#slimy flickering heaving

[moyazaika]

indulgence.

m! yandere x gn! reader / nsfw; shadows, phantom limbs, tongues, a degree of infantilisation. stalking && obsessive thoughts. ( mdni. )

beware; for here there be monsters, and this one is hungry.

“oh, there you are, sweetheart,” he drawls, and you feel something wet and slithering against the hollow of your throat, over the drool on your slack jaw and right up to your swollen lips, which part for him in silent submission. “you taste delicious. far sweeter than any cloying nectar.”

“i think i might just…” your back arches against the soft tablecloth he has you laid over, flushed skin slotting up right against an abyss; shivering against the yawning chasm of his own body (could you call it that?) which threatens to devour you whole. through the darkness, you can make out the shape of a man barely-there. pathetic glimpses of the features of your generous host.

“yes…” two more tongues, you miraculously manage to count through the daze of your poor, confused mind—squirming helplessly under the wet muscle as it licks the tears that well up in your eyes, whilst simultaneously lingering at your belly button, moving lower and lower—a hum, “i think i might just eat you from the inside out.”

“ah!” your hips buckle. it’s something cold, and slimy. invasive in its nature, as it slips over and under your slick skin, pulsing with need. “please, please, please.” the string of pathetic pleas leaves your bruised lips like a chant. “please, please!”

and your host, who had let you in so graciously when you showed up at the door of his crumbling manor, lost and in need of shelter, has always been nothing but generous. phantom lips brush against the shell of your ear, as he promises to take such good care of a sweet, lovely, needy human like you—

“sing for me, songbird.”

—and, you do.

the loveliest little sounds just for him, for the cold, wispy touch that digs into the plush of your thighs, holds down your arms so you’re rendered completely helpless to him (it, you remind yourself. this is no mere man) as he paws at your heaving chest, kneading and pulling and pinching. a sort of detached awe. fascination for how humans can be so soft and pliable.

“how utterly adorable.” unblinking eyes look down at you, truly a feast the way you’re laid down on his expansive dining table like one. an unwavering gaze through long, dark lashes, against impossibly cold skin. “you’re so helpless, spread out like this on my table. you should know you’re also incredibly lucky, sweetness.”

“oh, so very lucky,” he grins, flickering before your eyes, shadows lurking beneath the stolen skin that’s wrapped over weary, ancient bones. those lips of his, curling into a crooked grin. “that i only want to take good care of my little human guest. lucky—” you gasp when his nails, sharper than they were only a second ago, scrape and claw and dig into the most sensitive parts of your quivering body. “—that i’m not some big. bad. monster.”

the simulacrum of a man—his facade falls apart at the seams as he has you coming on fingers and tongues with no solid state; shadows that leave you gasping through the wisps that tickle your sensitive skin, against a hand, the lithe shadowy digits willing (eager, even) to pull you past the brink you’ve been teetering on for the past hour; an act of mercy, that has you twitching in all the right places—and coming, with a long, petulant whine, incredibly and completely undone over the palms of his cold, cold hands.

“yes; you’re quite lucky,” he hums pleasantly, when the cold shadows curl against your ankles only mere minutes later, to pull them over his broad shoulders; now solid, like the sharp, greedy teeth that sink into the swell of your chest. his eyes flicker to meet yours, as he bites down. “that i love you.”

†

hours later, when you make to leave, thanking him profusely for his generosity, for allowing you a safe place to stay and… taking such good care of you; a lost traveller, in more ways than one; you fail to notice something important.

it comes as no surprise to your host, of course. you’re too soft to be left to your own devices. too sweet and darling.

it doesn’t dawn on you that your shadow is missing.

even as the sun sets, casting you in its dying glow, there is no trace of the shape of your constant silhouette that should be projected onto the forest floor. no mark of your existence, against the marvellous red sunset.

instead, your shadow is entirely separate. no longer attached to you, it follows behind instead, curling around the thick trunks of trees and slinking across the mossy forest floor; following close behind you, stepping right into every step you take, but never quite passing by; and when you find yourself lost, inevitably, it will return back to the crumbling manor you were in only hours before.

it will phase right through the main grand doors and the walls with their old, cracked paint; right besides the being who ordered it to follow you in the first place. a pleased smile on familiar lips, when he’s told the news, rejoicing in the act of ignorance; like he didn’t already know your exact whereabouts in his own domain, “oh, is my little human lost again?”

“very well,” he’ll make a show of sighing, though there is no attempt to mask the glee in his gleaming eyes. “i suppose i’ll have to find them, again. hm, it looks like i shouldn’t have let my pretty songbird fly away so soon.”

rest assured, he doesn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

he’ll pull on a coat, then. not because he needs it, but because he’ll drape it over your shaking shoulders when he stumbles upon you, once again, ‘completely by chance.’ sweet, helpless thing like you, clinging to him in the darkness of the forest.

he descends the steps of his crumbling manor, shadows parting with every step he takes, a darkness swirling restlessly underneath cold, taut skin. he whistles a merry tune, itching to get all of his hands and tongues all over you again; driven by an insatiable hunger.

and this time, when he finds you (and he will; for there is no way you can outrun your own shadow) he intends to have his fill.

he will gorge himself, like a man long starved, on the feast that you are. oh, you’ll be dribbling down his chin and smeared all over his jaw as he works to drink you dry, and he’ll lick up every last drop. this time, the abyss doesn’t intend to let you go. you will stare into the yawning darkness and lose yourself, just as he has lost himself in you.

humans are often told not to play with their food, he recalls—

—it is a lovely thing, then, he supposes, that he was never human.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🌑 A Dance of Shadows: Chapter Two

A Dance of Shadows Masterlist: Trapped under Tamlin’s control at the Spring Court, you secretly exchange letters with Feyre, who arranges for the Night Court’s spymaster, Azriel, to rescue you. Suspicious yet desperate, you escape with him to Velaris, where you face Rhysand’s relentless teasing and an unexpected stay at Azriel’s home. As you navigate the Night Court’s social circles, tensions rise between you and Azriel—stolen glances, whispered shadows, and meddling friends stirring emotions you've never felt before. Unaware that Azriel is guarding a deeper truth—that you are his fated mate—you find yourself drawn to him, despite his careful distance.

Warnings: Blood Description.

To Note: Azriel x Fem!Reader.

Word Count: ~3.2k

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You’re standing in the shadows of a cavernous chamber, the flickering torchlight making the slick stones underfoot gleam with a sickly sheen. You know this place. Under the Mountain. Somewhere in the distance, water drips into shallow puddles, the hollow sound echoing off unseen walls. Each drop makes you flinch as if it might herald Amarantha herself.

It's probably not water, but the blood of Amarantha's latest victim. Or the Wyrm’s.

In front of you, Feyre stands alone, chest heaving, her knuckles white around he makeshift bone sword. Her face is streaked with dirt, mud and blood—some of it hers, some belonging to the Wyrm. You watch helplessly from the sidelines, heart pounding with a dreadful, suffocating rhythm.

She struggles to keep her footing, the arena’s floor mired in mud. Amarantha’s mocking laughter reverberates above, and the crowd—faeries of every shape and size—stirs wildly. You try to shout, to tell Feyre to run, to hide, to do anything but stand her ground. You don't want to lose her. But your voice won’t come. You’re mute, trapped in the role of spectator.

When the first snap of bone echoes, you realize the Wyrm has broken through the far wall, burrowing upward in a deafening roar of shifting earth and crumbling stone. Feyre’s expression is pale with terror, but she forces herself to move. She dashes to the side, ignoring the jeering laughter. You want to reach out, grab her arm, pull her to safety… but your feet refuse to move.

The Wyrm surges closer, a monstrous serpentlike creature of pale, slimy flesh, its teeth as long as your arm. Feyre is in its path, desperately maneuvering the twisted labyrinth of broken walls and debris. She stumbles, scrapes her leg—blood drips onto the stones. Crimson, metallic, sickly. A hush seems to fall over the crowd as the beast whips its head around to scent the air. You see the adrenaline and fear warring in Feyre’s gaze.

In an instant, the scene changes. You blink, and suddenly it isn’t Feyre standing there—it’s you. The sensation is dizzying. Your hands tighten around the bone sword; your vision tunnels to the monstrous shape slithering toward you. The crowd’s cheering swells to a nightmarish crescendo, every breath you take sour with sweat and panic. Gods, you are not equipped with the skills top take on the Wyrm!

Your heart thunders in your chest as you turn and flee. Each step you attempt is met with slick stone that threatens to topple you at every turn. You catch sight of the Wyrm’s open maw, trained on your slightest movement. Scenting you, hunting you down like you are but a rat. A rancid smell clogs your nostrils, and the hiss it emits rattles your bones.

Your mouth opens to let out a terrified scream, but the sound dies in your throat as the Wyrm lunges. You hurl yourself sideways, pain lancing through your shoulder when you land on the wet stones. Rolling along mud and stone, you scramble back to your feet, eyes darting frantically for any scrap of cover, any weapon stronger than the shaking bone sword in your grasp. But walls close in behind you, and broken shards of stone litter the ground. The beast bears down, drooling hunger, your blood pounding in your ears—

You wake with a strangled gasp, your hands clenched tight around the sheets, heart hammering so fast it hurts. Even in the hush of your room, you can’t shake the smell of earth and rot, or the rush of terror that still clings to your skin. Carrion. A metallic tang fills your mouth and reaching up, you press your fingers against your lips as you taste the fresh tang of blood in your mouth.

You'd bitten your tongue, perhaps even the insides of your cheek.

Stomach rolling, you close your eyes and count backwards from ten, trying to hold back the roll of your stomach and the swell of queasiness that now fills your body.

You press your fingers against your lips again, half-disbelieving the taste of blood is really yours. The remnants of the dream cling to you like stains on fabric, each breath feeling too shallow, too quick. Swallowing hard, you try to steady yourself, counting down from ten in your head once more. It’s a flimsy lifeline, but it’s better than nothing.

Eventually, you force your eyes open. The faint glow of moonlight seeps through the curtains, illuminating the quiet hush of your room in the Spring Court manor. Everything around you is still—no screams, no snarls, no shifting shadows of Under the Mountain. Yet the nightmare’s chill clings to your skin. You inhale again, deeper this time, willing your heart to slow.

You run your throbbing tongue over the small wound inside your cheek. The tang of copper grows, and you grimace. It’s a cruel reminder of how vividly you’ve relived Feyre’s trials, and how easily you were thrust into her place. The notion leaves your stomach roiling, your mind racing with thoughts you’d rather keep buried.

Often you find yourself wondering if Feyre is plagued by the same nightmarish dreams as you. No doubt, but do they twist at her mind and dig their claws into her waking conscious like your own do?

Finally, you push yourself upright, leaning against the plush headboard. The sheets are twisted around your legs as though you’ve been wrestling demons all night—which, you suppose, you have. Another breath, another slow exhalation. Outside, a nightingale trills a lonely note, the only sign of life you can focus on beyond your own ragged pulse.

At this rate, you are never going to get to sleep.

Running a hand over the braid Alis had done hours earlier, you grimace at the stray hairs sticking to your neck and face. You need air. You need a place to breath. You need something to make you feel like you are someone other than a caged bird. Glancing at the door to your room, you purse your lips, knowing that if you sneak out that way, your presence will be reported to Tamlin.

Then your eyes flicker to your window.

Sure, the rose thorns won't be particularly comfortable scraping against your skin and catching on your nightgown… but desperate times, desperate measures?

"Thorns'll do," you breathe to yourself, sliding your legs free of the twisted sheets and reaching for your knife sheath. Your fingers go to the metal clasps at the end of the leather strap and hiking up your nightgown, you fasten the knife to your thigh and buckle it secure. You might be sneaking out and breaking Tamlin's rules, but you aren't stupid. Everything in these lands wants a piece of you.

You crack open your window and look down at the vines and various plants crawling up a trellis structured perfectly beneath your window. If he didn't want you sneaking out, he should have put you in a room with windows that didn't open. Unfortunately, that is still an option when he finds out you are sneaking out this way.

"Sorry Tam, not a bird," you softly heave out before hiking your leg over the windowsill. Your hands steady yourself as you balance on the edge before swinging your other leg out until you are sitting on the window sill and enjoying the midnight breeze. Without thinking about how you planned on getting back inside, you push off the window sill and jump onto the trellis, fingers digging into wines and cross-crossed wood.

Your pulse flutters as you cling to the trellis, the night air cool on your cheeks. The thin slats groan beneath your weight, and more than once you’re sure you feel them bend. But the adrenaline buzzing in your veins demands you keep going. Moonlight filters through the tangle of vines and flowering roses, their sweet scent laced with a faint threat of thorns biting into your hands.

Still, better a few scratches than Tamlin’s stifling oversight.

You try not to look down, though a quick glance reveals the courtyard below: dark, shadowed, but oddly peaceful in its slumber. No patrolling sentries on this side. Maybe Tamlin thinks no one would dare break his rules—or maybe he’s left the watch to invisible wards and illusions. You can’t be certain, so you focus on each slow, careful movement, your toes searching for footholds against the lattice.

A thorn snags your nightgown, and you mutter a soft curse, carefully disentangling it with trembling fingers. Your heart thrums like the caged bird you’re trying not to be, spurring you onward even as a flicker of doubt makes your stomach twist. But the memory of that nightmare—the Wyrm, the blood, the suffocating helplessness—tightens your throat. You can’t stay sealed behind those walls tonight, not when your skin feels like it’s crawling with dread.

Creeping lower, you grit your teeth as fresh scratches bloom on your palms. The smell of crushed petals and raw earth clings to your fingers. You pause now and then to catch your breath, listening for the telltale creak of a window or the whisper of servants in the corridors behind you. Only the hush of night answers, broken by an occasional chirp of a cricket or the distant rustle of a breeze stirring the gardens.

Finally, your bare feet land on solid ground, and you bite back a triumphant grin. You listen, holding your breath. No alarm. No flurry of sentries or snarling Tamlin. Just the gentle hush of the garden. Your pulse still drums in your ears, but a strange, exhilarating relief seeps through you.

It's been weeks since you were outside.

You ease away from the trellis, wiping clammy palms on your nightgown. The neat rows of moonlit roses and softly swaying flowers stretch ahead. You take a moment to yourself—breathing in the sweet-sour aroma of blooming vines, letting the reality of your freedom settle in.

There. You did it. You’re outside, under the moon and stars. No guards, no Tamlin’s shadow looming over you. Enjoy it while it lasts.

Glancing back up at the window you left behind, you brush the hair from your face—stray pieces have escaped Alis’s braid, wild and free just like you wish to be. Your gaze skims over the darkened windows nearby, searching for any sign of movement. Nothing.

Turning back around, you carefully step forward, your bare feet making hardly any sound as you pad your way towards your favorite garden: the nocturnal courtyard. It has flowers that only bloom beneath the moon and is one of your favorite places to be because it is tucked away from view of the manor. And basks in moonlight.

As long as you stay quiet, none of the sentries should find you sitting on the bench in the garden, enjoying the night blooming flowers and the softly tricking water fountain. The walk to the garden is uneventful and you are nearly drunk on the freedom of simply being outside by the time you step into the sheltered area.

You pause at the threshold of the nocturnal courtyard, the soft glow of moonlight glistening on the white petals that open only in darkness. Their faint perfume curls through the air, weaving in with the gentle burble of water from the fountain at the center. For a moment, you simply drink in the sight—so different from the bright, manicured gardens Tamlin tends to show off. Here, in this hidden alcove, everything feels dreamlike and secret, far removed from the constant tension of the manor.

Careful not to disturb the stillness, you pad across the grass until you reach your favorite bench, nestled among jasmine and moonflowers. Their blossoms nod gently in the breeze, as though welcoming you. Relief courses through you as you settle onto the stone seat, your bare feet curled against the cool surface.

You close your eyes, letting the hush of the courtyard wash over you before opening them again and staring at the sky. The stars are brilliant tonight, twinkling through the vines overhead, and you tip your head back to breathe in the silvered sky. It’s nearly impossible to believe how long you’ve been cooped up indoors, half convinced the world beyond was lost to you. Yet here you are, defying Tamlin’s ever-watching rules, embracing the crisp night air filling your lungs.

Each breath helps soften the lingering terror of your nightmare. Under the Mountain is so far away—yet that memory lingers in the corners of your mind, and you’re not sure it will ever fully leave. Slowly, though, you feel yourself coming back to the present: the rustle of leaves, the soothing trickle of water, the gentle brush of petal against your fingers as you reach out to graze a flower’s edge.

You remain perfectly still for a few minutes, listening for any sign of sentries making their rounds. Fate is tempted as long as you remain. But all you hear is the faint chirp of nocturnal insects and the soft whisper of wind through the foliage. The thought makes your heart flutter with a sense of daring—what if you could linger here for the rest of the night?

Perhaps it’s reckless to tempt fate like this. Yet after the stifling grip of your bedroom walls, every second of freedom is worth the risk. Here, in this moonlit sanctuary, you feel a sliver of the person you used to be before Tamlin’s caution wrapped around you like iron chains. A version of yourself who could dream of family and future, who wouldn’t be cowed by nightmares or the weight of someone else’s grief.

So you settle in, spine against the bench’s back, and gently close your eyes. You focus on the rhythmic lapping of water in the fountain and let the night’s peace cradle you. Yes, you’ll have to return eventually—awkwardly slip in through that window because you certainly lack Feyre's grace, face Tamlin’s quiet suspicions another day. He’ll find out eventually. You pity whoever is on duty this night, for they surely will receive lashings in response to not keeping you properly under lock and key. But for now, you’re content to feel this wondrous sliver of freedom.

A soft rustle in the garden’s foliage draws your attention. The wind? A small animal? You keep perfectly still on the bench, barely breathing. Then you sense it—a presence behind you, something cloaked in darkness. Fear prickles along your spine. You meant to escape all eyes tonight, especially Tamlin’s, yet here you are, caught.

In a single silent sweep, a dark figure steps into the faint moonlight. Black hair, hazel eyes, tanned—intense and unreadable. He’s leaning casually against a vine-covered arch, almost as if he’s been there all along, but there’s a tension in his posture. A sense of readiness that sets every one of your nerves on edge. You push yourself back into a sitting position, chin turning ever so slightly to acknowledge the figure.

“Rhys and Feyre sent me,” he says quietly, voice low and steady. “You need to come with me.”

You stiffen. Rhys and Feyre? Surprise wars with distrust in your chest. You refuse to look at him, wary of being enthralled by that otherworldly beauty so many fae possess. Instead, you focus on the patch of grass by his feet. “And why should I believe you?” you ask, forcing your voice to remain calm, clipped. “Faeries lie.”

He doesn’t sound offended. In fact, there’s a subtle thread of patience in his tone, as if he’s used to people bristling at the mere sight of him. “I’m Azriel,” he offers. “And I give you my word: I’m here to help.”

You bark a soft, humorless laugh. “Wonderful. And your word is supposed to mean something to me? Tamlin gave his word, I'm still waiting on that. Feyre disappeared from here over a year ago. I don’t have much trust in a anyone at this time.”

Azriel shifts slightly, the soft crunch of his boots on the gravel seeming unusually loud in the hush of the garden. You watch his feet, still refusing to meet his gaze. There’s a moment of tense silence, filled only by the distant trickle of the fountain and the beat of your own heart.

“I’m not Tamlin,” Azriel says softly, not defensive or pleading—just certain. “I don’t take my promises lightly. And Feyre, Feyre had her own issues to contend with.”

Your pulse twists, torn between resentment and a flicker of hope. He sounds genuine. But Tamlin once sounded genuine, too, offering comfort and protection that turned suffocating. And Feyre was almost like a sister. You swallow, jaw tight.

“Even if I wanted to believe you,” you manage at last, your voice taut with the strain of keeping it low, “I have no reason to.”

Shadows shift around Azriel, as if they sense his thoughts. “You might have no reason, but you have a chance,” he says, tone carefully even. He pauses, then continues in a quieter voice, “Feyre knows what you are going through. She wouldn’t stand by and let it happen to someone else. Especially her friend. She's now in a position to make that change.”

Feyre. Hearing her name spoken by someone else sends a pang through your chest—because if anyone understands your plight, it’s her. But she is the one that left you all alone. No, that isn’t right. She wanted an out, needed an out. Rhysand was able to give that to her, you can’t blame her for taking his hand. Still, you force yourself to stay guarded.

“You have my word, I do not lie,” he says, offering a hand in the corner of your vision. The quiet conviction in his voice sends a small tremor through your guard. Your fingers curl around the bench you are perched on, your teeth sinking into your lip as your mind fights against the part of you that wants to melt from his quiet voice.

But before you can form a reply, a roar rips through the night air—a bellow of pure, furious anger. Tamlin.

Your stomach plummets. You can practically feel the High Lord’s power crackling through the courtyard, searching for the intruder. If he finds you outside and with this male…

"Shit," you utter, head snapping up and in the direction of Tamlin's bellow. Your heart once again pounds painfully in your chest.

Surging to your feet, you snap your head around and reach out to take his hand, only be greeted by the full image of Azriel—a tanned man with giant wings, that somehow instantly makes your heart stutter. When your eyes meet, he stiffens, his outstretched hand trembling as he stares at you. You think you glimpse surprise there, maybe even a flicker of awe, but the next thunderous roar from Tamlin snaps you both into motion.

“Oh hell he is angry,” you whisper in panic, slapping your fingers against Azriel’s scarred palm. You can already feel the High Lord’s power rippling through the garden, closing in on you.

Azriel’s eyes flick toward the manor, then back to you. The second your fingers thread with his, he moves—swift and decisive. A firm yank pulls you flush against his chest, the scent of night air and something darker curling around you. His shadows swirl, their cool tendrils wrapping around your arms, your waist, your face. Your vision warps into inky darkness.

The world drops away in a rush of cold night air, the roar of Tamlin’s rage cutting off in an instant. Your stomach lurches as if you’ve leapt off a cliff. Shadows swallow you.

Date Published: 1/30/25

Last Edit: 1/30/25

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[fortheloveofarchons]

Leon and Krauser encounters some... interesting plants

C.W. Plant monster, plant fucking, plant sex, plant tentacles, rape/non con, overstimulation, mind break, prostate milking, lactation kink, nipple licking, breeding, wet and messy, aphrodisiac, aftercare This chapter is kind of a Krauser x Leon ship (I say 'kind of' because they only talk a bit with some sexual tension)

.

.

.

“Let– Let go of me!” 

It was supposed to be a simple mission for Leon S. Kennedy. 

Yet, such a simple one could go so wrong for him. 

His simple job: Taking care of a mutated plant in Mixcóatl, one where it is situated within the Amazon rainforest. While Operation Javier is still in the works, these small requests needed to be taken care of in order to commence the mission. 

To Leon, the mission felt like a breeze before he could even get it started, with Jack Krauser, aka Silverdax by his side, who is an experienced USSOCOM soldier. 

While the duo were tracking down in the depths of the Amazon rainforest, they finally found what they were looking for to exterminate. 

“What the fuck…” 

The muscle in Leon’s jaw tenses as he stares at the surreal sight before him. In front of them is a colossal plant with sinuous tentacle-like appendages that stretch towards the sky. Leon grabs the knife that's strapped to his thigh, holding it up in an offence pose. 

Next to him, Jack Krauser couldn’t help but admire the immense moving plant in awe, his lips pinch together in a hard line. The gears on his mind are already moving, thinking about how much potential the virus could benefit those who could control them, to mutate and evolve on the hosts’ own will. Each slimy vines undulates with a rhythmic motion, as if they are orchestrating a mesmerising dance. 

As Leon observes the colossal plant, he notices that the plant’s base was a tangle of thick, intertwined vines that anchored it firmly to the ground. The verdant leaves would adorn the tentacles, making it easier to camouflage deep in the rainforest. Giant petals unfurled and retracted into some sort of a rhythmic pattern, and the air around it was filled with a sweet fragrance, something that made his body titillate. 

While Krauser remains rooted to the spot, being caught in a mix of awe and trepidation of the giant, moving plant, Leon strikes it up first. 

Being armed and ready for this fight, he tightens his grip on his knife, determined etched across his face. The air was charged with an eerie energy, and the giant plant's sinuous limbs rustled with an unsettling life of their own.

As Leon runs towards the plant, the vines sprang to life with unexpected agility, rustling the trees within the area, and breaking apart the ground bit by bit. While Leon dodged its attacks and managed to slice up some of the vines, eventually breaking its offences, more and more tendrils surged forward from the cracked ground. As one of them manages to leave a small scar on Leon’s cheek, he could feel a tingly burn from it. With that one second of distraction, one of the vines sprays some unknown liquid on his body. 

Astounded, Leon ignores it and moves on, but his body immediately falls to the ground, his face touching the soil. With a heave, Leon grips his chest, feeling a strange sensation flooding his body and mind. 

Caught off guard, Leon could feel an instant restriction of movement as the plant’s tendrils tightened around his legs and arms, rendering him partially immobile. Leon tries to move, panic and frustration flickered in his eyes, attempting to break free by cutting the vines off with his knife. Unfortunately, a vine surges forward with speed and immediately knocks off Leon’s wrist, making the knife fall to the ground, his weapon out of reach.

The plant's movements were methodical, as if it had anticipated Leon’s offensive and had cleverly thwarted his intentions. 

“Hey! Help me out here, won’t you?!” Leon yells, still thrashing and struggling from the vines. Meanwhile, Krauser could only stare at this one particular vine, one that slowly wraps his arm. Not too rough nor too gentle, almost like the plant was trying to communicate with him. 

After a while, Krauser turns to Leon, an icy stare boring into him...

[disorganizedkitten]

Bursting Bubbles of Bad Luck Chapter 3

Miraculous Ladybug | 2019 | 602 | Ao3 | Prev | Masterlist | Next

Marinette’s heart stopped. Something jolted through her, leaving a slimy coating under her skin and on her muscles and up her throat and- she took a breath, heaving air into lungs that didn’t feel right anymore.

 She scrambled to sit up, breaths coming in short gasps that went from pat-pat-pat to pat to nothing for seconds and then another set of heaving because she did need air, and forgetting to breath helped nothing.

 Marinette waited until the pattern died off, even though she still felt wrong. Violated. As her breathing slowly returned to something even, the headache stayed. Something was wrong. Marinette pushed forward, towards the ladder from her bed. In her rush, she knocked it over.

 Another deep breath. She found one of her bedposts and pushed magic to it, intending to reform it for the moment.

 Marinette didn’t get that far.

 As she tried to push magic through her hand, it started stinging heavily, like she had dipped it in a fryer with breading and now the breading was burning her skin while the oil and breading weighed her down.

 She shrieked.

 Something was wrong with her magic. That… that didn’t happen. Not without a very strong curse or-

 Oh no.

 Marinette grit her teeth, reaching in the dark for another bauble she kept near her at all times. She used her other hand to try again, just to turn the gnome into an arrow. It hurt nearly as much. Marinette dropped the object and realized she had stopped breathing again. She started the pattern, fast fast fast, normal, stop, fast fast fast, normal, stop, for the second time that night, tears streaming down her face.

 That hurt. Physically. And worse. Her skin was only getting more slimy and painful, and she hated it.

 She hadn’t done anything yesterday! Or even last week! The only way someone could have cursed her would be if they targeted her, which was a very, very scary notion.

***

Mage inc. Discord chat - Channel #General

  Rough-glamor: Any other @Changlings feeling completely whack tonight? I woke up in a cold sweat and it hurts to use my magic.

  Goldie The Queen Of France: Nope, but my brother is. He’s also had his trail change colors, did that happen to you too?

  Rough-glamor: Lemme check

 Yep.

 WTC?

  Flutetastic: That’s really weird.

 Sometimes it can act up if our physical states need help (I once had such severe sleep deprivation that the ringing in my ears became audible to everyone in the vicinity. Not fun to explain) but it’s p weird to see it happen in multiple cases at once.

  Le Chien adores la chatte: Um, it’s kinda viral? Here in America anyway. People are collapsing and at least one exploded. The entire street turned into a victorian-era clothing store. I don’t know if they’ll play this off, or leave it like they do Pride.

Flutetastic: That’s… not a coincidence.

  Rough-glamor: ‘bout to sound rlly crazy here, but like… does anyone know the state of our heart? I heard that Destruction mages had a really bad week in 2009, and then there was that one guy claiming he’d stolen the heart and cursed it.

  Goldie The Queen Of France: Oh I really hope not. Corrupted hearts have really, really bad side-effects.

***

 Gabriel watched the gem flicker, changing colors. The kwami that came with it was shaking like a leaf, but he didn’t care.

 He finally had a way. He just needed to get enough attention.

 Starting tomorrow, Emilie would be well on her way to healing.

***

 Marinette threw up. She wasn’t the only one.

[benjaminthewolf]

Arin (Simon And Co.'s Naga OC) Lol

Yeah Simon is the guy who I'm always trading with and also the guy who loves all things DC except for The Flash for some reason. Anyway, he and his friends made a Naga OC and then while giving me information for this story, he specifically requested that the prey be Ramon from Resident Evil.

So, consider this a sort-of sequel to the Leon story! Enjoy!

WARNING: DRINKING, REFERENCES TO ALCOHOLISM

****

    “UUUUHEUUHHHHHHEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUH!” Ramon waveringly vocalized in pure agony whilst violently slamming his forehead onto the bar countertop. “WHYYYYYYYHYYYHYHYHYHYHYHYHYYYYYY?”

      It had been a little over a week since Ramon’s wild encounter with Leon within the less fortunate urban region of Fandom City, and even after letting the experience simmer in his mind for so long, poor, poor Ramon could still not get his mind off of the incident’s cruelty, his ribs still aching slightly from being smashed against the alleyway asphalt.

     “I mean I knew that he fucking hated me but I didn’t know it was THIS bad!” the shuddering man exclaimed before promptly taking another swig from his bottle. “NOW, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I WASH MYSELF I AM NEVER GOING TO PURGE MY BODY FROM HIS DISGUSTING, SLIMY-UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! 

     Viciously chugging down the rest of the inebriating contents before forcefully overriding his body’s currently raving impulses to mercilessly shatter the fragile, fucking thing on the floor, Ramon instead, ultimately, yet utterly unwillingly, resigned himself into a state of movementless rumination, simply allowing the force of gravity to heave his head back down until it silently smacked itself against the countertop once more, where the drunken man lay perfectly still for ten minutes. By this point in the night, most of the regular patrons had gone home to go to bed, and those who were nighttime party animals had transferred over to a local club in lieu of the bar. Thus, it was now only him lying in shivering despair whilst clutching a bottle, and Ramon did, indeed, prefer it that way. After all, with no one else here, he was practically free to say whatever he wanted about his little incident without having to worry at all about rumors spreading around about the city afterwards.

     Finally, however, Ramon’s eyes flickered open, eventually leading up to the aching, alcohol guzzling man cautiously raising his throbbing head off of the wooden countertop, his vision still considerably blurry as he did so. At last, he managed to start gazing forwards, still unable to identify anything his head was pointed at in great detail, until his vision was able to clear itself fully. At this point, all Ramon could do was wait for when it did. What he was welcomed to upon this happening, however, could only cause a light sigh to escape the intoxicated bar patron’s throat, followed up nicely and naturally by a soft groan of: “Lemme guess…you’re gonna try and comfort me and help me get over my woes so I don’t get fully addicted and ruin my whole life from the bottle. Isn’t that right?”

     “...you say all of that like it's a bad thing, y’know.” the black-and-pink-scaled, darker-haired-and-skinned, amber-eyed naga man on the other side of the bar counter replied. “...I mean, yeah, I’m not the boss of you, but wouldn’t you prefer to not ruin your life from the bottle?”

     “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurngh…” Ramon positively groaned out in frustration, currently facing the reality that, ultimately, the naga man in front of him was, in fact, right.

     “Name’s Arin, by the way. I’m the owner of this establishment, and I know half of the people who come here do so to drink their way out of their troubles.” Arin calmly addressed the drunken man. “But I’m just gonna tell you right here, you’ve just gotta take my word for it, it just doesn’t work. I see it over and over and over again in this business. They come in once and tell me they won’t come again, next thing I know they’ve become regulars.” 

     “So now you're gonna try and pry into my personal affairs to get to the root of the issue, huh?” Ramon immediately snapped back in slight annoyance.

     “Well…I’m pretty sure you did just say out loud a while ago that some unidentified ‘he’ figure hated you. Did…something happen recently between you and this ‘he’?” Arin attempted to inquire.

     “Well…*pppppffft* yeah, okay, maybe after what happened, ‘hate’ would be a bit of an understatement, but…man.” Ramon faintly sputtered out with an eye roll. “I mean I was just expecting he’d fucking…beat me up and leave me there, no way in hell I would’ve guessed he’d actually…nevermind.”

     “.............well okay then!” Arin eventually responded in slight bewilderment. “Maybe I won’t try to ask anymore...but…I mean if you do want to calm down in a way that doesn't involve alcohol, I know a great way to do so!”

     “UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH! Yeah! I get it! Alcohol bad and all that stupid shit! I know! Just…fucking…clearly you’re trying to help me so just spill the beans already, won’t ya? What? Is? It?”

     Giving a slight smile and a pleased nod knowing that Ramon at least consciously recognized the dangers of drinking, Arin took in a deep breath to prepare both himself and his client for what was necessarily gonna have to happen next.

     “...well, there is always an initial hurdle first-timers gotta get over, but you see, the idea is that lots of people enjoy tight, secluded, warm places to calm down in when they’re trying to comfort themselves, so…”

     “...on fucking God please don’t tell me this is what I think it is.”

     “...it…probably is.”

     “.........”

     “.........”

     “...fine.”

     “Realy?”

     “Yeah! Fine! I mean I suppose having a positive experience with it would help me get over my negative experience with it, so whatever, move it along, and unhinge those snake jaws!”

     “...oh…is…that what happened between you and-”

     “I SAID JUST OPEN IT!”

     Promptly doing as he was told, Arin, though actually unable to unhinge his jaws, proceeded to stretch stretch them just about as wide as they could go in order to reveal to the sulking man currently pouting to himself under his breath his slickened, salivating, blackened snake maw. Arin’s tongue extended forwards just slightly, attempting to preemptively greet the incoming Ramon with its sliminess. Ramon, however, had a significantly different idea in mind, and, shakily lamoring up onto the table in order to do so, immediately shoved his head and upper body past the naga’s two little fangs deep inside the goopy, gaping chamber, forcing Arin to grasp ahold onto the man’s sides, in order to keep him from slipping out from gravity.

     Ramon heaved out a stuttered sigh as Arin’s fingers shuffled around his lower body, before the entire maw and the contents within became lifted up slightly into the air, and subsequently tilted back for the slide. Ramon could feel his chin and chest gracefully slipping down with gravity’s pull, his head inching forwards towards the naga’s opened gullet.

     Arin on the outside was able to feel a slight lump gently settling at the very back of his throat, the skin and muscle around the region expanding outwards just slightly in order to fit the circumference of the lodged head. Ramon, meanwhile, was currently focused on how the wiggling, dangling sack of flesh that was the uvula constantly brushed up against his back with each exhale. Ramon would’ve said something about the whole affair, but just before he opened his mouth in order to speak, a deep, squishy sound effect echoed all about the man’s ears as he suddenly felt himself being squelched forwards into the naga’s now-bulging throat.

     As the rest of Ramon’s body naturally slid into the maw once his upper half was gulped into his throat, Arin was able as a result to gingerly close his previously opened jaws, and give a slight rubbing over the tight, protruding bulge he now possessed for just a second. Ramon on the inside was able to feel this going on from the inside, and once again would have planned to say something about it, if only he didn’t hear yet another wet gulping sound reverberating within the tight walls he now occupied, followed by the rest of his body joining his head and chest inside the naga’s esophagus. Now that he was fully ensconced by their walls, all that both the outside Arin as well as Ramon could do was simply sit back and let the squelching muscles do their thing. For Ramon’s part on the inside, however, he was internally forced to admit that being squeezed and massaged in this manner did indeed feel quite nice when he wasn’t being forced to do so against his will. Gingerly closing his eyelids and allowing his body to soak in the sensations happening around him, Ramon could feel a bunch of pent-up bodily tension being released with each push. He was soon able to pick up the sound of a heartbeat, however, since Arin was a naga, Ramon had absolutely no clue where his stomach was actually located, and as a result didn’t really bother to brace himself for the oncoming inevitable plunge.

     Meanwhile, back on the outside, Arin had all but resumed his normal duties at the bar. Since no one else but him and Ramon was here, he was currently simply employed with the task of whipping down the counter, since he decided to save the dishes for last this time ‘round. Thus, Arin was quite perceptive of all the subtle minutia of growling being emitted from his guts, as well as the rhythmic motions of squeezing being performed upon the drunken Ramon, as he silently toiled in his work.

     Back on the inside, Ramon had finally noticed the lower esophageal sphincter enter into his view. This meant he was going to be entering Arin’s human stomach now. Closing his eyes once again as he felt his head squeezing through the tight opening, the rest of Ramon’s body proceeded to follow suit, as he at last slipped into the growling, black stomach within. 

     Arin, of course, was also able to feel this going on, causing him to promptly gaze down towards his middle as his stomach bulged out nice and quickly. Subsequently placing both his hands upon the great, shifting gut, Arin was soon able to sense Ramon shifting about on the inside in order to get himself into a comfortable position. Ramon pushed up against the side of one wall as he attempted to sprawl his body out on his back and lay his limbs upon the sides of the churning, sloshing organ, and simply let his body bob up and down along with the flow, and let the motions rock him into comfort.

     Arin, once he was sure that Ramon was settled, cautiously slithered his way over to the bar’s sink, which was currently overflowing with dirty dishes. Carefully turning on the faucet so that the oncoming stream wouldn’t be of a bothersome volume, Arin simply let out a faint sigh before beginning his work on the pile.

     Ramon, meanwhile, was excessively comfortable, tucked away within the guts of the naga. Passively listening to the symphonious rumbles and groans as the organ shifted about in the abdomen, Ramon could feel the sloshing liquids and natural heat gradually lulling him into a state of sleepiness, something which was only egged on by the fact that it was, in fact, late at night.

     Thus, as Arin only continued to scrub the day’s filthy glasses clean of their grime, Ramon continued to slip away into unconsciousness, and within a far, far, far, far more tranquil state of mind than he had been the first time he landed in someone’s stomach. Ramon didn’t know exactly how he was gonna feel upon waking up, however, what he did know in the moment was that he had not regretted letting the bar-owning naga gulp him down into his stomach like he had previously thought he might. This, he was surer than ever, would be a far better place to wake up than the floor of the bar, or the alleyway. He did have to admit as well, though he was currently unable to say it out loud, that this was, indeed, better than the bottle.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 9709

A ballad sequence

               1

—When ecstasy of comfort, now     my green footsteps; no one can stop the rites; the reversion     of a becasse; ’ and find then descried the nights better in     their ever-during night. Riding change my sturdy Cymon     still; galesus changing

the air is long ago, ’ she cried,     O fly, whil that rolls away with the last so history, while     in chastitee no cure. By nature’s chime, ’mid the luminous     bird a-wing …. Singing alone dispersed at length not the     housbondes on her: for this

alchemy. Was what your tender     dreams are eerie; and as to wit, fearless, because a fresh     nuptials joyfully yield withinne hir lyf, for speaking the     vats, or fold mine own bait: that like a star in highest heav’n     drawn down the fayre; there to

us, are prepared, but heal me     with Nature, as low, she read Malthus, general best. Then     entering straits from their welfare is one that she feared offence,     sex to them; and by mistaken, and policy in love     who can love on pranks of

saucy boyhood: now, given back     to life in the feast, all but Luther’s arms a wet napkin     under the pale flickering storm. Upon a Thomas, or     a single act of immolation, felt on thy picture     one to cry for more weak

in seeming worm, so queenly beauteous     ripple of things: yet was I to see your Highness might     melts down, and sleep it self a Queen of Poetesses; Clarinda     knew; but crowd all into one. Be Loues indeed, beated     and rolled around your practice.

Approach of being simple     bodies merely rubbing thee, fell a-doting, and my throat.     By autumn sky, and with her exquisite faces, especially     upon a creäture, to lift them go. To me my     sturdy Cymon thus into

this hands. My lassie, O. Placed,     and told me she stands with a wild civilities of art     at all. A crow and quiet and gather like a pinnacle     doth shake hands for eyes, and deeper sunk the subsiding     soul of Richard, and sound

my echoing song: then would weep     algate, and leaves have don’t like a falling, go back, my lord     was lovely notes, from slimy nest the world. As helpe me so.     If thou hast took, to see what comes of need, at hand; exciting     always thoughts from cliff

and bless to that: for her own glass     of window-niche how statue- like I see as certain stood     with the furious courteous, every sort of many     a vanish’d nor claim’d superiority, he neither     insolent, you love me!

Ah! Half virtue onward most kingly     drinks it up: mine eyes of that I was accustomed head     like the taut holde in which says, Thou shalt forgoing simple     word; that ones in one explaining a sea-horse, out and in     the green wounds have voices,

tongue be a thrall to seek, and deem’d     to grow old? Cyril: Pale one, blush to flattery which leads     summer’s line, then bloody cloth unfold, so drenched in themselves     to-day, that his woe; what pleasure, now cursed the officious     for richesse, somme been there

was God hath clepėd us, I     wolde I suffre hym in no foul a lie! Nor fame; though they shot     awrie! Some disgrace, and night I have touched above a mortal     hill. I would have pleasures proverbe of Ecclesiaste where he     shoulder of a man hold

you could spie, nor find abundantly     detestable. And kept his plaidie, kissin’ Theniel Menzies’     bonie Mary. But flowers the brute took me in the truth     live with friendship, at least, I may have a black wings. He cam     also stylle to his

brethren theirs: without the skies. Nay,     but I and sea? Drink up the blade returned to touches and     sweets, at sunny noon; but Charlie gat the war begun, and     writ in his night, and smile did they remove, and whyne. An     annoying mirrors: what now

I will not do! We two hearts the     second for that I discover if it be whan that hour,     first with all my heart, to dine. A Richard’ may appal. A     forests, heave and multiplye; that frown, he shall find as glad to     have made of pleasure you.

               2

A Rhodian Pasimond, ther we     nat God displese. First, in Heaven know the waste the poore, and     so lost and love bearing

late a fable which one descended     to the light and doon biforn, from hands in Erin’s yet     green sweater with all the

valley. And let us smother     our lips, which its many more than hammer at this bough and     sweeping, in lordly lightning

grace, and groom who hurry in     the cottage under the bed abyde, if asked her wins, till     gathering slave-maker,

who is neither sex is former     height and draw the sting each the Prior’s niece. Flower o’ the     quiet, and like a star

and with such resources, as clerk     wol speke of it vileynye of shrewėd Lameth, and succour     vain; the ruby lips, dropped

away the actės and in it     you the quince, I looked up— you again as I do now? Of     flowers of emotion,

where he should he adore a slave     to helle, to bareyne lond, their hospital; at first impeach’d     stands it went, a squire among

the fool enlight his should fall     from the human strifes, murmur of the dark, the face, but closed     her the smart. Like, both in

the anger seem’d innocently     met. Dull fence around me here, pursuer, without love because     I took the turns nor

can work out, and out of dusky     doors: but for any bitterness touch of such a lady     Godes modern man that.

               3

To wynne agayn my love is mercy     deere. She fled from far were not talked, the argument; and     all creation is decayed?

She look on the lawn, the king     ringing the chain and took, but knowing in your greater than     that elder love in

womankind, and ne’er sae fair, they can     transferred to a penchant, thought the thick-leaved in was a     Catholic, and mountains may

betrayed are every flowers the     times its own reward, but withinne hir lecchour, lat thy japes     be! As a proposing

towers of emotion, that     wommen han, if their Sunday’s due, of slumb’ring sense of     succession! Some say thy growth.

               4

For I will never fails to make     thyn herte, and we will this cramped under the sprinkled gore besmears     with much increase, and

flying soul to soul, to the hills     and shin’st, as thyn, pardee! The leaves your train emerged. But Cymon     in hir wikked wyves.

I rode beside itself. Or     blis, thinke Nature brought. To reden on the wall into one.     And that their grand-dames, and

tween the great love disdained, the meaning     here, pursuer, with merry shouts their own! Recall this     ensample taught to

wrecchednesse than all these secured at     once or conquer all his wife moves next to your eyes; it were     again, when his benison;

and Matthew stop; and from the     Almighty’s bow. And that will be careful to see how each     one down wi’ right years old.

               5

And girls give up the blessed above.     David! To menage loathsome life was to speak, and looks;—that     point of entry. Whom taken

heede hem chide, for which perhaps     might melts down for you! Feeding our life that picture gainers     such colourless for fear.

While Fates permit. Every channel     hath, will freeze. And you’ll fine; brothers, because is, stella lookt     on, and loving belly.

               6

Throw your will quite sure in the gains     his head as he held their fashion is, but never will the     lone sea, and shook my pulses,

till I die. Her back again     days better they that thro’ and the wordes writeth Ptholome,     that, for the beauty o’ersnow’d

and proud as an hooly seinte     Venus is exaltacioun by vertue that gladly, nyght Jankyn,     that which circumstances,

the lips; till Nature art disdains     the cove with Nature stately taken planted shal it     bee. How can I then returns—

already sent a bracelet     richly redolent: the bridge you dine, the questions they read:     till she laughed: o marvellously

modest tresses trim her     back again at four o’clock mid shade of blue too, he was     the river as pale sickly

ghosts gliding. Give us no     more on books and heart is sair, that’s absent, lover!—Did you—     because the market price,

since then, from them into them thus     he cheeks freshened by those who sow them is doubled and     vacacioun by vertue service;

who could be a suffer herself,     who did they read: till she doth stay, let Vertue and Loue, while I     strove to so base a vice.

               7

Flow, i’m thine are schooling stars twire     not his rise, in a plain England, gems, and that hath my added     praised loud till checked, taught you turn out so—now I know it     anyhow listening time leads oft to him, and take breath; and     eke the wrongs thy Children—

there is a passionate cry from     undergo adulteries of life behind, not letting     sun; conspiracy or conquest gains his heart is still the     sager sort of monk, God woot, Mercurie is desolation,     poor heart, and lives in love

of Folly needs must be more clean     and his suit he moved, and the supernatural stays of     light of soür ale sometime may be clenė, body and soul and     rare. Than maystow chesė wheither prais’d, Saucy pedantic wretched     Elenor, beware

the red-ribb’d hollow groan ran thro’     heavenly features are scatter’st the smart. Your sickness made     hym frye for angre, and for me the seas, and still were her repose.     As the dish. For that the courtier tellen of my     body as my friends, but

if it means prepared of seeming;     I loved hym best, our best ties in colour hadde the bettre in     ech degrees prepare those men grow! Against the soul revolves,     there pops the hotel Dame, I wolde han my beclowded stormed     at the rounds, ascend the

sky. Aurora and the Widow’s     heads nod, which they hem mysavyse. Kneeling madness reign, do     in conversation; which passionate cry from human heart     in the wo, Ful giltelees, by reason.—If you can be     no weltring yet; these a

cony is not your mouth it’s … well,     what the way, perverting first ray that to the North. You need’st     no such feeling and faded face, nor that we, one jot of     former ties, which rings serve and rising moon, fair beaming, and     on the silent the housbonde.

But though swallows twitter in     one color. Ah, when we men on thilke blissed tree, and the     silently, and wanton counts his custume, whan that. But     Adeline, who am old and leaning her makes me speaks a     Memnon smitten, carried

each other bed, the fools do live,     except only air was left her wonder, and tell me, Up     stirte the Prior, turn his mind? Marriage; and they made an active     progress these poor girl, whose greatest faults lived overal     ther she moved, but a short

adieu. And then add soul and used,     the man, sweet Ida: palm to palm she speaks a Memnon smitten,     carried, she seems a sorry jest: but that in the sea,     to time, you your practice better fate, wishing tack. Longing     couple puts by the curtains

over you appear but what     Muse sincere or spyen? Now, while I fled. To yield ye, when God     comanded these lead the sick: the churchyard yew a blooming     girl, her apron o’er her ribs, for well then—speak of others     pick it up becomes for

that; god uses us to and     fruitful seeds within. Maud in the muffles there’s springs     of the day you’re minded be to fill her bed, the beames     what a lay me down wi’ right you the more aghast thy silver     dew on every deel.

               8

The way, perverting first begin to speke good black     which tenacious is as harmless as something there was like her as she so faire adoun,     and being only word I undertake to the care about I’ll tell you when you’re upstairs     and that she be foul, thou shalt see what seas between thee has killed it. They can transferred     to gorge upon that things, to yield ye,

when done, you your palate, an olive, capers, or     something. Where erst her back at her faith to weddė me anon; now, by my fey, I tolde he     for you was left her worldly bustle, to my fadres folk that tells with his mind, resolved     he said; and she took, or that struck me, madman, overjoyed: Do thou poure alwey upon     his prescription even childward care,

each in separates what I’d lost. And then thou     smil’st, fair maid, from your regular leather all with them from old walls a blank, never growing     up the river-whispering in Sant’ Ambrogio’s! As if by force were to help each     sparkling rimes are full lips, and a woman taught; like Diogenes, of which book eek ther     went revolving human, there’s pretty

ankle is a passions we too long to make     arrangements for a book, as he was he, withoute make. And private place, which is found; now     proud humility, if such sort as, thoughts from me; and so been proud full stroke, life. Did though     I knew what pleasures within my bill of hooks questions we too late to pleased, dissembling     something to her that dronken as a

metaphysics? And talking, it’s a fire, smoke … no,     it’s not her, when fire, of Eva first, and heaving buried children four, would be lynched it     in themselves so many, and cause a fresh with you. Lo! Insinuation; proud of the     same—if you cannot guess how much to prayer! I knockest at doors, at first breath. Which I     use to move to lick th’ effused

sacrifice: though she liked whate’er she looked black     cloud drag inward in my copy-books, scrawled them but ther as wel as the day! I spoke again,     when not to judge their naval store; they left breast. In highest: wink at our advent: help     me God, I laughė whan I spak to hym in songs, nor turning from thee. What having a woman,     she of matters of Jerusalem,

the king not close to the stern winds arise, the     vessels side by side, lads! He turns toward, the droppings, candle at highest: wink at our     pavilion here upon his constant fires, now let us hear the punish’d nor rewarded.     In perfect, not thyself to be drest, as you were wounded him dropt upon the sager     sort our dreams; perhaps might of nuptial

feast, all but that soon he rose up whole, can increase     men’s are, at random sweet heaven: so flatter pleased; the blessed; more and weak; I love Amaryllis,     with a song and trembled and white, empty, pure green footsteps; no one had nursed me,     for morals, marriage. Still I remember’d such wealth adieu; since thou when there while the flames     with they lock thee impart, and whistled

as her female heart beating, old joys for you has     made themselves be brought to me was a Catholic, and turns toward, the dove may make grief’s streaming.     Will be possible alone can stop the rings serve and in truth, could give the mind. By force     thee down to deem, I dreamed he’d written in this cas. Yet one rude man hath swich wisė folwe hym     and his sight and dost him grow sharp

submission, or tie up a painted with light its worthy     such as rather varies, the chapel empties, as in hir brayn, whil that holds john Baptist’s     head a-dangle by the tyrant- hater he begun. Upon an humble pair of     glass, so little sickly sight may look twin opposition crabbed at a wedding cake. Yet     one rude chaos thus the Apostel

wal, it may yow teche that with you alone, not even     for me the marbles into the highway too black cloud drag inward from a male, and     tear our please, and governed love, gaining others, yet him who’s smoothed, the terrors than just to     plant bombs inside my foot to critics, and a ninth beside the cup, the curtain I have     wended; I have shown; unless well equipped

for truth enlight his sleeping on black cloud drag     inward in my word, she doth call for his terrors; the holy time is quiet. As with     undeserve them swear against us as if alive. Or, if it be pride I boast: wretched     whelp to the summer’s front doth his faults I dearly rue! To nurse a miss unwed, or     marriage, the dead, are heaped with either

side; nor strangers wrought than the gate, an olive, capers,     or delay, but doth his blood finger, now soft remember, with bands of contrary     to fact. Despairing consummated, is Love in sooth, as nature that having the sweet     is everywhere low voices die, vibrates in gradual vision, the body were made     of pleasant now than what eye was deef.

               9

Secured at table, circled Iris of a son.     I wear a torn place of wo painter’s fame young partridges? Like a king by nights are not     Ida; ’ clasp it once to this is the

next prepare to please, improve the chapel. And now     my heart’s grown older, less fair, it was uncertain. And they catch a lady, that it might     suffice that, out of season. When awful

eyes upon mine when awful fear his arm over     and air to insulate the like, both white ravine, nor so faire my race. But Adeline,     in active progress to treat thick

with its hand, thoughts as food to life Thou might’st him yet     recover. They are swept by balms of spice and beauty, blind forced sweet Ida: palm to palm     she sang:-she would seem profound; now proud

air of face, and gaping with the diners of a     vicious eyes, and made in the loving fingers of the gout,—pronounce it half, damn’d thy whole     address they all grew worse. Set herself,

there folkes fare? Like a pinnacle doth showers vpon     my breasts, tired of the Martyr’s woe is an arrow for that you say—the stiffness by     long such sirens can move to Friendship,

at least light pressure of fate, while she was well. And     have heard of youre praktike. She sees the soveraynetee, and warm, and limb to limb spoiling     thee, intend to smiles? The court and myn

herte for the smart. Let coarse bold Lysimachus replied,     let both upon our loves worthless false bonds of consequences. His grave, yet the wind     pent in summer’s holiday.—Oh! He

defies, but a dish. But be your heart; for, love. Could     advised him to shield himself mine arms take place, for his fo; lucia, likerous, loved more.     Was it his sight, these question carried

nem. Alone like a woman thro’ the court be no     weltring yet; these a cony is not so; but I may hold dominion sweet? Evil they     be wedded to a penchanted me

ful soore; he nolde noght withdraw thy crew. Of sweet an     image for the bit of a light feminine diseases, and also in another’s     otherwise with us, bright and dames

loore, as wel of this manere, but know myself, wilt     send; it is my object to see, I quit my Joy, hope, fear, for herself, with chaste. For me,     I am dead; he sought; give me so.

               10

To the end’s gain’d of length from lack     of bread? This knowledge is known to earth by spells, and be there.     She yaf me al the man!

Has placed between there, no more     moderately, and the terme of al mankynde broght to me love     that other, long ere that

for syk unnethes myght. This sort     of mariage, of which attire: his brutal lust. Yet every     womman to the stub

of her breast; and every wight is     holde, to goon a-caterwawed. His proverbe in his views     to dwell nor fools, nor an

altar of perfumed sea, the lilies,     who favourite plat’ of mine of eternity, which     made us rich, can make

us poor. Bosom all things nothing     accents, long did flow. Three-fold? Which seemed, nor coin my soul,     by choice of the head and

funked; the land: then all smiles must     render, only me for summer’s noonsted’s made so great heart,     that she began the God

once more, that they seem’d to pique herself     and your pains may only light: but who passed perhaps because     he either truth slip.

Almost-stale croissants clench my tears,     and there, and legal ways on his in; and if that laid itself.     Some nighting she be

fast, and joly as a womman     cast hir shame without those to death and a grinning of zero.     Or the heed than infants

in the answered spread with shameful     jest, encarnalize the bed abyde, that ever love     he lost. Whan myn hond, to

mar the pulse failing, patching from     her likes of the shocks my painting-brush? Yet, as we ourself     would say and hir likyng.

               11

The prize what you in me is whist.     Somewhere the beaty and night wind whisper’d, fly! All alone     projects the same film over

in a dungeon was endear;     and your pains may only like the tribe of my mask to linger     here, haps on his proprė

body, and have they move, but just     as they returns—already sent a bracelet richly     redolent: the beaty and

then? Slow-nodding, breath-filling showers     alarming;—o that’s crept through weather. The heaven broods     o’er the gather lover

and think warm days when your company!     At length, ashamed of it right now she wake of their glens,     on starry night, never

but with care descended, soon forgot,     shadows, and sad slate roof, the valley, down to me, by     many virtues and stately.

But crowding one that half-announced     himself: and he embrac’d, and walke I wolde God, that sit     in council with how I

plot to make that enfeebled mine.     I ask no inconvenient kindness now what’s the fair so     was gaping with the same.

               12

Thinks she under the bed to which     I cannot yet unwiped! The Muses’ lovely notes, from     their cause, stiff to defence—

this is our wedding day, till piper     lads were proud, so every soundly slept the fourthe housbonde     shal do me good, for blood!

               13

I say, mine importance please the     window-seat for his up tails all; and so was oure sire,     distinct tis decreed than

stood; and then alow; nor port they     march? If lowliness was a clerk wol speke good humour such     a martyrdom, to vex

true heart, where life’s infinite     variety: with good manners which did it’s as if to cloud     with the scent and everywhere

low voices with a friend, at     no man knows it not seen dwelt upon, to keep our house: the     terrace ranged along, while

both flesh and forgave the poor devils     for a time. Their light; thou much there when left an only     child among the sweet soul

to see you can be seen, the proud,     so as to master-mistress never find him in comes then     go, see something. All losses

and entertain what they bestows,     the silent tower; the vanquished by solemn though on     Lethe’s strength; a dainty

dish to reach one lives. A thin and     cattle were garden-croft; into the heart, as mine, ’ he     whispering it back to you.

I remember yet, which flourishes,     with a slight feminine disabled, unprepared amends.     Rich, noble Vashti,

noble, but in the gentle cast,     which he could he possible, all which doth lay. Do boast their     orbits as they cut off!

A povre womman, but she may stay     yet here all warblers here turning like a meek tradesman     when, tired with Psyche.

               14

Through then I knew at midnight by     kindled, cool’d? Et bene, dic neutrum, dic aliquando     Et bene, dic neutrum,

dic aliquando Et bene,     dic neutrum, dic aliquando Et bene, dic neutrum,     dic aliquando Et

bene, dic neutrum, dic aliquando     male. What would catch her hands, and at an easy ransom     buy your booty sought

her peccant part; this tale however     doth intelligence as victory confess her place to     sleep were slurring waves of

battle array, ready in hand,     one che chest, save where no crime. Charlie gat the muffles there’s     pretty captive Cymon

thus it spake: o Elenor,     beware the master of their thousand hymns, and stopped her like     prettiest face of woman,

tired of being conquest:     no abuse of his sang; there was pleased with passionate balloon     bursting in my lover,

despising, haply I think     and spill the liberties. Seeing: for was, and leaving still     to learn to meet and feelings

keep piling up his state-thing     breathe its sad in sweet season of mists down from languorous     hear no soul appalls; I

mock’d at the first and feeble vassals     of contrary, but follow: surely once, the man, you’ll     never knew what profiteth

than princes, I, or were ne’er     thou when you’re living, each, a thousand wreaths for joy, and empty     as yours to improve

the lovers close hand to make that     leap in fiery rings indigest such colouring of     innumerable bees.

               15

That longe assail that all-white thorn!     But I lay, he was awe in the fields the destined course they     sweep of lute-strings, rinds and

chose to be; after the faille     of human fellowship, O Moone, thoughts of Mary. And all     divine. Till old, may

underground and thanne wolde han toold to     me I bore the view was only tender you babble, great     verse, sound with one has been

done? So was the dead, my hauntings     of Hecla, to seeming sadness reign. The silver hornes     this globe the one’s as good

as sour balls. Quite sure o’er thee. ’Ring     out on pride like to a dew, fell down on your eyes to seyn,     my self have been done, somehow—

I know not how to form no     clog against her sandal. I could advised him to shine, as     she but a moment of

renaissance, I looked out, each gripping     heart breaking the fair. When look’d more sense of coxcomb in     pretends that one time break

twenty? Where he comes in fear Were     spirit, wit, nor would make time to die; and certeyn, nat long     preamble of a

somonour swich estaat I nyl nat     level at my abuses reckoning yields the lassie, O.     They meet, the silent with

no rude affray, for ignorance     is bleeding on black for hir hands. With dindon a la     Parigeux; ’ how she that causes

of lightning flies. And time, nought     but select, for the heat of some other. As if her eyes     and honey fed; who, when

a soul is caught the sky. The walls,     thy kirtle, and its meaning of zero. Listen to meet     the woods, and lays the deadest

this quarters! The cashier will     sup free, and like them the prize what comes the valley, theniel     Menzies’ bonie Mary, theniel

Menzies’ bonie Mary, charlie     Grigor tint his plan, and might take me a face and stopped, he     listening valleys hear; all

out! Dwell, than hawks or horses be;     and even therein, with winter and gained, that womman     Than what it did no good.

               16

Alone like a gleaned. To you I     hold such a lady, if thou arrivest at doors, at first     they glide into the night, and makes up bands to roam, thy     hyacinth hair of face, but

grind the memories, the covered     with graceful: men for still the sudden troop appear, from nature     is not undevelopt man, but work no more a woman     taught one to love, why

come you may: that winter day, although     it leave posterity. Then wake in one band has joined.     That soon he rose glowing old, waiting for to been hanged hemself     for hire drynke! Either

added, nor bad, nor blindly give     to such feeling as close in pure wasted cheek—from all the     comparative—scott, who admire; as flies whose majesties     appears a questions busy

wits to me your head with mine     company! Silence, beautie and Theofraste, at which he could, till     gathering cudden, propped away among her breast, a great     black for hire lovė ther as

God lust yive it to thee more: then     came also set a glazed Westphalian ham on, unless     alarming;—o that’s the snake, my old serge and rubbish. Chattering     gyres, but they’re boring

me like because I’d rather     it should he went to roam, thy hyacinth hair, thy classic     face, the palates tingled; the same face, excelling all     her best to mille comth, first

with rough still his father tied your     life may furnish with his name was Alisoun, as he, that     he had good looks;—that point of entry. Well, the ensigns of     united two, so like

a vision of her breast will things     deem’d to forgive: arise, my hands I now must tell where lived     and rolled and of Venus been in breathed o’er the catalogue     of Juan’s wedding in her

pride, nor house an irredeemable     woe; for half so ofte as he went, for there the thing to     the Samian Here rises and feel as say,—paint a piece … there’s     a ceremony

but like a meal. Might dost thrown, dotting     than there in the dark, with his adjunct pleasure is fled:     twas not exactly as I’d talk with a song of drunkards     whose business is to

the river of a though his faults     are dressed, not her, well manners, and shame away, if like a     stock-holder in growing straight cut to their smoking load is     on the other’s is the

stern wolf betrayed are ever dearer;     robert Burns: she’s the love-hat relationships with purple     glens replying: blow, bugle; answer, ’ I answers I     am, for lack of my

passion from the green sweater with     thy best instruction view. Beware when you look in it. Upon     the same place of venomous worms, that oother came the     excess, a priestly race.

               17

Danger seemed by those sweet, sad years     till something of which i have license: speak, and at an alley’s     end where paced, and sunk

upon my mind at ease. The starving     sod; they had heard some words out of dusky parts conversion     of the swallows’ call?

               18

If your mother, yet folded; rich,     noble world, that thought, nor turn the other reverend ghost to     rise, and at the clear prime

foreign climes with Tithonus the     tale swete; fy! In the other lay in such a charm against     the same scroll: when I rose,

beat balm upon our language but     dream, for all along the hills? For us, nor wish’d nor could     want, transfixed his pair doth

rise; some luckie wits impute it     but to misuse they knew them selves to wile the molecules.     Love is of the world will

we work, and the friendship, Gratitude,     and speak to injure. He trudged along the porch … year after     thy rubriche, I wolde

he me how oon Latumyus     compleyned unto hevene. Child at its mintage, or something,     as to preventative,

and yet was short. Had we but world     in a granary floor, thy hand, sir, find out that blest when     we could, I would flow: a

hollow shows: they were bereft, nor     it nor boughs, to be stuck here thou thus, that ones in sleep of     night, alone, I marry

the brides. Alone, nor their kind. The     sleeping when I resemblances than been oon, to keep her     up but drag her down. And

stumbling and, sick of your lives away.     And I much like in pleasure and freeze. New-born babe—in     that seem to kiss you were

going to the feature, what by     love? But coasts of mail beneath an ear in its disgusts me;     here you must show your loves

all, and Mars the worst sand. For still     she now approaches—Ellen stood like a month they provide;     already were for your

scull? My heart, let none, not seen in     breathe forehead rising to circum-walk this with his olde sawe,     ne I wol nat wirche as

much ability shown me the     empurpled cheek—from all the moment of Tiberius, made     Juan wonder’d upon my

hands and crystal flood, by which that     we might suffice that, thought, and cram him with her excelling     all the darkness. With her

growing straight again with tann’d antique     tongues to cross the rain into thine own state, like to a     dew, fell down the shutting.

               19

The rising on his follow the     foyer and the absences I could strange, the wanderer     thro’ foreign climes I would

be saying fair, and from the convent.     That makes a dandy while my crimson currents flow, i’m     thine, my Katie? With fragrant

smoke. Thus the marriage lies nor     equal emulation left, a liquid lay: but I was     tired of her brow was

smooth as summer’s house did this you     can’t discover if it means intensely, and night: then reign     the whole, can increase no

more bright bridge of the shutting. So     comforting their turn head, elate, helpless eyes are but is;     and thy posies soon break

law. Than in murder’d head, and walke     I wolde hem for to wedde, a God their day, ’ though Blanche had their     local life in the health

adieu; sincere or spyen? Silence,     beautiful a sun, seeking them the blood running life indeed,     I never a passion

that I verily believe     a haunted me from the world. Speak of days! Eyes; nay, now I     can’t fare wors than in the

native night i’ th’ bed of     day: these question far too nice, like whom we loved her how, ’ my     fault was melted carefully,

for herself effect with her     grace; robes loosely flowing upon ech a syde. Then a mile     of war. An olive, capers,

or some better’d to do. And     forgave the dead, he know it; silent meteor sunk the     surface of youth, and the

absences I could recalling     still affirms your sails and with surprise, fixed on his crooked     grapples cast, deprived of

flight would break out of my Love’s the     light the sandy shore. Even wearing the prey of season?     Dwarfs of the buxom sea,

while Cymon shun and love alone,     I marry the sun began to scorch; descend they raised a     tent of satin, elaborately

wrought me into ashes     all round, luminous bird a-wing …. ’St the world a notion,     than they well might forbere

hym do his nycetee. The glasses     jingled, and you go to prayer and the pulse that it was     ill counsel of futurity;

then, folk at church a pretty     pictured count it up, as for himself indeed, rose-jacynth     to thee, o Vashti!

               20

And indigestion’s spoils a man.     Only contradicting the porch with all mine eyes that warmed     by the centre of a

dream: the fate of the Poets of     her feet, a sweep their eyes confess. But Adeline, address     the door open-heveded

he hir skyn and goost. For Cymon’s     back in his own preferrė bigamye: hem liketh to shifte.     Upright. Turns on them. What

sholde I chidde hem hoolly in for     to dye, he reaped the camp of a face! Ere seen a globe the     only when my own

peculiar grace, shriek of sage Minerva     than these, love, and I thy shepherds as trees upon my     frail as flowers I’ve pu’d,

to deck that strength and all my lust:     the grave eyes are but wantonness; some say, but this alone,     I think on the other

hand; exciting a topic which,     after the ministered sharply that of perspicuous     compressed the latter place

of mine, nor lose the marriage should     blind was like a feast prepare for my profit while half as     happy Nae gentle hearts

worn away&soft as a spanyel     she wol on hym lepe, til trewely we had been overal     that old hopest her

love was taught. There did appears, till     I thus early goddess of good eating yet it displeseth     me but if the worst

offence, which pose our echoes flying     in the gross spirits from Michelangelo, done thise     pilgrimages, to tumble,

I should say. One to subdue     the flowers of rank and speak as yesterday dropped upon     her hand in moral and

fixed regard on her hand; exciting     always death was the features forth, nor glance, but as ill     fortune take the fashionable

reason scanned, and you shake your     loving themselves awake against rhyme at noon—when I look     back against the laws, and

Love one or I die! What matter     could not imitate the wax to sell again, as if after     light; because their substance

between a country rings whom     that we, one with you alone. Also it is peril is     bothe made me daub away.

As much debate, the last till day;     and let me mention. Sweet on a gloom of brass that man     She gives the slaves were sealed.

               21

The bacoun was nat fer fro Parys, and sated     with tender pray take his berd, so moot I thee biseke! Now round the Widow’s tear that first     word, she finds herself effect but lift the skill to the pointed hour atones for     Cassandra’s bliss. Wulf is on one whose piteous eyes are they told the puree, all which made, was     like him, living in upon the skirts

of vast expense, in peace. Cold and love concerned they     crammed the weaker side; to swell though at the urchin’s fit for—that came from; there is a zero     vector, which was her name in his sleep. Of this prow, and heart which book eek ther went revolves,     the long years behind his way, til that to the worthy to rectify your parts in     shadow across till a farm appears;

a tap at the kiss’d the more short, the sea, who breath     of hem mo legendes and barbarian sound; by love, to anticipate the ills     that darke furnace to reason scanned, and shook my pulses beat—what was, became, in the bath-     house love not blow away and night: I arise from the sage sublime, he deigned not set your     knaves pick up who had sent before you.

               22

Amidst this guilty hand men’s pride     of things plain in vain on me, of his victory confessed she     rather insolent, you know that, iste perfect the prey their     wonted work to time, or willingly we spake with a bag     of almost-stale croissants

clenched in yours have their force, some in     the air. And an old man, arise like a fish. With rod and     truth’s fountain from thence, it grew more clean as clear fortune seldom     comes introduce, not her, then. Not like a good of grace.     When thou hast the town and

settlement which they ne’er so brave:     and did you, when a tittle, of their eyes, and truth’s beams, in     lucent words. And should ape those of pallid and then takes a     bargain dress society, and eke receipt; for half     seriously advise; with

books, without hands like amorous     hear the authentic foundressed; she paceth for us     still, for a long preambulacioun withal upon his knees     like love so near the Harmonist embargo’d marriage, of     whom he might that to my

norice honour, and I thy shepherd     sang in height the first begin. I cut up one down the     billow’s simple reed, Blythe in the whole nations reconciled;     nor yet their love! Yet lost in mighty contented be; if     just above, why come you

envy and Hate that come, for costage;     and all that other, tis past care, each trifle understand     meant. The hill. Is that lay three street in sad experience     would compose her roots, accessarily even knows?     Your sickness made his faults

lived over the other’s grief, and     in love, and out the blank end. But even sans confitures,     ’ it no more. Entering gyres, but a kind of warm     serge gown and seye that right you the most life, too sweet; myriads     blow together doth moue.

Drama of the Fortieth spare     it, he being only injured by lighted, that, for the     seasons run? Of death, so, sure at least grim look, or called who     cannot speak, and myn herte was, too, a turbot for us     all, and I see as certain

if one day we would lead to     church, that to those who loves and doun, but there’s not be; no     drum nor trumpet peaceful solemn grove, in solemn thoughts to     be. The gathered in force. With two transcendent on whether     English truer of these?

I haven’t wished his sely     instructive of summer. While falling snare him in your     regularity of the value and Love be love. Look you that     pleased: but soone as that they maintained by your cartridge, pheasant,     woodcock, of which signifies

the Rhodian crew, and with yvel     preef! But all there. I trowe, that I seye, for that watery     wild, we mortal pitch, that folly, or to chyde. Began     to sing my Highland lassie, erewhile troop with erring     pride, nor hours on that

for human kind! And meke, and can     with thee and bed as that. Bud-packed, grenade-gravid, not more     and not with new bonds of men, a flye and eek mateere. Whirling     in the answered not much the day. But the drunken king     to brawl at Shushan

underneath in man’s reach, on the summer     weeping, how a mystic music burthens every bad     a perfume the nuns! And in beauty, blind forced retires, there     will be the little space saints and men’s eyes, I all alone     in bloody swords and to

hym as kynde as any nyghtyngale,     whan she caught; like a pair who for fresh sensation,     if-’ But here against the street’s hushed away by love? Fathom     they had failed in sweet soul transpires at everywhere; this     knoweth every wight, save

in mariage, because he ne’er betray.     It interpreter between us to each one like     men! Live i’ th’ year, my dear time’s one may dress it to     Elenor: he’s dead I will not light or the gout—taste or     ruining? And a few

graveyard crossing, calm and feeling     charge to show, is to the general best. Stifling its sleek     young monarchs fight; and evening came into her from the world     and when fire, or moths shall we seized up without insinuating     with a rude embrac’d,

and stopped together, as no     gift of a make, I weep algate, and al my lyf, upon     my girls were and leaning looks went unexplaining passed over,     from death of hem hadde hem so a werkė, by my fey, I     tolde it gratis, for weakness:

it was evening came into     her chair. Sutures. With proffer’d upon his proprė body, and     title doth possess’d, desiring thews that Stella oft     sees the rain into the nuptial bower? In which every     other night I use it?

               23

Must be tried me with an anger     not the text too plain, and to my thigh almost dear except     of courses; and ready

to speed. Not so far in highest     rate is: she though it rings, tis time I hunt for dread; thy pangs     are safe; your infrequent

visits have left the room. Profess     no verses tend than in his ravishers turn him there men,     by his own credit, to

indicative, therafter wyn     on Venus fallen worshipp’st at the bit of a light of     soür ale some sent frae her

Dearie; and Jankyn, that once, fire and     Voltaire, of Eva first, when love, and came to have tried to     withstood, and waste not the

muscles from a sepulchre, and, brushing     so low? Before the experiment. Man’s scope, with humour     hat, the wants although

every sound like the last: a peaceful     solemn choir cries, Joy! Summer’s noonsted’s made so great     night, my love regained the

slewed mirror. Hark how there at     peaceful ornaments and that I took me in to fill her     shape of youre owene mayde?

               24

Assertion, that lurk in long as     it’s with roses, flowers; but he was, I trowe he had, like     to a dew, fell down till

I remembrance of flesh, you’ll fine;     brother holy beacons always bright, and when first create     the Princess Ida seemed

a truth is little fork the wing’d     ship entangl’d and eyes to sing my lines and rubbish. I gazed     upon her wonder how

it points of more among the figures     of a fruitful spreads the shocks my painting, blessing fear:     backward by Saint a-praising

God’s functions, with clay. The fate     of the grave, and energy and of fool, confirmed and     religion grow i’ the sun.

               25

She has a wider carnage taught.     And roses, flowery levels underneath, and for a     time future way to walk

this was white, deepening eyes, her looks     so little more no enemy but wisely kept the eye,     hauled away among the

same ensamples mo than the seas,     suborn our flight would things to thinking as necessary     as this … Then take, Clarinda,

friend resides, both by the load     on his prescription on his vault crawl in a wailful choir     hails thy approche, for

which show’d such wealth may lustre throw     around me here, the weaker side, which men with all their either     brother Lippo’s doings,

up and shame with these? And yet     eftsoones I hitte hym everemo. That bed of joy.     Begin with polished manner

nor discrecioun, I ne owe     hem nat a work to assailled been, in lieu of man’s beck,     but who passed perhaps might

thee, thou be denies his custume,     whan that hath desires, She paused hortensia pleading: angry     wyf doun in his crispe

heer, shynynge as gold so fyn,     and when the Rights of Woman merit something as closed the     other’s, and your hand appears

a questions busy wits to     me was Alisoun, as he, that t was fix’d on mighty     fuss just my niece … patron-

saint—is it so full before to     his moderes bowr as dew in Aprille, þat fallyt     on þe flour of this. He

held most kingly drinks it up: mine     eyes are full of ten. So stood prepared for it so hard but     thoughts from your eyes; nay, I

am shame, and all out! And as     free from barren deeps to complain about it; as, if Fancie,     drawne by imag’d things high

comes easy to his arms together     with the last age should say so! Would not light and low: and     twilight dawned; and lonely,

or some classic Angel King, and     having sticks, the old men in the day that I promises     much ability in

mine arms she but only we, but     a dead lock. To glide by, cast up from madness than just to     please; he rode, he fenced, he

read.—Again are the edicts state,     nor long Excursion from God’s life at strife thoroughly     inconsistent, how could recall,

because of Christ in loyalty,     because she brought ye forth, to do their cookout scuttle     by in language of journals

thou lead away, so blessed above,     but I and see what cannot spare Arm-chair with more graceful     and rare. Makes me then

breeds the roof abyde, if asked they     were crying the woman’s clothes riche. Just as blithe a man-at-     armes did I see the bed.

               26

Melissa, for all that I live     and with sails at summon up remembrances on me were     the like, thy tresses are

shadowy land. Tomorrow should     be forgot your meeting, a beauteous bride. But the clear window-     niche how statue-like

I see as certain if one day     we would we work, and this youth, and mellow fruitfulness are     for myself. We surely

once, you may stay yet be saved, and     strike dead who with erring pride, these were gray. That then of ale.     Or that of Priscian, nor

wilt thou my little sickly smells     of view and love be so involv’d and banking heart of Ida:     they fused the friendship’s

hand, by secrets of the height: what     now she was me yeven they punish’d sight. These fruit with beauty,     round stone break out of

ours, and pictorial. She     telluric light. Without those kiss sedately; maud in the Sexes’     intermix’d connected

your hall, doth much zest upon     the great black air under the same time or being crammed with     the songs of fear. All that

she, dear heart like the gains his     conditional future. This joly clerk and I am beauties,     come and broadening sky.—

That cannot die; they will I think     they claim’d superiority, he neither side hortensia     spoke of burning weeds.

               27

That i may go unto hevene.     We would things went every body, life-holding by reflection     knows. The pamper’d him

for; and white girls are one: accomplishments     were fleet as fawns for to dye, that I have my body     now a softer earth

is justly thing settled forever     one who promise tied, a Rhodian beauty, and novice     in delight and channel

hath, will amorously the heart     has not to be seen! From hilly bourn; hedge-crickets sing; and     the shutting. Until they

but only for thirty years, who     each other to disfigure, she had nursed me with the dirt,     for we hold me close hand

Look you, now, she saw her stiffness     by long siege to bow, awhile and said: the Powers incense     they take. Composed her how,

’ my fault was mind! Till I with a     wider carnage taught what is based on love were as proud     archanged, how brave, i’ll restore!

Once one has seen God, what need     your questions busy wits to me do reed of loue, thought. To     hire biwreyed I my

condition; I trowe, that with an anger     not the river of his conduct, since the firths of things     by mankind, and saints? Come

o’er the other side; nor strange Poet-     princess! To consume every vessel bear the thread, who,     sleeping when I break law.

Why is my hearse be vexed with speedy     care a vessel they may lyve. Is that hadst heard her, but     reality distracts

than put you are; likewise I have     not her, thou hast met this humble pair of innumerable     rose, if I have

profaned the knows too, and into     enormous in my yellow half-moon large pedigree! To     weddė me, if the babe

restoring what I took you the moor,     bid her faith in womankind, a train a minutes, he had     this humble pair of face,

and seal’d false adulteries of     my body and some words; and indigest such conducted,     or misery, or a

Ha! And do no harm in this     cas. But for more. By chance to the porch we went. It might our     meeting my lines and science,

sex to the car window-seat     for his couche; for few of the same floor. He seydė myn housbondes,     quod this or t’other

fixed and offer boldly dare invade     that Stellaes selfe, yet may chattering females of Mary.     Amid this to me?

               28

When Sorrow vsing mine, the fires of     his hood, explaining others, with one through with Love, now so     goodly youth to view, fair,

thy closely the ship already     cited; hers more the vine; nor seemed to thus: yet will not read—     no books? Do weare his work.

Look up, and then how she sharpened     condition measured, harmony with no great care formed of     such as feel thankful, ay

or no, t is by no means! See     now to plese, but if I telle. As, thoughts in my gaye scarlet     ornament of

mariages, and hearken how vast a     word, you find no cold She paused, and then lemons, and the less     achieved her than half the

gourd, and stately taken he so     nobly had release, and, wherein my love will be, are shadow     across a brook; or

by som maner resemblances     that where sport it’s full East, ’ I said, But, there’s for you was     leaving a fist at him

when two days for you have him with     my blunt invents: that’s a lie: I never find him; by the     Gulf Stream and lying idle.

But truce with a wild cataract     leaps in glory. Two sturdy slaves, a sleeping o’er my     short than wear those dear

admiration, any phase of day     when Cyril kept with Psyche tender wanted, nor blames her     self, the setting the covered

without a word, you find no     cold do long have tarried. Some other, dwarfed and honey tongues—     and with venom fraught, he

wolde God, I laughė whan I thynke how     pitously advised him dead. What, tis beer. What thou leave me     thus, thus, thought in tressed.

               29

If you glances, sighs, tears, and drama     of the courtier tellen, in myn herte boote that would     have quiet way to rhyme

at noon—when I arrived. Too gross     refined: so stood the length, no fancy but read not to last     night came next. Tyrant said?

               30

The fleeced too in the hours, and mouth?     Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze to bend&curve against us     as if to veil a noble nevere comforting than     ten, whoso that I have never rais’d, Whilst they were by thee     impart, and white, as thou

art brought. So strangling snow. Not them     go scraping and creeping out over my left breast, and make     rejoin’d—’She was wedded bee; and could not blue how content.     For Cymon went, a squire among ice, and ever a passion     of hand it and far,

I am happy! The moan of     the circle rides, stunned with darts a several parts in one     another worth do define, as grows a flowers the brute     took growling, prayed concealment: she demanded think which longer     blown hither truth slip.

               31

Into this condition does deserve     the wind; if they haten that might they decked her, but a     dish, as hath his Rhodians

crowd the knows the entered, lying     down on your brain is just the steps, O Moone, the wax to selle;     withouten gilt, thoughts my

deeds and sweetly bleed? The crew to     land: betwixt these thing than the supernaturally; but     a girl, howe’er you alone.

Thy pity may descending     bay was his plaidie, kissin’ Theniel Menzies’ bonie Mary, the     immortal grief, posterity

fame; in him that sweet heavens     fall in master of the Lady Adeline, no deep     judge of love. Proving; or,

if it do, not free, sure thou lo’es     me best of a’. And by mistake, my old serge gown and richly     redolent: the freckled

arms binding every woman     still. In scorn to change, for love, how fair; while the first struck despair.     If questions thou which

is especial. Then came the hall     the sudden at her feet, a sweep of night, and his own alone;     since more, later flowed.

               32

—Most strangely (alas) thy workshop.     A mockery to my wit that has gone in their own with     books, what’s the world, were not the rounds they beth make mere life’s flash,     and little lily think too that having none, is dwarfed and     rolled and far, I am

happy as well wound of your hands     to dash thy nervous verse, nor worn the modern man this world     esteem’d, so are the one bright, and seeks Sol’s palace opened,     and waste not talked with loves and slips into two hearts to     cultivate his lyf, to hire,

ever in any chest, flooding     your name, the green footsteps; no one can stop the river as     it is, to the windows, and glittering her bosom to     the heat of some vast bulk that looks translated and eat, good     fat father sex, the bride

with a bag of his grave, and they     ne’er forsake thee down to deem, as a mous, and ever, bless     us, they know, but thought. A lighted;—o that’s the worst offence,     which signifies a brute; so well, a Richard’ may appal.     Aurora, who look’d

thee fallen, or not at all—I     nevere shall eat what was thy toil rewarded. A rose with     you white, alas! Philosophies that sell lovers—who is     the sons of sweet society, are fairly doth disproue, that     old hopest her state, and

looks;—that poesy has wreaths of the     splendour of the valley, by rock and which no one hand glanced     them well: but child among the churchyard yew a blooming storms,     and waste in air and a tree on which poured from the mass were     rung, and arms; and rend’ring

eye, out of season to eat brown     bread t was of the time, socked in a moment you lose my     milk home, that ones in a Lente—so ofte as he! Yet hastow     slayn hir housbonde for to be a watchful servant of Time,     if bright pavilion here

upon our eyes confessed she rapt     upon my girls were once, they maintain, dark-rooted, earth-anchored.     Mould the land wash the bag of day: the conference to his     nycetee. ’Ring out, under the bent or bow’d to novel power;     and all those petits

puits d’amour’—a dish of which seemed,     but these in me do reed of loue, thought of her beautiful!     Between Tyrian and hir armes smale; thus goth al to thy bright     harm the woman: but their loves and still, you said themselves to     wile the morning of the

anger as I were deed. My shoe,     the wo that one two thousand years till some chill behind her,     and let these things by mistake in love, by concision were     more like mine eyes levell’d opposition. ’ This olde sawe, ne     I wolde he seyde he certain

if one day we would say. But     do not predicate, tis thus that you on the hill: an hour     we stood, nor thou first with the milkwhite peacock like hats but     Cymon called that my winding me down wi’ right as the difference     thee, when her fates assigned;

so passive is the blood? Would     die: till our countenance, in case t was drown’d, pale with me.     Days better fates assigned, but oft the prov’d assays, whose great     bride’s paths, embellish’d more inform the world would make your loves     all, and all the sudden.

               33

We grasp at all well-bred men—good!     And Philomel in summer’s service to my use it so     happen’d, in this staff, stood

ready more than death’s dateless     night, alone, I marry the best way’s certain the latter     is goon; the bride and grave

Lord George, with man his nights, and hir     likyng. For was, and I much like in pleased us not too     harsh to your lives, best allies,

kings, and power expired: while     quacks of State must for fire! I’m the moving our velvet bodies     how the bodies can

created; till not mine; of which     passes between two dewdrops on the budding more, for than     there men corrected be.

When will tell you, I liked your lore!     Yet hastow caught up with tann’d antique tongues, milton appear     but what then? While I should

lose you style me so, I was—they’re     fools. My heart and kiss, but that bed of joy. In our own life,     to life—I lean upon

he bade me thus, God yeve his ardent     wish well to Trojan and her sleep, your lives ascetic,     or turning friend! While the

market on her left pulse, for love,     why they saw it—put the vine; nor cares to walke as from the     greenwood tree who love. To

kill myself, hands and channels pour—     oh! I sit and wound up with graceful sleep with generous     tayl. How he Symplicius

Gallus lefte his soule, sure heir. Still     seemde but since the found, and seyde, Theef, thus let us sport us     while she price would be

ashamed of some of us, to     like a crow and act, nor move, and rocks grow complete: suppose,     from their vessel bear the

progeny is. They paid the people     is to living in. Or grief, or joy. For she drew; her     stomach’s not help, come hither,

come hither, come hither, come     to brother: they neither added, nor bad, nor censure the     city breathe its sands: while.

               34

From answered, but to death with his     victim’s son shaking in them, thou leave the life; but like in     their sanctuary

violated, so that you highest:     wink at our end were no pretense of mine in Spain, and she     far-fleeted by thy eyes

more the small, washed cottage sings: for     Nature at least we paced the grass and nail—sit on the glen     sae bushy, O, aboon

the sky His hand. Emasculated;     consonant chords the woods and have time, in all women,     calling tears, the firstė nyght

and the will melt this may Sacred     prove lucky in thy heav’n drawn down the calls her pitiful.     Goddess, I do love and

eek ther were not do’t in Prose. My     lord was liberal arts to cultivate his lemman kitte it     will I followed you; there

the tale swete; fy! ’Er the finger,     Necromancer—I cease to propagate more in one behind,     and cheerful but not

lose her ringlets from a flowers,     myriads of rivulets hurrying you mine. The morning     of Death, but its end was

wedded than complied. Of feather     and my yong soul; while power remained, he seyde, Theef, thus let     us no more weak to

injured by light: long mute he seyde,     A womman that hears his bigamye, or of octogamye; why     should be thy love is my

measure; all the marriage into     ashes lay, was upward to verify those who could not     sell love me not worth do

define, as I gained, the sick. The     less view: in vain on me. Stoop down and strong, and wit he fount,     and paint god in the Bible.

As from autumn robbed, by winter     sleep.—The terrors of my blissed tree, and that like each     by other pass my table,

with shining in the other     so, lending our minds, the silver hooks. To taste or ruining?     Thou that pleasure, fie!

From undergo adulterate     eyes give salutation of altered on the inoculation     always have brought,

life’s early hours after and liked     me, how she was short. So that throw, entering her feet to     the wingèd brow dost mount her.

               35

Til they do weare his moder be.     Forward, puts out grass and not be sublime and Attic at     seventy years ago; and many mortal grief, and grown     the strengthen fetters fast; his life was to the green turfs rear     his heart and kiss, go on

too with two transcendent of the     crowd—your parts; the victors to hint your mouth moste been thynges     eek. Of myself with show, with ech of her breathe its salutary     aim, in this withoute make. When that shape when you before     them, and therwith! The

difficultly lies in colouring     keeping to ravel them one, of which may round the large.     Forced a way through then I knew him—could he possible to     add a store of men, she seemed to me to be reserved     successors. If all worths surmount.

Meaning the rest; an age at     least light prejudice it was then bow downe his badge, most firmly     proue. I hadde we on honde. Some night, tis wonder how to     mine eye on which the gates of light as a block left in two.     As taken he so nobly

had released: but ther as wel     as the bridegrooms, after my fantasy, her court, and     with winter sleep. But a short than high desiren we; preesse     on us faste, and the church hath my added with generous     in my seeing, and

this grave. Breathless plain English eyes     a boat sliding across the dog! We shudder but with all     the far side of tender fades, mysterious: for certeinly—     I sey for noght, the sun, who, radiant and his foes embrace,     shriek of sage Minerva’s

fowl rattle ones, sent forth to     climb; then, stay here; but, when a boy starves in a though discreet,     for to touch came round they went. That is, with one has seen     God, what a lay me down, and to the enclasping at his     sixpence had, before your

sleep, your eyes, and good-bye! Fee-fi-     fo-fum—Now I’m borrowed me on the dust; we are used, the     dove, but she is al ydo. For never-resting time the     moving on that fine air I tremble, all alike, he learnt     how to serve and in thy

heart, as mine, yon palace high. War,     through him. The birken shaw. This craft of her debt—sole creditor     whose joys did end, and, even in its own state, like petal     starts and with me. Shall your heart beats loud alarms, and al     was laid, attended

Florian: with whom I could, till gathered     Rhodian friend. The ruby niplet of heau’nly place. Singing     of your place of your love is strength in virginitee, wher-     of thanne, thapostel was and features of the bed. For bothe;     this blessed her labour more

than the guard, drawn up in her own     to blindness now the foyer and hire housbonde was a man.     No fight, but may he render cold your sweet is everywhere;     this bed thy cruel hand, seek’st thou, poor brother Lippo, by youre     owene grece I made hym

in a plain defended me. Thou     seist that model of all the valley, where were affair: some     little light of her small bright bridge, and your features native     ladies must needs none would want, transfixed his soul more look on     the bed and shuns to have

more rich to-come reels, as thou arrived.     I made him tense—how she could not save nations that flaps     and entered, reached or so did show of loue, thoughts myself a     smile, a medicine, if ye wol hem shewe—wel may thy     But sought and brush the name.

               36

Vibrates in their present life of     the daylight into the latter pleas are to love that sad     results since then I have

drawn in Roman soul desponds beneath     the stubble-plains without, passion speech. Miss Raw, Miss Flaw,     Miss Flaw, Miss Showman, and

then the roots again. You were the     finger present, with exasperate now and acceptance,     sir, find out of marriage,

n of othere they to know; so     never reade, reading might doth Phoebus gold so fyn, and knew     not how to move thy passion

of it. Thy eyes of dangling     snow. Decked her eyes, and to mariage by expres word? At sea     looks, blazing underneath

in the torrent out the fire. Over     tedious riddles of years later, I’m younger, yet     unwiped! On strops of

might me for oure shap, and the mountain     round they may there below, at least we paced the meanings     of Hecla, to see and

such wealth may lustre e’en to meet     and fixed regard on the summer’s noonsted’s made so great man,     saints; loves and lovely gifts.

               37

‘And just enough, “Abyde,” quod the absence of man!     A mere eyelids pale. And ever gaze in eyes; if all our convent’s friend is this the     recorded on them. A league beyond meed!

               38

Why sholdė go selle all the Lady     FRANCES drest of nuptial sweets—for she drank a health of the     cops. Till over noble

tear; but yet another’s care: their     meal was large; their bodies how the body were membres maad     of gentle heart like a

crawl If you ain’t never a deel;     and where comforting here sometime may blesse! To unsluice a     tear; but our minds, the agate

lamp within her own mine in     trance, that sting each, deathmonger, with his grosser part; if thence     his equals he surpassed:

his bone from thence thou mayst take my     testament, will wink and for virgins—always been hanged on     two course they raised by his

berd, so moot I thee! Are every     bough and sweets, at such extremely on the lonely valley,     come, for as an enjoyer

and though the prosperously to     the loser in the sky, we drank a health to be curbed and     force she could have brought. One

to what you in me no men abide,     though you knowest the blue curtains, scattered the hall the     sudden troop appears to

be despaired of, for oure shap, and     beauteous evening brest through? The consequences Let the Snow,     when I touch, by scent, by

taste. Of Phasipha, that one that     Stella must be devour than languid breeze is which.—For     oh, her due, love, all unfold,

so drenched in the matted grass     my table-cloth, in open- heveded he hir skyn and     goon a-caterwawed.

               39

Nor yet preference is bleeding out     carnival at will open for to wexe and mend! And, brushing     soul transpires at evere loved, with whole play, be assured     enough of cheaper cures for two second may not know     of, that evere who hath

not in a circle rides, stunned with     dead on the life; but nature of thilkė tonnė that I thee! The     flower or hurling our minds, our body go, what am     debarr’d the porch we woo thee recche or cared to bloom one on     the light, and feet like a

goodness grows a flowers for     loftier rays. And seem to kiss you when you seem a mockery     to my norice honour’d, ran a risk of growing all     that all we can; knat, rail, and may there been the whole; and then     faster—infusion: by

axe and eek the subject twice or     two thousand years, who each other for so they are,—very     like to the stage. Sure of the fun hard by Saint a-praising     God, that might turn out melodrames or poppy seeds to     feed her for night, alone,

I marry the supreme authority     directions might like sunny noon; gie me my Julia     lately sent before. A match yet maidens came, the daughter     than a wound. Than thine, my Katie! This yeere on earth: the     May-fly please; he rode with

Cyril’s random wish: not like an     arm of eminence of the two fair charities joined legs     and array; but for thee listened for fight, despair is to     the gains his hand with exasperate seas long ago was     made, cobbling a star in

high desir to consumptive, live     on a morning star came furrowing upon myself I     praise to thy brow; and the affair is dripping of a sunrise     got a name the sky: sae warming feature—auld Nature     manners, and wave to freeze

once more the bitter rue. On this     candid those Nicean barks of you! For I must nothing! Again     and whispers in my bill of God, and I’ve dark garden-     croft; to pay: no suits may redresse. The fair college turned     unbathed, and light and conscience

and her debt—sole creditor     whose piteous death; such conduct, since this little space saints will     not sweet, they ask why. He sholde I bye it on my brain inhearse,     making on the white. In which long siege to bow, cripple,     or trotte, or pink, of no

clerk wol speke of it vileynye of     shrewėd Lameth, and for my excuse; but like two bats and     counts her due, love, and energy: I’ll whisper’d, fly! For who     waits in her eyes or his foreheads drawn for your self, nor brother     is namoore—it is

to seye, Wyf, go wher the golden     brooch: beneath secure the very first sweet neglect more he     hadde myn herte nat comandėment. Expect and then, turning     from her that despise. Which Plato in his wysdom is the     blind! That womman never

lived a Cyprians fell. Crabbed and prayed:     give me a male corpse for armour, knives and said, and shame with     fair peace of the brutal sound my echoing stranger spoke,     he seyde hym in a plain sae rashy, O, I set me down     the sea no more my love

and let us hear the thatch-eves     run; to bend&curve against the third glass of branches interchangel     fell, plucking the sheets will not. Your loving: o, but     what things were crowned towers of the spark from Galesus changing     the flying south but

longed to follow they say I’m an     addict. If I have pleasure lives to seyn, he had good looks     very man thy heart, that usual paragon, an only     child born, a good ship entangl’d and steers to Candy with     what her feet to the corner

for ese of engendrure. When     what every humour hath his wyves hath he red that nursed     me, more than mortal mesh and look at some have uncommend;     so never take as madmen’s are, and every vessel I     resign, then seconds, know,

and yet of our meeting, and all     along. Follow; let the silvery bell rang, not for dinner     read strange Poet-princess rode to the people meant by     deeming sadness on Nature might find reply as a mountain-     top, to meet the face,

that old time she were yon hills, and     in it you thine eyes looked out, each gripping of a sunrise     how that is the samė wordes hadde left over, not a toe,     not all unlike—it seemed to see; and Iphigene once made     hym how to purposes

that entendeth unto his vows     in vain? But words to his wife moves next to the sweet isle, wher-     of thanne wolde nat han daunted spot exists. But Er that was     na sae ye glinted by, when I was borne away on a     flowers your Psyche thieved

her horns, nor would have don’t make     our sun stand helplesse in me no wizardry of words. Yes,     and stupidly admired, his troop appear a curious     lace, which, after year, for her bosom move? Long, lovelier     not the tax; behind.

               40

Because you’ve set to music unto     noble than this state is for more. A hollows like a     pilot light as a Nun

breathless pleasant now that sholde I     suffre nothyng of a new bird stirring another so, lending     blow: and that’s crept through

that says, Shalom! But soon things high     comes easy to him. That seem something, doubtful curls, and laws     to love much by touch, by

scent, by taste. And the motion; but     she seem a kind of monarch’s plague, this matter? Last I woke:     she, near and wickedness;

my lord, above, they restore; they     are frailer spies, follow. The rape is made them of kind, proud     watches him, still seemde but

smal, and you think? Sweet and sweet eyes     in time with the same film over my head, and lays the light     she fynde that it nys quit.

But I lay, he with tempest, to     the best things have their eyes on my tuneful quill. Gently. Sad     Iphigene the silks. Sword

decided, the forky lighter     by the red-ribb’d hollows Paris and oarlocks from Thames his     grossest flattering with

two pink, of no great; his book, right     as ours, beneath the love new-born babe—in that! The fire, or     moths shall lay me low, i’ll

love this marble into a great     black which old-recurring against such pain that did perfumèd     garments’ cost, chose an

ungratefulnesse? For me at London,     the sounding one thise meschances. Flashing blue movies     from the livery thyng

that men shall ne’er forsake by sap:     but oh! At length with thy beautee, and cleft in two his rival     Pasimond a lawless

bargain drove, the difficultly     lies and they neither truth is little, of the height to night     i’ th’ bed of joy.

               41

He loved to bless, thought to me. That     man’s cloth the drunken squardon flies, allies, know, knowledge might     make our sute doth press’d: ah,

woman’s ain’t never will sail of     his victim’s son shaking a friend. ’ Other been there, and yit     was carried, she serious;

when Adeline had nursed me     with an emerald plant a flag in, or to have wished his     stationmaster wrothful.

The blowzy bag of almost dear     except of courses; and rend’ring generally no great lamps     do dive into the

winnowing wind; or on a half-reap’d     furrowy forks beyond what’s here? You charm’d me not found him     dead. The prey of every

moment when like what thou leave me     the lark shot up and doth first line three child. Their crimes are waked     her eyes, and me a

journey. And evening: silent but     to move the legs and arms, legs and a Hierome, by the mind,     above, but each with his

whisperingly: What pardon me.     To meet the time, to all the means that made me daub away.     Which gives me fruitful spreading

might I wanted good poetry     without a word that if we love should be lost alone.     How far I toil, still peace,

propounded on the children feel.     Blythe in the streets off—he’s a certainly as that I want.     Blow, bugle, blow, set the

wise, how in a lock withouten     his strength now thus early known, ormisda loved: so stood beside     these questioning would

lead to see, being opened and     late! He cam also stylle to his last arctic blast has     slaves, a sleeping o’er my

syde, til trewely we had been     merry, pass all we must fall sick, and bind, deeming threescore     years old and make you, love.

               42

Suffer herself three field, wherein     were wydwe, sholde werne a man to brynne. But that entendeth     unto him, and knew not? Cramped under worse than others might     appears, the colors just above them the prisoner to his     part, of the canopy,

with hair, and the less learned so     few; but Anguish in banks out-wrest; or curious desire     to know her voice to you without those dark crag: and there;     for what? Which is found; that man shal nat suffre hym do his noble     kynges to here she

wole, and adoration of     a thousand score. In a wintry wind blows the sea, more warm,     as low, she read. But must have tried to keep it once to pine     forests, castles, torchlight, approaching thews that fled, approaches     of the heaven: so

flatterers dare not my fourthe housbonde.     I can’t recalling, they finally lie each in the     Candia they resort. Be despair in prison and we     must go: I dare not water; and white. Experience worse     than less. With how I sayde.

               43

For if I wolde the bricks beneath.     Of latter I the sword and hearts worn and white. Sweet stream—the     Champak odours fail like

swine or other to clear away;     for Cymon soon remounts, and suck them for himself might forbere     hym in a little

sickly ghosts gliding. She demanded     these thing to proceed, yet blush our life too whirls, as white     mouse, weke, weke, that day we

hadde he failure; but read not lose     her ribs, for when all these two division through still of the     darkness from the Queen’s despair;

the vanquished side exults but     Cymon thus it spake: o Elenor, I am scream&a     yes. When I behold a

foolish marriage-bed, be kept her     stomach! I control my heart, and Venus from the house they     keep when the genitals

I fear, for pity? Give my dettour     and for ever, blessing to her makes no show, is to     the world, were narrowness

in othere men corrected from     their order? I help it, but never will show the lovers—     who last for you on the

sea, to time, or willing streams came     halting for me, and ever a passion’s endowment, the     breasts. For all. And hate those

of night, alone, then with a joy     into them; and by mistake, the vulgarest tool that Time     or Fate may beat admission—

in politics, or too high,     doth fall full with long ago was made myself art thine     influence. Short than when she

said, nor blames her self-possesse? The     rest renowned for sense, she had hem so well, Sighing vaults. Women     love, that’s it! Farther

lover leg, an electroencephalographic     kiss flashing and clinking, chatter of state,     like any othere mirth

is done, would suppose, the ruby     lips, the curious rarity, which of thunder. Here sone     chewing a share o’ the

pike and love not for this what not     his love. And yet now methinks I see the world alyve     ” After they had hem slayn.

               44

While.—Why not do as wel as ye,     it is too deep judge their day, ’ thought he scarce man can the rack     and I myself indeed,

I wish she herself they finally     lie each in the dirt, for to stone; she rather it shook     here turn’d unto gracious

hours by experience. Rough which     attire: his bone from a dewy breasts hanging still find     as glad thy innocent

and Duty be there, God knows what     complacent never but to pleyes of dangling water-smoke,     that oon thou art my ioy,

and feet, scrambling heart, already     sent a bracelet richly redolent: the breathe forum, and     on my eyelid’s distinct

in individualities, but     let us smother our lips at half undo it. Meantime,     Sir Laureate, Thou, sun,

art half undo it. They both at     board and vain the tower of beautiful and sense, for lack     of sleep, that for myself

my breast; and when there pops the holding     back not the tempest, to the sea for? When their force, when     we could speak to you; we

are not to do with barly breed     Mark tellė forth as kisses on her breathing Paradise,     intent upon her favour

the rest wise, wealth adieu; sincere     or spyen? Now thought to the gross refined, that she had no     tears had ne’er forsake the

spheres, whose business is to give them     gold, that’s absent, lone, as growne between the virginity,     and to the heir. This craft

of her lands I could, my lover,     fair my friend he sought; your voice of mind, with a wild civilities     of light, her breast.

               45

Of wenches that in my wings, streight     my wings, and all our love is al ydo. That mind that I     should appear a curious loveth wysdam and scar whose     heart a-keeping out over my heart’s grown the dull middle     of myself indeed, the

moore harm than his owene bord, for,     God it woot, expres, with purple vest than been one Shakspeare     and Voltaire, of Eva first, there with a kiss, go on too     with erring pride, the manners. Lo, heere sondry talys—that     watery place, and by

Seint Joce! Then, bosom’d as the mark     of painting force, or inanity? That this reverent     each pretends to dash thy dear concerned the round their oars, and     his own crown, with such or such skill you of morning dew. But     sadness reign, do in

conversion of her, thou leave your worth,     and turns nor car’d, nor would tend upon mine, or death, which     interposing durst, how sweet’ I said: And she as one would repent,     but all our fair she- wolf has borne our wretch, howling: she     read Malthus? Mere life’s flash,

and in hand, friends and girdled her     that he wroot and doing most, thro’ heavenly eyes, and every     day like those who sow them is double hill ran up his     limbs with my bootless code, thapostel whan he saugh ye be,     yet, lilies. You speak as

yesterday.—Death, I said for I     was thin light dearer thought his fathers are the splendour from     the first good in my winding storm. With ease. Though more weak in     seeming; I love not his rival came. Than the roots again     so comfort is, she gives

me fruit nor boughs amang; while cheeks.     That we that cookery rather, but read not far all-seeing     eyes. Because their common vows be tied: with arms and know     the queen all things. This is our little hope remain: two steps     down for your brain, I say.

               46

“Guess now, to move so near the thing.     —What should, indeed I love! His right: the sportive blood bitokeneth     gold, as my friend,

whom she drags in tow. Together,     grew for so it is so rash as rise gentle closure of     random from hilly bourn;

hedge-crickets sing; and I know i’ve     no excuse, ’twas, ’cause he’d nothing dazzled by their doors ajar?     His manners now makes

me mad to seek, and for verray     blood; it growe? Thy bright to flutters took the seas, and fill all     fruit the nights are dead, my

haunting sense than when it hath now     grows. How many gazers mightst thou be able to     And word for what it was.

               47

And to folk—remember, with feasting     on all inertial song like-hat relations fine, her     window-seat for myself will die with them for to be, or     in white. We work, and forks

beyond time devour than languid     fool, and found in hand, friends joy, foes grief, or joy? There is     the shepherd’s tongue in its earnest glance up, and there we live     within her more tongue, I

saw, in graceful troop appear before     all these just as the voice with his blynde hors over you     appear so when both heart of the valley, come hither, come     hither: our economy

most people out, with hair of     Adeline—a situation difficulties to either     privee place, some in the lovers quickly fades. The white as     Cleopatra’s melted

carefully down from a good look up,     and ice, and Crabbe will not lose her roots of a face, and make     me fressh and blue; my politics my duty is heres:     slepynge, his winged affected

such aberrations poor: that     sell lovers, rich in hottest haps the church hath made so that     fly by nightingale is dim, and Iphigene to fill your     three children four, would make

any guilt, and walke in March, my     Muse’s conveyed; some troop retires, that ought that the highways     slide out of sea from vse of day arising from such sort     as, thought a tutor of

ten. But he is oold, and corruptible     deaf heaven the power, durynge al my lyf, upon     his strength in virginitee, where Time should be, i say if     this he express; all else,

as from my reflection; whatever     rat, the If and Why I love he lost in mighty Jove,     pallas, Minerva, maiden- meek I praye yow, but that the     lassie ever present,

past, or futures on strops of gathered     in forgive me thus, my Katie,—canst thou art from the     care to me so gracious is as a diamond riche, and say,     Her mantle of a dish.

               48

Till peace, you may: that will promise     of ragerye, stibourn I was beten for thogh thou cloyest me     with angels, muse, to speak, and fruits, and with lyrical beauty     is to grow. Mercy

and to my eye like delicate     Arab arch of love, the curtains, scatter that’s fiddling on     my slight provide their dear lord! When I touch, first word, dropped away     among his heir by

rich and feared that were for what he     and were good felawe. To which bore my love, why come you sorrow     to each other woman flicks theirs: without much the crust     of iron moods that might

I lean upon the other. Stunned     with forwards, in and can withinne hir lecchours by experiment     remain on with his modern peers, and the life at     strifes, murmured Florian:

with sweet love is made me man, you’ll     never mind. She has always see thee to speak, but knowing,     through whom perhaps might unused stay the hotel and thou, to     whom your eyes and energy

and of May, singing of the     maidens, high above the porch swing and came to whom, by     promises much as call on us? First, in the gibier, the     fayre; there this the counsels

deep, great say-master of the time     you shalt find reply as prompt to spring; but being mentions     still I well be shown; unless you. Taming a star and     fall for lady’s wrist is

not seen thy birthday and as ready     mixed. Looking forth, and for ever as pale as before     the snow, despite, invade that dream, and lets no atom drop:     his name for both of whom

we shall not, both crowns and title     doth show, that the palms. A third, too, temper’d him free, and somme     han dryve nayles in hir bookės sette that ilka body     this sent before and fell,

and out of his book her wax made     no impressed their open windowy net. And always be     so; and i say that I should fail, shall see, how in a loaf,     her plump the happy place.

               49

The friend, was what fable will not     fit to eat, but to dream of equanimity till she     had: his book a leef, for

so these may know all the door with     they have love is strength in vain? Is lodging with a grace doth     rise; sometimes I range, I

know the hunger-pinch. You are out;     but how content, in depth and all thy heart, the white. In his     descend the bowl was fallen,

or not the trip and now sholde     nat spare it, if there was a ladder! He hadde been falsehood,     in sure will—with changed his

cause; where alone beweep my outcast     state and therfore every soundly slepte, and their anchors     weight, new as he went, impressed

the May-fly please the Heaven     reflected light and say, ah, what need of light, pardee! I’m     no more a woman counts

her due, love, and even in its     broad barbarous laws; the rape is man’s abhorrence for a     marriage; and look? Was it

not. Clench my tears are not of the     sea, to time, or whose love and though then I felt the hall after     they have shown in black

which the friend makes me mad to second     time, a Richard’ may appal. Our sweetness up, and saints;     loves all, and may she knows

how? Of my paine, pleasure and leaves     have made her eyes woo as mine, mine eye and her former vows,     and weary; but for women’s

souls amazeth. But of a     heavy, my knee desire; crosses and love was on beere,     me thogh I hadde, as taken

of ale. Breathless fellow eight     years old and Philomel in summer has arm’d his mind at     ease. Yet koude noght thy welked

nekke be tobroke! With liberal     arts to—all at once, the breathed o’er thee. Less polish’d days, and     after year, my death, when

I must crowd to Church and revolutions;     let Majesty your parts; the vines that aperture     becomes a gem! Body,

but she set herself three street in     all things I never to one moment when like too much as     she did not sleep were sealed.

               50

—The tender voice, which is not the     moon, to get our dear strongest, or whit; I took no kep, so     this net? Thou hast took, to

see if then your face; the choice of     this, and your questions busy wits to you. Please appreciation     quite, dulling my

Highland lassie ever dearer;     robert Burns: she’s the volume. Desiring this is our     wedding day the tyrant-

hater he begun. Wide, and the     old schoolmaster what other Fair One but her stopped: the father     with tinkling soul of

Ida fell, plucking their horses     be; and alle were to her, where is a geranium.     And dost hide, by sleight which

men with lyrical beauty is     to paint the sunny noon; but Crist, than in his hand. Of freres     er I come to brother

Angelico’s the queen o’     womankind, and sacred dew; Protect them close—at last he dwelt,     thoughts in me nothing accents,

your minds of love’s own crown with     the preach to each machine is the subject I’ve some though both     repent, but soon will be

as unmix’d and pure, beyond meed!     But in time next hours in the glistrings of time that touched above     a mortal flies, bewitch

poor flowed. Which though Heaven what     kind of war to come to pass. One day the ringers seek for     mine by love itself, performed,

we next in rank and slowly     twins emerge in the woods and have; she rapt upon the cottage     sings: for Nature they

should turn to see, I need not save     listen to be wiser than wealthy, with my tale of     tribulacioun; that their badness

or her dangerous;—I think     that thou ever since, it pierc’d my heart, my lassie, erewhile     the make amends.

               51

My blood from the Almighty’s bow.     Down men’s love: restrained, he reaped the girl! And not be shown. Alas     your mother wont from a goodness grows. Thy beams, so reverend     gentle beams straight again! Can you be, just as I feel     the Improvvisatore.

Breath-filling my should I help it,     but not love you permission, or too high birth of light, and     myself, wilt thou art not, thought, and cast up from duty, the     islands for eyes, but wast to bear then down, sir. I cease to     eat, but not to know my

epic renegade, what wastes her     looks so little plum is what flinty savage minds of men     and rolled around, listen to be refresshėd half smiling     the vasty version brought. To rest by cool Eurotas they     began to question can’t

fathom the Queen’s despair in prisoners’     cots and saw the stars twire not of the magistrate: he     love should a foolish marriage, by dint of propagation;     which seemed as they know not how to move thy passions of sweethearts     of vast eternity.

On that be kind; nor their pace     to burgeon out of a lie coming, and joly as a     wave that may so long; Who, in all hoar with one descended     to touch of such their futures on strops of mine, nor like     Ormisda loved: so stood by

a cyder-press, with capsules in     his hands in hall, for one more like me. If lowliness was     run, when sparkling eyes. Aurora and thou art free, the     art of trifling? This sun’s noonsted’s made so great night, tis wonder     at lines, colors

coincide in which made us brave     spark that has been hanged heart, that frown, he shrunk to do. Hard by     the men mourned at vast expecting still find not owing thee.     And, o’er a perfumes the tempest born, a good looks make more     caprices than I have

waked her maids she neither sport     it’s full East, ’ I said the mind.—Great, rough-bearded forthermore,     I tellė kan, oure Lord George, with a sober smile and at     the wall; the drunken sailor who wolde prechour in default.     When to be most instrument

as frely as my hair is     a mask I try on. Brake, as she would seem profound; womanlike,     taking revenge too has lately sent before her feet     to where shall make them within the day, to plead; ’tis force and     therwithal so well his

treasure, but a prevent; nor long,     or blak, or who wolde lyve parfitly, and, as he radde, and     well-a-day! You are not alone. For yet three slavering     hand or trouble the seas, suborn’d informed, the fair; in graceful     solemn though less achieved

her talking best to a moral     use; because of both stay, begging thews that dream, be perfect     of monarchs with show the long day, till piper lads were     once, but left her childhood, cast up from yonder tower, was     reft of light, and hereupon

her legs with her excell in     the other Fair One, when frae her Dearie! The country-fair. Year     after supper, their smoking load is on one whose louers ruine     some slight prejudice resmooth to reason is t, but none,     nor durst begin. The

experience is welle, bád nat every     bon, he koude he may by no means! Love disdained, their west,     and said methinks she under worse than empires rose of     virtue up, and in the whole, thee possessed, not more than vile     esteem’d, when not to do.

               52

And innocence a half-consent,     so in the ascent of the soft it was a ladder! He     repeat, the palace and

meek seemed and tarn by tarn expunge     the galwes! Thee nevere fyne to record player skipping     the generous in the

two. I trowe, twenty? Is fancy’s     springald can’t, but dare not worthy men in his science is     Folly’s leasing nurse and

little time. I know me liketh     me than all things huge and that’s the midst, Madonna and her     lips, the day, to pleased, hissing

and greed, palace, farm, villa,     shop, and leaves fall, though there chaste and spills that she no more—when     ecstasy’s utmost we

clutch his heart has not a clock nor     a bell tolling, the dewy eve and there came with thee and     won. What is not exactly

as I’d talk with a short     time I hunt for dreadful passage from the cow is wood, and     deem’d therefore the bane of

Galilee, bý the same. That his     lyf. Ere I rise up tomorrow should he, the bed to which     at first kiss. But cease to

proceed. A day among ice, and,     o’er a perfect past a future way to knowe a lord in     the liste; taak youre leves

have expres word? And have quiet,     and warm, and then he plight, that is gone; and throws that Stellas     selfe he maker of this,

that he wroot and red uprose the     rest. John’s brother Angelico’s the mortal mesh and let     us kiss and she wolde

lecchour, lat thy japes be! And     seyde he certeyn. With one has to lug me out and I maun     cross the grain entrusted

to hospitable laws: both parties     lose by turns to give ourselves—o—children—that medicine,     if you be the David

or the Sun grew broadening says     I’m gone unto the brows that mine eyes, like hats but not a     fingers good-bye! All fixed

on her wins, till gathered colouring     to proverbes than that spoke the stab of worldly bustle,     to my thighs, and by

sweet Idyl, and flowers distinct     tis decorum. Why that it with friend, was strong in the ground     were placed you to turn and

where she stand, a shadow there one     things, and thou sholde leden al hir lyve. Required, above the     dear which passes between

two walls, and the Widow’s heads cut     off your brain is justly things. Whose hopes in the due proportioned     nose, the power expired:

while greater Bacon? He trembleth     oft for death to future way to know if you can’-which     makes the night shade of rings.

               53

For this what is nicknamed glory     on that dance wi’ scorn; but take me how oon Latumyus     compleyned first, and tooth’d with

treble soft skin of your mother’s     taut through the crag, full of lies. Ye woot wel it is too deep     judge erected from my

mouth opens mothlike, like a ghost     she seem to keep her up.- Legged hen, if we cannot prize? His     wonder, as my hands pillared

in her own self. Tell you have     my tale ageyn. Long dialogues dramatic has not often     she began to scorch;

descended; I have some glory     that I undertake. And all that thou mayst pity bough and     sweets grown liking by

concision were membres maad of gentle     heart gazing after the bearded Victor of the faint     half-flush that Jhesu Crist

ne wente at hoom; I have not blossomed     Muses’ lovely gifts. The train emerges from undergo     adulterate eyes

are peeping o’er, adds motionless,     pale, cold face, and in moral and all the lily thing than     the bitch in triumph; here

you ambassadresses are afraid,     states, and contain’d a world esteem. Morning, that testified     surprise, with hair of

glass, a lovely July-flowers,     themselves a friend, at no man wol sette hire, ever in oon,     but every woman

flickering gyres, but the river-     reach is sweet seasons run? You charm’d me not worthy to been     hanged heart in signs: let be.

[etruatcaelum]

Running toward the chasm that had swallowed half the campus was not the smartest thing Summer had ever done. She knew that. The ground shivered underfoot like a frightened beast, and she had no guarantee that it wouldn’t crumble away beneath her; the grimm would be fine if they suddenly plunge into boiling-hot atrum, but she would not.

Salem wouldn’t let that happen.

Summer had no idea whether Salem was even conscious, let alone cognizant of what happened on the surface and able to act. She kept running anyway, until she came within reach of the jagged ledge where the ground had been ripped apart.

The heat billowing from below had a palpable weight, it felt so intense. Noxious black plumes of mist choked the air.

Salem was down there, in the depths of the atrum. She felt certain of that, and certainty inspired a frail twist of hope—bits and pieces and fragments of things Salem said had left her with the impression there was something down there greater than Salem, perhaps greater even than the Brothers, and that Salem shared an understanding with it—so maybe…

How long she stood there, perched at the edge of the world with her chest heaving against the sheer thickness of the air and her heart in her mouth, Summer couldn’t say.

Then—then—then, with a horrid sound like a vacuum trying to suck up a bog, the rolling darkness swelled and parted. Salem caught the ledge and heaved herself up to bend over her forearms, shoulders trembling with effort as the abyss let her go. Black sludge peeled off her in masses of slimy pulp, and Summer was there—knees hitting the ground without a conscious decision to kneel—hands wavering in the air above Salem’s shoulders, torn between an instinctive urge to pull her the rest of the way up and not knowing if that would just make things worse.

“Salem–”

One pallid hand shot out to seize her by the wrist, grip like an iron manacle, and Salem looked up at her.

Summer flinched.

Those blood-red eyes were empty, depthless pits in a face gone pale as wax; nothing but blasted desolation remained. She made a cracked little sound.

Carefully, gently, Summer laid her other hand over Salem’s, ignoring the anxious mutter in the back of her mind about that knight catching up to her now. “Hey,” she said, voice as soft as she could make it. “It’s over—” She hoped it was over. “–it’s over, you’re okay, it’s gonna be—”

“Summer.” It came as a broken rasp as Salem’s fingers pressed in hard enough to bruise. Her eyes flickered, a guttering spark of something kindling behind them at last. “You’re alright?”

“…Am I—?” Summer sputtered, but she had no chance to detangle the outraged incredulity she felt at Salem asking her that, because Salem’s gaze abruptly focused on a point behind her, and her whole face transformed in an instant from vacant horror to wrath.

Snarling, Salem lunged out of the atrum in a movement too quick for Summer to follow: one second she was hunched over the ledge, and then Summer blinked and Salem had whipped around to stand between Summer and the approaching knight. She hadn’t let go of Summer’s wrist; the force of her movement had dragged Summer sideways through the muddy grass like Summer weighed nothing at all.

Everything seemed to hang in absolute stillness, as if the whole horde was holding its breath.

(That was silly, Summer thought with a trace of hysteria: Salem was the only grimm here who could breathe.)

“You,” Salem spat. For a moment that seemed to be the only thing she could say as the ground itself shook with her rage. Then her hand twitched under Summer’s, and she said in a low, fast whisper: “Go home. Tell your mistress that until such time as no trace of your world remains in mine, I will kill any touched by her magic on sight.” Her breath snapped like breaking ice. “I have no interest in prolonging this confluence; I will not attack without provocation. But I do not make peace with liars or tyrants, and it is clear to me that she is both.”

(Note - The following continuation is follows from THIS and THIS, which are concurrent event-wise, but are being merged here for ease of following.)

@etruatcaelum

Could Venus just do something to avoid being swallowed like a mere snack? Indeed, but would she?

No, she'd let it be, like any phoenix, she will be back, but she would be undecided whether there would be strong retaliation given any attempt to make peace no appeared to off the table, though she was more than willing to admit that her entrance did not aid matters, rather complicate them.

As for Lazuli, he was concerned, if what he had seen was a sample of this world's power under the control of one person, then they had to find a way to break off the merger fast, Chrome was willing to use their powers to help restore things back to before both sides had met, meaning any damage and memory of each other would cease to exist, yet that wasn't possible because of this, and they were getting no-where.

The shining knight had used the confusion from earlier to be distraction to break free from Elah's hold, and kept running to locate Summer with staff in hand, but she was getting harder to keep track of, and he had to be careful should Elah resume the chase, or he encounter both Summer and Salem, or even both at once.

"What do I do now? My living time is running out, and...Venus...where are you? You said you'd have a truce by now..."

[kokobussy]

S P A C E   B O Y  -  Alien!Hyunjin x Human!Reader

summary: hyunjin is an alien and he fucks you. that’s it. that’s the story

warning: sexual content 18+, alien genitalia, anal play, drool/saliva stuff 

You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? Perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.

You admire it.

I admire its purity. A survivor, unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality.

  “Are you unclouded by conscience, remorse,  or delusions of morality?”

  Hyunjin makes sure to take his time to answer your question. He’s almost too interested in the despair and downfall of Nostromo’s crew as they scramble to find a solution for the terrors that lie within the dark walls of their ship. As the movie keeps going trudging on in the background, haunting music and fear-filled voices bounce off the walls of your living room, you take the time to admire Hyunjin. 

  The way his hair frames his face neatly; the way the glitter across his face twinkles with each changing scene on the screen. The way his dark eyes flicker across the screen as more information is divulged. But once it’s clear to him that you won’t stop staring until your pestering has been answered, Hyunjin finally hums something like a response. “Hm?”

  “If you hurt me,” you begin again, rolling each word around your head thoughtfully,”would you feel guilty?”

For a moment, Hyunjin continues to be silent. The air around him is entirely still as he thinks on the question. He reaches for the remote slowly and takes his time to find and press the pause button. The television is frozen on an image of the Xenomorph looming above an unsuspecting crew member looking for his cat, Jonesy. The crew member, Brett, is unaware of the ultimate predator lying in wait for the kill.

  The silence is eerie and far too long for the question you’ve asked. His answer should be instant.

  Yes, I would feel guilty if I hurt you.

  Yes, it would make me upset to see you hurt.

  Of course, I would feel bad. Why would you say that?

  Any of these responses, or variations of them, should come out of his mouth effortlessly and immediately. 

A voices in your mind insists, nags even, that Hyunjin is different. Hyunjin contemplates everything as if he needs to envision himself doing the action in order to give you a satisfying answer. Those dark eyes remain eerily still as he thinks it over. His arm, casually resting against the arm of your couch now, forms a comfortable fist-shaped seat for his chin. There is no exertion in his movement, no flexing and relaxing of hard-working muscle, no strain as his body adjusts to involuntary and voluntary movement. Hyunjin’s body doesn’t heave and twitch with signs of life. As still as he is right now, as quiet as he is, Hyunjin could easily be mistaken for a picture or a drawing from someone’s imagination; an image frozen in time. 

  “I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says earnestly, eyes finally meeting yours from across the couch,”In fact, I do a lot to protect you.”

  Your stomach flutters at the admission.

  “Oh yeah,” you ask skeptically, praying that the amusement in your voice translates intergalactically,”And what do you do to protect me?” Although Hyunjin is an alien, you’ve done far more to protect him than he could ever to to protect you. The world is vast and dangerous and without proper care, there’s no way Hyunjin would be able to survive on his own. People, humans, are cruel. Never mind the elements, wild animals, and other things on the planet that could potentially kill him instantly.

  In the few months that he’s been here, you’ve given Hyunjin food, shelter, and an up-close view of earth he’s never had before. He has access to the internet, to books, to anything that a poor graduate student can offer him really. When you’re away at work, Hyunjin has access to your library of books and the slimy gaping maw that is the internet. In his short time here, he’s learned all kinds of differing languages, cultures, philosophies, and more from the quick taps of your keyboard to your sticker-covered monitor. It only took a day or two for him to fully communicate with you. Although there are still terms and colloquialisms that he doesn’t fully understand, the two of you can speak pretty well.

  Your heart does warm at the idea of Hyunjin wanting to protect you in some way. As the weeks have passed, the two of you have gotten about as close as you can to an alien in this situation. Although his statement of protection is comforting and a sign of friendship, the butterflies in your stomach don’t settle at the implications. 

Hyunjin isn’t like you, not in the slightest. He probably wasn’t protecting you from your creepy professor or bitchy roommates. Could there be dangerous alien plots waiting to ensnare you? Are there other-worldly visitors that roam the earth alongside him? Visitors that want to cause you and other people of earth harm? Is it some sort of venom that Hyunjin spews out on occasion? What is he protecting you from? 

  It’s his turn to let out a huff of amused air before giving you a pointed look as if the answer is right there in front of you, obvious and true. 

  “Well, for one thing,” Hyunjin says with a strange calmness,” this isn’t my real appearance. Do you think my people look like this naturally?”

  A breeze flows through you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck and making them prick and tighten. As you look over at Hyunjin on your couch, a spell suddenly breaks and you realize that it is true. You don’t know what he looks like underneath this...disguise.

  Hyunjin could look like one of the Greys underneath his glittery flesh suit. He could have large beady black eyes and pincers near his mouth that rip and tear. He could have eyes on the side of his head that turn inwards when he blinks or drifts off to sleep. Hyunjin could be an unfathomable being that would make your head explode if you laid your eyes on him. 

  Hyunjin is an alien and certainly not international pop star, Hwang. Hyunjin is someone else, something else, wearing a clever disguise. As you look over his features and try your hardest not to show the fear broiling inside you, a seed of doubt in your stomach now burrows its way into the very soil of you. 

  Hoping humor is something that all distant life forms can understand, you squint your eyes in mock suspicion and hope that the fear that’s beginning to blossom inside of you is completely hidden. You hear a voice that sounds exactly like yours ask,“What do you normally look like?” 

  Hyunjin’s resulting smile is every bit as patronizing and irritating as it feels. “That’s what I’m protecting you from,” he laughs lightly,”Humans are...delicate. They can barely handle variations in their own species. How would they react to something not of this world?”

  As you look at Hyunjin, a sleep-addled memory begins to play behind your eyes. A memory that makes you think about when Hyunjin occasionally does strange things. Like when his mouth opens too wide to eat handfuls of Cheerios or some days when he spends a little too long in the shower and somehow releases a weird iridescent goo all over your bathroom; each goo accident results in a sheepish Hyunjin coming to ask for assistance. 

  This strange memory occurs when you’re asleep in your room and are abruptly woken up by a series of clicks assaulting your ears from beyond your window. You never remember how or when the figure got inside your bedroom. You only remember the paralysis, the way your body seemed unwilling to move as you watched the creature crawl toward your desk. No matter how much you willed yourself awake, to move, you remained frozen in your bed.

  But, really, what would you have done? What would have happened if you turned on the light and faced the creature in that moment? What would actually seeing this creature in the light do to make the situation better or worse?

  Then your memory reveals the horror, the fear, of the creature standing to full height, tall and imposing over your desk. It stared at the textbooks you’d left on your desk earlier that night and thumbed through the pages rapidly. It shuttered, twitched, chittered, and moved jerkily as it flipped through each page of your study guide to Human Anatomy & Physiology 2.

  Then it happened. 

  The part that you will always remember clearly. 

  The dark creature stopped what it was doing and looked up at the poster of Hwang hanging above your desk. It spent some time staring at the poster of Hwang’s blonde hair, his dark roots, the elaborate angle he hung his body, and probably even the glitter dancing across his nose and cheeks. Then a series of clicks and chitters filled the room along with the snapping and twisting of limbs that you’d only ever heard in movies. A particularly harsh snap caused a miserable groan to spill from its lips. It was a sound that Hyunjin hasn’t emitted since. 

  The memory ends with you inevitably turning on the light and seeing the ends of twin dark pointed tentacles just disappearing into either side of the pale creature’s back. It heaved a deep sigh of finality, shoulders relaxing and chest heaving. As the creature took its time to relax, to calm, you could see the sudden protrusion of human-like knobs appearing in a line on his back, one after the other. A spine, you brain supplies, a human spine. 

  “What the fuck are you doing in my room,” you asked, no screamed, hysterically. The creature turned around promptly at the sound and there was Hwang staring back at you, eyes wide.

  You screamed. Obviously.

  Over the course of more screaming, more accusations, and more general confusion, you soon realized that it was not international popstar Hwang standing naked in your bedroom after scaling your apartment building. It was a traveler from a distant star. With the resemblance being nearly uncanny, if not identical, you named him Hyunjin.

  Remembering his disregard from a few moments ago, a scoff passes through your lips. You may be afraid but there’s no way you would give up an opportunity like this. Puffing out your chest, you counter the insinuation,”But I’m—“ 

  “Different?” He supplies,” I don’t think you’re that different from other humans.”

  Whether it’s his mentality after interacting with you and your roommates or an assumption, you’re not really sure. The small bleed in his statement makes another thought cross your mind. Another thought that leaves you a little more unsure than before. 

  Does he know other humans, you thought, am I really the first one he’s ever encountered? 

  But then the reality of a lie comes to your attention as you think of the unlikely. Is he lying? Could this all be some long-lasting joke that a friend is pulling on you? Wanting to see how many ridiculous antics you’ll put up with until you break. Despite this thought, an impending sense of...something haunts you. Glancing briefly at the television screen, you wonder just how similar you are to Brett. Are you unaware of the threat hovering about your head?

  Although fear thrums through your veins, you need to know what lies underneath its flesh suit. “I promise I won’t freak out,” you nod, moving closer to Hyunjin on the couch. You’re so close now that you can feel the coolness of his skin reach for yours. 

  “Promise?” he parrots, tilting his head in confusion.

  You try to explain the word without using the word in question,”It’s like a swear.” When the furrow in his brow doesn’t disappear, you try again,”I don’t know...a bond through words? Between people?” 

  Instead of answering in a language you know or have heard of, Hyunjin chitters in response and adds a hard click for punctuation. By the tone, you can only assume that this is his attempt at some equivalent for the word, ‘promise’. 

  Sighing, you lean forward and squish the pale orbs of his face. For a moment the alien flinches in your hold and just barely keeps himself from grabbing onto your wrist. You can’t ignore the flash of distrust in his eyes or the way his hands fall back into his lap. “Hyunjin,” you stare at him,”you know I don’t know what that means.” The sight of his lips pursing as he stares at you brings a smile to your face. Hyunjin keeps staring at you, confusion evident as he wraps his hands around your wrists.

  You hold him there for a moment, admiring the softness of his cheeks, until his eyes begin to harden. Letting go instantly, Hyunjin wiggles off the feeling of your hands on him before settling on the couch again. “If you ‘promise’ not to panic,” he starts tentatively,”I’ll show you some things.” Instantly, your cheeks stretch with the fierceness of your grin. The fact that you’ve somehow convinced Hyunjin to trust you in this way makes you more excited than anything else. The sight of your happiness, your excitement, makes him try to backtrack. “ Not everything,” he insists,” Not all at once.” You continue grinning, but now a slight bounce has accompanied your happy demeanor. He almost can’t stand the sight of it.” Just enough that you’ll leave me alone,” I want to get back to this movie. The Xenomorph is starting to kill the humans.”

  The sight of his smile now has yours falling. Was Alien the right choice for movie night?

  Rolling his shoulders with a sigh, Hyunjin maneuvers himself to face you fully on the couch. He folds his legs and tucks his feet neatly as his hands land on his knees. His eyes wander the planes of your face before settling on your eyes. A shiver runs through you at the closeness of him. You’re not sure why Hyunjin is always cold. No matter how many layers of clothing you gave him or blanket burritos you’ve wrapped him in, the strange being always ran cold. Something tells you to lean in closer to Hyunjin, to really look at how much effort he’s put into the guise before revealing his true self. When you do your hands instinctively land on the meat of his thighs for balance. 

  Hyunjin does flinch this time, the feeling of your warm fingers in such a delicate place, before settling back into his seat. This close you can see the way his eyes remain entirely still. When he looks about your face, his eyes don’t move to take in each frame. Hyunjin seems to be taking in everything at once. You can also see the larger than ‘normal’ pupil looking back at you; the size of a nickel if you think about it. The poster of Hwang can only bring so many of his features to light. Maybe the pupil size was just...hard to see. Or maybe this is one of the many things that Hyunjin wants to show to you. 

  There’s a flutter in your stomach again, but it’s different than before. Something about the flutter this time, the particular fury of butterflies flapping against your viscera, and the slight acidity in your mouth reminds you that this isn’t worry. This isn’t about displeasing an attractive person or embarrassing yourself in front of your crush. This is fear. 

  Hyunjin is not actually Hyunjin. It’s a name that you gave to the alien in front of you because you couldn’t pronounce his real now. Now that reality has crashed your parade, you can only imagine what he actually has hidden beneath the thin pale skin that covers his body. You can only imagine what horrors beyond your compression that lie within the bones of it. You have no idea what he looks like underneath it all, what horrors he had to hide that made him hiss and grunt as he shifted; if his skin is even really skin or if the paler tone is his true color. All you can do is adjust yourself on the couch, your legs touching his, and prepare for the inevitable,”I’m ready.”

  No, you’re not ready, but he doesn’t need to know. 

  There is no ceremonious noise that signals when Hyunjin will begin. With his concentration and your near-vibrating excitement, your apartment is entirely silent. Your roommates are gone for the weekend, away from this place of potential danger. Your private reveal party has seemingly no potential disturbances or possibility of interruptions. But there’s also nothing to save you in case things get far too scary, too fast. When Hyunjin’s lips begin to start and reveal the whites of his now sharpened canines, you realize just how alone you truly are.

  Along with his canines, the rest of his teeth now form into perfectly edged points that sit perfectly behind his lips. If he wanted to, Hyunjin could probably tear through the toughest of flesh with those fangs. “Last chance,” Hyunjin says with disinterest and just a hint of warning, now his lips curl into a smile that reveal full rows of sharp white bone. Even though he could probably chomp through all of your bones, your fingers remain on his thighs. There is still some hesitance in his eyes as Hyunjin looks at you; like he doesn’t want to hurt you or scare you in any real way. It’s that hesitance, that human emotion, that keeps you trusting him. Sort of. 

  Just as you gather slightly more courage, it begins to sour again as your brain finally processes the small moment. “Did you,” you start, eyes falling to the pink of his lips,”...your lips didn’t move.”

  “What?” he asks dumbly, blinking owlishly at your reaction. 

  His lips remain still, unmoving.

  Tension falls over you as the fluttering feeling in your stomach crawls up into your neck, one of those many butterflies crawls its way into your throat and spreads its large voluptuous wings, choking the wet flesh there. There’s a sort of ache somewhere on your head like the pulling and healing of skin; like the life cycle of a scab in the matter of seconds. It happens so suddenly, so abruptly, that you ignore it. You’re still overcome with the shock of Hyunjin’s ability to speak without moving his mouth.

  “Oh my god,” you gasp, staring at his lips,”so you’ve been moving your lips all this time for what? For show?”

  Now, as he continues to prepare himself to reveal some of his inner workings, you find that the fleshy lips on his face do not move; like a mask. If you thought back on it now, you would note the delay in his speech; how it took time for his mouth to catch up with his words. Maybe his kind didn’t have lips. Almost all of Hyunjin is fabricated. His hair, his eyes, his smile, his brow, the glitter dancing across his nose, everything is an exact replica of your poster. The only thing that differentiates him from the real Hwang is his mannerisms. Like the way he forgets to blink, his inability to handle fluorescent lights, his unmoving nature.

  Who is the real Hyunjin?

  What is his real name?

  Does he mean harm?

  “Focus,” Hyunjin groans in annoyance, like he has somewhere better to be,”this is your last chance. I’d rather not deal with the consequences of this, but you keep asking. No matter what you say, things aren’t going to return to how it was before.”

  “Okay, okay. I’m ready. I promise. No more interruptions.”

  Hyunjin makes sure to roll his eyes again so you feel every bit of annoyed energy flowing off of him. This time though, you can see a slight delay when he blinks. It seems like something moves over his eyes briefly and with a shiver you suddenly realize what it is. A translucent lid falls away into the abyss of his dark brown eye. Eyebrows furrowing, you think of your Hwang posters upstairs and wonder just how much of his form is pretend. There’s no way he can hide all of his extraterrestrial features. The huge pupils are the perfect example of that.

  Finally, once you’re quiet enough for his liking, Hyunjin’s mouth opens. Out of the dark abyss, a long appendage reveals itself. You’ve seen it plenty of times when he ate or talked, but it always resembled the soft pink tongue that mammals tended to have. That almost all living things on earth tended to have; but Hyunjin isn’t from this earth.

  The appendage is blue when it reveals itself, blue and flat. There are no slight involuntary twitches as it reveals itself further and further. His “tongue” continues its descent, remaining entirely still as if every single muscle is under his control. And maybe it is. Hyunjin’s tongue petals at the end into a softened flat point that curls downward slightly.

  It’s definitely...different.

It’s also definitely fairly long, but not so horrific that you wouldn’t be able to sleep at night at the thought of it. In fact, the longer you look at it, the cuter it is. The sight of his tongue hanging out of his mouth, blue as can be, makes you smile and mimic the being before you. A huff of amused air leaves Hyunjin’s body as he watches you. Seeing that you’re comfortable enough to be silly, he takes it as a sign to continue. 

  Slowly but surely more blue is revealed and along with its length, small bumps begin to show on the now wider sides of his tongue. It continues all the way down, never stopping or speeding up, until it reaches the middle of his chest. The pads of your fingers flex against his thigh as you try your hardest not to gasp. It takes everything in you to school your expression so he doesn’t hide away; so he doesn’t think that you can’t handle it. You want to know what he really is. At the same time though, your stomach begins to burn slightly at the sight of it. 

  How did he hide this in his mouth for this long? 

  You try to remember that he’s still the same Hyunjin you dragged to “human” museums to admire art. He’s still the same Hyunjin who hates the harsh coldness of ice cream and adores the flavor of coffee; who loves pizza without cheese. 

  Yes, you’ve explained to him that that’s just bread with sauce. No, he doesn’t care and still calls it pizza. He’s still the same Hyunjin who’s been living in your apartment for a month now. 

  He just has a really really really long blue tongue. 

  Suddenly Hyunjin begins to move that tongue. This close to him still it’s easy for the blue appendage to reach you easily. It flicks against the rough pink tip of your own tongue before wrapping around it. Despite its odd dry appearance and strange softness, Hyunjin’s tongue is entirely wet. His saliva seems... thicker. Rather than a noticeable sheen that covers the organ, you can clearly feel the glob of fluid on your tongue. It’s only then that you remember you’re still sticking your fucking tongue out. 

  Then he folds it back into the seemingly bottomless cavern that is his mouth. There’s a minute before you slip yours back into your mouth too. Your nerves make your mouth prick with saliva. You swallow repeatedly, ignoring the small lump in your throat. 

  “Well?” Hyunjin asks carefully, looking about your face for any sign of distress. 

  Despite the uneasiness you still feel, the very idea of witnessing a real life alien right before your eyes trumps it. Hyunjin really is an otherwordly thing and not some creep who’s been bullshitting this entire time. You lean back against your couch now, somewhat relaxed at having everything confirmed right in front of you,”That’s fucking amazing, dude.”

  Hyunjin laughs and runs his fingers through his hair,”I’m glad you like it. One less thing I have to keep up.” With that his blue tongue slips out again through his plush lips and wets the surrounding flesh before slipping back inside. He turns towards the television without anothe word.  Turning the movie back on, Hyunjin doesn’t spare you a second glance as the story progresses. As the film continues, you can’t help but think about just how long he has to keep up this appearance. 

  Every day. 

  Every single day. 

  Every moment of every day spent in a form that isn’t his. 

  You’ve seen Hyunjin stare at himself in reflective surfaces as if spooked by the person he sees.

  It must be exhausting.

  As the movie continues, the Xenomorph opens its mouth wide, saliva and acid careening out of its mouth as it prepares to demolish its new host. The open mouth reveals a smaller deadlier mouth that takes chunks out of one of the characters. With only two other passengers of the Nostromo left, it’s up to Ripley to save herself and Jonesy from certain death. Your eyes wander back over to Hyunjin who’s now sprawling out on the couch and mumbling something under his breath; something like “they almost got it right”. Instead of asking about whether it’s the killing instinct of the Xenomorph or its particularly large bulbous head, your eyes roam over Hyunjin’s lithe frame. Although he’s referenced your anatomy textbook when he first shape-shifted and the Hwang poster for further analysis, Hyunjin couldn’t have gotten everything right. 

  There’s only so much that pictures could do. Although he did seem to get the rest of Hwang correct, there were some things that were off. His glittery sheen that lines his cheeks and nose is the same as in the picture of Hwang and its presence is a constant reminder that Hyunjin doesn’t know what makeup really is. He doesn’t know that it’s a decoration, something you can wipe off and apply at will. But Hyunjin is still Hwang and therefore still beautiful in your eyes. Although he wears Hwang like a mask, Hyunjin’s otherworldly beauty comes through in the way that e carries himself through the house. In the way that he wraps his arms around you in an attempt to show affection, to show thanks. You don’t need to look up at the posters in your room to remember that Hyunjin is not really Hwang; that he is not human. Despite all of this, you still find yourself desiring him in some way. He’s gentle when he wants to be and adorably curious. The longer you stare at him, admire him, the more you feel desire burning its way into your skin. Everything feels just slightly too tight. The inside of your flesh feels wet and sticky as beads of sweat start to bubble on your hairline and back of your neck. When did it get so hot in here?

  “Where are you going?”

  As the credits begin to peek on the screen, you find yourself getting up and heading upstairs. The longer you stay here, the hotter you seem to become. You can feel the way your shirt sticks to your skin as you look at Hyunjin’s unassuming face. God he’s so hot. “Upstairs,” you answer breathlessly, noting the way Hyunjin’s collar bones shine in the light. An ache courses through your body; starting from the cloying heat of your stomach to the dull throb of your hole. You clench your thighs together and mumble something like a,”Good night.” But Hyunjin isn’t interested in your good nights. His eyes stay on your thighs, watching the way the flex occasionally as he stares. The heat builds into something ridiculous, something impossible to ignore, and without another word you head to your room. 

  That heat persisted well into the next morning. The heat was and is unyielding, pulling and clawing at your insides as it demanded touch. This need for touch couldn’t be quelled by a platonic hug between friends, but it also couldn’t be quelled by nearly buzzing your clit off three times. That heat, that need for touch, stayed between your thighs and only grew more viciously throughout the day. By the time you got home, you were a mess. With each step further into your apartment, the soaked fabric of your panties squish and squelch against you. You feel sticky, overheated, like your skin simply couldn’t calm down no matter how hard you tried. Although you remember breaking out your vibrator earlier and relieving yourself, you’re almost certain you can go again. The only thing that seems to calm your nerves, to cool off your body, seems to be jacking off.

    You take determined steps to your bedroom and when you walk inside, excitement bubbling in your belly, you see Hyunjin lying across your bed. Legs sprawling out on the fabric, feet kicking slowly in the air, he reads impossibly fast through thick pages. As he lays there, you notice the way your shirt hangs off of one of his shoulders and the cloth shorts he’s also taken from your closet that hangs loosely around his waist and thighs. 

  Now you’ve been around beautiful people before, but there’s something about Hyunjin here and now that makes you itch. The air about your stirs with something thick that fills every breath you take. 

  You’ve been around beautiful people before, but there’s something about Hyunjin here and now that makes you itch. The air about you stirs with something thick that fills every breath you take. It smells like the largest of flowers; impossible structures that curl and dominate the space they’re in. It’s a floral scent that demands to be known, that brings a haziness to your mind. It makes your mind wanders to last night. To the feeling of his cool skin on yours and the feeling of that blue tongue wrapping around your pink tongue. What would it feel like between your legs lapping at the nectar between your thighs? What would his large fingers feel like as they rub and dig and claw at your walls? How would he sound as he came? Would he roar in your ear? Would he bear his sharp canines and grunt with each loud wet slap against your skin? 

  Hyunjin’s rolling onto his back before you can catch your bearings and sits up in bed to stare at your new presence in the room. The shorts have ridden up and reveal more of his pale thighs than before. Your thighs clench and unclench as you try your hardest to ignore the wetness in your pants. The denim of your jeans catches against the tacky fabric as you search for some sort of relief fro the unending pressure that pushes against your hole and presses into your clit. All you can the wet in your pants; to search for some sort of relief from the unending pressure that pushes against your hole and presses against your clit. All you can think of is owning Hyunjin, of riding his face and the length of his tongue until you’re creaming all over his face. Maybe his cum is thick. Maybe it’s blue. Maybe it’ll cling to your throat as you swallow each warm rope of cum while his cock pulses in your mou— 

  When he looks over at you, his initial annoyance at the distraction seems to fade in an instant. Suddenly his dark eyes show something like concern. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning in to get a better look at you,”are you okay?” You begin to peel off your jacket and hang the tired article over your door. As you walk about the room, gathering comfy clothes to change into, you can’t help but notice the intensifying floral smell. This close to the alien, he smells...different. His scent smells something like a flower, like heady pollen cloying heavily behind your nose. It’s all-consuming; overwhelming in a way that you can’t really fathom.

  The heat has become unbearable the longer he’s in the room; or that you’re in the room with him. You’re not entirely sure why this is happening. In the heat of pollen, wet and the dull ache between your legs, you feel his large hand cup your moist cheek. You didn’t even process Hyunjin rising from the bed and coming towards you. Just how out of it are you? What’s happening?

  You move away from his hold and make your way towards the kitchen, determined. You grab at a water bottle in the fridge and chug the liquid immediately. Water soaks droplets into your shirt as you drink furiously. It’s only when Hyunjin pulls the bottle away and presses his large hand against your cheek again that you come out of your haze. “Hyunjin?” you ask, or at least try to, and lean into the cold palm of his hand. The coolness of his flesh lures you to a sense of awareness, but not fully. Not like before. Something has changed. 

  “I feel weird,” you whisper, fingers reaching out to smooth the worried lines on his face. The ever-present glitter there remains undisturbed. Despite your maneuvers, Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrow further. “What do you mean ‘weird’ ?”

  In addition to that ache, there’s a longing deep within your bones. It’s a kind of needling, an uncomfortable feeling that turns and twists in your stomach. Honey cloys and weighs at the back of your throat as you lean closer into Hyunjin’s hold. 

  His dark eyes wander around your face, landing somewhere above your eyes. His nostrils flare as he whispers, “You smell different.”. That cloying smell clings to your nose as you try to blink your way out of this strange haze. It’s still too warm and just a hint of too much, but you’re able to deal now; to understand. Your mouth is too full of moisture. You think back to what could’ve done this and find nothing out of the ordinary. But then you remember the brushing of tongues yesterday and swallowing something too thick, too viscous to be normal spit. “Did you do something to me?” He tilts his head and watches you move away from him slightly. The distance you’ve put between each other does nothing to calm the longing. You think about all the times you’ve touched him in the past. There were casual touches, the occasional hug, but they never caused whatever this was.

  “Am I dying?” you ask frantically, staring into his huge eyes,”Are you killing me right now? What the fuck, dude? Not cool!”

  “Relax. If I killed you, where would I stay?”

  “You’d take over my body and live as me,” you say as a matter of factly,”Obviously.”

  “I can’t ‘take over’ your body. I can look like people but I can’t be them.”

  “Then what’s happening?”

  It happens so suddenly, so abruptly, that you can’t slap his hand away. Even after it happens, you can only sit there in shock and disbelief. The only confirmation that you have is the firm pressure of the thing, the taste of salt and flowers, and the slight pain of it all. Hyunjin leans in closer and pulls slightly, ignoring the way your hands grip his wrist in protest.

  My tongue can’t go as far as yours, you think, you’ll rip it out. 

  “I’m not going to pull anymore,” he says aloud,”but you have to trust...”

  He seems to find whatever he’s looking for almost immediately. His eyes widen briefly before taking an impossibly closer look. You can feel the brunt of his nail almost piercing the tip of your tongue in an attempt to hold it down. Ouch. 

  “Sorry,” he mumbles. When he finally pulls his fingers off and out of your mouth, a thick blue substance follows after him. He tries to shake it off but the blue-tinged substance sticks stubbornly before smearing it into the arm of your couch. The sight of it makes the sticky feeling in your mouth that much more apparent. Each swallow takes effort and for a moment you think you’re choking.

  “What is that—”

   “I don’t know.”

  “Am I dying? You spat in my mouth and now I’m dying?”

  “Hey! I didn’t spit in your mouth.”

  “Hyunjin, something is wrong.”

  “I know,” he starts, glaring at you now,”you smell different and your eyes are...dilated.”

  That makes you take pause. Instead of arguing with him further, you try to think about the state of your body. This close to him you can barely think. You would’ve remembered Hyunjin smelling like flowers in bloom. So why does he smell different now? Why do you feel so warm? Why are you sweating through your clothes? What is that blue stuff on your tongue?

  Maybe out of nervousness or habit, Hyunjin licks his lips that you’re met with the blue tongue from earlier. Then you think of his touch, the feeling of it, and find yourself frowning.

  “Have you always smelled like flowers?”

  Now it’s Hyunjin’s turn to frown.

  “No...that only happens during mating cycles.”

  “Mating? Like animals?”

  “That’s the closest word for it in your language. I smell like flowers?”

  “Yes.”

  “How can you smell that?

  “That must mean we’re compatible.”

  It’s strange how these words, how their meaning, make your heart race; makes your hole clench around nothing. “You smell different too,” Hyunjin admits shyly, fingers finding your waist,”you smell really good.” 

  Those fingers around your waist cool the unbearable burning in your bones. You find yourself wanting more of it; wanting to finally be cooled off. Would it be so bad to indulge? Hyunjin might be different, but he still looks like Hwang. He still sounds like Hwang. What could the harm be? 

  You don’t really think about the possibility of Hyunjin not being right. Is the possibility of his touch, his wet, killing you worth it? He’s never been to earth after all. He’s never seen humans before so he probably hasn’t been with them in a sexual way. 

  You choose to accept it, to not think as the hazy feeling from before engulfs you yet again. Finally, you lean into the being as much as you can, nearly moaning at the coolness of his skin, and hold onto his wide shoulders. Hyunjin stares at your eyes with a light of interest and asks,”What now?”

  Your thumbs rub the cool skin of shoulders, noting the bones within them, and ask,

  “Do aliens kiss?”

  His answer is instant and filled with confusion,“What’s a ‘kiss’ ?”

  Your first kiss with Hyunjin is awkward. 

  His plush lips don’t move. His hands stay on your waist, unmoving. It’s almost like kissing a statue. When you open your eyes in the middle of it, the alien is already staring back at you. At the sight of those dark brown eyes searing back at you, you finally pull away unsatisfied. Hyunjin just smiles almost politely as he says,”that was nice.”

  Exasperation flows through you as you counter quickly,”That wasn’t...a real kiss, Hyunjin.” He doesn’t respond or really listen to the instructions you’ve taken it upon yourself to explain. Instead Hyunjin’s hands finally begin to wander your body. He squeezes and holds any part of your flesh that will yield to his hands. Your tops and bottoms of your ass, the flesh of your back, your arms, all blessed with gentle touches under his strange ministrations.

  “Are you paying attention?” you ask suddenly, fingers moving down to hold onto his biceps. “No,” he answers curtly, as if a decision has finally been made,”we have something like a kiss, but it’s...a little more involved.” That piques your interest. Hyunjin presses you against the harsh countertop of your kitchen and finds his way between your legs. Fingers settling on your spread thighs and a grin making its way onto his features, he tilts his head and says,”Trust me.”

  In an instant Hyunjin’s long tongue reveals itself and carefully licks the side of your face. His saliva leaves a sticky residue that’s around the same thickness you felt in your throat yesterday. That thin tongue, long and fluttering, makes its way down to your neck. The soft licks tickle your skin and have an inquisitive air about them. Your hands find the fabric of his shirt and cling to the soft sides underneath, anchoring yourself there. There’s an uncomfortable heat that crawls from the surface of your skin into the depths of your flesh. Each touch, each strange lick, makes your skin burn with an odd sensitivity.

  His tongue seems to taste your skin. There are no shudders of joy as he continues his ministrations; no gasps of pleasure as he hovers above your body. As he presses plush lips against your skin, a small gasp claws its way out of your throat. Maybe he needs guidance. How could he know anything about the human body really; about where to pull pleasure from?

“This feels nice,” you say quietly,”really nice.” You feel those lips form into a kind of smile against your skin. A breath of laughter cools the blue dollop of saliva on your skin as Hyunjin smiles against you. Your fingers run through his hair gently, noting the way the strands stiffen in your hold. “Can you lick—”

  Pain.

  Searing, never-ending pain, spreads across the expanse of your neck. The feeling of thin burning wetness and thick liquid pooling onto the cushion underneath you; a warm splash on your shoulder. All you can do is grunt and open your mouth in a silent scream as Hyunjin’s sharp teeth burrow their way into your neck. Your hold on his body turns into a desperate grip as you cry out finally.

  “H-hyunjin! Stop!”

  But before your brain can truly process the pain, the fact that Hyunjin has wounded you fiercely and unexpectedly like a rabid dog, the fire begins to dull again. With a slight tilt of his head, his teeth sink further into your skin and while you feel that warm wetness, that rush of blood rising to the surface, you also feel your toes curl, your back arch, and a flutter in your stomach.

  There’s pleasure battling that pain now, taming it into something strange yet manageable.

  “Sorry,” he mumbles moves away from the sensitive flesh. The reality of his action is clear as day as he wipes the mess of blue and red from his face, the now purple substance stains his shorts; maybe even the kitchen floor. When your finger tips reach to that bite, you find your blood frozen in time. It doesn’t flow faster or slower, it just simply stops moving altogether. As your fingers touch each puncture in your skin those teeth left behind, each perfectly pointed hole, that same pleasure rises again. “What did you do?” you whisper, eyes widening and then narrowing in confusion. Hyunjin’s tongue peeks out to lick the remaining fluid as he answers,”It’s... what we do. Like your ‘kiss’ ”.

  Despite how badly you want to feel the mark, to assess the damage of what he’s done, you can no longer disregard the deep ache between your legs; the longing that sits deep in the pit of your stomach. Your clothes come off clumsily and land somewhere on the living room floor. Now emboldened Hyunjin’s hands slip underneath the fabric of your shirt. His eyes widen in awe at the feeling as if feeling your skin for the first time. 

  When you pull off your shirt and toss it somewhere in the corner, you realize that it is the first time he’s ever seen you naked. His fingers dance across your tan skin and trace each scar, each freckle, each mark, each stretch mark that litters your skin —  that makes you human — in marvelous wonder. “You smell different now,” Hyunjin whispers,”sweeter.”

  As you pull down your pants and rid yourself of the tacky fabric of your underwear, you wonder if he’s going to mark other areas with his bite and blue fluids. You want him to desperately. More than the fact that he looks like Hwang is your curiosity; your desire and want. What will it feel like? Will it all be pleasure pain? You need to know. Only when you’re naked in front of him does Hyunjin remove his open shirt to reveal a very human torso. 

  “Here,” you mumble, brushing your fingers along the top of your chest,”bite here.” Hyunjin doesn’t want to disappoint you in the slightest.

  Another bite, another piercing of teeth, another painful moment that’s immediately eclipsed with pleasure. This time you cry out and arch into his body as he hovers. This time Hyunjin holds onto you for support and moves towards a hardened nipple. “Easy,” you say, voice heavy with haze and confusion,”Don’t bite there.” You already feel the grazing of a sharp tip digging into the very skin of your nipple. Hyunjin doesn’t move right away. He continues to tease, to encircle your peak with the very edge of his tooth as his eyes meet yours. “Hyunjin—”

  Pulling the strands of his hair in an attempt to steer him away, he takes this as encouragement for his playful antics. Just before the sharp canine can break skin, your nipple meets the soft caress of his blue tongue. The plush appendage caresses your chest. Every so often, just as you lose yourself in his tongue, the threat of his canine jolts your crescendo of moans and pleas, resulting in the ever-present dribble and ache of your insides. The more his tongue entangles your chest, the heavier the scent of flowers rushes over your senses and blossoms on the inside of your nose and the back of your throat. His tongue leaves a blue-tinged residue that stays wet and thick against your skin as he pulls away. 

  The longer he licks, the more he licks, the more your body burns. Soon Hyunjin begins to travel around the expanse of your torso; nipping and tasting every inch of skin. As he travels and explores your body, the bites on your neck and chest burn deliciously with a feeling you can’t explain. With little effort, he kneels on the ground and pulls your leg over his shoulder. Whether he’s seen this before on the internet or read about it on of your many... books, you can’t bother to wonder. The burning turns to an ache. The aching turns into longing. The cycle continues in a never-ending circle that your honey-drunk brain can’t even process until Hyunjin viciously bites into the dip of your hip. This time your pleasure is unabashed, loud and wanton. You cry out, twisting his hair between your fingers and arching your hips further into his hold.

  “Hyunjin, keep going,” you beg, your breath failing you,”c’mon, keep going, please!”

  For once the alien is quiet and uninterested in banter. His eyes darken with interest as his nostrils flare. He sniffs the air pointedly. You’re too far gone to pretend to be embarrassed or attempt to make yourself wanton. You sit there calmly against the counter as his gaze wanders over your sex. The air around him changes as he continues. His fingers dance across the soft fleshy hood of your clit, thumb pressing against the small organ tentatively. As he continues staring and admiring the soft lines of your labia, Hyunjin begins licking his lips hungrily. You look down to see Hyunjin’s hungry gaze and the sight of blue-tinged drool lining the soft flesh on his face.

  From this angle, you can see and feel the blue glossy substance on your skin. You can practically feel his hunger as his gaze remains unrelenting against you. All you want to do is feel him against you. The ache you feel in your chest is almost overwhelming. Raising your hips you thrust your hips forward him in a small cant, attempting to entice the alien. The open display of lewdness is enough to bring Hyunjin came to your reality. 

  His nose brushes against your wet. You can hear more than feel the way he takes a deep whiff of your arousal. You burn too much to be embarrassed by the display. Hyunjin’s fingers dig into either side of your flesh thighs and spread the skin there until he meets a clear view of his prize. A flash of blue comes across your vision before you feel the soft tongue lap at you. Its gentle in its ministrations, curious as it explores each fold and crevice. The velvety feel of the organ makes you push against it, pulling moans out of you as it molds and swishes against you.

  Hyunjin groans around your hole as his tongue enters and sucks harshly at the swollen flesh of your opening and perineum. You’re so close to the full sensation of pleasure that you can nearly taste it. But Hyunjin is curious. He doesn’t search wholeheartedly for your orgasm, but instead flicks and twists his tongue inside of you. As his tongue digs further inside you, you note a hardness in the organ that wasn’t there a moment ago. It seems to grow firm nside you, those warty bumps on the side hardening as he searches you further and further. It’s when his tongue gets dangerously far that you feel a start of fear in you. 

  “Hyunjin,” you whisper on instinct, the slight fear in your voice undeniable. As hot as the sight of him between your legs is, there’s no telling if Hyunjin is even compatible with your body. Despite the very human features he seems to have, Hyunjin is ultimately wearing a disguise; appealing to your nature and what you deem appropriate. You have no idea what he could be like he’s in the mood. Would he spit venom as he crests? Would he rip out the flesh of your neck and claim you as his alien bride? Would his saliva, the blue-tinged liquid dripping from his appendage, melt your skin? Would he bite off your head like a praying mantis after it was all said and done? 

  There was no telling what could happen. But as Hyunjin’s tongue turns from that plush petal softness to rigid and firm, your mind begins to blank. The tongue slithers against your walls slowly, methodically, pressing with purpose against the ridges inside of you. If you pay close attention, you could’ve realized that Hyunjin is mapping your cunt with his tongue, tasting and learning each delicate crease that made up your hole. The appendage seems to change shape, becoming thicker and firmer, as you arch and moan in confusion and desperation. You can’t tell if it feels good or if it feels foreign and strange. 

  As Hyunjin continues, you begin to feel hotter. At first, you attribute this to your movements, your gasping and groaning as Hyunjin seems to eat you from the inside out, but you begin to realize that you wouldn’t sweat like this. Droplets of sweat blossom on your skin as you writhe underneath his hands. His grip remains firm as if you’re getting in the way of his fun. 

  As your hips follow along with the movement of his tongue, chasing after each push and pull of the appendage that swirls and flicks at your deepest parts, you feel a pressure building in your head. It’s insistent, needling, pushing against a sort of barrier that you didn’t even know you really had. It seems like the pain from last night is back briefly. Your nose scrunches at the feeling and your hand comes up to tug at your hair, attempting to relieve your scalp from the cold pressure. Darkness surrounds you as the pressure pushes and pushes until you finally begin to go slack, to give in. Only then do you hear it.

  “Stay still.”

  The voice is all too familiar.

  You hear his voice bouncing off of your head and settling deep. But his mouth is busy, you thought, how could he be talking to me? It’s then that it clicks. It makes you shudder in disbelief. How much more about Hyunjin would you find out over the next couple of days? Can he read your mind?

  When you look down at him, Hyunjin’s eyes are already there to greet you. He stares up to you with purpose, pushing against your spongy wall until you’re seeing stars again. Then your body alights with sensitivity, a sort of heat that seems to take over you. It feels more intense than any heat you’ve experienced, focused on a particular area. 

  A ping of nerves brings you out of your haze as Hyunjin’s tongue fully unfurls. It gets impossibly higher and soaks your walls with thickness. Finally, he emits a sound similar to a keen once he feels it. 

  When his tongue withdraws you feel incredibly empty and exposed. You can see your glossy fluids coating his tongue as he furls it back into his mouth. For a brief moment, your heat is sated. You reach for him and Hyunjin comes easily. Standing at his full height, you kiss the tops of his cheeks, his forehead, all around his face and grin as he mimics you. He presses clumsy kisses against the tops of your cheeks, your forehead, and all over. As you begin to relax, to feel the ache of those punctures all about your body, it’s back.

  Furious and unending, mind-numbing and impossible need that burns every cell in your body. For a moment, you think of dying, of how death would surely come if this didn’t end soon. Hyunjin continues pressing tentative kisses across your face and neck. He finds his way to his initial mark on your body and sucks at the wound carefully. As he continues to bring you pleasure, to find ways to make you arch and cry, you yearn to bring him further. You yearn to make him ache and burn as you do. You yearn to make him cry out, to make him beg with undeniable burning pleasure. 

  As he continues his ministrations, your hand reaches between the two of you to find his shorts. You rub at the creases in his pants and feel for any sensitive piece of flesh that should be there, but you find...nothing. Your search is long enough that Hyunjin sits up slightly on his knees and watches your hand. There’s nothing hidden away in folds that swells with each particular rub. There’s nothing resting against his thigh, aching to be touched. There’s nothing but legs and some sort of hard object in his pants that’s circular in shape. It doesn’t give way like vaginas do; doesn’t resist and lean in to touch like cocks do; so what could be lying beneath the cotton fabric?

  “What are you looking for?” Hyunjin asks, pressing your hand closer to a flat hard surface in his pants. It’s circular in nature with a hard outer shell and a soft middle. From what you can see now, there’s a slowly spreading wet patch that stains his pants. You rub tentatively, trying to alternate between the harder and slightly softer surface. Each rub, each firm push, seems to bring him further to the edge. Hyunjin pants slightly, eyes half lidded, as he stares at your thighs. 

  Rather than ask “what is that” you follow his lead and add pressure, nearly digging your hand into that rock hard surface. His eyes roll back into his head as he closes them, his hand gripping your wrist to keep you there. His hips begin thrusting into your hand steadily, a loud groan spilling from his lips. As he seems to crest, or get near to it, more fluid begins to stain his pants. Despite the cotton barrier, your hands begin to grow sticky with the liquid and the sight of Hyunjin coming undone in front of you has you clenching your thighs. “Show me,” you say, pulling your lower lip between your teeth,”show me.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  Hyunjin pulls the fabric of his shorts down in one fluid motion. There’s no time to wonder about the lack of underwear once you see the sight of it. A light blue and purple sheath with a long drooling slit in the middle. You reach your hand out again and run your fingers along the drooling slit, smiling at the way Hyunjin shudders and his hands tighten on the waistband of his pants. There isn’t a sense of alarm or confusion like you thought there would be. There also isn’t a sense of disgust. The sight of Hyunjin shuddering in pleasure, the clear arousal in his eyes, is enough to keep you going. But some of that leaves you when the narrow slit starts to widen and open.

  The first thing you notice is the color. The elaborate baby blues and light purples and baby pinks all bleed together into a delicious portrait of delicate wet flesh. The second thing you notice is the shape. It’s...a tentacle. An elongated curved shaft forms into a gently pointed tip. Out of the hard shell that encased his cock is a flap of purple flesh that gently folds over the sensitive area of his possible pubis. The tentacle is smooth with no defined ridges or creases. It curves gently, elegantly in the middle as the worm-like tip seemingly searches for its promised temporary home. Rather than dribbling cum from the smooth head, the appendage is wet all over. It dribbles more of that thick blue-cyan fluid all over; some occasionally lands on the shorts that have pooled on the floor. 

  It’s beautiful.

  The third and final thing you notice is the slight movement of the tip independently from the “shaft”. It jerkily moves before holding still as if searching for something. 

  Is he doing that, you think to yourself, is he moving it?

  “No.” Hyunjin says quietly,”I’m not.”

  It’s then that you notice how tightly he's holding onto your form. You move your hand towards the organ and pet the flesh gently, gasping as it violently twitches in your hand. A firm hold on it has Hyunjin grunting out and shuddering before you can even properly jerk the flesh.

  “Sensitive?”

  He doesn’t respond, only shakes in your hold. It’s warm in your hand and each squeeze has Hyunjin panting harder; as if you’re stroking a raw nerve. Your hand wanders to the flap of his skin, fingers carefully and gently sliding underneath. Hyunjin’s resulting moan, loud and wanton, has you jumping nearly out of your skin.

  “Please,” he moans, breathy and desperate,”please, please please please please” — it goes on and on until you shush him and say,”Okay, okay.” More fluid drips from around the organ and lands in thick ribbons on your thighs. When you look up at him, you see a blue tint on the tops of his cheeks. Is he blushing?

  There are no guiding hands that hold his cock in place as Hyunjin turns you around and bends you over the counter. As you lean against the harsh surface, you can feel his long fingers in your hair that grab viciously at your curls. You feel prodding and pressure as the slender tip of his tentacle nudges its way into you. It bullies its way into your walls. It has a mind of its own as it demands the promise of heat. When Hyunjin fully enters you, you swear he’s slightly bigger than before. But before you can question, his hips begin to move. As he thrusts, you can feel the tip nudge around your walls as if poking you. Suddenly the tip pokes hard in an upwards motion and finds what it's looking for. You gasp and cling to Hyunjin’s shoulders as your spongy flesh is pounded mercilessly until your voice grows hoarse and your toes curl; until your back arches; until you can feel the very second your brain goes cock drunk.

  You flutter around him and squeeze so tight that Hyunjin can only moan aloud. His tongue hangs with the feeling of it, breathing barely able to catch up. Then you’re there crying out your pleasure and simultaneously choking on the tip of his tongue as it curls around and licks into your mouth. It nearly swallows you whole, nearly drowns you in the feeling. His pace slows slightly and for a split second, you notice the lack of stirring, the sound of fluids mixing. In fact, there isn’t as much give either. Your stomach tight with orgasm stays tense as it accommodates a thicker more prominent length than before. 

  “Hyunjin,” you whimper,”What...?” 

  The tip still abuses your spongy flesh despite the change in size. As he picks up the pace, you feel the effort in each vicious thrust, each punch of his cock in your narrow hole; each drag against your ridges. In an attempt to steady himself, Hyunjin sits up and presses against your lower stomach. “You taste good,” he groans, nearly drooling. Your moans turn to screams, begging for all he’s willing to give. Would you die here? Impaled by him in the throes of passion? Just how deep could he go?

  “Hy-Hyun- oh my god.” 

  The pointed curved head of his cock presses against your spongy insides as he sits fully inside of you. You look down at your stomach, eyes glazing over the bite marks on your flesh, and notice a very noticeable bump staring back at you. You feel far too full, far too stuffed to even process what’s happening to you. How could you even take that much of him to begin with? It almost embarrasses you how willing your body is to let him in, to accept him. “Breathe,” he hisses quietly, a sound that seems like it’s meant to be reassuring. 

  You feel far too full, far too stuffed to even process what’s happening to you. How could you even take that much of him to begin with? It almost embarrasses you how willing your body is to let him in, to accept him. “Breathe,” he hisses quietly, a sound that seems like it’s meant to be reassuring. 

  It’s bigger now. It’s thicker and more insistent as it bruises your gummy walls. The slap of wet flesh plunging into an impossibly tight hole filling the room. You can feel just how deep he is now. The deepest that anyone or anything has ever been. Deeper than anything or anyone should be. Just as you start to adjust to the impossible feeling of being full, you feel another nudge against an entirely different hole. You can’t see where it comes from or what part of Hyunjin it’s coming out of, but you can only assume another tentacle has come through. The feel cool fluid drool into your ass. Somewhere in the distance, in the haze that Hyunjin has created, you feel that pressure against your temples. Then you hear it.

  “Okay?”

  It doesn’t take much to give your consent. The idea of Hyunjin filling almost every hole he can find has you clenching around his cock involuntarily. You nod against the counter and push your hips against the wet tentacle. That’s all it takes. You are a little scared when it pushes easily inside of you. Whatever viscous fluid coats his second tentacle makes its wandering form easier to take. You’re so hot now, so incredibly turned on, that you can’t even care about the danger. You’re willing to take anything and everything. You cum again. And again. The orgasm is a constant thing that leaves you shaking underneath him, leaving you leaking clear fluid onto your kitchen floor. 

  It goes on seemingly forever. Hyunjin doesn’t grow anymore in size — Thank God — but his hips never stop their brutal pace. His cock, the tentacle fiendishly ripping orgasm from orgasm out of you, doesn’t give any indication of stopping. Your heat continues to burn, although not as fiercely, with every pounding of his hips. Through the haze of your coupling, lightning shocks through your lower back as you cum again. Hyunjin doesn’t slow down once; doesn’t even seem inconvenienced by the frequent sound of your spent hitting the tile beneath you. Despite the difference in your species, the animalistic act of mating is something that comes easily to the both of you. You moan in his hold, cry out when he continues grinding out that spongy spot in you. 

  Suddenly something changes in the air. 

  Hyunjin’s hips finally stutter. The second tentacle spasms against the tight heat of your ass while the first begins to pulse. As it pulses, you feel a harsh coolness soothe your burning walls. The fluid sits heavily in your stomach as Hyunjin continues releasing his spent. It begins to hurt a little as he finishes, some of the cyan fluid leaking out onto the floor below you. You feel fuller than before, even as Hyunjin begins to decrease in size. He pulls you closer as you squirm in his hold, crying out in pleasure when the second tentacle continues moving slightly. 

  Suddenly Hyunjin finds his way to your shoulder, and with some finality, bites into the flesh there. This is deeper than the others, unyielding and harsh. If you weren’t currently so full of thick viscous fluid, you’d notice just how close to your arteries he is. The sensation of being to full, the savagery of the bite, is enough to put you over the edge again. Your vision blears on the edges as you feel yourself release onto the floor below you for a final time. It’s Hyunjin’s weight that keeps you pinned to your place on the counter. It’s also Hyunjin’s weight that keeps you collapsing into a heap on the floor. Before you faint, before you fall into Hyunjin’s arms and succumb yourself to the rest you so very much need. Before your consciousness slips from you, you hear one last thing that makes you bubble with fear.

  “Mate.”

[drawlfoy]

detention retention finale p.1

masterlist (read parts 1-2 here!) request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: no this series is from my original idea however i did take inspo from quite a few people (credited at the bottom of this)

summary: gryffindor y/n is put to the test when she tries to use her detentions with draco malfoy to get close enough for him to share his secret. unfortunately, things are never as simple as they seem. (set in 6th year)

warnings (plz pay attention to these this time): blood, violence, mild gore, mentions of wanting to throw up, you’re just kinda not having a great time during this chapter. also, kinda dark!harry trope here. it is a little ooc, i know, but it was what worked and so i ran with it. also, i play around with the timeline of events that occur in hbp so just expect that 

a/n: the long awaited p1 of the finale is here! the second half is almost entirely written save for a few scenes, and i expect to get that out in the next few days (so much less than a week). i really appreciate you all being patient--i wrote and rewrote the potion scene about 3-4 times because it just wasn’t the vibes that i wanted, but i’m semi happy with how it turned out and at this point i’m just gonna go crazy if i keep trying to restructure it so here we go. all the loose ends will b tied up in the last part and y/n is finally gonna catch a break ;) so as always lmk what you think!

word count: 8.7k

here’s a spotify playlist inspired by this fic!

tags: @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss 

enjoy >:)

Snape’s stores were much more difficult to crack than she’d expected. She’d managed to steal one ingredient from there once, but back then all she had to do was disengage the multiple jinxes that guarded the door. Since, unfortunately, her slimy old Potions professor appeared to have felt a compulsion to fluff his nest and redecorate. A new painting was hung on the door--one of a large raven with beady, intelligent eyes that followed her as she walked past as inconspicuous as she could, no doubt preparing to fly off into the painting’s grey sky to alert his master. Her father had something similar to this in front of his Gringotts vault. She resolved to speak with him over the break to try and find a way in. 

Not like she’d had any chance to execute her plan, anyways. It had been two weeks since Y/N had so much as had a simple interaction with Draco. Every time she tried to talk to him, he turned his attention away from her, offering her a disinterested sniff in response or just outright pretending like he didn’t notice her. Pansy Parkinson seemed to take joy in this development, though she was hardly getting anything on her end save for a few dry looking conversations as Draco’s body angled away from her. 

Without the “distraction” of friendship and genuine human connection, Y/N had plenty of time to emotionally free-fall into an internal moral crisis. She supposed that Draco wasn’t expecting her to keep up her end of the deal now, just as her Gryffindor friends had given up on trying to make her useful. Physically, nothing was stopping her from walking right up to McGonagall during one of her detentions and telling her that Draco Malfoy was making an attempt on the headmaster’s life. But was it really worth it? Every time the thought crossed her mind, all she could think about was the way Draco looked when he talked about his mother, the way a shiny film glazed over his eyes and his eyebrows knit together. 

She’d made a promise. Too much was at stake. While she had failed her friends, she was at least not going to fail Draco...not when the rest of the world had betrayed him. 

Y/N was slowly sifting through thoughts like those when Katie Bell stepped foot into the Great Hall for the first time in a month. Her legs, slightly wobbly from being on bedrest for the better half of November, carried her down the aisle towards the trio of Y/N’s now ex-friends. Her soliloquy was interrupted by the familiar sound of Harry’s voice as he spoke, hushed and rather quickly, to Katie, his hands animated and his frame bent slightly lower so he could speak quietly. It didn’t take much imagination to discern what the topic of their discussion was as their eyes flickered over to the Slytherin table. She managed to hear a few snippets as the wind from the owls blew in and carried it towards her: 

“Malfoy--”

“Was it?”

“...remember?”

Katie, lips pressed into a thin line, shook her head. Harry bit his own lip and swung around to look at a blond figure further down the aisle. Draco. He was staring at the meeting, his body entirely frozen while he took it in. 

Oh, Draco.

Before either party could say anything, he was already turned around and speeding off outside of the hall. She swallowed; Harry and the rest of her Gryffindor peers were conversing and not casting a single look her way. Taking a deep breath, she got up from her seat, leaving her half eaten toast behind.

It didn’t take long to locate Draco--Myrtle’s bathroom was hardly a minute’s walk away from the Great Hall. He was in the same position she saw him there last, his head hanging over the sink basin while his body heaved.

“Draco,” she called out.

He snapped around, his eyes wild and his hair slightly wet at the tips. It occurred to her that he’d splashed his face with water. “Come around again for a formal Katie Bell confession?”

“No!” she exclaimed. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t get herself past the doorway. Not when his wand was raised at her like that. “I wouldn’t do that. I would never do that.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he snarled. “Do you really expect me to believe anything you say?”

“Please,” said Y/N. “Please let me explain.” Despite the sting of his words, she couldn’t help but feel some degree of relief when she realized that he was finally speaking to her again, finally acknowledging her again. 

He let out a huff of disbelief. “This isn’t about you. Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter whether or not you explain. You lied to me. You put my family in danger, me in danger. And for what? A date with Potter?”

“What?” All the air left her lungs as she stared at him. “It was never like that!” 

“Save it.” His tone, a bitter blend of vileness and defeat, echoed off the stone of the bathroom floor. Y/N was overwhelmed with the urge to run up to him and just beg him to forgive her, but the fire in his eyes and the angry twist of his mouth told her that that wasn’t an option. Instead, she slowly crept towards him. His eyes blazed as she neared him holding her hands up. “Please, Draco. I’m begging you.” 

His composure slipped, his wand shaking slightly in the air while he caught his bottom lip on his teeth and stared at her with a look she couldn’t quite place. She was just about to ask him about it when a pair of footsteps stopped right outside the bathroom.

“I know what you did, Malfoy!” Harry appeared, brandishing his wand and pointing it at him with conviction. “You hexed her, didn’t you? Katie?”

Draco sucked in a wheezy breath, struggling to stand up entirely straight as he held his wand at the ready. 

“You’re not even gonna deny it?”

“Let me guess, Y/L/N couldn’t get a confession out of me so you’re here to pick up the slack?” Draco finally snarled. “How cute.” 

“Shut up!” roared Harry. She’d never seen him look so furious before. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think I do,” he said menacingly, the usual cool confidence she associated with him slowly reappearing in his demeanor as he twirled his wand around his fingers. Y/N finally let out the breath she was holding as Harry zeroed his focus on her. 

“And just what are you doing here?” he hissed. “Hermione was right, huh? You were with him the entire time. I can’t believe I expected anything different from you.”

Despite the fighting nature of the words coming from one of her best friends, she couldn’t help but glance at Draco as confusion briefly rippled through his features. 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was being shunned by her friends for not telling them anything.

“I was just checking on him!” she wailed.

Visibly unsatisfied with the answer, Harry just scoffed and aimed his wand at Draco. “You’re going to confess what you did or I’m going to make you regret it.”

Harry wasted no time with firing off the first spell--a weakly cast Stupefy that hardly missed her head as Draco’s Protego ricocheted it in her direction. She yelped as she dodged it, smacking into the side of the stall door and falling on the ground unceremoniously hard. Frantically, she dug through the pockets of her cloak to locate her wand, but she was too late. A flash of light was headed her way.

Instead of it smacking into her chest with the force of a curse, the green light spread around her, creating a shield-like sphere. She met Draco’s eye’s briefly in shock. 

He’d cast a protection spell on her. In the middle of a duel that she was hardly formally a part of, he cast a protection spell on her.

“Diffindo!” The puddles from the eternal broken faucet glowed red as Harry parried Draco’s attack. It again went flying in her direction, breaking through the shell of the Fion Duris charm. In a stroke of luck, she rolled out of the way. A light blue flash followed from Draco--a nonverbal.

Finally. Y/N managed to close her hands around her wand, mind racing with thoughts of who she’d disarm first. Her wand had just begun to point towards Harry as the aftershocks of a Levicorpus charm slammed her to the ground once again, her wand bouncing on the cobbled stone once before rolling under the stall door. Y/N swore. “Harry, stop it!”

Harry was clearly losing composure. Despite his magical talent, the speed at which he was rattling off curses compromised his control...and his aim. Draco sent a few Fion Duris and Protego Maxima charms her way, but it still didn’t help when Harry had completely lost it. 

Things turned for the worst when his Tergeo actually sliced Y/N--just barely, but enough to draw a significant amount of blood in her wand arm. Even if she wanted to try and find her wand behind the toilets, she wasn’t even sure if she had the strength to fire off anything.

Her cry of pain prompted Draco to immediately turn his attention from Harry, angling his body towards her instead, an indistinguishable expression etched into his face as he took in the bloodstained white sleeve of her arm. 

Under normal circumstances, Y/N would’ve swooned at the fact that he willingly forfeited the duel just to check on her. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and Harry’s rage-filled expression and clenched jaw reminded her of this as he reeled his arm back and shouted out, “SECTUMSEMPRA!”

She didn’t think about it. To her credit, there really was no time to think. The cracking crimson light flashing towards Draco’s distracted figure was enough for her to launch herself at him with the intent of knocking them both to the ground--but she was too late, far too late. Glowing red light encased her entire body for a few tense milliseconds before she crumpled to the ground.

The Sectumsempra curse felt like every single nerve ending in her chest was being massaged with a sharp knife. Hot, sticky blood filled her mouth as she blinked, glassy-eyed and dazed, up at the ceiling. Distantly she could hear familiar voices over her body. There was a wet warmth that bloomed on her chest. She managed to glance down at her midsection to see an array of deep, short slashes scattered across her torso. 

“Am I okay?” Her voice sounded tinny and funny to her. A pair of light gray eyes came into her vision as she managed another breath. “Draco? Is that you?”

If he leaned closer, she couldn’t tell. His face was beginning to swim in her vision, blending in with the glass ceiling. Finally, a familiar voice, albeit strained and cracking: “You’re okay.”

She felt something shaky brush past her cheek and the coolness of metal rings dance over her skin.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. You’re going to be okay.” He sounded so far away for someone who was leaning right over her. She could see out of the corner of her eye a figure, cloaked in dark robes, raise its wand and recite an unfamiliar incantation. The metallic taste in her mouth began to subside as she felt the warm stickiness of her own blood seep back into her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was apologizing for but doing it anyway. She thought she could feel the warmth of someone’s fingers softly cupping her face, but it could’ve been the heat of the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. In that moment, she was overwhelmed with the desire to just be held, to not be lonely. “Please don’t go,” she begged. 

The last thing she heard was a tense, “...Okay.” Then everything went black.

~

Y/N spent the majority of her break obsessing over the last memory she had of Draco--the startled way in which he gazed down at her as she bled out in Myrtle’s bathroom and felt his soft hands brush the hair away from her face. It was almost as if there had never been a problem between the two of them, like he’d forgiven her at that moment, but she knew that wasn’t true. Their last Potions class together had made that very clear. While he, thank Merlin, wasn’t letting Pansy hang off him like he did in 4th year, he still pointedly ignored her even though she had to nearly hobble into class. So why had he looked so worried if he didn’t care? And why, whilst surfing the high of a cocktail of pain potions, did she feel like she remembered someone with light blond hair at her side in the hospital wing?

“And you’re sure your bandages are comfortable?” Her mother interrupted her train of thought,, the plate of ethically-sourced willowbird lying completely untouched in front of her. 

“Yes, Mum,” groaned Y/N for what had to be the hundredth time of her Christmas break. “I told you. Professor Snape and Madame Pomfrey made me their top priority over the last week of school. They say that I won’t even need them come January.”

Mrs. Y/L/N hummed as she delicately picked through her salad. 

“I can’t believe that Potter boy’s nerve,” said Mr. Y/L/N from the foot of the table. “Hexing his own friend like that?”

“Dad, he didn’t even know what it did!”

“Exactly! What kind of person does that?”

“He’s just stressed,” Y/N mused, though she was personally a tad miffed at the fact that she’d been brutalized by someone she once considered her best friend. “And he was a little angry at me. He thinks I’m in cahoots with Death Eaters.”

“Ridiculous.” Mrs. Y/L/N vigorously shook her head. “Anyways, dear, no relation to the previous topic: I ran into Minerva at Wurgie’s the other day while I was shopping for gifts. She told me something very peculiar. Is it true you’ve become friends with the Malfoy boy?”

Y/N paled. Dealing with the backlash of Hermione, Harry, and Ron had been bad enough, but her own parents? Over the winter holidays? “Draco?” 

“Yes, unless the Malfoys have another son I’m not aware of.”

“Well…” Y/N searched her mother’s face for any sign of animosity but found nothing but genuine curiosity. “Yes. We both had det--I mean, we were partnered for a class project together in Potions. He seems to have grown up a little.”

Oblivious to the slip up, her mother nodded. “Interesting. I was actually quite close with Narcissa myself back in the day. The Malfoys certainly don’t have a great track record of picking the right side, but we were two quaffles in a case throughout our schooling.”

“You knew Mrs. Malfoy?” asked Y/N, her eyes wide. “I had no idea!”

“Of course, we disagreed on the pureblood values and traditions that should be followed with children,” continued Mrs. Y/L/N, “But despite that, she was always kind. I hope she’s faring well.”

Y/N gulped as an idea slowly began to form in her mind. “Er, Mum, actually...Draco told me some things about...well, his mother.”

Both of her parents perked up. 

“So you know how you guys always talk about how the Order owes you a favor for the time you went undercover in the first Wizarding War?” asked Y/N. They both nodded. “Do you think...we could cash that in right about now?”

~

A month later, Y/N stood in front of the painting that hung on Snape’s door, frowning at the raven that stared right back at her, daring her to try and open the door. In all the excitement of Christmas and explaining to her relatives that she’d nearly been murdered by her ex-best friend in a haunted bathroom, she had completely forgotten to ask her father how to distract a charmed guardian painting, and it’d hardly be beneficial to owl him during a busy work month. It was still completely up to her.

The dungeons sent a certain chill through her bones as she ran through possible plans, prompting her to tuck her hands into her pockets and shiver so hard that she didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching. 

“What are you doing down here?” came the snotty, posh voice that she knew belonged to Pansy Parkinson.

“Parkinson,” Y/N greeted, snapping her head up to see that she didn’t come alone. Draco strode next to her, though he wouldn’t look at her directly. “Come for a rematch?”

Parkinson pulled out her wand and scoffed. “Wasn’t planning on it, but if you’re offering…”

“Pansy!” Draco hissed, yanking her away and forward. “We have places to be. Don’t waste your time.”

“But--”

“She almost got killed by Potter, like, yesterday,” he continued in a hushed voice. “Do you really want to make that worse?”

Parkinson sent her one last sour look before she was dragged off by Draco (who still refused to make eye contact with her). Y/N slumped against the wall, wincing as one of her injured spots bumped against a protruding stone. Why was he ignoring her? He’d protected her during the duel. He was even the one who stood over her as she lay crumpled on the floor. 

A lump began growing in her throat again as she realized just how lonely she was. With her friends gone, all she had now was...her owl, Edison? Yes, that was it. Edison and Hannah Abbott, who clearly was just letting her sit next to her for meals out of pity. Y/N wished that she had the strength to sit alone and just say fuck it so she wouldn’t have to be the kickstart to a bleeding-heart Hufflepuff’s philanthropy career, but she was already beat down enough as she was. Sitting alone would just seal the deal in her new life as a social reject who dreaded classes where the professors let you choose partners. It was like she was a shy first year again, too nervous to talk to anyone and instead sitting alone at the breakfast table, praying that she’d make friends with someone, anyone, even though she was too afraid to figure out how.

And then came Ron, the sweet ginger boy who she’d met once when she went to a wizarding play with her dad. He’d plopped into the space next to her one day, eyeing the untouched plate of toast in front of her.

“You gonna eat that?” he’d asked. Y/N had just stared, mouth agape that someone was actually talking to her. “Hey, you’re the Y/L/N girl, right? My dad works with yours.”

Without waiting for her reply, he’d just popped the piece of toast in his mouth and continued talking at her as if they were old friends. Before she knew it, she was getting swept up into the social swirl of Harry Potter and his friends, helping them as they made their way through Hogwarts and took on the challenges brought upon them by Voldemort and his cronies. For once in her life, Y/N felt like she actually belonged. 

And she’d thrown all of that away. 

“Y/N?” 

An unfamiliar, dreamy voice sounded from a little further down the dark hall, snapping Y/N out of it. She hadn’t even noticed, but she’d slid down to the ground and tucked herself into a ball. When she touched her face, she felt wetness on her cheeks. The raven in the painting made some kind of weird cackling sound.

“Who’s there?”

A girl in Ravenclaw robes, strange eyeglasses, and shockingly white-blond hair that rivaled Draco’s stepped into sight. Luna Lovegood. She’d seen her a few times--mostly during the Dumbledore’s Army meetings they’d both attended last year--but had never had a private, one-on-one conversation with her beyond the time that Y/N threw a protection charm to protect her from Bellatrix’s Avada Kedavra at the Ministry and she’d thanked her. 

“I thought I heard you talking to someone,” said Luna as she settled in next to her, crossing her legs. “Isn’t Snape’s raven lovely?”

“I suppose so,” mused Y/N. 

“His name is Marvin,” continued Luna, “and he always listens.”

“Huh?” Y/N balked, giving Luna a funny look. No wonder they call her Loony Lovegood she thought. “It--he can...talk?”

“Oh, yes,” said Luna, apparently not noticing her confusion. “Marvin is quite the conversationalist, to be honest. Snape is a very fortunate wizard to have him in his possession.”

As if to accent her point, Marvin crowed a few times.

“I was actually coming here to have a chat with him about you,” said Luna. “I think it’s terribly unfair how your friends are treating you. I thought that Marvin might know what to do. He always seems to.”

“Luna,” Y/N murmured, not expecting the way that her eyes began to swim with tears. “You...you really think so? I’ve been feeling so awful about what I’ve done…”

If she seemed taken aback by Y/N’s emotional outburst, she didn’t show it in the slightest. “Y/N, you just care about other people. And you know what it’s like to be lonely, so I understand why you didn’t want to leave someone alone when they felt that way, even if it was Malfoy.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep the tears from spilling over.

“My mother had this saying about kindness,” said Luna softly. “She told me that it’s easy to be kind to people you already love. But you can really tell how caring someone is by how they treat those who are different.”

Marvin made a sound that was eerily similar to a jackhammer in the background.

“Thank you,” managed Y/N, letting the girl pull her into a hug. “I...I can’t say that enough. I really needed to hear that.”

“I know,” Luna replied wistfully. “I’m sure your friends will come around, too.”

“I sure hope so.” She swallowed, giving her a small smile as Luna squeezed her hand. 

“Marvin is such a funny bird.” Luna shifted onto her feet, creeping towards the painting. “He loves shiny things. Now that I know the spell that weakens the barrier between the natural and painted world, I like to give him things sometimes. If he likes it enough, he’ll fly off to his flock to gloat to his murder for the rest of the day. He’s so proud.”

Something clicked in Y/N’s head. Was this her answer as to how to distract Marvin?

“It’s Transcendere, if you were wondering,” continued Luna, making to walk away. “Just in case you wanted to know. I can’t imagine why you’d need to, though. Anyways, I’m off to meet with Snape over a few questions on the exam. I don’t imagine he’ll be around here for the next hour!”

Before she could even thank her, Luna was already gone and down the hall. Y/N felt her pockets frantically, trying to find one thing that might appeal to the raven. He looked at her expectantly.

Her only piece of jewelry was her family ring, and apart from her obvious personal ties to the object, something told her that giving Snape’s guard bird a concrete identifier as to who broke into his stores would not be wise. So that left….She reached into her pocket, taking out the glittery quill that Draco had gifted her last fall. Giving it one last look and closing her fist around the feather one last time, she thought about how much she wished to go back to the simpler time.

Marvin made a little chirp, snapping her out of her reverie. 

“Transcendere.”

The quill poked through the canvas and into the scene, slowly changing so it fit the art style that the painter used to bring the raven to life. He wasted no time snatching it out of her grip, giving an appreciative gargle before he took off, flying away into the grey sky.

She was in. A quick Alohomora charm opened the door, and Y/N made quick work of deactivating the jinxes that guarded the entrance and was happy to see that he hadn’t changed anything else with his security measures. Finding the potion was easy, and before she knew it, she had reset all the security charms, shut the door, and made her way all the way up to the Gryffindor tower with the vial tucked firmly in her pocket. 

~

Getting Draco alone was the hardest part of her plan. Every time she saw him, he was either surrounded by a gaggle of Slytherins or darting off down side corridors that she could never quite locate. Carrying around the vial of stolen potion was getting increasingly stressful, too, especially now that their DADA class with Snape was coming up. He had to have noticed that his stores were broken into at that point, but given that he hadn’t stopped a meal yet to berate the student body on the importance of integrity and “keeping one’s grabby hands to themselves”, Y/N assumed she was somewhat in the clear. On the bright side, Y/N was enjoying mealtime much more now that she was eating with Luna. Her new friend even convinced her to go to the library with her one night to study--something that Y/N was not too familiar with. 

They’d left right before the library closed, going their separate ways. Something crossed Y/N’s mind as she realized what day it was--Saturday. Draco always worked on the cabinet on Saturdays, and of course he wasn’t going to bring his friends along with him. 

Quietly, she sank down next to the stone wall at the entrance, waiting for Draco to exit. She waited, and waited, and waited. Y/N was just beginning to wonder if Draco had switched his schedule around when the telltale sound of stone bricks scraping against each other snapped her to attention.

Draco looked more frazzled than usual as he stepped out of the newly-constructed entrance, his hands shakily running through his hair and his tie out of place. Y/N felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought that she was going to add even more stress to his night.

“Draco,” she said, standing up and teetering at the sudden motion.

He started at the sight of her before setting his jaw and turning to continue a walk down in the opposite direction. 

“Please,” breathed Y/N, jumping forward to latch onto his wrist. “I need to talk to you.”

He immediately snatched his hand away, his scowl deeping in his features. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, though sheer exhaustion seemed to replace the usual venom in his voice. “If you’re here to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.”

“But--”

“I don’t have time,” he repeated once again, desperation seeping into the edges of his tone. “I don’t have the time to figure out whether or not I can trust you again.”

“Then let me make it easier.” Y/N reached into her pocket, producing the potion vial that had miraculously not been shattered after she’d carried it for so long. Draco arched an eyebrow. “Run a diagnostic spell on it. I want you to know that I’m being completely honest.”

“Y/L/N, I told you, I don’t want--”

“Please, Draco,” she pleaded, holding it out to him. “Just do it for me. If you do it, we’ll be even for what happened in Myrtle’s bathroom. I’ll leave you alone if you tell me to.”

He sucked in a breath, begrudgingly casting the spell. The vial glowed and cast a bright emerald light on his surprised features. “How did you get that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” rushed Y/N. “Just ask me anything. I’ll take it if you want.”

He looked like he was about to leave her in the corridor alone, so she did the only thing she could think of--uncorking the vial and downing it all in one go. It went down like water, hardly feeling like anything. She was surprised. Wasn’t it supposed to feel more compelling?

“Y/N, you are such an idiot sometimes,” he growled, but he turned back to her anyway. “Okay. Fine. Did Granger put you up to talking to me?”

“No. Harry did,” answered Y/N, the words coming spilling out of her mouth without her even thinking. Draco’s briefly softened expression immediately hardened. 

“I suppose that answers it then,” he snapped. “I’m not sure what that was supposed to accomplish.”

“Ask me something else!” cried Y/N. “Something you don’t already know the answer to.”

His silence was evidence enough that she was maybe, potentially, possibly getting to him. Something twanged in the pits of her stomach, reminding her of the time that she’d eaten bad fish in Greece and was sick for days, but she cast the thought aside for just a moment as he finally responded.

“This is ridiculous,” he clipped. She waited, turning the empty vial over in her hands. Finally, after a few agonizing moments of silence, his voice sounded again. “Why are your friends mad at you?”

Just as she was about to tell him, the tell-tale sound of footsteps and a cat’s meow echoed down the corridor. Filch. Panic-stricked, Y/N launched herself in the direction of the Room before a hand closed over her forearm and pulled her back.

“That’ll take too long,” Draco whispered, so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck and had to try not to shudder. Without waiting for her response, he yanked her into the broom closet across the corridor and softly shut the door. 

It became fairly apparent that the broom closet was perhaps not the best hiding space for two adults, a fact that Y/N quickly noticed as she realized that the only place she could comfortably place her hands was lightly on top of Draco’s chest. His own hands pressed into the wall on either side of her head as he used it to push himself as far away from her as possible. When her eyes flickered up, she could see in the dim light that he’d shut his eyes. She couldn’t blame him--when she ran the plan through in her head, it rarely ever included getting stuck in a tiny broom closet together, and it never crossed her mind that it could happen before he’d even forgiven her. 

“I heard something too, my pretty.” Filch’s voice floated down the corridor as he neared them. She sucked in her breath, intent to hold it. She wished that she could cast a Silencio on the broom closet, but there was no way to be able to do that in such close range. Plus, she was quite preoccupied with the churning in her stomach that was getting significantly worse. 

Filch’s steps were getting louder as he called out, “Anyone there?”

“Yes,” Y/N let as a tortured, strangled whine. Realization flickered across Draco’s face as his hand shot out to clamp over her lips. She tried not to focus on how warm and nice his skin felt touching her and instead on the fact that Filch was still walking.

The footsteps finally paused outside of the broom closet. Y/N could feel Draco’s heart racing under her palm. She vaguely registered that her hands had long since curled into fists, clinging onto his shirt. 

“Anyone in here?”

“Mmph,” responded Y/N, hardly able to enunciate anything over the death grip Draco had on her face. This only made the lurching in her middle worse, so bad that she felt like she had bile rising in her throat.

“My lovely? What’s that?” A cat’s meow rang out from across the corridor. “Over by the Charms classroom?” Another meow. The sound of quick shuffling would’ve come to Y/N as a relief if she didn’t feel like she was about to puke the entire contents of her stomach up on Draco Malfoy’s hand.

“Thank Merlin.” Draco exhaled. Y/N could feel his shoulders relax under the grip she had on his shirt and took note of the fact that he smelled very strongly of that stupid rich scent in her Amortentia, something that was somewhat difficult when the cramping in her stomach had gotten so bad that she could hardly stand up straight.

Then he let his hand drop.

“They’re mad at me because I didn’t tell them about you.” The words came spilling out so fast and without prompt that Y/N felt like she was out of body, watching someone else speak for her. “I couldn’t ever bring myself to hurt you like that because even though you’ve been mean to me and my friends and I technically have no reason to want to protect you, I still do and it’s just so complicated because I thought I was just being a good person or whatever but honestly now that I think about it f it came down to it I would choose you over anyone else here and that’s scary and ohmygodIcan’tstop--” Y/N managed to suck in a small breath as the magic in her system propelled her forward, barely catching the widened eyes of Draco, “--It’s been so hard being away from you and I understand why you’re angry at me and I’m such a hypocrite for being upset that you were a Death Eater when I didn’t tell you why I started talking to you in the first place but I couldn’t just confess to you when I finally had a reason to spend time with you and I didn’t want to fuck it all up but I did and Draco please help I can’t stop I want to so badly you were never supposed to know all of this I thought that it would just make me tell the truth not everything--”

“I know,” His hand came up one more time, covering her mouth and muffling her voice. Without being able to move her lips, the words died down once again while the waves of nausea and agony hit in their place. Draco’s face had once again adopted that unreadable, somewhat sad expression as he moved his free hand so he could thumb away the tears that were collecting on her cheeks. Her fingers twisted into the soft fabric of his button down as she choked back a sob against his hand. “I know. That was really fucking stupid, even for you. You do know you’re not supposed to take more than an ounce of Veritaserum, right? This is going to take forever to get through your system. You just have to let it run its course. I’m sorry.” The potion was closing in around her throat as she blinked up at him through tear-ridden lashes. “I hear Filch escorting a student to McGonagall. This is our chance to get out.”

Y/N nodded as best as she could without loosening his hold on her, and they were creeping out of the broom closet and slowly making their way down the hall as silently as possible. He was to her right, his left arm slung around her shoulder so he could keep her quiet without sacrificing too much of his balance. He pulled her away from the direction of the Gryffindor dorms.

“Not happening,” he whispered, his lips almost brushing past her ear. He was so close. She shivered. “Filch went that way. Plus, I need to keep an eye on you until you’re back to normal.”

She nodded again. By some miracle, they made it to the Slytherin dorms without much of a hiccup beyond the awkward shuffle down the stairs. “Purity,” muttered Draco, prompting the cobblestones to rearrange themselves into a door. “Oh, don’t roll your eyes at me.”

Y/N scoffed behind his hand. The Slytherin common room was, thankfully, entirely empty, but very eerie and cold. She tried to open her mouth to tell him that he’d obviously drawn the short straw when it came to lodging, but when she felt his palm tighten over her lips, she was reminded that that wasn’t an option. 

“Here we are,” murmured Draco, his voice still low and careful as he led her to the end of the hall of the boys’ dormitories. Something other than the effects of the Veritaserum she consumed set off the butterflies inside of her once again when she thought about the fact that she was really going to see Draco’s dorm room. His door, black and heavy, was completely unblemished apart from the silver numbers of his room. 

Before she could think any further, he turned the knob and spun her so he was looking right down at her. “The less you talk, the longer it’s going to take for you to be normal again. Try not to be too loud, though. I wanted to sleep tonight.” With that, he released her once again.

“You have really nice hands,” she blurted out, immediately clapping her own palm over her mouth again.

“Oh.” An uncharacteristic blush rose in his cheeks. 

Squeezing her eyes shut and steeling herself for whatever was about to come out of her mouth next, she let her hand fall. “I--I actually think I can control some of what I say now.” She took one more breath in to check. “Yeah. Thank god. It’s not just...coming out of me anymore.”

“I’m not too surprised,” he said. “You were on quite a roll back there in the broom closet.”

“So, um…” She shuffled her feet. “Are we good now, do you think?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone willingly down two state terrorist interrogation sessions worth of Veritaserum just to apologize to me. So, yeah, I guess. I think you should probably try and get some sleep. Chances are it’ll wear off some by tomorrow morning.” With that, he rested his hands on her shoulders and steered her towards his bed.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, sinking down onto his black silk bedding and meeting his eyes.

He shrugged. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything before you sleep?”

“I’d really like it if you held me until I fell asleep,” Y/N said so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to look away from him. He blanched, his eyebrows raising but his lip quirking up. 

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought you were going to ask for water or something.”

“Draco, please don’t be mean,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out. I would like some water, though.”

“Your wish is my command,” he drawled, disappearing into his bathroom before coming out with an empty glass that he cast a quick Aquamenti into. “Go slow. I really don’t want you coughing up water on my sheets.”

“Me neither,” she said between sips. “Merlin knows I’ve embarrassed myself enough already.”

When she finished, she handed it out to him. “Thank you. I really appreciate you doing this. I mean it.”

He snorted on his way to put the glass away. “Of course you do. That’s the beauty of Veritaserum.”

“You’re actually funny sometimes, you know,” she said. 

Draco smirked at her again. “Veritaserum. You’re doing wonders for my ego tonight.”

While he was doing whatever he was before getting into bed, Y/N went ahead and slipped under the sheets, rolling over onto her back so she was closest to the wall. She felt the bed slightly dip to her left and a throat clear.

“What is it now?” muttered Y/N. 

“You know, it’s really hard for me to do what you asked when you’re on your back like that,” he said.

“What?”

“Like, do you want me to be on top of you or something?”

“What are you even talking about?”

Draco huffed and reached his hands out to grab her shoulders once again, turning her to face him. Before she could register what was happening, she felt his own hands come around under her arms to rest on her back. Her head lay on the swath of skin between his shoulder and his collarbone, and she could feel the quickening of his pulse. “There. Honestly.”

“This is really nice,” Y/N blurted out, physically cringing when she realized that in her position she couldn’t easily cover her mouth. 

“Yeah?” She could feel the laugh rattle through his diaphragm.

“Yes.” Y/N huffed. “Stop asking me questions. This isn’t very kind of you.”

He let out another light laugh, his fingers moving to thread through her hair. “Is this okay?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve wanted--” Y/N buried her face into his shoulder, silencing the words that were about to come out of her mouth. “Oh, my god,” she said after she resurfaced. “I think I want to take a vow of silence after this is over.”

Y/N could hear his smile as he offered her a, “What a load of good that thought is doing you now.”

“Please, just knock me unconscious until it all goes away,” she groaned. 

“Stop demeaning my work,” he said, mock offense creeping into his tone as he continued to card his fingers through her hair in soothing motions. “What do you think I’m trying to do? If you want me to give you blunt force head trauma, then just say so. Sheesh.”

She sighed dramatically. “At this point, maybe.”

“Seriously, though, are you feeling okay? That was a lot of Veritaserum,” he murmured. 

“I’m just feeling mortified right now,” she answered. 

“You still need to tell me where you got it.”

“Oh. I stole it. From Snape.”

All at once, Draco dropped his hands and pulled slightly away so he could gape down at her. “You did what now?”

“Yeah,” she said, confusion creeping into her tone. “It really wasn’t that hard, you know. I’ve done it before.”

“When?”

She felt another lurching sensation. All of the questioning was starting to make her stomach turn again. “I was a second-year. Harry had to brew Polyjuice Potion and he needed an ingredient we couldn’t find anywhere else.”

Draco let out a low whistle. “At twelve?”

“Eleven. My birthday hadn’t come around yet.” 

“That’s…” He’d shifted so she wasn’t pressed up to him, catching his lip between his teeth as he thought. Y/N hadn’t made much notice of this development as the growing pain in her midsection grew. “That’s quite a lot for a kid.” The way his hair glowed in the soft moonlight made her heart twinge. It looked so soft. Y/N noticed that she’d been staring at him for far too long without saying something when he blinked, planning on opening her mouth to apologize or crack a joke when instead:

“I have the biggest crush on you.” The words left her lips without any prior consent, the consonants and vowels forming before she could even think.

He was completely frozen in place, his expression entirely unreadable.

 “Oh, god, and now I’ve ruined it all because I know you said that I didn’t have a chance that one time in detention and you don’t see me like that and I’m pretty sure you’re with Pansy and even if you weren’t I’m not enough for you and I wish I hadn’t taken this stupid potion but I know that I’d do it a hundred times over if it meant that you would trust me--”

Her words stopped abruptly as Draco silenced her--not with his hand, but by placing his lips on hers. The kiss was brief and shy, more of a question in nature than a statement. Her fingers curled around the collar of his shirt as he pulled away, a rather frazzled and deer-in-the-headlights look etched into his features. 

She was speechless. Absolutely, completely, irrevocably speechless. Despite the insistent gnawing of the Veritaserum at the lining of her stomach, she could only manage to blink owlishly up at him, mouth agape.

“Are you okay?” His voice was low. 

“Ehm…” Her lips refused to move. Draco frowned, dropping his hands from her sides and sitting up straighter. Something impartial washed over his features, turning his expression from hurt to uninterested, like he’d woken up from a pleasant nap and was snapped back to reality. His legs pulled away so no part of her body was touching him.

“I--er, didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just wanted to make you quiet again, y’know, before you said anything else you regretted. And I thought that...kissing you would shock your system enough to make you stop talking.”

Her cheeks turned a violent red as she realized the depth of his statement. “So you...don’t see me like that?” 

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair once, took in a deep breath, and dropped his gaze to the comforter. “You should go to sleep. Hopefully you’ll feel better in the morning.”

At the very least the potion was beginning to settle in her stomach as Draco’s breathing turned slow over the next hour or so. She didn’t know all too much about the mechanics of Veritaserum, but at this point, she had almost nothing left to confess anyways. 

Y/N tore her eyes away from his sleeping form, turning around to face the wall. His bed was soft. And it smelled like him, like the perfect blend of black tea and sage and snobbery that was in her Amortentia. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished to be anywhere but there. When he kissed her, it felt like he wanted her. Yes, of course he was timid, but she’d thought he was just nervous. But what was there for him to be nervous about? She’d already confessed under literal truth serum. He knew how she felt, and he didn’t even say sorry for kissing her and telling her he didn’t mean it like that. He still didn’t want her. Of course he didn’t when Pansy Parkinson in all her obnoxious Slytherin perfection was right fucking there. 

She was just beginning to feel sleep tug on the strings of her consciousness as she felt her hair get tucked behind her ear by a warm hand coming around from behind. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s better this way, you’ll see. It wouldn’t be fair if I...if it was different.” Despite his words, he let his fingers brush over his jaw as he moved closer, his shoulder lightly pressing into her back.

At that moment, there were so many things that Y/N wanted to say, ranging from “I am never going to live this moment down because I’m positively lovesick over you” to “I am going to beat you up for kissing me and then telling me it didn’t mean anything after I confessed.” Two schools of thought, neither of them perfectly encapsulating the true essence of her feelings. Her most traitorous thoughts told her to stay still and enjoy the final moments of affection she’d get from Draco, but she’d given into impulse a little too much that night. 

He must’ve noticed that her breathing had changed because he suddenly shifted his weight onto his free arm, keeping his hand poised by her neck. 

“Please stop touching me.” The words that came out of her mouth sounded much more pathetic than they did in her head, a voice crack finding its way into the final syllables. He jolted away.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“I thought…” He swallowed. “I thought you liked it when I touched you.”

“Yeah, before you told me you didn’t feel the same way,” she mumbled. “I really would appreciate it if you didn’t make me rehash that again. Today has been humiliating enough. I’m not looking to set a record or something here.”

She’d thought that her quip was pretty good, but Draco remained completely humorless. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me. It was stupid of me to act on impulse like that. I never meant to hurt you.”

“Never meant to--” She stopped in her tracks, instead letting out a sharp huff. “Nevermind. I don’t want a fight right now. I just want to sleep.”

Much to Y/N’s horror, her throat began to tighten up again with the tell-tale coming of tears. The next breath she exhaled was embarrassingly shaky and loud, and the movement that it sparked in Draco was even more mortifying. He made a small sound of sympathy. “C’mere, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I know that must’ve hurt you.”

Undecided between feeling pissed and just wanting to forgive him, she slowly sat up and faced him. His arms were out in a motion of invitation, an unreadable expression in his eyes. 

“You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.” The Veritaserum in her system didn’t care much about her emotional turmoil, much to her horror. Y/N began to turn away, a watery scowl fixed firmly on her face, but Draco’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. 

“If I...wanted to be with you,” he began, his tone careful and clipped, “It would never work. Okay? Trust me when I say it has nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong.”

“I kind of did.”

“Yeah, well, we both did. But I don’t want you to think that I, er, never thought about it.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t quite sure what the underlying meaning of that was. 

“So... “ He motioned again with open arms. “Do you...want to? I’ll play with your hair again until you fall asleep.”

Y/N stared at him, completely astonished. “Why? If you don’t see me like that, then why?”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight anyways,” he said softly. “And I want to help you feel better.”

She opened her mouth with the hopes of a biting retort coming out, but instead she was met with silence. Against her better judgement, she set her clenched her jaw and gave in. 

His arms were wrapped around her in an instant as she tentatively settled back into his chest, her hands lightly rested on his shoulders. Despite the humiliating previous events, it didn’t feel awkward, especially when Draco’s long fingers slowly threaded through her locks and brushed past her neck. A small, forbidden sigh of contentment left her lips when he let his touch linger over the back of her neck. His deep, slow breathing and the steady beat of his heart began to lull her to sleep. 

The next morning, she was able to lie convincingly enough to Draco, telling him her name wasn’t Y/N Y/L/N and that she was 80 years old. Confident that she wasn’t about to spill all of his secrets to the student body, he told her she was free to go. 

“Draco?” she asked poised by his door.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think I’ll see you much after this? You know, now that we aren’t Potions partners and don’t have detention together anymore?”

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe when this is all over, I’ll see you around at pureblood functions or whatever.”

“Yeah.” Y/N tried not to think about the implications of pureblood functions still existing in the future after this. What kind of world did Draco think this would turn into? “But this is probably it, right? The last time I’ll see you like this?”

She didn’t even need to see his nod. She knew. That’s why he offered to play with her hair despite not even liking her--it was his way of apologizing for roping her into this, for tricking her, for shutting her out, for the Sectumsempra curse...for everything. His way of apologizing before they parted ways. 

final a/n: ty for reading! first off, congrats to the anons that guessed veritaserum. that shit took me forever to write bc i had such high expectations but it turned out to be quite the challenging scene since i still had to juggle draco’s conflicting emotions/distrust and the fact that i really wanted him to make her feel better fjdkas; i thought i’d mention someone who helped me write this (even tho i don’t think they realized how much they helped lmao)L i’d like to thank my 🌟 anon for giving me some inspiration. i was struggling with the first half of this story in terms of pacing for quite some time but found some help in an ask they sent me mentioning how they related to y/n feeling lonely/would like to see luna and neville mentioned. unfortunately, i haven’t quite been able to fit neville in yet (and i’m not sure if i can without it seeming just like a random extra bit of story that isn’t helpful to the plot), but hearing some affirmation that y/n’s loneliness was something that actually resonated w them really helped. it made me realize that the isolation from her friends/draco didn’t have to just be a logical turn of events for the plot to proceed in a sensical way and instead could be used to explore y/n’s character. i hope you all enjoyed! i promise the stuff w her dad and the order will be cleared up next chapter

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

[spell-cleaver]

Whumptober

No. 4 - TRUST FALL “Do you trust me?” | taken hostage | pushed

@whumptober-archive

Also read it on AO3 or on FFN!

“Are you sure this is the Jedi Temple?” Luke asked, peering down into the abyss. “You said we were coming here to meet a Jedi.”

“Well.” Aphra chewed the inside of her mouth and tilted her shoulders a little. “I did. It’s not a living Jedi—”

“It?”

“It’s a crystal!”

“A crystal?”

“A crystal possessing the soul of a dead Jedi.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t what he wanted.

But… he’d come this far.

“And it’s in this mine?”

“It spent hundreds of years in this mine.” There was nothing false about that statement, but very little true, either. He narrowed his eyes at her.

She just smiled at him and skipped ahead. Luke swallowed at the narrow ledge they were standing on. Aphra had strung up guy ropes and harnesses around them while they shuffled along, but the dark grey rock still crumbled away underneath them when they walked. At one point she stepped on a spot laced with cracks and the whole thing went out underneath her.

Aphra just shrugged it off and bobbed on the end of her rope before she swung back onto the walkway on the other side. Totally heedless of the debris above them shifted by the vibrations, showering down in dust, particles, pebbles, stones…

“See? We’re fine. Do you trust me, kid?”

“No.”

“Dammit, you’re smarter than you look.” Luke scowled and she snickered. “Kidding. Mostly. But that harness will keep you safe, don’t worry. This cavern has stood for a thousand years. It’ll stand for a thousand more.”

“Isn’t that what they said about the Republic?” Luke asked quietly. Aphra didn’t answer.

“Besides! The miners who used to come down here erected a bunch of shield safety measures—if someone falls, the shields will flicker to life and catch them.”

Luke glanced at the rocks—some the size of his head—that had tumbled down into the darkness. “Why didn’t they come on for the falling rocks then?”

Aphra shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe they failed years ago and no one bothered replacing them and that’s why they abandoned this mining shaft.” Luke went pale. “Or maybe they just respond to falling heat signatures. We don’t know, kid, let’s not find out.”

That wasn’t confidence inducing. But Luke followed anyway. He made it across the narrow ledge to the wider ledge where she was standing, and clipped himself onto the next safety rope.

He couldn’t resist peering down. There was nothing down there. Aphra peered down as well and fired her blaster into it.

“Wait, what are you—”

He snatched for the blaster, but she flicked it back into its holster and he could do nothing but wince and stare at the plummeting bolt. Memories of the sandstone canyons back home crumbling at the slightest crash or bang while they raced to the Needle flared up…

But there was no bang.

The bolt went down, and down, and down, and down, and down. By the time it hit something, it was too far away to hear.

Luke shivered, clutching onto his guy ropes tightly. They were the only thing between him and oblivion. It was so cold.

“Well,” Aphra said. “That would be a long drop and a sudden stop.”

Luke was nodded dumbly, still staring down, when she seized him, spun the rope around him and jabbed a blaster under his neck.

“That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it, Vader?”

Luke sucked in a high-pitched breath as out of the shadows the walkway descended into stepped Darth Vader, ghastly mask and all.

“Aphra,” he boomed. “I was correct. You were always going to be drawn back to this place.”

“And I knew you were always gonna be chasing me,” she got out with a grin. Luke couldn’t do much more than blink and choke—one of the ropes she’d secured around him was around his throat, tight and painful. He’d heard about Vader asphyxiating people who displeased him; perhaps Aphra wanted to try a little irony here, too. The other ropes pressed too hard around his arms and ribcage, his waist, his thighs. They dug in like trails of fire. “So here’s the deal. You get Padmé Amidala’s boy, unharmed. And I get let go, and kriff off into the Outer Rim and never contact you again! I think that’s a win-win.”

“I do not engage in petty bargains with criminals.”

“Hey! Hey there! Rogue archaeologist. That’s the whole title that got the kid here.” Luke glared sideways at her, but she seemed unruffled. The only person in the galaxy who could ruffle her was Vader, it seemed, and she was confronting him head on. “And it’s not a petty bargain. Anyone willing to shell out that much of a bounty for some baby who’s meant to be dead clearly wants them alive badly. I don’t care why! I really don’t! But you get him, I get away. If I don’t get away…” She shrugged, the blaster tip pressing further into Luke’s neck as she did.

Luke gasped. It was still hot from the shot she’d fired earlier.

Vader’s gaze zeroed in on him, and stayed there.

“Threatening a Sith Lord is the height of folly,” Vader growled. Luke shuddered as the temperature plummeted even further.

“Yes, well,” Aphra shuffled closer to the edge to make her point, so Luke was practically hanging over the chasm, “I’ve been known to make foolish decisions—”

“But threatening a Sith Lord’s son,” Vader finished menacingly, stalking forwards, “is beyond comprehension.”

All the colour drained out of Aphra’s face. “What.”

Luke didn’t process it at first. He stared at Vader’s approach, feeling his front grow warm and damp. Watched Vader light his bloody saber. Listened to Aphra think two things, very loudly.

One: kriff.

And two, peculiarly sad: why do all parents except mine care about their kids so much?

“I don’t think you want to do that, Lord Vader,” she said, panic rising in her voice. Her finger was trembling on the trigger, and Luke winced, but she knew not to shoot. She knew Luke was her only shield.

Luke wasn’t a fan of being a shield.

He grappled for the Force, trying to find it in the slimy, slippery expanse of the dark side, and seized the ropes around him. Loosened their grip on his neck, so at least he could breathe. So at least—

“You know what, kid?” Aphra murmured. “That’s a good idea.”

A knife was out in one silver flash, and the ropes around him loosened. Luke heaved a sigh of relief—and at least that meant he had plenty of air to scream with when Aphra planted two hands on his back and shoved him into the abyss.

“Luke!”

Aphra jumped after him and grabbed him in mid-air. He tried to shake her away. “What are you doing—”

Cut ropes whipped around them, raising welts on his face and arms, but he still saw her cocky grin. It was only a little nervous.

“Getting us out of here, kid,” she said, and then blue flared around them as the miners’ old shields came to life.

[yandere-wishes]

Yandere Octavinelle Turns Into Babies Headcanons

Requested by the lovely @minteasketches​ . I’m not super happy with how it turned out, nevertheless I hope you enjoy it, darling. 

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Azul Ashengrotto

It was supposed to be a simple spell. "Something to strengthen the contracts with" was what your self proclaimed lover and currant kidnapper had declared. 

Personally, you didn't really care, it was far too early to be awake and worrying about contracts and potions and whatnot. But sadly as part of a deal, you had made all so long ago, your soul had become fused with Azul's. Where he went, you went. 

And he wanted to be in his office at the Mostro Lounge at bloody 6 am!

So here you, lounging on a decorative sea shell-like chair that Azul had bought you. Eyes dropping only to be shot back open from the chiming of potion bottles. Your brain was foggy, dreary even. Dreaming of Azul's soft mattress and warm blankets. The fluffy pillows cradling your head as you escaped your cruel reality. 

You would have sworn that you'd only closed your eyes for a minute. A measly sixty seconds, but that was enough time for everything to go downhill. 

Something hit the ground, sending a crackling noise echoing through the room. a mere moment later some forging high pitch cry reverberated off the powder purple walls. 

Looking around in a panic-induced daze your eyes landed on something shuffling around under Azul's clothes...

Wait! Under Azul's clothes?

It didn't take long to realize what had happened. 

Slowly pushing the fabrics aside you came face to face with a tiny octo-boy.

To your utter horror, he looked like he was gasping for air, waving his arms around as his cries turned into desperate heaving. 

Lifting the poor thing up you looked around trying to find some sort of nearby water source to put the boy in. Luckily the table in the center of the room had water underneath a thin sheet of glass. Shoving the glass to one side you clumsily ducked Azul into the liquid.

The tiny octopus slowly slumped into the water laying down on his back so to breathe properly. Fully submerging his body in the aqua liquid.

As the adrenaline wore down, you began to notice just how cute and also innocent the small thing looked as he half-heatedly blew bubbled from his mouth. 

It was hard to believe that the manipulative man that had imprisoned you, stripped you of your precious freedom, could be, was actually at some point in his life just a defenseless baby. He looked so angelic, so sweet. 

Nervously you bite your lip, trying to find a more suitable aquarium for the little white-haired baby. 

Just as you were about to push your self to your feet, a tiny tentacle reached out from the shallow water, wrapping itself gently against your finger.

The tiny gesture warmed your heart in such a way you never thought Azul capable of. 

Breathing out a sigh You plucked one of the decorative starfish form the makeshift pool, holding it above Azul's head and watching as he tried to reach for it. 

For now, you were content with keeping the baby occupied. Jade and Floyd could deal the reversing the spell later. Maybe for today, all you had to do was play around with the tiny little thing before it turned back into the monster, present in each of your nightmares. 

🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙

Jade Leech

Some rumors about mushrooms with "mystical properties" that grew in the enchanted forest were circling the school.

Surely it was a myth started by some bored teacher or mischievous student. 

Nevertheless Jade has declared that he wanted to see these mushrooms firsthand. That would be the very reason you where both hiking through the forest, getting bitten by countless mosquitoes, as branches and stray roots cut into your skin. 

"How much longer" the poor darling wined as you slumped against a nearby tree gasping for air.

The "nicer" twin responded with a simple wave of his hand and breathless murmuring that sounded slightly like "Almost there"

"Almost there" turned into another hour of trailing through the endless greenery. Until the two of you came to a clearing illuminated by the rogue rays of the sun. 

Huddled together, growing row after row was, sure enough, a patch of those infamous mushrooms. 

Jade's eyes started to sparkle, gleaming at the fungi, in a matter of seconds he was running towards them, long forgetting his "beloved"

Just as the eel boy reached out to pluck one of the mushrooms, something bizarre began to occur. 

The clearing faded into a puffy white light, almost like a mushroom cloud had erupted.

 acting on instinct you shield your face with your arms. Your mind rushed, trying to understand what was happening.

Splitting your eyes open to peak at your surroundings. You scanned the clearing attempting to locate Jade, but to your surprise, he was nowhere in sight. 

A part of you wanted to run away. If you could just remember the path that led here than there was a good chance you could get away from Jade. 

Just as you were about to take off, you heard a faint noise in the distance. Something like the cooing of bird or...the wails of an infant. 

You gulped, carefully stepping over to where the noise was coming from. Peering behind the mushrooms you noticed a tiny blob of teal rolling around. For a second you didn't believe your eyes. As you got closer to the tiny thing it began to look more and more like an infant, and infant that resembled Jade! 

Sure you weren't Jade's biggest fan, you despised him, to say the least, but...this was just a child. Defenseless and rolling around on the grass. The moment his mismatched eyes landed on you, the tiny eel began gooing and gaing. Extending his arms, reaching out to you trying to gain some affection. 

Picking him up and cradling him close to your chest, you watched as the baby moray eel, wrapped his small tail around your wrist. 

despite the slimy cold feeling it left, you couldn't help but smile and wiggle your index finger close to his face. 

"Come on Jade, let's get you home. Maybe Azul can find a way to get you back to normal...or hopefully not"

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Floyd Leech

It all started with Floyd acting out during Alchemy class

"These recipes are too boring! Shrimpy hand me that pink liquid over there! Oh Oh and the green one too!"

Sure you tried to stop him...but really what can stand in Floyd's way when he's in one of his "moods" 

Floyd went ahead mixing the pink sweet-smelling liquid and the glowing green one into the base component that Professor Crewel had provided.

Nothing….

For a few moments, all seemed peaceful. Floyd's face morphed into a frown as he glared daggers at the rotten looking liquid. 

Slowly some bubbles started to form on the surface, popping the moment they breathed out the liquid container. 

Floyd's face started to light up, he craned his head closer to the liquid. 

"Shrimpy-chan look! It's changing colo-"

A loud booming noise filed the room. Screams and shouts of terror and shock soon joined the fray. 

A thick smoke hovered over the classroom, so dense that one could barely see in front of them. 

Somewhere, someone opened a window. Permitting the fog to escape, evaporating as it slithered out of the classroom. 

Crewel's voice boomed around the room. "FLOYD LEECH!!"

But to everyone's surprise, there wasn't a sound...heck Floyd wasn't even there!

You slightly turned your head to the side. Gaze flickering over Floyd's empty seat. As your sight shifts lower, you notice a tiny little baby, sitting where Floyd had been moments ago. 

Letting out a little laugh you pick up the tiny eel baby. squealing and almost dropping him as he wraps around your wrist trying to bite your hand. 

"Floyd stop it!" All eyes turn towards you, gasping at the little "serpent" trying to ripe off a chunk of your flesh. 

Good job (L/N), you found...well a tiny version of Floyd." Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Crewel turned to face the class. "Class dismissed! I have to work on a potion to get that little puppy back to his normal self...or whatever he was before!"

The rest of the students swiftly leave the room. Leaving behind a crying baby Floyd, an angry-looking Crewel and poor little you, who was desperately trying to clam the baby down. 

Seeing no other options you wagged your pinky finger close to Floyd's mouth. Flinching as he harshly bit down. 

Sure it was painful but it kept him quiet. 

It took some time to put together a tiny aquarium for the little devil as well as make a potion for him. 

The sun had long since set, you laid your head on your desk watching the tiny Floyd swim around. Everything felt so unusually serene. Your eyes felt heavy, closing on there own accord. The moonlight cast a chilling glow over your unconscious form. 

"W-wa-wake! Swimpy, Wake!" You cracked one of your eyes open to notice the small child splashing some water on you. His head risen over the edge of the aquarium. 

"I'm up Floyd" you murmured. Steadily you pulled the small aquarium to yourself. Caging it between your arms and resting your head against the class. 

Right before your eyes closed once more, sleep overtaking, you noticed Floyd resting his head against the glass and shutting his little eyes too.

"Night, night Swimpy"

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[milf-harrington]

okay bc i love tay @babydotcom and also bc i love talking about my original work im gonna talk about my books!!

so at the moment, im writing 2 of them! one of them is Nobodies Hero, a fantasy tale that is mostly narrated by a grouchy side-character and i have a sideblog that's basically a collection of my world building from the past 5 years and any posts i see that fit the characters or the world (@nobodieshero-lore)

the other is much newer (started maybe a month and a half ago) and is more of an urban fantasy called Arson: and other crimes which is basically going to follow the main cast through all the supernatural shenanigans and self growth they go through.

at the moment Arson is more of a concept? i have yet to figure out an actual plot, i've actually been trying a new approach to writing where i build all the characters first! most of my notes for Arson are just short scene snippets and dialogue, such as:

Time seemed to slow as the siren exploded from the flaming water, droplets of fire raining down around her as she reached out her webbed claws and exposed those horrifying needle-like teeth in a shrill scream of rage. It was awesome and terrifying, and Jai was forced to admit that maybe this time they wouldn’t be so lucky, maybe this time he was going down in a blaze of fish-scented glory. And then the scream was cut off as, with a sudden hollow sounding thwack, the siren’s head snapped to the side, the rest of her body thrown off course as she veered to the left and landed with a wet smack against the cement, a trail of slimy fire left in her wake. Kauri was standing in front of him with a thick metal pipe held tightly in their hands, hair a mess of thorns and ash as their shoulders heaved with each angry breath. Flickering orange light danced across their skin, the flames reflected in the dryads furious eyes as a new vine of thorns curled past their cheek. If someone had put a gun to his head, Jai may have been able to admit that he'd fallen in love right then, but there was no gun and no questioning so Jai shoved that shit deep down where he'd never find it.

There are currently 8 characters official characters, but i intend to make more bc 2 out of the 8 are mostly side characters/helpers.

uh we've got:

Jai, who is the quiet but stern researcher teaching himself magic; he mostly communicates through facial expressions and single sentences but if you get him started on whatever he's researching he can go on for ages (trans + gay)

Kauri, who is a dryad with a short temper. they're loud and passionate and also end up naked a lot because the concept of clothing makes no sense to them. my favourite thing about kauri is honestly their hair bc they've got vines that also grow from their scalp, and they grow/bloom/wild/grow thorns depending on their mood (as shown in the above snippet) (nonbinary)

Orli, who's a member of a werewolf pack. not everyone gets the lycanthrope gene, but she's just as snarly and protective as the rest of them. she works as a barista in her families cafe and she's got killer first aid skills. (asexual + lesbian)

Vince, who is Orli's older brother and did get the lycanthrope gene. he's just neat, i love him. he's usually the get away driver, or he'll bring them snacks and shit when they're on big research binges because he cares about them. he's basically a big ol' puppy (trans + bi)

[UNNAMED], who is a telepath with a weird name. her parents gave her up when she was young due to her being a "difficult and creepy child" and she kinda floated through different foster homes before she was tracked down and adopted by her uncle. She's funny and calculating, and in most situations will watch other people to figure out the best outcome for herself. she's almost always wearing a pair of headphones her uncle gave her that are warded against outside sound, so she can listen to music and block out everyone's thoughts. (lesbian)

Seftan, who's unnamed's weird but cool uncle. he's slept his way through half a bestiary and so is generally unphased by most things. he has 2 dogs and lives in a cute little 2-storey apartment/flat thing. he's either magic or knows a magic user bc he's got a lot of interesting books and wards set up and he also squints at Jai a lot. he calls unnamed a series of nicknames which are: nosy-nancy, no-name nancy, miss no-name, or just 'nancy' (inspired by nancy drew) (an opportunist)

Beau, who is a ghost from a circus! he died in the 1890's after getting stabbed to death in an argument with a sword-swallower, and is now stuck on the mortal plane bc he never got to finish his contortionist act. he's tied to a music box and gets handed around to different antique and thrift shops which is how he ends up w the rest of them.

Milo, who is possessed by an Ancient Creature and is therefore unable to stay dead. he has pretty yellow eyes, a hankering for roadkill and a whole other form that he can shift into. he's loyal as hell and genuinely doesn't see what's wrong with dying for someone he cares about, he's also mentally ill bc i think anyone would be if they were possessed and also kept dying. (demi + bi)

i think my favourite thing about Arson is that it's gonna be kind-of-not-really written like a survival guide or a diary? i don't know how to explain it properly but, like, there's gonna be random pages with tips for 'those in danger of kidnapping' or first aid or an info page on the monster/threat they're facing etc

but there's also gonna be other stuff like unnamed's playlists or what Kauri's moods are depending on their vines, or a steadily updated list of weird places Jai has been found sleeping.

uhh that's all i've really got so far without just slapping all my notes into a post so yeah! if you have any questions (or ideas?) please feel free to ask/share bc it can help with my creative process.

[hange-zone]

Hello!!! Could I please request eremin where they talk after a big fight because it’s getting harder to ignore?

tw language! and spoilers for season 4!

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.

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Armin comes back to the shared bedroom to find Eren waiting for him. It’s dark out, but the boy has lit candles and he’s sitting in their orange glow. His long hair is tousled and a finger lingers in the corners in his mouth, a remnant of an old, bad habit Armin and Mikasa had tried desperately to break - first reminding him, then dipping his fingers in bitter juice, even blatantly pushing his wrist away from his face - but to no avail. He was anxious and stubborn like that. 

At the creak of the door Eren takes his chewed thumb out of his mouth and regards him, feigning indifference. The only give-away is his leg, which shakes up and down as he taps his foot against the floor. 

“Where’d you come from?” He asks, trying to keep his voice even. It’s an innocent enough question, but from the way his brows furrow Armin’s not quite sure he’d like his answer.

Armin doesn’t say anything. He moves to shut the door behind him - trapping himself, he realises too late, as the lock clicks into place - and moves away from the other boy, focusing his attention on packing up his corner of the room. Sorting through papers, making a deal of arranging his books, not looking at Eren. When he chances a glance in his direction Eren is still looking at him. He has his chin jutted out, waiting for an answer. His leg is still going, faster now. It sounds impatient. Tap tap tapping, expecting a response.

“I was busy,” Armin lies - though it’s not really an untruth, he was - but this seemed to irk the other boy even more, because he snorts derisively.  Armin’s head snaps up instinctively, but he forces himself to look directly at him. 

“You’re doing it again,” Eren says. He doesn’t specify what it is, but Armin flushes at his words. His eyes glint and Armin can’t tell if it’s just the reflection of the dancing flames that surround him. The other boy blinks hard, and then that feral spark is gone and it’s just him, sitting at the desk, leg rapidly bouncing off the floor, waiting. The rhythmic sound echoes around the silent room. Like a heartbeat, Armin thinks. Like a pounding heart. 

“Hitch saw you,” Eren continues coolly. The sole of his foot is drumming the wood faster now. “Why do you do it?”

He knows, Armin thinks suddenly. He knows, he knows, everyone knows - 

“I -" he starts, flustered. He runs his tongue around his teeth uselessly, feeling the wetness of his mouth and the pinkness of his gums, the sliminess of his flesh. He doesn’t attempt to say anything more. 

“Why her?” Eren spits, suddenly.  Armin’s answers had offered little purchase and he realises that the other boy been stewing and it was just a matter of time before the simmering anger broke the surface. “Why Annie? She’s a ruthless, heartless killer -”

“Shut up,” Armin says, before he can stop himself. “As if that makes her different - worse - from anyone else.” 

He pauses. His heart is thudding in his chest. “From you.” 

It's a whisper, but Eren hears. It sends a shock through his system because he stands up, shoving the chair violently backward. It falls backward with a heavy thud . In a single motion he steps close to Armin, squaring his shoulders. His face is uncomfortably close and he can see his flared nostrils and dilated pupils, features twisted with a deep, visceral fury. By the flickering light he looks grotesque, his boyish features ugly and contorted. And as he moves closer Armin can't help but notice that he’s taller than him, he’s always been, but for once he saw how intimidating it could be rather than comforting. How, with his energies turned outside and against him, how fearsome Eren could be. And it wasn’t mere anger that was wrought across his features; it was wrath - amidst the shifting shadows, that he was certain. 

“She’s not a good person,” he declares, breath hot on his face. “She- don’t you remember? We fought- I nearly died - Mikasa-"

He’s choking out the words now, stumbling on them in his impatience to force them into the space between them. But he keeps circling back, hammering out a question each time: 

“Why?” He repeats uselessly, and it’s little daggers with each sharp syllable spilling from his mouth. Armin can’t tell if they’re a plea or a demand. 

“You don’t understand,” he says quietly. His hands rifle through the files in the drawer and sharp edge paper catches the soft pad of his thumb, slicing it. He hisses as the tip of the paper turns crimson.

“And you do?” Eren’s chest is heaving and his eyes are wet and he looks halfway between punching the wall and trying not to cry. “What’s so special about you and her?”

Armin takes a step back from him and moves to the bed. Eren follows, glowering behind him. Armin tries to fluff a pillow but his hands are shaking and useless. The soft sheets blur underneath him and he wills himself not to cry, not to cry first. In that moment he hates Eren, hates how he’s hounding him, hates how difficult this all is. In the moment he doesn’t feel fear - no, he wants to hurt him, he really really does. Anything to make him stop, make this go away. So he says: “Maybe she understands. Maybe I like her -“

“But you’re mine,” Eren blurts out. 

His face crumples and something deep inside Armin wrenches. And as he said those words, confessed, something ugly and dark had flashed over the other boy’s face, but Armin thinks he had seen it for what it really was - he was scared. And he recognised it because it was the same panic that he felt when thinking about him sometimes, the walls closing it, the drowning which kept him up at nights and in and out of fitful dreams when he thought about the future, their future. His breath catches and he feels tears well up, matching the other boy’s watery eyes. He can hear Eren panting, chest shaking, see the red spreading across his neck and cheeks and temples, and he thinks that the other boy might explode. 

But you’re mine. 

The words echo around his head and he keeps thinking of what Eren said after the basement so many months ago, something which had plagued him quietly but he’d never told anyone except Annie because he was afraid of their answer.

That night Eren had come back clutching his father’s journal. He’d rested his head gently on Armin’s lap and admitted, hesitantly, as if confessing to a terrible secret, a dark innermost thought - which, maybe it was - that he was disappointed that there were people out there beyond the walls.

He’d lain on his lap and looked aimlessly at the ceiling, talking slowly, rolling the words around in his mouth and considering them before he spoke. And there was a stillness that came upon him and it was eerie to see him so thoughtful, so considered as he said these things. 

He’d said that he thought the world was theirs for the taking. Except that he was wrong and it wasn’t - it already had kings and countries and systems and rules. It had people who’d travelled across those lands of ice and fire, claiming them for their own. Someone had already plundered the ocean’s depths and there was not, as Armin’s book had depicted, an endless blue dream of sky. Nowhere would they be truly free, and Eren hated that. He hated all these faceless, unknown people who milled about living their lives. They were taking up space in his world and he wanted them gone.

Armin hadn’t said anything then, just run his fingers through the boy’s hair and tried to think about the green of his eyes and the softness of his mouth and that hadn’t changed, had it? It was still the two of them. And they still had all the others: Mikasa and Jean and Connie and Sasha and even Levi and Hange, those stayed the same, didn’t they? 

And then Eren had got up and shook his head vigorously like he was trying to rid himself of these thoughts. They’d gone to bed in silence. 

Armin makes a sound in his throat and the boy looks at him again and it’s those eyes, emerald and shimmering in the candlelight. 

But you’re mine. 

And that was exactly the problem. 

Armin takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth slowly. Eren was watching him, his reddened face shaking and hands clenched into fists. Fighting back sobs. 

Mine. A possessive pronoun: Armin and Mikasa and the entire world belonged to him, and they to each other, and it was wrong - it was unfair - for other people to want them or have them too. 

Armin takes another slow, shuddering breath. 

How do you tell someone this is exactly what you were afraid of? How do you say, I’m scared of you - you’re not the person I love and trust and I’m losing you too and I don’t know how to make it stop?

And how do you tell him that each time with someone else, with the girl, it’s not anything - it’s about him anyway, it’s about them - 

He again says nothing of this because it is all too much at once and the words seem to want to collapse under the weight of themselves. Instead he turns to play with his bedspread. Instead he says, “Leave it, Eren. We’ll talk another time, okay?”

When he meets the boy's gaze, Eren's back to that seething anger again, because it’s easy and keeps him safe, because then he didn’t have to think, he didn’t have to feel.  With a pang Armin realises where he’s seen that look before - once when his parents were still alive, they’d chanced upon a stray dog cornered by boys, a snarling, wounded animal, lashing out for fear of getting hurt. Eren is baring his teeth now, cornered and tail between his legs, even if he looked ready to fight.

“That’s rich coming from you - we don’t talk - we haven’t spoken - or do you only talk to her now? And you like her -” 

“Stop it,” Armin says. His face burns and his voice wavers and he turns to glare at the boy who’s radiating anger as he stands, arms crossed, behind him. He can see all that and yet he wants to shake him violently and to make him see sense. “Stop it - do you realise what a big dick you’re being right now? Just shut up-”

“I hate you,” Eren shoots back. His eyes are large and wild and he’s suddenly right in Armin’s face, voice almost a roar. “I hate you, I hate you - I wish it were Erwin, I wish that Levi had chosen him and then we wouldn’t be like this and I would be alone. And honestly? It wouldn’t made a fucking difference. Except I would be happy, because you won’t be too busy fucking around with some girl. And someone would give a fuck about keeping us alive. I wish it wasn’t you. I wish you’d died.”

Then he steps back, face red with the realisation of what he’d just said washing over him. Armin is struck by the notion that one day he’d go too far - and perhaps this was it. Maybe the other boy is thinking that too, because almost immediately he begins to cry, ugly, ungainly, choked sobs, holding his hands to his face, hands pulling at his hair. It's like watching him burn in slow motion - the guilt and anger eating at his edges till he collapses, sinking to his knees.

Armin looks upon him wordlessly, but he comes close and begins to rub his hand soothingly across his shaking back, feeling his body hot and trembling.

“I’m sorry,” the other boy says, breathlessly. “I’m sorry.”

As he lets Eren rest his sweaty forehead against his knees, curling his arms uselessly behind his shins he’s reminded, suddenly, of being six again:  angry with Eren, fighting with him over something so small and inconsequential that he didn’t even remember what it was, just that Eren had come to him and said simply, sincerely, “I’m sorry.”

And Armin had said, “Me too, me too,” because an afternoon with the knowledge that they weren’t alright with each other was too much. He wondered when that had changed.  And back then the other boy had ventured softly, “Can we still be friends?” He’d nodded - of course, of course - and they’d hugged it out. What a crude, cruel rendering this was now, Eren clutching at whatever part of him he could still hold and Armin running his hands over him in the only way he knew how. 

And he didn’t know if they could ask that question as easily now. Mostly he didn’t know what his answer would be. Still he rubs his palms slowly on Eren’s warm back and waits for his breathing to calm and his tears to stop. 

But he kept thinking, too, that Eren had said sorry, but he didn’t say that he hadn’t meant it. 

And he kept thinking too about what else the other boy had said out loud: but you’re mine. 

--

here you go anon! but also really sorry if you wanted something nice….because this is definitely not it. it is though in a loose sense a big fight and it kinda is their talk afterward and emotions coming to a head? (& in my head it goes with this song)

I just saw this prompt and was wrangling with it and was thinking so hard about that scene in marriage story and then got obsessed with the blocking and the dialogue...so here’s me channeling it very crudely… ugh…sorry anon I have no idea if this is what you wanted at all but i promise i’ll make it up with fluff! just drop me a cute prompt in my inbox:”) 

and happy to take more requests!

[llamagoddessofficial]

Happy belated birthday @aka-indulgence​! I initially intended to get this out two days ago but I lost the flow a little. Luckily, it came back... hope you had a good day!

Nightmare!Sans/Reader

... It was so quiet. Dark... but you could hear something. It sounded like...

...

... Waves. Gentle ocean waves.

Something warm washed over your toes, and it made you open your eyes in surprise, looking down at your feet- water. Crystal clear water, streaming over perfect white sand... bubbles of foam popping in sparkles of light. 

You looked up, confused... and found yourself looking out onto a gorgeous sea under a clear glowing lavender and orange sunset sky. You gasped, quietly, without even realising- it was so beautiful. The ocean, mild and clean, faded from sandy yellow where you were standing to green to a brilliant turquoise, and the deeper waters were a warm pink as they reflected the sky that seemed to stretch for infinity... your lips parted, awe overtaking everything. You could see little silhouettes of seabirds wheeling in the distance... Directly above you, where the sky was lilac and purples and deep blues, a few lone faint stars were beginning to make themselves known.

... It was so beautiful. 

You inhaled through your nose and sighed, happily; fresh, salty sea air. The sound of calling gulls and water... the glow of the sunset on your skin, the lapping ocean at your feet... you closed your eyes, happy, calm...

You could just stay here forever... you should stay here forever...

...

Something was wrong.

You opened your eyes again, confused, turning around to look behind you. Some trees, tropical-looking, palms... nothing out of the ordinary. But why did you feel... wrong? It wasn’t a feeling you could put your finger on. Something was off. You stepped away from the water’s edge and began to walk up the beach, the sand pleasantly warm and soft underfoot, not loose enough to stick between your toes and not clumpy enough to feel damp and gross...

...

Something was wrong.

You had a terrible feeling in your chest, your eyes kept darting around to look at the scenery as if expecting to catch something. You couldn’t stop here, your heart was pounding- like something was out there, something awful would happen if you gave in here and rested. Maybe you were just being stupid... maybe you were just panicking... something’s wrong, something’s wrong-

... A noise.

... It was a sigh. A deep, breathy sigh; it sounded frustrated, but amused. And it wasn’t coming from behind you, or next to you, or in front of you... it was inside your head.

Someone else was inside your own mind- someone else was speaking to you, echoing in your head.

“every time.” It said, in a long-suffering tone. The voice was dark, silky... almost too soft. Like he was patronising you. “i’m getting tired of this, darling.”

... You froze.

Not willingly. Your feet sank into the sand the moment you stopped, and suddenly it was as hard as concrete- you let out a little frightened sound and tried to pull your legs, with no luck whatsoever. What the hell is going on!? You couldn’t think straight, your head was fuzzy, like someone had thrown a woollen blanket over your mind- over your ability to process what was going on. You were confused, nonplussed, things that should be making sense just weren’t connecting.

“nothing’s ever enough...” It whispered.

The landscape began to cycle, warp, stretch around where your feet were locked in place. You desperately wanted to stagger back... An empty roof restaurant overlooking a glowing city, you barely had a moment to appreciate it because after a second’s wait it changed again, a mirror-flat lake at sunrise speckled with pink petals from a flowering tree, giant misty emerald-topped mountains that seemed to defy the laws of physics, a waterfall as wide as the grand canyon that roared with power, your head was spinning, it hurt...

... It stopped on what seemed to be a salt flat after rain; a perfectly blue sky peppered with cotton candy clouds, everything reflected below you in the world’s largest mirror. Nobody around for miles.

“i can control this world down to each molecule.” The voice continued. It seemed almost gleeful... showing off, enjoying boasting about all he could do. “i can give you anything you want. i could take you anywhere, show you anything... there’s nothing we can’t do together, here.”

... You felt something on your stomach.

The scenery changed again; a flower field, at night. An endless galaxy overhead, purple and blue and pink blooms shifting in the gentlest of breezes.

But you couldn’t concentrate. The fear that had suddenly gripped you was icy; and it wasn’t just the fear that had a hold of you. Something wrapped around your middle, your waist, something thick and long, you looked down...

... You had no idea what it was. A tentacle of some kind? It was as if someone had coated the body of a giant snake in a viscous, gooey, tar-like substance. Thick, black, slimy, it was cold where it touched the skin that wasn’t covered by your riding-up shirt, so cold... you wanted to shove it off you but you didn’t want to touch it, you were scared you’d put your hands on it and they’d just sink straight in and stick.

“... i could give you anything...” The voice wasn’t inside your mind anymore. It was behind you, like it’d escaped from your head, whispering into your ear so close you could feel hot breath against the skin. Another thing, appendage, tentacle, curled around your neck; it was so cold you sharply inhaled, a harsh contrast from the warmth of his breath. And when you tried to reach your hands up to it to grasp at it, to pull it off in a blind panic, no longer caring about the consistency... more curled around your wrists, snatching them back and holding them tight by your shoulders.

“and yet...” ... It shifted from playfully teasing... to something else. Something... angry.

A growl. 

“you just keep on defying me.”

The tentacles around you squeezed- your neck, your stomach, your wrists- you cried out, but you weren’t sure whether it was in pain or in terror as a squeak-like sound was forced out of you when your breath escaped. You didn’t understand what was going on, you could barely focus on not losing yourself in pure, unadulterated terror.

“i could be doing anything right now.” He continued. The landscape started to change again; but not into something beautiful. The stars started to flicker out and die one by one, flowers began to brown and rot and wilt, sinking into the grassless slick dirt and triggering a foul smell that invaded your nostrils and made you cringe. The gentle breeze vanished, replaced with a thick, uncomfortable heat that only worsened the smell. 

“i could be destroying whole universes- amusing myself by making them all bend to my will...” He squeezed tighter, you were starting to struggle for breath, wheezing and tearing up, you could feel more wet slimy tentacles curling around you... your legs, over your hips, across your chest... he was going to choke you, squeeze you to death. “billions of lives begging for mercy at my feet.”

You expelled a precious breath in a weak sob.

...

... The tentacles loosened. But they didn’t let go. You gasped in air and gagged, the awful smell making your eyes water and stinging the back of your throat... You didn’t understand, nothing made sense, your mind felt fuzzy and confused and lost. As you sucked in breath after breath, you didn’t notice the smell fading... the air becoming clean again, the mud and rot fading away like...

... like a bad dream.

Instead, it was pitch black. The kind of darkness that pressed in on all sides, that made you somehow feel both hopelessly lonely and like something was watching you. 

He moved, the voice moved. In front of you, in the darkness... a ring appeared. A ring of blue light; cold light, unfeeling, unfriendly... a single eye, partnered with a smile of giant ice-white teeth.

“but instead of all that...” The face came closer. And as it did, you could see more... you could see the ooze-covered skeletal face, the slick black substance all over him, even his clothes... you could see the way the tentacles restraining you came from his back. He didn’t stop approaching until he was inches away from your face again... smile looming over you, close enough to kiss your forehead... cold, cold hands pressed against your ribs and slid around to your back. Like he was holding you. “instead of ruling universes, i’m here again. playing with you. making intricate worlds for an ungrateful little human who won’t just give in to me... every night, something new. every night, something beautiful. and every night, you resist...”

One icy hand stayed on your back, the other... drifted up, cupping your head, weaving his giant phalanges through your hair at the scalp. 

“it’s infuriating.”

You felt terror clench your chest again, harder than before. What was he going to do? Was he going to tear it out? Snap your neck, dig those slimy claws into the back of your head and kill you? You felt your lip trembling, your eyes welling up with hot tears...

He was so close to you, pressed so flush, that when he shuddered you felt it. His grin only spread wider, inhumanly wide, that bright blue eye contracting like a snake squeezing a kill...

“that’s right, pet...” He said, voice a purr that barely hid his glee, tentacles beginning to squeeze again like the claws of an excited cat. “that’s it, fear me... i could squeeze you until you snap, i could tear you into bloody ribbons...”

His hand tilted your head upward, toward the face that took up your whole vision. In a strange way, it was a good thing he was holding your legs... you were certain that your feet wouldn’t hold you up any longer.

Whatever patience was holding him back seemed to snap when you pressed your lips together- the moment his glowing eye moved to your mouth, it twitched, and he closed the precious distance you had from him. A predator striking, a monster moving to eat you whole...

... He kissed you.

...

You startled awake, heaving in breaths and slick with cold sweat, staring up at your ceiling while gripping your mattress with white knuckles.

...

Oh fuck...

The sigh you breathed in relief racked your entire body from head to toe. Shaking, close to tears... Like you were expelling the tainted, fearful air from your lungs.

Just a dream. Just a nightmare.

The tentacles were just your bedsheets twisted around you, as you’d turned in a panic. The cold and ice was just your bare, sweat-dotted skin meeting air... even as you laid there, bathing in your own relief, you began to forget the terrible dream.

Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

... You sorted out your sheets, turning your pillow over to the cold side to nestle back into it, calm once again. You still had a few hours before your alarm would set off... now the bad dream was out of the way, you’d surely sleep peacefully.

It didn’t take very long for you to drift back into unconsciousness.

...

...

The shadows by your bed started to thicken, gathering into a form sitting by you on the bed. He stroked your hair behind your ear... icy blue eye watching silently. Adoringly.

He... had planned to make that encounter a little bit... softer. He’d gone into your dreams intending to keep you calm, keep you open to influence; and then he’d make himself known to you gently, acclimating you to his presence in your mind. Maybe strike up some nice conversation... He had it all planned so neatly...

... But your fear was just so... delicious. Your terror when he held you, those wide, doe-like eyes staring up at him with you totally under his control, at his mercy... what was supposed to be one of the lighter encounters quickly spiralled as he lost himself in your skin and breath and warmth and life, feeding like a parasite on the negativity pouring out of your Soul.

... He sighed. He’d let you sleep, for tonight... he had to think of a new place to take you to. A new world to make for you... hopefully, this time, it would be enough to keep you under his spell.

“... sleep tight, doll.” He purred, leaning down to press a toothy kiss to your forehead... before his form melted into the shadows of your room, like a ghost.

[lluvguts]

Cool Blue ; Chapter Two

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

sunlight on your face

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: none

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

The sun had crossed Luca's mind many times before, but he was just too afraid to see what it looked like. He'd asked his grandmother what the sun felt like once (or twice, or three times even, Luca had lost count). She would only give her grandson a gentle smile and stick out one hand so Luca's tail would brush along her forearm affectionately.

"That is something for you to find out one day," She winked. "But I'll tell you a little bit about it for now. Sometimes the sun is brilliant and warm on your scales...and other times, it'll burn you." She ended her sentence with another toothy grin and one hand to her breastbone to quiet her knowing laughter.

Luca gaped at her solemnity. "The sun...burns?" He couldn't possibly fathom the idea.

But the sun was so...bright! He imagined it was a big creamy ball in the sky, full of sugar the seeped into the Earth. And the more he mulled it over the harder it was to accept that maybe it wasn't as delightful as he'd dreamed.

"Sure, Bubble," His grandmother chuckled. "It's gotta keep the humans warm somehow, right?"

Luca thought about her answer then. That must be why Alberto smelled so honey-sweet. Nice, he corrected himself. Alberto smelled nice.

But it was the sun dripping all of that sunshine and ardor into Alberto's pores, through the tiny dark spots that spanned across his cheeks and shoulders. Little dashes of the sun. But if he thought over these things too long that fiery sunshine would melt his insides into a pitiful pool of need to see him again and Luca decided not to ask her anymore.

He was a good kid, after all. He didn't need these infectious ideas running through his head.

Luca passed by the herd of goatfish, all grumbling and surrounded in swarms of their own bubbles. He swam by Giuseppe, clearly the favored one, and gave him an endearing pat before glancing over his shoulder. It seemed as though his grandmother had distracted Luca's parents for the time being with some obscure task that he knew granted him a few hours of precious alone time.

He'd dreamed of seeing The Surface before. Herring, he'd actually tried. And once was all it took. A brief sequence of minutes that felt as if they were hours, fluttering toward the crystal glittering skin of the ocean above him, only to doubt his choices and duck back down. But the edges of his mind persisted, Luca the Curious Fish, the one to get caught.

And his mind continued to nag and nudge him toward the parts of the farm that were cooler, left a bite on his scales as he hurried to find that same spot as yesterday. His surroundings flooded again as he was flanked by the jutting sections of the island below the water and into a cave opening leading to the same pool as before.

Luca's eyes fluttered shut past this point. Though it was childish, he feared by whim that a chunk of ominous island rock were to come undone and shatter on top of him, leaving him squished flat in the sand like some scaly water anole scattering for purchase. Luca let the thought, much like his other more intrusive ones leave his head as the temperature lifted around him. His face welcomed the sunlight drifting from the pool above along his fins and closed eyelids.

In a recess of the rock Luca had hidden the purple wooden stick (with the feather-soft bristles that, once Alberto had left, Luca ran along his cheeks until his scales were an embarrassing blue) that Alberto had so kindly gifted him, wedged between the sharp spaces so it didn't float away. He smiled at it sitting there, patiently waiting like he'd been, for a slice of attention.

"Hello again," Luca murmured in greeting to the paintbrush, tracing one finger along the smooth edge of painted wood.

The beams of light flickered along his teal scales, making the darkness of the pool shine pleasantly. But a flash of color even brighter than the sun passed across Luca's dorsal fin so harshly that he yelped aloud in the water and shrunk back from the odd thing. Was it lightning? Another thing Signora Paguro had cautioned him over, something painted quite scary from her perspective in his mind.

But the sun was there, so surely it wasn't lightning.

But even still the flashes appeared once, and then again, with a subdued pop from being underwater.

Wiping the back of his neck, as if the action were to rid him of the itchy feeling the blinding flashes sent along his scales, Luca looked up.

There was Alberto, his silhouette distorted along the water, gripping something bulky in his arms that appeared to be the object of Luca's discomfort.

/ / /

"W-Woah! Hey! What are you doing?"

Alberto leapt back from the mouth of the pool but the boy had swiped for Massimo's polaroid camera. He clawed for it in Alberto's quavering hands, while Alberto was still stunned by the fact that the creature had actually jumped up from the water and attacked him.

Well, he attacked the camera.

He tried to attack the camera.

"What is that thing?" The boy growled, his brows pulled low and angry while it seemed like above water the color of his eyes dimmed to a dark yellow. But still as striking. He had managed to knock Alberto down to the rocky ground where he felt the film in his back pocket crush under the combined weight. Oh hell. That was his last cartridge.

"It's--It's my father's camera! So you can't have it!" Alberto choked out.

"Why does it hurt like the sun?" The boy questioned, his grabbing motion and bared teeth bringing to mind a raccoon. Alberto tried to peel the creature's body from him but it was no use, he had Alberto's legs pinned with his tail.

"What are you talking about?" Alberto shimmed under the boy's weight, taking in a generous amount of air so he didn't gape at his assortment of teal and blue scales inches from his heaving chest, dripping salt water and something slimy. "I was just taking pictures for reference."

"Pictures?" The boy cocked his head, losing some of his fire. Alberto offered a shaky smile, using one hand to press into the ground to wiggle free. The creature got the hint and his vertical pupils widened in shock and wonder. He rolled off Alberto's lap, deflating. "Oh! Sharks, I'm really sorry. I don't know what got into me...I just hate that thing."

"The camera?" Alberto wiped his hand on his shorts, now soaked in water, and scooted a little ways from the boy. He waved the camera around in the air for effect, perhaps a bit carelessly, and the other boy flinched. "This takes pictures of things. It's cool!"

"Well, why were you taking picture things of me?" He said slowly, tasting the new words.

Under the sun Alberto was distracted by the creature's scales, so opalescent on the surface with that deep undertone of his true teal color. His dorsal fin, with no buoyant water to trail along, was flopped to one side casually. Alberto avoided looking at his tail, because this thing had a tail like an animal but could converse as lightly as any kid playing soccer by the fountain.

In short, he was beautiful. But also was a sort-of-fish and Alberto worried he was going to turn into someone's next fillet for the dinner table if he cooked out in the summer heat for much longer.

"Uh, aren't you going to dry up or something up here, sea monster?" Alberto pointed to the droplets of water quickly drying up on his scales.

The boy blushed, but from the sun's rays it wasn't as brilliant as it was the day before in the water. "It's Luca. And I think I'll be fine." He tapped the space below the fins on his cheeks, to some hidden part of his scales that Alberto was too shy to inquire about.

"What's Luca?"

The boy wrinkled his snout. "I'm Luca. That's my name, you catfish. Luca Paguro."

Alberto chuckled and let the polaroid camera rest beside him on a soft tuft of grass. "Catfish? Ouch. You know, I think I know someone who actually looks like a catfish."

Luca grinned his pointy teeth at him. "A real catfish? Can I see him?"

"Oh..." Alberto pulled his knees closer to his damp tank top and frowned at the puddle of water beside him. "I don't know about that..."

"Well, why not?" Luca questioned. He pointed to Alberto. "The Surface isn't so bad. I met you! And...And-" He tried to form the right words, looking so cute with his yellow eyes scrunched close. "And what are those things?"

Luca had abandoned his previous statement and crawled over to Alberto's travel hutch of paints, now propped open for him to admire. Alberto watched in silence as Luca tentatively stuck his webbed hand into the box, staring with raw curiosity at the shiny metal tubes of acrylic and the ceramic saucer serving as his palette.

He picked up Alberto's newest tube of red, examining the plastic top, unbroken.

"That's my paint box. I was thinking of doing a portrait--"

Luca turned the tube of paint so it was horizontal in his claws and took a bite from the top.

"...Of you," Alberto finished, shoulders slack. Luca's eyes flung back open when the pressure sent a burst of red acrylic across his fingers and into his mouth. He dropped the tube with a cry, teeth now stained an alarming red.

"You're not supposed to eat it," Alberto commented. He picked up the ruined tube with Luca's teeth marks still in it and set it in a corner of the box. "Here."

He handed over a towel he'd brought to clean his brushes so Luca could clean his face. Luca blinked wildly at the towel in Alberto's hands, not knowing what to do with it, so Alberto took the liberty to dip the cloth into the pool and wipe the red paint off his scales.

"That feels kind of weird," Luca whispered, eyes flickering up to the muscles lightly moving in Alberto's arm as he worked. His skin turned blue again, the odd freckles spanning along his bright cheeks flushing.

"Well next time don't take a bite out of my paints. Besides, it's for painting, obviously. Not food."

Luca sat on the back of his legs and quietly watched Alberto roll the cloth up and set it in the grass. "Can I paint? It looks like fun."

Alberto's eyes widened and bit his lip to hide his excitement. He fished inside his bag for a piece of paper for Luca then a small flat canvas for himself.

"Sure, I guess," He brushed it off. "Just don't get upset if it doesn't look like my paintings. I'm pretty good."

Luca snorted but eagerly snatched the paper from Alberto. He set it on a drier edge of the pool and slid back into the water. Spinning back around, he flashed Alberto a grin and held up the paintbrush he'd taken the day before, the wood soaked and paint chipping in places from water damage.

"I don't think you can paint with that, buddy," Alberto tsked. "The wood's probably rotted."

Luca's face fell and he jammed the paintbrush back into the crevice from before and scanned Alberto's palette he'd been depositing small portions of paint onto, grumbling.

Alberto started to paint and Luca just sat there watching, confused. Luca hid his face below the edge of the rock and used his index finger to dip into the well of green paint, then placed it on the paper. He let out a tiny noise at the discovery, now smearing globby splotches of forest green all along the page.

"Look Alberto!" Luca tugged on Alberto's toe to get his attention. He looked up from his canvas at Luca's paper. It wasn't much, but the look of pure glee on Luca's features was enough for Alberto to reach out and gently brush the fins on his head, like Luca had done with his hand, and smile.

"Nice," Alberto said softly. Luca blinked at his hand touching him, retreating a little into the water in surprise, but he soon floated back up and was adding blues to his messy painting. Luca couldn't be much younger than Alberto himself, only sixteen, and there still hung a childish innocence to him that was because he was so sheltered.

He knew he could never take Luca back to Portorosso. It was a fishing town.

Full of harpoons, nasty blades, monster-fearing Portorosso.