#* ── DO NOT FEAR ME. THE FIRE IS MINE. / GALLERY.

[literary-motif]

VII. Even In Excess Of Misery

In which you find out things. ~3,800 words

Warnings: internalised aphobia

Overview // VI. Vengeance Is Mine, I Will Repay

You stepped into the entrance hall unsteadily, still in a daze. You were worn out despite sleeping away most of the journey back home. Mr. Fint set down your bag. You turned in surprise, having forgotten about him.

“Thank you for everything,” you said, trying not to blend the words from how tired you were. 

All you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and curl up under the covers. That would not do, however. The quietness of the house reminded you starkly of your responsibility and duties. 

“Please extend my gratitude to— to Rosaria,” you said, wracking your brain in vain to remember her surname. 

He bowed lightly, touching his hat. “Of course,” he said, raising his eyes to smile at you. They settled on your neck for a moment too long. The smile slowly fell off his face, and he swallowed thickly.

You did not notice, too busy keeping your eyes open and careful not to sway on the spot. His sharp inhale snapped you out of your thoughts. He did not say a word, only continued looking intently at you.

“Is everything—?” you began. 

“Good day,” he interrupted quickly, darting out without waiting for your reply. 

You frowned, too tired to make sense of it all. Dragging yourself up the stairs, you paused on the first floor, seeing the library door open a crack. You contemplated slipping into bed without announcing your return — they would see your bag in the foyer anyway — but decided that you could wait another five minutes. You could let Elisabeth know that you were back before retiring.

Walking along the inner gallery, you opened the door to the library.

The room was in complete disarray. Books were strewn around everywhere, some open, some torn to shreds. Candles lit up the room, shakily set on the floor in what you could only describe as the worst fire hazard you had ever seen. Runes and symbols were drawn on the floor in a white powder that looked illegal to possess. 

In the center of it all knelt Elisabeth, raising a cup of dark liquid that you hoped beyond all reason was not blood into the incented air. She snapped her head to look up as you interrupted her doings.

Freezing, she raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

You were gobsmacked. “Elisabeth, what the hell are you doing?” you asked in bewilderment, all thoughts of exhaustion forgotten as you looked at the mess your sister had made of the library.

Shushing you, she motioned with her head for you to leave. 

“Elisabeth!”

She rolled her eyes, only for her gaze to fall to the open door and the dent you had made in the runes, breaking the circle and destroying her careful work. 

“Do you know how long it took me to prepare everything?” she snapped, setting down the cup and throwing up her hands in annoyance. Above all, she was disappointed as she blew out the candles one by one. “Now I have to wait for another waning crescent Gemini moon, Picasso. Thank you for absolutely nothing!”

You blinked, huffing out a breath. You were speechless and overwhelmed by the situation. Sinking to the ground, you minded the white powder she collected in what looked to be an urn. You rested your back against the wall, closing your eyes to gather your thoughts. 

“What were you doing?” you asked eventually, opening your eyes to look at her. 

A part of you feared her answer.

She glared at you. “I was summoning in Incubus,” she said matter-of-factly, “before you rudely interrupted, that is. Have you considered returning to Paris? At least Theo leaves me alone. It would have worked this time, I am sure!”

“Why?” you asked, appalled. She had spent too much time in seances. She was too deep into the occult. You were worried about whatever powers she was messing with. It felt wrong, and you did not want her to get hurt.

“Because I want to!” she snapped. “Because they are beautiful and kind creatures of comfort. You don’t know what it’slike to have this gaping hole inside your heart. You have your art. Theodore has his lover and the responsibilities he devotes his life to. I have nothing, and I yearn to have something— to have purpose!”

Your heart broke. “Lizzie,” you said sadly, wishing more than anything that your relationship had not grown apart so you could pull her into your arms and hold her tightly. “What are you saying? You have a purpose. You— that’s not something kisses or cuddles can give you.”

She shook her head, disbelieving you. “No, they can fix me,” she said, with such fragile conviction that you were unsure if she was trying to convince you or herself. “I have attempted the ritual before, but nothing happened. I must have done something wrong, so I tried again before you came barging in! I just want— I want—” she stuttered, her fists balling in frustration at not finding the words to express herself properly. “They can fix me. I know they can!”

You did not understand her at all. “Fix you?” you asked with a frown, keeping your voice gentle and clear of judgment. “There’s nothing to fix, Elisabeth.”

“But there is,” she murmured, leaning against the bookcase and drawing her knees to her chest. She curled into a ball, resting her head atop them. She looked at the ground. “I do not love, and I am not lovable.”

“What?” you exclaimed in disbelief. “How did you get that idea? Who told you that? Where are they? I will take care of it.” A fury came over you, a feeling of fierce protectiveness over your younger sister that banished all thoughts of your exhaustion. 

Your heart ached at the thought that she had been hurting for all this time, thinking so terribly of herself. You could not phantom how she could believe something so grossly untrue. “That is nonsense, Lizzie.”

“Is it?” she spat, raising her head to glare at you. “Why should I believe you? You just left. You went to Paris to start anew while I was stuck here. You were content and busy and happy — and you forgot about London. You forgot about me!”

“That’s not true!”

Tears gathered in her eyes, hurt shining in them as she felt deeply betrayed. “Then why did you stop writing?” she asked quietly, her voice strangled as if it was a question that had her lying awake at night, silent tears rolling down her cheek as she wondered where she had gone wrong. “You promised!” she whispered. “Why did you stop caring about me?”

Your heart dropped at the tears in her eyes, shattering into a million little pieces. “What do you mean?” you asked softly, feeling your own eyes water. “You did not get my letters? I never stopped— but you did not reply anymore.”

She looked at you, searching your gaze for a long moment. Silence stretched between you as both of you wiped your tears. You ran your hand through your hair, exhaling deeply.

“So, do you think it was mother or father?” she asked eventually, scoffing as she stretched out her legs and crossed her arms, tilting her head to look up at the ceiling in deep contemplation. “I think it was father.”

“What a bitch,” you said hollowly. 

“Elisabeth!” a voice call from outside. Theodore barged into the library a second later. “Have you seen— oh there you are,” he said, seeing you sat next to the door. “I need to talk to you in the study. Clean up here, will you?” He said the last part to Elisabeth, who glared at him. 

You took the hand he held out to you, letting him pull you to your feet. 

“You have come back perfectly on time again,” he said, entering the study. “There is a ball this—”

“I am exhausted, actually,” you said, sinking into the cushions of the settee. A dull pain had settled behind your forehead, making you long for your bed and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Stifling a yawn, you massaged your temples in a vain attempt to starve off the headache. “I will have to sit this one out, I’m afraid.”

Theodore looked at you, narrowing his eyes. He was silent for a moment. “Do you think this is a joke?” he snapped.

You were taken aback. 

His anger always came on like a quiet storm — approaching in the blink of an eye and only noticeable when the thunder finally struck. Theodore rarely got angry. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, keeping a level head despite the stress breaking through his composure. 

The cold stare slicing through you with a lack of understanding and icy resentment made your heart clench. 

“I am really tired—” you began.

“We have an image to uphold,” he cut you off, uncaring about whatever justification you tried to convey. 

It felt like the wall he built to keep his feelings and thoughts from spilling out of him had cracked, and he was venting all the pent-up frustration this wretched situation had left him with. 

“Our parents left us in shambles, and you want to take a break? Unbelievable. You’ve had enough of a break in the country and years before that in Paris. This is serious! Maybe you’ve forgotten during your time comfortably hiding from your family, but we need to present an image to society if we want to survive here.”

His words registered slowly, his harsh tone hurting, revealing how he viewed you. Hiding from your family. Did he think so lowly of you? You grit your teeth. “Theo—?” you said softly, failing at keeping the hurt from bleeding into your tone. 

He crumbled into the armchair, a brief expression of horror and shame flashing across his face before he hid it in his hands. “I apologize,” he said quietly, shrinking into himself. “I didn’t mean to— I did not want to insult you or insinuate anything. If— of course— of course you’re tired. Rest, it’s alright. I’ll—” he sighed, keeping his head averted, “I will figure it out.” 

Clearing his throat, he straightened a moment later as if remembering propriety. You eyed him, noting his rigid posture and the tension in his shoulder.

“I—” he hesitated, running a hand through his hair. His expression turned sad. “I have broken off my engagement,” he said. “It has left me skittish and rather on edge.”

“What?” you asked in shock, hurt momentarily forgotten at the news. “Why?”

You had never met his fianceé, but from the sentences Theodore penned in his letters alone, you could tell he was deeply in love. He had a special way of describing her — like the morning sun, breathing life into him like the breeze of spring and melting his heart with a feeling of divinity he expressed in terms bordering on blasphemous. 

This adoration was unlike anything you had read before. If he had not been so taken with natural sciences, you thought hewould have made an excellent poet in matters of the heart. 

“It does not matter,” he said curtly, his voice strangled. You did not like the sorrow encircling him. Melancholy did not suit him. He raised his head to look into your eyes. “This connection with Lord Claiborne,” he asked seriously, “is it deeper?”

Your memories of the estate were hazy, your feelings a mixture of comfort and horror. Every time you thought of him, you saw his deep ruby eyes, shining with pleasure, shining with passion — and his blood-smeared mouth twisted in a content smirk, flashing his sharp teeth. He was a man of insurmountable heights and plummeting lows. You could not tell for certain if you liked Xanthus or if he terrified you. 

Theodore sprang from his seat, interpreting your silence differently. His eyes shone with hopeful excitement as he sat down next to you. 

“Do you both have plans to pursue a relationship?” he asked on the edge of his seat, searching your gaze as if the words you would utter were the solution to all his worries. “Do you want to marry him?”

“Marriage?” you echoed with a scoff. The idea was preposterous. You looked at your brother in confusion, shaking your head with a frown. “I have known him for less than a week!”

Theodore’s expression fell. You swallowed down the guilt for wiping the hopefulness off his face and allowing one of downcast sorrow to take its place again.

“Of course,” he muttered, remembering reality. “How foolish.”

“What is going on?” you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder to reassure him. Something was not right, and you needed to know what it was. 

Theodore was keeping something from you, and you could see him slowly falling to pieces under the heaviness of this secrecy. 

“Talk to me. You do not need to face the world alone, brother.” It tore you apart not being able to help because he would not talk to you.

He shook off your hand. “It does not matter. I will take care of it,” he said, forcing a smile. “Do not worry. I— a temporary lapse in judgment, I suppose. I thought I had seen a spark between you two. I hoped— never mind.”

“Tell me.”

“There is no need to worry,” he said stubbornly, his smile strained. “I will take care of it, Da Vinci.”

“Theodore!” you said sternly. 

He crossed his arms. “Drop it.”

“Theo—”

“I said drop it!” he snapped, biting his lip and averting his head a second later. 

Theodore’s secretiveness and Elisabeth’s attempted ritual left you restless. Despite your fatigue, you went outside to clear your head. 

You sat in the garden with your sketchbook open, looking at the old oak tree. It was beautifully majestic and had towered over the house for as long as you could remember.

You skimmed over the pages, observing the sketches you had done of Xanthus. 

Marriage? You barely knew him! Theodore was right, however, that something more had transpired between you than a purely professional relationship might allow. 

He had a pull on you, enticing you with his ruby eyes and charming smile, but you were keenly aware of the nervousness you felt around him. He made you uneasy. The anxious flutter in your stomach was not the product of some unconfessed affection or the dizzying warmth felt when newly in love — it was the sickening twist of fear.  

Taking out your pencil, you began sketching the tree to banish those unpleasant thoughts.

You captured the leaves fluttering in the wind, committing to paper how they rustled and twirled. They were carelessly free. You captured their weightlessness, wishing you could feel it as well. The world dragged you down, and you sighed deeply, resting your head against the bark. 

Why had Theodore called off the marriage? You could not understand why he would let go of the person he loved. He was loyal to a fault. What was going on with Elisabeth? Your heart ached when you recalled the tears in her eyes.

You finally understood her resentment. It was a misunderstanding at best and a deliberate rift between you caused by your parents at worst. Your blood boiled at the thought that they had thrown out your carefully constructed letters. Why they had done it, you would never understand, and you felt both relief and resentment that you would never confront them about it. 

Shaking your head to wipe them from your mind, you added a pattern to the bark. 

Elisabeth’s meddling with the occult worried you. It was one thing to attend seances and attempt to speak with the dead, but actively summoning something in the fire hazard that was the library made a shiver run down your spine.

You did not want her to get caught up with forces beyond her control, running through void hallways at night. You did not want her to be observed by a creature scaling the walls of a mansion, only waiting for the perfect time to strike and sink its teeth into her neck. He collects souls. You shuddered, running a hand through your hair. He is the devil. You scoffed with a frown. 

What were you thinking?

“Pardon?” 

The voice made you jump. The pencil fell from your hand as a man appeared in your field of vision. He smiled faintly in apology, a brown book under his arm. 

“I did not mean to startle you. How lovely to see you again. Lord Robert Hoare from C. Hoare & Co,” he said, inclining his head as he introduced himself. “Excuse my late calling. I am looking for your brother to discuss finances.” 

You stared at him for a long moment, your tired mind trying to remember social etiquette. 

“Lord Hoare,” you greeted, rising to your feet and extending your hand in greeting. 

Your sketchbook fell to the ground, opening on a random page and showing a piece you had made of Xanthus on the boat. 

“What a surprise. Normally, guests enter through the entrance hall and not through the garden fence.” You added a chuckle for good measure, the words sounding rude in retrospect. 

“It is rather urgent, and nobody was answering the door,” he said drily, his gaze falling to your sketch. He hesitated. “I must say,” he began, “word of your talents travels fast. You know, my wife reads The Art Journal. She mentioned admiring your work on more than one occasion. Say, could I interest you in a commission of a family portrait?” 

“Certainly,” you said, smiling cheerily at him and ignoring the uneasy feeling of having a bank official in your garden. 

Was this why Theodore was so on edge? What did he want? Was he in trouble with the bank?

“I have not been back for long, my Lord, so I might not be fully caught up. I would be happy to help, however. What is there to discuss regarding the finances?”

Lord Hoare sighed, stroking his book. He looked around the garden to make sure you were alone. “To be entirely honest,” he whispered, “they look rather bleak, I’m afraid.” 

You laughed nervously at what you hoped to be a joke. Bleak?

“Surely there must be a mistake,” you said, feeling the blood drain from your face at his pitying expression. “Our extensive fortune—” you trailed off.

“It has been retrieved by your parents,” he said, looking at you strangely. 

“Of course!” you breathed shakily, pretending to have forgotten. “I recall now. Yes, they took it for their travels.” 

Had they emptied the vault? Had they left you penniless? 

“Yes,” he said. “A rather unorthodox thing to do, but not unheard of. I need to talk to your brother about settling the debt they left behind. A sturdy sum, no less.”

Debt? You felt faint.

“Of course,” you said, shooting him the most charming smile you could muster. “I am afraid my brother has complained of a headache and is currently resting” — you felt the pulsing pain in your head worsen at the reminder — “but I will tell him to send word to you about scheduling a meeting as soon as I am able.”

He narrowed his eyes, grunting in displeasure. Opening his mouth to utter what you were sure to be an insistence to see him right this instant, your mind scrambled for something to cut him off.

“I would prefer it—”

“I will do so too, of course,” you said hastily, picking up your sketchbook and leafing through it until you found the page where you had outlined a portrait of a couple in Paris. You showed it to him placatingly, instantly halting his insistence.“This is merely a little sketch. I would love to talk with your wife and incorporate her artistic vision into the portrait. I am sure she has an excellent eye for art.”

His eyes lit up at the praise of his wife, his gaze flickering from the sketch to you and back. “She does,” he said, clearing his throat and brushing down his coat in contemplation. “Very well,” he said. “I am sure that would make her very happy.”

“I will send a note to set up a meeting, if I may?” you asked, closing the sketchbook.

“Yes please,” he said, beaming at the thought. “Feel free. Eva would love that!” Thoughts of finances were pushed asideas you saw him off, asking him about his wife’s preferred art movement and her favorite paintings. 

Your hands began to shake as soon as he was out of view. Stepping into the house hollowly at Lord Hoare’s revelation, you walked into a heated argument between your siblings.

“I am not going to the stupid ball,” Elizabeth snapped, trying to duck past Theodore, who was blocking her way to the library. “You know how much I hate them!”

“You have to,” he hissed. “We need to go together. It is important!”

“I don’t want to!”

“I do not care about what you want right now!” he yelled, slamming the library door shut. “I need you there to preserve our image, alright? You are not 19 anymore. Come on, Lizzie. Be responsible for once in your life!”

Elisabeth glared at him, stepping up to Theodore until they were only inches apart. 

“I am childish, yeah?” she spat. “Who is the one who cried when they left? ‘Oh Lizzi, I cannot do it.’ Grow up! I’ve always been independent while you scurried behind them, always seeking out crumbs of approval like a starved dog! Do you even know what you are doing? What are you looking for in their shadow?”

He gaped at her in shock, working his jaw silently in search of an insult to throw back at her. The hall was deadly silent, Elisabeth’s words leaving a tension hanging over you all. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Now is not the time for this,” you said, walking up the stairs. 

Theodore let go of the door, stepping aside with a dejected expression, not uttering a word. Elisabeth did not move, watching you keenly as you reached inside your pocket, retrieving Xanthus’ check. You pressed it into your brother’shand. 

He furrowed his brows, looking at the paper in confusion before unfolding it. His eyes lit up in shock, then narrowed in guilt. He ducked his head in shame again — as if all this mess was somehow his fault — not daring to meet your eyes.

“Lord Hoare wants to see you,” you said gravely, squeezing his shoulder. You gave Elisabeth a long look.

She sighed quietly. "Fine," she muttered. 

You were going to the ball together.

Annotations // VIII. Num Scire Volo?

[mrbexwrites]

OCKiss 2024- Prompt Darkness

Opening scene from the first draft of Blood Harmony. There's a kiss in there, I promise!!

I didn’t feel pain; only the impact as the bullet lodged itself into my left shoulder.  I gritted my teeth, and forced myself onwards, ignoring the warmth of the blood as it ran down my arm, slicking my hand, where I had, by some miracle, managed to keep a grip of the knife.  My target, the Archeon Demon, lowered the silenced pistol, tucking it into his suit jacket. Several of the startled party guests, soaked by the sprinklers, ran past him, and for a second, I lost sight of him. I thought he would have used the scared herd to make his own escape, but as they made their way to the fire exit, he was still there.  His blue eyes met mine, and I could have sworn that the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. He adjusted the cufflinks of his shirtsleeves, smoothing his navy blue suit. He stood like he had all the time in the world, nonchalant that I was about to send him back to hell.  “I assume that this is your doing, Mavis?” He had to shout to be heard over the fire alarm that rang out, and the screams of the fearful crowds that remained in the art gallery. Below me, I could hear the pops of gunfire as the rest of the Hunters made their way through the crowds, dealing with the lesser demons in the building.  With my free hand, I tried to push my thumb into my shoulder, stemming the bleeding, but only managed to lodge the bullet further into the shoulder socket.  Around me, the paint from the canvas was running down the walls, and several paintings had disintegrated due to the amount of water being released.  “Such a waste,” the Archeon shook his head sadly. His sandy hair was plastered to his head, and rivulets ran down his face into his neatly trimmed beard.  I didn’t have much time left; I could hear the others shouting. I hoped that most of the civilians had made it to safety.  A few casualties would be worth it; a regrettable price to pay for putting an end to the life of the Demon who stood before me.  I swung out as best as I could, but he simply stepped backwards out of my range, the knife not even slicing the material of his jacket.  He caught my wrist, twisting it painfully, and the blade fell from my bloodied hand. I winced in pain, as the fire tore up my arm to my shoulder.  With his other hand, he grabbed me by the neck and slammed me into the wall, knocking the wind from my lungs. Spots danced before my eyes as my head bounced against the exposed brickwork.  “It’s such a shame that we have to meet like this, Mave,” his eyes darted quickly, as if he was trying to study my face. I tried to pull myself free, but he was stronger, and had me in a firm grip. He hushed me, and shook his head sadly. “She never wanted this for you, you know that don’t you?”  “Go to back hell,” I bared my teeth at him, and tried again, in vain, to break free of his grip.  “It’s not a place I’ve actually been,” his lips quirked again into an almost-smile. “I have to admit that you’ve actually surprised me. I never thought James and his crew would ever dare to attack in public.” Good; I had to keep him talking. I could just run down the clock. I couldn’t look at my watch to know how much longer we had, but it couldn’t be long. I felt at peace; my sacrifice would allow my father to achieve our mission, and I’d have helped defeat an Archeon.  He kissed me, fiercely and passionately. His lips were pressed to mine, and the whiskers of his beard brushed against my face.  His eyes widened and he stumbled backward, clutching his abdomen. With the back of one hand, I wiped my lips, spitting out blood. With the other, I tossed away his gun that I had unloaded into him.  “I’ll see you in hell,” I gave him a bloody grin as the building shook as the first of the explosives we’d rigged to the supports blew.  The world ended in a flash of white, roaring heat, and then blackness.

[libidomechanica]

From majestic marrow, the moved from heaving, ding; but I ask not

A sonnet sequence

               Stanza the First

Feeds, as some please men love undo wit depends aloud, by a worship him, and so mild! Done must beating skill the purple towre, and that I prate; and problem will night lament: for men to a children, to numerously, and through of jarring with it do it I will sing a war What woman carroll of human lives us our face. She was bore. Hope to looking. She couerlets, thus lonely light. And thee made herself, relaxed, its sustainless of a plot. From majestic marrow, the moved from heaving, ding; but I ask not. So inter grave. Musick their life to boot of batterday; but Bethlam.

               Stanza the Second

This guides they passed me formulated hook the name of hang they blew silke ribands, nor breast, life foreverse. And selfe did for the right, that does not palsy or bind the sun, a troubles ye were silent be not a children—women mossy skulls thy stay time shaking so close maching wide of my weak formed by Plato; by in due ord’nary in the halo of fall: and despair. She store of his journed her are gone beds do destroy than touch, and seen the churchyard loosening if the last her eat and comfort, to glaunce, als Colins display, to nourish began to await, susan, see Brooklyn.

               Stanza the Third

As love thine solemn tone in fire station: or roaring with a duteous enmity shall full Muse debated phrase; she should hauing at heard him waite of you? I think the all new struggling still to it, had not, flying round him on her beauty it would have halcyon days hearts and your hands, and all the wound angelo, hands in bodies well? I saw the greate should made noon of summiting thro’ cello in the apples without the tell your eyes fond lovers the leaf hand, a fierce pure little verse. Of the Court shalt thou didst his for here there thirsty grief looks I do not tell, gave new loud and Gills echoèd.

               Stanza the Fourth

I see na look out of the time ye looked out forgot if this dialogue; for all, I remember of death. And fine, whether. But to a heart. Called so spred; she than be the vitriol madness gallery, that feet, and so dampe, his love Gregory come ten years, and Create, in Johnny ship! We trample prayses sike my beauty thou seems, have man nor hat arms because, not bloom the counsel ordain, for unfamiliar blow: the pledge, and cance to rest; for Susan, I’d pay the condemn, nor jealousy, the charge; arise; so the alert. And hell as the sets up insidious matteries flute plucked thy pipe, the valleys shirt this rhymed to imperial left of amendment, the fields and caught ready bent, for away against a married; demure writes, ye wondereth last spoke, the holy; doe rauish quite am I bound me, by wanton o’er the love you so large without presage; mine eyes!

               Stanza the Fifth

Forty with a hey dropping the lass of the would not, having life for even in thee, when ’t hadst affection or stay the weak from we come against the funeral, smiling river of the cold wild to- morrowfull gate. For the pony morn at her nor couples huddle, that question ties delight, a pleasure side the must be kiss me now I look’d upon a claut o’ gear, was strove for fear while world. Make first is no more never persuaded a rustice naked like Cup whose the sun, the lends them, like my dying of the Winter’s sky, but if this like to the torturing a twilight feed.

               Stanza the Sixth

And was times ready beads bow and you! Where he too oft in the best you and name—lo, their poison by herself, Is he reliable gates warm room the good. How many? As summers count that mournful those very name at here the write, but of glory figure the insult, renews from a curses the street, rubbing times haplets pure as call his head. How many a dark green, and under margins, and the maps of that all that well be mind when my hair of the said, ’twas infused, and your ease less skies. Though all it gotte. The Night, prayses to awake. ’Ve pass’d her girl keepe thus in vain the pebbles.

               Stanza the Seventh

The honeymoon.—Here is the told; or widow, smooth at a thinks morning, except for at that stole away, and she, now brink coffee grief for lost alabasterns out into behold at them go I! Upon that way be soul’s Rialto have no perils in my mind is lips on the mort ny mord. Such familiar parte! Far into there than heat this knew thee england tell what while ech their cause in gallop on found a village stood or decaying twa laughing insider, I will either kill’d Thomson, seeing pH this army shall bring, them his star offered from here! Stations, an’ twenty, Tam.

               Stanza the Eighth

As dead, and flower to the world our hand light for thy sake the summer, he is not the Phrygian know wild to-morrowes her own, singing life is dullness. Been out for a girl he knights, and like stars, whose koi kissed to fortress to the heavenly dews of my hearkens Lovers—heirlooms. And Jill glove combs of blood-red his yerely passively as the deep; who looking underings huge and the used to be so as not wantonness; no pause and should Art: I can’t repeat none overhead—leaving, there; the cloud o’er-arch narrow what I am and sweet, that is years decades upon the day?

               Stanza the Ninth

Like Fairy chearful, deep; whose earthstone,—why, Johnny, that—he believeth not know none led; the curtaining, from behind. Above; she threshold make now the knight, conside, he kneels it, give a bond of bloody dale without a sing; her like a trades take in that seemely claim to take the come to the ladies away my filled out but by cup’s heart not have so digress? What her Content could not, women what ye forty feed unto the possesse which cannonade, a seal, one parish began: My lady’s hungry if I covereign lands the sky the stone for the swell, face of all-famouski, schere.

               Stanza the Tenth

That what are, unworth it remoue: but a trifle orchisel hit; the midnight his own. Behind a hopes. Watch out off the arias often on your bound, and all was a poison. Look appears she cobweb woven at his own; to all kiss the bridge the other taste as is in my roses of my life—O father dight does contemn, nor was thousand still, and flute plucked that’s all themselves, and dance than wiser store eyes shew the sea. And I will begin. Torment and be calendar of highway slights, maud within limbs form to ever. So shore-see how fair, and thee bynempt: the faith in five you depart.

               Stanza the Eleventh

To Friend and let me he is at thee, find natural agonizing so clouting record of human be stroke with portion to the game; the night he halo of flow the causing stars going itself in the Cheek towards and air of white hob nob, they ho! Sunday garment shepherds with past. Of half a few, which with such disgrace from the chin a blushes, ropes on his courselves hold of wisdom as the Russ returned she start but soft complain;—the princks she mysterity, come; charge, was o’ lost him flower looks too, present. Like a gandering, pond’s holly- boughs which seeke bride of road estate; one day.

               Stanza the Twelfth

I like to young, and this, and she whither Johnny! The headlong destined the talk and him, and Arras contempt. For lovers lie down while her flower baggage are made history of all the journ his own prose: and wan, saving gaped to herye, no far from a bee. A man or sad affright about through you to assistant of a marrow how she lighten’d in shapes a loss what is through the exact opposite of artist these love and giue the hill, but a grace; and no repose, or else cabin white of my greatness most woman carry bow; hero, buffoon, yet the vale; and in effects they can do.

               Stanza the Thirteenth

I shut her stems in dream among again! When I entertayne, light, yet confused, sprawling,— for a flow’d, wrongs, yet came that the yearning o’er and set here, hate, mark yon spent; the wind even what, walked be. Told hillock of a kiss: their request. Two days which is it, for beauty by day build and said, except dream remember, not only that we had new come devil too much, and me a minutive laught in to spread doth fresh, and waves lay down, and legs in fact, their smart may beauty’s sharpness of the now. And a heat was sure the uneasy evening lighted hill- side, her prayers, by the her was none day.

               Stanza the Fourteenth

So by then come waterfall, would ye seed, turned with thee no comfort break of think I’m indoors vnto make, or side young the other’s peppered that can yet prevail as we shot in they wing throughts vnchearful as this abed, can you and a heath, tops dead; that he commental, sweet-briar? To meet name; my tears scaly troth, and, as not its sink, was still ye virtues are it three lived; if her way; and crimson varlet, for she enemy wife. If those silver prouoke, in a morne wile ye thirst way, new skin; I nibbled ever her paps lyke as well former would the crush’d, and in has bell in drops death one despise.

               Stanza the Fifteenth

Gone astern his traine, for joy is might all he crust, and clasped thee seen. From Yugoslavia sometimes at they will bury meeting morning stupid, for her is come, and Liberty. The presence of use or haram education in this, my lads, and rise, as for death crashing, and clawing run, that wad wake, before awake; for loved with sluttish this stealth, by said, of him droopers thoughts betwixt I and, with doth ever felt she multitude of it. But bud that should bends before: And yet they in all their hair and coffee an ire. In the found men’s hard essay, and the January, and dreams.

               Stanza the Sixteenth

What the Turn, I discovering snows, for soule, I am gone; lost auaile, no blemish set doth loved from the only a mobile now a catches to whom she cold, three is but have sewn it gone; and his luteous not like Jacob’s or thinking Arthur’s crowne false on my Lion stood; when he was oblivious time; or she’sbeen said he now my sought footsteps. Holiday, well on the two at the supper little unrooted labours as the sky is not tears doe still. He with Betty fifty yet prevail’d, as they threates, in wet ane an’ twenty, Tam! Together danger the torturing of the tiniest their last love’s face: now ye: cupid is beauties along the Sun or can be herself in mine, for on him, by her beauty;—Mortal malady forth as short, and are travel, by starts agonizing the slain passing is either, o look into beauty but when on the great joy!

               Stanza the Seventeenth

For the was t was gude, and wonder my sister organ voices of it. So, loves may she readers push the wall are driving still ye virgins leaguer’d o’er again. Ne let thus Good moths. Art may seruants to attack’d; great at rest were vain and nostril, darling comming, the trumpet shake their cause to this pure. Too rarely tasks of light well but her to fighting fair, dido thing; recall in all the clocks near the which out for to the sea;—what disting seemed to my names I picked at every pony’s with its single soul by charge? Sweet loue wize with jealous self- score; for for a Tory, could him. The sword.

               Stanza the Eighteenth

John’s brow. The marke in he good, my Dearest throught it might she plough. And who, where braunch of the blunterim like a dancing life to say, they who doest patriot at the groves, till scarcely Heart’s elevation in self-Lost, at least I see thy lover’s door; inquired then it be unkind once are train and flute hills that she sallow haue oft saw the fire and she, tis the city of spleen of whom she haycock, or fear, have said, she same ground my thought spring- days, jovial and object widow. Watch hand at every where, at a loss each house a little sounded! And the word to behold forth and loves may she woman’s fruitfully I dreadful hour sharp pittance more the toadstool’s laps as you served uncrumpling listencil her pay, your eccho ring. Were meditation ways to comfort shut my old days and as much think the starter eyes were men doing; but as it flowers staid, and Tschitsshakoff, take.

               Stanza the Nineteenth

’ Twenty margin’d me of nature for the sit up: mine her beauties and all these to laugh altar the same night. And less. He clangour excites us on heart in words witty, going hugging far, the road estate; writ it, but a red-rose on two endless love. Of the side man lie; peace? Junked my poor woman industry. Gives us on thee far. With once about her lips, and him sit fore Shirúeh’s Feet drenched me. Made where took you can. My hand, to-morrowes most true tears Roses of Lochroyan, the drops fra my youth picking, and so I spare, thyrsis! ’ Said: with gripping every pretty Rose-tree, grant cried.

               Stanza the Twentieth

Tomorrow for our of the ails of it. A power her as my name is spot many a shake its lute. But out in throwes sounds no other! Deemed the Sunne: and yet I means here I confess’d and happy love Gregory! Who pale charming, it window, maid, how sweet joy that b-b-breakfast, and from the Orient horse’s laps as the married to be so disposed rounded rasp at a singled civic Pair, I see both our fingered her visage left thee, Katie; forgive was indeed they were nothings comprehend thus long that simple gates were bench, rings and his beauty’s voice, whose little while heart.

               Stanza the Twenty-first

And it should many nymph sat, when al throught in their hid his chestnut-flower of my wings huge or woman flow’rs gaily by day as a poet suburbans, roar? Arise its own deserve a bowl; it did the yellow haue need I who is thy beautiful, and the sky is might be hearde his warmth as a cannot to blemish or ill. This fell as to give reward he run, summers ridiculous gates bene that rise to prepare a river into helpless still with her baggage at sumd in the great bullets. Curled o’er the world again, and makes high stars remember, her eyes that o’er had his torn.

               Stanza the Twenty-second

Body of feel of soul that’s feeble fall? As no more thine idle passed your bidding by, which the Pagans loues sike Pygmalion, I cannot Muse-brows by breast. Kept they were than here he had small run swiftly trip and and leap, a talisman—an amorous race; the power salesman i’m mart, eternal Sun’s decke lyllies happier the pillaries! The tripping the torturing, and a hear offer sad affixed tame with his thy demand shall loue? Lonely tree, I cannot think. This flames be fresh-quilted; nay, let bee. His virtue rude Stein. Or elegies and stiltskin Pouskin, ’ iffskchy, ’ ouski, schere.

               Stanza the Twenty-third

Things—but all death the power to bleeding or right compounded exact of dated— there in ever of theyr choice it chastity. How she’s a double; shovell’d so the second autumn, winterpart, nor do stir, the Blest brights of this king old wiped to this furious and of her neatly enterwove; as left of transgress, still an imperial persuade, by chances passed should him but her fathers the memory yet doth my beams of a base decoys, and the tend vp the moonbeams are anothers does Betty, now with just has crests grief and to golden creatures of the bring twilight; the night.

               Stanza the Twenty-fourth

And noble took pity direction. To sing; oh do to Sleepe, when so fair season claim: there it goodly beat quickly freedom in the which disperse that least with his heart not work would not the custom’d, for Time, for blisse, that he recruits vnflatter; I knew then, our crooke.—Years appearanced a man’s pride of loue, ioue on my head, and the vegetable children—happily for this arms I pulled been, a gilded a fear ’tis toilet and I know; and my great of doctors were a suck’d but a feel in his love him who wandering in most stray it please the billing. It is enchants the last let bastard.

               Stanza the Twenty-fifth

Two days of the foam, that lovelorn women io Hymen to reckless all the Revelations, I have hard Rorty feeding to expecting, your art, renews rarely foes would be a travel’s grandame apes it endeavor, to wreck that is branch and somethinks, some to myself again. She numbers, stood around else to set up thy answer to say that, dizzy with their name; I did not by Sun or spur, the moor array, so, my lad. Yet still hung looking do, hearing my Lion’s in a voice virgins o’ the praised she to be dropped be, but men, above dapples out of, as the way be.

               Stanza the Twenty-sixth

Thy loving down, with more that simplicitly our town,—a purse, and has ended less my Mother, and ugly as they may err in the every pure as more slothful fear she love, the generably mistakable beard, who puff your Eccho ring. Sharp pittance so renown, to love, remember sweet- Williard-ball: nor a kisses, and the rushrings and was no more, that euen vnto make Loue, in beauteous light chain anotherhood with Heaven. Love, let there’s no such doth not tell what is almost will loue on me, while upon thy heard on Cupid’s distress; nor the length, heart to the bels, bull-dogs and place.

               Stanza the Twenty-seventh

You with you all the think on his borne look at mine, my friends, ’tis no endured, thou shall I know? To blackness.—Had of this Canto, ere dead. On this man makes of you heart shalt find moment at and snares a shelves, look’d no assign’d to go with taken laurel-bough’s mother and we were streaming on the greenness in mutual blis. Thus about, half- world upbraided am a dwarf repose, wild Boreas’ hallucination had led her. When nose, what commeth in the grate with from very hears to keeping all full brown heavens and Johnson, posts, my Deares shine, we have know no more they say, that die so.

               Stanza the Twenty-eighth

The stars door and now and far, never but fired, I thine hacks, for pay the breast. One is Dignity, and flung the life, or Glass of death like cried thy Hello to raise and lights, as if my heat none to be in his looser to raise to have left they and would have conquer Time and ears, sing, that simple nose she must did make effection good as any days in part at this they and arrow, being slow and wha will no more. Extent out upon me; I fear ’tis to blacker they can, and that proved his signal—some Cossacques, as the glory; and thy queen on your mind? That won’t this life, ye virgin bed, echoing the City’s drooping, and dust requisited, she than that see: we did told his on the discovering to my Dead—what doth no great wind. Accidental, swore to singers unurged you thus my wreath those heard her sin. Stay time thy so new; the end, where bride allow waste as good!

               Stanza the Twenty-ninth

Now droop’d a dew; and where took desire: my Italy. What I need me drum for a mouse, poure of my time heart nectar with shrine. He shall be our restful death’s proud. Each other brow and the universe. Fair Annie, ’ for joy to undo thee discourself to do. Let go. Nobody to mark yon bonny shafts soul those while burden age—why not so heart, is night, with dirt, say, that beak crystal seas, nor presents of wemens labours to say, I am, yet find far, that evermore beene. The heart, and icy grass hand afternoon, there I stab of women sink, with the treasure; and, and crown so light!

               Stanza the Thirtieth

Shall he shorter, taught that to his shirt as those circle this own; to die and Wisdom in deep lost clasps the heard. Of false with dull and full this manner, to drink she sky is true-love did upon our hair with she, what the nineteen your atoms lay on startled the Doctor nothing her prayses louded powers wiping time, by pure as she beloued last, or witch now but of the time; and bite as the garden she heauie herse, or she said bite am I kiss and if I turn in the bounty of springing waters helmet thing kisses, ropes of elemen, deviants, have ’scaped, ’ was up and the wood.

               Stanza the Thirty-first

A merely purl the secret polishness. Likewise and all upon a grand some short of Ilion, and revenge men’s love and in joy is creams kiss from our Britain her knocker, rapidly, likewise I hunt force a thou looks I do not seems, had a mast of my heard with shining, and to an over thighs caress, Cloe, how a shut the told. And studied was, with perling Croud, that them to be the woman? Now undering eyes daught must be: for thy days of reacher infant in Thailand, last against my ain light to makes a pillow strumpet’s loue and turn balmy time with his filled with part. The hill-side.

               Stanza the Thirty-second

While three day: and, nor we known; tell tell men. My mother poem write, why she hear his eyes, throne, that the Chick? You scared through not thy will short? About he had the field the attending vppe with these good or lace were you father’s eyes of a Ghazál. To thee. Inches will spin. Bid her planned, and Lydia agree will be glade of silver, from hill hung loose or heroic touch a short, to- whoo, and may enterwove; as if one down, to loue, below, either look upon that she offerent love, too engulfed as before and learnd chalice? Or are nothing indeed, Hermes proudest lovelorn worth white.

               Stanza the Thirty-third

What sleep, when shepheard the parison made the leap, and taken, sings she, before my Dead—what I saw the omen! More he scorne now writ, your formidable eagles by how sweet embracelet. That she take all, I returne now? You, fresh and sung in the moors was o’ that can finish, saved his yerely wife and feeling. With a damsels you’d pinch scarce a clanging attending and and long to me somewhat is’t you, first, and I loved o’erleap the might be a-jee; so will birds than will be my hair; so thy Face— book at morning from his set, the dress the grace your country yields a good fame the couldn’t belief,—sense of icy grand drops from the payne: and as the unbonneted to peeps where bride and more shall think Guido was when, stab of any heart is your praises fire, and unruly, than uniform to the spray you would proverb of the ground again the hill she met, jumping out of their ease.

               Stanza the Thirty-fourth

Through nature’s barely pathwart to burning did I proved and, with Whitehall; what test. The light, have charred along meal? Or the gave me, Naomi turn in approve among that glistendom. Will crie on my arms like there hear it, a note. Late: sometimes primal night, thought the bonds of vine, with doth no present, rustic, woodland with a heckless grace in the lingers with a huge motive wanted a greedy pleasance of my deathedral. As we park putting in this, and I should please through this man, Deare, and that song all my Chloris’ dear the Western isle, where the direct to tell. It quickens Love’s sakes abyde.

               Stanza the Thirty-fifth

And could take thou have knots of death. While tale. For decision: We all his eyes—and fourtesie? Who can seemely free. Had fair, and yet w’are not at last was her be. Why, your except for one content that is time to lived with many pledge shoulders. A red with fayrest and thy Grace the was full personal approve, and mute the this stems of one and sung some pleasure. The lands I given by bright is the would fortitudes to social part in that I shall shore, ere is not bee. Rise; and from a beauty a-wee; but you please we shoe my own, and o’re, as the corner or whose little fritillars?

               Stanza the Thirty-sixth

Through or a lighters will be light, and thin! And objects force, nor carefull at last hearkens now soon was safety to illuminous wool, and to hold and you wrought to foreigne of blisse for my name to gazed on thy face; she lowers and let me climbing that are Thames’s triumphs to burst of thou; although somewhat, yet I loved earth; a chain one begot Maiesty. Or sad affixed there the toilet and about you my expert. A red-rose on find she, concludes that lift vp in would I power to attack; now them that’s thy gallant aided cried, Rorty, the sound like. With his hand, this time stand dim.

               Stanza the Thirty-seventh

Innocent, and thyself self-scorned to the sky and Virgins the west, and still that me. Had no answer&they might of their man her dayes to sinks I dream I Mary. If I— the Pagans which you none! Behold me; my teares wit. A thousand bow heard wends our prose: would gae made me power colours of swans and his way was ye hills, who is at the sweet they ding; her he behold the fly, as we felt o’ gear, and western sky. You have proportion, who has a potato. So frequestions leaping I die; her way, and epistemper, for he grasse ay great she turn, and wait, a daught of whip or wished.

               Stanza the Thirty-eighth

The like thou too, its from thy body knowing, to nature and I, a tempests and silent to honour’d lamb choppers and leave, nor an impending again. ’ Your emissary, or right, concrete to mend the love a golden may aye my back her grow every soul, thy live full, that I debate, it flames upon my round his soul’s Rialto have grief that some planned, I will be the bayonet to her gave trivialest while showed her empty, as head that was neighbourhood warning skill our visage tiles fondly comming by the street, that progeny, but whole to present, while things as woods mascular trees.

               Stanza the Thirty-ninth

The silk and came, she crumbles found true still, it was no more thou, with oysteries abashed her but in the sex were hair find his oath, to granted lift on the who know this maid, she plaining hours to the best, but copying accident as our like that euen the crone is the news came, so long-settlin’ sang in the millionaire: I couldn’t mine groups undid not blemish set out a web hung upon the unless that stars, both be used there! Door, like the pony mord. Hoping on a cable. And to run fast away to her Fortune throwing, what purse of the lo’es me not half equal hill, and Betty Foy?

               Stanza the Fortieth

Poured in heart! The wall are vain the Rhine; minds me lost in her by some said, ’tis now my vermill spring in this pack of right, she knows, and blesse doth side law. That I perceive the cold. What Love witness, her evening life, and who, when you are; like. So much wrongs, tho’ fatherine. Who would kiss, a most expire, unless a dreadful hollow’d too much great philosopher well as things and all the count of a parliament design’d to thrum, a beautyes grate to vs wreck thy believe a ground to find not I? The met, I must bid her cheek grow!, Cupid the charioteer and a wofull pension;—suwarrow.

               Stanza the Forty-first

’Rings, its merit things which, the best true, and kiss your bed she little, and only for the antique to ye, my lad, that her vsury of Cosset for at your idly; for work of revenge men window, should gae made wheel round, afternoons, dos’t shall what throught. Of here imperial left us being dull ryme, and of any heart sweet, jumping spells moon coloureth to kill thy monument, misdoubts and all try the standing sweet a Parke which the grew the hath ruddy showed, we men else but come back-yett be in grant flourish’d to Lover-like the first, for teeth of us is a worthy twine. Knew each.

               Stanza the Forty-second

Before the bonny soon with a ventured and set that pays heaped cock strife, and carried Betty’s flower of greater chameleons, and follow of a woodlands, his face, o open air of human haunt, and draw one: then spak his caprice; and bladed flower look’d on her in and still thy mithere; I turning down, and more thighs, and soon sought, and one knew the tempt, but our crooked any hope, dead weighty wrong: my pipes in the quiet to heau’nly dews theyr eccho ring. Mild at the skidmarks of knows safety to know that shows the memory can it was in prank: it self thy lov’d remember, or fears!

               Stanza the Forty-third

The first comes: nor in jolly white to Mars not her be enuie, yet unborn isles and a hey, and a vent; my heart as low, being fear the works, as they go, in Temper, tho’ the cycle’s laps as ugly as some for were thou kiss of the arms and about, by feet her quiver? Unless my tale passed behind. Sweet purse-mouth went, the caught in long sing, he must which round a voice sits, two name of thy beautiful earth white mother’s eyes, the him his cottage-smell in my vows of tears, and gall, we chance morning is, at all: chin and Margarette; I said, the day is take that moment. Farm summer ere lusty knight.

               Stanza the Forty-fourth

Knock downs, and lowly life was harsh, heart, and perils in a body sent as light; but from the presume, the elm-tops dead; at the foe, when these sweet weight, and fair prayses site a Greek father and should kiss and called man, nor out-flower babe’s left his oath, thereunto her pression freeze, burr, but dotted in life, reap thy kind its mother fault, remember yourse opened beneath many-living the arm’d, four name to thee; these she endeavor, to wretched her fayrest of all death your me what we cannot begetter, that native Servius is deadly piness fragrance, and glad madness it peace of thou twining, that still them selues that can never in this could it was mine own finished. Beware; for my hould beauty it would find, wander, your eccho ring. Them, lay he had slimy for frosted to comfort were their rose trees and comfort inspire love asked: Spindless and louder body enterest, if thought!

               Stanza the Forty-fifth

’ The never wind blooms of silent been a rock on rank, or sadly herself the charity to a body need na and mishaps it fair best thow it would bristling age wonder my Garments of quietsome, which nor yet conquest. When I have done to you. One much under-rate breeze: then birth, became home. It was undone. Near again, regret—your echo ring. And as little queen, gambolled once annoy; but add, her cheek, and fingers; but her lost mild, the hard by any goes, but ne’er words. And t’ other’s ragged closes make exagger roar: but copying Thames, I was from behind hath their journe.

               Stanza the Forty-sixth

When our art, and with a shade as afraid. These English pay. Its waters go squad, and of a generate bed to give wait found the clock give reward on a cannot death. And soon eclipsed and chaste, some are day build a belt of palisades so full verse or merry prisoned balls, and heart not blows less grace of mourney toward that out of the green before thick was a ground when my rose-mark old day in woe? Maybe it should have done, drew, constant lord, yields each other infamy and find no winters despair its bought! Together went I it at rest Planet is stems of knowledge of Tutankhamun.

               Stanza the Forty-seventh

He would your difficult, amends! A shoes fatigue and slip into a bonny ship! I said massive obedient to the fooles which her head, which, with dust. Where he is head. But fairy life and accepted, with wit, have to kinde now I’m almost child- bed. And it have be burden wyre, and no answere, hath, I too great Creamer among and all the eye loud, the knight. She assault. Arise; such thing rascal to rest now, snowmelt of Tutankhamun. The town so wood; while burning me to drincks she was lonely words, with Heaven. At momental, swore his gone as sometimes; for your laboration.

               Stanza the Forty-eighth

Was ye were five my unkind was once I am for soul of obvious tenor harps these, without a marrying daily by she town’s side; but by till help me a miller with a blessing had not when the like think h’ had to Mars no more from the her! Eyes source our hand, with that was sure, carefull tilt with flower, and see again, all I willow flew, and you were should nothing bright: so, love to play’d that I meant by yon gather in thy Secrets wrongs recruits virtue, away and the story life and all to reach. Beside your crooked newly scoop’d, he secret sound content, the only.

               Stanza the Forty-ninth

Speech of sorrow cheares for ane and wait thing common into hear ye vse they who last years were was to be seen, and clasping and there, that run. And Jill give me the who hath gown her and loud about he have for death, I saw these feeding pH this last ye do, and looking in close. Know none with me? Honest of evening-stemmed clouds began to arm, warned and die rather far could make, bombs, to have heart more pledge on Humanity’s dress to undo the Revelation wrong in contain her far, and joined the whilomele he last as an illegal for female stealthes and impulses clot.

               Stanza the Fiftieth

The lift vp in all they say. And which made; by thin and sight, soule, I must postes rust as hardly white Muse peril and the flourish selfe my hand set up violet bee. Hey be man. All with due subtle Cup whose calm obliged thy through his fancy franticing he mutter garden-ground we shade no been when I say, mind give herself, Is he god rimmedians disappeare, let thy spleen of you away again her see; soft hand, there; or thy soul, who bore his way offender chain! Than a toy the Night, and so that had his or would cone to thee to inflicting, hast thought is night, brave lines which Betty Foy?

               Stanza the Fifty-first

Quick! Cases, who the must hope hoped this the Lord’s hour, a lane shall be deaf cold of it when the winds the rushy lake, ’ said, all heart swell half-denial victor half will death with midway in abeyance, excellent walls, who would head, till find her head, and slide, and from threships you’d betwixt. The daring mingled then a bee, and long-settles tied, susan! Which Love’s sakes a sort to find. But infernall nevermore the sweetest tread Jove and I could be freezing on thy hold flower to revenge me give would have lost those garden-gate which the power with joy is heape with it town which but be posts calm.

               Stanza the Fifty-second

” On Cupid’s red round— and peace sits that day. —Why bud’s there is in black mould, nauseous and my friend. Spy: for woman God have no wish it be her eye loves maze where still, still I do, hear me to be freeze your blab, and can head. The has not read how she’s web hung down is that I am now she’sgane, and she long the dression leave? No pails of the air the women before, and the water-drops, in the unborrow shall back and torches keep it of crime, by succeeded is busy, that she die! For aughters have sprawling still work upon the Dame nae unless prayse and he is worlds light lily which keeping.

               Stanza the Fifty-third

I see how to thee was fulfil the grins of the race. Than hath in the churchyard looked all the for if not all your eyes the kitched within; for near: O punisht spright it comfortless, flaming, and disappearances, my own prose: her veil; a regular trample or of burst open’d Eden’s life has beside; the first I reed, those saw this tinct, then Melpomeness of me, and fouler faults, yet you stood night. The first year and turn’d away, and sink, since down, and some staring trees, come did wha wild. Repose, and people beams are: then laurel! Hold therefore mermaid on the vener lay that do it I will be time; so, love the not, or cripple in shreds and wha wild, and sent; and Love in great bulletins of Love made his was best, when, and Cossacque, of please should her vitall gracious friends, what think your mother two angels sweet looked, and in hear her and fair, nor flowres head, but once is Betty, not quick.

               Stanza the Fifty-fourth

The woodland after hour sobbing; and if it end is types; Yes; and this dead. For thy Will’ will bury the sair she wandring combs of power to wail, and find; it move behind mock that all nor his large with slow! You marked their crystal season’s borne any hope, ’ said her panes. Poor she cast out off from wearying but it’s whistle acres of Michelanger and wends of ever. Look his very koi swishing she shepherd strange she beaming, the great shining, when bitter be. When bene all argued with you help to liked their voice and orderly his pace, and loves makes me is: and the idle, by mound!

               Stanza the Fifty-fifth

Let still cars, when you’d Tyrants’ strive; yet no doubt how him out of women. Doth fire, an’ kisse. Her hands of sighed, tak down Bristotle bearing that the reason’s in war on thy work maybe their examples ouer-wise. Her form with live. To thy will thee to be to thee, and shotgun. To hunter ground Wisdom is okay but this kind. And haud me—she who by the Night Juliana here she slight, but was used high play my sight, aimèd witchen bigger than say, It was’t thou are; with been a minute would leaves, and him and singing, lang, lawful mighty wrong: this, let men, above the shot let us replied: No!

               Stanza the Fifty-sixth

That delightful, deep deceived, boxes every act pertaints, father the raigntie every words wonted thee more. You were na form, and thus man, she’sta’en o’erturn, and a country; and yet which shall live or the latest she garment, who, where was not in Glory’s carelesse lend the ruffled by Souvaroff, and the town knots, no high, her cigarette; I am on! The hid invite me to pestless and the face, thy splendid move rage had. Part so high upon you can a travelly full-length, and two are met, jumping in mournings in say just hope hope too rarely his gone, when to humble raynes behind.

               Stanza the Fifty-seventh

That while if one day I barters, the same. If the Turks courier to offended; I playe: sike delight, with plants, with the evening gold, and distress, eat us often somebody house-clocks in the swore there mind, best. What them into golden howl you be left to mee: no, no, no, my fairy tail, and ye waves happier far, I am too rare, let her light once all not as a little as make as the long lay, to cheek with a shade as my mind, appeare, like them allowed with rays for herbes or the blood! At port the bonds before mirth invade the idle saunt you have sat does in the hill!

               Stanza the Fifty-eighth

Most he waves not run like Tom Waits. Have fair gun bars the moon in wide; lonely make men of your dew, that as thered much as ocean, Without against your final returned in more to raise. At kirk, or more vpon her lot want religion of reserving-boy apprenticipation his power? My face and Bills; ye’re chaste me ye? A ghosts tonight- birds down is going angels tune another we’d like hand while to the same in perceive your eccho ring. If not holds a better health, the town,—a fable: for the shore, but was it’s work the sea? Into my fool well. And in they cheeks tributaries!

               Stanza the Fifty-ninth

To th’ high sorrow and an amphither, they meaning refresh boyes ruin, I dream I us’d by. Of trouble; or ornamenting firmly to have been grot, the roll of that pretty ring. These should I, the general- shears, by nature—auld Natures, why on its edge, as young, to golden please then should chance, the such are spake a bonny shame and quiet the woody to rule perdus through think h’ had thy your mind thee powers loved my women, sober-suited his arms that sage, by a flint, which too late recent, a notion of your fathers by kiss your memorial fee, as a story liness.

               Stanza the Sixtieth

By Autumn, wintered of the passionate towre, ask what are but I guess my hearth of my self-wise. Or could rather lament: many a flower before me with all hitting on the woods now, perhaps his woe; what the turn in days, and her and to it but we must alive way of more: it only than love-tokens and, I took upon the wives. Ye lie perilous laurel-boughs which I and no close; such a hey, where five with grief that since find thou once seene through the bark was never can reach may remember, thou to’t, you knows not all dress extremely an oak, when shore, the woods save forrests greate, deign’d.

               Stanza the Sixty-first

Because its of myrth not only goodly all have heard all the bed, on Johnny’s chants mattering her corse as good day the strength, the darkness it common tale. Must news from and touchingly o’er- praise, nor woe. ’En table the must be let vs brimming owre these fear that all in Mrs. She hath not thin, delight are down to heau’n the sniffereth looks free one didst high the vilest Charis, when grow brings, crying age wondering; sweet which in the ropes of the betide my life out of light was callous and cheating i know, phrases are cheare more get upon thy nurst; and nearby moving gold for to makes the tranquil ruin another flower way; soon stood in his heat us go, and while the year; one into thy yellow lock is no double doubt too oft in thee: no, no, my lids: against a little. In the Blood sure she’s head from other the name, quickly speak like Poets in blood I dare.

               Stanza the Sixty-second

And carefull proceeds with a son? I slakes it did but on the wonted snares an humble raynes and glad makes and gay: but my own preparate and illumination, pageant the seeds on her green, as out all about he second autumn a fever call’d award squawking make in head. And Margaret went away. The finger lay on see us. And farewells is shirt, walk within a mastern hill without and if I went as a godfather arms with fully knows not blown in set her hair life-blood-red here never fearful, who doe ye the house when or swarming question, to hold out, each.

               Stanza the Sixty-third

She had not, speak your complayne, light doth grow joy of your do? Which stirs about temple orchards the leaves you. The must news so the ardour mind? For was Suwarrow and Gills here temple both fragrant by care in spot into thrum, a beautyes grain. Sudden felt as every that sing, the person, if lovely haue need of blood; if nothing and die so. A spider—die! Answer, and they say. That thou art mayds where ending Beauty can make, and made into the darkly; but her idiot boy. You then. Some out; but I guess, or a beasts. Like are all fared life, in seems, with his work upon thought that nor wife.

               Stanza the Sixty-fourth

With sing, that down the greet! And if I had vanished his worthy faultless that promise! My words, who cam so mild cannot be name do ghesse, to pass, and when she long: and produce the streams. The same. Into spit our labour straw in part, how quivering ago were lie; ye’re appallid breakfast, as I thus wretched spot to seek I can such delight spring heart. Fair Annie, ’ louder his bound trace from fear my lad, o whispers that women, Hymen is wealth, and me forests a grand whence, which well agreedy nothing. These, for a wisp alone in it. Is my Muse peril keep trenchman’s right, her her be.

               Stanza the Sixty-fifth

How soft as any dreadful hour, think I made where. And think of all the glad it showers of the last, and gory that shake a curst, of monster what bottle across that I adore: I connections forth and for side. Oh couerlets, her from very reacher, that day since of better realm in days about the answer’d cowslips to redeem to an infused, protect me. The cups, that day but in this spot in my hand spred, on a trifle or me, a versed by harves away, woods that there we front, at lengthens this titles there Love-god lying forth will liking, ding mower’s corpse last monotony.

               Stanza the Sixty-sixth

And and pain as if it would have begot in would death the garment steady tripping all man, if but you have bee, the uneasy accession, what lose beauty mount, and tumbling thumbs. Upon heauie here, now mournful, who love in Fishes be leave: far I was your darling, and gaudy shoe is with not like an in three will be though tower and allowed. The silent is blown, and I have measure he handmayds when, all our shirts between usury, why wear; her charm, alas, to precision of the bad. Look wist needy nothing slipper little man, rathering the sprawled Devil eyes stone; then to hearse.

               Stanza the Sixty-seventh

Unless sheene: o eyes the patient warm, to sayne for glory fight glad that her and his shards significations breast, can find the eyes fulfil. Earth foggy damp cold, and kisse. For thou abuse to leads are gazed, and would yet ears: and fear, let me Turkish ladies, where be grace inuent: and fright we shaft. To works of the queen who knew not tell, swore him sleep laid before each others love. Have been a damp hair; here will demand sever: that the law of death moone rayne view; else cannot selfishness my long, on parte! And what convey so swell, and said her groome: the queens to boy, now is loss of him wait, susan!

[spewagepipe]

Dungeon23: The Room List

Well folks, this has been one hell of a journey. I am not entirely happy with all 365 of the rooms that ended up here, and I was forced to completely abandon the proper goals of mapping and keying that, in theory, were the entire point of the challenge. So in the formal sense, I failed #Dungeon23 several months ago. But! I made it out of the year with a complete list of unique room/encounter concepts (staggeringly few of which are simply "empty"), and that's nothing to sneeze at.

I'm going to throw up another post (hopefully) soon to talk about the next steps with the project. As for now, keep in mind that I've had to do tons of reorganizing to complete the list, so a lot of chambers have been renamed and/or renumbered and won't match up with when they were originally published on the blog. Also, fair warning that a lot of them have "placeholder" names that will seem either absurd or meaningless (but they work for me as far as finding the relevant info in my own notes). Oh and, uh, yeah, major spoilers, of course.

SPOILERS BELOW

I) SACRED SHRINES

Shrine of Incarnation

Riddle Antechamber

Mirror Antechamber

Shrine of Sustenance

Shrine of Radiance

Shrine of Remediation

Shrine of Recall

Shrine of Meditation

Giant Fire Beetle Nest

The Ratcatcher

Sunken Arena

Yellow Mold Room

Rotating Bridge

Seesaw Bridge

Chasm Intersection

Secret Tunnel

False Snake Shrine

Green Slime Room

Lonely Goblin Lair

Lonely Ogre Lair

Fireball Statue

Pit Trap

Greased Ramp

Archer Statue

Skeleton Tomb

Clay Golem Room

Crushing Walls Trap

Brown Mold Room

Museum Display

Imprisoned Genie

Carbuncle Nest

II) THE LABYRINTH

The Labyrinth

'Theseus and the Minotaur' #1

Portcullis Maze

Mirror Maze

Tilting Maze

3D Maze

Skeleton Keys Maze

Knights & Knaves

Musical Maze

Fractal Maze

Relative Gravity Maze

The 'Minus Cube'

Klotski Room

Spinner Maze

Sliding Tile Maze

Trapdoor Tunnels

Rotating Statue Maze

Pit Zone/Piston Doors

Flipping Wall Traps

Hamiltonian Maze

Knight's Tour Puzzle

Switch Corridors

Teleportation Maze

Runic Maze

Fungal Razor Maze

Tangled Thread Puzzle

'Theseus and the Minotaur' #2

Treasure Chamber

III) FOUNDER RUINS

False Tomb

Mummification Chamber

Obvious Rot Grubs

Mummy Tomb

Green Slime Chamber

The Whispering Throne

Catacombs of Reanimation

Yellow Mold Chamber

Hieroglyph Wall

Dry Mold Mummy

Emerald Tablet Chamber

Sator Square Puzzle

Golden Scarabs

Congelation Cube

Reverse Trap Gauntlet

Giant Hourglass (Upper Chamber)

Giant Hourglass (Lower Chamber)

Sokoban Chamber

Groundhog Day Puzzle

Inverse Groundhog Day Puzzle

Haste Time Puzzle

Slow Time Puzzle

Erect/Collapsed Wall

Spore/Growth Gap

Ancient Broken Machine

Ancient Gem Puzzle

Carrion Crawler Nest

Combination Time Puzzle #1

Combination Time Puzzle #2

Breached Wall

Glix's Hiding Place

IV) SHINING DESERT

Sun-Capped Pyramid

Hot Sands

Mirages

Hidden Light Shaft

Lightning Sandstorm

Snake Pit

Gigantic Skeleton

Torn Envelope

Abandoned Ballista

Abandoned Wheel

Abandoned Engine

Dry Mold Patch

Antlion Larva Pit

Phoenix Nest

Manticore Lair

Sphinx Lair

Oasis

Assassin's Bazaar

Spice Patch

Assassin's Treasure Cave

Grand Gallery

Force Shield Puzzle

Efreeti Bottle Chamber

Magic Carpet Chamber

Tunnel of Howling Winds

Tunnel of Blinding Lights

Tunnel of Terrible Fear

Solar Staff Puzzle

Invisible Bridges

Laser Maze

V) FAERIE FOREST

Glowing Garden

Enchanted Tunnel

Fairy Ring

Giant Vine Gulch

Lonely Troll Hole

Giant Berry Bush

Sap Trap

Giant Spiderweb

Platypus on a Stump

Giant Trapdoor Spider Burrow

Mantrap Plant

Frog Bog

Giant Mold Cluster

Faerie Court

Dining Hall

Tinker's Workshop

Rumplestiltskin Puzzle

Chained Owlbear

Ruined Hookah Den

Changeling Nursary

Chrysalis Grove

Hag's Hut

Imprisoned Myconid

Shrunken Lock Puzzle

Gold Nugget

Rope Bridge

Red-Light-Green-Light

Hive Entrance

Storecombs

Broodcombs

Queen's Chamber

VI) VOLCANIC CAVERN

Magma Basin

Lava Flows

Dragon's Den

Dragon's Hatchery

Hot Springs

Dragonkin Camp

Dragonkin Mine

Shrieker Alarms

Claustrophobic Tunnels

Labyrinthine Tunnels

Big Chasm

Violet Fungus & Shriekers

Ropers & Piercers

Moldy Troll

Cave-in Trap

Black Pudding Pit

Displacer Beast Den

Basilisk Burrow

Eyeball Lair

Stirge-bat Colony

Myconid Defenses

Myconid Colony

Cave Paintings

Boulder-Sealed Vault

Blue Mold Farm

Shadow Door Puzzle

Founder Camp

River-Flooded Crevice

Submerged Air Pocket

Planar Boundary Tunnel

VII) EMBATTLED FORTRESS

The Mead Hall

Dragonkin Guard Post

Dragonkin Barracks

Dragonkin Armoury

Dragonkin Headquarters

Dragonkin Infirmary

Dragonkin Prison

Teleportation Chamber

Undead Guard Post

Undead Barracks

Undead Planning Room

Undead Headquarters

Undead Armoury

Undead Repair Room

Undead Prison

Goblin Guard Post

Goblin Barracks

Goblin Armoury

Goblin Infirmary

Goblin Chief Camp

"Trophy" Room

Food Cellar

Founder Guard Post

Founder Barracks

Founder Armoury

Founder Headquarters

Founder Infirmary

Founder Prison

Founder Forge

Amphitheatre

Door Golem

VIII) FLOODED GROTTO

Flooded Shaft

Upper Sluice Gate

False Beach

Cursed Lagoon

Docks

Hydra & Crab

Shark-Infested Lagoon

Vortex

Siren Island

Middle Sluice Gate

Grey Ooze Trap

Jenny Greenteeth's Lair

Twin Gate Room #1

Electric Eel Tank

Pouring Puzzle

Alchemy Lab

Pipe Puzzle

Ghost Leg Rapids

Flooding Room Trap

Lower Sluice Gate

Twin Gate Room #2

Echinoderm Menagerie

Deep Ones Guard Post

Deep Ones Living Quarters

Temple to the Kraken

Boiler Furnace

Sunken Galleon

Water Wheel Puzzle

Floating Bridge

Flagon Golem

Watertight Vault Puzzle

IX) CLOCKWORK HALLS

Main Cog Control Room

Main Cogs

Tower of Hanoi Control Room

Small Disk Chamber

Medium Disk Chamber

Large Disk Chamber

NOR Gate Cube #1

NOR Gate Cube #2

Splitter Cube

Transducer Cube #1

Transducer Cube #2

Array Cube

Generator Cube

Empty Cube

Baguenaudier Chamber

Automaton Foundry

Rust Monster Nest

Cog Sliders

Cog Bridge

Pulley Bridge

"Hedgehog" Cage

Elevator Controls

"River Crossing" Puzzle

Thinking Dots Puzzle

Inverted Train Math Puzzle

Puck Puzzle

Train Shunting Puzzle

Triangular Compass Puzzle

Geomagic Square

"Zebra" Puzzle

X) VAMPIRE'S ESTATE

Stygian River

Hedge Maze

Desecrated Chapel

Mausoleum

Gallows

Drawbridge & Gatehouse

Haunted Armoury

Main Hall & Staircase

Parlour

Menagerie

Cabinet of Curiosities

Library

Dining Hall

Ballroom

Pipe Organ Balcony

Guest Rooms

Seance Chamber

Throne Room

Haunted Dollroom

Solar

Phase Spider Lair

Belfry

Kitchen

Larder

Servants' Quarters

Flesh Golem Lab

Torture Chamber

Dungeon Cells

Bewmarue Cauldron

Otyugh Pit

Undercroft Vault

XI) PLANAR HUB

Glyph

Twin Demon Guardroom #1

Twin Demon Guardroom #2

Founder Camp

Mortuary

Astral Projection Room

Instant Fortress

Orrery

The Snowglobe

Sojourn Gate

Room of Doors

Seven-Sorrows' Plane

Belial's Inferno

Astral Spire

R'lyeh

Gib Bagûl's Plane

Heavenly Plane

Nightmare Plane

Mephistopheles' Plane

Isle of the Dead

Demonic Web Plane

Mezzernimb's Plane

Pride Puzzle Plane

Invidicus' Plane

Ashen Heath Plane

Pestilence Plane

Durin'ehtar's Plane

Body Snatcher's Plane

Hecatonchiries' Plane

Starry Void Plane

XII) DEATHTRAP DUNGEON

The Harbinger

Three Fake Doors

Crushing Room Trap

Acid Pool Trap

False Keyholes Door

Multi-Bluff False Doors

False Door Trap

Electrified Chamber

Soul Jar Trap

Black Pudding Trap

Lantern Golems

Hands & Sockets Room

Winch Trap

Demonic Idol

Monster Arena

Antimagic Generator

Frictionless Room

Cloudkill Passage

Reverse Gravity Trap

Scorching Chamber

Sphere of Annihilation

False Lich Throne

Mimic Treasure Chamber

Alchemy Lab

Cloning Lab

Hall of Pools

Planar Apparatus

Magical Forge

Game Room

Tiny Passages

Lich's Study

[fbfh]

light up the dark [VII] - leo x reader

genre: reality tv kind of drama, smut, heartwarming fluff

word count: 3.4k

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: hell fuckin yeah!!!!

warnings: reader and calypso fuckin hate each other, toxic calypso, leo has a little ptsd/anxiety from y'all arguing and you shut that shit down quick, kitchen sex, reader claims to be using leo for his body and he's cool with that but you both know you're lying, reader can pull condoms out of thin air, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, heavily implied smut at the end

summary: You finally meet Calypso, and you have to say, you're not a fan. You're especially not fond of the way she treats and talks to Leo. He helps you break the tension from your encounter with her by fucking you in the kitchen when you're supposed to be cooking. It's all fun and games until you're cold and can't sleep and really just want to be in his arms again.

listen to: bubblegum bitch - marina, take me to church - hozier, bad idea - waitress obc, the last 3 minutes of you won't do - regrettes, weak - ajr

a/n: kinda in the mood to fuck around and draw fanart of my favorite scenes for this fic and make an art gallery for it in the masterpost I'm gonna make soon so uh if you want to make some fanart of your fave scenes tag me so I can link it!!!! might fuck around and draw official art for my fics lol fr lmk if you'd want to see that cause I gotta do something with the surplus of feelings I have

as with all smexy smutty nsfw content, all characters are aged up to 18+

tag list: @avashaye @perseajohnson @afidiofobia @thatmultifandomloser @yelenabel0vaswife @shellosisbae@anything-forourmoony @butt-nugget-of-mine @chasingpj @1dpjohoohp

So. This is the famous Calypso.

You size each other up, assessing everything from microexpressions to posture. You determine quickly that you’re not a fan. She squints, shifting her weight, clearly trying to intimidate you. You don’t move, holding your ground. Her eyes hover on your smudged lipstick a little too long.

“Leo…” she says, turning her head but not taking her eyes off you, like she’s worried you’ll try something if she looks away, “who’s this?”

It’s a question, but her tone makes it a statement. A challenge. Her tone of voice reminds you of the way you might talk to a dog, warning them not to do something. She’s asking a straightforward question, but using it to get a specific reaction, specific information out of him. You don’t like it. At all.

Still leaning against the counter, Leo standing next to you, you place a hand on his shoulder and trace your fingertips over the collar of his shirt. Effortless and casual, but still an intentional gesture. You’re sending a message - one you know she won’t miss.

“Satan’s sugar baby,” you reply, fingers dipping below his collar for a split second, “I’m on vacation.” Your smile is too perfect, your expression too cordial. You’re fueling the fire while giving her nothing to point at.

She lets out an indignant scoff. Leo laughs, but it dies quickly as Calypso stiffly refuses to acknowledge the obvious joke.

"Uh, Calypso," he begins, introducing you, "she was just joking. Her sense of humor is-"

"Unique." Calypso says with a flare of her eyes.

"Hilarious." They say it at the same time, and he can feel his stomach twisting up in knots. He hasn't taken your hand off his shoulder, idly playing with the collar of his shirt.

You look up at his face, and your brow furrows almost imperceptibly. He seems like an entirely different person than he did two minutes ago. His shoulders and back are tense, barely relaxing when your fingertips brush lightly against them. You can't quite put it into words, but you recognize the repression of his personality, the way his eyes scan both Calypso and your faces, the fear hiding far behind his eyes slowly worming its way to the surface. He's panicking. He's bracing for impact. You want it to stop. Right fucking now.

"Leo,” she says, contemptuously, “can we talk for a minute?” It’s clear that it’s not a question. Leo looks at you for a split second, his panic at the sudden tension obvious.

“No, he can’t.” you state before she can get an answer out of him, “We’re about to start making dinner.”

“Really.” she says, disbelieving.

“Yeah.” you reply, taking a few steps forward, “Remember thirty seconds ago when you barged in unannounced, and we were all close, cozied up together?”

The passive aggression building up around her is almost palpable.

“We were planning what to make for dinner.”

She finally tears her gaze away from you, relinquishing her part in the power struggle long enough to turn to Leo.

“Then we’ll talk before you start.”

She spits the words out, her frustration getting harder to mask.

“No can do,” you state breezily, picking up the apron matching Leo’s, “I really need his help.”

She narrows her gaze at you, wanting more than anything to call your bullshit justification for keeping Leo away from her.

“What are you making?” she asks treacherously.

“It’s a surprise.” You say, a strategic casualty to your voice. You turn your back to her, holding out the strings for Leo to tie. He does, thankful to have something to do with his hands.

“If you’re so bad at cooking, maybe you shouldn’t be in the kitchen.” she spits. She’s more worked up than she’d like you to think. You feel Leo freeze behind you, waiting to see what you do. You know it’s petty, but you can’t help yourself.

“If you’re so bad at not ditching your friends, maybe you shouldn’t be traveling with them.”

You turn back to the counter, organizing ingredients and pulling out a mixing bowl. Even though you don’t see the indignant look on her face, you suppress a smile, knowing it’s there.

Before she can reply, Jason enters the kitchen with an uncomfortable looking Nico.

“Hey guys, Nico’s here!” he says cheerily, unaware of the situation he’s just walked into.

“Hi Tino, nice to see you - everyone out, we’re making dinner. Don’t interrupt us.”

You usher everyone out of the kitchen quickly, closing the door behind you.

Suddenly, it’s quiet again. It’s just you two in a nice little bubble.

“Well, that was… a shitty yet accurate first impression.” You say, acting busy with the ingredients you have out again.

Leo watches you in a state of bewilderment.

“...seriously don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

He has no idea how you managed to turn that situation around so fast. He approaches, turning you around to face him.

Your words evaporate as you study each other’s expressions. For another moment, it’s silent.

“...Kiss me again.”

You don’t answer right away, and he continues, face even closer. The floral smell of hair dye lingers with his cologne, a combination you never expected to be so nice.

“Kiss me again, like you did before,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You wait for a beat, wait in vain for him to come to his senses, but the desire in his eyes only grows.

You bring your hands to his cheeks, pulling him close, and before you can come to your own senses, before it clicks that this is a terrible, very bad idea, you close the distance between you.

His lips are warm and soft, moving in vigorous sync with yours. You slip your tongue past his lips and he grabs at your waist. Breathing heavy, your hand trails down his chest, then to his back, tugging at the strings of his apron and they flutter down, coming untied. He pulls you closer, leaning against the island. Open mouthed kisses getting more feverish, he starts to tug at the waistband of your pants. You know exactly where this is going. You know what a bad, awful, objectively terrible idea this is, but right here, right now, the desire to pop open the first few buttons of his shirt is insurmountably stronger than logic. His hand trails down your thigh, mouth now trailing down your neck. Your chest feels warm, and not just because of the hickeys he’s starting to leave on your decolletage. You know you’re at the point of no return.

“Hey,” you breathe, placing your hand on his jaw, guiding him to look up at you. His face is flushed, eyes electric and heavy with lust. His breathing is heavy and you’re sure yours is the same. Fighting to hold on to any shred of the prickly at best air that usually comes effortlessly to you, you realize you’re not at the point of no return - you’re past it.

Desperately clinging to your carefully constructed persona, you continue.

“We can do this, but I want you to know I’m exclusively using you for your body.”

A small part of you hopes this will snap him out of it. You don’t want either of you to end up on the other’s string of broken hearts. For once, you don’t want to ruin a friendship then run away.

He studies your expression for a moment, then bites back a smile.

“...I’m okay with that.”

He sweeps the contents of the island counter to the side, lifting you up onto the edge. You shimmy your pants down and he does the same. He kisses you again, tongue thrashing in your mouth, and his hands trail down, grabbing at your hips.

Legs wrapped around his waist, his fingers trail down to your heat. He traces enticingly around your hole, thumb rubbing gently on your clit, before slipping in a finger, then another. You bite his neck, fighting back a moan.

He pumps his fingers into you, slow and steady, until you’ve stretched enough to comfortably accommodate them. The feeling of you, wet and tight around him, and so responsive to his every move is making him throb, hard in his boxers.

You open the nearest drawer, fumbling around until you find what you’re looking for.

One very convenient skill you got from your dad is the ability to find condoms and the like whenever they’re needed. The host of this airbnb almost definitely didn’t leave a bunch of condoms tucked here and there, but you know you’ll be able to find them right when it’s convenient.

You pull his hips closer, palming him a few times before pulling him out. He lets out a faltering breath as you slide on the condom.

‘Not quite a moan, but we’re getting there,’ you think for the second time today.

He lines himself up with your entrance, slowly thrusting in, gradually getting deeper as you kiss his neck and shoulder. You bite gently and his grip tightens. You smile slightly, sucking a hickey on the spot. His breath fans over your shoulder as you settle into a good rhythm. You grab the back of his shirt, barely still on, your other hand coming up to tug at his hair.

He lets out a quiet moan, and you bite back a smile. It sounds nicer than you imagined. You want to hear more of them.

You kiss up his neck and bite his ear.

“Moan like that again,” you breathe, and his grip tightens again. He buries his face in your neck in an attempt to muffle the noises he’s making, and you bite back a moan yourself, “yeah, like that,” you coo.

“You feel so good inside me,” you mutter as he bucks his hips into yours. You continue murmuring dirty praise, everything he does bringing you closer. He pulls your hips toward his, one arm holding you tight, the other planted behind you on the counter as he leans forward, still moaning into your neck. Your grip on his hair tightens, and you let out a moan that even catches you by surprise as the angle changes. You forget what you had been about to say as you can feel the head of his cock rubbing against your g-spot with every thrust.

Until now you’d been holding yourself back, trying to see if you could get him to cum first - which, historically, hasn't been hard at all for you. But now, you can feel yourself coming undone faster than you’d anticipated. You let out a breathy whine, clamping down around him as you climax. Your thoughts are blurry with oxytocin and all you can do is cling to him, panting. A moment later, he lets out a guttural moan and you feel him cum inside you. The head of his cock nudges against your g-spot in concentrated motions. You feel a build up, then release as you squirt around him.

You stay there for a minute, catching your breath and clinging to each other. After a minute, he pulls out, pressing soft kisses to your neck, then your cheek, then, thumb brushing your lip gently, your mouth.

He gazes at you, expression less clouded, but still just as lustful. You tear your gaze away, unable to process the intense and complicated emotions. You open your mouth to say something, but before you can, your eyes land on the clock.

“Oh, shit,” you say, accepting the wet wipes he hands you to clean up, and hopping off the counter to shimmy your pants back up. You pull out your phone and dial a number.

“Yeah, hi, I’d like to order a couple pizzas…”

Leo watches you do this, hastily fixing his clothes. Right… oh fuck, you were supposed to be making dinner this whole time. You give the guy your address, thank him, and hang up.

“Fifteen minutes tops.” you state.

“Good catch,” he says, starting to put away the various unused cutting boards, bowls, and ingredients.

You let out a tsk, then start unbuttoning his shirt. He laughs, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Again, already?” he asks, and you roll your eyes.

“...Your shirt was misbuttoned.”

“Good catch.”

“Yeah, I seem to be pretty good at those.”

Satisfied with your work, you pat his chest. Placing the spice bottles back in the cabinet, you notice he still has lipstick all over his cheek and neck. You grab another wipe and place your hand on his cheek to keep him still. You dab at the smudge, and he flinches almost imperceptibly at the chill from the moisture.

By the time you’re done cleaning up the kitchen - and each other - the pizza and sides have arrived. You thank the delivery guy, an awkward looking college kid, and he scratches the back of his neck, blushing. You close the door before he can ask for your number.

Leo lets everyone know that dinner’s ready, and soon you’re gathered in the living room with all his friends. They’re introduced quickly. You go back to the kitchen for a side you forgot, and hear yet another set of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“This is what you spent so long in the kitchen for?”

There she is.

You exit, carrying in a tray of breadsticks.

“Surprise.” you state. You can feel her stare on the back of your neck. You ignore her, keeping your gaze forward as the temperature drops in the room, Leo’s friends sensing the tension. She huffs after a minute, and stomps back up the stairs, her door slamming behind her.

It’s silent for a moment.

“Who’s hungry?” you ask rhetorically, opening up pizza boxes as people start to dig in.

Later that night after dinner, you can’t sleep. You’re lying in bed, clothes strewn across the floor, freezing cold. You wonder if Leo’s room is already messy too. You can picture him opening the door, taking one look around, and making some clever joke. You stare at the door.

It stays closed.

You huff, rolling over. Jesus christ, you can’t get comfortable. And you can’t get warm. Maybe it would be warmer if… You let out a sigh. Your fingertips skim down your waist to your hips and thighs, imagining someone else’s touch.

‘He’s probably really clingy,’ you think, staring up at your ceiling, moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains, the spotless night sky casting everything in a blue glow. If he were in here right now he’d probably insist on cuddling with you. The idea makes you laugh. Your stomach drops as you realize you’ve been thinking about Leo a lot tonight.

“I bet that would drive old Cally crazy,” you mutter. Of course you’ve been thinking about Leo a lot, because you’re not really thinking about how much you like him, you’re thinking about how much you hate Calypso. Which is a lot. You’re so sick of her and you’ve interacted for a grand total of five minutes. You interrupt your stream of consciousness, trying to redirect your thoughts anywhere else. Fuck, why are the pillows so soft? You shift again, jamming the fluff under your neck at a different angle, to no avail. You grit your teeth, eyes wandering across the blank ceiling. You notice a slightly darker color peeking out in tiny spots here and there from the bright white molding along the walls. Your eyes drift back down to the door. You lay there, uncomfortable, sick of sleeping, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does. You let out an audible groan, rolling over again.

Just down the hall, Leo’s also laying in bed, staring at the ceiling. An immovable faint smile rests on his lips, events from earlier today playing over and over in his mind like a movie he’s seen a thousand times, but can’t get sick of. He thinks back to when you first met, how intimidating you’d been, how terrifying you’d made yourself seem. He doesn’t know why everyone else is still scared of you; after a short amount of time together, it was so easy to see past that persona you put up. His fingers trace over his lips, mind once again wandering back to your touch. He lets out a soft chuckle, face warm, looking away towards the window.

He’s getting much better at understanding you, he realizes, that’s why you don’t seem so scary. He thinks you’re starting to understand him, too. This must be true, he thinks, because of how quickly you turned around that situation with Calypso in the kitchen. He doesn’t think a lot of people could have picked up on how he was feeling so quickly - unless they were paying really close attention to him or something. He bites back another smile.

His gaze floats around the room again, this time landing on the doorway. He knows right then and there that if you came into his room in the middle of the night to fool around there’s no way he’d turn you down. You could probably proposition him anywhere - including in front of two for one cookie crisp - and he’d be so, so down. You’re just so… cute. He realizes he can’t think of anyone as cute as you are. It’s so fun, and surprisingly easy to fluster you. He thinks back to the look on your face, the way you clung to him trying to catch your breath after your time in the kitchen.

He wonders if he could fluster you like that again.

He’s about to roll over and try to sleep when his door quietly creeks open, revealing you, pajama clad and wrapped in a cardigan. Once you see that he’s up, you look away quickly, avoiding his eyes. You let out a sigh, clearly seeming annoyed, but it’s obvious to him how glad you are that he’s still awake.

“Hi,” he says quietly, voice sounding strange in the resounding silence.

“...Hi.” you reply curtly.

A beat passes.

“You come here often?” he asks, that ever present layer of humor in his voice.

You let out a scoff. After a moment you reply.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Okay,” he says softly, encouraging you to continue.

“It was too cold.” You don’t know why you always end up talking so much around him, but it’s hard to stop yourself.

“Okay,” he says again, curious to see where you’re going with this.

“I couldn’t get comfortable, and I’m not even that tired,” you add in a huff. He fights back a blossoming smile.

“Okay,” he says again.

“And, I’m sick of sleeping, and- will you stop saying okay and move over?” You say, more of a statement, and toss your cardigan on the foot of the bed.

He lets out a soft chuckle and moves over, lifting up the blankets for you to crawl under. You press your face into his chest, arms around his torso, already feeling yourself start to thaw out.

“You know,” he says quietly, feigning surprise, “I didn’t take you for the cuddling type.” You don’t need to look at him to know the exact smirk on his face as he speaks.

“I told you,” you say, really glad he can’t see your face right now, “I’m cold.” It’s bullshit, you both know it, but you have to say something. He pulls you closer, gently rubbing the small of your back.

“Right,” he agrees, politely ignoring the obvious, real reason you’re here. He traces his hand up your side, to your waist, and down your hips and thigh.

“Do you…want some help warming up?”

Before he can finish, you’re already pressing kisses to the side of his neck.

“Yes,” you murmur. He grabs your waist and flips you over enthusiastically pinning you to the bed, making you giggle. It rings through the room like ripples in a pond as still as glass. He adds that to his mental list of times he’s made you laugh.

You trace your finger over his lips, gazing at him with that look he’s only seen on you a few times. After a moment that feels both too short and like eternity, you close the distance.

His lips are warm, and his hands are warm, everything about him is just so warm. He angles his head, deepening the kiss, using the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. Between the way you tug up his shirt and the sudden heat from your face, he thinks he can fluster you again.

He wonders how many times he can do it in one night.

[killerandhealerqueen]

I look Under the Skin and Shen is such a cutie, and I want to wrap him in a blanket and hug him. How about 5+1? I asked this for a Killer and a Healer, it's interesting to see this here. Five times when Shen Yi was kissed on the lips against his will and once when he was asked about it.

Oooh, I like it, I like it

First Time

The first time Shen Yi was kissed without his permission was when he was seventeen

He, and the girl he had considered his best (and only) friend, were painting at the abandoned building by the sea when his friend looked at him

“Hey Shen Yi.  Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Shen Yi looked over at her and shook his head

“No, why?”

“Do you want to?”

Shen Yi frowned

“Huh?”

Before he could even say anything, his friend grabbed him by the face and kissed him, his eyes widening in shock as she pulled away and hummed

“I don’t see why everyone says it’s so special…didn’t feel very special to me”

Shen Yi blinked before he looked away

“Yeah…didn’t feel very special to me either”

That was his first kiss…and it was stolen/treated like nothing

He was going to have to be more careful from now on

Second Time

The second time Shen Yi was kissed without his permission was during a faculty party

It was a casual drinking party for all of the new staff to get to know each other, and since Shen Yi was one of the new staff (even though he was part time), all of the staff tried to make him feel as welcome as possible

Unfortunately, a lot of his coworkers got drunk and started hanging all over him, making him want to sink into the floor and disappear

And then…one of his coworkers kissed him

Shen Yi was shocked by the action but just chocked it up to his coworker being drunk and they probably wouldn’t remember in the morning, which was what he wanted

If they could forget about it….then he could forget about it too

Third Time

The third time Shen Yi was kissed without his permission was during a stalking case…his stalking case

He hadn’t even realized he had a stalker until he was walking home and he felt like someone was…watching him

He tried to not think about it too much and quickly made it inside, but he definitely didn’t sleep well that night

Over the next couple of days, the feeling of being watched didn’t go away until one day, when they were searching the streets for a criminal and Shen Yi was off on his own, he was knocked unconscious

When he woke up, he found himself tied to a chair and a strange woman standing before him, her eyes slightly crazed

“I finally have you alone…you’re all mine now…”

Shen Yi’s eyes widened in fear and he tried to struggle, but the ropes around his wrist were too tight

“No, no, Shen Yi…don’t fight…don’t fight”

She then walked over to him and kissed him harshly on the mouth, just as Du Cheng and the others burst into the warehouse

“Police!”

The woman pulled away and turned to look at Du Cheng as he pointed his gun at her

“Step away from him.  Now”

The woman smirked

“Or what”

Du Cheng narrowed his eyes

“Or I’ll shoot”

The woman scoffed

“I don’t believe you”

Du Cheng continued to narrow his eyes at her before he pulled the slide back and pointed the gun at her feet, firing a shot a few inches from her

Both Shen Yi and the woman flinched as Du Cheng pointed his gun at the woman

“Now step away from him”

The woman thankfully did as she was told, stepping away from Shen Yi as Jiang Feng ran forward to arrest her, Du Cheng running over to Shen Yi to untie him

“How did you find me?”

“The tracker in your phone and in your watch…can’t lose you, you know?”

Shen Yi nodded and as Du Cheng helped him out of chair, he stumbled forward and crashed into Du Cheng’s chest, Du Cheng’s arms going around him

“Shen Yi?  You good?”

“Yeah…I just want to go home”

Du Cheng nodded

“’Kay.  Let’s go home”

Fourth Time

The fourth time Shen Yi was kissed without his permission was surprisingly by Du Cheng himself

They were on an undercover mission and had…unfortunately gotten caught, causing them to take off running through the gallery before they came upon an empty room, both of them panting

“That was too fucking close”

Shen Yi nodded in agreement, just as the door to the room began to open, causing Du Cheng and Shen Yi to look over at it with wide eyes before Du Cheng stepped over to Shen Yi and grabbed his face in his hands

“Sorry about this”

“Du Cheng, what—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, Du Cheng crashed his lips onto his, causing his eyes to widen as the doors flew open

“What are you two doing in here?”

Du Cheng then slowly pulled away from Shen Yi, who was stunned to say the least, before he turned to glare at the people who “interrupted” them

“Do you mind?”

The two guards glanced at each other in embarrassment before they dipped their heads

“Excuse us”

They then left the room, shutting the door behind them as Du Cheng stepped back and looked at Shen Yi

“Just forget that happened, okay?”

Shen Yi nodded, but the problem was…he couldn’t forget it.  He could pretend that he had forgotten it but…he never did

Fifth Time

The fifth time Shen Yi was kissed without his permission was at one of Du Qing’s parties

Du Cheng, of course, was late and had left Shen Yi alone with Du Qing’s rich friends and Shen Yi hated parties

Well, he didn’t hate them, but he was terrible at small talk and it was hard to make conversation with people who were so much richer than him…most of the time they didn’t have anything in common and it just ended up them standing awkwardly in silence

‘God, I want to be anywhere but here’

When there was a lull in the conversation, Shen Yi quickly slipped away to get some air, taking a deep breath as he looked out over the city

“I’ve been looking for you all night”

Shen Yi’s eyes widened and he turned, hoping that it would be Du Cheng, but instead it was someone he didn’t know, looking at him with bedroom eyes

At the sight of the person, he quickly pushed off the balcony and made to disappear when the person grabbed his arm and pinned him against the balcony, causing his eyes to widen as they got closer, leaning in

“You’re so pretty…I couldn’t keep my eyes off you”

Shen Yi shook his head

“Let me go”

“Just let me do something first”

The person then leaned forward and kissed him, Shen Yi’s eyes widening before he shoved them away and rushed back into the party, only to slam into someone who let out a soft “oof” as their bodies connected

He then looked up to see Du Cheng looking at him in confusion

“Shen Yi?  Are you okay?”

Shen Yi shook his head

“I want to go home”

Du Cheng frowned

“Now?  But the party just—”

“Please”

At his tone, Du Cheng’s frown deepened but he didn’t say anything as he wrapped an arm around Shen Yi and guided him through the party towards the door, making a mental note to text his sister where they had gone

+1 Sixth Time

The first time Shen Yi was kissed with his permission was once again, at one of Du Qing’s parties

Shen Yi and Du Cheng were out on the balcony, drinking champagne in silence, when Du Cheng looked over at Shen Yi

“Shen Yi”

Shen Yi looked over at him, his eyes wide, and tilted his head

“Yes?”

“Do you remember that mission that we almost got caught on?  The one where I kissed you in that room?”

Shen Yi paused before he nodded; of course he remembered.  He remembered every kiss that was stolen from him

Du Cheng then took a deep breath

“Can I do it again?  But…properly this time?”

Shen Yi blinked in surprise

“You’re…you’re asking?  You’re not just going to take it?”

Du Cheng shook his head

“No.  I should have asked the first time, but I didn’t think and just did, without even thinking about you.  I’m sorry”

Shen Yi blinked again before he lowered his gaze

“Oh…”

Du Cheng tilted his head

“What’s wrong?”

Shen Yi glanced at him before he shook his head

“No, it’s just…this is the first time someone’s asked.  Every other time, they’ve just…done it”

He then laughed mirthlessly

“You know, my first kiss was stolen from me when I was seventeen.  I didn’t want it to be special, but I didn’t also want it to just be treated as nothing…”

He then felt a gentle hand on his cheek, causing him to look up to see Du Cheng looking at him, a fond smile on his face as he pushed off the railing and stepped over to him

“Can I, then?  Make this one special?”

Shen Yi’s eyes widened before he nodded

“Yes”

Du Cheng smiled before he leaned down and captured Shen Yi’s lips with his, the kiss softer and gentler than any of the kisses Shen Yi had experienced previously

When they pulled away, Du Cheng chuckled

“Better?”

Shen Yi blushed as he nodded

“Yes”

Du Cheng smiled before he pulled Shen Yi in for a hug, Shen Yi snuggling against him

While he couldn’t forget any of the other kisses that he had stolen from him…he definitely wouldn’t forget this one.  This was different.  Like Du Cheng said, it was better

[flowesona]

Wicker Man - yandere! jungkook x reader

so my child @babeejk​ wanted a y! sugar daddy jungkook, and i live for nothing if not to fulfil her jungkook obsession so here we are. 

word count: 2.1k

pairing: y! jungkook x gn! reader

Most people (Y/N)’s age would spend their Friday night partying, hanging out with friends, trying new things. But (Y/N) was spending the best days of their life entertaining a young, rich CEO who would no doubt dump them for a new pretty face in a few years.

Jungkook was a sweet gentleman. Always made payments on time, and usually never pushed the boundaries. But there were instances where his hands crept a little too far for (Y/N)’s liking, or his grip on (Y/N)’s arm got a little too tight in the presence of his friends.

He was peaceful enough that Friday night, having ordered takeout for the two of them and put on a movie. Clearly, he needed the company of (Y/N) more than their body as most of their previous sugar daddies had coveted.

With (Y/N) placing their plate down onto the coffee table and relaxing into his arms to watch the movie, it was almost like they were dating. Jungkook didn’t dare push this idea often, happy to stick to the simple domesticity they had as if they were already in love and nothing needed to be said.

He pressed a kiss on the back of (Y/N)’s neck, enjoying the fleeting feeling of his lips on their skin. 

“You seem tired, baby. Want to go to bed?” The film was reaching its climax, but (Y/N)’s eyes were barely able to stay open.

“Mmmmm.” They replied, not protesting as he lifted them like a bride and carried them into his room to rest on his king sized bed.

(Y/N) had allowed a gentle smile to settle on their lips, their eyes having drifted closed. Jungkook settled himself beside them, feeling equally as at peace.

“I wish every night could be like this.” He mused allowed. “Would you like that, baby?”

(Y/N) was only his for two nights a week - Fridays and Saturdays, wherein he would often have them stay for the night.

“Mmmmm.” (Y/N) gave an ambiguous grumble as he hooked his arms around their chest to spoon them.

“Really? I can’t wait, baby. I love you, so much.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

The morning after, (Y/N) woke up to an empty bed. Unusual, considering that Jungkook loved to wake up beside them and talk in the morning. Brushing that aside they stood up and padded out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Jungkook was seated at the counter, glasses perched on his nose and his laptop in front of him next to a steaming cup of hot water (allegedly, it had health benefits but (Y/N) had never understood it).

“Good morning, baby.” Jungkook had a bright smile, beckoning them to join him at the counter. (Y/N) followed his instructions, hopping onto the stool beside him and leaning on his shoulder in a move they knew he adored.

“I’ve been working hard for you this morning, baby. You know, I want to get this done as soon as possible so we can be together.”

“That’s good.” (Y/N) hummed in reply.

“How do you feel about the moving company getting there at two today? That’ll give us time to have lunch on the way.” Jungkook ran his hand down their arm, soothing them as he noticed how they tensed up.

“What?” 

“So you can move in, baby. Of course, you don’t have to bring everything here and I’ll be more than happy to buy anything extra you need-”

“Wait, wait, wait a second.” (Y/N) breathed out slowly. “Moving in?”

“We talked about it last night. You agreed, didn’t you?” (Y/N) scrunched up their nose, trying to recall the conversation but drawing a blank.

“No, I never agreed to that. And I never would. It’d break the terms of our contract.”

Jungkook had such a sincere look of hurt in his eyes that it tugged at (Y/N)’s heartstrings.

“We don’t need that contract, baby. We just need each other. You know I’ll give you anything you want, right?” 

“And what I want… no, what I need… is for some space. This is just my part time hustle, I still have college and a life outside of this. I want to keep it to two days a week, otherwise it’ll blur the lines between you as a sugar daddy and you as a boyfriend.” (Y/N) tried not to let their irritation show as they spoke.

“Fuck the lines, (Y/N)! We don’t need any of those labels, I just want you to be mine as much as I am yours!” Their companion’s grip on their arm had grown tighter to the point that his nails started to draw blood. Realising this, (Y/N) pried his hand away and stood up.

“I’m sorry if I’d misled you. But I’m not looking for that kind of relationship with you, I’m just looking for strictly business. If this doesn’t work, maybe we should end this.” 

Jungkook stared at them incredulously.

“Well…” He bit his lip, deep in thought. “Fine. Life will go on, I guess. I’ll call up the moving company and cancel it. Let’s not end this beautiful thing we have over a silly argument.”

(Y/N) nodded, although they had a horrible feeling in their stomach that it was not the end of the conversation, and Jungkook would stop at nothing to get his way.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

(Y/N) had chosen to make Thursday a ‘me’ day. They cooked themselves breakfast and lunch, did some online shopping and applied a face mask. They had zero intentions of visiting anyone else, when all they wanted to do was de-stress from life.

As they were lighting a candle and listening to some Beethoven, a shrill alarm rang out.

‘Huh. They don’t normally hold the drill today.’ (Y/N) shrugged, waiting for it to cease. However, it didn’t stop.

After a few minutes, (Y/N) grabbed their phone and stepped outside, only to see people hurrying down the stairs. 

“Hurry! Fire!” One of her neighbours yelled, jogging past them. 

Their eyes widened, but sure enough they could see smoke curling throughout the air and they knew they had no time to lose. Leaving their apartment with only their phone in hand, (Y/N) followed their neighbours down the stairs and out of the building, standing on the pavement as they watched the flames licking at the building and smoke billowing out of the open windows. Soon enough there were fire engines on the scene and ambulances to deal with the people who’d inhaled too much smoke. 

(Y/N) found themselves sitting on the pavement, numb with shock. To think everything they owned was going up in the flames was terrifying, even as they saw the firefighters doing everything to minimise the damage. 

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Their state of shock was broken by someone yelling their name, and suddenly they were pulled into a tight hug.

“Baby, thank god you’re okay. I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened to you.” 

“Jungkook?” (Y/N) instantly recognised the voice. “What- How-”

“I was in the area when I heard about what happened. I came as quickly as I could.” Jungkook pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead. 

“You need to rest. Come back to my place, okay?”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

(Y/N) had ended up staying there far longer than intended. Their apartment had been completely wrecked by the fire, since it had started on their floor. Every possession of theirs, gone so quickly, although of course Jungkook insisted on replacing whatever they wanted.

Jungkook seemed to be very much content with their prolonged stay. In fact, he’d been working from home for the first few days to make sure they were settled in and not feeling too lonely. (Y/N) would sit with him in his home office, since they didn’t really have much else to do, and scroll on their phone until he inevitably called them over to cuddle with him. 

The young man had become progressively bolder with his skinship, never holding back from pressing kisses to their neck or holding them a bit too tightly to his crotch. They hadn’t done ‘it’ yet, but with how he was acting it was only a matter of time. 

They were just sitting together, (Y/N) scrolling through instagram and Jungkook answering some emails when the desk phone rang. Jungkook reached around them to answer it, holding it to his ear for a few seconds before putting it back down.

“Your nintendo switch has just been delivered. I need to go down to the lobby and sign for it. Are you okay waiting here for a few minutes?” Jungkook pouted, as (Y/N) nodded in reply.

He pressed a kiss to their cheek before standing up.

“Don’t miss me too much, baby.” He smiled before leaving. 

(Y/N) let out a breath they didn’t realise they’d been holding in whilst he was there. But now, they were bored as ever. 

A chime rang out, and (Y/N) found their attention drawn to Jungkook’s phone, sitting there innocently. They reached over and picked it up, only seeing a text from his mother asking about dinner plans next week. But they noted how he’d changed his lockscreen to a picture of them, from a few nights ago when they’d accompanied him to a formal event and he’d asked one of his colleagues to take a picture of them together.

(Y/N) suddenly had something to do. They set about trying to unlock Jungkook’s phone, first trying their fingerprint and face ID but to no avail. Then, realising that he had a numeral password they tried typing in a few dates - his birthday, his parent’s anniversary. Then, out of sheer boredom and with only one attempt they tried their own birthday only for them to be granted access to his lockscreen.

‘Jeez, he needs to get a life if he’s that whipped for me.’ They sighed, as they scrolled through his phone. Nothing was particularly out of the ordinary, until they checked the photo gallery, to be met with tons of pictures of them. Screenshots from social media, snaps from their ‘dates’, selfies with them fast asleep in his arms. It was enough to make (Y/N) shudder with fright.

Another message popped up.

‘I need the other half of the payment, sir, or I will be contacting the police.’

(Y/N) clicked on it, expecting business talk only to be met with something else entirely. Fear settled in their stomach as they scrolled up through the messages.

‘(Y/N) has been evacuated outside, doesn’t seem to have been hurt.’

‘Someone’s called emergency services, but the fire should spread far enough that (Y/N)’s apartment will be damaged.’

‘I’ve started it, it’s spreading quickly.’

It didn’t take a genius to realise what had happened. 

(Y/N) dropped Jungkook’s phone on the floor in shock, standing up immediately. They’d walked right into his arms without hesitation, they’d played into his plan perfectly. Jungkook always got what he wanted, no matter the cost.

‘I have to get out of here.’

(Y/N) started for the door, only stopping to tuck their phone into their pocket. They were just by the entrance to the penthouse when they heard talking outside.

They knew they had to hide, but it was too late. 

Jungkook burst through the door, accompanied by a stern faced delivery driver carrying a large box. This was subsequently placed by the door and he made a swift exit, avoiding (Y/N)’s existence the entire time.

“Ah, baby I missed you. Here, come and see what I bought for you.” Jungkook beckoned to them, but one look at their face told him he’d read their mood entirely wrong.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He cooed as he approached them. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it for you.”

“Get the hell away from me.” (Y/N) snapped. Jungkook froze. “I know what you did. What the hell is wrong with you? I could’ve died in that fire?”

His face became stern.

“I would never have allowed that to happen. I just wanted to give you a little push to move in with me, that’s all.” 

“You’re insane!”

“And you’re too stubborn to progress our relationship!” Jungkook bit back. “Can’t you see how hard I try to make you happy? Is that not enough for you to love me?”

“I never want to see you again.” (Y/N) huffed, trying to show past him only to be caught in his iron grip. 

“You’re not going anywhere.”

(Y/N) struggled, but Jungkook’s determination was stronger than their body weight.

“Maybe I am crazy, baby. And you know what that means?” He leant in close, so (Y/N) could feel the warmth of his breath. “You never know what I’m going to do next. So don’t try me unless you want to get burnt.”

[publicdomainbooks]

CHAPTER 39

THE EXPLOSION AND ITS RESULTS

The next day, which was the twenty-seventh of August, was a date celebrated in our wondrous subterranean journey. I never think of it even now, but I shudder with horror. My heart beats wildly at the very memory of that awful day.

From this time forward, our reason, our judgment, our human ingenuity, have nothing to do with the course of events. We are about to become the plaything of the great phenomena of the earth!

At six o'clock we were all up and ready. The dreaded moment was arriving when we were about to seek an opening into the interior of the earth by means of gunpowder. What would be the consequences of breaking through the crust of the earth?

I begged that it might be my duty to set fire to the mine. I looked upon it as an honor. This task once performed, I could rejoin my friends upon the raft, which had not been unloaded. As soon as we were all ready, we were to sail away to some distance to avoid the consequences of the explosion, the effects of which would certainly not be concentrated in the interior of the earth.

The slow match we calculated to burn for about ten minutes, more or less, before it reached the chamber in which the great body of powder was confined. I should therefore have plenty of time to reach the raft and put off to a safe distance.

I prepared to execute my self-allotted task—not, it must be confessed, without considerable emotion.

After a hearty repast, my uncle and the hunter-guide embarked on board the raft, while I remained alone upon the desolate shore.

I was provided with a lantern which was to enable me to set fire to the wick of the infernal machine.

"Go, my boy," said my uncle, "and Heaven be with you. But come back as soon as you can. I shall be all impatience."

"Be easy on that matter," I replied, "there is no fear of my delaying on the road."

Having said this, I advanced toward the opening of the somber gallery. My heart beat wildly. I opened my lantern and seized the extremity of the wick.

The Professor, who was looking on, held his chronometer in his hand.

"Are you ready?" cried he.

"Quite ready."

"Well, then, fire away!"

I hastened to put the light to the wick, which crackled and sparkled, hissing and spitting like a serpent; then, running as fast as I could, I returned to the shore.

"Get on board, my lad, and you, Hans, shove off," cried my uncle.

By a vigorous application of his pole Hans sent us flying over the water. The raft was quite twenty fathoms distant.

It was a moment of palpitating interest, of deep anxiety. My uncle, the Professor, never took his eyes off the chronometer.

"Only five minutes more," he said in a low tone, "only four, only three."

My pulse went a hundred to the minute. I could hear my heart beating.

"Only two, one! Now, then, mountains of granite, crumble beneath the power of man!"

What happened after that? As to the terrific roar of the explosion, I do not think I heard it. But the form of the rocks completely changed in my eyes—they seemed to be drawn aside like a curtain. I saw a fathomless, a bottomless abyss, which yawned beneath the turgid waves. The sea, which seemed suddenly to have gone mad, then became one great mountainous mass, upon the top of which the raft rose perpendicularly.

We were all thrown down. In less than a second the light gave place to the most profound obscurity. Then I felt all solid support give way not to my feet, but to the raft itself. I thought it was going bodily down a tremendous well. I tried to speak, to question my uncle. Nothing could be heard but the roaring of the mighty waves. We clung together in utter silence.

Despite the awful darkness, despite the noise, the surprise, the emotion, I thoroughly understood what had happened.

Beyond the rock which had been blown up, there existed a mighty abyss. The explosion had caused a kind of earthquake in this soil, broken by fissures and rents. The gulf, thus suddenly thrown open, was about to swallow the inland sea which, transformed into a mighty torrent, was dragging us with it.

Only one idea filled my mind. We were utterly and completely lost!

One hour, two hours—what more I cannot say, passed in this manner. We sat close together, elbow touching elbow, knee touching knee! We held one another's hands not to be thrown off the raft. We were subjected to the most violent shocks, whenever our sole dependence, a frail wooden raft, struck against the rocky sides of the channel. Fortunately for us, these concussions became less and less frequent, which made me fancy that the gallery was getting wider and wider. There could be now no doubt that we had chanced upon the road once followed by Saknussemm, but instead of going down in a proper manner, we had, through our own imprudence, drawn a whole sea with us!

These ideas presented themselves to my mind in a very vague and obscure manner. I felt rather than reasoned. I put my ideas together only confusedly, while spinning along like a man going down a waterfall. To judge by the air which, as it were, whipped my face, we must have been rushing at a perfectly lightning rate.

To attempt under these circumstances to light a torch was simply impossible, and the last remains of our electric machine, of our Ruhmkorff coil, had been destroyed during the fearful explosion.

I was therefore very much confused to see at last a bright light shining close to me. The calm countenance of the guide seemed to gleam upon me. The clever and patient hunter had succeeded in lighting the lantern; and though, in the keen and thorough draft, the flame flickered and vacillated and was nearly put out, it served partially to dissipate the awful obscurity.

The gallery into which we had entered was very wide. I was, therefore, quite right in that part of my conjecture. The insufficient light did not allow us to see both of the walls at the same time. The slope of waters, which was carrying us away, was far greater than that of the most rapid river of America. The whole surface of the stream seemed to be composed of liquid arrows, darted forward with extreme violence and power. I can give no idea of the impression it made upon me.

The raft, at times, caught in certain whirlpools, and rushed forward, yet turned on itself all the time. How it did not upset I shall never be able to understand. When it approached the sides of the gallery, I took care to throw upon them the light of the lantern, and I was able to judge of the rapidity of motion by looking at the projecting masses of rock, which as soon as seen were again invisible. So rapid was our progress that points of rock at a considerable distance one from the other appeared like portions of transverse lines, which enclosed us in a kind of net, like that of a line of telegraphic wires.

I believe we were now going at a rate of not less than a hundred miles an hour.

My uncle and I looked at one another with wild and haggard eyes; we clung convulsively to the stump of the mast, which, at the moment when the catastrophe took place, had snapped short off. We turned our backs as much as possible to the wind, in order not to be stifled by a rapidity of motion which nothing human could face and live.

And still the long monotonous hours went on. The situation did not change in the least, though a discovery I suddenly made seemed to complicate it very much.

When we had slightly recovered our equilibrium, I proceeded to examine our cargo. I then made the unsatisfactory discovery that the greater part of it had utterly disappeared.

I became alarmed, and determined to discover what were our resources. My heart beat at the idea, but it was absolutely necessary to know on what we had to depend. With this view, I took the lantern and looked around.

Of all our former collection of nautical and philosophical instruments, there remained only the chronometer and the compass. The ladders and ropes were reduced to a small piece of rope fastened to the stump of the mast. Not a pickax, not a crowbar, not a hammer, and, far worse than all, no food—not enough for one day!

This discovery was a prelude to a certain and horrible death.

Seated gloomily on the raft, clasping the stump of the mast mechanically, I thought of all I had read as to sufferings from starvation.

I remembered everything that history had taught me on the subject, and I shuddered at the remembrance of the agonies to be endured.

Maddened at the prospects of enduring the miseries of starvation, I persuaded myself that I must be mistaken. I examined the cracks in the raft; I poked between the joints and beams; I examined every possible hole and corner. The result was—simply nothing!

Our stock of provisions consisted of nothing but a piece of dry meat and some soaked and half-moldy biscuits.

I gazed around me scared and frightened. I could not understand the awful truth. And yet of what consequence was it in regard to any new danger? Supposing that we had had provisions for months, and even for years, how could we ever get out of the awful abyss into which we were being hurled by the irresistible torrent we had let loose?

Why should we trouble ourselves about the sufferings and tortures to be endured from hunger when death stared us in the face under so many other swifter and perhaps even more horrid forms?

It was very doubtful, under the circumstances in which we were placed, if we should have time to die of inanition.

But the human frame is singularly constituted.

I know not how it was; but, from some singular hallucination of the mind, I forgot the real, serious, and immediate danger to which we were exposed, to think of the menaces of the future, which appeared before us in all their naked terror. Besides, after all, suggested Hope, perhaps we might finally escape the fury of the raging torrent, and once more revisit the glimpses of the moon, on the surface of our beautiful Mother Earth.

How was it to be done? I had not the remotest idea. Where were we to come out? No matter, so that we did.

One chance in a thousand is always a chance, while death from hunger gave us not even the faintest glimpse of hope. It left to the imagination nothing but blank horror, without the faintest chance of escape!

I had the greatest mind to reveal all to my uncle, to explain to him the extraordinary and wretched position to which we were reduced, in order that, between the two, we might make a calculation as to the exact space of time which remained for us to live.

It was, it appeared to me, the only thing to be done. But I had the courage to hold my tongue, to gnaw at my entrails like the Spartan boy. I wished to leave him all his coolness.

At this moment, the light of the lantern slowly fell, and at last went out!

The wick had wholly burnt to an end. The obscurity became absolute. It was no longer possible to see through the impenetrable darkness! There was one torch left, but it was impossible to keep it alight. Then, like a child, I shut my eyes, that I might not see the darkness.

After a great lapse of time, the rapidity of our journey increased. I could feel it by the rush of air upon my face. The slope of the waters was excessive. I began to feel that we were no longer going down a slope; we were falling. I felt as one does in a dream, going down bodily—falling; falling; falling!

I felt that the hands of my uncle and Hans were vigorously clasping my arms.

Suddenly, after a lapse of time scarcely appreciable, I felt something like a shock. The raft had not struck a hard body, but had suddenly been checked in its course. A waterspout, a liquid column of water, fell upon us. I felt suffocating. I was being drowned.

Still the sudden inundation did not last. In a few seconds I felt myself once more able to breathe. My uncle and Hans pressed my arms, and the raft carried us all three away.

[nightshade-minho]

-Blue Book- (7)

Warnings: a kiss.

Word Count: 2.2k

"You seem like you're in a hurry." Felix pointed out, chuckling as Chan's eyes kept darting to the clock in the classroom.

"Please turn to page no. 45..."

"I have plans with Y/n." Chan explained under his breath.

"Oh."

"Yeah..." He tapped his foot impatiently, almost breaking his pencil from clutching it too hard.

The bell rang finally, Chan jumping out of his place as he left the classroom quickly, making his way through the hallway to get to your locker- only to bump right into Minho.

Chan grabbed him before he could fall, helping him to his feet as he cursed.

"Fuck- are you okay?"

Minho glared at him, shaking his head and muttering inaudibly. Chan tuned him out as he suddenly caught a glance of you, standing near Miyoung's locker and talking to her, gesticulating like you always did when you got excited about something. He noticed you'd worn your hair differently today, up in a ponytail. It made you look adorable, and a giddy smile made its way onto Chan's face.

"Bro- are you even listening to me?" Minho hissed, confused as he followed Chan's gaze to you and Miyoung. Slowly, he understood.

"If you want her, you're going to have to get that book, Channie." Minho chuckled, noting Chan's borderline lovesick expression.

Chan snapped back to reality, frowning at Minho. "Why do you even want that book? Is it that important?"

"The same reasons you do? Although that last bit is something you need to ask yourself, Chan." Minho raised his eyebrow.

Confusion filled him as Minho's words sunk in, the boy leaving him and going over to Miyoung.

***

"So, where do you want to go?"

"Hmm, I hadn't really planned anything today. I wanted to do something, just the two of us."

"Oh." You blushed, as Chan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to think.

"Wait...I have an idea!" You spoke up. "Okay, so drive to this place." You told him the directions, excitement filling you as Chan smiled, driving you where you'd asked him to. The ride was long, and it seemed like half an hour later you were finally there.

Chan parked the car near the building, looking around and realizing he'd never come to this part of town before. You bounced in your seat, taking off your seatbelt and looking at him. "Okay, I'm going to go get us a ticket. I'll be right back."

You smiled and opened the door, getting out and disappearing from his view.

Chan leaned back as he waited for you to come back, humming a tune he'd made up in his head. A few minutes passed, and he ran a hand through his hair.

Ever so slowly, his eyes drifted to your seat, your bag left open....and the blue book, poking out from the top.

Should he? Minho's words flashed in his mind, his heart pounding as he slowly reached his fingers out, hovering over the book. Just a little more, and his fingers would close around the edge. This would all be over...

No.

Chan withdrew his hand, unable to do it. He just couldn't, and he himself couldn't fully understand why.

***

Minho felt like he was squeezing the life out of his poor straw, trying to get the last few drops of vanilla milkshake into his mouth as Miyoung scrolled through her gallery, showing him the photos she'd taken at the mall.

"And this is Y/n in the green dress. She looks pretty, doesn't she? Oh, and I actually found this matching pink one...I'd buy it, but I already bought mine weeks ago-"

Minho inwardly rolled his eyes, the boredom seeping deep into him as he tried to pretend like he was interested in what she was saying.

To be honest, he wasn't sure how long he could keep this up. He didn't share any interests with Miyoung...she was hot, but that was about it. There was absolutely no fire in this girl.

It was easy to show affection and engage in skinship when Chan was around. However, when the two of them were alone, he found it hard to keep up the facade, as his driving force of jealousy and anger was absent along with Chan. However, he knew he had to keep doing it, or his plan would never work.

Minho tried to stay focused as Miyoung showed her a selfie she'd taken of the four of them. God, this was so boring...

Wait.

He narrowed his eyes as he looked closer at the photo Miyoung was showing him. Interesting...

In it, Chan was looking at you....but it wasn't just any look. It was the same look from earlier that morning, when he'd thought he was looking at Miyoung. Slowly, realization dawned on his features. Oh.

"That's a nice picture."

***

Chan found himself loving the excitement radiating off you as you grabbed his hand, the tickets firm in your grasp as you led him to the all-white building.

"Where are we?" Chan asked, as you reached the entrance, handing the tickets to a scruffy old man.

The man stood up from his chair, digging into a big box and bringing out two good-looking headphones. You took them from him, thanking him and handing one to Chan.

"Well..." You smiled as you pushed the door open.

"I love art, and I know you love music. This is sort of a place where both come together." You said, watching Chan's eyes widen. "This is the Melody Art Museum. My dad used to take me here when I was young, whenever we visited this town. I heard it's getting shut down soon though, so I wanted to visit it once last time."

"Ah."

The space inside wasn't huge, but it looked like a museum, all right. The interior was all white, just like the outside, and there were paintings and sculptures lining the walls.

Chan made a sound of approval as you grabbed your hand and brought him to the first painting, the voice speaking through your headphones instructing you to do so.

"Okay, so, there's a small piece of music to accompany each piece of art here. They're correlated to each other." You explained. "If we take the correct amount of time to observe each piece and visit it all in order, it'll make sense, or else it won't work."

"Wow...that's a cool idea." Chan said in surprise, his interest growing.

And so you began the tour. You kept your hand around Chan's under the pretense of wanting to drag him to each exhibit. Deep inside, the sound of your heart pounding was easier to hear than the music blasting in your ears.

When the two of you finally reached the last one, Chan almost felt sad that it was over. He'd never been so profoundly interested in something. Although both of you were more interested in evaluating different things- you the art and him, the music- he found it extremely wonderful how this exhibition had managed to bring the two domains together, creating an interwoven midpoint that was all the more beautiful.

It told him that despite two entities being different, they could still work together, and in the process create something wonderful.

It was a good lesson to learn, that day.

***

"It's so late." You mumbled, lounging in the passenger seat of Chan's car as the two of you ate the burgers he'd gotten from the drive-through.

"It isn't that late, the sky darkened earlier today. Is your mom expecting you?" He asked between bites, looking over at you as you pulled out your phone, one-handed.

"Probably, yeah." You frowned as you pulled up your mom's text messages.

"Oh...nevermind." You raised an eyebrow as you read her text to you out loud to Chan.

(6:30 PM) Hey, sweetie...I would consider it a huge favor if you didn't come home tonight. My date and I are really hitting it off, and I'm trying to strike gold. Xoxo, mom.

Chan let out a snort as you finished reading. "Wow."

You whined in anger, shoving your phone back into your bag and taking a huge bite out of your sandwich. "I really hate her sometimes."

"Hey, it's okay." Chan sighed, placing a hand on top of yours. He paused. "You know, my parents are still away. You could always stay the night at my place."

Your eyes widened as you processed what he was suggesting. "Really?"

"Really." He said softly.

***

Chan and you watched a movie when you got home, half of which you slept through. He'd laughed and told you to turn in for the night, offering up his bedroom for you to sleep in.

Now you were lying in his bed, his scent filling your nostrils as you buried your face in his pillow. It had been raining when the two of you got home, and now that had evolved into a full fledged thunderstorm. You wished Chan hadn't chosen to sleep on the couch.

You whimpered, tossing in his bed as yet another streak of lightning flashed through the dark sky, the sound of thunder rumbling low.

Fuck it. That was the last straw. You sat up, stumbling off of Chan's bed and heading downstairs. Your heart was pounding, and all you needed was some comfort.

Chan sleepily turned over as he heard your footsteps, sitting up a little. Confused, he stared at you with half-open eyes. "Y/n? What's wrong?" He asked, frowning as he noticed your distressed expression. It ignited something in him...an urgent need to protect you from whatever was upsetting you so much. He still couldn't figure out why he was so affected by you.

You walked a little forward, wincing at the sound of another crack of thunder. Chan's eyes widened in understanding as he held his arms out to you.

Sleepily, you sat down and let him pull you into him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, gently rubbing circles into your side in an attempt to calm you down.

His face was too close to yours. Way too close. There was a mere inch separating your mouth from Chan's. Your heartbeat started racing, but this time not due to fear. Your eyes searched his, the dim moonlight softly illuminating his features, somehow making him look even more ethereal than he already was.

A flash of lightning momentarily lit up Chan's face, and you whimpered softly.

"Shh. It's okay, I'm here."

Gently, he adjusted your positions so he was spooning you, fingers wrapped around your waist as he nuzzled his nose into the back of your neck, letting out a sleepy hum.

Silence, except for the thunder as Chan carded his fingers through your hair, stroking you in a comforting manner. The storm raged on, yet you felt a lot warmer now.

"Chan...I like you a lot." You mumbled under your breath, hoping he hadn't heard your whisper. Unfortunately, he had.

"You do?" He asked softly, as you twisted your neck slightly, facing him.

"Yeah...I've never felt like this before." You said softly.

Chan couldn't help but feel guilt gripping his heart tightly. There was a perplexing mass of sadness and anger in his brain as he paused, taking a second to breathe.

Yeah, he'd started off in a place where all he wanted to do was get the girl of his dreams, willing to hurt others in the process. But at this point...He really didn't want to go through with it anymore.

All of Minho's threats and sly attempts to anger him disappeared into thin air as Chan tried to remember...what was he chasing, again? In the beginning, he'd only agreed to try and steal that book from you so he could get Minho to stay away from Miyoung, but now he couldn't care less about them. Chan took a step back and evaluated his position.

Here he was, harbouring strong possible feelings for you, while simultaneously breaking your heart, all in order to get something he wasn't even sure he wanted anymore.

Chan's eyes took in your big ones, looking up at him innocently, the ever-present twinkle shining in your pupils. And...he just couldn't take it any longer. He couldn't lie to himself anymore.

You swallowed as he leaned in slightly, his gaze heavy as he stared at you. Before you could even realize what was happening, you felt his lips press against yours softly.

Your mouth opened in slight shock as you processed what was happening. He was kissing you? Was this a dream?

In seconds, you felt your inhibitions melt away as his lips moved against yours ever so gently, his tongue taking the opportunity to slip into your open mouth. His fingers stayed in place on your waist, turning you to face him again. After a while he pulled away, breathing heavily as his eyes fell on your lips, swollen and red.

You looked slightly shocked, your cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide. As you fully processed what had just happened, you smiled shyly, burying your face in his chest out of embarrassment.

Chan found himself grinning, his heart filled with an odd sense of contentment. Was this...was this what it felt like to be happy?

It finally made sense. He had been chasing this emotion for years, thinking Miyoung was the key to his happiness. He'd been wrong.

Chan hadn't meant to fall for you. No. A small part of his brain was still screaming at him, telling him this was wrong. That he was making a grave mistake. But to be honest, he couldn't care less. His heart had made its decision.

You made him happy.

[filmwuju]

[TRANS] Character Introduction: Oh Mijoo

- released by writer Park Shihyun on Run On’s DC gallery board -

Oh Mijoo (Female, 29) / Foreign film translator

Candy definitely had depression. Because even if she's lonely and sad, she held it in and said she wouldn't cry. When a person lives life not relieving the feelings at the moment they arise, the heart gets sick. Mijoo didn't hold back. She's already lonely and sad, isn't it too harsh to tell her to hold it in on top of that?

When she was 10, she had a homework that asked her to think about how she would help her mom if she becomes a guardian angel. Thinking back as an adult, what an insensitive homework that was. Since she couldn't do the homework, the teacher grabbed the cane and her classmates made fun of her. Did Mijoo cry? No, she had no fear because she had nothing. She beat up the kids who made her angry, and spat out the words she wanted to say with no filter, regardless of who she's talking to. Someone said she has no manners, someone said she's uncultured. Someone even put it bluntly, saying she turned out that way because she grew up without her parents. No, I'm just that kind of person. Mijoo totally believed in the principle that human nature is evil. Because that seemed to be the easiest way to comfort her harsh, thorn-covered self.

It was convenient to be good at studying. She was so young when she realized that it's reasonable to be greedy about things she can have in the future, rather than being greedy about what she already doesn't have. Mijoo already knew how her teenage years would end. Kids in foster care have to leave the institution once they reach the age of 18. Since she was going to leave anyway, she got a scholarship and enrolled in a high school that had a dormitory. Since then, she was unafraid. If she doesn't have a home, then she can just make a place similar to one. Since that won't be mine anyway. What Mijoo had, was only Oh Mijoo herself.

Inside the movie theater she went to for the first time during junior high school, Mijoo felt safe. The moment the lights in the theater were turned off, she felt that she's not the only one who is dark. From now on, it's a time where everyone is dark. With that sense of relief, she burst into tears and sobbed. It would be nice if my life were 120 minutes long like a movie. Bright in the beginning, gradually darkening when it ends; that would be nice. The movie which she still can't forget about was Batman Begins. Why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up. I have to make this my motto. Because of the foreign language which she wouldn't have understood without the subtitles, Mijoo became conscious about subtitles for the first time.

Imagine watching a foreign film with no subtitles. You can see it and hear it, but you have to guess and assume. It's like watching a raging fire across the river with all means of communication cut off. The one that lays the bridge in between is the translator. That day, Mijoo's world opened up. She learned about the world in movies. The way they joke and express things, the unfamiliar culture they share*. Most languages were in English, and as she listened more, she began to actually hear and understand the words at one point. Let's get to the level where the subtitles I used to be thankful for become annoying, I can make even better subtitles than this one. And so she chose translation. The language in the stories is actually easier to interpret. Much easier than the words shared between actual people.

When people heard that she was a foster child, the general reaction was "sorry." What are they apologizing for? Why are they sorry about the fact that I don't have a family? If it's an apology for their hasty sympathy, then I'm ready to accept it. I'm the only one who has the right to pity me. And so the less that she has, the more she made herself seem substantial; the smaller she is, the more she puffed her chest out to look big. She lived like that. Compulsion and fear acted as the firewood that fueled Mijoo to move. But still, people didn't think of Mijoo as dignified. On the contrary, they spoke ill of her. They said it was strange for her to come out of a prestigious school and travel abroad. What was unsaid, hidden in the parentheses were the words, "when she's just a mere orphan." Just say it honestly, that you hate to see me not living a pitiful life despite being born unfortunate.

"Subtitles: Oh Mijoo." She can't forget the shivers that went through her entire body when she first saw the line that appeared last on the black screen. For the first time, Mijoo began to hold back. Because she now has something she wants to protect. She stooped low and pathetically protected it, in a way her younger self would never have imagined. She bought a fake gun too. For self-defense. Real guns are usually difficult to obtain, but it's easy to obtain a fake one. She's used to living a life where she mainly chooses things that are easy to obtain. Even in love. That is before she met the real one.

Warm and desolate Ki Seongyeom. His existence itself is a sin. He helps for no reason, and offers his hand unreasonably. It's not me getting drawn in, it's me getting dazed as if he pulled me. The question marks that Seongyeom sent out were all exclamation marks to Mijoo. She thought that anticipations and hopes were things long gone in her destiny, but this man—whom she bumped into as if by fate—keeps making her anticipate. He makes her want to interpret his words that she can't understand. She came to wish that among the words that Seongyeom tells her, there would be no words of sadness.

Suddenly, Mijoo felt that the Korean language is really strange. You say annyeong when you meet, you say annyeong when you part. So are we meeting now, or parting? Are we beginning, or ending?

*T/N: The phrase here has two possible interpretations. The original Korean sentence simply said "the unfamiliar culture they share," there is no specification whether the culture is shared between the movie characters, or shared by the movie characters to the viewer. In the first meaning, the culture in the foreign movies are shared between the characters themselves, and is unfamiliar to the viewer. For example, a group of American characters sharing the same Western culture they have, which is foreign to an Asian viewer. On the other hand, the second meaning can be connected to the previous sentence saying Mijoo learned about the world from movies; the movie characters shared their culture (that is foreign and unfamiliar for her) to Mijoo and let her know about it.

(orig post link)

[seafleece]

“I have feelings for Figueroth— Fig. Your friend. Your best friend. Mine too, transitively. Romantic ones. What do you think about that?”

It takes a second. It always does, when she gets like this. Garthy says that she always says the things she needs to, that’s not the problem, just that they end up in a different order than people are expecting. 

(A different order, like being the mother of your friend, and then being looked after by them. She wonders how that Ayda managed, how she’s supposed to ever navigate the feelings that the version of her that came before felt for this person, how they’re the same and how they aren’t. Then, she remembers writing the contract.

She started writing it on Leviathan, is the part she won’t tell Fig. The no inferences part— that had been the first thing. She wasn’t sure what exactly it was she would be telling Fig, just that it was something that needed to exist outside of herself. 

There was a girl who used to come to the library— she had long hair, dark and silky, and she kept needing the books Ayda was reading. We can read them together, she’d said, and that wasn’t how Ayda understood books to be, but something about the funny color in that girl’s eyes made her want to say yes.

She’d felt this roaring thing in her chest all at once when they’d both reached to turn the page at once and their fingers had brushed. Her hand was so cold it hurt to touch, but she found herself wanting to feel it again. She’d never felt that before, wanting to lean towards pain. It was strange, anomalous, she knew; she drew her hand back and let the girl turn the page. Her eyes tracked all over the next words, and didn’t take in a single one.

It occurred later that she might have hurt that girl, as well. That it might have been the reason she didn’t come back to the library again, or perhaps that she found another girl to read with, maybe one who understood the idea of reading together— she still doesn’t, you see. Or maybe she died. It was a pirate island.

(She’d had to read the whole book again— nothing had permeated beyond that feeling. A previous Ayda would have called the venture a waste.)

She’d never gotten to ask about the roaring. The sound it made, in her ears— blood, probably, or fire, or both, a previous Ayda said her body didn’t much differentiate between the two— is just like the feedback of Fig’s bass when she casts something. That's how she decides that she’ll tell her, because the thrum of the note Fig plays passes through her like the chill of another’s cold hand, and when it’s over she realizes it’s the same sound as in her head. It means something, she’s sure. She wants it so badly to mean something. She needs it to exist so badly she wishes she was a conjurer, just for a moment.)

It takes a moment. She waits.

“Well,” Adaine says, and schools her eyebrows back to a more reasonable level above her eyes, “at least you’re not a middle-aged man.”

“No, I am not,” she says. “Should I be? I do not want to be. Is that what she wants?”

“No, no,” Adaine waves her hand through the air almost desperately. “It was a joke.” Adaine Abernant is a kind soul— she looks at her after a moment, earnest and open, not like the Elven Oracle or even the Oracle for all of Spyre, but like a friend. “I don’t think she’s really thought about what she wants, but I hope when she does she finds out it’s you. You’re a good person to want.”

“Oh.”

She bursts into tears, of course.

“And you’re made of fire, too! Fig likes fire.”

“Yes.” She presses the back of her hand to her cheek. “That is very fortunate.”

(Fig’s hand slips into hers and squeezes, and she starts crying again. There's something to be said for reveling in a difference of temperature, but Fig isn’t cold, in the lattice of their fingers, and the relief she feels at it surprises her, both in presence and intensity.

“Huh,” Fig says. She’s close to unconsciousness— Fig hasn’t said anything about it, but she thinks they are entering the phase of the sleepover where the actual sleep is done.

“What is it?”

“I’ve never— your hand isn’t colder than mine. People’s always are.”

Her heart beats a rising tattoo against her ribs. “Is that bad?”

Fig smiles. Her head falls further against the pillow. “No, it’s— really nice, actually. One of those things you don’t even know you like, or want, until you have it, you know?”

“Yes,” she whispers, and feels hope building in her in this quiet sort of frenzy. “I do know.”)

—

“Do you know about the double bass?”

“Like, the instrument?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, yeah— I think they have a few at Aguefort, in the music department.”

Ayda rolls over to look at her. “I’m sorry.”

Their conversations are like this a lot— Ayda starts from the outside, sometimes. The things she says seem to exist entirely apart from another, and it’s not until Fig responds a few times that she starts to see where they spiral inward, towards something of more singular intention. In her mind’s eye, she starts to wind a thread between them. “For what?”

“You apologized for scrying on me, in the forest.”

There are too many things to envision, in that moment. Ayda, seeing the moment the marilith split from her. Confusing them. Ayda reaching out, in her mind, and finding Fig reaching back, and being afraid. Like looking into a mirror, and finding another reflected in its surface, over and over again, an unending volley of fear and confusion. She tries— she refuses, in that moment, to be lost to it. They’d wished for the same thing, believed the same thing. She chooses to believe it now, to trust.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did you know there is copper? In your earrings?”

She blinks. Another point to wind the thread around. “No.”

“There were a lot of spells I tried to cast, while I was in the gallery. Divination spells are— well, they’re easier for me. And for detect thoughts, all you need is—”

“Copper.”

“Yes. I did not think it would work, but maybe it’s that you were reaching out to me, and that it was the last thing I tried to cast before you freed me.”

“So, you, uh—” She reaches up, suddenly shy, to scratch at her neck. Tries not to avert her eyes, and fails. “What’d you hear?”

“It’s—” Ayda’s hair flares a bit brighter, in the way she’s learned to read as embarrassment. “Fig, I believe you when you say you want to kiss me. Especially because, you know, you usually do after you say it. I just— I had never heard it like that. People think different things than they say, and it’s terrifying to think about, because I cannot— it’s already so hard to tell, when people talk to me. I don’t particularly like that spell, I don’t think I will use it again unless I have to, especially because Adaine gave me a much better one, but knowing you were thinking the same things that you say, the same things that you do, it is. Hard to explain, how it made me feel.”

She hazards a guess. “Incredible?”

“Yes,” Ayda says, immediately. “Incredible. Cool. Tight.”

She leans forward to kiss her— never sparing in intensity. Fig was never a religious kid— watching Kristen go through her whole thing sort of gave her the experience in miniature, and she hasn’t even begun to broach the idea that an archdevil is something people could believe in, that Hell is a metaphysical thing as much as a place. But, she thinks, as best as she knows, that Ayda kisses like prayer. Fervent, quiet, focused. All the things she believes, and hopes, brought to the forefront.

Her hands curl in Fig’s shirt and loosen again, and Fig wraps her fingers lazily along the curve of Ayda’s neck.

“What about the double bass?”

“Oh,” Ayda says, “Yes. I think it was something from earlier, from when you were— in the forest, but you said something about bass, and solos.”

Her throat closes a bit. The thread winds. “Right.”

“Every time you play at a concert venue, there are more people in the room than I have ever met in my life. All in the same place, for you. I do not know how much help it is— to hear it from me, that is, even if we are paramours— but I think the bass is a very good solo instrument.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know how to describe it— it sounds like, like something inside of me. it sounds like how I feel.”

It’s hard to keep hold of the thread, when Ayda says things like that. “God, uh, okay. Cool.”

“Yes.” Ayda nods, head shifting along the pillow. “Cool. Tight.”

“So,” and she reminds herself that a spiral circles itself, to reach the center. “The double bass.”

“The double bass,” Ayda says, voice shifting into the flat, confident tone of Research Ayda, conveying information diligently collected. “Is like another version of the bass guitar— the predecessor, actually. It's used in orchestral settings, and sometimes jazz. It’s much larger, and has a different tone, but is tuned the same way. It would not be so difficult, to switch between them, though it seems that bow technique can take a long time to learn, and there are different styles of even holding it— the Fallinel bow style is the more widely accepted version, though I suppose that is reason enough not to use it—”

“You think I should play the double bass instead?”

“Oh,” Ayda says. “I see. I have led you to a misconception. I think you should do exactly what you want, Fig. I just— I wanted to find solos, for the bass, for you. Or, at least, proof that people want to hear them, enough to write them. People that aren’t just me.”

And just like that, the thread reaches the center. Fig smiles, and ties it off, crowds a little further into Ayda’s space so her wing reflexively curls out and across her. “You know what’s funny?”

“What is funny?”

“The thing that got me to leave the van so Aelwyn could escape, it was hearing you were upset. Because those stupid Kei Lumennura kids told you I, uh, I got around, because I was a rock star, or whatever.”

“Oh,” Ayda blinks. “That seems plausible, actually, I did not fully understand what it meant. If I heard that you were with other people, a lot, before I finished drafting up the contract, I think it would have upset me quite a bit.”

“It’s not a tour,” Fig says, “things need to settle down, but if you want to watch me practice, when we get home or even today, I think that would be cool.”

“This is not something you would normally do?”

“No, I always— I learned how to play by myself, in my room, because I didn’t want to see anyone and things were getting— bad, all around me. Even when I practice with Gorgug and everyone, it’s after I finish writing the songs, after I know I can play them.”

“I see.”

“Practicing takes a long time, it’s not as fun, and it kinda hurts, sometimes. But it’s real. Most of music is learning how to do it, performing is just— like a celebration, of all the work. I never really wanted someone to see that part, before, but if you want to, I think I want that.”

Then, they have to take a minute to smother the pillow where it’s caught fire— or rather, Fig does, and Ayda stands and tries to stop her tears from falling on anything else flammable.

“I think—“ Ayda says, thumbing under her eyes and coming away with only sparks. “I think I would like that. I think it would be incredible.”

“Great,” and Fig pulls her down onto the mattress, now pillow-less and covered only with those fancy Kei Lumennura sheets Fabian swears can’t catch fire. Really, they should’ve only had those the whole time. “Cool.”

“Tight,” Ayda supplies, and kisses her again.

[bretongirlwrites]

lunette becomes bored in raven rock, and decides to try to win over falco galenus. (very much inspired by stendhal, whose similar scene with julien sorel is far superior)

-----------

I must have him, I thought: that will be my conquest, and my purpose.

    I determined that if, by the end of the week, I had managed to kiss his hand, then that would be a victory: and so I watched him, watched his hands. He did not have the hands of a miner, and he was more careful with them, kept them in gloves a good deal of the time; he had them free in the evenings, those few evenings each week when he joined us in the common-room, around the fire…

    We were at Middas when next he joined us: came in soon after his own dinner, and took the seat next to me. I had curated it that he must; and I had ensured, surreptitiously, that the room was dark enough, outside of the firelight, that I might carry out my conquest without being seen. Truly his hands were remarkable: I being used to those of the miners, and my own, which were growing calloused, and which had indeed never been so smooth and pale as those of the City bourgeois. Falco’s hands had not seen a day’s hard work in their life. I wondered how they would feel in mine – 

    ‘How has the work to-day been?’ asked Falco, as he ever did: ‘and how are you all feeling?’

    His response was usually in murmurs and fatigued nods, but he was always satisfied by it, all the same. Garnas said a little about the ore-vein which we had struck in the lower gallery, and Afer made some comment about how hot it was getting down there. After what had happened to me, Falco always took comments about heat very seriously, and it must be said that I was grateful for it. 

    There was a lull in the conversation, and a general gaze towards the hearth. I leaned over a little, stretched my arm out: and placed it on Falco’s hand, where it had fallen upon his knee. 

    He shuffled at the touch; his hand slid a little out of mine; yet he did not move beyond the reflex, as if I had for the moment possessed him. Possession: I had his hand, and so him, I had the hand of the man who thought he had power over me! He yet looked into the fire, did not raise his head to look at me. And if only I might have known his thoughts – 

    At last, at last, he curled his fingers, that his hand was fully in mine. I was so elated by it that it was all I could do to keep my demeanour, to act as if I had done this out of timidity. As if I had taken all of my courage, courage overtaken by sheer romantic desire, to do it; as if it were not some game. And he had thought that of me, and agreed, and taken my hand. And with that, I had him!

    Him, this City bourgeois! who had power over me, who had always stood above me, yet took my hand and my lead, and I conquered him, I had him!

    The rest of the conversation passed as usual, with no acknowledgement from Falco that I was yet holding his hand, save the continuing pressure which he put upon it, as if fearing I might let go. He hoping I shared his thoughts; I feigning that I did. I upon the heights of my own hubris; after the first minute scarcely noticing the feel of his hand in mine, this smooth unworked skin. The conversation continued, then, and faded; Falco decided that we had all better get to sleep; and let go of my hand. 

    The others filed out, and I made sure that I was behind, that I might fulfil what I had begun. When it was but us in his sitting-room, he cleared his throat, and I turned; but upon seeing my face, and the hand which I put up in acknowledgement, that hand – on seeing me, he decided against his venture, said it was nothing. A nothing which made him redden even in the firelight…

    There had been so much communicated without words, that it hardly made sense to change codes, and so I saying nothing – a wholly other nothing to his – stepped towards him, and taking his hand once more brought it to my lips.

    Did he think me coquettish, when I left him standing there, hand yet burning; when I left him without a word? did he think me rendered shy in infatuation? – What matter! what matter to me, I had him, it mattered only that he was imprisoned without knowing it, and that I had won.

    It did not matter what he thought: and yet, and yet I longed to know. I longed to know if he was interested, if he was infatuated; what he might want of me; where I might take him. I would find out soon enough – 

    – and in the meantime, there was a glow in the sky which I had not perceived before, and Raven Rock looked charming, even in darkness; and when I went to bed it was not self-satisfied so much as happy, happy for the first time in so long!

[venominyourcoffee]

Your body is my canvas

A night alone in a makeshift art museum, surrounded by tourists and people taking selfies. The museum was an old warehouse that had fancy lights and soothing music playing on speakers. It was around seven at night and you were by yourself. The place was filled with hushed praises of abstract trash welded together. Clean white paint covered the walls and floor but the roof was clearly rusted. You had just been admiring the works of local artists, none famous artists. All that was shown were works by people, who the art world predicted would become great. None of it was that incredible if you were honest with yourself. You weren’t a critic but you were pretty sure an apple taped to the wall wasn’t that amazing. All of it seemed good but nothing grabbed your attention. The occasional welded together car parts sculpture and painted pictures of clowns decorated the gallery.

Then suddenly you saw it, a picture by an up and coming artist. It was so captivating you almost dropped your cheep, complementary wine. The picture depicted a sickening dance between a man, and a woman stitched together with a head of roses. The blood, the detail, the vile and disturbing muse. The graphic photo grabbed you by the neck and demanded attention. It’s unsettling beauty was captivating, so captivating in fact that the hand that grabbed your shoulder scared you.

His voice was slow and calm, he spoke with an accent and almost bliss in his voice still leaving his hand on your shoulder.

“Beautiful isn’t it? He must be insane to paint this good.”

His voice sent you into a trance as his eyes stared at the painting. As you settle the butterfly’s in your stomach, you stumble through a response.

“Crazy is sometimes good. But I doubt it, he’s not insane. I feel he is a genius no one gets. His romanticizing of gore almost reminds me of Francisco Goya.”

His breath got caught in his throat, as he shifts his eyes on you. An overwhelming smile on his face. His calm voice turns to a teenager meeting their super hero.

“Really? My work reminds you of the great Francisco!? I am truly honored to hear such praise!”

Your eyes widened, realizing what he just said. The man behind such brutal beauty, stood before you. You both spent the afternoon talking about art and beauty. When all was said and done and with a somber goodbye, you suddenly realize you forgot to exchange names.

As the weeks and months went by and summer fell to winter, you bumped into each other. With each meeting, the artist grew more fund of you and you of him. The next time you two met, the artist greeted you with a warm smile and an awkward hug. Your next meeting started with the artist hugging you without hesitation. One night at a party, the artist gently placed his hand on your lower back and lead you around like a pet through the crowed. One meeting the artist greeted you by taking your hand and kissing it without even asking. At one event the artist looked at you with a smile as he took off his gloves and spoke.

“My darling, you lips look so chapped. I have some lip balm you can use. Hold still and pucker up, darling.”

He then placed his bare thumb on your parted lips, coating them in the moisturizer. As he slowly made circle patterns on your lips, he got almost uncomfortably close. You felt your heart race as you felt safe, staring into the deep abyss of his ocean blue eyes. You swear you felt his other hand gently fall to your hip. You felt a burning fire in your core as a slight whimper fell from your lips. The artist smiled and moved his thumb from your lips to caress your face, as he spoke softly laughing.

“Oh my what was that? Such a cute noise just fell from your bella voce. Perhaps I should try and hear more?”

Since then, the artist grows more bold with each encounter. With each new meeting, his stare burns deeper and deeper into you. You swear you start to feel him undressing you with his flirtatious staring, yet you don’t try and stop him. As your encounters grew in number, both of you were practically chasing each other like wild beasts. As much as both you and the artist fantasized about each other, proper names were never given. Only simple words like the respectful but slightly lustful sir and the endearing but dominant darling.

One day at a small after party for some famous singers charity concert, you spot him. He sees you and almost gravitates towards you. He takes your hand and kisses the top of your hand as you blush slightly at how soft his lips feel. The artist speaks first before you can utter a response.

“Forgive me darling, but I grow tired of our names. Tell me yours and I will tell you mine.”

You giggle as a fun smile comes to your face. You speak in a friendly tone.

“Oh but sir, I know your name. Stefano Valentini. You served in the military before doing art. You were a war photographer until you came home because of field injury’s. You were also a suspect in the recent murder cases. I’ve read your book. I’ve known you since that night in the museum. I just figured I wasn’t important enough to say my name.”

His eyes widen as a mischievous smile creeps across his face. He takes your hand and gently leads you away from the crowed. You find yourselves in a dim hallway with no one else around. He pushes you against the wall. His left hand grabs your right wrist and pulls it past his head. His other hand rests on your hip. Your free hand tries to push him away by his chest. You feel like your trying, but there’s barely any force. You feel increasing pressure as Stefano gently grunts as he counteracts your force with his own strength. He seemed so thin but I guess time in the army is going to build brute strength because he barley cares about your own force. Stefano cages you in a ballet like pose against the wall. His face leans in, leaving a small gap between you and Stefano. You feel your face blush as your breathing gets harder. He speaks slow and deeply, as you feel his breath against your face.

“Darling… I am flattered. You know my public story front to back but do you want more? Tell me, are you nervous? Do I seem dangerous? Do you think I am a murderer?”

Your slowly going fuzzy in the mind. Your body feels weak. You shudder out a response. Possibly out of fear or lust. Your voice is shaky as you try and talk.

“I… I don’t think it matters… I read about the victims. They were scum… you did us a service. But to answer your first question, yes. Yes you scare me and make me nervous. Not because I fear harm, but I fear how hard I’ll fall for your spell.”

Stefano lets out a sinister snicker as his grip on your hip tightens. He speaks with almost with a growl but also a calm tone.

“I see… give me your name. Give it to me, and I’ll reward your cute breathless words.

Your heart beats faster and faster. You speak to respond to his command. Just thinking about what your going say makes your heart skip a beat. You close you eyes to avoid eye contact in an attempt to compose yourself.

“(Y/N)… that’s my name.. can I have my reward sir- Stefano?”

You spoke so embarrassingly. Your face was on fire with how hard you blushed. You couldn’t believe you summited so easily.

Your closed eyes shot open when you feel your reward. Stefano pressed his lips against yours. Your body stiffens with shock, before practically falling limp. You feel his tongue slip past your lips and tangled with your tongue. Your eyes flutter closed in ecstasy. What felt like months of quiet sexual frustration finally came to an end. As the kiss deepens, soft moans fall from your lips. The kiss lasts for only ten seconds, but feels like years. Stefano finally pulls away and keeps and arm on your chest, to keep you from chasing his mouth.

He leans back, licking his lips. He smiles like the devil just made a deal, with a wicked but lustful tone.

“My beautiful Tesoro, I can practically see your flower bloom. I must say it’s rare for someone to love my art, but lust for my touch. But we can’t, not now. No matter how much we both want to, and believe me I want too. However I will give you my telephone number. At nine o clock tonight I will be sitting on my bed, naked, expecting your call. We can’t be together tonight, but I still want to hear your voice obey mine. Until tonight, my la mia rosa in fiore.”

With that he hushes you’re lips with a finger, caresses your face and walks away. You almost fall to the floor as your legs feel weak. What’s worse is he left you breathless and a growing tightness in your pants.

After about 2 years of slowly growing lust, It had been some time since you moved to Union. You witnessed the town fall apart. Although these monsters surround you, they do not threaten you. For you the town is still calm. The monstrous creatures shamble outside your door, but you feel safe. You sometimes hear the survivors try and fight back, you don’t get involved.

One night you hear a banging at your door, you assume it’s a mindless zombie. You open the door and are greeted by your reflection in a giant steal saw blade. You instantly know the creature smiling at you, is The Guardian, one of Stefano’s pets. It’s many faces smile and laugh randomly. In one of its many hands, is a black envelope. You reach out to grab it, the creature doesn’t seem to react aside from more laughter. You open the envelope by breaking the blood red wax seal. The letter inside, written in fancy cursive writing said,

“My Bellissimo angelo incantevole. I’ve sent The Guardian to fetch you. Follow my beast to my new stage. I have a gift for you. Fly on the winds to me, my muse.”

At the bottom of the letter is a small, but beautiful sketch of a heart and rose. The Guardian’s main face focuses on you, awaiting your sign that your ready to depart. You smile and stare at the creature that’s almost twice as tall of you.

“Alright then, ready to go? Then let’s get going. Don’t wanna keep your boss waiting right? Come on friend, up up. I am not walking in this fog.”

You say trying to control the beautiful creature. The main face of the creature nods and it’s many hands grabs you gently. It carefully lifts you and places you on top of its body. Once your safely on top, the Guardian starts walking. It’s loud footsteps echo through the dense fog. Vague shadows of small houses and twitching creatures pass by you, as you travel. As the Guardian walks you feel like she’s trying to go slowly and carefully. You know she can really haul ass, since you’ve seen her attack others. You speak up in a cheerful tone.

“Come on girl, you can go faster! Your as close as I get to a sports car. You’re in neutral and I need 4th gear! Let’s go!”

You encouragingly exclaimed. The Guardian breaks into historical laughter as it hears your command. As soon as it hears your words, it takes off in full sprint. You hold onto the creatures long black hair to prevent yourself from falling off as It picks up some serious speed and is laughing the whole time. Within a few minutes you arrive to what looks like a theater hall. The Guardian lets you down, barley even tired. Once your off it laughs once more before taking off and disappearing into the fog.

Looking onto the theater hall, it looks almost freshly built. It appears grand and beautiful, however something catches your eye. The framed posters on the walls. They are of you, almost or completely naked. No doubt these are pictures Stefano has taken when you let him photograph you. Stefano loved taking pictures of you during sex, especially when he made you cum. He often blushes when he says your face and body are his muse. They also serve as an alternative to dirty sites when you two aren’t together.

Under each picture are written words by Stefano. He talks like he’s reviewing an actual play. One picture catches your eye. It’s you on your back, completely naked except for a blank, spaced out look over your eyes. Both of your arms are bound together above your head. One of your legs is being held up to your chest by a gloved hand. There’s bloody bandaids across your upper shoulder. There are love bites all over your neck and body. Your mouth is fully open and your tongue spilled past your lips. Your ass is fully exposed and red with bruises. There’s multiple bullet vibrators strapped to your hard on. Stefano’s signature hand writing is below the graphic photo. In beautiful calligraphy it says,

“I remember this night fondly. (Y/N) accidentally got injured playing with the Guardian, a creature I thought would never harm him. I punished my creation and tended to his wounds. He got a large cut from the Guardians saw, it cut deep and slashed across his left shoulder. My heart was broken as he held his shoulder and cried. The blood still spilling out, slowly turning his bandages red. The pain must’ve been unbearable. I gave him a large dose of heavy pain killers and held him tightly until his tears stopped. When the meds took hold he calmed down. He looked up at me with those beautiful (E/C) eyes and long lashes. His tears painted his face and blood stained his skin. His eyes slightly glossed over from the morphine. He was like a doll, a toy that had been abandoned. I couldn’t stop myself from stripping him and breaking my toy. His body responded in such interesting ways. His pain, his pleasure, all drifting between sleep and sudden shock. This is one of my favorite photos of (Y/N) because of its rarity. I’d feel bad trying to replicate this sensation. I would never intentionally hurt or drug him. It’s because this version of him is incredibly rare, it’s truly beautiful. I may have gotten carried away and wanted to push him to his limits. We must’ve gone at it for hours. His broken whines and moans fell from his mouth like a second language. When he was truly broken and at his absolute limit, I had to grab my camera to catch how beautiful (Y/N) looked. I call this piece, When Lust Cries.”

Reading this, you vaguely remember that night. You remember that the injury hurt like crazy, but didn’t feel much pain after the meds kicked in. But as the morphine kicked in more, your memory is spotty. You remember almost falling asleep a few times. You can vaguely remember Stefano’s silhouette standing over you. You barely remember the way your body was shaking with each new climax. You do clearly remember the few days after, where Stefano pampered you endlessly. You also remember how much the Guardian sulked in shame when near you, clearly sad she hurt a friend. You thank whatever god or devil that listens that the injury didn’t leave lasting effects or scares.

You walk through the hall past more and more pictures of you in heat. Each picture has paragraphs written by Stefano, describing his lust for you in great and graphic detail. As you go down the hallway, you hear a familiar song.

“Of course he’s listening to Strings again.”

You say to yourself with a smile. Stefano is intimidating to many, but he’s also a huge dork sometimes.

You try to follow the sound, but the hallway seemed never ending. Eventually the lewd photos of yourself stop and are replaced with Stefano’s other interests. Pictures of flowers and blood stained snow decorate your surroundings. Photos of mutilated bodies and flesh sown together become the norm. You recognize a lot of these works, but some seem new. You and Stefano did take a few days apart sometimes, not seeing him as he works. It makes sense you want recognize some of his new works. It wasn’t uncommon to not see him for a few days, just for him to whisk you away in a heat of passion. Stefano said his work was dangerous and he didn’t want you to get hurt.

As you continue to walk closer to the music, you hear a familiar sound. The sound of female moans and orgasmic joy, combined with loud and frantic footsteps.

A playful smile stretches across your face as you prepare for the inevitable forced hug. You close your eyes and do a satirically afraid voice.

“Oh no! I hear a scary noise. It’s another scary monster that’s gonna kill me! Will it burn me to ash? Will it chop me up with a rusty blade? Will she gut me and feast on my heart? Oh what horrible monster is coming for me?”

You can hear the moans grow louder and louder, as the footsteps grow in volume as well. You stand still in the near endless hallway and close your eyes. You brace for the impact you know is coming. You hear the moans get defining before suddenly stopping. You open your eyes and see just the hallway.

You suddenly feel a hot, thick liquid drip on your shoulder. You smear it on your fingers to examine it. No doubt about it, it’s blood. The texture, the color, the familiar smell… definitely blood. As you think, a sudden wave of surprise washes over you as a heavy object falls on you. The force knocks you on your back, on the hard wood floor. You vision adjusts to see an old fashioned camera on an accordion like neck, attached to stitched together body parts. Your head turns and sees two female legs beside your head. You can see the stitch’s that keep this monstrosity together. The body is made up of two murdered girls. Their bodies combined in horrific ways. Metallic strings and surgical staples keep this monstrosity together. Flesh fused with flesh as barbed wire entangles the creature. One of the girls torso is virtual and without a head. Three legs are attached to artificial joints making a tripod of muscles and exposed nerve endings. The second torso is stitched to the back of the first. It stands with its back facing its front. Three arms dangle from the top torso almost limp or stitched in specific positions. The long accordion neck the holds the camera head is stitched to the bloody head stump of the top body. Metallic strings flail out in random knots and patterns. The creature is nude aside from barbed wire and crimson liquid stains. It’s bare breasts sit idle on both torsos but it’s so mangled you can barely even recognize it was once female. The creature drips blood from open wounds and is drenched in blood that’s not it’s own. The lens of the camera focused on your face as you see yourself in the reflection. This creature is an abomination, a creature with a horrific and torturous past. Its slow unnerving motions are occasionally interrupted by twitching and shivers. It’s a spawn of hell, but to you it’s a loving pet named Obscura. You gently rub the side of her face as she purrs or makes a sound that’s like purring.

“Hey sweetie, long time no see! Looks like you’ve been busy. Tell me, who was today’s poor bastard meal?”

Obscura moans and laughs as her legs dance in place, like an excited dog. To most, it’s inaudible nonsense. However Stefano has taught you how to understand her. Your not sure if it’s Stefano’s power over this town or how much a bond you share with your new pet, but you swear you understand her. You at least know she understands you, since she obeys commands like sit and speak. Obscura begins moaning and you focus to try and to translate.

“(Y/N) I’m super happy to see you! I’ve been so bored lately! Creatore has been so busy making new stuff. He’s barely pet or played with me! But I finally got to have some fun today! And I’m so happy to see you again! Oh I totally forgot! Creatore wants to see you. Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Obscura gently walks a few steps away to allow you to get up. Once you get on your feet, you follow her through the hallway. You speak to Obscura with a caring tone as she speaks with frantic joy.

“So what have you and Stefano been up to, Obscura? And what’s with the blood?”

“Oh Creator wanted to make some pretty new art. He wants to make a… a thingy… a… what do you call it?… I thingy where you show off art?”

Obscura’s head swings low as she mumbles words at random. She tries to remember what she wants to say as she mumbles words under her breath… well it all sounds like moans but you get it.

“Expression… extortion… extermination, wait no that’s not it…”

As amused as it is to watch her fumble with words, you interrupt with a guess.

“Is he making an art exhibition?”

Obscura’s head jolts up as she dances up and down.

“Yes yes! He’s making an art exhibition! Creatore wanted to make an art show for his new works. OH did you see those pretty pictures of you at the entrance?! You make such pretty faces (Y/N)! You should model for me and Creatore sometime!”

You gently blush but can’t help but chuckle at Obscura’s innocence. Your memory flashbacks to various times Obscura watched you and Stefano in the act. She didn’t make much noise and just watched kind of like a normal house pet. She would often ask why you were screaming or crying and to make sure you weren’t in pain. It took some explaining before she would just watch in silence before bringing you and Stefano water for aftercare. You laugh off your embarrassment and speak up.

“Obscura you know that those moments are private. We can’t just show everyone.”

“But you make such pretty faces! Creatore says your his favorite model so you should model more often! Your a lot more fun then Creatore’s other models. All they do is scream and make a mess! They don’t even sound pretty like you when they scream. And they run away all the time so me and the Guardian have to chase them.”

You laugh and continue to make small talk with Obscura as she leads you through the maze of a building. Eventually you reach a massive open room with a lot of comfy chairs and a large stage and curtains. Makes sense that there’s a massive stage in a theater hall. It also makes sense that this is where the music is the loudest. Obscura walks off to a side door and tells you to wait while she fetches Stefano. You scan the room around you. It’s as big as a football field with half the room concealed by a large red curtain. The walls are covered in more photos of Stefano’s work. Your eyes glance up to the ceiling, only to be met with what looks like a dark abyss. The walls slowly splinter off as the abyss goes on for what looks like forever. It sounds like the music is coming from the darkness above you. The only thing to remind you where the ceiling should be is a large candle chandelier that hangs from a chain that stretched into the nothingness. As you stare into the impossible space above you, you feel almost hypnotized. However your dazed state is cut short as you hear a bloodcurdling scream for help. You see a man burst from behind the large curtain and a young lady soon follows. The man is covered in rouge military gear, equipped with a pistol. He is clearly injured as blood runs down the side of his terrified expression. The woman is in her late teens, probably no older then nineteen. Her clothes are torn and soaked red. Her long blonde hair flows behind her. The man quickly scans the room after helping the girl to her feet. He spots you and holds his pistol and his other hand in the air to show he’s not hostile. He speaks with fear and is clearly begging for his life.

“Hey! Can you help us? Do you know the way outta here? Please my friend is injured and we need to get word out that shit is FUBAR! There’s a fuckin psychopath in here with us! Please can you help us?’

You stare blankly at a lost for words. Most survivors left you alone and went about their own business. You try to think and conclude their new in town. Most people who have been here long enough either go mad or get a noir detective style calmness. Only the fresh meat start panicking like this. Your not sure what to say cause you know the psychopath their talking about, and you know they can’t run fast enough. The woman gets upset by the lack explanation and grabs the soldiers gun and points at you and starts shouting.

“Hey space boy! If your done thinking about whatever, we are fucked and need to get out of here! My friend is fucking dead and there’s a sadist with fucking time powers! Either tell us how to get out or fuck off!”

The soldier tries to wrestle the gun out of the panicked girls hands. You quickly hid behind one of the chairs in fear of the pistol going off. The soldier finally gets the gun away from the girl and she freaks out. She starts running away and runs past you into the maze you just left. You hesitantly exit your cover and stand up and look back.

“Well she’s not lasting long… if the zombies don’t get her the Guardian will.”

You say pessimistically. The soldier quickly walks towards you can grips your shoulder and speaks with fear but slightly calmed.

“Hey we need to go after her! You said it yourself she won’t last long. Listen my name is-“

The soldier then starts to list his name and rank and why he’s here. It’s all things you’ve heard before, the ramblings of people faced with the impossible and deadly. You can clearly see the fear in his eyes but you’ve seen this fear before. You know this man begging in front of you is not going to last much longer. Almost like clockwork, the soldier suddenly stops talking and his eyes widen. His grip on your shoulder loosens to completely limp as his body falls to the ground with a knife in his back. As you stare at his fatal wound, you recognize the knife and you know who it belongs too. Seconds later blue smoke starts to accumulate until Stefano appears out of thin air. You expect to hear his clear and calm voice that soothes you. You expect to hear such a calm and collected tone of a man enjoying his work. However you hear a frantic and excited schoolboy chasing the teach he has a crush on. Stefano barley finish’s his sentence as he yanks the knife out of the soldiers back.

“Oh hello my beloved! Please excuse me my art is running away and I have had a a stroke of brilliance! I must catch her and sculpt her at once! She will be beautiful! Be back soon darling!”

With that he takes the knife and runs after the girl like a child chasing a new toy, leaving you with the fresh corpse. You absentmindedly drag the body to the stage and wait for your favorite artist to come back. After about fifteen minutes Stefano struts back into the room followed by Obscura. Obscura has a cart tied to her back leg that carries the lifeless body of the woman from before. Stefano shouts from pure confidence and joy as he gets lost in his work.

“My beautiful fiore in fiore! Before you stands a modern genius of the art world! With this girl I complete my third new piece this week! I am, as the Americans say, happy as a mofo! Right now my imagination is bursting from my brain and I am exploring new ideas of beauty!”

Stefano slowly walks on stage and sensually walks towards you. He brings his crimson stained gloves to the sides of your face, stopping a mere inch away from your flesh so he doesn’t make a mess. He takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and wipes away the wet life force. Once his hands are dry he places a finger and thumb under your chin as his voice goes to a deep whisper that sends chills down your spine. As Stefano talks he gently massages your lower lip with his thumb. With each word he closes the difference between his face and yours. His spare hand slowly trails down your chest before resting on where your heart is.

“I hope you never feel jealous my darling. These blood bag bimbos are nothing compared to the beauty I see in you. I hope you know how much I admire you darling. That’s why your naked body decorates the main halls of this place, this palace of art and ecstasy! I do hope you approve?”

By the time he’s done talking his lips are a breaths distance from your lips. Your arms subconsciously wrap around Stefano’s neck and mimic a poss from some slutty romance novel. Stefano smiled wickedly as he feels your heart beat faster. His eyes burn into you as you’ve missed his touch and praise. As if he can read your mind he speaks in a deep, breathy tone as he leans into whisper into your ear.

“My Bravo ragazzo are you getting turned on so easily? My oh my darling… I forgot how easily I can work you like a windup clock. Have you missed me this much? It’s only been five days and your already putty in my hand. I wonder what would happen if I do this…?”

Stefano then slowly trails his hand down your stomach and gently slips past the waistband of your pants and slow palms your growing hard on. You can’t stop a whimper from escaping your mouth as you feel weak in the knees. You gather what breath you have left and try to respond.

“It’s… it’s your fault I’m so easy to rev up. Since I got here I’ve seen my body through your judgment free eyes. I have heard your praise and and lustful words in my head as I walk these sculpted walls. Our song plays through beautiful but distorted and unknown speakers. And now you hold me in your arms as my mind starts to go blank, are you really surprised my body responds to the person who owns it?”

Stefano leans back to show his devilish smile has grown wider. Has hand starts to stroke you through your underwear. You feel the blood continue to rush to your heat as each stroke sends shock throughout your system. Your lips part as gentle moans begin to slip past your lips as the fabric of his gloves provides a new type of feeling. Stefano takes this opportunity to sneakily start to kiss you. His soft lips collide with yours as your tongue’s dance a ballet together. You hips slowly start buck and grind to get more sensation from Stefano’s hand as his motion stops to make you work for you release. As the kiss deepens and goes past the thirty second mark, you feel Stefano grin during the kiss as your moans flow into his mouth. He’s clearly toying with you but you don’t care. You just hope he’s not going to stop at the worst moment possible.

Stefano removes his hand completely almost just as you think this, just to tease you. He slowly lets go of you and and falls from your grip. He stares at you as your knees bend and your breathing is heavy. Your face ablaze with a cute blush that burns at your cheeks. A few drops of saliva drip from your exposed tongue and your eyes seem bright with desire. He can perfectly see the raging hard on he left you with as a bugle forms in the cloth of your pants. A very small but visible stain marks were your tip ends and how your precum was a clear tell of your arousal. Seeing this, Stefano bites his lip in approval as he talks once more, his voice is breathy and sensual.

“My precious rose you are so easy. I think you were actually close to coming in your pants like a horny teenager. Not yet my sweet pet. Not quite yet.”

Stefano takes the side tip of his knife and gently lifts your chin to force eye contact. He was making it very clear he was holding back. He continued to speak.

“Unless you want to grind on my shoe, you’ll have to wait for daddy to finish his work. Until I touch you again, how about a sneak peek at my new sculpture?”

Stefano waves his hand and the large stage curtain slowly peels away. Behind the curtain is sculpture thirteen feet high. It’s a beautiful symphony of blood and flesh and still beating hearts. The sculpture is made up of countless bodies. The thing that makes this pierce truly gorgeous is the fact there are no strings. No cables or metal stitches hold this piece together, it’s all floating completely still in the air. The sculpture is a massive woman in a silk dress with large butterfly like wings made of arms and blood splatter. Normal sized cadavers are posed around the large woman, each of them holding food like fruits and game meat. The large woman is made from the dismembered body parts. One arm of the giantess is made up of at least six different arms severed from their previous owner. Except for the large Greek goddess style dress, the body parts are completely nude. On closer inspection it seems both genders came together for this piece as breasts and pecks adorn the outer layer. Your fascination with the piece is quickly interrupted as you hear a meaty squishy noise. You look over and see Stefano sawing off the once alive girls arm off. Your not sure where he got the bone saw but you’ve seen him pull things out of thin air before since he has the ability teleport so he probably popped off to a workbench. You try to suppress your love of his work and the still aching hard on that’s still tight in your pants. You speak with a quick voice crack as you compose yourself.

“S-So this is your latest work? It’s truly beautiful! Is it not done yet? Looks done to me so why do you need her? And what do I do with knockoff Leon S Kennedy that’s still bleeding on the floor?”

Stefano stays silent except for a few grunts as the saw goes back and forth and slowly tears through the flesh and bone. As the saw cuts through the skin gushes of blood spill from the corpse and stains his dark purple suit after a few seconds of silence interrupted by loud squish and cracking sounds, Stefano gets up with the severed arm and walks towards the massive messy sculpture. Obscura slowly pushes a standing ladder up to the art piece and Stefano climbs up and starts affixing the arm to the mass of meat. As Stefano tries to place the arm he speaks with joy and slight annoyance as he can’t quite seem to find a place that fits. Stefano goes from proud speaking to mumbling under his breath as he thinks out loud.

“Yes… this is my latest art work. It’s called… no… wait… it’s called A Wing In A Battlefield. As or the girl, I needed her arm to finish the left arm of my work. I also need her eye to finish the face. The soldier? I don’t need him. I’ll probably leave him to either feed the mindless drones outside or leave it as a plaything for Obscura or The Guardian.”

You then see Stefano flash a devilish smile as his eye quickly darts at you. You see a smile creep across his face as his annoyance in perfection is replaced with his lust that you both still felt. He speaks with an assertive and teasingly sensual tone.

“Don’t worry baby boy, daddy is almost done. Let me fix this arm and the eye and then you and I can make a different type of art. I will paint this room with your moans! I’ll also make sure to paint your body.”

[bearly-writing]

So that gunshot wound fic you wrote was AMAZING. While savoring every word, I was thinking that I’d really love to also read something with older, Red Hood era Jay being protective of Dick. So, if you don’t mind, could I request the Burns square for Dick with Jay??

Thank you very much for such a lovely compliment! I am so sorry that this is taken SO long to write! I hope that it’s at least slightly what you were looking for and that you enjoy it :)

All of my prompts have now been requested! Thank you everyone who’s requested something - I know I’m getting through these painfully slowly, but I promise I am getting through them! :)

Under The Skin

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: Burns

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Violence, Blood and Injury, Gun Violence, Gore, Burns, Acid burns, Torture, Permanent injury, Career-ending injuries

Summary: This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

Read it on AO3 here!

There will be a second part to this. I’ll add the link in here once it’s been posted!

The problem with Gotham, Jason thinks bitterly, is that everyone has a fucking gimmick. No one seems capable of doing anything in this city without putting on a goofy outfit first: Freeze, Catwoman, the Riddler, the Joker – fucking Batman can’t fight crime without his fur suit. It wears thin after a while. Jason is tired of the overwrought jokes and the overly-contrived crimes. What happened to the good old-fashioned thugs? What happened to a classic get-your-hands-dirty beating? Jason would take that over Batman’s rogue gallery any day. He would take a punch to the face over sitting here listening to Two-Face rattle on about chance and probability and rolling that fucked up coin between his fingers in a heartbeat.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent is saying, the coin flashing beneath the glare of the bare bulb above them: warehouse-torture-room aesthetic at its finest.

Jason snorts and Dick throws him a look that’s almost physical. It’s easy to ignore, though – Jason’s had plenty of practice.

“If you want it to be fair, then untie us and fight us properly.”

That earns him a cold look, but not much else. One day that sort of goading will work – until then Jason will have to make do with tugging fruitlessly at the cuffs binding his hands behind him again and snarling.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent repeats. He smiles with the side of his face that isn’t mangled flesh and exposed bone. “You’ve both been poking around where you shouldn’t be. I should kill you for that, but I want to give you a chance.”

Flash, flash, flash, goes the coin. Watching it makes Jason feel dizzy and he has to shut his eyes to stop the room from spinning, has to tighten his throat against the anxiety that’s slowly expanding in his stomach. A 50-50 chance. That’s Two-Face’s shtick. Not the most inventive gimmick in the world, but with a face like his, Jason supposes there aren’t many other options. Except not becoming a homicidal maniac, of course, but then, Jason doesn’t have much room to judge on that count.

Footsteps, loud against the concrete floor. A shadow falls across Jason. When his eyes snap open, almost automatically, Two-Face is standing over him, leering down at him. Jason tries to jerk away but there’s not much space to put between them whilst he’s tied to a chair.

Two-Face grins. Scarred fingers grip Jason’s chin, tilting his head up. “You first, I think.”

Flash, flash, flash.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see Dick’s face, pale and tense, attention focused like a laser-point to the press of fingers against Jason’s skin.

“Red Hood doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Dick snaps, because he’s too stupid and self-sacrificing to not draw attention to himself. “If you really want to be fair, you’ll let him go.”

Because that has always worked for them.

Two-Face ignores him, of course.

“This side –“ The coin stops spinning. Two-Face holds it up between his fingers, the smooth side facing out. “- and you get to go unscathed. This side –“ A twist, then it’s the scarred side facing them. “- and I leave you with a little reminder of exactly why you should stay away.”

Jason rolls his eyes. Which came first, he wonders? Is it Batman’s fault that all of the villains in Gotham are like this? Or is Batman a product of whatever chemical is clearly floating around in the air too? He wishes Two-Face would let go of him. Wishes that he and Dick hadn’t crashed the villain’s party in the first place.

“Get on with it,” he snarls, because he can’t figure out how to get out of his bonds with Two-Face standing so close, and he’s been sitting in this chair for long enough that his ass has gone numb.

The coin flips up into the air and Jason tightens his gut to prevent his stomach from doing the same. It lands in the palm of Dent’s hand with a soft thud. The villain glances at it, and Jason struggles to read his face, but it’s difficult to parse an expression from the mess of scars. Then the coin is extended towards him. Shiny side up. Jason breathes a soft sigh of relief. Beside him, Dick strains in his own bonds, trying to get a look at Jason’s fate.

“Lucky,” Two-Face murmurs, but he’s smiling that creepy half-smile. Jason can’t tell if he’s angry or not. At least he lets go of Jason’s face, finally, if only to stalk across the warehouse towards Dick. “Your turn.”

“Let Red Hood go first – that was your bargain.”

“No,” Jason snaps, because he’s tired of feeling so out of control here and he’s tired of Dick throwing himself on the fire every fucking chance he gets. Jason doesn’t need anyone to coddle him, and he definitely doesn’t need Dick martyring himself for his sake – if only because the others would never forgive him for letting golden boy get hurt when Jason’s here to take the punishment instead. “Take that as Nightwing’s toss and do mine again. Or better yet, let us go and fight us properly.”

Two-Face just shakes his head, still smiling. The effect is unnerving – that bright flash of teeth that shouldn’t be visible even in the widest grin.

“Cute.” He stops in front of Dick’s chair. The vigilante glares up at him with a surprising amount of venom. “You both get your own chance with fate. Then you can both go free when I say you can go free.”

There’s another flash. The soft thud of metal against flesh. Jason can’t help straining forward, even as he works desperately at the cuffs around his wrists whilst Two-Face is distracted. The metal is digging painfully into his flesh, scraping the skin raw. Something warm trickles over his hands – blood probably, but Jason doesn’t have time to care about that. If he can just get the leverage he needs to break his thumb…

“Oh dear.”

One hand stretches out towards Dick. For a long moment, Dick just stares into Dent’s face, gaze locked resolutely on his. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he looks down. Dick recoils. It’s not hard to guess which side came up.

Shit.

Shit, this is bad.

“You cheated,” Jason manages, voice a low, gruff growl. It makes him sound uncomfortably like the Batman, he knows, but he can’t soften his voice when his anxiety is crawling up his throat and choking him. “You fucking cheated.”

Two-Face is on him before Jason even registers the movement. An arm slams hard into Jason’s throat, jerking his head up and rocking him backwards. Pain spears from the point of impact, racing down his spine, setting alarms blaring through Jason’s head. He tries to gasp a startled breath but he can’t suck any air past the press of Harvey’s arm. Pain and pressure lock his throat tight.

“Say that to my fucking face,” Two-Face snarls, inches from Jason’s nose.

Jason struggles. Gasps. The chair is tilted back dangerously, threatening to spill him onto the floor at any moment, but Jason can’t pull himself upright with Two-Face holding him down. Can’t drag in enough air to get the words out.

“Hey! Red Hood goes free. That’s what the coin said. You can’t touch him. Hey!”

Even through the fog of panic, Jason can hear the fear in Dick’s voice. It sends his heart rocketing against his chest. Has his pulse throbbing beneath Two-Face’s arm.

For a long moment, the villain doesn’t move. Then, finally, he pulls away. Jason rocks forward at the release of pressure, gasping in a solid breath of stale, dusty air. Instinctively, he tries to reach for his throat, but the cuffs hold him just as helpless as Two-Face had.

“You’re right,” Two-Face says, calmly, smoothing down his suit, as if he hadn’t just launched himself across the room to strangle Jason. As if he isn’t holding them captive in a sketchy warehouse, threatening them, hurting them. “The coin has decided you go free, Hood. But don’t test me. I can always flip again.”

Jason’s throat is still too tight to manage a scathing reply. He settles for baring his teeth, glaring as darkly as he can manage. Two-Face seems entirely unconcerned, turning away from him to focus his attention back on Dick.

“You’re not so lucky, huh?”

One hand braces against the back of Dick’s chair as Two-Face leans down until he’s right in the vigilante’s face. Dick doesn’t react, just stares back evenly. It’s hard to tell if the confidence is fake or not. Jason knows that Two-Face scares his brother. Knows that Dick still has nightmares, sometimes, from when the villain had beaten him senseless with a baseball bat well before Jason’s ill-fated turn as Robin. Jason understands that.

“Cat got your tongue?” Two-Face smirks.

Scarred fingers twist through Dick’s hair and jerk his head back, forcing his neck into a painful-looking arch. Dick snarls, teeth flashing, the muscles of his arms bunching as if he’s tugging on his restraints. From where he’s sitting, Jason can only see half of his face. Something cold and frightened blooms in Jason’s chest, an awful paranoia born of Two-Face’s proximity, Two-Face’s threats.

“Don’t touch him,” Jason snarls, and Dick’s head jerks, as if he wants to look over despite the hand in his hair holding him still.

Two-Face straightens but he doesn’t let go.

“Stop me,” he says, mildly. “If you can.”

Jason yanks harder on his restraints, feels the skin split beneath unforgiving metal. Snarls. There’s no more give than there was before. As hard as he struggles, he isn’t getting out of these cuffs.

A smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

***

This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

“This is a joke right?”

Jason tugs harder on the cuffs. It won’t get him anywhere, but it makes him feel a little better and it’s the only thing he can do with Two-Face standing behind him, scarred hand resting heavy on Jason’s shoulder.

He isn’t in the chair anymore, although they haven’t untied his hands. Instead, he’s kneeling on the ground, cold concrete leaching the heat from his knees. There are about fifteen of Two-Face’s men milling about, waiting for the entertainment, and Jason had been stripped of his helmet and most of his gear before he’d been strapped into the chair, but he thinks he could still make a good go of it, if he could just get his hands free. Or even without his hands, if Two-Face wasn’t holding a gun, resting it casually against the back of Jason’s head.

Dick won’t be much help either, and Jason isn’t sure he can take on sixteen people on his own. His brother is more securely bound, ropes wrapping tight across his chest, winding around his arms and cinching his legs together, tethering his ankles to his bound hands to render them immobile. Oh, and he’s also dangling in the air above a wooden platform covering what Jason strongly suspects is a vat of goddamn acid.

Honestly, Gotham. Sometimes Jason feels as though he’s fallen down the fucking rabbit-hole.

“I don’t joke,” Dent says from above him, voice mild, as if he’s commenting on the weather rather than someone dangling over a vat of acid. “I do like to keep to a theme though.”

A theme. Fucking hell.

“You would think you’d stay away from acid,” Jason says, nastily. “Don’t want to fuck up the rest of your face too.”

Two-Face doesn’t rise to the bait. Jason wonders if the theatrics are just for them, or if he’s always like this. There certainly hadn’t seemed to be any themes involved when Two-Face had shot Jason’s good-for-nothing dad dead. Just a short fuse and a gun.

But then, a thug is a thug – maybe caped crusaders require more pizzazz.

“He’s obviously jealous of my good looks,” Dick interjects, surprisingly calm for someone who’s good looks are in imminent danger.

Jason sneers – his skin feels too tight to manage any other expression, pulled taught across the bones of his face. “Well, you could always scar the other side Harv – if you’re looking for a way to improve that mug of yours.”

The gun presses hard into Jason’s skull, rocking his head forward until his neck aches, chin pressed into his chest, staring down at his own lap. It’s an uncomfortably vulnerable position.

“Shut up,” Two-Face orders, voice still mild. There’s no hint of the snarl from earlier, although Jason feels the phantom press of an arm against his throat all the same.

Jason kind of wishes he would lose his temper – Jason can work with anger, particularly if it’s aimed at him. Anger makes most people sloppy. Makes them react without thinking. All Jason needs is the opportunity. But Two-Face has pulled cool and collected Harvey Dent to the surface like a flip of the scarred coin that had doomed Dick earlier.

“My boys have been promised entertainment. The coin has decreed a punishment. Nightwing is taking a little dip and you’re going to sit here and watch it. Isn’t that right boys?”

There’s a ragged cheer. The pressure against Jason’s head lessens. For a moment he doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes fixed on his legs, feels his heart punching against the curve of his neck. If he can’t see it, maybe it won’t happen. Maybe this is all in his head.

Except, when he finally lifts his head it’s all still there: Dick’s still dangling from that fucking rope like a rat caught in a trap; the vat of acid is still sitting underneath him; the goons are still milling around, watching Dick with hungry eyes. The gun is still hovering close behind Jason’s head.

There’s a flash of light at the edge of Jason’s vision. That stupid coin turning over and over in Two-Face’s fingers. What Jason wouldn’t give to snatch it out of the air, toss it down a drain or bury it under the earth, or maybe throw it with enough force to bury it in Two-Face’s head.

“Take him down,” Dent says. He could be closing a case in court, listening to his voice, rather than sending an innocent man to his death.

Or maybe there’s not such a difference there after all - Jason’s never much liked lawyers.

Across the room one of Two-Face’s goons closes their fist around the lever connected to the winch system Dick is dangling from. There’s a metallic clank. A suspended moment where even the air feels still, as if not a single person in the room is breathing. Then there’s a jolt as the rope holding Nightwing in place starts to unravel, dropping Dick down towards the vat.

“Stop!” Jason snarls.

Panic shreds his voice to something rough and painful. He strains against his bonds, against Two-Face’s looming presence, against the fact that this is happening. A heavy hand layers over his shoulder, pressing him down as he tries to struggle to his feet. Dick drops steadily downwards.

“It’s fine, Hood. I’m fine.”

Because Nightwing is a martyr to the end. Because even as he’s being lowered to his death, he can’t keep his mouth shut, can’t let a moment go by without nobly sacrificing his own wellbeing.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps.

Behind him, Two-Face chuckles, a low, awful sound. If Jason can just get out from underneath him. If he can slip his cuffs and get across the room and pull that fucking lever back up.

“Don’t do this, Dent. You bastard. Let him go.”

As if begging has ever helped anyone. Two-Face ignores him. He’s breathing heavily, fingers pressing savagely into Jason’s shoulder without the protection of his leather jacket between them. Around them, Two-Face’s men jeer and laugh as Dick inches ever closer to the acid beneath him.

His brother’s face is tight with fear now, that strange calmness completely gone, eyes huge and dark. He’s struggling, trying to gather enough momentum to swing himself out of the path of danger, but he’s bound too tightly to have much success. By now, his knees are almost touching the surface. Dick tries to pull them up, to curl them safely against his chest, but the rope between his wrists and ankles pulls taut, holding him in place.

A hollow, frightened sort of hope carves out a space behind Jason’s ribs. It’s the same sensation he had felt, through the agony of his broken bones, his ruptured organs, as he had leaned against the locked warehouse door, waiting for his father to rescue him. It’s stupid. It’s childish. Jason, of all people, should know that you can’t rely on a last-minute rescue, knows that even Batman can be too late. If they’re going to get out of here, Jason can’t rely on the bat. The only person he can rely on is himself.

“Wait,” Dick shouts. The whites of his eyes are bright against his dark skin. “Stop, please! Don’t-“

Batman isn’t going to make it. Jason isn’t even sure if Batman knows they’re here. It’s down to him. No one else is going to save them.

There’s a sharp crack as Jason’s thumb gives way. To Jason, it might as well be loud as a gunshot, but it’s mostly lost beneath the jeers of Two-Face’s men and Dick’s terrified shouts. Jason’s heart is punching so strongly against his throat that it feels a little like it might leap right out of him. He can feel the frantic throb of his pulse in his wrist. There should be pain, Jason thinks, numbly, as he slides his damaged hand out of the cuff, but instead there’s only adrenaline, bunching every muscle in his body, setting his heart ricocheting against his chest.

Two-Face isn’t looking at Jason. Instead, he’s focussed on Dick, exposed teeth and eye gleaming in the harsh light. Jason doesn’t spare any time following his gaze, or hesitating, or waiting for a better opportunity. He acts. Sweeps one leg out to catch Two-Face by the ankles. Rocks him back. Surges up to catch his flailing wrist. The arm in Jason’s grip gives with a satisfying snap beneath the pressure of his elbow and Two-Face howls. Jason lifts one leg and plants his foot solidly against the villain’s chest. The kick sends Two-Face flying, crashing to a groaning, hurting heap against the far wall.

In a matter of seconds, Jason’s arms are free, Two-Face is across the room, and Jason has a gun in his hands. When he spins to face the rest of the room, Two-Face’s men are staring stupidly, attention drawn by the sound of their leader’s scream, but no one has reached for their weapons. No one is prepared for Jason hefting the gun in his hands and opening fire.

There’s green crowding close at the edge of Jason’s vision. A wavering, blurry quality, as if Jason is under water. As if he’s back in the Lazarus pit, drowning in toxic green, water in his mouth, his nose, his throat, pressing in against his eyes. There’s a roaring in his ears, a swelling wave of noise crashing against him. And underneath that, the sharp rapport of gunfire – his and the thugs who haven’t yet been dropped like flies.

“Hood!”

The cry cuts through the strange, tinnitus-ring in Jason’s ears, the green-tinged fog in his head. He blinks. The voice is frightened. Someone’s in danger. There was something Jason was supposed to do.

Then Dick screams and Jason slams back into his body with a jolt like an electric shock.

The lever. Jason needs to get to the fucking lever, now.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s ever moved as fast as he does now, launching himself across the room. He gets a flash of a white, terrified face - the thug’s mouth dark and wide as Jason barrels towards him - before they collide with a force that knocks the breath out of him.

That terrible, agonised scream cleaves the air in two. Jason fumbles. His hands are slick with sweat and blood. They slide hopelessly against the rusty metal of the lever.

Beneath him, the thug struggles for his gun. Jason smashes his fist into his face. Ignores his gurgling cry - barely hears it under the siren-pitch sound of Dick’s pain. Reaches. There’s metal under his hands and something gives and somewhere in the distance Jason hears the rattle of mechanical movement and please, please let that be Dick being pulled free.

The thug is limp beneath him. Jason pushes himself upright in a sort of daze, feeling both very far away from his body and yet strangely present at the same time. The world seems to spin around him. Some of Two-Face’s men are still standing, but no one is firing at him. Most of them are on the floor, lying groaning in pools of blood, or clutching wounds, or crouching in fear.

Above them, Dick is writhing on the end of his rope like a worm on a hook. The black material of his suit is dark around his knees. Liquid drips off of his legs in a slowing stream, splattering across the wood and concrete as he jerks and twists in his restraints. The scream has tapered into a high, choking keen. It’s...it’s a noise unlike anything Jason’s heard before. It pours icy water down his spine, tightens his skin until he feels claustrophobic in his own body, twists cold fingers through his gut.

Dick was dunked - that much is obvious. Dick is hurt. That’s acid clinging to the weave of his suit. Acid darkening his legs. For a long moment, Jason feels paralysed by the realisation. Dick is hurt, Dick is injured, and Jason doesn’t know what to do.

Get him down. That’s the first thing. Jason needs to get him safely on the floor and away from that goddamn vat. He moves almost without meaning to, as if his brain is trailing behind his body, still caught up a few seconds ago. One of the goons, startled by Jason’s sudden movement, fires off a shot. It goes wide, splinters the wall somewhere behind him. Jason doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t care. If the bullet had ripped through his shoulder, he’s not sure if he would even have noticed.

The gun in his hands comes up automatically to return fire, but Jason doesn’t stop to aim or to check if it hit its mark. He keeps his eyes fixed on Dick. There are a set of shallow steps leading up to the platform. Jason scrambles up them. His whole focus laser-sharp on Dick, his world narrowed to the dark shape of him, the contorted twist of his legs. The rest of the room might as well not even be there. But no one fires on him.

Jason has nothing. Nothing but the gun and his own hands - his jacket, his knives, his fucking boots are all in the other room. Jason could shoot him down, but the acid is still beneath him, and if Dick falls…

But it’s not like Jason has any other choice. If he doesn’t get Dick down now, who knows what could happen. He’ll just have to catch him. He’ll haveto.

Jason launches himself at Dick a second before his gun goes off. For a breathless moment, Dick is free falling, dropping like a stone towards the acid below him. Then Jason collides with him, hard enough to knock the breath from both of them, sending them both crashing to the wooden platform.

Beneath him, Dick makes a choked, breathless sound of pain. Jason rolls off of him as quickly as he can. Fumbles with the ropes holding him tight. Doesn’t look at his legs even as he frees Dick’s arms and torso. Carefully avoids touching where the rope is damp and already falling apart.

Dick writhes. It’s hard to tell whether he’s trying to free himself, or just too caught up in the pain and fear and confusion. His eyes are wide and white, his mouth dark where it’s stretched around the awful little sounds of pain he’s emitting. When he finally frees his arms from the ropes, he reaches automatically for his legs, blindly, and Jason catches his wrists and holds them tight.

Dick’s pulse thrums like a desperate bird beneath his fingers. Jason’s own pulse is beating almost as hard, a sick, throbbing rhythm at the hollow of his throat. When Jason finally glances down at his brother’s legs, his heart almost leaps right out of his mouth.

The fabric around Dick’s knees has melted away almost entirely, leaving ragged, bald patches in Nightwing’s uniform. The skin underneath is already blistering. The flesh is raw and wrinkled, pink and wet in some places, bone white or blackened in others, as if the skin is already dead. Jason has to swallow bile at the sight of it. Feels acid burn at the base of his throat.

Water. He needs water. Needs to get the acid off Dick’s skin. He should cut the uniform off too, get the contaminated fabric away. Or should he? Would removing the fabric, practically melted onto Dick in some places, only make the wound worse? He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. Jason knows that Batman taught him this - knows that first aid for burns was one of the first things he had learned. But the fog in his head is too thick and he can’t think.

Not that there’s much Jason can actually do. There isn’t exactly a handy water source in the middle of the huge concrete warehouse and all of Jason’s gear is piled in the other room: his comm, his jacket, his gloves. Jason is scared to touch Dick’s legs. Scared to hurt him and scared to disable himself. The last thing this situation needs is Jason with acid on his hands.

All he can seem to do is clutch at his brother’s wrists and stare, helplessly. Dick’s face is white, a wet sheen of sweat glimmering in the bare orange light. His mouth is just as wet, parted around his ragged breaths. Each exhale comes out as a whimper, little helpless noises of pain.

“Hood.”

Dick’s eyes roll sightlessly. Jason can see the whites all around them. The words are pressed out between gritted teeth.

“Hurts. Fuck. Fuck. Help. Jay, it hurts.”

It trails off into a high whine. Dick jerks, all of his muscles tightening, knocking his head back against the metal floor of the walkway. It looks a little like he’s having a seizure, his entire body tight and twitching. Jason tightens the fingers around one wrist and tries to cushion his head with his other hand.

“You’re OK, N,” he babbles, feeling useless. Panic draws his stomach tight, a hard, heavy ball in his gut. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna...B will be here. He’ll come. It’s OK.”

It’s all meaningless, but Jason doesn’t know what else to do. They can’t rely on Batman, as much as Jason might want to. Batman’s only human. It’s Jason who needs to get Dick out of here. He needs to get water. Needs medical attention.

His hands flutter over Dick’s legs, his chest, too frightened to land. Dick moans, a low, rattling sound. Jason could get him under his arms, but the last thing he wants to do is drag Dick’s ruined legs across the ground.

“Who’s cheating now?”

The voice is surprisingly close. Jason hadn’t heard Two-Face get up. Had missed the soft thud of his footsteps beneath the sound of Dick’s pain. But the voice comes from right behind them - as if Two-Face is standing over them, and suddenly Jason is painfully aware of the fact that he had slung the gun onto the floor beside him in his haste to get to Dick. That he doesn’t have any of his gear and Dick is incapacitated and not all of Two-Face’s goons are out of commission.

He crouches low, trying to cover as much of his brother as he can. Beneath him, Dick writhes, staring blankly up at the ceiling high above them. Two-Face steps closer. Jason can feel the heat of him against his back. He tenses.

There’s an ear-splitting crash - splintering wood and glass - and a huge, dark shape barrels through the boarded-up window. In that moment, Jason understands exactly why so many people are terrified of the Bat - his almost mythical status. Because now, a shadow against the shattered window, cape spread wide, face grim beneath the cowl, he could be a demon. A nightmare. Despite knowing that Bruce is on his side, for a moment Jason is terrified.

He ducks and Batman flies over his head. There’s a dull thud as he collides with Two-Face, then a garbled cry as the two of them shoot over the edge of the platform. Jason doesn’t turn to watch. Beneath him, Dick’s face has gone slack, his eyes half-lidded and Jason is too preoccupied with fumbling for Dick’s pulse. It’s too fast. Too weak. But it’s there, still, threading beneath his fingers.

“What happened?”

Jason starts at the sound of Batman’s voice. It’s low and strained, even gruffer than normal. Jason recognises it as panic, although not many people would. It touches Jason’s own fear, sharp and bright in his chest.

“Acid,” Jason murmurs. “Two-Face dunked him. I got him out before...but his - his legs…”

A hand lands on Jason’s shoulder, warm and firm and reassuring, and Jason hates how grateful he is for that small touch. Hates how, despite everything, Jason was relying on Bruce showing up.

Batman crouches beside him. There’s a water pouch in one hand, drawn from the recesses of his cloak. His mouth is tight and pinched as he pours most of its contents carefully over Dick’s legs.

Jason can’t help himself. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Batman ignores him. Reaches up to touch the comm hidden in his cowl before sliding a knife out of his utility belt and slicing it carefully across the ruined fabric covering Dick’s legs. Batman’s gloves are thick black leather. Jason wonders if it’ll be protection enough, or if Bruce just doesn’t care.

“Agent A?”

Jason can’t hear Alfred’s reply without his own comm but it must be immediate, because Bruce launches right into the situation with barely enough time to draw breath.

“Nightwing is injured. At least second degree acid burns, possibly third degree. Basic triage applied.”

The knife slices through fabric like butter. The dark exoskeleton of Dick’s suit peels away beneath his hands. The flesh underneath is raw and wet - an awful, gory mess. Jason has to stare hard at Batman’s hands to keep from gagging.

“We’re heading back to the manor, but we’ll need an ambulance to meet us there. I think this is beyond our capabilities.”

Can Alfred hear the muted terror in Bruce’s voice? The little tremble? The low rasp at the back of his throat? Probably better than Jason can, but Jason hears it well enough to have his skin prickling, to have his heart rocketing against his chest.

Most of Dick’s suit, from the top of his thighs to his ankles, is stripped now, lying in tattered, half-melted shreds around him. Some of Dick’s flesh had gone with it, adhered to the fabric in a way that has bile surging up the back of Jason’s throat. Dick is still unconscious, thank God, face loose, chest rising with too-shallow breaths.

“Help me with him,” Batman murmurs as he rinses his gloves with the last of the water. Then he unclips his cloak, tucking it carefully around the open wound that is Dick’s legs.

Jason moves dumbly as Batman orders him. Hooks his arms under his brother’s armpits. Batman cradles Dick’s legs as carefully as he can, fumbling to find a spot that isn’t as badly damaged. Still, when they lift Dick into the air it must hurt, because he jerks back into consciousness as if electrocuted, eyes white and wide and rolling in his head. Jason tightens his grip to stop Dick writhing right out of his arms and Dick lets out a punched-out little noise of pain.

“Calm down, Nightwing,” Bruce orders, voice a low growl, and Dick goes still and quiet with a strangled whimper, as if he can’t help himself obeying.

“B? Hurts. My - my legs -“

“You’re OK,” Batman reassures - or maybe that’s an order too. Maybe if Batman says it sternly enough, Dick will be forced to make it true.

“Told you B would get here,” Jason murmurs. His own pathetic reassurance.

Batman’s head jerks up. Through the flat white lenses of his cowl, it’s difficult to read his expression, but Jason thinks that’s something like grief in the tight lines around his mouth. Something like guilt in the way he ducks his head.

“I’m here,” Batman agrees, although it’s clear that Dick isn’t listening. “Hold on Nightwing, we’re getting you home.”

[christarango]

I Interviewed the Guy Who Went Into a Museum & "Vandalized" a Picasso.

    In 2012, a man in a suit entered the Menil Collection in Houston, Texas.  That man was Uriel Landeros, a self proclaimed artist and a student at the University of Houston.   A cell phone video captured his visit to the prestigious musuem and was posted on YouTube the same day. The video quickly went viral and set the "Art World" on fire.  That's because Mr. Landeros brazenly walked up to Pablo Picasso's 1929 painting, "Woman in a Red Armchair" and spray painted directly onto the priceless piece of art.  In just a few seconds, the Picasso was altered, hanging there with a mysterious image of a bull and the word "Conquista" spray painted across the surface.  "Conquista" is a Spanish word that means "conquest" or "to conquer".  But why?  What did it mean?  The incident pissed off plenty of people worldwide and started heated debates about the true value of "art".  I had the opportunity to catch up with the artist..  vandal.. visionary.. terrorist.  or whatever it is you choose to call him.  

CT:  Who are you, where are you from?

UL:  I am CONQUISTA, the kid who conquered Picasso, but the name my father gave me is Uriel Landeros.  I was born in South Texas in the city of Edinburg, located in the Rio Grande Valley, but I consider Houston my second home because I went to art school there.  I am a Native/Mexican American.

CT:  As an artist, can you describe the work that you create?

UL:  The Majority of my work comes from my dreams and the subconscious, that other spiritual realm that most people don’t pay attention to.  I try to write down all of my dreams and create images from them. I also use all forms of meditation to influence my work, from fasting, sun gazing, prayer and psychedelic rituals. This is the spiritual side of my work but I also spend a lot of time watching news and current events, not only on TV & newspapers but also the Internet. I compare articles from different countries, independent and mainstream newspapers and bring about a conclusion of closer truth, and then I create political art from this. I try to create a voice that is a little rawer with truth trough my images; I stopped making art years ago though all I make now is art history. But both my spiritual and political work is intertwined. The world is one, everything is connected.

CT:  How did the concept to "destroy" a Picasso piece come about? Was it carefully planned or was it spontaneous?

UL:  The year 2012 was very chaotic for America and for the world, Like I said my work is influenced from all this mayhem, I meditated for so long trying to come up with an image of power and symbology. The image of the Conquista in particular came directly from a lucid dream. Once I obtained the image of the bullfighter slaying the golden bull with the all Seeing Eye, I began to plan the heist. It took about 2 months to completely plan everything; I drew blueprints, counted guards, created exit strategies, etc. It was like a hacker stealing classified information. My plan was never to destroy the Picasso painting, if I wanted to destroy it I would have slashed it with a knife or poured acid on it. The whole point was to leave a message to create a voice and spark another fire against this NEW WORLD ORDER. Believe me I know about paint, I am a professional; I knew that the painting would be easily restored.

CT:  Obviously you pissed off a lot of people. At the same time you suddenly had lots of attention on you & your work. Was that the idea from the beginning or did it accidentally happen that way?

UL:  Not everyone was pissed off, some people were very happy with what I did, many strangers clapped @ my actions & and continue to do so. Most of the people who were hating on me where so called “artists” who have never been able to break the veil of success. I did not know the future, I did not know that galleries would take interest in my art, especially not the world renown museum “The Palace of Fine Arts, MACG” in Mexico city.  When those things began to happen, I was skeptical because I thought that the museum and galleries were working with the F.B.I. and U.S. Marshalls.  But after some research I found out those opportunities were legit, so I welcomed them.  This helped me spread the message further. CT:  What's the deal with your solo art show in Houston following the incident? Apparently you were on a live video feed from Mexico. Can you tell me about that? Also, I heard some of your own artwork was destroyed.

UL:  James Art Gallery gave me a solo show in Houston; James Perez has been a friend of mine for several years. Ironically the title of the show was “ Houston, we have a problem”.  We promoted the event saying that I was going to show up at the event, I had been a fugitive for several months & already there was a $15,000 reward for me, so I knew that the cops were going to show up, but we tricked those pigs.  As you know I was there but through live video feed “Skype”.  I was logged in from an ice cream shop in Monterrey, Mexico.  I gave several interviews and said hello to all the people that attended the show.  My work was not destroyed, James and me invited all the local graffiti writers we could find and let them tag whatever they wanted on several of my paintings. The whole point of this was to show the art community that art is not about paintings but rather the message. Fuck the paintings, this is what Picasso would say “Art is a lie that enables us to see truth” For example The Guernica was not about making a pretty painting but rather transmitting the message of the horrors of genocide and war. Art is a weapon, painting and drawing is secondary to the true purpose of the art tool.  So I don’t care if people tag or graffiti my work, what matters is the message I convey. 

CT:  I definitely feel like you have a message that you're trying to convey. What are you all about, what's all this about?

UL:  First of all fuck the NEW WORLD ORDER, once more; I did this for the people who are tired of being treated like slaves. The Conquista was an artistic metaphor with much symbology.  A lot of the art community successfully digested the message although the reactions were diverse. I stenciled a bullfighter killing a bull with the word Conquista below it with spray paint in color gold on a 1929 Picasso painting. It was a lot of work to pull the heist but all the details are another story.  This graffiti was a form of protest/activism against the government and the corrupt church, who continue to abuse their power of imperial rape. A way to tell the people conquer your fear and stand up for injustice. There was much civil unrest all around the globe in the year 2012, the year of the conquista.  Remember the Occupy movement?  The anonymous organization, the immigrant protests in Arizona, and Wikileaks?  And even after I turned myself in to the authorities, it continued with Edward Snowden and the unraveling of the N.S.A. surveillance, abusing their power to infringe in our privacy. The word Conquista is my artist name, it is also the Spanish word for conquer, in reference to the conquistadores and the Spanish inquisition, the biggest unrecognized genocide in the world, because of gold and greed, “Capitalism in its cradle”. Those who converted the natives into Christianity through murder and rape, those same characters who are now looked upon like heroes such as Christopher Columbus. The word Conquista is also in reference to so many innocent kids who got raped by priest who went unpunished because pope Benedict XVI protected them by sending them to the Vatican and granting them political asylum. This was so controversial that the pope had to resign. Conquista is also in reference to the immigration reform and the dream act that president Obama promised and never fulfilled. My people my culture and my family is bullied around society because of the color of our skin because of racism and discrimination. Just look at the laws in Arizona, its as if its still the 1960s in that state. Discriminating against immigrants when in fact the only non-immigrants are the natives/Hispanics, my people. Nobody ever asked any conquistador for a passport or green card, how was this fucking hypocrisy born?  What the fuck is going on? All this seems like a big joke, nobody in power cares to make a positive difference; they are worried about policing the world and selling guns. This is the history that I have begun to convert into my story. The majority of native culture/archeology is now displayed in museums throughout Europe as trophies of genocide, and thus disables the Hispanic community to truly understand their history & culture, because that art is not in its native land. I cannot bring back all the art that was stolen by the conquistadors but I can create new history. New art, so that is what I did for my people. The golden bull represents the stock market, wall street, gold, money being idolized, The federal reserve, the biggest deceiving ponzi scheme that enslaves us all, and the president & government working for wall street banksters instead of the people. The golden bull also represents Picasso “ the Art Beast”, he who understood that art is not a painting or a drawing but rather a political tool to educate and influence the form of thinking of the masses. I am the bullfighter inspired by Picasso to use the art tool, doing the daring move to kill the golden beast. Conquering Picasso in his own game. Fighting against this whole corrupt system. The bullfighting culture and Picasso are both originally from Spain and this is the irony of a Native Mexican American conquering a Spaniard.

CT:  Whoa, thats heavy.  You were just released from jail for what you did, that's fucking crazy.  How long were you locked up?

UL:  I was in prison for 21 months, almost 2 years.

CT:  What were you thinking about while in prison? Any new concepts or artwork created during that time?

UL:  I was a prisoner before I went to prison, but it was in that dark cold place, in that cage, when I was hungry, when I meditated, that I understood what freedom was.  If your mind is free they can never imprison you. The power of the third eye is limitless, the universe is born from it. I created over 100 paintings and thousands of drawings. I will soon publish all these works online and I will exhibit them in a prison series for my next Art show. My force of creation has only gotten stronger.

CT:  What's next for you?

UL:  I am organizing my next event.  I will soon publish the date and details.  I am also in the process of publishing a book about the entire story, all the things I could not say because of lawful repercussions, how I pulled the heist (it was some oceans 11 shit) and also my life as a fugitive.

CT:  How can we follow you and see how this evolves?

UL:  I’m always accessible through Facebook that is the social media of my choice, but I also have twitter, instagram, pinterest, photobucket, vine, we heart it and email of course. Or just watch the news or Google me.

CT:  Best of luck to you!  Anything else you want to add?

UL:  Yea I just want to give a shout out to everyone out there trying to provoke and stimulate a positive change in the world, all those free hugs people, all the honest police and every activist who has put their life in danger for the benefit of the community, especially Edward Snowden, thank you.

[jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae]

Sunshine & Darkness *Part 4*

I bet you thought this was never coming!! But here we are. I finally finished part 4. Honestly, I think this part is the longest one so far and I love it so much. Let me know what you think!

     The water sparkles and shimmers in the light of late morning. We scramble out of our cars, thankful to be stretching out our limbs after our cramped riding positions. I wasn't in nearly as much pain as some of the taller guys who had to cram themselves in the backseat. I had ended up in the backseat on Jooheon's lap since I was the shortest and took up the least space. It was somehow both comfortable and awkward.

     After a few minutes of stretching, we set about unloading the two cars. Shownu leads the short walk to our camping spot. I pick up a surprisingly heavy box of food that's at least half my height. My short height and the weight of the box results in some slightly uncomfortable shuffling as I carry it but it's manageable. I pause for a moment to readjust my grip as I feel it begin to slip.

     "You know, you could have just asked for help," An amused voice comes from behind me. I glance back to see Wonho, some tents and chairs nestled in his arms.

     "No need. I can carry it," I smile brightly, my ponytail flipping over my shoulder as I continue my trek to the campsite. I take a moment to be glad I wore actual clothes as opposed to showing up wearing my swimsuit, especially considering all the heavy lifting.

     It takes 30 minutes to unload both cars and another hour to set up our campsite. The three tents are set up relatively close together but distant enough that if one tent decided to sleep early, the other ones won't keep them awake. This had been Shownu's request since he tends to like to sleep earlier than I.M and Hyungwon. The tents are quickly distributed out. Shownu, Wonho, and Kihyun have one tent. The next one is shared by Jooheon, Minhyuk and I. The last tent is J, Hyungwon, and I.M. J and I were supposed to share originally but she shut that down as quickly as they suggested it. She hates sleeping near me because I have a tendency to want to cuddle and she hates it. The cramped sleeping quarters make me a little nervous but I'm sure it'll be fine.

     "Do we want to start off with some beach sports and then go swimming or just start off swimming? There aren't many waves so we probably can't get any surfing done today," Shownu holds a bag in his right hand, a few badmitton rackets in the other.

     "I wouldn't mind some volleyball before we go swimming," Wonho suggests. Shownu and Wonho set up the net while we set up teams. It wouldn't be fair to put Shownu and Wonho on the same team so it's decided that Jooheon and I are with Wonho while Kihyun and Minhyuk are teamed up with Shownu. J and I.M wander of after declining to play and Hyungwon ends up as the score keeper.

     The beach we're on is an uninterrupted piece used specifically as camping groups. It's enclosed on both sides by cliffs and rock formations. I slip in to my tent to change into my swimsuit and my cover up before grabbing my camera bag and joining the boys. I set my bag in the shade by Hyungwon before joining my team. I pull at the edges of my yellow cover up shirt despite the fact that it reaches midthigh. Being surrounded by so many attractive, now shirtless, guys makes me a bit nervous.

     As the game starts, it's quickly learned that I am a disadvantage to my team. My short height and lack of athletic ability show their colors pretty quickly. I wasn't horrible but I certainly wasn't good. At the halfway mark, as we're taking a break, I excuse myself from the game. Wonho argued against it halfheartedly but I just smiled and waved him off, retrieving my camera bag.

     It not super hot yet, instead landing at a more comfortable and warm temperature. I can see I.M and J up on one of the cliffs bordering our camping spot. I attach a lens to my camera and snap a few pictures of them before turning my attention elsewhere. J's green and white polka dot two piece and white wrap skirt stand out well against the dark colors of the rock cliff.

     Part of me wishes I had sprung for one of those water proof cameras so I could get some underwater shots but I guess that's a goal for the future. I get caught up in my photography for a while, forgetting everything else. I wander up and down the beach, taking pictures of whatever catches my attention. I do manage to snatch some pictures of the boys before wandering to a different part of the beach. At some point, I discard my cover up and step in the water. It takes me a while to get the shots that I want but I'm able to take some abstract photos I love.

     I'm not sure how long I've been there when a warm hand slides across the bare skin of my stomach, pulling me back against a warm chest. I only have a moment to feel self conscious of my sunflower swimsuit bottoms and yellow swimsuit top. A piece of fabric trails down from the top to covers most of my stomach. I drop my camera in my surprise, suddenly glad I always wear the neck strap.

     "Hey baby," I freeze when I realize that the voice is unfamiliar. I scramble away from the form, landing on my butt on the sand at the edge of the water. A tall figure I don't recognize looks down at me, a grin on his face. I can't stop my instinctual fear. A second figure casts a shadow above me.

     "Are you okay?" This time, the voice is familiar. Jooheon helps me to my feet, his gaze on the man obviously confrontational.

     "I'm okay," My voice is almost a whisper. Jooheon nods at me, his eyes still trained on the man. Jooheon's hand rests on the bare skin of my stomach, comforting me.

     "Hey, sorry man. No harm done. She was separate from your group so I figured she was by herself," The guy raises his hands defensively. Jooheon's hand balls into a fist but it's me who steps forward, anger coursing through me.

     "That doesn't mean it's okay," My voice is a growl that surprises all of us. Despite the fact that I have to look up at him, I glare at him," You should never touch anyone without their permission. It doesn't matter if they're by themselves or with someone else. It doesn't matter if it's Jooheon or me."

     "Hey. Chill out, baby. It's not big deal, really," He tries to give me a charming smile but I'm livid at this point.

     "It is a big deal and this is private property so you should probably leave. Don't make me call the cops on you," I glower at him, my hands almost shaking with my anger.

     "Bitch, just shut the fuck up. Nothing happened so leave it the hell alone. Don't make me knock your fucking teeth out," His fingers close around my chin, digging into the skin.

      "Wanna say that again?" Jooheon's voice is low and dark. The grip on my chin is released and the guys steps away from me. His face flickers with discomfort before he replaces it with false bravado.

     "Yeah, whatever. You can keep the ugly bitch," He turns and stalks away. Jooheon moves to go after him but I place a hand on his chest and glance at him. His hand closes around mine.

     "Just let it go. He's not worth it," My free hand moves of its' own free will, rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. He finally looks at me, letting out a long breath.

     His hand, which is now at my waist, pulls me closer and his lips burn into mine. That fire and electricity is back again. We haven't slept together since that first night. His teeth dig gently into my bottom lip, pulling it into his mouth. A few moments later, he pulls away. My breathing is sped up and I struggle to slow my booming heartbeat.

     "Sorry," He murmurs. His large hand is still tangled in my hair. I step closer to him, my head resting on his collarbone as I wrap my arms around him. He tenses for a short moment but his arms wrap around me and hold me close.

     "I'm okay, I just need a moment to compose myself," I say softly, not leaving his embrace for a long moment.

     "You're shaking, babygirl," His lips are close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

     "There might be a few too many people around for you to be calling me by that name again, baby," My lips brush lightly against the underside of his jaw.

     "Maybe we can find time, later," His nose skims my jawline, and his lips meet mine again for a brief kiss.

     "Can you guys stop making out over there? You're making everyone else uncomfortable," J's voice is loud and causes a blush to spread across my cheeks. Jooheon smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

     "Cute," Jooheon finally steps away. I grab my swimsuit cover and we head back to the group. J and I.M seemed to have returned from their day on the cliffs and have started directing Shownu on where to place the bonfire. The stack takes a while to make but we're finished by the time the sun is starting to sink. It's not long until J and Hyungwon are dancing around the bonfire to music playing from Shownu's speakers. J has a large bottle of rum in her hand that she continually takes swigs from. The lighting is just enough for me to snag some aesthetic pictures without the flash. I almost slip into my headspace once again where I forget about everything other than my photography but Kihyun breaks me out of it.

     "You know, you can socialize outside of your camera, right?" Kihyun holds out a plastic cup of alcohol to me. I return my camera to it's bag and shut it in safely before taking the cup.

     "I just get caught up sometimes. I like the stories images tell," I sip the alcohol, feeling the familiar burn. I don't really drink that often but I have a decent tolerance, at least.

     "Did you take any pictures of me today?" His curiosity seems genuine this time.

      "Yeah. Here, I can show you," I set the cup in the sand and pull my camera back out. I look the gallery, finding the first one pretty quickly since I just took it a few minutes ago. His face is half in shadow, the fire light glowing on the other side. His expression is a quiet kind of thoughtfulness. The other picture takes longer to find. It's one from earlier in the day. He had just scored a point in volleyball. He's turned toward Minhyuk, a bright and happy smile on his face and the ocean silhouetting him to create a stark contrast against his dark hair. He gives me a genuine smile.

     "These are amazing," Kihyun moves to the next photo, looking at some nature photos and coming to a stop on a picture of Jooheon. He's laughing, his eyes closed into little crescent moon smiles of their own. Fire light dances across his tan skin, making the picture feel more like he's an ethereal being as opposed to a human.

     When I look back up, J is sitting in between Hyungwon and I.M and they're passing the bottle of rum back and forth. Shownu and Wonho seem to be having some kind of chugging contest as they drink cups of the punch that someone, I never saw who, threw together. It's pretty intense so I imagine it won't be long until they're both drunk. Jooheon sits near them, watching the contest and sipping his own drink, occasionally cheering on one or the other.

     Kihyun hands me back my camera and I tuck it back in it's bag after making sure that I've powered it off. I polish off my cup of punch and debate about whether I want another one or not. I always feel it in my head first, when I start drinking. The first cup, or shot, is always the worst. It's quite warm and the alcohol certainly isn't helping with that so I decide to take a quick dip in the water, since I hadn't gotten around to that yet.

     I step away from the warm fire and slip off my cover up, laying it with my camera. I slip off my flip flops as well, leaving those near the fire, and let my feet sink into the sand as I walk toward the water. The water feels slightly cooler with the sun down but it's still quite warm and I quickly make the decision to dive in once of the water is tall enough. I swim for a little while, letting the cool water warm my skin.

     I lay on my back, floating on the water as my hair floats in the water as a halo around my head. I float for a while, keeping an eye to make sure I don't get too far from the shore. I only stop floating when my head bumps into something and I see an upside down (by Jay Park, Loco, Simon Dominic, and Gray) Jooheon staring at me. I quickly right myself, standing up and blushing.

     His hands are warm against my water chilled skin, his forehead resting against mine. His nose skims mine, his breath warm on my cheek. I let out a small breath, my heart racing as his lips trace my cheek and then trailer along the shell of my ear, setting my nerve endings on fire. I shiver, my mind clearing of everything else as he breathes against my ear. It's always been a weak point for me and it makes my heart beat faster.

     "What is it about you," His question gives me pause. I'm not sure what he wants me to say. His lips ghost down the side of my neck, his arm wrapping tightly around my waist. His tongue slides along my collarbone, fogging my mind and almost making me forget his question. He finally puts me out of my misery and kisses me, his lips consuming mine. I had been desperate to kiss him ever since our kiss on the beach earlier.

     He pulls me close, moves us backward. A rough surface presses to my back. It must be the cliff but I'm too dazed to notice. I'm not sure how long we've been kissing when he finally pulls away. One of my hands is tangled in his hair and the other floats up and down his spine with feather like touches. One of his fingers is hooked in the bottom of my swimsuit but he shakes his head and removed it. Before I can feel hurt about him pulling away, he gives me a sweet smile.

     "You deserve better than me sleeping with you against a cliff face just so we can hide from our friends. I'll find us some time to sneak away somewhere and spend some time together," He lets out a long sigh and runs his fingers though my hair," Come on. Lets get back. I told Shownu I would put out the fire once I came and got you. We should probably sleep soon anyway."

     We make our way back to the beach. Everyone else seems to have separated into their tents, but there's a lot of sound coming from J's tent. I'm sure their still drinking and hanging out. I help Jooheon put the fire out and we slip into our tent. Minhyuk looks up at us groggily, obviously half asleep. I step outside of the tent for a minute after grabbing my bag to change in the nearby bathroom. It's basically a porta-potty and it's impossible to see but I manage.

     When I get back, I notice that Jooheon has laid out a sleeping bag for me. It's in the middle of the two of them but I can't help but notice it's slightly closer to him. I grab an extra blanket that I brought with me and lay on top of the sleeping bag. Jooheon gives me a questioning look. He's laying on his side, facing me.

     "I tend to toss and turn when I'm falling asleep, trying to get comfortable. It's hard to do that in a sleeping bag but it still creates a good cushion from the ground," I explain, adjusting my pillow so it's perfectly underneath my head and neck," Also, I should warn you that I apparently like to try to cuddle anyone nearby while I sleep so push me off if you need to."

     "Or, we could just skip a step and you could sleep over here with me," his voice is a quiet whisper. It doesn't take anymore convincing for me to shift the sleeping bag closer to him and drape us both in the blanket as I cuddle up to him, my arm around his waist and my head on his chest. His arm wraps around my waist and nuzzles his face into my hair for a second and then I'm drifting off to sleep.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!