lot of different languages so I couldn’t tell you.

Is there a place that you might call your second home? I mean, aside from my apartment, my dad’s house.

How do you imagine your later life to look like? Blah.

What is a job you would never in a million years want to do? Any job. Just pay me money to exist thanks.

Is there a piece of jewelry that you feel naked without? A nose ring or stud.

Do you ever “go commando”? Not in public.

What’s the sweetest thing someone’s done for you? Remembering little things about me.

Which wild animals are a common sight in your area? Birds, squirrels, bunnies.

What’s the weirdest building in your city? Bro there are so many weird buildings in Chicago where do I start.

How do you keep in touch with friends usually? Various social media platforms haha.

Do you get a lot of visitors? Nah.

Is there a subtle way your partner gets you excited easily? Yeah.

Do you recognize friends’/family’s vehicles by sound? I have in the past.

Which Disney villain is your favourite? I don’t have one.

On a regular day, what do you usually do at 3 o'clock in the afternoon? The weekends vary but I am usually at the gym or on my way to the gym, except for on Wednesdays when I get my nieces from school at 2:45. Then, of course, I am with them.

Which possession would you not want to inherit from a relative? I don’t know.

What is something you would never dare to do in public? I mean, the obvious ones.

Would you/ did you have a hen night/bachelorette party? Barf.

Has anyone taken you on holiday somewhere? If so, where? I mean, my family growing up? When you left the house last time, where did you go? Here, to work.

How did you spend your last birthday? Had dinner with my family and then played pool with Mark and a few friends.

[virtues-end]

Aheem heem for no pARTiculal reason at all: what tarot cards would you assign the characters? And while i have your ear - what flowers do you associate with them?

Oof, this is a hard one. I'm not a big tarot guy so I am going by vibes (and a quick google search) only. Similarly, the extent of my flower knowledge is 'oooooo, pretty' lmao. XD

Still, I tried! <3

Tarot cards

Shea - the Hanged Man Elexis - the Devil Penrose - Strength Idris - Death

Flowers

Shea - anemones, violets Elexis - roses, marigold Penrose - gladiolus, amaryllis Idris - aster, iris

[snackhobi]

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v. 

then he turns up at your door. 

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif​ for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within. 

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over. 

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight. 

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed.  It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on. 

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code. 

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time. 

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water. 

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine. 

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.”  The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious. 

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new. 

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed. 

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?” 

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone. 

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one. 

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they? 

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.” 

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper. 

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go. 

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked. 

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs. 

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least). 

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for. 

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good. 

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone. 

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend. 

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way. 

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God. 

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence. 

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things. 

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.” 

Ah. 

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.” 

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new. 

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased. 

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs. 

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples. 

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice. 

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off. 

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs. 

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?” 

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight. 

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality. 

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own. 

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[psychewithwings]

Pt. 1 A Visitor... Once Again  Kirishima x Goddess!reader

hello hello, this is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme was ‘mythology and lore’ and hit very close to my ancient greek loving soul. We have so many wonderful writers and artists that have worked hard so pls check out the rest of the collab here!!!

I’ve been rather ill and so I’ll be breaking it up into parts, part 2 will be out as soon as I am feeling more myself (which will hopefully be next week). Please enjoy a story about 2 of my favourite characters. Kirishima Eijirou, as his hero self (tho with a demi-god twist) and reader! as Kalypso, the goddess, daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky. Her curse is that she is forced to live alone on an island and fall in love with any visitor who falls to her shores. Once she falls for them, she is forced to ask if they would like to stay and she may grant them immortality if they say yes, and if not? They may leave. They have no way of leaving the island until she falls in love. She is a kind and wonderful character and I have a lot of love for her, (perhaps I relate to her a bit too much) so it is an honor to tell a new version of her story. 

This is set in present day even tho Kalypso is an ancient greek figure, Kirishima is about 25-28 here? Pro hero Kiri!

TW: a small sex scene in the beginning, little bit of dirty talk, penetration

———————————————————————

“Fuck, thats it baby, feel it going all the way inside? Feels good right?” You moan into his neck, “s-so good.” He starts to thrust in and out slowly. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back… his… names and faces are unimportant blurs as he continues to thrust inside. Each drag of his cock hits each sweet spot and taps against your cervix. “Fuck~ you feel so fucking good darling, so-fucking-good, perfect, fucking perfect… yeah that's it clamp down on my cock, massage it with that perfect pussy.” His hand slips between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs quick circles over your clit. “Gonna cum for me baby? I can feel it, you’re about to gush~” You cry into his neck, soft tears of ecstasy hitting his skin. You’re close, so very close-

“Hello? Hey!!! Is anyone home?? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the man above you, the cock inside you, all falls away. It had all been a dream… a delicious, wonderful dream. A dream that had been ruined by an incurable racket. You stare groggily at the ceiling. The ache in your core of having been so close to cumming now boils into a rage. “Hello?!?! Is someone here? Hello??” Your brow crinkled in confusion as to who the rasping voice belonged to. You check to see if you had somehow managed to flip the tv on but the screen was dark. “Does anyone live here?” It dawned on you then… It’s a visitor.

You check the clock that blinks 5:37AM. You groan into a pillow and kick your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache. Your bare thighs are covered in your arousal, which has turned into your frustration. You stay lying still in hopes that he will go away, leave you alone, never return. “HELLO????!?!” But he had to stop screaming and it didn’t seem like he was going to until he came into contact with someone… You knew the nature of the curse well enough at this point but you would try to rebel as long as you could…

You flip the covers off of your body and slowly walk to grab a robe to cover yourself with. You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror while you finish tying the robe. “We got this,” you point to yourself, “no falling in love this time, no falling in love no matter what, ever again, you hear me?” You nod back to yourself. “Pinkie swear.” You touch pinkies with the mirror and laugh coldly. “No more foolish love,” you sarcastically remark before opening the french doors and stepping onto the balcony.

You stare down at the man who had been shouting for so long and your heart drops. He’s beautiful, red hair hanging in his face, still wet with the sea. His body must have been designed by the muses and chiseled by delicate hands. It’s clear even through his clothes. Son of Ares? Or even Zeus perhaps? He is interesting, never had you seen a demigod with such clear physical strength and kind eyes. The combination was rare. He gives you a grin which then fades to surprise. “Oh- I am so sorry, my manners,” he laughs nervously before slowly kneeling on the ground. “Great Goddess, I humble myself now in front of your grace and all encapsulating beauty…” You roll your eyes hoping he will take the hint and shut up. It wasn’t any different from the men before him… It was the same shit as always, though you were disappointed, this one seemed different upon first glance. “...your magnificence is profound, you are both elegant and ethereal in your just standing there-” you cut him off before he can continue the asinine speech. “Ya done?” you ask bluntly.

His eyes grow wide and he softly utters a “what?” You roll your eyes and lean on the gold railing. “Dude, it’s 5am, you’re yelling and ranting, can ya just get to the point?” He remains on his knees in a bow. His pitch varies with confusion as he speaks. “My ship, uhh I crashed it on your shore, and I was hoping that you could umm, maybe assist me in getting home? I-” he hangs his head for a moment, perhaps in exhaustion before continuing. “I have no GPS, no compass, not even a map… if I could do it without bothering you, I would, nothing you for help isn’t very manly... but please Goddess, please help me get home.”  You sigh, century after century of the same request has really weakened your patience, though he had asked nicer than most. “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” you smile slightly. You wait for the look of annoyance, frustration, fear… but it never comes. In fact he gives a slight half smile as he stands. “Well, nothing we can do?” he asks. “‘Fraid not,” you sigh. He starts to say something else but he winces. “Are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern bleeding through the nonchalant tone you had been practicing the past milenia. He nods and grabs hold of his side. “I got a little beat up, but don’t worry goddess, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he tips his head down.  As he raises his head he looks deathly pale. “Hey sit down okay?” you call down to him, but it’s too late. His eyes roll back and he collapses. “Shit-” you mutter to yourself as you run down to him.

He lays there in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow. “Wish you’d said you were hurt first dummy,” you grumble before assessing the situation. You need to get him to the herbs and the back porch. This wouldn't be easy, he’s big, huge really. But he collapsed on his side which makes things easier. You hook an arm around one of his and the other around a leg. It takes a lot and it's a staring but you manage to lift him on your shoulders. If your father can hold up the sky, you can surely carry this brick house of a man back to the bed on the porch. 

You step into the house while fireman carrying him to the screened-in porch to lay him down on the daybed. You place him carefully in the soft, green covers and he whines softly. “You’re gonna be just fine,” you reassure gently. Your back porch was reserved for growing herbs, arts and crafts, summer sleep, and it occasionally became a makeshift infirmary when visitors came to you injured and in need of patching up. It happened once every few centuries…

You grabbed some fabric scissors and cut away his shirt to reveal what had been ailing him. You hoped for a broken rib, those were easy to heal with a careful dose of leaf from the widows bone flower and some angel root. But what lay beneath was worse than imagined. A deep gash in his side had tried to close over and heal but it’s irritated, angry. The wound is oozing a sickly yellow pus and iridescent ichor. The skin around it is red with infection. This is one of the worst you’d been brought with. You touch his head, it’s hot and sticky with sweat. This wasn’t good. “Wait here, okay?” You grab a clump of angel root and take it back inside to the kitchen, setting it in a pot of water to boil. You grab a cloth and wet it under the sink in cold water.

You place it on his forehead and sit on the bed beside him. His face was relaxed and he was even more beautiful now. You brush the hair from his eyes and smile down at him, there was something familiar about him… like you’d met before. Though no one could return to Ogygia.

You lean down to where you can speak over his heart in a language that cannot be written or replicated... But the meaning of the words would go something like:

You are healing

You are youthful and strong

Your heart knows how to heal because it is made of love

Pure love can heal anything

You are healing now

You repeat this chant until you hear his breath deepen and watch the cut sooth. It’s a small enchantment but it has done its job. Sure, you’re no Circe, or her brethren, but you’re an enchantress all the same.

You rush back inside and grab the angel root, that's now wet and flexible from being submerged in water. You lay it across his wound before wrapping it carefully. “There now, wait here and I’m going to get you some nectar to drink,” He doesn't respond but his face is relaxed, less anguished, less in pain. You sigh in relief, hopefully that will be enough to close the wound in a day or so, else he will need to be stitched up.

You return with a small bottle of nectar and a dropper to feed him with. You coax his jaw to relax with your hand before dropping the nectar slowly onto his tongue. “You heroes are an awful lot of trouble… you know that?” You continue to feed him slowly so he won’t choke. You sigh in relief as the colour returns back to his face. He’s so beautiful he’s almost glowing, you start to reach for him, to brush the hair from his eyes but you stop yourself and turn away. “No, no love this time, remember?” you say to your reflection in the glass of the windows.

His eyes flutter open with long slow blinks. You watch as they focus on you. He blinks again. “Elyssium,” he breathes and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, Ogygia,” you correct gently. “I’m Eijirou,” he smiles. You laugh again. “No no, this island, where you are is called Ogygia, you aren’t dead,” you assure. He blinks up at you still and you curse the gods for creating him to be so breathtaking. “And what are you called?” he asks. He attempts to sit up but finds it difficult. You place your hand on his head, it’s warm and you can feel his brow relax against your palm. “You’re much better now, but just take your time…” His hands touch his torso and then move to his head. “You healed me?” You nod, “I’ll have to sew this one the rest of the way, it was quite deep.” He circles his hand around your arm, his thumb stroking soft circles. “Thank you, goddess,” he murmurs. You pull away, his touch sending lightning down into your fingertips. You don't remember the last time you had a visitor on this island of yours… but none of the previous visitors seemed to matter anymore, even though each one had stolen your heart some way or another. But no- no love, not this time, not now, not again… It hurt, but you suppressed the feelings of desire and brushed your hands down the front of your robe. “It’s nothing, but for the love of the lethe, stop calling me goddess. Kalypso is fine, just Kalypso.”

He grabs your hand as you turn to leave, “thank you... Kalypso, thank you for saving my life.” In all the years you had been saddled with this curse, it was rare for the visitor to say your name... and none of them, had said your name quite like that. 

You pull your hand from his grasp and make sure not to look back, even though you want to. “You’re welcome,” you answer simply, “I’ll uhh- get you some water.”   

to be added to the taglist

[shywitchyfangirl]

Tips for Beginning Spirit Workers!

Me? Posting something useful instead of just memes? GASP!

1. Plan communication and housing methods in advance. This is your responsibility, not the spirits’. Housing can include binding them to an object, binding them to yourself, letting them wander your house, or (my personal method) building an astral temple for them. Communication can take all kinds of forms, including dreams, hallucinations, Ouija boards, body sensations, intrusive thoughts, and telepathy. When starting out, you’ll probably be working with sensations and intrusive thoughts, and work your way up to other forms. An important thing to remember is if you’re ever unsure if something was them, assume it was. False negatives do far more harm than false positives when you’re trying to learn how to communicate. Assuming your spirit said something they didn’t might annoy them, but denying real messages will prevent you from developing your senses and harm your relationship with them.

2. Set boundaries and keep them! It doesn’t matter who they are, how powerful they are, or if they’re a literal god. You have rights, and they do not own you. Take no excuses, make no compromises. You don’t need to explain anything. If you give some spirits an inch, they’ll take a mile. I have a rule that no one can possess me while I’m on my period. Why? Because I don’t want them to, end of discussion. If anyone throws a fit about your boundaries, you don’t want to work with them anyway. If you’re planning to let them stick around, setting house rules is also very important! (”Don’t mess with the other human residents” is always a good starting point.)

3. Doubt happens. Even the most experienced spirit worker has moments of “Oh gods, I’m just crazy and talking to myself.” Don’t beat yourself up over it! Healthy skepticism is what keeps us sane. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad spirit worker. Try taking a moment to reflect on the times when your spirits did something that proved themselves to you, because I promise, those moments will happen too! One of my earliest moments was when a spirit possessed my and drew a bunch of dicks in my notebook before I even realized what she was drawing. If you haven’t had one of those moments yet, just remember the golden rule: You can’t be imagining it, because your imagination should never surprise you.

3.5 Know your craft, not others’. Related to the above, a big source of doubt is when you read about other spirit workers’ doing things differently. Remember, the term UPG (Unverified Personal Gnosis) exists for a reason. Your Mileage May Vary! Every spirit worker experiences spirits differently. Different doesn’t mean wrong. Figure out what’s best for you and your spirits, and have confidence in your craft.

4. Don’t trust just anyone. Not every spirit you contact will be on your side. Some have their own agenda, others just want a plaything. Some spirits will pretend to be someone else to get past your defenses. The best way to stay safe is to always trust your instincts. If a spirit gives you a “bad vibe,” DITCH THEM. Never give them the benefit of the doubt. There is not a single spirit you NEED to have in your life, and thus there’s no reason to give a sketchy spirit a chance. Aside from that, don’t just assume any spirit you contact will be friendly and benevolent. Most spirit workers go through a “vetting” period of at least 3 months before deciding if a spirit is truly good to join their team. Yes, THREE MONTHS. You don’t want to allow just any powerful astral being into your life, do you? Remember, spirits have power, and they CAN hurt you. If you wouldn’t allow any random stranger into your house, don’t allow any random spirit into your life.

5. Do your research! Spirits aren’t human, and they don’t have the same wants and needs as humans. Research in advance what the particular species you’re summoning wants and needs. If they’re from a pop culture series, research the series. Research their friends, family, and enemies. Know who they will or won’t work well with. If they’re a nonhuman character, pay special attention to their species’ attributes, such as behavior, communication, and any unusual needs or weaknesses. You are responsible for your spirits’ safety while they’re with you! Remember, there’s no such thing as knowing too much. The more you know, the better prepared you’ll be!

6. Respect their boundaries. Not every spirit wants to be worshipped, especially pop culture ones. Some find it flattering, others find it creepy. Similarly, not every spirit wants to be your best friend forever, and not every spirit is eagerly waiting for your call every second of every day. Spirits may be cool, but don’t be a stalker. Give them some dang space. Also accept that many spirits don’t plan to stay with you forever. There may be a few that will be with you until you die (or even follow you to your next life!) but the vast majority have lives outside of you just like humans do, and there will be a time when you don’t need them or vice versa. Don’t feel bad about them leaving, and don’t try to force them to stay. Spirits come and go, and it does not mean you’re a bad spirit worker if you lose a few allies. Your closest friends will be the ones who choose you, and those are the ones you really want in your inner circle.

7. Don’t call up what you can’t put down. Always always ALWAYS have a banishing spell ready, and be sure to start small. Practice with a simple Pikachu before you go summoning Arceus. And keep that banishing spell handy during the vetting period! Many spirit workers suggest doing a banishing spell after every summoning unless you plan on letting the spirit stay permanently. It’s also always a good idea to have some kind of restraint the first few times you call on a spirit, even if it’s just a circle of salt. Personally I like to keep one of my stronger spirit family members around to babysit the new guys.

8. Always stay protected. Shield spells are your best friends. Use them. Keep them updated. There is never a reason to not be shielded. There is also never a reason to not have your house protected. At least once a month, update your wards, cleanse and banish everything, and recharge your home’s energy. Don’t worry, you can set your wards to whitelist your approved spirit family and any specific spirits you want to lure in, but it’s best to not allow just anyone in off the street. Consider placing sigils around to mark your territory as your own, or you may find someone or something trying to move in and claim your house for themselves! 

9. Know the facts about spirit attacks. The first rule is that you’re probably NOT being attacked. If you have to think “Was that a spirit? Am I being attacked?” you’re definitely not being attacked. Spirits are empowered by your fear, they WANT you to know they’re attacking you. One time when I was attacked, the spirit broke my rainbow fountain right in front of me in a way that made both separate lights simultaneously only glow blood red. That doesn’t just happen. And then they immediately and obviously tried to pull me out of my body so they could take it over. The other two times, the spirits tried so hard to suck me out of my body that it made me disoriented and felt like someone was vacuuming my head while my body felt cold. Spirit attacks are always obvious because they’re trying to scare you. Which leads to the second rule: NEVER PANIC. The more afraid you are, the more power they have over you. Stay calm, put up a shield, call a trusted alley to aid you, and banish their ass to next week. Remember, most spirits who attack are just bullies looking for a new toy to torment. Even a simple “fuck off” can give them the message you’re not worth the trouble.

10. Be prepared before opening up to possession. Possession is real, and it can be dangerous. With a trusted ally, it’s tons of fun, and you can even ask them to handle things like chores for you. With literally anyone else, you’re putting your life at risk. There is nothing stopping a strong enough spirit from throwing you off the nearest bridge. The good news is that forced, full possession is rare. The bad news is it can still happen, and it’s very hard to stop when it does. This is why it’s so important to vet your spirit allies before allowing them close to you, ESPECIALLY before letting them possess you. If a spirit shows any sign of not respecting your boundaries, get them the hell out of your life. Luckily, partial possession is much more common (when you’re still in control but either being influenced, or only your limbs are moving without your input). This version can be fought off via internal struggle or countered with a cleansing spell or an ally’s help.

11. Get creative with offerings. Offerings are Spiritwork 101. You won’t be getting a lot of help from spirits if you don’t pay them back. But the important part is knowing exactly what to give them. There are certainly things that are standard, and things that are easy enough to guess (Moon water for the moon goddess, flowers for the nature spirit, etc.) But the best offerings are ones that are personal, creative, and meaningful. Your fairy friend probably has a thousand flowers, but have they tried your pancakes? Would your familiar like a friendship bracelet in their favorite color? Hell, does your ancient ancestor want to try Starbucks? Also note that offerings can be experiences, not just gifts. Some spirits love to hear new music. Jevil loves to possess me and play games, or even just watch me play them. And Seam likes to be cuddled while he possesses a body pillow, or to be read to. The better you get to know your spirit friends, the more ways you’ll find to make them happy.

12. Recognize a spirit calling, but don’t answer them all. As you progress in spirit work, you’ll start receiving “spirit callings”. Callings are different for everyone, but they’re generally feelings of obsession over a certain spirit. You may find yourself thinking “everything would be okay if X was here” when you’re having a bad day. You may find yourself wanting to know everything about them. You might notice signs of them, such as feathers if they have wings.  If it’s a pop culture spirit, you may start obsessively tracking down fanworks of them. If you can’t get a spirit out of your mind, you’re probably being called! This means that good things could happen if you work with this spirit (though it does NOT mean the relationship will last forever!). However, this doesn’t mean you should answer ever single calling. It’s always important to know your limits. If you already have lots of spirits hanging around, adding one more won’t benefit you or them, no matter how strongly you’re called to them. Remember, there will always be another calling. 

13. Know your limits. Speaking of which, remember that you’re responsible for your spirits, and you should never take on more than you can handle. Spirit hoarding is a real thing, and it’s harmful to everyone involved. Know how many spirits you can handle at once, and know how close you can get to each of them. My astral temple is designed to let dozens of spirits come and go as they please, but of those, I’m only comfortable getting truly close to exactly two at a time. There is no shame in letting a spirit you no longer need go before bringing in a new one. There is also no shame in not being perfect. If you need some space for a few days, take it. If all you can muster today is a halfhearted “hello” to your familiar, do it. Your spirit allies will always be there waiting once you’re feeling better. If they’re true allies, they’ll understand if you’re not feeling well and need some time to yourself.

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

#29 for the 101 ways to say I love you with blupjeans except it's after they've turned into liches lol please? 💜

Barry kneels down beside the hastily tilled earth. He pulls his jacket a little closer to him as the wind weaves through the trees. The ground on this plane has started to firm up with the impending cold season, though the inhabitants, who are keen on honoring the deceased, made quick work of digging the grave. He gingerly lays down a large bouquet of odd flowers, all muted blues and greys in varying shapes and sizes. He’s not sure where they’re from. They smell nice enough, though.

The lump in his throat must be the size of a small planet, he thinks, and the wall of eyes at his back isn’t making it better.

“Lup, babe. I can’t believe you’re gone. I-“ he breaks off, shaking his head and wiping at his face. It feels weird, having his grief observed. Judged. Evaluated. But who is he to argue with the customs of the plane? He lets out a sigh. “You died as you lived. Radiant. Joyful. And a little reckless,” he says seriously. He hears murmurs from behind him and it takes everything in him to not turn around and investigate them. Instead, he lets his shoulders relax as he just stares at the place where Lup’s body is entombed.

He startles when he feels a cold, bony hand on his shoulder. A gaunt looking human man nods gravely at him. “We are sorry for your loss, Mr. Hallwinter. Please, feel free to join us at the temple this evening,” he says, voice low and solemn.

Barry nods. “T-thank you, Father Eliot. Um. I’ll be by later. But I would like some time here alone. My wife and I had been together for such a short time and… I just don’t know what do to without her,” his voice is thick with what Father Eliot presumes to be grief.

“I understand. We’ll leave you. Don’t grieve out here too long, you’ll catch your death,” Father Eliot says without a hint of irony.

Barry waits a minute. Then five. Then ten, until he’s certain they’re gone. And then he starts laughing wildly. He stands up from beside Lup’s grave and looks around the vast cemetery, giving a little wave. “Coast is clear, babe!”

He grins as he sees a familiar red form float out from behind a nearby tree. Lup floats so near to him, warming him in an instant. She rests her spectral head on his shoulder. It doesn’t really work but it gives them both a little comfort.

“That was a beautiful performance, Mr. Hallwinter,” she says, her wide grin evident in the lilt of her voice.

“Why thank you, Mrs. Hallwinter. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Oh yeah?”

Barry nods. “Yeah, it’s probably lame but I always tried to leave you flowers when I could.” He gives her a sidelong glance, hoping he hasn’t just admitted to something weird or embarrassing.

“Babe, you had that big a crush on me?” Lup asks gleefully, doing her best to wrap her arms around Barry.

Barry ducks his head but smiles wide. It feels so silly to still be embarrassed around Lup but sometimes he just can’t help it. “I mean, yeah, but I’m not really telling you anything you don’t know, am I?”

She hums for a moment. “Mmm, ‘spose not. You think they bought it?”

“I mean, they invited me back to the temple so I think so.”

Lup lets out a victorious whoop. “Man, we’re so fucking smart. You’ve got the Light on lock, Bar.”

“I hope so, I’d hate to think you had to go ghost for nothing.”

“I do think you forget that I am now the only one on the team who knows what it’s like to touch lava so I would hardly say it’s for nothing.”

Barry barks out a laugh and looks at Lup softly. “Have I said how much I love you lately?”

“You haven’t and frankly I’m feeling a little neglected.” She says haughtily.

“Now however can we rectify that?”

Lup flashes him a mischievous grin. “We really can’t while you’re still fleshy. How about you go get the Light and we’ll see what can be arranged afterwards.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Barry says, dusting the dirt off his pants. He pauses before leaving the cemetery. “Do you think you’d also be willing to tell me what touching lava’s like?”

She giggles brightly. “Well now you’re asking an awful lot of your dead wife.”

“But you’ll tell me because you love me so much?”

Lup heaves a heavy sigh. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

Barry grins at her once more before heading to the temple near the cemetery. The Light is well within his grasp this cycle.

[lockhartism]

Aerith and Tifa as Sephiroth’s Foils

There are a lot of moving pieces to Final Fantasy 7--something that has historically contributed to its infamous reputation of being confusing. But one consistent thematic pattern that FF7 utilizes is duality. Life and death. Meetings and partings. Loneliness and togetherness. Many of the main themes presented in FF7 fall into this same format. Even the characters can be considered dualities in and of themselves. One of the most obvious dualities in the game is that of Aerith and Sephiroth. However, in varying degrees, all of the main characters are in some way antithetical to Sephiroth.

Like in many other classic hero vs. villain tales, you’d think that Cloud is the perfect foil to Sephiroth--after all, they’re at odds, so it would make sense that they’d be opposites. However, what makes Cloud and Sephiroth’s conflict so fascinating is that they actually have a good amount in common. Both Cloud and Sephiroth struggle with their identities. They also experienced trauma and loneliness in the past, and tended to isolate themselves from others. It’s this commonality that actually makes them compelling rivals, as Cloud not only has to battle Sephiroth, but also the aspects of Sephiroth that Cloud himself struggles with.

The real foils of Sephiroth are Aerith and Tifa. While there is some debate as to whether Aerith or Tifa is the real heroine of FF7 (mostly spear-headed by weird LTD-pushers), the big-brained answer is that they’re both the heroines. This is evident in concept art from an older FF7 Ultimania, pictured below: 

As you can see, the concept for the story’s heroine started out as a hybrid of Tifa and Aerith. The character’s design resembles Tifa, and the name below the sketch reads “ティファ”, or Tifa. However, the character’s role was very different. She was intended to be both the childhood friend of Cloud Strife and a Cetra, the sister of Sephiroth (who originally looked more like Vincent). Eventually, the idea to kill off one of the main characters was introduced, and the role of the heroine was split in two: the Cetra, Aerith, and the childhood friend, Tifa. There is some evidence of the original concept still present in the series; Tifa’s iconic red eyes match Vincent’s, because originally, the two characters were designed to be siblings before eventually going to separate roles.

Based on this evidence, it would seem logical that both Aerith and Tifa retained their dualities with Sephiroth. And, indeed, even in the final product, both characters provide a foil for Sephiroth to balance the scales.

To exemplify the dynamic that Cloud, Tifa, Aerith, and Sephiroth have with one another, I’ve drawn a (crude) spectrum:

Obviously, Aerith and Tifa play different roles and have different importance to the story. Aerith’s role is more “big picture”, so to speak. She is responsible for the Planet and for protecting it from Sephiroth after discovering his plans to destroy it. Tifa’s role is more fine-tuned and detailed. She is the rock and the only stable element of the Nibelheim story, a key part of Cloud, Zack, and Sephiroth’s backstories. To understand how each of them foils Sephiroth, we have to look at them individually and analyze how they interact with both Sephiroth and Cloud.

Part I: Aerith as Sephiroth’s Foil

As stated above, Aerith’s role as foil is a little more obvious. Sephiroth and Aerith are both “Cetra”--or, at the very least, they both claim to be. For Sephiroth, his identity as a Cetra is tied to his belief that Jenova, his “mother”, was a Cetra who was betrayed by humanity when humans left the traditional Cetra nomadic lifestyle in order to colonize the land and the Planet. 

However, Jenova was not a Cetra at all--she was actually a “calamity from the skies” that crashed down and created the Northern Crater two thousand years before the events of FF7. After encountering the Cetra, the creature known as Jenova began infecting and killing the Cetra one by one. These killings only stopped when the Cetra banded together to seal Jenova in the Northern Crater; but, by the time it was done, the Cetra were dying off.

So how did Jenova become known as a Cetra? That seems like more than a clerical error to me. It was actually Aerith’s father, Professor Gast, who uncovered Jenova from the Northern Crater and mistakenly identified her as a Cetra. The Shinra Corporation, desperate to find the Cetra’s “Promised Land” thinking that it would be rich in Mako energy, enlisted the professor to find a way to create a Cetra from a human specimen. Using the cells extracted from Jenova, Sephiroth was created, and after reading Shinra’s archives, he discovered his relationship to Jenova and embraced his identity as “Cetra”. 

Aerith, on the other hand, really is a Cetra. Her mother, Ifalna, was the last Cetra--making Aerith, by relation, half-Cetra. Her connection to the Cetra race is real, unlike Sephiroth’s.

This give her declaration in the final chapter of FF7 Remake all the more important:

There’s a duality between Aerith and Sephiroth in truth versus lies. Aerith’s heritage as a Cetra is founded in truth. She is connected to the Planet in a way that is real. She is a Cetra, in covenant with the Planet to protect it that was passed down to her by her mother. In contrast, Sephiroth’s claims to be a Cetra are lies--whether he’s aware of it or not. Jenova, Sephiroth’s “mother”, is not a Cetra. She is not even from the Planet, but rather from somewhere beyond it. Jenova acted as a parasite of the Planet and is actually responsible for sending it into chaos and draining it of its life. He has no real obligation to protect the Planet, and he is not truly connected to it the way that Aerith is.

Aerith and Sephiroth also represent the original duality between the Cetra and Jenova, with both parties continuing to be at odds with one another even two thousand years later.

Tying in a more overarching FF7 theme, Aerith and Sephiroth also personify the duality of life and death, respectively. With Aerith, her “domain” of sorts, the Sector 5 church, is bursting with life. It is the only place in Midgar where flowers will grow. Even gameplay-wise, she is a healer, and is constantly giving life to other characters in the party. Sephiroth, on the other hand, only destroys. He set fire to Nibelheim and killed the townspeople, including Cloud’s mother and Tifa’s father. Cloud even notes his strength while recounting his version of the events in Nibelheim.

Cloud: “Sephiroth's strength is unreal. He is far stronger in reality than any story you might have heard about him.”

Therefore, Aerith and Sephiroth represent two different dualities: life versus death, and truth versus lies.

Part II: Tifa as Sephiroth’s Foil

Tifa’s role as foil to Sephiroth is more understated but nevertheless important, especially in the latter half of the story. Tifa, Cloud, and Sephiroth are the only survivors of the Nibelheim incident, wherein Sephiroth burned the town of Nibelheim to the ground and killed the townspeople after discovering his “Cetra” heritage. However, Cloud’s memories are clouded due to his trauma and the Mako poisoning he endured during the five-year gap between the Nibelheim incident and the start of FF7; and Sephiroth purposefully twists the truth in order to weaken Cloud’s already-fragile mental state. Therefore, the only one who can decipher what’s true and what’s not is Tifa.

Like Aerith, Tifa also represents the truth, while Sephiroth represents lies and deceit. This is very evident in this scene that takes place in the Northern Crater, and again in a scene during Tifa’s journey into Cloud’s mind. In the Northern Crater, Sephiroth tries to convince Cloud that he was never real, and that all of his childhood memories, even the ones he shared with Tifa, were fabricated.

Sephiroth: “You are just a puppet... You have no heart... and cannot feel any pain... How can there be any meaning in the memory of such a being? What I have shown you is reality. What you remember, that is the illusion. [...] Five years ago you were... constructed by Hojo, piece by piece, right after Nibelheim was burnt. A puppet made up of vibrant Jenova cells, her knowledge, and the power of Mako. An incomplete Sephiroth-clone. Not even given a number. ...That is your reality.”

Sephiroth, at first, succeeds in convincing Cloud that he is not the “real” Cloud but rather someone who never existed, who never grew up in Nibelheim, and who clung on to fake memories as a means to cope with that fact. However, later in the Lifestream, Tifa expresses a different sentiment:

Tifa: “Sephiroth once said... Cloud made up his memories by listening to my stories... Did you imagine this sky? No, you remembered it. That night the stars were gorgeous. It was just Cloud and I. We talked at the well... That's why I continued to believe that you were the real Cloud. I still believe you're the Cloud from Nibelheim...”

By reminding Cloud of a memory they both share--a true memory--she is able to provide a solid ground, wherein Cloud can begin to rebuild his true self after falling for Sephiroth’s deception.

Obviously, Tifa’s relationship with the truth is complicated, and she herself suffers from her own self doubt throughout the story. But in this defining moment, Tifa finally realizes without a doubt what the truth is, and together both Cloud and Tifa are able to reconstruct what really happened in Nibelheim and solve the mystery once and for all.

But this duality isn’t simply about truth versus lies. It’s also about hope versus despair. In deceiving Cloud, Sephiroth strips him of all his hope. Cloud is filled with such fundamental despair that he can’t see the truth and believe that he is indeed an experiment created by Hojo. Tifa, in contrast, provides him with hope when she affirms his memories with her own. Separately, Tifa’s resolve to continue the team’s journey without Cloud is another example of her hope in the face of Sephiroth’s despair.

The idea of hope versus despair in Sephiroth and Tifa is exemplified in Kingdom Hearts (although KH is not canonically related to FF7, I think it’s a neat little call back):

Tifa: “Cloud, you can have my light.”

In Kingdom Hearts II, Sephiroth represents Cloud’s darkness, while Tifa represents Cloud’s light. This is a similar dichotomy to truth versus lies, metaphorically, where Sephiroth is “casting shadows” on the truth, and Tifa is “shedding light” on what really happened. (Okay, sorry for the puns!)

Another duality that Tifa and Sephiroth represent is the dual meaning of reunion in the context of FF7. It’s common knowledge among FFVII fans at this point, but to everyone who’s playing for the first time or who has recently picked up the franchise and not gotten all caught up yet, Sephiroth talks a lot about “the Reunion”.  Like, a lot.  Sephiroth’s “reunion” is a reference to the Reunion Theory, a scientific theory posited by Professor Hojo that states that Jenova’s cells--once separated from their host, i.e. Jenova--will seek out the main body.  This makes everyone who has ever been injected with Jenova’s cells essentially part of a massive Jenova hive mind, with the primary goal to eventually reunite with Jenova.

Obviously, this is a bad thing for Cloud, who was exposed to Jenova cells and is thus connected to Sephiroth.

However, Cloud and Tifa also have a reunion at the beginning of the story--a reunion between friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time. Unlike Sephiroth’s reunion, this is a positive thing. Cloud and Tifa, on multiple occasions, discuss “meeting again” and “finding each other” after so many years apart. Even after they reconstruct Cloud’s memories, he says:

Cloud: “Yeah...... Tifa...... We finally...... meet again......”

Sephiroth’s reunion with Cloud leads him astray from the path; Tifa’s reunion with Cloud sets thing right again. One reunion destroys Cloud’s perception of what’s real, and the other helps him to find the truth once again. Reunion changes meaning with Sephiroth and Tifa, and these opposing definitions of what “reunion” is make Tifa and Sephiroth perfect foils.

Part III: Final Thoughts

Part of what makes Sephiroth such a compelling villain are the striking similarities he shares with the protagonist Cloud Strife. In the original storyboard for FF7, Tifa and Aerith shared a role as the main heroine and the perfect foil for Sephiroth. But even after the role was separated into two distinct characters, the characteristics that made each one of them a foil to Sephiroth remained. For unique reasons, they balance the scales, providing an anchor of “good” to counteract the badness of the story’s main antagonist. 

That’s all I have to say about it! I’ve been thinking a lot about Tifa and Aerith’s unique roles in the story as deuteragonists, or dual heroines, and how they both represent antitheses to Sephiroth. I figured I share my thoughts!

[love-and-monsters]

In the Woods

M forest creature X F human, 5,671 words. 

The world has ended and strange creatures now roam the Earth. You survived the end, but can you manage to make your way in this strange new land?

The trees above my head groaned and snapped. I froze, pressing my stomach to the ground. Something skittered through the branches, tiny claws scratching against the bark. It was probably a squirrel. It was almost definitely a squirrel. Regardless, I pressed myself close to the ground until it was gone.

When the forest was still and silent again, I pushed myself to my feet. My muscles were stiff and achy. I’d broken my back building my garden yesterday, and, regardless, I had to tromp through the woods in search of something to eat.

Despite my aches and pains, the hunger gnawing at my stomach, I was still one of the lucky ones. I was alive.

The Surge had happened nearly three months ago. Within two weeks, every major city had been leveled. The ground itself seemed to reach up, like the Earth was trying to slough off its outer skin. Plants had grown lighting quick, vines and roots overwhelming steel and stone within moments. Aftershocks had wracked the globe for another month, but when it was over, there was precious little of humanity left.

And then they had come. Strange creatures. Some of them looked human. Some of them did not. I avoided them. They were unnatural beings, things that grew plants from their bodies and were impervious to attack. I’d been with another group, for a while. The creatures shrugged off bullets and plants jumped to their command. I had been the only survivor.

I had no interest in fighting them anymore. The Earth was gone. I hadn’t seen another human in weeks. For all I knew, I was the only one left. I hoped not, but even if I wasn’t, I didn’t have much hope of ever finding another one.

I’d been lucky to find even a small patch of land to carve out a home in. I’d managed to scrounge up a tent and some blankets, located a few wild plants to start a garden, and even found some prepared food, though not a lot.

Hunting was my main way of sourcing food. I set several snares every night. Guns were difficult to find, bullets were worse, and even if you managed to locate both of them, they almost certainly didn’t go together. Knives didn’t run out of bullets and, providing the snares weren’t badly damaged, I could reuse them.

A rabbit already dangled from my belt. I was getting better at butchering them, and I was glad for its thick fur. Winter was on its way, and I could use all the warming items I could get.

Most of the traps were empty. I reset them one by one and headed to the snare closest to my camp. It was rare that there was anything in that one- maybe the animals knew I was there and didn’t trust the area.

Something crunched as I approached. I froze. The crunching continued. It didn’t seem to be getting closer or further away. There was a wet tearing noise and a sickening snap and my stomach rolled over. That wasn’t something moving through the undergrowth. That was the sound of something eating.

I crept slowly forward, shuffling my feet so I wouldn’t step on any twigs. I slipped behind a tree, breathing deeply. When I was sure I had myself under control, I peeped in the direction of the sound.

There was something hunched over the snare. The wet, snapping noises came from the corpse of a groundhog, which had been pulled open, its red, dripping flesh spread across the ground. The hunched figure was humanoid, roughly. Its limbs were long and spindly, with its fingers coming to dark brown points. Twisting, gnarled branches sprouted from its head, though they were small, probably so they wouldn’t impede its movement. It had long, deep green hair that fell loose down its back. It seemed to be wearing a long coat that flowed around it when it moved. The creature ripped chunks off the dead animal and bit down on them, messily tearing into them.

I gagged. I couldn’t help it. The creature’s messy smacking was disgusting. One of its pointed ears twitched and it spun around.

It was nearly seven feet tall, standing on thin, bony legs. It balanced on its toes, feet elongated like a four-legged animal. Red was smeared all down its front. Its face was human-esque, but its mouth had only sharp teeth and its eyes were flat green, no pupil or sclera. Its chest was the oddest part- it shouldn’t have been able to live. I could see its ribcage, but it seemed to be made out of gnarled wood. There was no skin stretched over its chest. Instead, there seemed to be a small bush in its ribcage, with tiny flowers sprouting out between the bones. It still lifted and fell with breathing, even though it didn’t seem to have any lungs.

Cold terror made me freeze. My knees were trembling. I brandished my knife, but I had no illusions. If this thing wanted to kill me, I would be dead. It could breathe without lungs. How would I even start to kill it?

We stared at each other. The creature cocked its head to one side. A long, slender tongue flicked out of its mouth, trailed around its lips. It seemed to be assessing me as much as I was assessing it.

We stood there for several long moments. I was almost afraid to breathe. Curiosity seemed to be the only thing keeping me alive.

Something snapped a few feet to my left. The creature’s head swiveled, ears twitching. It snarled, baring its red-stained teeth, then plunged off into the undergrowth. There was a crashing, snapping noise that got fainter as it moved away.

I let out a slow breath. Relief made me dizzy. It was gone. I had lived.

Mechanically, I cleared the trap, dragging the dead body away from it. I wasn’t eating it. Scavengers could have it. After some consideration, I reset it. If the creature came back, then I would consider moving it, but I wasn’t shifting it on a one-off. Maybe the creature was just passing through.

I headed back to my tent and butchered the rabbit. It was tasty, juicy. I tended my garden, making sure that everything was properly arranged before I headed to bed.

I didn’t sleep well that night. There was something howling in the woods, a constant screaming that sounded like a cross between a wildcat and a human.

Over the next few days, I became more and more convinced that seeing the creature hadn’t been a one-off. I didn’t see it hunched over, crunching on any more raw animals, but I saw signs of it. Traps that had clearly been tampered with, that had scraps of fur and blood on them, but hadn’t been reset. Trails of disturbed dirt around my camp. Claw marks on the trees, roughly around the creature’s height.

I didn’t like the fact that one of those things had set up camp near me and was stealing my food, but I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do. I hadn’t seen it again, and I was fairly sure I couldn’t drive it off. The only thing I could do was hope I kept avoiding it.

The howling at night hadn’t stopped. It seemed to be getting closer. The sound seeped into my dreams.

It was a chilly morning when I stepped outside to find a dead deer sprawling in the middle of my camp.

I froze. The doe had been killed by something with claws and teeth, its throat torn open and stomach slashed in ragged edges. But it hadn’t been savaged or eaten like it should have been. And it hadn’t been killed here. My camp wasn’t disturbed and I hadn’t heard the sounds of a struggle in the night. Something had killed the deer, dragged it to my camp, and left it for me.

There was a tingling sensation on the back of my neck, like something was watching me. I looked around. Nothing.

Was the deer a threat? ‘If you stay here, this will happen to you.’ I couldn’t move. I’d set up a life here. Moving would mean abandoning most of my belongings and starting over. With winter bearing down on me, it would be a death sentence.

I dragged the deer a short distance away. If this thing wanted to drive me out, it was going to have to do it the hard way. I wouldn’t be taking its threats.

My traps were undisturbed for the first time in a while. There was a chubby groundhog in one of them, which was nice. I attached it to my waist and returned to camp.

It seemed undisturbed. That was reassuring. I tried to fortify the camp a little more, setting up a makeshift fence. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to stop anything, but it made me feel a little safer.

There was a pile of small animals in my camp when I woke up the next morning. They’d all had their necks neatly snapped and were arranged together neatly. Something intelligent had placed them there.

I buried them outside of camp. The tingling feeling of being watched was worse than ever.

The noises at night were getting closer. I could barely sleep. They were close by, just outside of camp. I kept thinking of that thing I’d seen in the woods, the human frame with those green eyes and strange, open chest.

Animals kept appearing in my camp. They varied in size and killing style- some of them had their necks snapped, some were messily eviscerated, some had simple, clean killing cuts. I dragged them out of camp each time. The amount of corpses was starting to disturb me. They were going to attract scavengers to my camp.

Several days after the corpses had started appearing, I emerged from my tent to see the creature hunched in the clearing. It was crouching over the dead body of a stag. There were no visible wounds on it. It could have been sleeping, except for the unnatural angle of its neck.

The creature froze, staring up at me. Its blank, green eyes betrayed no emotion. My heart thundered in my chest. I didn’t even have my knife on me- it was still in the tent. I’d gotten careless. If this thing killed me, it was totally my own fault.

The creature looked back down at the stag, then, slowly, deliberately, it pushed the carcass toward me. It looked up at me, back down at the stag, then up at me again. Its lips parted over its many sharp teeth.

“Good?” Its voice wasn’t what I was expecting. I thought, if such a thing could speak, it would have a rasping, unnatural quality to it. There was a strange tone to it, an echo that made it sound like two people were speaking at once. The dominant voice, though, was a baritone and surprisingly soothing.

“You can talk?” I said. The creature blinked at me. It took a moment to parse my words, then it rose to its full height. At nearly seven feet tall, it towered over me.

“Is this acceptable?” One of its hands spread, gesturing down to the carcass at its feet. I gaped at it, uncertain what it meant. It waited, still as a statue.

I licked my lips. There was an odd sense in the air, like I was partaking in some kind of ceremony I didn’t understand. But the creature was clearly offering the stag to me, and it felt improper to reject the gift. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“Yes. It’s… acceptable.” There was a faint quaver in my voice. “Thank you.”

The creature bent into a deep bow. Without another word, it turned and walked back into the forest.

I stared after it until it had completely vanished from view, then sank to the ground. My hands were shaking as I examined the carcass. I tried to review everything that I knew. The creature was the one that had been bringing me dead animals. Accepting the gift had some kind of significance, I was sure, but I didn’t know what it was. Stories of fairy deals and people being spirited away marched through my head. I shook them off. Whatever the creature wanted, it didn’t seem to want to drag me off anywhere.

I spent the rest of the day in my camp, carefully butchering the carcass. Maybe it was a bad idea to accept the gift, but I had to admit that it was a lot of meat. Properly dried, it could last a while, maybe over the whole winter.

It was silent that night. I finally managed to get a peaceful night’s sleep.

The creature was still gone when I emerged in the morning. And yet, the tingling feeling of being watched was worse than ever. Every nearby rustle or snap of a twig made me jump. Sometimes, I thought I saw something shifting between the trees, but it vanished whenever I tried to get a look at it. I couldn’t bring myself to leave camp again.

There was no avoiding going out the next day, though. The traps needed to be checked, and I needed to forage. It only took me a few minutes to realize I was being followed.

I couldn’t see what was following me, but I could hear it padding through the undergrowth behind me. I was pretty sure I knew what it was. The creature seemed to be content to follow me from a distance, so I tried to be content just ignoring it. I managed to catch one or two glimpses of it as it slunk through the foliage, but it was pretty good at staying out of sight.

It was as I was checking the trap furthest from my camp that I heard it. The heavy, crushing footfalls of a behemoth.

Behemoth was the general, catch-all term for the oversized monsters that roamed the lands now. They were enormous, unstoppable, and virtually unkillable. I’d seen one get hit with a missile and keep moving. When I’d been with other humans, a behemoth in the area prompted a mass exodus. You didn’t engage. You just ran.

I turned, slowly, and saw it moving through the trees. It looked like some horrifying combination between a bear and a moose. Larger than either, it had a great, sloping body patched in moss. Enormous antlers sprouted from its head, with points like spears, and its muzzle was large and full of jutting teeth.

Its head was low enough that I could see its enormous eyes rolling around to focus on me.

A growl vibrated from its chest, loud enough to set my bones trembling. I scrambled back, but fear was making my limbs numb and clumsy. There wasn’t a point in running, not really. It could catch me easily. And this one was enormous and heavy, ready to bulk up for winter. There was no way it was going to pass up such an easy meal.

I couldn’t turn to run. I couldn’t take my eyes off the enormous, saliva covered teeth as the behemoth opened its mouth. It could snap me in two with a single bite. A solid certainty formed itself in the pit of my stomach. I was going to die here.

There was an echoing, enraged shriek from behind me. I whirled around just in time to see a pale, slender form bolt out of the undergrowth and lungs at the behemoth.

The creature, the one that had been following me, had sprung to an impressive height and attached itself to the behemoth’s face. The behemoth staggered backward, swinging its great head back and forth. Its scream was great and keening, loud enough to make me clap my hands over my ears. The creature seemed undeterred. It raised a clawed hand and plunged it down, gouging a create cavern in the behemoth’s eyes.

Blood sprayed down from the behemoth’s face. I gaped. It was bleeding. I’d never seen one injured. I didn’t know they had blood. But the creature was tearing into it as easily as it would tear into any other animal.

With another grating scream, the behemoth turned away. Apparently, I was no longer worth the effort. The creature dropped from its face and screeched after it, claws digging furrows into the ground.

The thundering footsteps of the retreating behemoth sounded for several minutes in the otherwise silent forest. The creature stared after it, stiff and focused as a hunting cat. When the behemoth’s footsteps had finally faded into silence, it whipped its head back toward me.

Blood trailed down its front. It was dark, almost oily, and an odd sort of rust color. I froze. Had it chased off the behemoth because it wanted to eat me itself? But then why hadn’t it just killed me before?

The creature approached me so its face was only an inch from mine. Its solid green eyes bored into mine. Then it reached out and took my shoulders in its hands, fingertips trailing along my skin.

“Safe,” it said in a tone that could almost be described as soothing. “Unhurt?”

I gaped at it. The creature tilted its head further to one side. “Unhurt?” it repeated. It was asking me, I realized.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m… I’m okay.” I hesitated for a moment. “Thank you.”

Its strange chest rose as it took in another breath. Then it leaned forward, nestling its face into my neck. Its arms came around me in something like a hug. It made a long, quiet noise of satisfaction before pulling back.

It- he- had saved me. I swallowed and slowly climbed to my feet. He watched me, unmoving. After a moment of hesitation, I unhooked a rabbit from my belt and handed it to him. It seemed right.

He took it from me with surprising delicacy. His head lowered and his jaws snapped shut around a chunk of flesh, tearing it from the bone. I grimaced at the wet snapping and tearing.

He followed me as I continued on to the rest of my traps. This time, he didn’t even bother to hide himself. He walked just behind me or at my side, munching on chunks of rabbit. I kept glancing back at him. He blinked back at me.

I’d sort of expected him to break away when we made it back to camp, but he strolled into the clearing like he belonged there. I watched him as he padded around the edges of the camp, sniffing at things. I couldn’t very well drive him off- if he could injure a behemoth, there was no way I was going to beat him in a fight. And his presence was certainly less unsettling than it had been a few days ago. But I didn’t know what he was doing here. What did he want?

When I headed inside my tent for the night, he made to follow me. I froze in the entrance, staring back at him. Fighting him was still out of the question, but I did not want him in my tent with me. There was a long, tense pause, then the creature backed away and slunk to roughly the center of the camp. He curled up into a tight ball, apparently trying to sleep.

I retreated into the tent and wrapped blankets around me. There was something strangely forlorn about him curling up in the middle of camp, alone. He looked… small. Harmless. The unsettling feeling twisted in my stomach until I fell asleep.

He was still in camp when I woke up, ripping chunks off a fat squirrel. He made a soft humming noise as I walked toward him.

“You’re still here, huh,” I said. Talking to him felt weird. I knew he could talk back, but it still felt odd to try and have a conversation with him. He looked back at me steadily. He looked neither confused, nor comprehending. “I don’t know what you want.”

If he could understand me, he didn’t seem to want to answer. He just ripped another chunk off the squirrel and chewed it, still looking at me.

When he was done eating, he stalked around the camp, examining the border. Often, he would reach up and run his claws down the length of a tree, leaving long scores in the bark. I watched him as he completed a circuit, then started fussing at the small barrier I’d created. He seemed to be trying to build it up.

And so it went for several days. The creature stayed in the camp with me, building up a small barrier around the edge of the camp. Whenever I went out to check traps, he would follow me. Occasionally, he would hunt, dragging carcasses back to camp. He always allowed me to take some of whatever he brought. Eventually, I found myself offering a section of my hunts to him. It only seemed fair. A tense sort of partnership had formed between us. As odd as it was, I had gotten used to him. I was enjoying having some company. When I woke in the morning and he wasn’t present, I found a stab of loneliness sinking in between my ribs.

He meandered back into camp near midday, hands cupped around something. I glanced up at him. “Hey,” I said. “What have you got there?”

He opened his hands. There were clumps of bright red berries in his hands. He held them out to me, head tilted, waiting.

“Uh.” I didn’t recognize the berries and, with no leaves or branches to help identify them, I wasn’t going to eat them. “Sorry. I don’t think I can eat those. You can have them.” He blinked at me and extended his hands again. “Uh, no. I can’t have those.” I reached out and carefully curled his fingers over them. His hands were surprisingly warm. I was rather expecting them to be cold and corpse-like. Something twisted in my chest, a wave of loneliness that I couldn’t quite choke back. I was so unused to having someone with me. I’d managed to bury the feelings of loneliness, but they were starting to come bubbling back up.

He stared at me for a moment, then walked toward the edge of the camp, munching on the berries. I went back to the tending the fire. It was starting to frost overnight and the fire was becoming more and more necessary. If I wasn’t huddled close to it, I was walking around to keep my body temperature up. Despite not wearing much more than a cloak and pants, the creature seemed unbothered. He slouched next to the fire, staring into it. I could see the fire reflected in his eyes, a burning emerald flame.

As soon as the sun started to lower, the cold really set in. The sun and the fire were the only bits of warmth in the bitingly cold air and without one of them, the chill came on swiftly and remorselessly. There was no going back to the tent. I huddled next to the fire, shivering. The flame kept guttering in the wind. Leaving the fire to grab extra bits of wood was painful, my fingers stiffening in the cold and my skin almost burning in the wind. I huddled in on myself, wrapping fur over my body. It was still early winter and I was already half-mad from the cold. How was I going to survive the really bad months?

Something nudged my leg. I looked over. The creature was crouched next to me, half his face illuminated by the firelight. The sharp planes of his face made harsh shadows dance over his features.

“Need something?” I said. The creature pressed close to me. He was warm against me, driving the shivers out of me.

Slowly, like he was trying to give me a chance to stop him, he wrapped his cloak around my shoulders. He pressed me in close to his side. Warmth radiated over me, like there was a miniature sun beaming out from his chest.

I leaned into him. If I closed my eyes, I could pretend that there was a human there with me. His hand pressed gently to my back, and where his fingers lay, warmth radiated through my skin. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him closer. My shivering abated somewhat.

Once I was feeling better, I looked up at him. He was blinking down at me, his green eyes difficult to read, but still utterly focused on me.

“Why are you doing this?” Speaking was a little difficult. Breathing in seemed to freeze my lungs. But being close to his warmth helped, and the curiosity was eating at me. He looked down at me. I wasn’t really expecting an answer, but his mouth opened and his voice issued softly forth.

 “Protect you.” His voice was whispery, still with that strange double-tone.

“Protect me,” I repeated. He lowered his head until his chin was resting on top of my head. I could smell him, I realized. It was sort of pine-like, with a smell under that, like sawdust.

“Pack protects pack,” he said. His chest shifted as he drew in a deep breath. “We are pack now.”

“We’re… a pack?” I tried to make sense of his words.

He drew back a little bit so he could look down into my face. “You accepted my offering,” he said. “We have exchanged prey. We are bound now- a pack.”

Things fell together in my mind rather quickly. The marking of trees, the prey dragged into the camp, the way he had lunged to my rescue- he was trying to impress me. He was courting me. And in giving him the rabbit, I had accepted.

I leaned into his chest. It shifted, and his arms came tighter around me. For the first time in a long time, I had a companion. An image of him leaping out to protect me filtered into my mind. A small smile tugged at me mouth.

“Okay. We’re a pack,” I said. And just like that, it was no longer me against the world. It was the two of us.

Underneath me, somewhere in that strange, hollow chest, a rumbling purr started.

I spent most nights with him after that. He was incredibly warm and when I wrapped a blanket around the both of us, it was impossible to be cold.

The first snows came and I carefully kept the camp free of as much snow as I could manage. He focused more on creating a stronger barrier around the camp, fussing with brambles and branches. There was much less prey in the traps now, and I’d taken to ice fishing with little luck. He was much more skilled at catching animals than I was now, and every few days he would bring back some small morsel to the camp. I was always fed first, and he would only eat after I was done. I found myself wondering exactly why I’d been so afraid of him in the first place- after watching him catch snowflakes on his tongue and chatter insistently whenever I didn’t finish a meal, it was hard to see anything frightening in him.

Whenever I decided to check my traps, he came with me. It was reassuring, to have him there. If he could drive off a behemoth, I was fairly certain there wasn’t much that could bother him.

It was when we were checking the traps on the edge of our territory (I assumed it was the edge- he marked the trees there and didn’t like going beyond that boundary), that he stiffened. His pointed ears twitched. A low growl started in his chest and he bared his teeth.

I went still too, straining to listen. There was a faint rustling, like something was moving through the undergrowth. That wasn’t unusual, though, not enough to make him react like that. I drew closer to him and he shifted, like he was trying to cover me with his body.

“What is it?” I whispered. He pulled his lips back from his teeth, the growl coming deeper and stronger.

Something snapped nearby, the sound echoing through the stillness like a gunshot. Our heads whipped toward the noise in unison. He gave a resounding, challenging cry.

Slowly, something emerged from the bushes. It was like him, I realized. The same species, or whatever. They both had long hair, open, wooden chests that had flowers twining out of them. The newer creature didn’t have the small, branch-like antlers, though, and something about its posture or its shape made me think it was female. Regardless, she stood taller than him and her claws seemed longer.

He made a snarling noise that I interpreted as a warning. The other creature’s head turned as she looked between me and him. An expression like confusion crossed her face and she made a questioning noise.

He snarled out another warning, a thin strand of saliva dribbling from his bared teeth. The other creature considered him for a moment, then crouched down, teeth bared. The hairs on the back of my neck lifted. I recognized a hunting crouch when I saw one.

She lunged. He knocked me aside and took the brunt of her attack, rolling backward into the snow. I expected shrieking and snarling, but they were oddly silent as they rolled in the snow. All their energy was focused on defeating the other.

He was trapped beneath her, teeth snapping everywhere he could reach. She was struggling to keep a hold on him, but it was clear she was in a better position. Her claws dug into his side and her teeth snapped dangerously close to his throat.

I needed to do something. But what could I do? These things were practically indestructible, at least to humans. But I needed to help him. Her teeth snapped close to his throat again and he made a strangled whining sound.

Fuck it. I grabbed a stick from the ground and lunged. If she killed him, she was going to kill me anyway. Might as well die trying to protect him.            

I jammed the splintered end of the stick down into her face. It just barely missed her eyes, scoring a long, bleeding line down her cheekbone. She shrieked, startled, and turned to see her attacker.

It was the opening he needed. He drove into her, knocking her off him and into the ground beneath them. Before she could focus back on him, he swung down, claws plunging them deep into her shoulder. Blood sprayed into the white snow. With a final, agonized shriek, the other creature squirmed away and bolted back into the forest. He didn’t bother to pursue her. He just stood and watched as she vanished into the trees.

As soon as she was gone, he turned toward me. “Okay?” he asked, looking me up and down. “Safe?”

“Yeah, I’m all right. You?” He appeared uninjured, for the most part. There were a few small scratches and he was moving like he was in some pain, but he didn’t seem badly hurt.

“Bleeding,” he said, pointing a claw at me. I looked down. There was a long cut running down the length of my right forearm. It must have happened when she rounded on me. I hadn’t even been able to feel it. Now that I was aware of it, I could feel the stinging pain.

“Ow,” I said, probing at it lightly. It wasn’t particularly deep, but it wasn’t shallow, either. He moved closer to me and crouched, taking my arm delicately in his hands. His long, sinuous tongue slid out of his mouth and ran once along the cut. The pain grew dull, more of an unpleasant tingling than anything, and the blood dripped sluggishly.

“Home,” he said, tugging on my arm. He stayed close to me as we headed back to camp. We leaned on each other. I appreciated the comfort.

When we returned to camp, I dragged out my medical kit. He helped dress the wound, giving it a few more licks. I was a little leery about allowing him to clean it like that, but he seemed to know what he was doing. I figured it couldn’t hurt that much. Once it was fully wrapped, I lay down next to the fire. He lay down with me, arm draped over my body.

“Who was that, the one that attacked us?” I asked. Warm breath huffed against the back of my neck.

“Wanted a pack. Tracked my scent,” he said. “Was not happy that I already had a pack.”

“She recognized that we were… uh. A pack?” I said. There was an odd, fluttery sensation in my stomach.

“I claimed you,” he said. “My scent surrounds you. As your scent is around me.” He nuzzled closer to me. “We fought her off. She will not return. She knows she is beaten.”

“You did most of the work,” I said. He laughed.

“Would not have won without you.” He pressed his head into the back of my neck. “My mate.”

I looked up at him. “Mate?”

He nodded slowly. His eyelids were starting to droop. “The first two members of a pack are mates,” he said. “We will grow our pack over time. But not now.” He leaned into me, eyes closing. “Now we will wait.”

I reached up and stroked my fingers through his hair. He made a soft purring noise and leaned into me more. The world was different now, I thought. It was a place with new creatures, new ways to live, and you needed to be new in order to survive in it.

It was new, but perhaps it was good. With a yawn, I settled in against my mate for a nap.

[elysianightsss]

When Dusk Begins

Part four

Warnings: none yet but there will be smut in upcoming chapters. This ones short but there are some good moments with Ahk.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“Father don’t you think that next week is too soon?” Ahkmenrah spoke sternly, as his father walked briskly around his chambers.

“Nonsense my son! You’ve finally chosen your wife. Your Setepa-i. There’s no time to waste! We’ve already made a match for your sister after you voiced your choice.” His father sat down and began to scribe his to his brother. Ahk walked closer

“Kahmunrah is going to stay with Abasi?” Ahkmen asked with a frown. His father sighed.

“Your brother, has been displaying signs of... he’s been displaying dangerous tendencies. Not to himself but to others around him. Your mother and I thought it best if we sent him to your uncle, give him responsibilities, see if he can change his ways and ascend the throne with good intentions.” He took a deep breath turning to his youngest son. His features softened.

“You don’t know how happy it made me to hear your decision. I fell in love with your mother when she was just a musician here in the palace. My father looked down on Setepa-i. My decision to not marry my sister had outraged him, but he died before he could force that choice on me.” He placed his hand on his sons cheek with a slight smile; his eyes serious.

“You’re making the same choice I made, to choose what you want! What every king should do. I’m proud of you son.” He walked away, back to writing. By this point Ahkmenrah had forgotten about trying to persuade him to move the date of the wedding. He hadn’t seen his father in so long that just to hear those words made him happier than he’d ever been.

He headed back to his chambers with a smile. You noticed it, and perked up hoping that his father had changed his mind. You sat on his bed, hands grasped together.

“So it went well?” You asked excitedly. Ahkmen snapped out of his happy trance and gazed at you. Sat on his bed, cris-cross. He couldn’t help but let his smile grow at the sight.

“It did?” You raised your eyebrows, he sighed talking the steps to get to his bed.

“No.” Ahk sat down beside you.

“What?! Then what are we gonna do!” He placed his hands on your upper arms and rubbed them in a calming manner.

“It will be okay. We just have to find a way out of here before the wedding. We have a week.” His face was so hopeful, enticing you to feel the same.

You nodded, your worrying expression still stayed on your face. Ahk frowned pulling you into his embrace. He held you rocking slightly. The smell of him, the warmth, all of it made your head fuzzy. As if by instinct your eyes fluttered shut. Your arms slid around his waist tightening when his fingers began to rake through your hair.

A knock interrupted your perfect moment. However Ahk didn’t let go, gripping you tighter ignoring the knock; just wanting to sooth your worries.

“Your majesty, The Queen wishes to see you.” A voice sounded from the door. You sighed and pulled away much to Ahk’s disappointment.

“Let’s just get whatever this is over with. It can’t get any worse.” You huffed. Standing up, brushing your dress off and walking out the door. Leaving Ahkmenrah to follow you.

“Greetings to you.” His mother grinned. “Oh you look too perfect together.” She began to go on about the wedding preparations. You zoned out for a moment only to blink back to reality at the sound of consummation.

“And you’ll spend your consummation month in the Temple of Horus. The palace is being readied for you as we speak.” Your grip on Ahk’s hand tightened at the word consummation.

He gazed at you with a sympathetic look. He understood how hard this must be for you. He used to live here, understood the culture and the social etiquette. He felt bad, you were always so tense whenever you left his room; you stopped being yourself and so far he hated it.

“Mother, I’m going to take Setepa-i to the gardens for a stroll.” Ahkmenrah said not waiting for an answer before dragging you away.

“Setepa-i?” You questioned once you were both alone.

“It means ‘My Chosen’. Surely you knew that Miss. Egypt expert.” You blushed at the nickname he had used for you.

“I’d never heard it. Or read it anywhere.” You mumbled looking away from him to hide your darkened cheeks.

“My father uses it for my mother. And his father used it for his Queen.” He smiled at the thought. His brows pulled together as he glanced at you, stopping his footsteps. You looked at him expectantly waiting for him to tell you why you stopped. He reached up, the back of his knuckles graced over your cheek. You watched as the corner of his lips turned up slightly.

His thumb traced the top of your lips, over your Cupid’s bow. Round and down onto your bottom lip. His own lips parted as his thumb stroked against the pink skin. You felt your body relax massively, almost slumping back against the pillar nearest to you. You hadn’t even noticed the arm that was around your waist. Ahk’s large hand against your back pressing you closer to him.

His thumb pushed forward faintly wetting the end of it, he smoothed the wetness over your lip. You couldn’t help yourself as your eyelashes fluttered shut. His thumb now massaging your bottom lip, your head tilted back slightly. A small gasp escaped your mouth as his plump lips pressed against your cheek. So, so close to your mouth.

You tried tilting your head to the side to meet his own kisser, but he pulled away before you could. Quickly turning to the side almost sensing the interruption before it happened.

“Your highness.” A man bowed before scurrying away. Materials clenched in his grip. Ahkmenrah cleared his throat grabbing your hand and walking to the gardens.

You studied the flowers, the gorgeous plants varied in shape, size and colour. They were so well looked after considering that just outside was a desert. You bent down to smell a sweet white rose. You frowned slightly, standing up and turning to Ahk with a new worrying question.

“Ahk?” Your voice rang through the room and he answered without thinking.

“Yes Setepa-i?” You blushed deeply, as did he once he registered the words that came from him. Ignoring the sudden awkward air you asked anyway.

“Where’s your tablet?”

[embrassemoi]

Gleamin' Shiny and Bright ✿ L.E

Loving Lily made it feel as if the world suddenly became saturated with varying piercing bright colours that were hidden before. It was endless and expanded with every waking moment. She learned to love Lily in hues and shades of colours: reds also revealed to have pinks, blues suddenly had turquoise and periwinkle, purples became violets and lavender while yellow became creams and blended with red to make orange.

Pairing: Lily Evans x [F]Reader CW: Implied sexual content, fluff, a lot of fluff, discussions of marriage, fluff, Unbeta’d A/N: Inspo: Emerald Eyes by Fleetwood mac

【 Masterlist | Playlist | ao3 】

━━━━━━━━━༻✿༺━━━━━━━━━

Lily’s fingers softly trailed down the contours of Y/N’s spine as her lips trailed her jaw all the way up to her ear. Both laid bare, bodies intertwined in soft silk sheets, basking in the soft golden glow of the setting sun. Lily whispered seductively into her ear which had her skin burning in its wake.

“You’re insatiable!” she giggled, pushing Lily away playfully before turning to face her.

“Only for you.” Lily purred, before attacking her with peppered kisses. Y/N’s hands sneaked to cradle her face, weaving their way through her red, messy hair cascading all around her.

The way the warm rays spilled onto Lily made her look ethereal. A soft blush spread all over her cheekbones as Y/N subconsciously traced her freckles. They were laid out like a constellation, a road hidden with secrets and stories that only she knew.

She would consider herself lucky; to be able to touch, to know, to laugh and to hold someone like Lily Evans. Y/N could live a thousand lifetimes and still never feel worthy of someone like her.

She recalled the early stages of falling in love with Lily. It crept on her slowly, quietly but then pulled her into a whirlwind. Falling in love with her felt like climbing onto a roller coaster, being strapped in tightly and started moving. Every sharp twist, every slump and new loop constantly had her wanting more. The ride would speed up, her heart pound and fluttered before her stomach turned and twisted once the ride flipped upside down. But she was more than fine with that. Perfect, actually. It stayed like that, for weeks, for months until the ride came to a stop.

Being in love with Lily was like climbing off the ride, dazed and high, enriched in the atmosphere around. Everything felt soothing, like slipping into a warm bath on a winter’s eve. Even her name brought her to ease.

Every kiss pressed to her lips made Y/N feel sun-kissed, basked in a thousand stars. “I love you,” she breathed.

There was a soft gaze in Lily’s eyes as her forehead leaned against hers; eyes darting across her face like she was trying to commit everything to memory. Before Y/N went to open her mouth again, she was suddenly interrupted. Her words were quiet, breathy — barely above a whisper but it seemed like the loudest Lily had ever spoken.

“Do you want to get married?”

Y/N halts, becoming motionless and pulls away from Lily to stare unto her bright, emerald eyes as silence ensues. Her jaw is slacked, confused as she studies a-way-too calm Lily whilst her abdomen explodes with fluttering butterflies. They could both hear the soft crashing of waves in the background along with the seagulls singing their daily rituals. They both had rented out a small cottage in Cornwall for their second anniversary, their window wide open as the curtains moved as the breeze flowed in.

She swore her heart stopped.

“. . .What? Was that — are you proposing?”

But then the reality of what she said must’ve hit Lily all at once as the words fell from her lips because she sits upright, eyes wide and tries to seem unperturbed by Y/N’s shock. She rips away, hand threading through her hair as her mouth opens and closes like somehow the action would take back what she said.

“Ugh — Y’know. . . um — right, sorry. I — let’s er. . . forget what I said.”

Lily pushes up, away from her, the cool feeling of the evening breeze now surrounds them but Y/N grabs her wrist and pulls her back.

“No, continue!” she urged. Somehow, Lily’s blush deepens.

“Well — erm, no, I wasn’t proposing,” but then Lily sputters, quickly adding on. “It’s not like I don’t want to! I very much want to — it just won’t be like this? Wait, um — okay.” She stops to recollect herself. “We’ve just never talked about. . .” her eyes glance up to gauge her reaction, “marriage before. . . and once I propose, I just wanted to make sure you were on the same page?”

Y/N’s lungs seem to collapse, rip apart and then piece themselves back together as the implication from Lily’s words reverberated inside her now very empty head.

I want to, she said — once I propose. She said once and want to. That means it will happen — that she has every intention of marrying her eventually.

Lily Evans wants to marry her. She has to take a moment to process it, but the silence leaves Lily panicking.

“Nevermind, it’s stupid — not important —”

“Stop it,” she finally snaps out of her daze, “that wasn’t stupid. Far from it.”

Lily drops her head into her hands as she struggles to put her thoughts into words. Her palms eventually worm their way to press firmly against her eyes as her fingers yank down on her hair. She was struggling, immensely hard and Y/N’s heart ached at the scene. So, she moved closer to her, closing the gap between them as she placed an encouraging hand on Lily’s knee. That seemed to stop the intrusive thoughts altogether as she bit her lip.

She takes a deep breath of air, feeling the breeze help calm her down and chest starts to return to its normal intervals.

“I know I want to get married,” she states. Her eyes lock with Y/N’s as she desperately tries to make out how she’s feeling. Lily read every micro-expression, studied the way she blinked or breathed in hopes of an answer.

Y/N lets the words sink in for a second and her heart beats so hard against her chest she wonders if Lily could hear. But then Lily coughs; she wants a response — some sort — any sort of confirmation that what she said was okay. “So. . .”

“Wow.” Inwardly, she scolds herself.

Lily tilts her head. “Is that a bad wow?”

She gently lays herself back down on the soft pillows as Lily follows. They both face each other as the wind beckons them. She tucks a strand of fallen red hair behind Lily’s ears and Y/N couldn’t help but fall in love just a little more, a little harder and a few imagines of what their potential wedding could look like popped up.

“No," she reassured her, "but you really know how to leave me breathless, literally.” And then Lily let out a breathy chuckle and she smiled. Her smile… it lit Y/N up like a thousand stars. Her smile was so bright, so beautiful that it could make flowers grow and it was the most precious treasure Y/N could ever ask for. Her heart cooled, from the cool wind, to a warm contentedness.

She pulls Lily flush against her, pressing a soft kiss against her velvety lips and pulls back just enough to see her reaction but bathe in her warmth.

“I do too,” her breath fanned gently across Lily’s face.

She couldn’t contain her smile as her eyes crinkle. “You do?”

Her smile was wide and Lily’s eyes gleamed so brightly that they could rival emeralds themselves. Y/N knew for a long time too. Everything about their relationship made her feel safe, surrounded by a serenity that only Lily could provide. She made her feel hugged like freshly fallen snow on a mountain; eyes so profound that searched through the very inner workings of her soul. She felt new and exciting, yet like she’d known her forever. Lily was dazzling, beaming with glittering colours. She’d known for a while, it’s just the realization came a little later than her lover’s.

“I want to get married too.”

Lily tackled her into a hug which had them both chuckling out. Both in amusement, but filled with the purest love that made their hearts ache with pride.

And so they started brainstorming.

“Is there a time you would want to?”

“Anytime. We’re young, in love — the world is our oyster, blah, blah,” Y/N replies, but her answer is honest. Anytime. “Getting the timing down will be hard.”

“Imagine proposing and James see? I think he’ll wail and faint.”

“Or Sirius would make it about himself.”

“He would whine about not proposing to Remus first.”

“What about a public or private proposal?”

“Private.”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“What about flowers?”

“Oh, pfft,” Y/N lets out a snort, “there obviously has to be —” “Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”

Y/N mocks offensive, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Let me finish!”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Terribly sorry.”

Her lips twitch into a knowing smirk, “— lilies. There have to be lilies. Maybe they’ll be my bouquet.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Preferably. . . would red clash with our scheme?”

“Red, as in my hair?”

“Yes.” “Then probably.”

They burst out into another fit of giggles. Maybe it was paradoxically — a placebo — cliche — but Y/N felt her heartbeat calm at the thought. Maybe it was finally getting an answer, that they’re taking their relationship to the next level. Marriage. . . forever. . . It's said to be scary, but maybe it’s because it’s with Lily that it seems the exact opposite.

Loving Lily made it feel as if the world suddenly became saturated with varying piercing bright colours that were hidden before. It was endless and expanded with every waking moment. She learned to love Lily in hues and shades of colours: reds also revealed to have pinks, blues suddenly had turquoise and periwinkle, purples became violets and lavender while yellow became creams and blended with red to make orange.

Unknowingly, for their fourth anniversary two years from then, they both bought a set of rings with one question heavy in their hearts, knowing deep down what their response would be.

Yes.

And then, I do.