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kitten4sannie · 3 months

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ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ/ᴀᴜʀᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ➠ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ

pairing: personal trainer! yeosang x fem! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: you love your weekly visits with your personal trainer. he always stretches you out just right.

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: mean(ish) dom! yeo, sub! reader, 15 year age gap, seduction, teasing, sir kink, dirty talk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, auralism, groping, half dressed kink ig?, oral (receiving), fingering, squirting, cumming untouched, brief deep throating, unprotected sex on a yoga mat, creampie

a/n: i done lost it guys TT just imagining having messy sex with mean dilf yeo somehow adds and takes off ten years of my life at the same time like some pemdas shit aughhh… i hope you enjoy this filthy mess <33

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ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙʏ ᴅᴏᴍɪɴɪᴄ ꜰɪᴋᴇ

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” you gasped into your phone, holding a hand against your chest, personally offended that your boyfriend of six months would suggest such a thing. “And what about my personal trainer? He’s like fifteen years older than me. Baby. You really think I would do that to you?”

“Y/N, I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I know you’re fucking him, and I’m over it. It’s over,” your boyfriend repeated into your ear, just ripping the bandaid off then and there.

“You can’t do that. We’re not breaking up,” you scoffed, wrapping a lock of your hair around your finger, your lips forming a pout. “Babyyy, come on, you’re being so dumb right now.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he quickly said, before hanging up.

“Ugh.” Pissed off, you tossed your phone onto your canopy style bed, knocking one of your limited edition plushies off and onto the carpeted floor in the process. You turned to your full length mirror, glaring back at your scrunched-up face, your hands formed into fists near your tiny tennis skirt. “If he thinks I’m fucking my personal trainer, then I’ll fuck my personal trainer, alright.”

And so, your petty, self-righteous plan of spiteful revenge was set. You were a smart girl. You knew exactly what to do to get your ridiculously sexy personal trainer to break his professional and moral codes. All you had to do was wear something impossibly tight without anything underneath and moan a little louder when he was stretching you out. It was as simple as that. Right?

࿏࿏࿏

Yeosang was everything a woman desired, all the way down to his persistent ability to respect them. He respected you, almost too much in your opinion. Here you were bent over in a ‘stretching position’ right in front of him, wearing a too-tight pair of gray leggings and the tiniest sports bra known to man, knowing damn well he could see the way you had your tits all pushed together for his viewing pleasure in the mirror, yet his eyes remained on yours.

“How does it feel, Y/N? Are you tight anywhere like last time?” Yeosang asked, his voice, like dripping honey, filled your body with a comforting warmth. He studied your stretching form, one hand to his scruffy chin, the other on his hip.

Your knees trembled slightly underneath you, urging you to return to a resting position, eventually sitting on your knees. You looked up to him, your eyelids lowering slightly, a pout on your glossy lips. “Really tight, yeah. I think I need help, Yeo…”

“Then, I need you to lay down on your back for me,” he replied in a soft, though stern tone that made your cunt pulse, getting down onto his knees beside you with a small grunt. “Show me where, Y/N. You can do that, yeah?”

Just as you laid down on the yoga mat, a fresh wave of slick slipped out of you. Damn him. He should be getting worked up over you, not the other way around. How would it be an act of petty revenge if you were soaking wet just from hearing your personal trainer’s absurdly sexy voice?

“Nnngh, it’s right here…” you exhaled, feeling out your stiff hips, looking up at him past your lashes. “I need some stretching out, I think.”

“Mm, I see. Well, let’s get you taken care of,” Yeosang nodded as his lips curled up into a somewhat mischievous smile, positioning himself so that he was in between your spread legs, wrapping his hands around one of your thighs and gently pushing it down towards your body, causing you to gasp. “Just relax for me, sweetheart…that’s it…”

You were about to lose your mind, trying harder and harder not to let out a pornograhic moan the more Yeosang pushed his body weight onto you, your lower halves practically flush together. You wondered if he could feel how wet you were through your leggings, knowing there were no panties to catch your slick. “Yeosang…fuck…”

Yeosang pushed down a little further, nodding his head apologetically. “I know, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’ll be worth it,” He gave you a charming smile, his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your thigh, pushing you down further, until the ache of your muscles matched the ache inside your cunt. “Still hurts?”

“No, it feels good now, keep going, Yeo,” you sighed out, your eyes glazing over with lust, gently running your hand over his, sensing a hint of desire when it began to peer through Yeosang’s own lingering gaze, his hands moving towards your other thigh, beginning to give it the same treatment.

“That’s good, though you still feel really tight,” Yeosang pointed out, pressing your other thigh down against your body, leaning his body weight on you just enough to drive you mad, you cunt clenching around nothing. His other hand slipped around your opposite hip, expertly massaging around with his calloused fingers. “Mm, you’re almost there. Just a little more…”

“Yes, sir,” you sighed out, swearing you heard Yeosang’s breath get caught inside his throat just as soon as you felt something hard and heavy forming against your lower abdomen, hoping you weren’t just imagining it with your overheated brain. “It’s just so hard, Yeo…be gentle…”

Yeosang bit into his bottom lip, coming to terms with your current shared predicament, wondering if you were both on the same page, but not fully knowing if he should cross several professional boundaries or not. Regardless, here he was, already pressing his stiff cock into his very young, very horny client’s cunt through her soaked leggings. What did he have to lose?

“Gentle, huh?” he chuckled deeply, pulling back slightly to admire the sight of your soaked cunt through your slick-stained leggings. “Sure you don’t want it rough, considering the way you’ve been dripping for me this entire time?” He ran two fingers down the legging seam that separated your puffy folds, rubbing them into your clit, making you let out another gasp. “Thought you could hide this from me, did you? I could feel how wet you were getting…”

“Fuck– Nooo, Yeo, I just wanted you to see it for yourself,” you answered whinily, spreading your legs open just a little wider, grabbing at the waistline of your leggings to make the shape of your cunt more pronounced, your pout returning. “Do you like it, sir?”

“Jesus, of course I do. My slutty little client shows off her wet cunt and thinks I wouldn’t like it? Huh? Did you think I would be able to hold myself back?” Yeosang shook his head out of disbelief of his insane luck, taking his time running his calloused fingers up and down your clothed slit, admiring the way the material formed to the shape of it.

Fuck it. You were too desperate now to reclaim any semblance of control over the situation, your act of personal revenge long forgotten, your mind only having enough space in it to think about Yeosang and getting used by him.

“I did it because I want to be your slut, Yeo. Please? Can I? I’ll be so good for you.” You began to move your hips along with his movements, in desperate need of more friction, more pleasure at your disposal, begging him with your glistening doe eyes.

“Of course you can be my little slut, princess. You already are. I mean, just look at you, whoring yourself out for your personal trainer like this,” Yeosang groaned out, just as he lifted your ass up into the air by your hips, licking his lips. “I’ll make you mine, sweetheart.” And with that, he tore your leggings open just enough to expose your leaking cunt, leaning down slightly to take a deep inhale of your warm, flowery scent. “God, you’re completely soaked for me, Y/N. You’ve been wanting this so bad, haven’t you? Just dreaming about my tongue inside this tight hole of yours, huh?”

“Yess, oh my god, please eat me out, Yeo, I’m begging,” you squeaked out from below him, already teary-eyed, ready to beg on your knees for the older man’s attention if you had to.

Yeosang took an experimental lick up your cunt, already collecting enough slick inside his mouth for him to swallow down happily, idly working your clit with two agile fingers. “Do you play with your little clit like this before you go to sleep and think of me, Y/N?” he asked huskily against your cunt, beginning to lap at your leaking hole, teasing it with his tongue. “Huh? Do you think about me stretching you out with my tongue? With my cock?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, just as Yeosang’s tongue fully slid inside you to rub at your inner walls, tongue-fucking you in a ravenous manner, his fingers still flicking at and squeezing your clit, your juices dripping down the lower-half of his face. “Fuck…! Yeosang…!”

“Uh-huhhh…” he moaned into you, sending pleasurable vibrations through your cunt, eventually replacing his tongue with two more fingers, fucking you so quickly, you couldn’t even get a chance to breath. “That’s it, baby, you’re so close, aren’t you? Going to squirt for me, yeah? Is my slut going to cum all over my face?”

“Yes–fuck, Yeo–” you could barely call out, your muscles tightening suddenly, your lower half pulsing more and more until you let out an involuntary cry, clear liquid squirting out of you and pouring onto Yeosang’s face, spilling onto the yoga mat, and soaking into the material of your torn leggings, some dripping along your abdomen.

“Oh my god, that’s a gooood girl, look at you…” Yeosang praised shakily, gently slurping up your squirt from your twitching cunt, moaning into it, his softening cock resting against his cum-covered inner thigh. “What a good little slut you are, Y/N.”

“Good enough for cock?” you simply asked from below, reaching up to spread your cunt apart further for him, all while gazing up at him with barely open eyes, still swimming in your post orgasm bliss. “Wanna be stuffed, Yeo. Please?”

Your adorably filthy behavior alone made Yeosang harder than he’s been in a long time, making him want to join in on the fun. He wasted no time positioning himself so that his knees were on either side of your head, slowly lowering his joggers until his long, veiny cock sprung out in front of your face. “I think you should lube up my cock for me first, princess, with that naughty mouth of yours.”

“Yes, sir,” you obeyed, opening your mouth wide enough to take what you could of Yeosang’s impressive length inside, gagging immediately when he began to fuck into your throat, dribbles of spit leaking down your chin. “Mmmfff…”

Gutteral groans routinely escaped Yeosang’s throat, continuing to pump himself into your mouth, unable to release himself from the tight, warm confines of your now bulging throat. “God, you’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Wish I could cum down this pretty throat of yours…” He suddenly pulled out, resting the tip of his heavy cock on your saliva-streaked lips, letting you lazily lap up the beads of pre-cum that spilled from it. “Gotta fuck you, though. I know that slutty cunt needs to be filled with cock.”

“Fuck, yes, sir, give it to me,” you purred against his cockhead, sucking and slurping on it like it was candy, only stopping when he pulled away to lower himself down your body, until his cock was slowly pressing into your willing hole instead.

“Doesn’t matter whose cock, huh?” he asked in his low, honey-like voice, wrapping his fingers around your hips, massaging into them like before, only this time he was sliding you onto his pulsing length little by little until he had completely bottomed out inside.

“No…!” you admitted breathily, the shame you felt only increasing your arousal, barely able to hook your thighs around his waist when he began to quickly pump himself into you, your hole swallowing his thick cock up each time.

“You’ll let a–fuck–older guy…someone who’s your personal trainer…nnngh…use you like their own personal cum dump and–” He pulled out suddenly, only to plunge himself deep into your cunt, making you cry out. “–pump you full of his cum as long as you’re getting stuffed with cock. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yeah, you’re right, Yeo,” you exhaled out, reaching up to your sports bra to slide it up until your tits popped out, just in time for them to began bouncing each time Yeosang slammed himself into you. “Fuck me like the slut I am…Please, sir…”

“Oh godd, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N, gonna fuck your goddamn brains out,” Yeosang gruffed out in between brutal thrusts, resorting to grabbing and holding your wrists down so that you couldn’t get away from him, drilling his aching cock into your squelching hole like he was getting paid to do it.

Yeosang did indeed fuck your brains out. He fucked you until you didn’t know which way was up or down. The only thing that brought you back to reality was something warm and thick gushing inside you, Yeosang’s warm hand holding your own down against your abdomen, his nasty words barely reaching your hazy mind.

“You feel that, princess? All the cum I’m filling this whore-hole up with?” he asked you softly in between harsh pants, a few beads of sweat sliding down his sharp chin and landing onto your flushed face.

You could hardly move, let alone speak. “Uh-huh…”

“I want to see it…Want you to see what I’ve done to you.” Yeosang slowly pulled out of you, milking the tip of his cock, groaning softly, leaving a few more spurts of his load on your puffy cunt, a few drops of it getting onto the torn hole inside your leggings.

He gently turned you around, so that you were facing the mirror on the wall, reaching past your spread thighs to spread open your cunt with his thumbs, laying his lips against your ear, “Look. You got cum leaking out of you, your leggings are all torn up, and you got squirt all over the mat too...Do you see what a mess you’ve become for me, Y/N?”

“Yeah, I see, Yeo. I love it…” You gazed at his hazy reflection in the mirror with hearts in your eyes, wishing you had seduced your personal trainer at an earlier date.

Inhaling your flowery scent once more, Yeosang pressed a kiss onto your cheek, nuzzling it. “That’s my girl.” He tilted his head to the side, his hands rubbing into your sore hips. “Same time next week?”

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Apply for the taglist here ⇢ ♡

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hoodharlow · 3 years

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“Pa’que Pare de Chingar”

El Novio Quarantine Edition: Part 3

AN: Part 3 is HErEEEEEE!!! I apologize for not posting this yesterday. Hope y’all enjoy bc in un ratito Part 4 will be out.

Warnings: smut, brief mention of weed and brief mention of birth control

requested? nope

Word Count:

Calum leaned back in his seat and scrolled through Twitter while he waited for Claudia to get her birth control pills from the pharmacy. He was still pissed at the lady with the rat.

Mrs. Garner, the neighbor whose dog bit Damian, ended up leaking a video of him and Claudia making out in the Santos driveway as a way to get back at them for reporting her dog. It was more of a compilation of them dating back to the summer before to just a few weeks ago when they got back from walking Duke and Panchito. It created an uproar.

Fans were confused and surprised that Calum and Claudia have been together the whole time. Others were angry at the neighbor for invading their privacy. The paparazzi set up camp in the neighborhood in hopes of getting pictures of the couple since Mrs. Garner had also leaked their address. For the sake of Claudia's family and their privacy and safety, Calum and Claudia went back to Calum's house in L.A. where the neighborhood was more private.

Soon enough, Mrs. Garner got a taste of her medicine when Calum's fans found out she had a wine shop and flooded Yelp and Google with negative reviews. To think she did all of that because her dog bit a little kid.

He closed the app and replied to Ashton's text confirming the time he and his team were going over for the album photoshoot. Calum still couldn't believe that Ashton wrote and produced his own album in such little time. Nonetheless he was proud of him. Ashton is someone he admired purely based on his ambition and talent.

There was a soft knock on the passenger side of the window. Claudia waved at Calum and motioned that the door was locked.

"Shit," He cursed. He reached over and opened the door for her. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She said smoothing out the bed sheet before sitting on it.

It was well into June, making the weather be over 80° which was not a good mix with the car's leather seats and Claudia's short shorts and rompers. Not to mention she sweated an embarrassing amount through her ass.

"I'm hungry. Can we get breakfast burritos before going to Target?" Claudia asked him.

"Of course. San Miguel's?" Calum suggested. It's been months since they went to their go-to Mexican food place at Long Beach.

"Yes. Let me order it through postmates so we can just pick them up."

She pulled out the paper bag containing her birth control and hid it behind her back while she tore apart her purse to get her phone. She felt one of Calum's cool hands on her back, pulling out the paper bag.

"Why are you hiding your birth control like it's a bad thing? I know you're on it." he asked.

"Because." she said, taking the bag and shoving it deep in her purse.

"Because why?"

"It's weird." she giggled nervously. She pulled back her hair into a bun. "Like I've never been at this personal level with any of my exes. Not that it's a bad thing, I'm just still, like, getting used to it."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"Did I make it awkward?” Calum asked her, intertwining their fingers together.

“A little, but it’s okay. I don’t want you to overthink this. I’m just getting used to this, you did nothing wrong.”

Claudia leaned over and kissed his cheek. She pulled out her phone and opened Postmates. “Do you want your breakfast bowl hash browns or tater tots?”

“Tater tots please.”

The rest of the drive to San Miguel’s was pleasant. They got into some traffic, but luckily Calum and Claudia were both in good moods, resulting in Calum playing Jose Alfredo Jimenez and Natalia Lafourcade along with other Mexican groups. A few weeks ago, Diego introduced him to them when they both got high and decided to listen to Mariachi music. It was the most they bonded since Calum and Claudia started dating.

Pepe Aguilar faded into the background as Calum lowered the volume. He glanced over at Claudia, she was looking out the window, letting the sunrays dance on her face.

“Hey Claudia?” Calum asked, getting her attention.

“Yeah?” She answered him, pulling herself away from the window.

“I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, but if you’re comfortable, what was your other ex like?” He shifted in his seat awkwardly, not knowing how Claudia was going to respond.

He knew it was one of those wildcard questions. She would either answer him, or go off telling him that the past is the past. But after her comment about her exes, he just had to know. All he knew about the guy was that he played football and was a year older than her.

“Isaiah was a sweetheart. I met him through his sisters. We got close because I defended them when they got made fun of for liking One Direction, they even showed me some of Luke’s covers too. Anyways, we would always hang out at my place so I never met their brother until the first day of school where we were the only underclassmen in our AP Stats class. After that we became really good friends. We became a thing after he asked me to homecoming. Our relationship was pretty much stagnant. We didn’t do anything like sex wise. He was really respectful about that too and always kept the football team in check about that.

This one guy from the football team started a rumor that he hooked up with a girl from the dance team and Isaiah called him out. Like overall he was a good guy. So when he graduated, we decided to just stay friends. We didn’t see each other until my senior prom where he was my date because a certain bass player didn’t go to prom with me after he said yes and I reached my goal of ten thousand retweets.”

“That was you?” Calum yelled. “I felt so bad. We had like a two week break, but a day after our show in Dublin my appendix ruptured and was bed ridden until our break ended. I guess that could explain why you didn’t give me a slice of chocoflan when I went.”

“Damn, I thought your team was just BSing and didn’t want to go. I was really sad and sold my tickets out of spite.” Claudia mumbled to herself.

“I have the corsage somewhere in my room, actually.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I can give it too with one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You slow dance with me.”

***

It happened so fast. Claudia was hanging up some shirts she tie-dyed to air dry while Calum watched in the comfort of their new lounge chair. It had a dark wood foundation with a comfy and waterproof mattress on top. A comment about Claudia's peeking out of her silk romper led to one about how they haven't christened the chair. A few teasing touches later, Calum dropped his slutty shorts. It was a term coined by Claudia after Calum accidentally bought some RVCA shorts that were closer to his crotch than his knees.

Claudia leaned down and captured his lips. She got off the lounge chair, taking her time removing her silk romper. Then she slowly crawled back to Calum. He lifted his bucket hat covered head and leaned up to kiss her once more. He laid back down before pushing back his hat to get a better view of Claudia.

She coated Calum’s cock with her arousal then she slowly slid down his length. Her hands rested on his tummy and Calum placed his hands on her waist, and slowly guided her. Claudia rocked her hips back and forth. She closed her eyes, gasping at the feeling of him all the way inside her.

"Just like that pretty girl,” Calum moaned out.

She opened her eyes and found him staring into hers. Without breaking eye contact she rolled her hips a bit slower, bucking his hips up into her. She moaned as he groaned in pleasure.

"Calum,” Claudia whimpered.

He sat up as Claudia wrapped her arms around his shoulders while he held her in his arms. She slowly continued to roll herself against him and Calum let out an incoherent moan in her ear.

Claudia rested her head against his shoulder. “Hey,” Calum said softly. “Eyes on me."

She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes flickered from her lips to her eyes and a huge smile formed on his lips. Calum captured her lips. Claudia halted her movements and solely focused his mouth. She held onto his face with both hands, deepening their kiss.

Without breaking the kiss, Calum pushed Claudia onto her back. Pushing her legs to her chest, he slowly thrusted into her with slightly rough precision. He halted his movements thinking Duke must have gotten out, and looked up.

“Ash?”

“Ashton? I know—”

“Get dressed, Ash and Ryan are here.” He whispered, pulling up his shorts. He tossed her romper and awkwardly stood in front of the chair as she got dressed.

“Are you two seriously fucking?” Ashton yelled from the other side of the pool. “I liked napping in that lounge chair, now you ruined it.”

“Well I liked fucking my boyfriend in this lounge chair, now you ruined that.” Claudia yelled back in the same tone as him.

She leaned into Calum and kissed his cheek. “I’m gonna make some cookies and stuff.”

She waved at Ryan and flipped Ashton off as she passed them to get to the kitchen. She poured some macadamia nuts on a comal and let them toast on a low heat while she prepped the cookie batter. She was making white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies with spinach. She saw the recipe on Fetch with Ruff Ruffman when she was in elementary school and since then it became her go-to recipe for white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies. She also liked making them to spite Ashton because he always said her cookies weren't the healthiest. Now he couldn't say anything since she put a bag of spinach in it.

The macadamia nuts finished toasting in time for them to get folded into the cookie dough along with the chocolate chips and spinach. She placed them in the oven and cleaned up while they baked. Remembering she still had some doggie dough, she also placed them in the oven. She then prepared some agua de jamaica with some jamaica leaves that she let soak overnight.

Claudia heard Duke’s barks by the front door. She went over and saw the delivery person walking back to their truck. She motioned Duke to back up so she could open the door to get the package. It was her monthly Savage×Fenty package. She took the box up to their room, thinking of ways to tease. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the kitchen timer go off.

Duke was excitedly wagging his tail in front of the oven, waiting for her to get out the treats she made. He backed away and watched her get out the baking trays.

“En un ratito okay? They’re still hot.” Claudia told him.

Once they cookies and treats cooled off she placed them on plates. She placed the pitcher of agua de jamaica and the cookie plate on a tray and took it outside for the guys. Calum helped her carry it.

“Did you make your spinach cookies to spite Ashton?” He asked her.

“Yeah, pa’que pare de chingar.” She smiled to herself. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. “Also, I got a package, so make sure no one touches your phone in the next hour or so, unless they want to see my ass.”

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letterboxd · 3 years

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How I Letterboxd #12: Joe Lynch.

Self-described cinedork and Mayhem filmmaker Joe Lynch tells Horrorville’s Brett Petersel about cinematic sausage, getting to direct Creepshow episodes and being a three-star starter on Letterboxd.

“Even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going ‘okay people, let’s screw this up today!’” —Joe Lynch

It is always a pleasure to find film directors lurking on Letterboxd. Joe Lynch is a bona fide, OG member, having racked up more than 1,500 diary entries, giving half-star reviews to his own work, and creating lists of the movies that have influenced the making of his films.

There are the films that were in Lynch’s subconscious when he made Mayhem, a workplace splatter led by Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving. There are the movies he watched while researching the Salma Hayek-starring Everly. And this just in: films that influenced The Right Snuff, one of Lynch’s two episodes for the new Creepshow series—based on the 1982 horror-comedy classic and its sequels—which premieres on Shudder April 15.

Like so many of us, Lynch took time during the pandemic to catch up on films he had neglected to watch in spite of a previous career as a video-store clerk (a Criterion Channel subscription helped him get on top of the backlog). In this edition of ‘How I Letterboxd’, Lynch discusses how those classics have informed his craft, who his Letterboxd faves are, and why the horror genre is the future of the industry.

Steven Yeun and Samara Weaving in Joe Lynch’s ‘Mayhem’ (2017).

How long have you been on Letterboxd? Joe Lynch: I remember when Letterboxd was in its beta phase way back in good ol’ 2012 and I couldn’t wait to sign up, breathlessly waiting for an invite to the party. At the time, I had a digital database where I would log movies I’ve seen, but it was always subject to whatever laptop or device I had handy and would just be a mess of titles with no rhyme or reason.

When a member follows you, what should they expect? I put it right up top in my description: “I am not a critic”, just a lover of cinema. At first I didn’t want to write “reviews” in the description, especially since I first started using the service whilst in the throes of a horrible experience making a film that I thought would bury me and I’d never work again. I was like, and I still feel this way, “who am I to rip on a movie when someone can throw it right back at me? Like ‘dude, you directed Knights of Badassdom, sit down’.”

I’ve always had the highest regard for filmmakers who can get anything made. So even when I watch what I would think is a real stinker, I also consider that there were many people involved in that film who didn’t walk on set going “okay people, let’s screw this up today!” but instead were trying their best and circumstances just got in the way, which always happens. Having made a few films and TV now, I’m fully aware of the trials and tribulations that go into making a movie and have all the respect in the world for anyone who can steer that ship to completion. It’s hard making movies and even harder making one that is your original vision [and] that is widely embraced by an audience.

I have very weird tastes so don’t be shocked if you glance at my recent activity and you see Casablanca, The Silence of the Lambs or Bigger Than Life right next to The Legend of Billie Jean, Con Air or Candyman 3. I’m usually bouncing all over the place in terms of what kinds of movies I’m screening. From films recommended to me, to films that I may be watching for research, or even just how I’m feeling that day and maybe need a good laugh or a good cry or to be scared stiff. I like that kind of variety. There’s something out there for everyone and every emotion. If anything, I’d say expect the unexpected when it comes to my viewing habits.

What’s your favorite feature to use and why? One of the residual effects of working at video stores as a kid was my desire to siphon people’s tastes in movies and possibly recommend films to others as well, so my favorite feature is the ease of use in logging films and being able to quickly recall those films as well in the event someone asks me “what’s something I should watch?”. Getting older, the “employee’s picks” in my head is getting a little harder to cross-reference than usual so to have the ability to whip out my phone and say “oh man, I just watched Possession and it was awesome!” is exponentially helpful to a cinedork like myself.

‘Big Trouble in Little China’ (1986)—a five-star film says Joe Lynch.

How do you rate the films you watch? For example, what type of film is worthy of a five-star review? Funny, I always start out on three-stars mainly because I’m so proud of the filmmakers actually getting it completed! I’ve been there! I’m somewhat biased in my reflections because I’m always rooting for the artists and from there, it’s usually gauged on both an emotional level and a technical level. I always get made fun of while watching movies because I can point out hidden cuts or when a shot is reversed but [I’m] not trying to point out flaws, it's just how my brain is wired at this point. When you pull the curtain back enough to see how the cinematic sausage is made, it's harder and harder to objectively watch a movie without trying to dissect how it was done. I try so hard to shut that part of my brain off to just passively enjoy a movie but it’s tough. I usually skew towards the positive.

The films I’ve given five-stars are movies that have continually affected me over the years and have inspired me as a person and a filmmaker, which is everything from The Empire Strikes Back, Dawn of the Dead and When Harry Met Sally... to Big Trouble in Little China, The Blob, The Last of the Mohicans. I looked back at my five-stars and it’s mostly movies that made a significant impression on me from an early age and continue to do so, maybe even more so as I get older and I view these movies in a different light.

The anthology show Creepshow returns to Shudder this month. Tell us about the two episodes you directed for the series, ‘Pipe Screams’ and ‘The Right Snuff’. Both Creepshow and Creepshow 2 were important films in my youth and even today, they were some of the first movies I remember where I wasn’t quite sure if I was supposed to be scared or laugh. These films proclaimed we could do both! As a disciple of George A. Romero, Stephen King and Tom Savini, Creepshow really shaped how I watched movies and how I made them—consider the anthology I did a few years back, Chillerama, as a prime example. So when Shudder announced the show, I had to do everything on my part to convince them I could take the baton from these masters of the macabre and do them and the many fans proud.

To come to the table and say “I want ‘The Right Snuff’ to feel like 2001: A Space Odyssey crashed into The Andromeda Strain, and ‘Pipe Screams’ is my homage to The Blob and Delicatessen”—and then everyone just immediately getting it—was a dream. Between the casts I was lucky enough to work with and the amazing crew, especially the FX geniuses at KNB, it really was one of those dream jobs I’ll never forget. I hope audiences dig the madness we conjured up on those!

Season 2 of the Shudder series ‘Creepshow’ returns to the horror streamer this month. A third season has been ordered.

If you were to expand the Mayhem universe, what would it look like? We tried! I pitched the producers the idea of the ID-7 virus in other locations and situations because in essence the idea of being uninhibited by mental and emotional constraints is so ripe. My favorite was the idea that it would get loose in a Wal-Mart or a mall on Black Friday when consumers swarm to these department stores for the best deals. You’ve seen the videos, it’s just mass hysteria. The footage already out there would have been perfect to use already and those people aren’t even infected!

Sadly it didn’t come to pass, mainly because they asked “how do we get Steven and Samara back?” and I didn’t want to force those characters into that scenario, Die Hard 2 style. Plus they’re both huge stars now and likely unavailable for the next twelve years. But the ideas people have thrown out to me show that it was impactful enough to warrant variant scenarios in a “what if?” way that’s really exciting. Who knows, maybe the ID-7 virus could find its way onto the set of a movie production…

What excites you about the future of filmmaking, especially in horror films? The world is embracing new faces and voices more than ever and it means we’re getting stories that may not have ever had the chance to flourish and be seen and heard before. For the longest time the system was much more rigid because executives and producers thought that the audience was much less accepting of a wider world view in cinema and I think the last ten years has proven them wrong. There shouldn’t be any more “token” character or “strong [insert non-white-male] character” descriptions in development meetings. I hear it less and less, which is great because that’s not our world and since cinema—especially horror—is and always should be a reflection of our culture and times, it should reflect these evolutions as well.

When I made Wrong Turn 2: Dead End, the discussions over how one of the characters—a Black character played by Texas Battle—survived at the end was not in the original script but I pushed for it mainly because it was rare for the Black character to do so in a horror film. That shouldn’t be an anomaly! Why can’t there be a ‘final guy’ or have the survivors be LGBT+ or a POC and not the usual stereotypes?

I think now it’s more commonplace to see this and it excites me for the future of the genre that artists are being more welcome to express themselves without it feeling like it’s a gimmick or a twist on the norm.

I think generations of kids growing up with horror now are gonna see these strides in the storytelling—and who’s telling the stories—and push it even further. Places like Netflix and Shudder are willing to take chances with new voices more than the studio system, now more than ever, and that’s only going to produce some great stories now and in the future.

Erica Leehrsen and Texas Battle in a scene from ‘Wrong Turn 2: Dead End’ (2007).

How has the pandemic affected your creativity and influenced your work moving forward? Aside from losing a bunch of gigs due to the shutdown and being delayed on shooting Creepshow—which was a blessing in disguise considering the time we took to further develop the scripts and design of each episode—one of the main effects of the pandemic was how it gave many of us the time to catch up on a lot of films, mainly older ones. As you’d see from my diary entries on this very site, my viewing habits changed from a lot of modern films in that rat-race of catching up with the latest release, to mainly watching films I loved in the past and a lot of ’40s to ’70s films that I never got around to.

We have the tendency as film lovers to keep a mental list of films we’ll eventually get around to as if we have all the time in the world, but with the threat of the apocalypse and no real new content coming our way at the usual rapid clip, it was so gratifying to buy an annual subscription to Criterion Channel and start watching films like The Old Dark House, The Crimson Kimono, Contempt and many others.

All of these films impacted how I view film now and have bled into future projects I’m working on—especially on the technical side, when the world wasn’t influenced vicariously through MTV coverage and letting scenes play out in masters or longer takes, relishing in the performance or the mise-en-scéne. So, silver linings!

Before we go, who are some of your favorite follows on Letterboxd? I’m a big fan of Sean Baker, who I’ve known for almost 20 years now! We worked together in NYC and I was already a big Greg the Bunny fan but our mutual appreciation for fringe and exploitation films, especially international horror and genre films, seems to have bonded us for life. I love when he posts what he’s watching. Even if he’s just saying he screened something on Blu or streaming, his thoughts on cinema are always enjoyable and engaging.

In the same breath, filmmaker Jim Cummings has the best perspective on modern filmmaking and he’s clearly a big fan of using Letterboxd, so whenever I see peers like them using the app it makes me feel less like an obsessive movie dork myself, who should be getting back to work.

Some of the other follows I really enjoy are cineastes like Elric Kane and Brian Saur, who are the hosts of the New Beverly podcast Pure Cinema. Writers Anya Stanley, David Chen, Walter Chaw and Lindsay Blair Goeldner, musician and filmmaker Brendon Small, writer and critic Brian Tallerico, author Glenn Kenny, filmmaker Rodman Flender—just to name a few people who clearly love film and love sharing their thoughts on films in a very thoughtful way.

More times than not, I’m getting some great advice for what to watch next in my “new from friends” section! Because, like being at the video store, it’s casual conversations like the ones on Letterboxd that I love and always steering me to new films or revisiting old ones with a new perspective.

Related content

Joe’s film influences for ‘The Right Snuff’ Creepshow episode

The Video Store: Hollie Horror’s list of horror films with memorable scenes in video stores

Office Workplace Horror: J Cara’s list of office horror and workplace thrillers

Follow Brett on Letterboxd

Follow Horrorville—the home for horror on Letterboxd

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thezodiaczone · 4 years

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Sagittarius Compatibility

SAGITTARIUS + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) Chemistry and simpatico build fast between these two Fire signs, and you find a twin soul in each other. You're both independent explorers, driven by lust, joie de vive and a breathtaking moxie that others mistake for arrogance. That brio and derring-do is the badge of your spiritual kinship—a primal mating call that draws you together. You share a blunt sense of humor, and naturally understand the other's need for space and autonomy (at least at first). Thrilling conversations traipse expansive terrain: philosophy, art, human nature, science, spirituality, dreams. Together, the impossible feels probable, and your natural confidence soars higher. Caution: the view from your rosy lenses can be a bit myopic. Sagittarius is a gambler and Aries is a charging knight—neither thinks far ahead. You'll need crash insurance for the times that your grand schemes don't reach your projections. At moments, you both lapse into overthinking, which can kill the celebratory vibe. Aries also has a greater need to for coddling and personal attention. At times, the Ram may resent competing with Sagittarius' busy career, social schedule and hobbies—and Sagittarius gets impatient with Aries' needy spells. When angered, your burning tempers can raze a national forest to ash. Be careful not to unleash a spiteful spark, for that's all it takes to destroy this treasured landscape.

SAGITTARIUS + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) This is a curious match that demands adaptation, as you have vastly different temperaments and tastes. You're either wildly attracted to each other or completely repelled, and there's not much middle ground. Taurus is a traditional Earth sign who knows his tastes and sticks to a simple set of beliefs, social circles and experiences. Sagittarius is a wild, adventurous Fire sign whose anything-goes nature invites friends of diverse cultures and backgrounds. The Archer's global embrace can irritate Taurus, who doesn't feel the need to befriend every person he meets, or remain lifelong pals with his exes (though he can certainly rant about them). Jealousy can be an issue on both sides. However, you can make an excellent team if you respect each other's strengths. Taurus is practical and sophisticated, a grounding force that streamlines the Archer's expansive visions. Between the Bull's business acumen and Sag's charisma, you can build an empire—especially with your driven work ethics. You both have a ribald, lusty side to your personalities and misbehaving together can be a blast. With your hot tempers, you can go from zero to sixty fast, and arguments can be explosive. Your peace treaties should always take place at the dinner table. Sagittarius is ruled by Jupiter, god of the feast; Taurus by Venus, planet of pleasure and love. Gorging your bottomless appetites awakens a primal instinct in you both—you'll be tearing each other's clothes off before the second course.

SAGITTARIUS + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) You're opposite signs that actually have much more in common than this label suggests. Gemini rules the so-called "lower mind": common sense, reasoning, facts, hard data and intellect. Sagittarius governs the "higher mind": wisdom, philosophy, consciousness, ethics, metaphysics. Together, you find sweet neurological nirvana. You're both restless adventurers who hunger for knowledge and experience. With Gemini's curiosity and Sag's nomadic nature, you get antsy in commitments unless there's a lot of excitement and variety. Boredom is simply not an option for your signs, and you're both involved in a billion projects. Scheduling issues are your biggest hurdle, but for true love, you allow nothing to interfere. Take globe-trotting Sagittarius Brad Pitt and Gemini Angelina Jolie, who traipse the continents with their ever-growing brood. As best friends and playmates, they make their own rules about love and family—and you will, too. Conventional coupling holds zero interest for your signs. Your main difference is in disposition. Air sign Gemini is cooler and distant compared to Sagittarius, harder to read emotionally. The fiery Archer has a hot temper and wears his heart on his sleeve. Still, you make each other laugh; you're both clever, entrepreneurial and quirky. You do best with a common goal that's a thousand times bigger than yourselves, and you'll dream up many. However, you may need Brangelina-sized paychecks to fund your lofty visions. Who has time to consider the bottom line when you're focused on reaching the top? Take time to consider the practicalities before leaping off the cliff. Knowing you, you'll jump anyway.

SAGITTARIUS + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) ♥♥♥♥ You're cut from entirely different cloths and patterns. Sagittarius is neon polka-dot on stretch Lycra; Cancer is Burberry plaid on Swiss wool. You'll never be a match that makes sense to observers—which is why Cancer Tom Cruise and Sagittarius Katie Holmes are such a tabloid target. Is it true love, a train wreck, or a little bit of both? Let's examine. Domestic Cancer rules home, heart and family, and holds his loved ones in his vest pocket. Sagittarius is the restless world traveler who craves freedom and adventure. Sag can either feel smothered or totally nurtured by Cancer. The Crab loves to provide every security for his sweetie, and it's a relief to the Archer to come home to a hot meal, a drawn bath, an adoringly attentive partner. The trouble starts when Sagittarius stops coming home. Sagittarius needs sunlight, air and wide open spaces. Cancer keeps the shades drawn and burrows into his metaphorical Crab shell. When Sagittarius neglects Cancer's need for togetherness, starts hanging out with a rowdy crew of rebels, or traipses the globe alone, Cancer's insecurities are rankled. You have fierce tempers, and the combustion of Cancer's moodiness and Sag's anger can be downright destructive. What the Crab must realize is that a pretty bird in a cage will soon fly the coop—at least, if the bird is a Sag. He must open the windows and trust Sagittarius to come back to the nest, a real act of faith. Your strong sexual chemistry sweetens the pot, but you'll need to adapt to each other's rhythms through hard work and keen listening.

SAGITTARIUS + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) This is a lively match of two compatible Fire signs, filled with fun and adventure. As lifelong learners, you both juggle many projects and interests, often running on fumes. While neither of you is around to keep the home fires burning, conversation and creativity are far more important to you than starched linens and home-cooked meals. You'd rather enjoy takeout from your favorite ethnic restaurant when the fridge gets empty, or sleep under the stars when you run out of clean sheets. Living on the edge is fun, as long as you don't fall off the cliff, especially with finances. During stressful times, you can exhaust each other, as you both can be emotionally demanding and dramatic. Leo needs more personal attention and praise than Sagittarius, but the truthful Archer doesn't give false compliments. He should learn to sing Leo's praises, if only to prevent time-consuming emotional meltdowns. Consider the benefits: a little acknowledgment keeps Leo purring for days, and gives Sagittarius uninterrupted time to read, start businesses, edit his documentary film. When life gets routine, mix it up with a spur-of-the-moment road trip, a long hike or a night at a decadent boutique hotel.

SAGITTARIUS + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ Virgo is an introverted Earth sign, Sag an extroverted Fire sign, but you can bring out lesser-seen traits in each other. On the outside, you look like an odd couple. Prim, preppy Virgo is a crisply tailored schoolmarm; Sag is a rumpled hippie in wrinkled jeans and weathered shoulder bags, more like a grad student during finals. Still, you're both brainy types who bond through long, intense conversations. Intellectual Virgo has a keen, organized mind; thoughtful Sagittarius is the zodiac's philosopher. Together, you'll ponder the meaning of life and psychoanalyze your mutual friends—behind their backs and to their faces. You can both be preachy and judgmental, and you're fascinated by the foibles of human nature.

Beyond the talk, you have different lifestyles, and those require adaptation. Virgo's monkish side can make Sag feel lonely, and the Archer's blunt remarks can hurt the Virgin's feelings. Virgo is great listener, but hesitant to bare his own soul. This frustrates Sagittarius, who craves more intimate sharing. Your habits are different, too. Virgo concerns himself with every niggling detail, irritating the impatient Archer, who thinks in broad strokes. Sagittarius must learn to sweat the small stuff a little more. Thank-you notes, birthday cards, flowers, presents—these gestures don't mean much to Sag, but they mean the world to Virgo. In turn, Sag can teach Virgo how to have fun and take risks instead of playing it safe.

SAGITTARIUS + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) You're fast friends who make each other laugh, sharing a sharp, sarcastic wit. People watching is your favorite pastime, and you can amuse each other with clever observations all day. Romantic Libra brings poetry and flowers to Sag's gritty, profanity-strewn world, and active Sagittarius gets Libra's nose out of the rosebush. Still, your different paces could cause friction. Languid Libra likes to take everything slow, weighing and measuring possibilities on those iconic Scales before acting. Naturally, this frustrates impetuous Sag's text-message attention span. The Archer prefers to leap before looking, relying on luck and goodwill to save the day. Such gambling and lack of security throws Libra's delicate constitution into a tizzy. Sagittarius finds Libra's champagne tastes too snobbish and materialistic—why pay over $20 for anything you can get at a thrift shop or make yourself? Sagittarius' half-baked ideas and churlish outbursts rain public embarrassment on Libra's carefully cultivated rep. When Libra plays damsel or dude in distress, independent Sag flees instead of saving the day. So why stay together? At the end of the day, your friendship remains solid. There's no conflict you can't talk through after a time-out. Although you may drift in and out of platonic feelings, you genuinely care for each other—and that speaks volumes.

SAGITTARIUS + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) Level with us: Would you really be interested in each other without the element of danger? There's always something that feels a little dirty here—and it's not because you share an aversion to showering (although the musky pheromones might play in…). Your combined willpower—enough to combust a small village—can yoke you together despite your own best interests. The issue is anatomical: Scorpio rules the crotch and Sagittarius rules the hips and thighs. From the waist down, a magnetic field pulls you into insatiable sexual attraction. Above the midsection, it's a love-hate drama as you battle for mental and emotional domination, one-upping and offending each other at every turn. You both love to have the last word, and deep down, you're pretty sure you're smarter than the rest of the population. As friends, this makes you smugly superior comrades, but in love, you tend to unleash your intellectual weapons on each other. Sag's sarcasm and Scorpio's acid-washed retorts will leave you both wounded and estranged. Yet, a good shag seems to erase your short-term memory between attacks. For best results, remain naked at all times, and only discuss problems in the afterglow. Grant each other your own turf and never cross the line of demarcation.

SAGITTARIUS + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) At last, you've found someone who's just like you! How refreshing. How…boring. You're the zodiac's Columbus, setting sail for India and landing on Turtle Island, a merry miscalculation you take in stride. Getting lost is part of the journey for your adventurous sign. Sagittarius is the restless Centaur, stampeding across the globe on a quest for wisdom, new frontiers and lands to conquer. It's predictability you fear, the white fence picket driven like a stake through your heart. For that reason, the similarities that attract you could be your relationship's death knell unless you take regular breaks from each other (separate vacations, interests, perhaps even apartments). Otherwise, the world feels hopelessly flat when you wake up to a First Mate you can read like a flimsy travel brochure. What's left to discover? Indeed, two Archers can have a riot while it lasts. You'll never laugh so hard or learn so much, and you'll remain spiritual siblings forever. Dedication to each other's lifelong growth is a big part of this union. You'll inspire and relentlessly coach each other to take that next life step or leap of faith. Yet, like the Nina and the Pinta, you invariably set sail on your own voyages once this mission is achieved. Will you meet in another port? That depends on where the winds take you.

SAGITTARIUS + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) ♥♥♥♥ The fate of this match rests in your ability to merge your strengths. Sagittarius is the visionary and the starry-eyed optimist; Capricorn is the master architect and builder, the ultimate realist. You each excel where the other is weak, and you make excellent business partners. However, your values and lifestyles can be vastly different, complicating romance. It's like the class clown dating the class president—an odd couple indeed. To Sagittarius, it's fascinating that anyone could possess such restraint. Stoic Capricorn cracks hard-won smiles at Sagittarius' antics and amusing insights. Yet, Sag optimism soon clashes with Cap pessimism, and here's where you reach your impasse. Restless Sagittarius needs a playmate to dream and scheme, but cautious Cappy shoots holes in the Archer's impetuous ideas, pointing out the foundational flaws. Yet, it's that grim, unvarnished realism that saves the day in a crisis. While Sagittarius freaks out and lapses into denial, Earthy Capricorn holds a powerful, Zenlike acceptance of "what is." Love truly blooms when you make it through a dire breakdown and realize your incredible teamwork turned the ship around. For the long haul, independent Sag must allow Capricorn to be the rock, and the Goat must learn to take a few more bold personal risks.

SAGITTARIUS + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) Sagittarius and Aquarius are two of the most free-spirited signs, whose joie de vivre and starry-eyed idealism make you perfect playmates. The "best friends with benefits" label was practically invented for you. Finally, someone who cherishes independence as much as you do! Like Sagittarius Brad Pitt and Aquarius Jennifer Aniston (who shared a hair colorist), you may even look like siblings. It's all so beautiful—until one of you messes up the party by demanding a commitment. Strangely enough, you remain loyal while the terms of the relationship are vague, sneaking out of work for mid-afternoon trysts and leaving with carpet burn. You both love the feeling of "getting away with something," the adventure of the unexpected. Yet, once it becomes an obligation rather than a choice, your libido nosedives. You've now killed off the very thing that attracted you to each other: no-strings attached excitement. Instead of trysting the night away, you're hosting Scrabble tournaments and turning in early. Boring. Because you're so alike, you'll need to work hard to keep each other interested for the long haul. Mix it up by developing separate friends, hobbies and interests—then come back and share your adventurous tales with each other.

SAGITTARIUS + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) ♥♥♥♥ What happens when the most sensitive, tender-hearted sign (Pisces) links up with the most insensitive, tactless sign (Sagittarius)? Disaster, unless you handle each other with extreme care. Romantic Pisces is a Water sign who craves deep emotional bonding, while independent Sag is a Fire sign who feels smothered by too much of the touchy-feelies. You'll need to balance your most distinctive traits and parcel them out in measured doses. Your communication styles don't work together naturally either. Sagittarius is honest to a fault, dishing the unvarnished truth and heavy-handed advice (usually unsolicited), then whistling while Pisces weeps. Indirect Pisces would rather flee to Katmandu than face conflict, but standing up to Sagittarius requires it. Pisces is prone to passive-aggressive tactics; yet, subtle cues and hints will sail right over Sag's head, while the Archer's arrow of truth spears the Fish's heart. What do you have in common? You're both skittish about commitment—namely, the terrifying idea of being "trapped." Since Pisces rules fantasy and Sagittarius rules adventure, you can neatly escape the daily drudge together—at least until reality comes crashing down. Still, life is always tinged with magic when you're together, and the bedroom remains an enchanting space of divine communion for you.

#sagittarius #compatibility #astrology #zodiac #love #relationships #sagittarius compatibility

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talpup · 4 years

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Crossroads:2

Summary: Loss will make a person do terrible things they never thought themselves capable of doing. Things like wanting the mobsters responsible for your little brothers death to pay so badly you’ll summon a Demon to make it happen.

Maya did just that, but little did she know that the Demon would ask for her soul as the price. Or that when she refused give it to him, he would put her in the path of someone possibly much worse.

Kai is offering to help her but what he wants is so much more than her soul. He wants her everything.

Please remember, this fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

***If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23565748/chapters/56963527

If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. Since I post for free, think of it as nice way of leaving a tip. And since comments are the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting, it’s also a benefit for you.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a VERY special thank you to those who have recently left comments or re-blogged. They REALLY mean a lot.

As always, an extra special thank you to @inorganicone2230 for their encouragement and friendship, and reading through the draft of this chapter. This fic started as an idea back in January when they said they’d like to see me write a Kai centered fic. Through their questions and inspiration Crossroads became a fleshed out story. They even came up with the title and female insert/oc’s name. I might be the one writing this fic; but it’s as much theirs as it is mine.

2.1

For the sixth morning in a row Maya woke up in a bed that wasn’t her own. The horrid nightmare faded, leaving her feeling just as exhausted as when she had gone to bed. She turned, bleary eyes focusing on the man whose room she slept in.

Chisaki Kai.

Her breath caught seeing his gold eyes locked on her.

“You were restless again.”

His words were spoken with such familiarity that it both agitated and put her at ease.

“I saw him die again.” Maya confessed, turning away.

Kai put aside the papers he hadn’t looked at in more than an hour, the sight of her much more enthralling than the work he had to do. “It will lessen and fade.”

He sounded as if he were speaking from experience. Then again, Maya supposed that as a mob boss Kai would have witnessed terrible things that haunted and were never truly forgotten.

A Mob Boss. The idea was still hard to grasp. The Demon Dabi had certainly spoken true when he had said he would give her another way to see her justice done.

Kai wasn’t the average Mob Boss, though he certainly didn’t seem any less ruthless. At least not when he had agreed to help her see the men that killed her brother dead after hearing her story. She had thought the offer too good to be true, and when Kai had brought her back to the Shie Hassaikai’s compound she had been sure the payment for his help would be unsavory.

Not that she wasn’t unaccustomed to unsavory deals. The ones she had occasionally been forced to make with the landlord to keep a roof over her brothers head when funds were short, made her feel dirty just thinking about it. But Kai hadn’t asked for such favors. At least not yet.

She sat up in the plush bed, hugging the soft sheet that probably cost as much as one months rent.

“I don’t know if I want them to fade. Yet I want to wipe them away with something else.” She said of the reel of memories that detailed her brothers death. “Does that make sense?”

Kai looked her over, fingers twitching, wanting to rip the covering sheet away and expose her to view. “It does.”

She turned back to him. He sat on the lounge that he had taken as his bed these past six nights, though by the look of him she doubted slept much.

The piece of furniture was likely a thousand times more comfortable than her bed back home, but she still felt bad for taking his bed. Then again it was Kai who had said that she needed to sleep in his quarters. His reason being so she wouldn’t be disturbed by his men knocking and sniffing around. She might’ve thought the offer somewhat chivalrous if it had been an offer rather than an already decided statement.

Her eyes skimmed over him, taking in his handsome face. His fine tailored shirt and pants were rumbled. His jacket, tie, and vest, like his dust mask, long since removed once they had entered his private rooms. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone and she couldn’t help but linger on the peek of chest and collarbone.

She had occasionally seen the definition of his chest and abs when the fabric of his shirt pulled just so. Even the sleeve garters, perfectly fitted as they were, strained slightly when his biceps flexed.

Kai sat back and let her get a good look. It had become something of a morning routine with her. One he didn’t want to get too comfortable in. He would much rather have a routine where he woke up beside her and fucked her into the bed. But it had only been seven days. He had to be patient.

He smirked seeing her gaze lower to where his semi-hard cock made a soft tent in his pants.

Just the sight of her in his bed. Hair mussed. Night gowns spaghetti strap hanging off a shoulder. The outline of her body clearly visible under the single, thin sheet. It stirred something inside him that no other ever had.

His fascination with her had been immediate and surprised even him. But rather than question it, Kai accepted it. He had wanted her mind, body, and soul from the start. And the more he learned about her the more that desire grew.

Her openness was a breath of fresh air. And the fact that she had kept her innocence in spite what had happened was heartening. But just because she remained sweet and innocent didn’t mean that she would suffer vile deeds without seeking just retribution. She was strong in both will and spirit. And her brand of justice suited his perfectly.

She was a woman that he could share his vision with. She wouldn’t balk or be frightened by what he and the Shie Hassaikai were doing. She would understand. She would celebrate his victories with him, and comfort him on trying days, like the one where her brother had died. It was early times yet, but he could see her eventually giving him children. A vested interest in seeing his plan come to fruition. They would strive all the harder to see the filthy and immoral wiped from the earth so that his children could live and grow in an upright and wholesome society, unsullied by the sordid and depraved.

Kai got to his feet and stepped to her. He brushed back her hair, sighing at the smooth, soft silkiness. He was so use to a detached dullness to everything he felt. A barrier between him and the filth of the world. He rarely went without his gloves, unless he was in his private rooms. And even then, the things he touched in his personal space where cold, and hard, and uninviting.

But not her. She was soft, and warm, and oh so inviting. The feel of her was a gaslight that burned in the best of ways. The mere sight of her electricity, lighting up the dark recesses of his soul and showing him needs and desires he never knew he had.

He didn’t want anything between him and her. Didn’t want anything to limit or distance his feel of her. Anything to cover the sight of her. Anything to shield her innermost thoughts and wants from view. He would give this woman everything. And he would take everything she had to give and more.

Maya glanced up at Kai. She knew that look well enough. She had seen it on the landlord and numerous others. But Kai’s gaze held far more than lustful hunger. There was something else. Something oppressive and almost menacing in his golden hues. It sent a shiver down her spine, but she told herself it was just the chill from having woken from another nightmare.

Of course Kai’s eyes would hold a darkness that others didn’t. He was a the leader of the Shie Hassaikai. A yakuza that even the most violent of bootleggers feared.

Kai fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up. “What do you say we wipe those memories away with something far more pleasing?”

Maya brightened and for a moment Kai’s soft smile grew.

“You found one of them?” She saw his smile falter and hurried on. “I mean it’s not as if I had any doubts. I knew you would. I just I didn’t expect it to be this soon.”

She got out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her.

Out of all the things Kai had provided for her, a robe hadn’t been one. Previously she had fought against him picking out clothes for her to wear each morning; even though she had eventually relented, knowing that she couldn’t exactly dictate how things went here if she wished to see her brother’s killers dead. But today she’d happily wear whatever Kai wanted her to.

She shot him a smile as she made her way toward the large en suite bathroom. “I can’t wait to see what you pick for me to wear today.”

The door was closed before Kai could get a word in edgewise. Not that he would've corrected her faulty presumption. He didn’t want her thinking less of him when she had been so happy and amazed.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know who had started the shoot out that day. All For One was a brand of hard booze that Shigaraki Tomura and his gang bootlegged. They were a relatively small but insidious group whose booze was sold in practically every speakeasy across several counties.

If the plan to poison their latest batch hadn’t been bundled, the world would've potentially been cleansed of thousands, if not tens of thousands of filthy carousers that sought nothing more than their own immoral pleasure.

While the Shigaraki men there that day had been mid-ranked, making a move on any member of the gang would be tantamount to war. Then again, he and his men were already at war with Shigaraki and any others that fed the public's unwholesome thirst.

Kai made his way through his quarters and opened the door to the rest of the house. A young man that acted as both guard and page straightened and turned.

“Morning, Sir.”

“See that breakfast is prepared, and tell Hari to be in my office in an hour.”

The man nodded, curtly. “Yes, Sir.”

Kai closed the door. He would send Hari out to grab the first Shigaraki man he came across. He didn’t even have to be one of those who had been part of the shootout. They were all guilty anyway.

He supposed it was time to start looking in truth for those that had been part of the shootout that day. Maya deserved the justice she wanted after all. And she undoubtedly be all the more grateful to him for giving it to her.

2.2

The day had passed slowly, with a growing tension. By the time they retired back to Kai’s chambers it was easy to tell Maya was sour.

He pulled off his mask and unbuttoned his suit jacket, letting it slide off. “You’ve been upset since breakfast. Care to tell me what the matter is?” He stepped to her, fingers brushing back her hair and tilting her chin up. “I can’t fix it unless I know what it is, Beautiful.”

Maya tired to turn her face away, but found her chin caught in Kai’s grip.

“Don’t turn away for me.” His hold lightened, thumb brushing across her lips. “I’ve given so much to you. A promise of justice. Safe place to live. Warm, comfortable bed to rest. Clothes worthy to be worn and touch the likes of you. And what have I asked in return? Nothing. The least you can do is show me the respect I am due by looking at and answering me.”

She would've argued that this was more of a place to stay, not live; and like the bed and clothes, something she hadn’t asked for. But he had been right about her rudeness. Kai did deserve her thanks and respect for what he was doing for her brother’s cause.

She blinked up at him and apologized. “I’m sorry, Kai. You’re right.”

Kai smiled, hand caressing her face. She was just so soft and warm, he couldn’t help himself. He just had to touch her.

“So tell me, Beautiful. What’s been bothering you all day?”

She swallowed. Would it seem ungrateful to say she was disappointed? Probably. But she also didn’t want to lie. Lying wasn’t who she was, and a part of her was frightened to try it with him, even if the truth had a chance of making him upset.

“It’s just that this morning I had thought that one of my brother’s killers had been put down. Only to learn that wasn’t so, but your men were closing on one. I had hoped that we would get news he had been taken out. But as the day progressed…” She looked down and away. “Now it’s late and I’m going to bed knowing that all of my brother’s killers are still live. It’s not right that he’s dead and they get to live another day. He was so good. Such a happy, helpful young boy.” Her gazed lifted to him. “I know it sounds ungrateful and I’m sorry. I’m not ungrateful. Truly. But I can’t help how I feel and don’t want to lie.”

He kissed her forehead. He couldn’t help himself.

As wonderful as the affection felt, he didn’t like the way she tensed at the contact.

“That’s good. You should never lie to me, Darling. No matter what you have to say. You should always tell me the truth. Even if it’s bad. It would be better to tell me than to lie. Lying to me is unacceptable and would be painful for us both. You understand?”

Maya’s heart beat rapidly in her chest.

“Answer me, Sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

Kai smiled at her whispered response. “So soft and meek for me. I didn’t mean to frighten you, Maya. I simply want you to understand that I won’t tolerate anything between us.”

“I… understand.”

Every fiber in her being was telling her to run. But Kai’s towering frame was blocking the door. Though in truth she probably wouldn’t have run anyway. Her will to see those who killed her brother punished far outweighed any sense of self preservation. She had given up her body and innocence before to shelter and provide for him. He was the only family she had. The only reason she had to kept on going. Without him her life was without purpose. All she had left was her revenge. And Kai had promised to give it to her.

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He hand traveled from her face down her neck to her shoulder. “Now. As for your disappointment. There’s no reason to be distraught. Hari has found one of them and they will be dead by morning. I promise.”

“I want to see.”

Kai’s expression darkened. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not a matter of trust. Of course I trust you. It’s just… These men killed my brother. I can’t get that horrid memory out of my head.” Her eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowing. “It’s always there. Him laying in that dirty street. Pained and scared and bleeding out, and then lifeless.” Her eyes opened, gazing fixing on him. “You said it would fade; but I don’t want it to. I want to wipe it out with the image of them. Dead and bleeding. I want to see it. To see them. They need to suffer and die for what they did. And I want to watch it happen.”

Kai paused.

Her words both thrilled and concerned him. He was glad to see such a fire for justice in her. It further proved how perfect she was for him. That she would understand and support his cause. Yet at the same time, for his sweet, innocence darling to be so blood thirsty that she wanted to watch these men die…

“Are you sure?”

She pulled back from him. “Of course I’m sure!”

“Calm down. Don’t raise you voice at me.”

There was a heat within Kai’s low even voice that made Maya shuddered. “Sorry.”

Rather than step to her, Kai beckoned her back with a single crooked finger. He waited impatiently as she slowly stepped back to him, gold eyes looking her over.

His hands were on her again as soon as she pulled up close. “I asked because seeing a person intentionally murdered is different than seeing someone killed.”

“My--”

Kai pressed two fingers to her lips. “I wasn’t done, Precious. Don’t interrupt me.”

He both felt and saw her lips pull in and press together, and had to lower his hand least he pressed his fingers into her mouth as well.

Later, he told himself. Soon enough his fingers and cock would fill her mouth. Good luck interrupting me then, he thought, dick twitching in interest. And if she still dared try to do so, he would fuck her till she was such a mess that she was incapable of words.

“These men are disgusting, vile creatures, Maya. They don’t deserve a swift and painless death. Are you sure you can handle that?”

She watched him a moment, considering. Finally she shook her head.

Kai could see in her eyes that despite her answer, she wasn’t happy.

“But you still want to see something.” He prodded.

Maya nodded.

“Words.” Kai commanded.

“Yes.”

He stepped around her imagining that yes was in response to a very different sort of prodding. His hand traced around her shoulder, fingers curling under the embroidered strap of her dress. So beautiful, he thought. So soft, and warm, and welcoming.

“Do you trust me, Darling?” His chest pressed against her back, breath tickling her ear. “Do you trust me to know what’s good for you?”

She couldn’t wholly say yes to that, but knew no wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. Yet she knew he would know if she were lying. She considered the situation of her brothers vengeance. How Kai was helping her, and had sought to protect her from something she might not have been ready for.

If she focused on that aspect alone she could give the answer he wanted without falsehood.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, Dearest?” His moved and spoke into her other ear “Let me hear you say it.”

“I trust you, Kai.”

Kai ran a hand over her silken hair. “Such a good girl for me.”

Maya swallowed. Maybe she should've sold her soul to Dabi. But where Dabi had asked for eternity, whatever Kai wanted would only last until justice had been fully met.

Kai felt her unease and decided not to push. He had one last meeting with Hari before he could fully unwind and rest within his quarters. And now, he had a new order to give his Lieutenant as well. One that he hoped would make his Darling very happy.

Kai pressed a kiss to her head and pulled his gloves back on. “Wash up and get ready for bed. I’ll be back shortly.”

2.3

Hari entered his boss’ office prepared to give the days report. But as soon as he closed the door, Kai spoke.

“This lackey of Shigaraki’s you found. Is he on ice yet?”

“No, Sir. But he will be by morning. I guarantee it.”

Kai laced his fingers, focusing on his Lieutenant. “Good. And the search for the men that killed Maya’s brother?”

“As you know, we just started looking in earnest this morning. But there’s a number of leads. We will find and take them out soon enough.”

“Good.” Kai sat back, gesturing for Hari to sit.

Hari did so but remained quiet, patiently waiting. He knew his boss well enough to know there something was on else his mind. It was safe to say that whatever it was, it was about the woman upstairs in Kai’s rooms.

Maya. Her looks alone were enough for Hari to understand the attraction. But Kai’s interest in her went far deeper than that. While Hari didn’t understand it, he didn’t question it. It was enough that Kai wanted her and had told him to respect her as he would him.

Kai rubbed at his brow. “She wants to see him.”

His Boss sounded tired. Hari had noted the minute changes in him over the last few day, telling of Kai’s lack of rest. But it wasn’t his place to give his leader orders, even if those orders were simply to get some sleep and for Kai’s own good.

“What to see who, Sir?”

“The filth.”

“The one we’re taking out tomorrow?”

Kai nodded.

“Is that wise?” Hari questioned, carefully.

“I talked her out of seeing him killed.”

Hari managed to silence his scoff. He found the idea of her wanting to see the man killed naive. It had been years since he had witnessed his first hit; but he could still remember it clearly. He could still smell the blood, and hear the cries that became muffled and slowly turned to nothing. He had committed countless hits far more gruesome than the first one he had seen, but it still stood out among all the rest.

“Bring his head.” Kai ordered.

“Boss?”

“You heard me.”

Hari nodded not sure how seeing a mans severed head was much better.

“She’s to be my woman, Hari. There is nothing I will deny her. So long as it suits me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

2.4

Maya was already in bed by the time Kai returned. She sat up, watching him take off his mask and gloves.

“You work hard.”

Kai turned, the tension in his shoulders melting at the mere sight of her. Truly, how had he managed without her in his life? It had only been seven days but he couldn’t imagine going back to a life without her.

If only he could get a proper nights sleep, everything would be perfect. Well, almost perfect. Things wouldn’t be perfect until Maya understood the way of things and accepted it. But he was taking that slowly, not wanting to frighten and force her.

He undid the final button of his vest, and loosened his tie. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

Kai stepped over to the bed, eyes narrowed with concern. “Trouble getting to sleep?”

“Yeah.”

It was partially true. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she had grown accustomed to the sound of him shuffling through papers while he worked in the lounge sofa near the bed. That she apparently needed the sound and presence of him to fall asleep.

She told herself that it was because she was in a new house filled with scary men and foreign noises. She was use to the sounds her home made. Use to the sound of her little brother snoring lightly in the pallet across the room, a single hanging sheet their sole means of privacy. Though filled with nightmares, her first night in this room, with Kai watching over her had been the first night she had actually slept since her brothers death. Kai had become her comfort. Her refuge. She needed him. At least she needed him if she wished to sleep.

Kai smiled softly, chest swelling that his absence had caused her unrest. He took the open book laid out beside her, and closed it.

“Well I’m here now, Darling. You can rest easy.” He brushed her hair back, caressing her cheek. “I’m having Hari bring a surprise for you tomorrow. So I suggest you lay down and get some rest.”

Her hand clutched his forearm.

Kai’s fingers paused along her cheek, waiting to see if she would further or try to push away his affection. She did neither, hand simply holding him. Though he wanted more, he decided that it was enough for now.

“Do you often work through the night?”

Kai’s fingers resumed their caressing. “When I need to. The ills of booze and chaos it creates won’t be wiped away without hard work and effort.”

“Still. I can’t help but think that my being here has disturbed your time of peace and restoration.”

“You’re presence has brought me more peace and rest than I ever knew possible.” Kai asserted, so enthralled by the soft, warm feel of her that he missed her glance to the white velvet sofa.

She gently pulled his hand away. “Yet these sleepless nights are taking a toll. I can see it.”

“I’m fine.” Kai frowned, fingers itching to touch her.

Maya sighed and nudged him back. He was just like her brother. Clearly overtired yet claiming he could stay up to play, or in this case work. She wasn’t having it.

Kai didn’t budge. Then he saw her legs swing over the bed and stepped back. Not so much to give her space, but to get a better view. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the tender, luminescent skin of her thighs that the bunched up nightgown afforded.

“Seriously, Kai. How much longer can you go on like this?” She stood up and gestured to the lounge. “Is it because the sofa’s uncomfortable? I told you I could sleep in it.”

Kai closed the small distance between them, chest practically touching hers. “No, you can’t. What kind of man would I be if I let my lady take the couch?”

Her skin prickled at him calling her his. But she ignored the sense of warning and told herself it was because of the cool air hitting her skin from having gotten out of a warm bed. She told herself that she was doing this so there would be justice for her brother. That she had done and suffered worse for him than letting someone like Kai call her theirs.

Kai’s eyes lowered. Standing this close, the cut of her nightgowns neck allowed him to see a tantalize amount of skin. The pure white fabric thin enough that he was left wondering if he could actually see the color of her pebbled nipples, or if it was imagined.

Maya sighed. She knew she was going to regret this, but it wasn’t right. Taking Kai’s bed. Watching him slowly succumb to exhaustion. She couldn’t do it. Not while he was already doing so much for her and her cause. Her pride wouldn’t have it. More than that, her instincts as a caretaker wouldn’t allow it.

“Come on. Sleep in your own bed.”

Kai’s gold eyes darkened. “I don’t like repeating myself, Sweetheart.”

“I mean join me.” She saw his stern gaze turn ravenous, and clarified. “To sleep.” She crossed her arms suddenly feeling terribly exposed. “You can’t run a gang, let alone help me get justice if you keep on staying up working through the night.”

Kai smiled, pleased. It might not have been exactly what he wanted; but it was a sizable step toward it. And she had been the one to suggest it.

She truly was perfect. So thoughtful and caring. She had noticed how little sleep he had been getting and the toll it was having. And like a good mate, had sought to give him what he needed.

Hands on her hips Kai stepped her backwards, a self satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

The back of Maya’s legs hit the bed. She jumped, hands clutching at the sleeves of his shirt. What had she done? She hadn’t meant…

“Get into bed, Beautiful.”

At his hands gentle urging, she sat down with a plop.

Kai’s smile grew. His darling was so sweet and obedient. He wondered if he could take her right now. But he wouldn’t push. Maybe tomorrow night, after he had presented her with her gift.

Yes, he thought. She would be so pleased and grateful that she wouldn’t deny him anything then. With his gift he will have proven that he was just as perfect for her as she was for him. That he was a man of his word, and would provide and protect her from the filth of this world.

He gave the apple of her cheek a chaste kiss. With one last smile, he turned away, pulling off vest and tie.

“I’ll shower and get cleaned up, then join you in bed. We can sleep and dream of tomorrow.”

#bnha #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #overhaul #yandere!overhaul #yandere #1920s #my hero academia #crossroads

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opmsecretsanta · 4 years

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OPM Prompts 2019

Edit: Prompts are now CLOSED! We have 36 prompts listed below, but you can also view and claim them HERE on AO3

Last day to submit your fills is Jan 31st

If you post on tumblr, please use #OPMSS2019 so your post can be found, and the corresponding prompt tag below (example: #OPMSS Prompt 001) if you want your work searchable.

(List below the cut)

Prompt 001

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 001 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Mini-Bots Tags: Christmas, Fluff Prompt: It’s the minibots’ first Christmas! Saitama and Genos try to make it a fun time for them.

Prompt 002

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 002 Rating: Any Pairing: None or Any combo Characters: Genos, Metal Bat, Garou Tags: Christmas Prompt: Three terrible teens and their shenanigans! Honestly, I’ll love any setting, but something related to winter/the holidays could be fun. Out of these three, it might be Metal Bat who’s the closest to having any sort of proper and/or happy memories of this time of year - maybe he’s trying to help the other two to have a good time as well? Or perhaps they do a gift exchange, a stupid dare, dress up and visit kids in the hospital... the stage is yours! (Feel free to see them as just friends or dating in any combination you like - I like it all!)

Prompt 003

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 003 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Dr. Kuseno Tags: Family Prompt: Dr. Kuseno invites Genos and Saitama to celebrate the holidays with him and - drumroll - his family, which Saitama had no idea even existed. Who do they meet and how does it go? Do they like Saitama or are they suspicious of him? Can Genos behave himself for a whole weekend? Are there gifts exchanged and how does that go? I’d love to hear what you come up with!

Prompt 004

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 004 Rating: Any/Explicit Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Topping from the Bottom, Rough Sex, Praise Kink Prompt: Tabloids tried to pick her apart all the time for being with the hottest of the S-class heroes. They called her bland and bald, they claimed she was too built, they accused her of using blackmail to trick Genos into dating her. Oh fucking well. They could write anything they wanted, and it still wouldn't hit home. Nothing they said could change the fact that her blindingly gorgeous boyfriend railed her to the moon and back almost every night. Sometimes, in fact, he did it just to spite them.

Prompt 005

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 005 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Parenthood, Mistletoe Prompt: Saitama and Genos in ugly matching sweaters smooching under the mistletoe...and then smooching the baby nestled into Genos' arms right after.Baby also has an equally ugly, matching sweater.

Prompt 006

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 006 Rating: Any Pairing: Sonic/Zombieman Characters: Sonic, Zombieman Tags: Bondage, Dirty Talk Prompt: "You're a lot more feisty than Flash, huh?" "You call me 'feisty' again and I'll chop your dick off." "Good luck with that. It'll just grow back."

Prompt 007

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 007 Rating: Gen Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fluff Prompt: It's cold! Better stay as close as humanly possible to your cyborg roommate. Right, Saitama? This is a request for wintertime saigenos cuddles :D

Prompt 008

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 008 Rating: Teen Pairing: None or Saitama/Genos Characters: Saitama, Genos Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort Prompt: More Villlain!AU stuff! It can be something based off of someone's existing AU, or you can do your own thing! It can be shippy or gen, anything goes as long as it's the bois as villains :O

Prompt 009

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 009 Rating: Gen Pairing: None Characters: Sonic, Saitama, Genos Tags: Humor, Fluff Prompt:"SAITAMA! Mark this day, for it is the day I finally-" "Hey. I already have. Merry Christmas, Panic!" "...What?" "You didn't know today is Christmas?" "I..." "That's so sad!" "It doesn't matter! Today is the day I beat you, Saitama!" "Oh, cool. Come on in! We didn't expect another guest but there's enough food, I guess."(Sonic accidentally ends up celebrating Christmas with Saitama and Genos)

Prompt 010

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 010 Rating: Mature Pairing: None or Optional Characters: Genos Tags: Blood and gore, Inspired by Frankenstein Prompt: In a goth / fantasy / horror setting: Genos is not mechanical. He is a collection of various body parts, gathered from different creatures, obtaining their strength. All that's left of him is his pretty face. Art or writing appreciated. It can be gore if you like, or not. Shipping is optional.

Prompt 011

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 011 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fluff Prompt: Any fluff with Saitama/Genos. The violence is optional but acceptable.

Prompt 012

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 012 Rating: Any Pairing: Garou/Mumen Rider Characters: Garou, Mumen Rider Tags: Fluff Prompt: Any fluff with Mumen/Garou. The violence is optional but acceptable.

Prompt 013

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 013 Rating: Any Pairing: Metal Bat/Reader Characters: Metal Bat, Reader, Zenko Tags: Tooth-rotting Fluff, Bad Cooking, Christmas Kisses Prompt: Metal Bat and his s/o are just enjoying some time off to themselves, and decided to make some holiday food, (dinner and dessert) for Zenko, as a surprise! However, it ends with the smoke alarm going off, a mess to clean up in the kitchen, and Metal Bat, his s/o, and his sister all getting takeout for dinner, and sharing a quart of ice cream. (There were no drop-down menus, at least, not on my prompt submission. All I'm asking for is some good family fluff, and a kiss or two please!)

Prompt 014

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 014 Rating: Any Pairing: Garou/Metal Bat or Optional Characters: Garou, Metal Bat Tags: First Meetings, Internal Conflict, Secret Identity Prompt: Garou and Metal Bat meet for the first time in different circumstances and both of them don't realize who the other is (or one of them doesn't realize who the other is, your choice!), and (not so) surprisingly, they end up getting along. Fastforward to when they meet in canon and realize that the guy they met the other day and had a pleasant/fun/interesting encounter with was, in fact, their enemy-by-opposing-moral-standards. Shipping, graphic violence and higher ratings are appreciated but not a must!

Prompt 015

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 015 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Dr. Kuseno Tags: Character Study, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort Prompt: Before Saitama came to Genos' life, their world was confined to only the two of them; doctor and cyborg against the evil deeds of the world. One could only assume, a young and charming man like Genos would eventually find a partner and settle for a normal life, as it was meant to be. And it was not like he wished that Genos wouldn't find his place in the world and peace in his mind (God knew the boy had suffered far too much for such a young age), but as the years passed and the memory of his loss became ever more distant and Genos only seemed to care about their shared goal, the sense of familiarity and past parenthood settled tighter and tighter in Kuseno's heart, until he eventually forgot that kids grow and a metal body wouldn't stop that. And then Saitama came to Genos' life. (The summary sounds a little dark, but it's mostly a 'how does Kuseno react to Saitama entering their two-man world as he grows closer to Genos" kind of character exploration, make it as fluffy or as angsty as it feels right for you!)

Prompt 016

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 016 Rating: Teen Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Misunderstandings Prompt: As Saitama and Genos have friends over more frequently over the holiday season, their friends start to notice the affection discrepancies between Genos and Saitama. The heroes attempt to discern how much Saitama actually cares for Genos and are torn between bringing them together or helping Genos move on. (Basically, a bunch Team Genos characters meddling.)

Prompt 017

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 017 Rating: Mature Pairing: Fubuki/Psykos Characters: Fubuki, Psykos, Blizzard Group, Lily, Tatsumaki Tags: Angst, Conflict Resolution, Emotional Manipulation, First Kiss, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Behavior, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smut Prompt: When it comes to these two, the angst potential is astronomical. Anything during or post-canon would be awesome, with some resolution of their very messy split, or Fubuki trying to bring back the girl she once knew. Psykos not recognizing Fubuki, and then slowly regaining a few scraps of memory and then becoming obsessively preoccupied with her would be. amazing. absolutely stellar. Fubuki seeing some small reminder of her old friend at the most innocuous moments, and her struggling with the guilt of what she had to do/Psykos's current state would also be aces. Other than that, I just think these two have a fascinating dynamic past hero/villain because of their shared history. Smut would be great (maybe guilty pleasure hook-ups that they both promise themselves won't happen again) but is by no means a must. Emotional intimacy is definitely the priority here.

Prompt 018

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 018 Rating: Mature Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Fubuki, King, Mumen Rider Tags: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Saitama, Courtship, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Genos is a Little Shit, Hero Saitama, Jealous Genos, Trans Saitama, Villain Genos Prompt: Villain!Genos/Hero!Saitama is my reason for living. An AU where Genos sees the corruption of the HA and goes AWOL? A random encounter where Saitama saves Mumen, who in turn is the one who tells him about the Hero Organization? Genos developing a crush at first sight and being just as single-minded and stubborn about dating him as he was about apprenticing under him? Genos taking copious notes so that he slowly develops the perfect, sure-fire way to seduce Saitama completely? You can do no wrong here. Explicit themes are welcome, but emotional intimacy is a MUST, otherwise, I'm fine without. Sprinkles of some of the other tags would absolutely guarantee you my firstborn. If not that, I'm willing to negotiate.

Prompt 019

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 019 Rating: Any Pairing: Garou/Mumen Rider Characters: Garou, Mumen, Genos, Metal Bat Tags: Action/Adventure, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Stupidity Prompt: Garou, Genos and Metal Bat: These three are my OPM BROTP. They're all such extra, total hotheads, and they really need more scenes together.A scenario where the three of them have to work together would be awesome, and while before this they all thought the other two as nothing more than annoying, a friendship forms. They're all around the same age, and their different life experiences play well against one another, with MB being the one with the most 'normal' life experience.Bonus (very, very optional): +Genos and Garou dote on Zenko ++background Mumen/Garou and Genos/Saitama, with Genos and Garou getting to vent about their miserable futures, doomed to pine forever for these perfect, too-good-for-this-world men +++details of homeless Garou's day to day, and, once his friends find out, he starts bouncing from place to place, crashing where-ever is nearest once he caves in and admits to himself he misses having a bed and some sense of security ++++conversation between Saitama and Garou, fluffy and sincere, with Saitama giving him advice on how to quit burning every bridge before it's even halfway built +++++Just. the dumbest shit you can think of. The consequences of these three out together, the world at their mercy, they're all smart separately but the second they come together brain cells aren't even in the picture, they really just become three dumb teenage boys who do dumb shit when they're bored ++++++Saitama and Mumens reactions to the above shenanigans +++++++Found Family (...this got really long, lol, sorry)

Prompt 020

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 020 Rating: Gen Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort Prompt: It’s Christmas, and Genos remembers his family.

Prompt 021

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 021 Rating: Any Pairing: None Characters: Amai Mask, Child Emperor Tags: Crossover (Death Note), Reincarnation Prompt: When Amai Mask (formerly Light Yamigami) first met the prospective S-class hero he was looking at a wall of monitors with a pile of lollipop wrappers beside him.

Prompt 022

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 022 Rating: Any Pairing: Saitama/Everyone, Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Zombieman, Sonic, King Tags: Strength Kink Prompt: Genos discovers he has a strength kink... unfortunately he’s not the only one.

Prompt 023

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 023 Rating: Any Pairing: None Characters: Saitama, Sonic, King, Genos, Puri Puri Prisoner Tags: Social Media Prompt: Saitama accidentally gets caught on camera shirtless and the internet thirsts.

Prompt 024

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 024 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos & Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Tags: Apocalypse, Post-Apocalypse, Grooming Prompt: The constant onslaught of monsters has brought an end to civilisation. Saitama and Genos still have each other.Hurt/comfort, grooming, postapocalyptic scenery ❤Art or writing welcome!A few ideas to be more specific: -Genos teaching Saitama how to repair him -Genos keeping Saitama warm -Christmas with random stuff recycled into decoration -Snacking in an abandoned supermarket -Making out inbetween ruins

Prompt 025

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 025 Rating: Teen Pairing: King/Tatsumaki Characters: King, Tatsumaki Tags: Fluff, First Dates, Pre-Relationship Prompt: Normally, Tatsumaki had no reason to go out anywhere with anyone, let alone with King. But then she heard the words 'Christmas Fair'.(Writing and art both fine~ Anything where they get to the fair right as it's starting to get dark and the lights all come on at once is even more fine ^^ ///)

Prompt 026

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 026 Rating: Mature Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, King Tags: Fluff and Angst, Tenderness, Stupidity, Dorks in Love Prompt: Saitama and Genos start dating (how is up to you!) which prompts both of them into trying to be the best boyfriend they can be, with disastrous consequences. Saitama tries to fit the "sexy attentive partner" model, instead of being the normal dude he is, and goes through the standard “I bought you flowers, got your favorite foods because you're my boyfriend instead of because I wanted to, offered myself any time you want, etc." and gets really uncomfortable, but not saying anything since Genos is into it, and he's a lot more caring than he gives himself credit for. Meanwhile Genos goes overboard as usual, doing a ton of stereotypically romantic things and recording Saitama's reactions to different combinations, trying to test for "romantic effectiveness," while just getting a hug makes him freeze up because he's so touch-starved. This continues for a while with neither of them outright saying anything, until it either hilariously or sadly implodes around Christmas, and they slow the fuck down and just hold hands. Ending is also up to you but do have a happy one! Sex is nice but not necessary, whatever works best for the plot, and fluff is always always appreciated! Any side characters or ships will also work, but it would be hilarious to fit in King giving horrible advice somewhere.

Prompt 027

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 027 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Confessions Prompt: First kiss is my weakness! Maybe the boys get caught under the mistletoe or Fubuki throws a Christmas party and things happen?! HMMMM... I have no preference for either SaiGenos or Genosai both are good! But bonus points for a pining Saitama because I am weak...

Prompt 028

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 028 Rating: Gen Pairing: None Characters: Rover Tags: Fanart, Fanfiction, Hugs Prompt: Rover needs some love! He can be huge or appropriately dog-sized, but I'd love to see him getting a hug from one of these people (and be a little overwhelmed or smothered): - Genos - Fubuki - King (a very cautious hug I'm sure) - Dr. Kuseno - Psykos No actually, I'll stop here because essentially it can be anyone. Squish that fluffy doggo. Feel free to pick your favorite and try to think up a hug that fits their character! I love that (this is mostly a fanart prompt but a cute/funny drabble of this situation is also VERY welcome)

Prompt 029

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 029 Rating: Teen Pairing: None Characters: Genos Tags: Fanart, Portraits Prompt: A Portrait/Bust of Genos (because we'll never have enough of those) I'd love to see your take on one of the following: - Evening wear Genos, maybe visiting a masquerade ball organized by the HA. Wearing sleek, special arms for this occasion, with elegant engravings, gold or silver inlays (or whatever you think looks good. I wanna see some beautiful non-battle arms) - insects crawling out and into Genos' machinery. He's got a bug problem in canon indeed. A centipede slithering out of his chest vents over to his neck? Cockroaches spilling out of his mouth? Mosquitos covering his eyes? Go wild! Would love to see a coloured version - milky white Genos. White hair, pale skin, soft sleek arms that are opalescent. They should be the focus of the image. Maybe naked, maybe some flowing fabric surrounding him. Quite tricky this one, maybe only for someone who wants a challenge

Prompt 030

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 030 Rating: Any Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fanart, Fanfiction, Camping, Getting Together, Fluff, First Time Prompt: Either dynamic (G/S or S/G) is fine! For a mission, Genos and Saitama nees to track down the lair of a monster. They leave the city for a multiple day camping trip. They're not exactly in a hurry, talk about personal things, grow closer. It feels different to sleep next to Genos in a tent than at home, and it's very cold and he's very warm so it's tempting to creep closer bit by bit. They mostly cross vast fields of tall grass, with fireflies illuminating the night. Sometimes they take a break at their improvised camp fire. It's easiest to talk about feelings when they can barely see the face of the one they're talking to.- - -This might read as a fic prompt but I'm very happy about fanart as well! Tall, serene grass fields by night, fireflies or campfires, cozy tent atmosphere, just to name a few things I'd love to see! If you'd rather have an idea for writing that's amazing! First times are absolutely lovely in this scenario, too!

Prompt 031

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 031 Rating: Explicit Pairing: None or Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Fanart, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Smut Prompt: Oil tears • heat • one villain • a hero suit, half undressed • robot gore • worship • kiss Choose two or more, interprete them as you like into an artwork. S / G or vice versa, or either character alone, nsfw is optional.🖤

Prompt 032

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 032 Rating: Gen Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama, Dr. Kuseno, Fubuki, Tatsumaki Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe, Fairy Tale Elements Prompt: [Medieval AU] Saitama stumbles upon a small stone cottage in the thick of the woods.

Prompt 033

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 033 Rating: Gen Pairing: Saitama/Fubuki, Saitama/Genos/Fubuki, Genos & Fubuki Characters: Saitama, Genos, Fubuki Tags: Angst, Comfort, Fluff Prompt: SAIBUKI Prompt Their dating life has gone as good as it can get. It’s different for Fubuki being with a guy that’s so simple as Saitama, but she picks up to the routine and is enjoying herself for the most part. Now if only his disciple could do the same for her. Genos gives Fubuki a hard time what with dating his Sensei. After countless of times bringing up the issue to Saitama and it going dismissed, Fubuki confronts Genos herself in an attempt to try and have a heart to heart with the Cyborg.

Prompt 034

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 034 Rating: Any Pairing: Garou/Mumen Rider Characters: Garou, Mumen Rider Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Confessions, 5+1 Things, Getting to Know Each Other Prompt: Mumen sees a half-starved Garou staring into the window of a restaurant, and buys him a meal. His mother always warned him never to feed strays, but when it comes to Garou, he can't help it. Over a few shared meals, they grow close...Take your pick of the tags, fic or art are both good! Bonus points for making it festive.

Prompt 035

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 035 Rating: Mature Pairing: Genos/Saitama Characters: Genos, Saitama Tags: Costumes, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut Prompt: After wrecking one too many pairs of designer jeans, Genos decides to follow in his sensei's footsteps and find a hero costume. Saitama gives his opinions, and whilst there are some that don't do Genos any favours, others look too damn good to be seen by the general public.Smut optional; up to you whether or not Genos decides upon a costume ;)

Prompt 036

Tag: #OPMSS Prompt 036 Rating: Teen Pairing: King/Tatsumaki Characters: King, Tatsumaki Tags: Fluff, Friendship/Love Prompt: Tatsu is having a terrible day when she finds an unlikely ally (King). Everything is a little bit better with someone on your side. Can be friendship or the start of something more.

#opmss2019 #opm secret santa

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monicalorandavis · 5 years

Text

Dear Lora

My grandfather wrote a 6-page typed letter to my mother in 1992. His wife, my grandma, my mom’s mom, had died earlier that year. His letter is in response to a letter my mom had written in which her mom visits her in a dream. Below is the transcribed letter in full:

Dear Lora,

Today is the second day of October. Summer of 1992 is history. Even though I am somewhat reluctant to bid farewell to the warm pleasant days of summer, the unmistakable chill in the morning air is convincing enough that fall has arrived. The morning temperature was in the low forties. The warmth of the furnace felt very good. I am, I suppose, prepared for winter (as if it made any difference whether I am prepared or not). Ready or not here it comes. I welcome the coming of winter as I do with the approach of the other three seasons.

This year my garden crop was very productive. I had carrots, turnips, eggplants, corn, spinach, cucumbers, tomatoes, onions and green beans. Each year with the beginning of the growing season, I make a solemn vow that I am going to limit my crop selection to just a few items. As the year progresses, the urge to plant just one more thing just simply overwhelms me. It’s fun anyway. The thought of putting a seed in the ground, watching it grow and then getting to eat it holds a certain fascination. I sometimes feel that I am a frustrated farmer. Flowers are blooming at their prettiest. It seems that just before their inevitable doom, nature makes a last ditch effort to make them more beautiful than ever. Could this be nature’s way of burning their beauty into our brain so we will be sure to plant them again next season?

I am doing quite well. Apparently all of the vitals are functioning adequately according to the doctor’s report from my last visit. I hope you are taking care of your health. I recall it was during my forties that I began to realize in an abstract way the possibility that I was not immortal and it was just possible that I could become sick just like old folks often does. During my fifties, I took a step further into reality and faced (however reluctantly) that I was indeed going to someday become old just like those other old folks does. Now that I have arrived, I find that in reality this is not at all as bad as I thought it would be.

A quick examination of the available options and alternatives lead one to the acceptance of life with all of its joys as well as its sadnesses. As I write this page I have one ear focused on my television set. Ross Perot is making a speech regarding his decision to run for President or not...From the drift, as I hear it, he seems to be saying that he is going to run...This will be an interesting election year. I am going to vote for Clinton, not that I think he is the best the country is giving us. I don’t know whether my vote will be a vote for Clinton as much as it is a vote against Bush.

It was a pleasure to have received such a long, informative, neat and well-composed letter. Receiving a letter is always a treat. Although we talk by phone a lot, a letter is always something special. I know with your busy schedule with the wife/mother doings, there is little time left for extracurricular things.

You spoke in your letter of Mom visiting you in your dreams recently. Ironically, just prior to receiving your letter, she visited me in a very vivid dream. Usually my dreams are so vague and scattered that it is difficult for me to form a meaningful recollection of the theme or the contents of the dream. And I must add that I do not have frequent dreams of her. I recall hearing from some leader a theory on dreams involving departed loved ones. According to his theory, if that loved one is at peace in their new existence (their new life) then their dream visits will be few but if there is restlessness and discontent visits will be frequent. In this dream, she was radiant, well-dressed and the picture of good health. We were at home together. She was busy cooking and packing in preparation for a trip to your place. I recall asking her about her medication like I always did prior to our trips. She smiled and said “Don’t you remember that I don’t need to take those things anymore? I had an operation and now my liver does the same for my body as the dialysis did. I feel good now.” It was such a pleasant dream. I feel that somewhere out there that she has found peace and contentment. Of course, I shall cherish the memories of all of those wonderful years we spent together. Over the months, the reality of life and death has been drawn into focus. It is strange that a phenomenon as real and predictable as the passing of a loved one could confuse that reality but time is a healing thing and with the passage of time there emerges an emotional balance, a healing process that draws one back into rational acceptance. However altered, there is a sort of life that can be lived and enjoyed. Life is such a precious gift. A constant concern of mine is not so much focused upon my own life, although I try and take reasonable care of myself, but hoping you, my children, and my grandchildren will be healthy and live long, happy lives.

I am really impressed by the neatness and precision of your word-processed letter. It must be a real aid to letter writing and writing in general. It is hard to master? Could a dummy life me use one? I like to write things. A problem I have is after I write and sleep on what I have written, I have an overwhelming urge to change what I have written. Maybe a word processor would cure that ambivalence.

You made a comment concerning your handwriting. Have you ever seen my handwriting? Yours would put mine to shame. My typing is rather shabby too.

I noticed judging from the look of some of my vegetable crop we have already a frost so soon. There are still a few things I have to do in order to prepare for winter. I had a new door installed at the front entrance and the door to the garage. That are is always like an icebox in spite of my attempts to weatherstrip. Hopefully the new carpet and drapes will help some to keep the place warm this winter. I still have some other things in mind to help keep the heating bill under control this winter.

I talked to Alan and Elfriede recently. They are extending an open invitation to visit them this winter for a few days. I might take them up on the offer. I still haven’t made any concrete visit plans. Hopefully the airlines will throw out some good discounts during October. Then we shall see about the holidays. I think we will make our trek to the southland sometime next year. I don’t think Doris is too interested in going. I understand her lack of interest to a certain extent. If that Alyx is interested, I suppose she and I should make the trip. How about Steven?

Did you hear that Erika is pregnant? Due sometimes early 93. Kim is still pending marriage in April I believe. I hear from Noelle occasionally. She seems to be getting along well, working hard as a nurse in a nursing home in Ft. Collins. I question her selection of a boyfriend (but don’t we all?). She never sounds too happy when she calls. He is going to school, a rather nice fellow but seems so immature to take on marital responsibilities. I hope I am wrong.

Election time is drawing near, isn’t it? Ross Perot is toying again with the idea of reentering the race for President. It is alright for him to play politics so long as he don’t do anything that will spoil Clinton’s chances to kick Bush out of office. In my view, the country has been so fouled up under 11 years of Reagan/Bush policies that it will take a decade of pain before the country is straightened out. I think we will be in real serious trouble if Bush manages to sneak by and get reelected.

It is nearing supper time. Three guesses what I am cooking up today...

I don’t know the name of it but the ingredients are squid, daikon, Konyamu wakame and gobo. It was a family favorite. We are having a district meeting* here tonight so I will share some of it with the WD. I have already tasted it and it tasted real authentic. I am (in my opinion) getting pretty good “international cuisine”. I pick up cooking tips from various sources. Yoshiko’s Chef at her Chinese restaurant let me in on some of his secrets. One of my favorites is a relatively simple chicken dish. It goes like this: completely thaw out a large frying chicken. In a large pan, bring enough water to completely the chicken to a rapid boil and let it cook for about 20 minutes. Remove from the boiling water. In the meantime, prepare a sauce using soy sauce, grated garlic, ginger cut in small strips, a little sugar, and a dash of hot sesame oil. Cut the chicken up into frying sized pieces, place on a platter and pour the sauce over the chicken. Finally, place chopped cilantro over the dish. It is simple and it is good! Note: It is necessary that the chicken not be frozen when it is placed in the boiling water. It is preferable that it be left out for a while to raise the temperature before boiling. On many occasions, I try to recall some of the dishes Mom used to make. She was not keen on letting me know too much about her cooking secrets. My traditional role in the kitchen while she was cooking was sort of like a kitchen helper, relegated to such simple tasks as fanning the cooked rice that she was going to use for making sushi, or slicing vegetables for tempura. None of the technical stuff. However, I did manage to steal some of her prized methods. This comes in handy because I have not lost any of my love for the taste of Japanese foods. I like to cook and also like to eat, so getting a balanced meal is not a problem at this point.

Rather than review my letter in its entirety to correct the misspelled words, I am going to send it on as it is written. In all probability, if I go back to edit it I will end up attempting to rewrite it and never finish. Anyway, you can figure out what I am trying to say. Today is Friday, the 2nd of October, a beautiful day. I have done morning Gongyo*, had breakfast, had a visitor who accompanied me on my walk around Prospect Lake. I plan to visit Richard this evening, perhaps spend the night there. He is so busy with his golf obsession and keeping up with his three business things that time is not sufficient for him to leave his area.

This is a picture I took when the kids were here this summer*. I think it is now time to say goodbye. Don’t you?

Love,

Dad

_______________________________________________________________________

*District Meeting* - Buddhist district meetings were monthly meet-ups for the area in which you lived. In bigger cities, like LA, there were more districts. In a city like Colorado Springs, districts were smaller and Buddhists drove further to get to meetings.

*WD* aka women’s division. The SGI has a long-standing tradition of peer group-led meetings. It’s always had men’s division, women’s division and youth division.

*morning Gongyo* - if you chanted morning gongyo you’re basically crushing it.

*no clue what picture* Oh how I wish I had it now.

#grandpa #coloradosprings #buddhist #typewriter #old people are the best

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geekmama · 6 years

Text

Dream Baby

Yay! I managed to write something! Many thanks to Ellis_Hendricks for feedback and editing.

After the "Sherrinford debacle", Sherlock's waking mind may once again be entirely focused on The Game, but even the World’s Only Consulting Detective can’t control his dreams...

He woke with a convulsive gasp, and lay blinking at his surroundings for a long minute, the incongruity of the moment striking him with devastating force.

Three months after the Sherrinford debacle, he had thought everything was once again in order. His flat (and its surrounding environs) had been repaired. He and Mycroft had weathered their parents’ wrath and dismay. A positive relationship with his mad sister was being established.

And he and Molly Hooper were, once again, good friends.

Just friends.

Though, in that case, how was he to explain his current state: body still a-tremble, sheets now in need of laundering (and not by Hudders, he could just picture the speculative, teasing gleam she’d throw at him), and his dream still vividly, vibrantly with him?

He found himself swallowing hard, his inner eye helplessly riveted on the slender yet shapely form of dream-Molly, her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow, sheets rumpled beneath her, and her smile… sated, yet oddly innocent, and completely loving… took his breath away.

There was a helpless twitch of reviving desire against the already damp sheets, and he groaned, cursing, threw off the covers and fairly leapt from the bed, and stood there for a moment, swaying.

Was he some spotty adolescent, unable to master his baser instincts?

This entire episode must be deleted immediately!

And yet, as he stripped the bed, throwing the evidence of his discomfiture in a pile on the floor, and repaired, with what dignity he could muster, to his new state-of-the-art and beautifully tiled shower, he found his determination to delete fading.

And this was what philosophers and theologians warned about.

Temptation, thy name is Woman.

And, more specifically, in this case, Molly Hooper.

How on earth can that be? he asked himself as he soaped himself down, annoyed and strangely flustered.

And, again, inspired by that vision of her smile.

Not to mention the rest of her.

He cursed again.

He should turn the shower straight to cold.

Was this the way to think about his friend?

Was this the way a man of mature years and disciplined habit behaved, even in the privacy of his own flat?

The warm water ran down his body. The warm eyes of Dream-Molly swam through his brain, enticing.

No. Enchanting.

He sighed, and finally leaned his forehead against the cool tile.

Apparently this was the way such a man behaved.

He closed his eyes to the world and was lost in that ephemeral vision… sighed again… and surrendered to the moment.

He had thought the dream would fade, as most dreams do, dissolving into a misty subconscious, leaving, perhaps, a warm afterglow, but affecting day to day existence very minimally.

This did not prove to be the case.

Strangely, every detail of that dream remained alive in his mind, and he found himself returning to it over and over as the hours and days passed.

He did not contact Molly. For one thing, she had gone out of town for a few days, traveling to the Lake District with a couple of her co-workers – both women, thank God, or he suspected he would have been piqued toward intervention. And after her return… Dream-Molly still plaguing him… bewitching him… there was a dearth of legitimate reasons to visit Barts – Lestrade was fairly astounded at the lull in criminal activity – and Sherlock was reluctant to visit his Siren’s native ground for the less orthodox purposes that had served in the past.

This lack of real life Molly seemed to do little to assuage Sherlock’s predilection for Dream-Molly’s companionship. He began to wonder, in fact, if Dream-Molly’s perfection would taint his view of the actual woman – which might be a good thing, considering what his imagination and subconscious were capable of in Dream-Molly’s regard. Disappointment might yet cure him of this sudden, very strange obsession, and things could go back to… to what they had been before.

That his heart invariably sank at this idea told him how contorted had become his thought processes. He would have said deformed, but could not quite bring himself to use such a derogatory term in relation to his… beloved.

He was sitting in his new chair by the fire, drinking a cup of tea supplied by his landlady (who was still unaware of his state of unrest, thank God), when this description… this endearment… occurred to him.

Beloved.

Well, she was, of course. Had been, as a friend, for many years.

But Dream-Molly was… different. So much more.

Ridiculous, he told himself for the hundredth time.

Or was it?

There was only one way of knowing.

And fortunately for his sanity (for he had begun to wonder about it, of late), Lestrade called that very evening regarding a possible homicide that looked to be a seven, if not an eight.

A visit to Barts morgue was in the offing.

And, ever-cognizant of Molly’s schedule, Sherlock knew that she would be on duty.

He swept in as per his habit, and there she was… there it was, as she turned to greet her visitors: that smile that lit not only her countenance but her whole being. The element of satiation might be missing, but the happiness, the love was there, as in his dream. He found himself halting in his tracks, and felt an odd tingling against his cheeks.

My God, he was blushing!

Her smile was fading at his hesitancy, and she suddenly looked concerned.

“Molly!” he blurted, forestalling the question on her lips, “It’s good to see you. Can you show us Mr. Steed? Lestrade here has promised me an eight, but I’m reserving judgement until I see the body.”

“Yes… yes, of course. Hello, Greg.”

“Evening, Molly. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? But the forces of evil never rest quiet for long – much to Sherlock’s gratification.”

Sherlock said, with a slight wince, “Gratification is hardly the word, in spite of what you may have assumed in the past.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes. “Assumptions be damned, you’ve always been like a kid in a candy shop when there’s something wicked afoot. Though maybe recent events have changed things up a bit?”

“Yes. Well. How could they not?” Sherlock said, glancing furtively at Molly. He felt heat in his cheeks again, and said abruptly, “Mr. Steed, Molly? None of us wish to be at this all night.” And then his heart sank as he realized how that must have sounded to her. Like the old Sherlock.

Who, in many ways, was no more.

And indeed, a look of annoyance slightly diluted the fondness of her gaze, though there was still a question in her eyes, too. However, she obediently turned to do his bidding and Sherlock stood silently watching her comply. Studying her.

Wondering what it would be like to ease that lab coat off her shoulders, let it fall to the ground… slip his fingers beneath the edges of that cherry-bedecked cardigan… brush his thumbs over the sensitive peaks that swelled beneath the flowered cotton of her blouse and the soft lace of her bra … take in her look of surprise… wonder… her small gasp of pleasure…

“Here he is, John Steed, age 41,” said Molly. “The preliminary exam showed deep slashes to the abdomen reminiscent of the ritual suicide customs of Japan. Unfortunately not deep enough to sever the descending aorta.”

Lestrade grimaced. “So, a helluva death. Poor devil.”

“Yes,” muttered Sherlock, though he was rather thankful than not for the gruesome distraction.

It was all business for the next quarter hour or so as they examined the corpse and questioned Molly on particulars.

“Murder,” Sherlock said, finally. “I’m nearly certain of it. Lestrade, can we get a look at his flat?”

“Sure. But it can wait until morning, eh? I have a meeting at nine that I can’t miss, but after that I’m your man. Say 11:30. Shall I pick you up?”

“No, text me the address and I’ll meet you.”

“Right.” Lestrade gave Molly a grateful smile. “You’re the best, love. Thanks for taking us in on such short notice.”

“Always happy,” she said, returning Lestrade’s smile with great sincerity.

Almost too great. Sherlock felt a familiar twinge that he suddenly realized was jealousy.

Bloody hell. Had he never known himself at all?

His consternation was obviously writ large on his face, for when she turned to bid him farewell the words died on her lips and her brows rose. “Sherlock?” she queried uncertainly.

He stared at her for a long moment, then cleared his throat and said, “Your shift ends soon, do you fancy some takeaway? I can wait for you.”

Her eyes widened. Perplexed. But also gratified. “Yes. I… yes! That would be lovely!”

Lestrade was observing the two of them with amused interest, of course. However, all he said was, “Well! In that case I’ll take my leave.”

“Yes, off you go,” said Sherlock. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Greg,” Molly said, laughter in her voice. But as soon as the door swung to in the detective’s wake, she turned to Sherlock, eyeing him curiously. “Sherlock, is everything alright?”

“Yes, certainly. I mean…” His voice trailed off as fear, confusion, chagrin warred for primacy in his breast.

But he could not lie to her. He would not.

“Molly… there is… something,” he said finally. “But it should wait until we’re back at the flat. Is that… acceptable?”

“Yes. Of course,” she replied, smiling again, though somewhat worriedly. “Just let me finish a couple of things and I’m with you.”

He wanted to take her hand as they were leaving Barts, but did not dare. He glanced down at her as the lift rose to the ground floor and wondered at his trepidation. It was only Molly. But somehow, now, he knew she was so much more. Everything, really. His better half, as old husbands said of their wives, being aware of so much history between them, good and bad, Heaven and Hell, and siting it as a matter of course.

There was a great deal between him and Molly Hooper, and it was past time the Heaven outweighed the Hell.

It was a black night, not too cold, but drizzling rain, and unfortunately, for once, his ability to flag down a cab failed him.

“Let’s take the Tube,” Molly said, giving his coat sleeve a tug, near the wrist, and leading the way, a last flash of her smile seen in the pool of light by Barts’ doors before they were swallowed up by the night.

He turned his hand swiftly and caught hers. He knew she turned to look up at him in surprise, but he ignored it, and together they walked up the street.

Almost immediately the rain began to increase, from a drizzle to a shower.

“Oh, no!” said Molly, laughing as they walked faster – and then five seconds later she gave a squawk of dismay as the heavens opened and they were caught in a real downpour.

“Come on!” Sherlock shouted. Together they hurried across the silver and gold of the lamplit street to a place he knew, the side entrance to an office building that was situated down a few stairs, a well drained and solidly sheltered alcove at the foot of the tower of steel and glass. “Careful!” he admonished, as she slipped a bit and half fell down the ill-lit steps, but as he steadied her he found she was still laughing.

They fetched up against the solid door and, in that small, cold space, hidden by the noisy curtain of rain, he took his life in his hands, bent, and swiftly kissed her.

He felt her small gasp, felt her stiffen, felt her small hands clutch at his coat. He drew back slightly, and he knew she was staring up at him, trying to see him in the black night.

“Sherlock?”

She sounded so shocked that his fear reared up again. “I… I suppose I should have asked first.”

There was a moment’s hesitation. And then she kissed him.

A sound escaped him that he could not but acknowledge was a small moan of relief, and he slipped his arms about her slight form, pulling her close against him, his head bent to hers, her kiss turning to kisses, tentative, yet eager, too, the moment stretching out, his heart thudding in an admixture of wonder and delight.

They were both panting a bit when they finally paused for breath. And Molly said, “Sherlock… is this… what is this something?”

“I dreamt of you,” he said, shamed. And, at the same time, thrilled.

“A dream? Wh-what sort of dream?”

He gave a chuff of laughter. “The sort I haven’t had in years,” he admitted, cheeks burning again, and infinitely grateful for the blind, cool night. “Molly… I know you will always be my friend. But… I want more. And you… you still think of me in that way… don’t you?”

Her hand rose to caress – he turned his head and placed a kiss on her palm – her slim fingers brushed the wet curls from his forehead. And she was silent for a long moment,

But then she spoke. “Are you sure? I mean—“

He kissed her again, with nothing tentative about it this time, showing her a little of the passion that was so new to him: a shining, beautiful thing with which to show his love.

He had never thought of carnal relations in this light. But with Molly…

When it ended, and they were forehead to forehead, warm breaths mingling, keeping the cold at bay, he demanded, low and intent, “Do you still want me in that way?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” she said, her voice shaking.

They held each other, then, for a time, and those moments were replete with such tenderness, such heart-filling love, that neither of them noticed when the downpour slackened, faded, then turned to mist.

It was past nine when the small sounds of the arrival of morning tea served to wake Sherlock, still lying abed, snug and warm with his Beloved. His Better Half.

His Molly.

“Oh! Oh!” came Hudders’ startled coo, and he could not repress a crooked grin. She must have noticed the pile of discarded raiment: still damp coats, Molly’s cherry cardigan and flowered blouse, his own shirt – the aubergine Dolce and Gabbana, worn last night as extra insurance, what with the whole of his future happiness at stake. Shoes, too. But not trousers or underthings.

The bedroom had been the place for that… and the beginning of intimacies… well, that he had only dreamt of.

Prolonged, and oft repeated, through the hours, and the dark night, and the sound of rain.

Intimacies that had left them both wrung out… probably a bit sore… and yet even now he could feel renewed desire seeping through him. His fingers twitched against her skin,

Hudders was leaving – his landlady now knew which way the wind blew and he had no doubt he and Molly would be subjected to some twitting and smug laughter when they eventually emerged from their nest.

And now Molly was waking.

She moved… groaned a little, and when he loosened his embrace, she turned onto her back.

He followed, for fear suddenly prodded him once more.

What did she think of all this in the light of a new day?

But there had been no need to worry.

There was nothing but love in the brown eyes that looked into his… her silken hair strewn messily over the pillow… the sheets rumpled beneath her...

Beneath them.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice soft, and edged with that now-familiar admixture of wonder and delight.

And her smile… that smile… took his breath away.

~.~

#Sherlock #sherlolly

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thebookishgoddess · 6 years

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ELLA DISCUSSES: AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT - AN INTERVIEW WITH ELIZABETH TAMMI

Hello everyone! Today, I’m going to talk about a new author that I’m sure you’ll all love simply based off the amazing synopsis she has for her book. Her name’s Elizabeth Tammi, author of Outrun The Wind, a mythology-inspired sapphic novel based off the Greek female warrior, Atalanta, to be released on November 27, 2018! If that doesn’t spark up your interest yet, I don’t know what does!

I have had the utmost pleasure of interviewing her about her upcoming novel, her journey into writing it and a fair little advice for any aspiring authors out there. But first, we all have to wonder--who exactly is Elizabeth Tammi?

Elizabeth Tammi was born in California and grew up in Florida, but is currently double-majoring in Creative Writing and Journalism as an undergraduate at Mercer University in Georgia. When she’s not writing, you can probably find Elizabeth at rehearsal for one of her vocal ensembles, or at work for her university’s newspaper and literary magazine. Her other interests include traveling, caffeinated beverages, and mythology. Outrun the Wind is her debut novel. (Taken from Goodreads)

Honestly, I am so impressed because the fact that she can handle university and writing an entire novel tells us so much about her dedication as both a student and writer. And it definitely shows how she definitely must have put all her heart into writing that she got a book deal not long after.

But enough of my rambling and awe. Read on to see my interview with the amazing Elizabeth Tammi!

What inspired you to write Outrun The Wind?

Spite, honestly! I was simultaneously captivated and frustrated by Atalanta's original mythology, and wanted to tell my own interpretation! Plus, I had lots of other interests about Greek mythology that I wanted to explore via long-form fiction, like the huntresses of Artemis, relationships between the gods, and the oracles at Delphi.

What makes Outrun The Wind unique from every other mythology-inspired novel?

I think-- or hope, at least-- that Outrun the Wind stands out because of its exploration of a lesser-known myth and deals heavily with themes like female strength, sexuality, and is told from the perspective of two teenage girls. It's a younger and female twist on a mythology that isn't very kind to women, so I hope readers enjoy that point of view.

Who is your favorite non-main character from your book and why?

Probably Nikoleta, a demigoddess daughter of Ares who also serves Artemis as one of her huntresses. Nikoleta has a super deep personal connection to me, because the very first draft of a book I ever finished was actually her story of growing up in ancient Sparta with quite a harrowing destiny; while that first manuscript was pretty terrible, I still have hopes of returning to it someday, and I was so glad that she got to make an appearance in Outrun the Wind-- it feels very fitting, since she's been with me from the start of my writing journey.

Who or what inspired you to start writing?

My parents really raised me as an avid reader, so I don't remember a time in my life when I didn't love books. As early as about seven years old, I knew I wanted to write my own. Now, I didn't actually start writing seriously until I was about 16. Prior to that was just some random snippets, and of course, some fanfiction haha (which was actually, looking back, a great way to learn how to structure scenes, dialogue, descriptions, etc. in an environment I felt comfortable in)! Anyway, I think being surrounded by so many fantastic YA stories growing up just really pushed me to try writing my own. Obviously, Rick Riordan was probably my biggest 'hero', but other authors like Leigh Bardugo, Kiersten White, and Maggie Stiefvater also definitely inspired me!

Tell us what the journey was like in writing Outrun The Wind, from the start of the idea up to the point of having it published.

This whole journey with Outrun the Wind actually only spans about 2.5 years from first getting the idea to the book being published on November 27, 2018-- which felt like forever, but ask any other author, and they'll tell you this was ridiculously fast haha. I got the initial idea when I was 18, the summer before I left for college, since I had been reading up on more Greek mythology and stumbled across Atalanta. She was a character I knew a bit about, but after reading her whole story, I was left feeling instilled with some sort of purpose/passion to tell her story as I imagined it. I drafted the first terrible version during the first semester of freshman year, worked with my critique partners, and started sending it off to various publishers and agents during the end of my freshman year.

Ultimately, Flux offered me a book deal last fall, during my sophomore year. From then, I went through three rounds of edits with my fabulous editor to make sure the book was ready for publication, and the very final version was sent off this past March. Then ARCs went out in May, and are being read/reviewed as we speak, in preparation for its official release date of November 27th-- nearing the end of my fall semester of junior year! Whew. Looking back, I know this was actually really fast from start-to-finish, partially because I'm a somewhat quick writer, and partially because I'm not with a Big Five publishing house. But when I was in the thick of it, it felt like there was so much waiting involved. That's just the publishing industry though!

If you could tell your younger writing self anything, what would it be?

Start sooner! I know 16 isn't old by any means, but it frustrates me that I knew I wanted to be an author by the time I was seven...but it took me almost a decade to start pursuing it seriously! I keep thinking what more I could have accomplished already if I'd started when I said I wanted to, haha. But that's okay, I'm glad to be doing it now. The moral is, if anyone reading this wants to be an author, there's no better day to start than today!

Writing a book is no easy feat. What's the one advice you wish you had upon writing your novel that you could give to aspiring writers wanting to get their work out there?

You're so right-- there's really nothing easy about writing a book, but it's a challenge that I get joy out of. Anyway, I do wish someone had told me when I first started writing my own novels that comparison is so, so toxic, frustrating, and pointless. In this industry specifically, every author has their own struggles and had their own path to publication, so it's impossible to try and compare successes. Every single writer feels insecure to a degree and that's not going to go away once you get a book deal. It's important to be disciplined and consistent, but also remember that this isn't a race, and you should never rush into something that feels sketchy or uncomfortable. If you're querying, do extensive research on where you're sending your work out to!

It has been such a honor interviewing this incredible author! Let’s get a glimpse of her amazing debut novel, and what Outrun The Wind is really about:

The Huntresses of Artemis must obey two rules: never disobey the goddess, and never fall in love. After being rescued from a harrowing life as an Oracle of Delphi, Kahina is glad to be a part of the Hunt; living among a group of female warriors gives her a chance to reclaim her strength, even while her prophetic powers linger. But when a routine mission goes awry, Kahina breaks the first rule in order to save the legendary huntress Atalanta. To earn back Artemis’s favor, Kahina must complete a dangerous task in the kingdom of Arkadia— where the king’s daughter is revealed to be none other than Atalanta. Still reeling from her disastrous quest and her father’s insistence on marriage, Atalanta isn’t sure what to make of Kahina. As her connection to Atalanta deepens, Kahina finds herself in danger of breaking Artemis’ second rule. She helps Atalanta devise a dangerous game to avoid marriage, and word spreads throughout Greece, attracting suitors willing to tempt fate to go up against Atalanta in a race for her hand. But when the men responsible for both the girls’ dark pasts arrive, the game turns deadly.

Again, you guys, Outrun The Wind comes out on November 27, 2018! Copies are available over at NetGalley to request for if you can’t wait to read it. I myself am quite excited to read this book because you all know I have such a soft heart for anything mythology-related! Make sure to click that Want To Read on Goodreads! ;)

You can follow Elizabeth Tammi on many of her social media platforms such as Tumblr at (annabethisterrified), Twitter at (@ElizabethTammi), Instagram at (elizabeth_tammi), and at elizabethtammi.com!

#outrun the wind #elizabeth tammi #booklr #author spotlight #discussion

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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Rappaccini’s Daughter

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1844)

We do not remember to have seen any translated specimens of the productions of M. de l'Aubepine—a fact the less to be wondered at, as his very name is unknown to many of his own countrymen as well as to the student of foreign literature. As a writer, he seems to occupy an unfortunate position between the Transcendentalists (who, under one name or another, have their share in all the current literature of the world) and the great body of pen-and-ink men who address the intellect and sympathies of the multitude. If not too refined, at all events too remote, too shadowy, and unsubstantial in his modes of development to suit the taste of the latter class, and yet too popular to satisfy the spiritual or metaphysical requisitions of the former, he must necessarily find himself without an audience, except here and there an individual or possibly an isolated clique. His writings, to do them justice, are not altogether destitute of fancy and originality; they might have won him greater reputation but for an inveterate love of allegory, which is apt to invest his plots and characters with the aspect of scenery and people in the clouds, and to steal away the human warmth out of his conceptions. His fictions are sometimes historical, sometimes of the present day, and sometimes, so far as can be discovered, have little or no reference either to time or space. In any case, he generally contents himself with a very slight embroidery of outward manners,—the faintest possible counterfeit of real life,—and endeavors to create an interest by some less obvious peculiarity of the subject. Occasionally a breath of Nature, a raindrop of pathos and tenderness, or a gleam of humor, will find its way into the midst of his fantastic imagery, and make us feel as if, after all, we were yet within the limits of our native earth. We will only add to this very cursory notice that M. de l'Aubepine's productions, if the reader chance to take them in precisely the proper point of view, may amuse a leisure hour as well as those of a brighter man; if otherwise, they can hardly fail to look excessively like nonsense.

Our author is voluminous; he continues to write and publish with as much praiseworthy and indefatigable prolixity as if his efforts were crowned with the brilliant success that so justly attends those of Eugene Sue. His first appearance was by a collection of stories in a long series of volumes entitled "Contes deux fois racontees." The titles of some of his more recent works (we quote from memory) are as follows: "Le Voyage Celeste a Chemin de Fer," 3 tom., 1838; "Le nouveau Pere Adam et la nouvelle Mere Eve," 2 tom., 1839; "Roderic; ou le Serpent a l'estomac," 2 tom., 1840; "Le Culte du Feu," a folio volume of ponderous research into the religion and ritual of the old Persian Ghebers, published in 1841; "La Soiree du Chateau en Espagne," 1 tom., 8vo, 1842; and "L'Artiste du Beau; ou le Papillon Mecanique," 5 tom., 4to, 1843. Our somewhat wearisome perusal of this startling catalogue of volumes has left behind it a certain personal affection and sympathy, though by no means admiration, for M. de l'Aubepine; and we would fain do the little in our power towards introducing him favorably to the American public. The ensuing tale is a translation of his "Beatrice; ou la Belle Empoisonneuse," recently published in "La Revue Anti-Aristocratique." This journal, edited by the Comte de Bearhaven, has for some years past led the defence of liberal principles and popular rights with a faithfulness and ability worthy of all praise.

A young man, named Giovanni Guasconti, came, very long ago, from the more southern region of Italy, to pursue his studies at the University of Padua. Giovanni, who had but a scanty supply of gold ducats in his pocket, took lodgings in a high and gloomy chamber of an old edifice which looked not unworthy to have been the palace of a Paduan noble, and which, in fact, exhibited over its entrance the armorial bearings of a family long since extinct. The young stranger, who was not unstudied in the great poem of his country, recollected that one of the ancestors of this family, and perhaps an occupant of this very mansion, had been pictured by Dante as a partaker of the immortal agonies of his Inferno. These reminiscences and associations, together with the tendency to heartbreak natural to a young man for the first time out of his native sphere, caused Giovanni to sigh heavily as he looked around the desolate and ill-furnished apartment.

"Holy Virgin, signor!" cried old Dame Lisabetta, who, won by the youth's remarkable beauty of person, was kindly endeavoring to give the chamber a habitable air, "what a sigh was that to come out of a young man's heart! Do you find this old mansion gloomy? For the love of Heaven, then, put your head out of the window, and you will see as bright sunshine as you have left in Naples."

Guasconti mechanically did as the old woman advised, but could not quite agree with her that the Paduan sunshine was as cheerful as that of southern Italy. Such as it was, however, it fell upon a garden beneath the window and expended its fostering influences on a variety of plants, which seemed to have been cultivated with exceeding care.

"Does this garden belong to the house?" asked Giovanni.

"Heaven forbid, signor, unless it were fruitful of better pot herbs than any that grow there now," answered old Lisabetta. "No; that garden is cultivated by the own hands of Signor Giacomo Rappaccini, the famous doctor, who, I warrant him, has been heard of as far as Naples. It is said that he distils these plants into medicines that are as potent as a charm. Oftentimes you may see the signor doctor at work, and perchance the signora, his daughter, too, gathering the strange flowers that grow in the garden."

The old woman had now done what she could for the aspect of the chamber; and, commending the young man to the protection of the saints, took her departure.

Giovanni still found no better occupation than to look down into the garden beneath his window. From its appearance, he judged it to be one of those botanic gardens which were of earlier date in Padua than elsewhere in Italy or in the world. Or, not improbably, it might once have been the pleasure-place of an opulent family; for there was the ruin of a marble fountain in the centre, sculptured with rare art, but so wofully shattered that it was impossible to trace the original design from the chaos of remaining fragments. The water, however, continued to gush and sparkle into the sunbeams as cheerfully as ever. A little gurgling sound ascended to the young man's window, and made him feel as if the fountain were an immortal spirit that sung its song unceasingly and without heeding the vicissitudes around it, while one century imbodied it in marble and another scattered the perishable garniture on the soil. All about the pool into which the water subsided grew various plants, that seemed to require a plentiful supply of moisture for the nourishment of gigantic leaves, and in some instances, flowers gorgeously magnificent. There was one shrub in particular, set in a marble vase in the midst of the pool, that bore a profusion of purple blossoms, each of which had the lustre and richness of a gem; and the whole together made a show so resplendent that it seemed enough to illuminate the garden, even had there been no sunshine. Every portion of the soil was peopled with plants and herbs, which, if less beautiful, still bore tokens of assiduous care, as if all had their individual virtues, known to the scientific mind that fostered them. Some were placed in urns, rich with old carving, and others in common garden pots; some crept serpent-like along the ground or climbed on high, using whatever means of ascent was offered them. One plant had wreathed itself round a statue of Vertumnus, which was thus quite veiled and shrouded in a drapery of hanging foliage, so happily arranged that it might have served a sculptor for a study.

While Giovanni stood at the window he heard a rustling behind a screen of leaves, and became aware that a person was at work in the garden. His figure soon emerged into view, and showed itself to be that of no common laborer, but a tall, emaciated, sallow, and sickly-looking man, dressed in a scholar's garb of black. He was beyond the middle term of life, with gray hair, a thin, gray beard, and a face singularly marked with intellect and cultivation, but which could never, even in his more youthful days, have expressed much warmth of heart.

Nothing could exceed the intentness with which this scientific gardener examined every shrub which grew in his path: it seemed as if he was looking into their inmost nature, making observations in regard to their creative essence, and discovering why one leaf grew in this shape and another in that, and wherefore such and such flowers differed among themselves in hue and perfume. Nevertheless, in spite of this deep intelligence on his part, there was no approach to intimacy between himself and these vegetable existences. On the contrary, he avoided their actual touch or the direct inhaling of their odors with a caution that impressed Giovanni most disagreeably; for the man's demeanor was that of one walking among malignant influences, such as savage beasts, or deadly snakes, or evil spirits, which, should he allow them one moment of license, would wreak upon him some terrible fatality. It was strangely frightful to the young man's imagination to see this air of insecurity in a person cultivating a garden, that most simple and innocent of human toils, and which had been alike the joy and labor of the unfallen parents of the race. Was this garden, then, the Eden of the present world? And this man, with such a perception of harm in what his own hands caused to grow,—was he the Adam?

The distrustful gardener, while plucking away the dead leaves or pruning the too luxuriant growth of the shrubs, defended his hands with a pair of thick gloves. Nor were these his only armor. When, in his walk through the garden, he came to the magnificent plant that hung its purple gems beside the marble fountain, he placed a kind of mask over his mouth and nostrils, as if all this beauty did but conceal a deadlier malice; but, finding his task still too dangerous, he drew back, removed the mask, and called loudly, but in the infirm voice of a person affected with inward disease, "Beatrice! Beatrice!"

"Here am I, my father. What would you?" cried a rich and youthful voice from the window of the opposite house—a voice as rich as a tropical sunset, and which made Giovanni, though he knew not why, think of deep hues of purple or crimson and of perfumes heavily delectable. "Are you in the garden?"

"Yes, Beatrice," answered the gardener, "and I need your help."

Soon there emerged from under a sculptured portal the figure of a young girl, arrayed with as much richness of taste as the most splendid of the flowers, beautiful as the day, and with a bloom so deep and vivid that one shade more would have been too much. She looked redundant with life, health, and energy; all of which attributes were bound down and compressed, as it were and girdled tensely, in their luxuriance, by her virgin zone. Yet Giovanni's fancy must have grown morbid while he looked down into the garden; for the impression which the fair stranger made upon him was as if here were another flower, the human sister of those vegetable ones, as beautiful as they, more beautiful than the richest of them, but still to be touched only with a glove, nor to be approached without a mask. As Beatrice came down the garden path, it was observable that she handled and inhaled the odor of several of the plants which her father had most sedulously avoided.

"Here, Beatrice," said the latter, "see how many needful offices require to be done to our chief treasure. Yet, shattered as I am, my life might pay the penalty of approaching it so closely as circumstances demand. Henceforth, I fear, this plant must be consigned to your sole charge."

"And gladly will I undertake it," cried again the rich tones of the young lady, as she bent towards the magnificent plant and opened her arms as if to embrace it. "Yes, my sister, my splendour, it shall be Beatrice's task to nurse and serve thee; and thou shalt reward her with thy kisses and perfumed breath, which to her is as the breath of life."

Then, with all the tenderness in her manner that was so strikingly expressed in her words, she busied herself with such attentions as the plant seemed to require; and Giovanni, at his lofty window, rubbed his eyes and almost doubted whether it were a girl tending her favorite flower, or one sister performing the duties of affection to another. The scene soon terminated. Whether Dr. Rappaccini had finished his labors in the garden, or that his watchful eye had caught the stranger's face, he now took his daughter's arm and retired. Night was already closing in; oppressive exhalations seemed to proceed from the plants and steal upward past the open window; and Giovanni, closing the lattice, went to his couch and dreamed of a rich flower and beautiful girl. Flower and maiden were different, and yet the same, and fraught with some strange peril in either shape.

But there is an influence in the light of morning that tends to rectify whatever errors of fancy, or even of judgment, we may have incurred during the sun's decline, or among the shadows of the night, or in the less wholesome glow of moonshine. Giovanni's first movement, on starting from sleep, was to throw open the window and gaze down into the garden which his dreams had made so fertile of mysteries. He was surprised and a little ashamed to find how real and matter-of-fact an affair it proved to be, in the first rays of the sun which gilded the dew-drops that hung upon leaf and blossom, and, while giving a brighter beauty to each rare flower, brought everything within the limits of ordinary experience. The young man rejoiced that, in the heart of the barren city, he had the privilege of overlooking this spot of lovely and luxuriant vegetation. It would serve, he said to himself, as a symbolic language to keep him in communion with Nature. Neither the sickly and thoughtworn Dr. Giacomo Rappaccini, it is true, nor his brilliant daughter, were now visible; so that Giovanni could not determine how much of the singularity which he attributed to both was due to their own qualities and how much to his wonder-working fancy; but he was inclined to take a most rational view of the whole matter.

In the course of the day he paid his respects to Signor Pietro Baglioni, professor of medicine in the university, a physician of eminent repute to whom Giovanni had brought a letter of introduction. The professor was an elderly personage, apparently of genial nature, and habits that might almost be called jovial. He kept the young man to dinner, and made himself very agreeable by the freedom and liveliness of his conversation, especially when warmed by a flask or two of Tuscan wine. Giovanni, conceiving that men of science, inhabitants of the same city, must needs be on familiar terms with one another, took an opportunity to mention the name of Dr. Rappaccini. But the professor did not respond with so much cordiality as he had anticipated.

"Ill would it become a teacher of the divine art of medicine," said Professor Pietro Baglioni, in answer to a question of Giovanni, "to withhold due and well-considered praise of a physician so eminently skilled as Rappaccini; but, on the other hand, I should answer it but scantily to my conscience were I to permit a worthy youth like yourself, Signor Giovanni, the son of an ancient friend, to imbibe erroneous ideas respecting a man who might hereafter chance to hold your life and death in his hands. The truth is, our worshipful Dr. Rappaccini has as much science as any member of the faculty—with perhaps one single exception—in Padua, or all Italy; but there are certain grave objections to his professional character."

"And what are they?" asked the young man.

"Has my friend Giovanni any disease of body or heart, that he is so inquisitive about physicians?" said the professor, with a smile. "But as for Rappaccini, it is said of him—and I, who know the man well, can answer for its truth—that he cares infinitely more for science than for mankind. His patients are interesting to him only as subjects for some new experiment. He would sacrifice human life, his own among the rest, or whatever else was dearest to him, for the sake of adding so much as a grain of mustard seed to the great heap of his accumulated knowledge."

"Methinks he is an awful man indeed," remarked Guasconti, mentally recalling the cold and purely intellectual aspect of Rappaccini. "And yet, worshipful professor, is it not a noble spirit? Are there many men capable of so spiritual a love of science?"

"God forbid," answered the professor, somewhat testily; "at least, unless they take sounder views of the healing art than those adopted by Rappaccini. It is his theory that all medicinal virtues are comprised within those substances which we term vegetable poisons. These he cultivates with his own hands, and is said even to have produced new varieties of poison, more horribly deleterious than Nature, without the assistance of this learned person, would ever have plagued the world withal. That the signor doctor does less mischief than might be expected with such dangerous substances is undeniable. Now and then, it must be owned, he has effected, or seemed to effect, a marvellous cure; but, to tell you my private mind, Signor Giovanni, he should receive little credit for such instances of success,—they being probably the work of chance,—but should be held strictly accountable for his failures, which may justly be considered his own work."

The youth might have taken Baglioni's opinions with many grains of allowance had he known that there was a professional warfare of long continuance between him and Dr. Rappaccini, in which the latter was generally thought to have gained the advantage. If the reader be inclined to judge for himself, we refer him to certain black-letter tracts on both sides, preserved in the medical department of the University of Padua.

"I know not, most learned professor," returned Giovanni, after musing on what had been said of Rappaccini's exclusive zeal for science,—"I know not how dearly this physician may love his art; but surely there is one object more dear to him. He has a daughter."

"Aha!" cried the professor, with a laugh. "So now our friend Giovanni's secret is out. You have heard of this daughter, whom all the young men in Padua are wild about, though not half a dozen have ever had the good hap to see her face. I know little of the Signora Beatrice save that Rappaccini is said to have instructed her deeply in his science, and that, young and beautiful as fame reports her, she is already qualified to fill a professor's chair. Perchance her father destines her for mine! Other absurd rumors there be, not worth talking about or listening to. So now, Signor Giovanni, drink off your glass of lachryma."

Guasconti returned to his lodgings somewhat heated with the wine he had quaffed, and which caused his brain to swim with strange fantasies in reference to Dr. Rappaccini and the beautiful Beatrice. On his way, happening to pass by a florist's, he bought a fresh bouquet of flowers.

Ascending to his chamber, he seated himself near the window, but within the shadow thrown by the depth of the wall, so that he could look down into the garden with little risk of being discovered. All beneath his eye was a solitude. The strange plants were basking in the sunshine, and now and then nodding gently to one another, as if in acknowledgment of sympathy and kindred. In the midst, by the shattered fountain, grew the magnificent shrub, with its purple gems clustering all over it; they glowed in the air, and gleamed back again out of the depths of the pool, which thus seemed to overflow with colored radiance from the rich reflection that was steeped in it. At first, as we have said, the garden was a solitude. Soon, however,—as Giovanni had half hoped, half feared, would be the case,—a figure appeared beneath the antique sculptured portal, and came down between the rows of plants, inhaling their various perfumes as if she were one of those beings of old classic fable that lived upon sweet odors. On again beholding Beatrice, the young man was even startled to perceive how much her beauty exceeded his recollection of it; so brilliant, so vivid, was its character, that she glowed amid the sunlight, and, as Giovanni whispered to himself, positively illuminated the more shadowy intervals of the garden path. Her face being now more revealed than on the former occasion, he was struck by its expression of simplicity and sweetness,—qualities that had not entered into his idea of her character, and which made him ask anew what manner of mortal she might be. Nor did he fail again to observe, or imagine, an analogy between the beautiful girl and the gorgeous shrub that hung its gemlike flowers over the fountain,—a resemblance which Beatrice seemed to have indulged a fantastic humor in heightening, both by the arrangement of her dress and the selection of its hues.

Approaching the shrub, she threw open her arms, as with a passionate ardor, and drew its branches into an intimate embrace—so intimate that her features were hidden in its leafy bosom and her glistening ringlets all intermingled with the flowers.

"Give me thy breath, my sister," exclaimed Beatrice; "for I am faint with common air. And give me this flower of thine, which I separate with gentlest fingers from the stem and place it close beside my heart."

With these words the beautiful daughter of Rappaccini plucked one of the richest blossoms of the shrub, and was about to fasten it in her bosom. But now, unless Giovanni's draughts of wine had bewildered his senses, a singular incident occurred. A small orange-colored reptile, of the lizard or chameleon species, chanced to be creeping along the path, just at the feet of Beatrice. It appeared to Giovanni,—but, at the distance from which he gazed, he could scarcely have seen anything so minute,—it appeared to him, however, that a drop or two of moisture from the broken stem of the flower descended upon the lizard's head. For an instant the reptile contorted itself violently, and then lay motionless in the sunshine. Beatrice observed this remarkable phenomenon and crossed herself, sadly, but without surprise; nor did she therefore hesitate to arrange the fatal flower in her bosom. There it blushed, and almost glimmered with the dazzling effect of a precious stone, adding to her dress and aspect the one appropriate charm which nothing else in the world could have supplied. But Giovanni, out of the shadow of his window, bent forward and shrank back, and murmured and trembled.

"Am I awake? Have I my senses?" said he to himself. "What is this being? Beautiful shall I call her, or inexpressibly terrible?"

Beatrice now strayed carelessly through the garden, approaching closer beneath Giovanni's window, so that he was compelled to thrust his head quite out of its concealment in order to gratify the intense and painful curiosity which she excited. At this moment there came a beautiful insect over the garden wall; it had, perhaps, wandered through the city, and found no flowers or verdure among those antique haunts of men until the heavy perfumes of Dr. Rappaccini's shrubs had lured it from afar. Without alighting on the flowers, this winged brightness seemed to be attracted by Beatrice, and lingered in the air and fluttered about her head. Now, here it could not be but that Giovanni Guasconti's eyes deceived him. Be that as it might, he fancied that, while Beatrice was gazing at the insect with childish delight, it grew faint and fell at her feet; its bright wings shivered; it was dead—from no cause that he could discern, unless it were the atmosphere of her breath. Again Beatrice crossed herself and sighed heavily as she bent over the dead insect.

An impulsive movement of Giovanni drew her eyes to the window. There she beheld the beautiful head of the young man—rather a Grecian than an Italian head, with fair, regular features, and a glistening of gold among his ringlets—gazing down upon her like a being that hovered in mid air. Scarcely knowing what he did, Giovanni threw down the bouquet which he had hitherto held in his hand.

"Signora," said he, "there are pure and healthful flowers. Wear them for the sake of Giovanni Guasconti."

"Thanks, signor," replied Beatrice, with her rich voice, that came forth as it were like a gush of music, and with a mirthful expression half childish and half woman-like. "I accept your gift, and would fain recompense it with this precious purple flower; but if I toss it into the air it will not reach you. So Signor Guasconti must even content himself with my thanks."

She lifted the bouquet from the ground, and then, as if inwardly ashamed at having stepped aside from her maidenly reserve to respond to a stranger's greeting, passed swiftly homeward through the garden. But few as the moments were, it seemed to Giovanni, when she was on the point of vanishing beneath the sculptured portal, that his beautiful bouquet was already beginning to wither in her grasp. It was an idle thought; there could be no possibility of distinguishing a faded flower from a fresh one at so great a distance.

For many days after this incident the young man avoided the window that looked into Dr. Rappaccini's garden, as if something ugly and monstrous would have blasted his eyesight had he been betrayed into a glance. He felt conscious of having put himself, to a certain extent, within the influence of an unintelligible power by the communication which he had opened with Beatrice. The wisest course would have been, if his heart were in any real danger, to quit his lodgings and Padua itself at once; the next wiser, to have accustomed himself, as far as possible, to the familiar and daylight view of Beatrice—thus bringing her rigidly and systematically within the limits of ordinary experience. Least of all, while avoiding her sight, ought Giovanni to have remained so near this extraordinary being that the proximity and possibility even of intercourse should give a kind of substance and reality to the wild vagaries which his imagination ran riot continually in producing. Guasconti had not a deep heart—or, at all events, its depths were not sounded now; but he had a quick fancy, and an ardent southern temperament, which rose every instant to a higher fever pitch. Whether or no Beatrice possessed those terrible attributes, that fatal breath, the affinity with those so beautiful and deadly flowers which were indicated by what Giovanni had witnessed, she had at least instilled a fierce and subtle poison into his system. It was not love, although her rich beauty was a madness to him; nor horror, even while he fancied her spirit to be imbued with the same baneful essence that seemed to pervade her physical frame; but a wild offspring of both love and horror that had each parent in it, and burned like one and shivered like the other. Giovanni knew not what to dread; still less did he know what to hope; yet hope and dread kept a continual warfare in his breast, alternately vanquishing one another and starting up afresh to renew the contest. Blessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright! It is the lurid intermixture of the two that produces the illuminating blaze of the infernal regions.

Sometimes he endeavored to assuage the fever of his spirit by a rapid walk through the streets of Padua or beyond its gates: his footsteps kept time with the throbbings of his brain, so that the walk was apt to accelerate itself to a race. One day he found himself arrested; his arm was seized by a portly personage, who had turned back on recognizing the young man and expended much breath in overtaking him.

"Signor Giovanni! Stay, my young friend!" cried he. "Have you forgotten me? That might well be the case if I were as much altered as yourself."

It was Baglioni, whom Giovanni had avoided ever since their first meeting, from a doubt that the professor's sagacity would look too deeply into his secrets. Endeavoring to recover himself, he stared forth wildly from his inner world into the outer one and spoke like a man in a dream.

"Yes; I am Giovanni Guasconti. You are Professor Pietro Baglioni. Now let me pass!"

"Not yet, not yet, Signor Giovanni Guasconti," said the professor, smiling, but at the same time scrutinizing the youth with an earnest glance. "What! did I grow up side by side with your father? and shall his son pass me like a stranger in these old streets of Padua? Stand still, Signor Giovanni; for we must have a word or two before we part."

"Speedily, then, most worshipful professor, speedily," said Giovanni, with feverish impatience. "Does not your worship see that I am in haste?"

Now, while he was speaking there came a man in black along the street, stooping and moving feebly like a person in inferior health. His face was all overspread with a most sickly and sallow hue, but yet so pervaded with an expression of piercing and active intellect that an observer might easily have overlooked the merely physical attributes and have seen only this wonderful energy. As he passed, this person exchanged a cold and distant salutation with Baglioni, but fixed his eyes upon Giovanni with an intentness that seemed to bring out whatever was within him worthy of notice. Nevertheless, there was a peculiar quietness in the look, as if taking merely a speculative, not a human interest, in the young man.

"It is Dr. Rappaccini!" whispered the professor when the stranger had passed. "Has he ever seen your face before?"

"Not that I know," answered Giovanni, starting at the name.

"He HAS seen you! he must have seen you!" said Baglioni, hastily. "For some purpose or other, this man of science is making a study of you. I know that look of his! It is the same that coldly illuminates his face as he bends over a bird, a mouse, or a butterfly, which, in pursuance of some experiment, he has killed by the perfume of a flower; a look as deep as Nature itself, but without Nature's warmth of love. Signor Giovanni, I will stake my life upon it, you are the subject of one of Rappaccini's experiments!"

"Will you make a fool of me?" cried Giovanni, passionately. "THAT, signor professor, were an untoward experiment."

"Patience! patience!" replied the imperturbable professor. "I tell thee, my poor Giovanni, that Rappaccini has a scientific interest in thee. Thou hast fallen into fearful hands! And the Signora Beatrice,—what part does she act in this mystery?"

But Guasconti, finding Baglioni's pertinacity intolerable, here broke away, and was gone before the professor could again seize his arm. He looked after the young man intently and shook his head.

"This must not be," said Baglioni to himself. "The youth is the son of my old friend, and shall not come to any harm from which the arcana of medical science can preserve him. Besides, it is too insufferable an impertinence in Rappaccini, thus to snatch the lad out of my own hands, as I may say, and make use of him for his infernal experiments. This daughter of his! It shall be looked to. Perchance, most learned Rappaccini, I may foil you where you little dream of it!"

Meanwhile Giovanni had pursued a circuitous route, and at length found himself at the door of his lodgings. As he crossed the threshold he was met by old Lisabetta, who smirked and smiled, and was evidently desirous to attract his attention; vainly, however, as the ebullition of his feelings had momentarily subsided into a cold and dull vacuity. He turned his eyes full upon the withered face that was puckering itself into a smile, but seemed to behold it not. The old dame, therefore, laid her grasp upon his cloak.

"Signor! signor!" whispered she, still with a smile over the whole breadth of her visage, so that it looked not unlike a grotesque carving in wood, darkened by centuries. "Listen, signor! There is a private entrance into the garden!"

"What do you say?" exclaimed Giovanni, turning quickly about, as if an inanimate thing should start into feverish life. "A private entrance into Dr. Rappaccini's garden?"

"Hush! hush! not so loud!" whispered Lisabetta, putting her hand over his mouth. "Yes; into the worshipful doctor's garden, where you may see all his fine shrubbery. Many a young man in Padua would give gold to be admitted among those flowers."

Giovanni put a piece of gold into her hand.

"Show me the way," said he.

A surmise, probably excited by his conversation with Baglioni, crossed his mind, that this interposition of old Lisabetta might perchance be connected with the intrigue, whatever were its nature, in which the professor seemed to suppose that Dr. Rappaccini was involving him. But such a suspicion, though it disturbed Giovanni, was inadequate to restrain him. The instant that he was aware of the possibility of approaching Beatrice, it seemed an absolute necessity of his existence to do so. It mattered not whether she were angel or demon; he was irrevocably within her sphere, and must obey the law that whirled him onward, in ever-lessening circles, towards a result which he did not attempt to foreshadow; and yet, strange to say, there came across him a sudden doubt whether this intense interest on his part were not delusory; whether it were really of so deep and positive a nature as to justify him in now thrusting himself into an incalculable position; whether it were not merely the fantasy of a young man's brain, only slightly or not at all connected with his heart.

He paused, hesitated, turned half about, but again went on. His withered guide led him along several obscure passages, and finally undid a door, through which, as it was opened, there came the sight and sound of rustling leaves, with the broken sunshine glimmering among them. Giovanni stepped forth, and, forcing himself through the entanglement of a shrub that wreathed its tendrils over the hidden entrance, stood beneath his own window in the open area of Dr. Rappaccini's garden.

How often is it the case that, when impossibilities have come to pass and dreams have condensed their misty substance into tangible realities, we find ourselves calm, and even coldly self-possessed, amid circumstances which it would have been a delirium of joy or agony to anticipate! Fate delights to thwart us thus. Passion will choose his own time to rush upon the scene, and lingers sluggishly behind when an appropriate adjustment of events would seem to summon his appearance. So was it now with Giovanni. Day after day his pulses had throbbed with feverish blood at the improbable idea of an interview with Beatrice, and of standing with her, face to face, in this very garden, basking in the Oriental sunshine of her beauty, and snatching from her full gaze the mystery which he deemed the riddle of his own existence. But now there was a singular and untimely equanimity within his breast. He threw a glance around the garden to discover if Beatrice or her father were present, and, perceiving that he was alone, began a critical observation of the plants.

The aspect of one and all of them dissatisfied him; their gorgeousness seemed fierce, passionate, and even unnatural. There was hardly an individual shrub which a wanderer, straying by himself through a forest, would not have been startled to find growing wild, as if an unearthly face had glared at him out of the thicket. Several also would have shocked a delicate instinct by an appearance of artificialness indicating that there had been such commixture, and, as it were, adultery, of various vegetable species, that the production was no longer of God's making, but the monstrous offspring of man's depraved fancy, glowing with only an evil mockery of beauty. They were probably the result of experiment, which in one or two cases had succeeded in mingling plants individually lovely into a compound possessing the questionable and ominous character that distinguished the whole growth of the garden. In fine, Giovanni recognized but two or three plants in the collection, and those of a kind that he well knew to be poisonous. While busy with these contemplations he heard the rustling of a silken garment, and, turning, beheld Beatrice emerging from beneath the sculptured portal.

Giovanni had not considered with himself what should be his deportment; whether he should apologize for his intrusion into the garden, or assume that he was there with the privity at least, if not by the desire, of Dr. Rappaccini or his daughter; but Beatrice's manner placed him at his ease, though leaving him still in doubt by what agency he had gained admittance. She came lightly along the path and met him near the broken fountain. There was surprise in her face, but brightened by a simple and kind expression of pleasure.

"You are a connoisseur in flowers, signor," said Beatrice, with a smile, alluding to the bouquet which he had flung her from the window. "It is no marvel, therefore, if the sight of my father's rare collection has tempted you to take a nearer view. If he were here, he could tell you many strange and interesting facts as to the nature and habits of these shrubs; for he has spent a lifetime in such studies, and this garden is his world."

"And yourself, lady," observed Giovanni, "if fame says true,—you likewise are deeply skilled in the virtues indicated by these rich blossoms and these spicy perfumes. Would you deign to be my instructress, I should prove an apter scholar than if taught by Signor Rappaccini himself."

"Are there such idle rumors?" asked Beatrice, with the music of a pleasant laugh. "Do people say that I am skilled in my father's science of plants? What a jest is there! No; though I have grown up among these flowers, I know no more of them than their hues and perfume; and sometimes methinks I would fain rid myself of even that small knowledge. There are many flowers here, and those not the least brilliant, that shock and offend me when they meet my eye. But pray, signor, do not believe these stories about my science. Believe nothing of me save what you see with your own eyes."

"And must I believe all that I have seen with my own eyes?" asked Giovanni, pointedly, while the recollection of former scenes made him shrink. "No, signora; you demand too little of me. Bid me believe nothing save what comes from your own lips."

It would appear that Beatrice understood him. There came a deep flush to her cheek; but she looked full into Giovanni's eyes, and responded to his gaze of uneasy suspicion with a queenlike haughtiness.

"I do so bid you, signor," she replied. "Forget whatever you may have fancied in regard to me. If true to the outward senses, still it may be false in its essence; but the words of Beatrice Rappaccini's lips are true from the depths of the heart outward. Those you may believe."

A fervor glowed in her whole aspect and beamed upon Giovanni's consciousness like the light of truth itself; but while she spoke there was a fragrance in the atmosphere around her, rich and delightful, though evanescent, yet which the young man, from an indefinable reluctance, scarcely dared to draw into his lungs. It might be the odor of the flowers. Could it be Beatrice's breath which thus embalmed her words with a strange richness, as if by steeping them in her heart? A faintness passed like a shadow over Giovanni and flitted away; he seemed to gaze through the beautiful girl's eyes into her transparent soul, and felt no more doubt or fear.

The tinge of passion that had colored Beatrice's manner vanished; she became gay, and appeared to derive a pure delight from her communion with the youth not unlike what the maiden of a lonely island might have felt conversing with a voyager from the civilized world. Evidently her experience of life had been confined within the limits of that garden. She talked now about matters as simple as the daylight or summer clouds, and now asked questions in reference to the city, or Giovanni's distant home, his friends, his mother, and his sisters—questions indicating such seclusion, and such lack of familiarity with modes and forms, that Giovanni responded as if to an infant. Her spirit gushed out before him like a fresh rill that was just catching its first glimpse of the sunlight and wondering at the reflections of earth and sky which were flung into its bosom. There came thoughts, too, from a deep source, and fantasies of a gemlike brilliancy, as if diamonds and rubies sparkled upward among the bubbles of the fountain. Ever and anon there gleamed across the young man's mind a sense of wonder that he should be walking side by side with the being who had so wrought upon his imagination, whom he had idealized in such hues of terror, in whom he had positively witnessed such manifestations of dreadful attributes,—that he should be conversing with Beatrice like a brother, and should find her so human and so maidenlike. But such reflections were only momentary; the effect of her character was too real not to make itself familiar at once.

In this free intercourse they had strayed through the garden, and now, after many turns among its avenues, were come to the shattered fountain, beside which grew the magnificent shrub, with its treasury of glowing blossoms. A fragrance was diffused from it which Giovanni recognized as identical with that which he had attributed to Beatrice's breath, but incomparably more powerful. As her eyes fell upon it, Giovanni beheld her press her hand to her bosom as if her heart were throbbing suddenly and painfully.

"For the first time in my life," murmured she, addressing the shrub, "I had forgotten thee."

"I remember, signora," said Giovanni, "that you once promised to reward me with one of these living gems for the bouquet which I had the happy boldness to fling to your feet. Permit me now to pluck it as a memorial of this interview."

He made a step towards the shrub with extended hand; but Beatrice darted forward, uttering a shriek that went through his heart like a dagger. She caught his hand and drew it back with the whole force of her slender figure. Giovanni felt her touch thrilling through his fibres.

"Touch it not!" exclaimed she, in a voice of agony. "Not for thy life! It is fatal!"

Then, hiding her face, she fled from him and vanished beneath the sculptured portal. As Giovanni followed her with his eyes, he beheld the emaciated figure and pale intelligence of Dr. Rappaccini, who had been watching the scene, he knew not how long, within the shadow of the entrance.

No sooner was Guasconti alone in his chamber than the image of Beatrice came back to his passionate musings, invested with all the witchery that had been gathering around it ever since his first glimpse of her, and now likewise imbued with a tender warmth of girlish womanhood. She was human; her nature was endowed with all gentle and feminine qualities; she was worthiest to be worshipped; she was capable, surely, on her part, of the height and heroism of love. Those tokens which he had hitherto considered as proofs of a frightful peculiarity in her physical and moral system were now either forgotten, or, by the subtle sophistry of passion transmitted into a golden crown of enchantment, rendering Beatrice the more admirable by so much as she was the more unique. Whatever had looked ugly was now beautiful; or, if incapable of such a change, it stole away and hid itself among those shapeless half ideas which throng the dim region beyond the daylight of our perfect consciousness. Thus did he spend the night, nor fell asleep until the dawn had begun to awake the slumbering flowers in Dr. Rappaccini's garden, whither Giovanni's dreams doubtless led him. Up rose the sun in his due season, and, flinging his beams upon the young man's eyelids, awoke him to a sense of pain. When thoroughly aroused, he became sensible of a burning and tingling agony in his hand—in his right hand—the very hand which Beatrice had grasped in her own when he was on the point of plucking one of the gemlike flowers. On the back of that hand there was now a purple print like that of four small fingers, and the likeness of a slender thumb upon his wrist.

Oh, how stubbornly does love,—or even that cunning semblance of love which flourishes in the imagination, but strikes no depth of root into the heart,—how stubbornly does it hold its faith until the moment comes when it is doomed to vanish into thin mist! Giovanni wrapped a handkerchief about his hand and wondered what evil thing had stung him, and soon forgot his pain in a reverie of Beatrice.

After the first interview, a second was in the inevitable course of what we call fate. A third; a fourth; and a meeting with Beatrice in the garden was no longer an incident in Giovanni's daily life, but the whole space in which he might be said to live; for the anticipation and memory of that ecstatic hour made up the remainder. Nor was it otherwise with the daughter of Rappaccini. She watched for the youth's appearance, and flew to his side with confidence as unreserved as if they had been playmates from early infancy—as if they were such playmates still. If, by any unwonted chance, he failed to come at the appointed moment, she stood beneath the window and sent up the rich sweetness of her tones to float around him in his chamber and echo and reverberate throughout his heart: "Giovanni! Giovanni! Why tarriest thou? Come down!" And down he hastened into that Eden of poisonous flowers.

But, with all this intimate familiarity, there was still a reserve in Beatrice's demeanor, so rigidly and invariably sustained that the idea of infringing it scarcely occurred to his imagination. By all appreciable signs, they loved; they had looked love with eyes that conveyed the holy secret from the depths of one soul into the depths of the other, as if it were too sacred to be whispered by the way; they had even spoken love in those gushes of passion when their spirits darted forth in articulated breath like tongues of long-hidden flame; and yet there had been no seal of lips, no clasp of hands, nor any slightest caress such as love claims and hallows. He had never touched one of the gleaming ringlets of her hair; her garment—so marked was the physical barrier between them—had never been waved against him by a breeze. On the few occasions when Giovanni had seemed tempted to overstep the limit, Beatrice grew so sad, so stern, and withal wore such a look of desolate separation, shuddering at itself, that not a spoken word was requisite to repel him. At such times he was startled at the horrible suspicions that rose, monster-like, out of the caverns of his heart and stared him in the face; his love grew thin and faint as the morning mist, his doubts alone had substance. But, when Beatrice's face brightened again after the momentary shadow, she was transformed at once from the mysterious, questionable being whom he had watched with so much awe and horror; she was now the beautiful and unsophisticated girl whom he felt that his spirit knew with a certainty beyond all other knowledge.

A considerable time had now passed since Giovanni's last meeting with Baglioni. One morning, however, he was disagreeably surprised by a visit from the professor, whom he had scarcely thought of for whole weeks, and would willingly have forgotten still longer. Given up as he had long been to a pervading excitement, he could tolerate no companions except upon condition of their perfect sympathy with his present state of feeling. Such sympathy was not to be expected from Professor Baglioni.

The visitor chatted carelessly for a few moments about the gossip of the city and the university, and then took up another topic.

"I have been reading an old classic author lately," said he, "and met with a story that strangely interested me. Possibly you may remember it. It is of an Indian prince, who sent a beautiful woman as a present to Alexander the Great. She was as lovely as the dawn and gorgeous as the sunset; but what especially distinguished her was a certain rich perfume in her breath—richer than a garden of Persian roses. Alexander, as was natural to a youthful conqueror, fell in love at first sight with this magnificent stranger; but a certain sage physician, happening to be present, discovered a terrible secret in regard to her."

"And what was that?" asked Giovanni, turning his eyes downward to avoid those of the professor.

"That this lovely woman," continued Baglioni, with emphasis, "had been nourished with poisons from her birth upward, until her whole nature was so imbued with them that she herself had become the deadliest poison in existence. Poison was her element of life. With that rich perfume of her breath she blasted the very air. Her love would have been poison—her embrace death. Is not this a marvellous tale?"

"A childish fable," answered Giovanni, nervously starting from his chair. "I marvel how your worship finds time to read such nonsense among your graver studies."

"By the by," said the professor, looking uneasily about him, "what singular fragrance is this in your apartment? Is it the perfume of your gloves? It is faint, but delicious; and yet, after all, by no means agreeable. Were I to breathe it long, methinks it would make me ill. It is like the breath of a flower; but I see no flowers in the chamber."

"Nor are there any," replied Giovanni, who had turned pale as the professor spoke; "nor, I think, is there any fragrance except in your worship's imagination. Odors, being a sort of element combined of the sensual and the spiritual, are apt to deceive us in this manner. The recollection of a perfume, the bare idea of it, may easily be mistaken for a present reality."

"Ay; but my sober imagination does not often play such tricks," said Baglioni; "and, were I to fancy any kind of odor, it would be that of some vile apothecary drug, wherewith my fingers are likely enough to be imbued. Our worshipful friend Rappaccini, as I have heard, tinctures his medicaments with odors richer than those of Araby. Doubtless, likewise, the fair and learned Signora Beatrice would minister to her patients with draughts as sweet as a maiden's breath; but woe to him that sips them!"

Giovanni's face evinced many contending emotions. The tone in which the professor alluded to the pure and lovely daughter of Rappaccini was a torture to his soul; and yet the intimation of a view of her character opposite to his own, gave instantaneous distinctness to a thousand dim suspicions, which now grinned at him like so many demons. But he strove hard to quell them and to respond to Baglioni with a true lover's perfect faith.

"Signor professor," said he, "you were my father's friend; perchance, too, it is your purpose to act a friendly part towards his son. I would fain feel nothing towards you save respect and deference; but I pray you to observe, signor, that there is one subject on which we must not speak. You know not the Signora Beatrice. You cannot, therefore, estimate the wrong—the blasphemy, I may even say—that is offered to her character by a light or injurious word."

"Giovanni! my poor Giovanni!" answered the professor, with a calm expression of pity, "I know this wretched girl far better than yourself. You shall hear the truth in respect to the poisoner Rappaccini and his poisonous daughter; yes, poisonous as she is beautiful. Listen; for, even should you do violence to my gray hairs, it shall not silence me. That old fable of the Indian woman has become a truth by the deep and deadly science of Rappaccini and in the person of the lovely Beatrice."

Giovanni groaned and hid his face

"Her father," continued Baglioni, "was not restrained by natural affection from offering up his child in this horrible manner as the victim of his insane zeal for science; for, let us do him justice, he is as true a man of science as ever distilled his own heart in an alembic. What, then, will be your fate? Beyond a doubt you are selected as the material of some new experiment. Perhaps the result is to be death; perhaps a fate more awful still. Rappaccini, with what he calls the interest of science before his eyes, will hesitate at nothing."

"It is a dream," muttered Giovanni to himself; "surely it is a dream."

"But," resumed the professor, "be of good cheer, son of my friend. It is not yet too late for the rescue. Possibly we may even succeed in bringing back this miserable child within the limits of ordinary nature, from which her father's madness has estranged her. Behold this little silver vase! It was wrought by the hands of the renowned Benvenuto Cellini, and is well worthy to be a love gift to the fairest dame in Italy. But its contents are invaluable. One little sip of this antidote would have rendered the most virulent poisons of the Borgias innocuous. Doubt not that it will be as efficacious against those of Rappaccini. Bestow the vase, and the precious liquid within it, on your Beatrice, and hopefully await the result."

Baglioni laid a small, exquisitely wrought silver vial on the table and withdrew, leaving what he had said to produce its effect upon the young man's mind.

"We will thwart Rappaccini yet," thought he, chuckling to himself, as he descended the stairs; "but, let us confess the truth of him, he is a wonderful man—a wonderful man indeed; a vile empiric, however, in his practice, and therefore not to be tolerated by those who respect the good old rules of the medical profession."

Throughout Giovanni's whole acquaintance with Beatrice, he had occasionally, as we have said, been haunted by dark surmises as to her character; yet so thoroughly had she made herself felt by him as a simple, natural, most affectionate, and guileless creature, that the image now held up by Professor Baglioni looked as strange and incredible as if it were not in accordance with his own original conception. True, there were ugly recollections connected with his first glimpses of the beautiful girl; he could not quite forget the bouquet that withered in her grasp, and the insect that perished amid the sunny air, by no ostensible agency save the fragrance of her breath. These incidents, however, dissolving in the pure light of her character, had no longer the efficacy of facts, but were acknowledged as mistaken fantasies, by whatever testimony of the senses they might appear to be substantiated. There is something truer and more real than what we can see with the eyes and touch with the finger. On such better evidence had Giovanni founded his confidence in Beatrice, though rather by the necessary force of her high attributes than by any deep and generous faith on his part. But now his spirit was incapable of sustaining itself at the height to which the early enthusiasm of passion had exalted it; he fell down, grovelling among earthly doubts, and defiled therewith the pure whiteness of Beatrice's image. Not that he gave her up; he did but distrust. He resolved to institute some decisive test that should satisfy him, once for all, whether there were those dreadful peculiarities in her physical nature which could not be supposed to exist without some corresponding monstrosity of soul. His eyes, gazing down afar, might have deceived him as to the lizard, the insect, and the flowers; but if he could witness, at the distance of a few paces, the sudden blight of one fresh and healthful flower in Beatrice's hand, there would be room for no further question. With this idea he hastened to the florist's and purchased a bouquet that was still gemmed with the morning dew-drops.

It was now the customary hour of his daily interview with Beatrice. Before descending into the garden, Giovanni failed not to look at his figure in the mirror,—a vanity to be expected in a beautiful young man, yet, as displaying itself at that troubled and feverish moment, the token of a certain shallowness of feeling and insincerity of character. He did gaze, however, and said to himself that his features had never before possessed so rich a grace, nor his eyes such vivacity, nor his cheeks so warm a hue of superabundant life.

"At least," thought he, "her poison has not yet insinuated itself into my system. I am no flower to perish in her grasp."

With that thought he turned his eyes on the bouquet, which he had never once laid aside from his hand. A thrill of indefinable horror shot through his frame on perceiving that those dewy flowers were already beginning to droop; they wore the aspect of things that had been fresh and lovely yesterday. Giovanni grew white as marble, and stood motionless before the mirror, staring at his own reflection there as at the likeness of something frightful. He remembered Baglioni's remark about the fragrance that seemed to pervade the chamber. It must have been the poison in his breath! Then he shuddered—shuddered at himself. Recovering from his stupor, he began to watch with curious eye a spider that was busily at work hanging its web from the antique cornice of the apartment, crossing and recrossing the artful system of interwoven lines—as vigorous and active a spider as ever dangled from an old ceiling. Giovanni bent towards the insect, and emitted a deep, long breath. The spider suddenly ceased its toil; the web vibrated with a tremor originating in the body of the small artisan. Again Giovanni sent forth a breath, deeper, longer, and imbued with a venomous feeling out of his heart: he knew not whether he were wicked, or only desperate. The spider made a convulsive gripe with his limbs and hung dead across the window.

"Accursed! accursed!" muttered Giovanni, addressing himself. "Hast thou grown so poisonous that this deadly insect perishes by thy breath?"

At that moment a rich, sweet voice came floating up from the garden.

"Giovanni! Giovanni! It is past the hour! Why tarriest thou? Come down!"

"Yes," muttered Giovanni again. "She is the only being whom my breath may not slay! Would that it might!"

He rushed down, and in an instant was standing before the bright and loving eyes of Beatrice. A moment ago his wrath and despair had been so fierce that he could have desired nothing so much as to wither her by a glance; but with her actual presence there came influences which had too real an existence to be at once shaken off: recollections of the delicate and benign power of her feminine nature, which had so often enveloped him in a religious calm; recollections of many a holy and passionate outgush of her heart, when the pure fountain had been unsealed from its depths and made visible in its transparency to his mental eye; recollections which, had Giovanni known how to estimate them, would have assured him that all this ugly mystery was but an earthly illusion, and that, whatever mist of evil might seem to have gathered over her, the real Beatrice was a heavenly angel. Incapable as he was of such high faith, still her presence had not utterly lost its magic. Giovanni's rage was quelled into an aspect of sullen insensibility. Beatrice, with a quick spiritual sense, immediately felt that there was a gulf of blackness between them which neither he nor she could pass. They walked on together, sad and silent, and came thus to the marble fountain and to its pool of water on the ground, in the midst of which grew the shrub that bore gem-like blossoms. Giovanni was affrighted at the eager enjoyment—the appetite, as it were—with which he found himself inhaling the fragrance of the flowers.

"Beatrice," asked he, abruptly, "whence came this shrub?"

"My father created it," answered she, with simplicity.

"Created it! created it!" repeated Giovanni. "What mean you, Beatrice?"

"He is a man fearfully acquainted with the secrets of Nature," replied Beatrice; "and, at the hour when I first drew breath, this plant sprang from the soil, the offspring of his science, of his intellect, while I was but his earthly child. Approach it not!" continued she, observing with terror that Giovanni was drawing nearer to the shrub. "It has qualities that you little dream of. But I, dearest Giovanni,—I grew up and blossomed with the plant and was nourished with its breath. It was my sister, and I loved it with a human affection; for, alas!—hast thou not suspected it?—there was an awful doom."

Here Giovanni frowned so darkly upon her that Beatrice paused and trembled. But her faith in his tenderness reassured her, and made her blush that she had doubted for an instant.

"There was an awful doom," she continued, "the effect of my father's fatal love of science, which estranged me from all society of my kind. Until Heaven sent thee, dearest Giovanni, oh, how lonely was thy poor Beatrice!"

"Was it a hard doom?" asked Giovanni, fixing his eyes upon her.

"Only of late have I known how hard it was," answered she, tenderly. "Oh, yes; but my heart was torpid, and therefore quiet."

Giovanni's rage broke forth from his sullen gloom like a lightning flash out of a dark cloud.

"Accursed one!" cried he, with venomous scorn and anger. "And, finding thy solitude wearisome, thou hast severed me likewise from all the warmth of life and enticed me into thy region of unspeakable horror!"

"Giovanni!" exclaimed Beatrice, turning her large bright eyes upon his face. The force of his words had not found its way into her mind; she was merely thunderstruck.

"Yes, poisonous thing!" repeated Giovanni, beside himself with passion. "Thou hast done it! Thou hast blasted me! Thou hast filled my veins with poison! Thou hast made me as hateful, as ugly, as loathsome and deadly a creature as thyself—a world's wonder of hideous monstrosity! Now, if our breath be happily as fatal to ourselves as to all others, let us join our lips in one kiss of unutterable hatred, and so die!"

"What has befallen me?" murmured Beatrice, with a low moan out of her heart. "Holy Virgin, pity me, a poor heart-broken child!"

"Thou,—dost thou pray?" cried Giovanni, still with the same fiendish scorn. "Thy very prayers, as they come from thy lips, taint the atmosphere with death. Yes, yes; let us pray! Let us to church and dip our fingers in the holy water at the portal! They that come after us will perish as by a pestilence! Let us sign crosses in the air! It will be scattering curses abroad in the likeness of holy symbols!"

"Giovanni," said Beatrice, calmly, for her grief was beyond passion, "why dost thou join thyself with me thus in those terrible words? I, it is true, am the horrible thing thou namest me. But thou,—what hast thou to do, save with one other shudder at my hideous misery to go forth out of the garden and mingle with thy race, and forget there ever crawled on earth such a monster as poor Beatrice?"

"Dost thou pretend ignorance?" asked Giovanni, scowling upon her. "Behold! this power have I gained from the pure daughter of Rappaccini."

There was a swarm of summer insects flitting through the air in search of the food promised by the flower odors of the fatal garden. They circled round Giovanni's head, and were evidently attracted towards him by the same influence which had drawn them for an instant within the sphere of several of the shrubs. He sent forth a breath among them, and smiled bitterly at Beatrice as at least a score of the insects fell dead upon the ground.

"I see it! I see it!" shrieked Beatrice. "It is my father's fatal science! No, no, Giovanni; it was not I! Never! never! I dreamed only to love thee and be with thee a little time, and so to let thee pass away, leaving but thine image in mine heart; for, Giovanni, believe it, though my body be nourished with poison, my spirit is God's creature, and craves love as its daily food. But my father,—he has united us in this fearful sympathy. Yes; spurn me, tread upon me, kill me! Oh, what is death after such words as thine? But it was not I. Not for a world of bliss would I have done it."

Giovanni's passion had exhausted itself in its outburst from his lips. There now came across him a sense, mournful, and not without tenderness, of the intimate and peculiar relationship between Beatrice and himself. They stood, as it were, in an utter solitude, which would be made none the less solitary by the densest throng of human life. Ought not, then, the desert of humanity around them to press this insulated pair closer together? If they should be cruel to one another, who was there to be kind to them? Besides, thought Giovanni, might there not still be a hope of his returning within the limits of ordinary nature, and leading Beatrice, the redeemed Beatrice, by the hand? O, weak, and selfish, and unworthy spirit, that could dream of an earthly union and earthly happiness as possible, after such deep love had been so bitterly wronged as was Beatrice's love by Giovanni's blighting words! No, no; there could be no such hope. She must pass heavily, with that broken heart, across the borders of Time—she must bathe her hurts in some fount of paradise, and forget her grief in the light of immortality, and THERE be well.

But Giovanni did not know it.

"Dear Beatrice," said he, approaching her, while she shrank away as always at his approach, but now with a different impulse, "dearest Beatrice, our fate is not yet so desperate. Behold! there is a medicine, potent, as a wise physician has assured me, and almost divine in its efficacy. It is composed of ingredients the most opposite to those by which thy awful father has brought this calamity upon thee and me. It is distilled of blessed herbs. Shall we not quaff it together, and thus be purified from evil?"

"Give it me!" said Beatrice, extending her hand to receive the little silver vial which Giovanni took from his bosom. She added, with a peculiar emphasis, "I will drink; but do thou await the result."

She put Baglioni's antidote to her lips; and, at the same moment, the figure of Rappaccini emerged from the portal and came slowly towards the marble fountain. As he drew near, the pale man of science seemed to gaze with a triumphant expression at the beautiful youth and maiden, as might an artist who should spend his life in achieving a picture or a group of statuary and finally be satisfied with his success. He paused; his bent form grew erect with conscious power; he spread out his hands over them in the attitude of a father imploring a blessing upon his children; but those were the same hands that had thrown poison into the stream of their lives. Giovanni trembled. Beatrice shuddered nervously, and pressed her hand upon her heart.

"My daughter," said Rappaccini, "thou art no longer lonely in the world. Pluck one of those precious gems from thy sister shrub and bid thy bridegroom wear it in his bosom. It will not harm him now. My science and the sympathy between thee and him have so wrought within his system that he now stands apart from common men, as thou dost, daughter of my pride and triumph, from ordinary women. Pass on, then, through the world, most dear to one another and dreadful to all besides!"

"My father," said Beatrice, feebly,—and still as she spoke she kept her hand upon her heart,—"wherefore didst thou inflict this miserable doom upon thy child?"

"Miserable!" exclaimed Rappaccini. "What mean you, foolish girl? Dost thou deem it misery to be endowed with marvellous gifts against which no power nor strength could avail an enemy—misery, to be able to quell the mightiest with a breath—misery, to be as terrible as thou art beautiful? Wouldst thou, then, have preferred the condition of a weak woman, exposed to all evil and capable of none?"

"I would fain have been loved, not feared," murmured Beatrice, sinking down upon the ground. "But now it matters not. I am going, father, where the evil which thou hast striven to mingle with my being will pass away like a dream-like the fragrance of these poisonous flowers, which will no longer taint my breath among the flowers of Eden. Farewell, Giovanni! Thy words of hatred are like lead within my heart; but they, too, will fall away as I ascend. Oh, was there not, from the first, more poison in thy nature than in mine?"

To Beatrice,—so radically had her earthly part been wrought upon by Rappaccini's skill,—as poison had been life, so the powerful antidote was death; and thus the poor victim of man's ingenuity and of thwarted nature, and of the fatality that attends all such efforts of perverted wisdom, perished there, at the feet of her father and Giovanni. Just at that moment Professor Pietro Baglioni looked forth from the window, and called loudly, in a tone of triumph mixed with horror, to the thunderstricken man of science, "Rappaccini! Rappaccini! and is THIS the upshot of your experiment!"

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emeraldxmonarch · 7 years

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Amori Aetherium (pt. 17)

(Hey guys! Here’s chapter 17 haha! I really hope you guys enjoy it! I’m sorry for these huge ass gaps between chapters, life is still kicking my ass. But I hope the kinda long and kinda plot filled chapter makes up for it? A HUGE thank you to @voice-addicted for her help editing and her ideas! She came up with a really big chunk of this chapter, and I couldn’t do this without her. <3 Enjoy guys!

-SxW)

~Previous chapter~ ~Next Chapter~

Amara and Feyre both tensed up at the news and looked at each other wearily.

“Rhys, Helion was the one who called this meeting?”

“No, Beron did. But Helion apparently cut through the bullshit and called us all to the Day Court. Beron won’t be too happy,” he sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair.

“This should be fun” Feyre snorted dryly, and gently set the bags down before going to her mate’s side, who happily welcomed her into a hug.

Amara felt a bit awkward standing near the bags, and slowly began to shuffle herself out of the room after grabbing the bags that Feyre set down.

“Hey! I want to know what you two were laughing about when you first came in!” Mor quickly interjected before the two mates could get any action, and that piqued Rhys’ interest too.

“I’d like to know too, actually,” He softly nuzzled Feyre, who tried to bite back a laugh as she looked at Amara, who was thoroughly blushing.

“Well, it’s Amara’s story, not mine. She has to tell you” Three sets of eyes turned towards her, and she shied under their gazes “U-Umm... I don’t mind telling you but I don’t want to bore you..”

Feyre grinned widely, “The only people who would enjoy that story more than me, would be these two and Cassian. Especially because of who it is.”

Both Rhys and Mor were insanely curious now because of the vague way Feyre was describing the story, and Amara very slowly sat down at the edge of the couch by Mor, and was adjacent to Feyre and Rhys.

“If this doesn’t get her into everyone’s good graces, I don’t know what will”

“Should I be concerned?”

Feyre just grinned in response, and Amara slowly launched into her story, more hesitant than when she spoke with Feyre, but seeing the shock on their faces gave her slightly more confidence to add her former excitement to the story again.

Feyre couldn’t stop her laughter at the utter shock and pride on both of their faces as Amara narrated what she did.

She managed to get a few laughs out of Mor but only chuckles out of Rhys, but his undoing was when she described the head maid in Keir’s bed.

He laughed hard enough to make Feyre jolt in his lap.

And Amara’s answering grin was blinding.

Mor squeezed Amara’s arm, “So THAT’S why that old crone wasn’t in the meetings anymore! Cauldron boil me Amara, that’s fucking brilliant!” Amara laughed and hugged Mor’s arm in her genuine glee.

The surprise was clear, but so was the wide grin on her face.

“I wish I could show you what we saw! Words don’t do it justice”

“I need to know what your friend wrote in that letter to make that hag do that” Mor sighed dramatically, and Amara couldn’t hold back the blush.

“I had to practically shove Idelisa in the broom closet to keep her from doubling over right in front of Deoch... not that I was much better,” Amara couldn’t help but laugh again, her sides stitching from just how much she actually laughed today.

It felt so good.

Amara was practically glowing, and it felt as though that previous tension had all but completely vanished.

Rhys shook his head with a grin, “I’ll need to consult you next time I want to piss someone off Amara,” and she couldn’t help but grin widely, “It’ll be my pleasure”

Both Rhys and Feyre silently agreed: Her smile could definitely light up the room.

“But I do have a question” Mor turned towards Amara with a serious expression that made the girl straighten.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any more stories like that?”

Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps filled the room, as Cassian and Azriel both walked in, sweat soaked and shirtless and obviously spent.

“What did we miss?”

“The best damn story of your lives...is it necessary to walk around like that?”

“Don’t act like you don’t enjoy the view Mor.”

“Fish are more interesting to watch than you two are.”

Amara couldn’t bite back her snort of laughter, as she ducked her head in embarrassment and Rhys didn’t bother to hide his loud laughter, only to get a balled up shirt thrown at his face.

His laughter instantly cut off as Cassian’s began, and Rhys grimaced as he pulled the shirt off. Even Azriel grinned at the duo as he pulled his own shirt back on.

The atmosphere was light and airy, and it felt as if no tension lied underneath.

It was something she savored with all of her heart.

“Amara?”

“Hmm?” She turned towards Feyre, who nodded towards the bags at her feet.

“How about we set that up in your room, while the boys have their little pissing contest?”

She choked on her laughter and snorted, quickly covering her mouth in embarrassment.

Mor giggled in return and stretched her arms, her silver bracelets softly clinking together at the action, “Let me come too. I’m tired of all of the testosterone in here.”

Feyre felt a very slight irritation at the intrusion but quickly pushed it down, not wanting to feel that way towards her friend.

But she couldn’t always fight her instincts. But she would damn well try.

Rhys was too busy quibbling with Cassian to notice the girls sneak away, but Az gave them a fleeting grin at they hurried up the stairs with which Mor returned with a conspiratorial wink.

“Amara, you know, I was thinking back today and I remembered there was a time I actually spoke with you,” Mor casually commented as she set up various fae lights around her room.

Amara quickly glanced at her as she and Feyre played around with the few outfits she bought. “Really? Which time?”

“When I came to speak to Keir about the Darkbringer army.”

Amara’s mouth formed a soft “o” as she remembered, but then paled a bit, “I remember how terrifying you were when you asked for him...”

Mor stopped and looked at her, obviously a little surprised, “What? How? I was so nice when I asked you to bring that piece of shit out!”

Amara pouted at her, making Feyre grin, “You and I remember that very differently Mor...”

Mor rolled her eyes and continued to set up the soft lights at various corners and parts of the room.

It was beautiful honestly, the lights glinted soft, pastel colors that gave the room an almost rainbow-esque glow. Amara quietly looked around the room, the glow making the tightness in her chest ease up ever so slowly.

It felt so peaceful.

Both Feyre and Mor smiled at the look of awe on her face, and Mor decided to speak up.

“Was I really that scary?” She didn’t sound angry, but more..pleased.

“I always aimed for beautifully dangerous, not Amren frightening” Amara ended up giggling at the comparison.

“You were... you all felt... terrifyingly powerful...” Amara shook her head softly, as both women turned towards her quietly, “Like you all were worlds above, and I still remember every single time I saw you all in Hewn City...the closest I got was when I was serving..” She softly trailed off, the person she was referring to clear in her words.

Feyre felt a twinge in her chest, as the unwanted notion rose higher and higher in her throat, the words threatening to spill out, but before they could, Mor spoke them first,

“Were you in love with him?”

Both Feyre and Amara tensed up, Amara clearly cringing at the question, and Feyre suddenly found that she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“...I thought I did...” Her voice was almost non-existent, “...I thought that would be the closest I would ever get to being loved.... despite... despite my name, my status... I felt lucky... there were several servant girls much more beautiful than I but he still chose me...” She felt the silver lining her eyes in heavier and heavier waves the more she spoke.

Mor quietly took a seat next to her, and took her hand, “Amara... that city does nothing but smother any and all light that is in it... and you’re free from that... you’re free...”

“Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it.” She couldn’t stop the confession, the words that spilled out from her very chest and Feyre’s heart tightening in pain.

Mor looked her straight in the eyes while she spoke, “Do you know why I don’t stand at my father’s side anymore, Amara?” Both women glanced at her, one in sad understanding, and one in confusion.

“Isn’t it because you serve in the Inner Circle...?”

“You’re partially right. But the reason I serve in the Inner Circle is because of what that Court did to me”

Amara watched her carefully, trying to piece together what Mor was slowly beginning to admit.

“You see, I was betrothed.” Her eyes widened, but Mor had a distant look in her eyes as she spoke,

“To Eris. Of Autumn Court. No matter how I begged and pleaded, no one would listen to me, so I wrenched my own freedom back” She was speechless, so the rumors were true...

“I bedded Cassian, who at that time, was considered to be an Illyrian bastard... and because of it, Eris broke off his engagement with me, claiming he wanted nothing to do with a whore. So my family” the word was full of spite, “beat me, and left me at Autumn’s border with a note for them nailed into my be-”

Amara practically threw herself at Mor, openly sobbing as she clung to the golden haired female.

Mor quickly caught her, snapping out of her memories in a slight daze as the slight girl cried into her shoulder. Even Feyre was slightly teary eyed and surprised as Amara let out sob after sob.

Mor donned a slightly sad smile, as she carefully rubbed her back, “Please don’t cry... Amara, I’m free... and so are you... we’re out and we’re free and as light as the stars above us... all of us are... you’ll have your good days and your bad... but remember that... and don’t let the bad days win”

Feyre gently took Mor’s free hand and squeezed it tightly, who sent her a gentle smile in return, as they let Amara cry. Somehow, it felt like they both got lighter, at having someone else cry for their pain.

For her pain.

Rhys sighed as he sprawled out on the couch, both Cassian and Azriel laying in the armchairs next to him, the atmosphere considerably light despite the news daunting all of them.

“Rhys?” Cassian sighed softly.

“Hmm?”

“What do you think this meeting is actually about?”

Rhys sighed deeply, as Az paid close attention to both of his brothers, his shadows almost lazily extending and spiraling around his legs.

“I wish I could say it for sure, but I have a feeling it’s about us”

“I can try to find out for sure” Az volunteered quietly, running a hand through his short black hair as Rhys let his head fall back against the arm rest of the couch.

“I’m tempted. I’m very tempted... if this IS about us... then Amara” As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he still internally flinched when he said even a part of her name, “will have to go, and I don’t know how that’ll go”

“We’ll be there to keep her safe Rhys. She’s still your mate” Cassian sat up a bit more, as well as Azriel, both of them again showing just how loyal they were, and Rhys felt gratitude swell in his chest at it.

“As much as I appreciate that, I don’t think they’ll try to kill her at sight” He tried to push some joking tone into his voice, but the worry was still apparent.

None of them knew how the other High Lords would react. Rhys couldn’t count on Helion for any help and while he understood why, it still made him uneasy.

The three of them knew too much about Helion, he would’ve known better than to turn on them.

“Maybe the meeting is something else entirely” Azriel sighed softly, trying to rack his brain for any sort of information that would warrant a High Lord meeting.

“I can only hope. But the only way to find out for sure, is to go out and see” Rhys shook his head in irritation.

“You mean..” Both Illyrians leaned closer to their High Lord.

“Yes, go to Helion and ask him straightforward. I can’t risk the sudden exposure, especially since the bond isn’t... official.”

“I think we should discuss this before coming to a decision ourselves.” Az pointed out, and the others nodded with a soft sigh.

“Let’s call them down then, shall we?”

Amara hiccuped and slowly pulled away from the two women’s embrace, a bit embarrassed to have cried so openly, but before she could utter anything close to an apology, there was a soft knock on her door.

Azriel nodded his head in greeting, as all three women looked at him.

“Could you come downstairs? There’s something we all need to discuss”

They looked at each other, before Feyre sighed softly. “Well, let’s see what’s going on now.”

Rhys and Cassian were in the same positions as before, and Mor plopped down in Azriel’s now vacant seat he leaned against her armchair. Feyre easily sprawled out next to Rhys, and Amara glanced around for a few seconds before quietly standing near the window, close enough to be addressed, but far enough to issue respect to their own conversation.

“We’ve been talking about the meeting and why Helion would suddenly take it over” Rhys started out, making Feyre look at him from the crook of his shoulder.

“And?”

“And the only way to find out for sure is to go talk to him directly”

This made all three females in the room tense up and look at him.

“Are you insane? Do you have any idea how accusatory that would sound?” Mor immediately voiced her disapproval, and even Feyre gave him a startled glance.

“She’s right... especially after...” Rhys got the hint and sighed deeply, the sound coming from his very bones.

“Do you want to risk getting exposed? With an unofficial mate who has no way of defending herself against six High Lords?”

“You sound as if you expect them all to attack her on sight!” The irritation was growing in her voice.

Amara cringed as they spoke of her as though she weren’t right there, but they were right. She was nothing but a burden on them, and if this meeting was about the emergence of the bond, then she would be the reason they might be in danger.

Her thoughts spiraled down further and further, but was quickly interrupted by a clear “Hey!”

It was Cassian who interrupted his bickering High Lord and Lady.

“Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything right now.... Quit giving me that look, I know when to cut the shit unlike you two” Mor couldn’t hold back the snort as he said that, and that seemed to cut the tension a bit.

Feyre shook her head, and Mor ran a hand through her hair, “We’re not getting anywhere with this.” And there was a soft murmur of agreement.

“Going to Helion is too dangerous though, Rhys. You have no idea how he’ll react. It could blow up in our face.”

“So could this meeting.”

“Then let me do the scouting.” Az’s voice cut through the conversation and all heads turned to him.

“This is my job”

“We don’t usually spy on other High Lords, Az” Mor interjected.

“She’s right. This is something too risky. If you’re caught- Not that I’m saying you will-” Rhys quickly added, seeing the indignation flash on the Spymaster’s face, “It’s just something we can’t risk, considering who and what we’re dealing with. At least if we go upfront, we’ll have the cover of an honest conversation on our side.”

“Or you could risk pissing him off and blowing the entire thing right up. Before the meeting” Feyre groaned, and leaned away from Rhys, finding him to be less than appealing at the moment.

Amara bit back a large sigh at the standstill that had occurred and watched the group sadly. She didn’t have any better solution to offer, but felt like it was too dangerous to just go and confront Helion... after what they knew about him, she didn’t believe he would risk it.

But then again, she never knew what would go through a High Lord’s mind.

“Amara” She jumped softly at the sound of her name, and turned towards the person who called it.

“Y-Yes Rhysand?�� She still stuttered when saying his name, feeling as though she was stepping over a line.

He gave a slightly weary grin, “We’ve been talking as though this doesn’t involve you. I’m sorry. You’ve been listening to us claw each other’s throats out, you obviously should have some sort of opinion on this.”

All eyes turned towards her, and she bit her lip in nervousness, “W-Well... all things considered... it might be a bad idea to confront High Lord Helion... because of... well...-”

“What is this thing that you all have over Helion?!” Mor suddenly burst out, and Amara tensed harshly, silently cursing herself for even bringing it up.

“You all have been hinting towards how Helion wouldn’t dare reveal this but don’t say why! What are you hiding from us?”

At this point, Cassian was sitting stock straight in his seat, and Azriel was standing instead of leaning with Mor angrily crossing her arms in her seat, and Rhys shook his head.

“Nothing that concerns you right now” His voice was firm and commanding, the High Lord persona slipping into place briefly.

This caused his Cousin and both brothers to stiffen in their places.

“You don’t trust us” There was an undertone of hurt in Cassian’s voice that made Rhys tense in his place, with Feyre wide eyed and tongue tied next to him.

“You know damn well that isn’t it. It’s something that can’t be explained in a few words, and right now, we have something slightly bigger to deal with!”

The tension was almost suffocating, and they all flinched when there was a sudden knock on the door. Amara hesitated, and after glancing at Rhys, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, did she go and answer the door.

There stood Lucien, Elain and Nesta. Amara tried to pull up a weak smile as she bowed slightly and let them in. Upon entering, Lucien gave a confused look around the room, obviously feeling the tension.

“Did we all interrupt something?”

Rhys sighed and shook his head, “No, of course not. We’re the ones who asked you over. We’re all just tense because of the meeting”

Feyre rubbed the back of her neck as she walked over to her sisters, gently taking their hands and softly squeezing them.

“Is everything alright?” Elain softly questioned, seeing the shadows loom on all of their faces.

“It will be when this damned meeting is over” Cassian stretched out and let his wings extend a bit before closing back in, relaxing ever so slightly afterwards.

He walked over to where Nesta was standing, and met her eyes. Even Feyre knew to gently let go and move.

Their gazes met, smoldering and silent, a world’s worth of conversation passed between them in the span of seconds. And when their gazes broke, Cassian wrapped a gentle arm around her slim frame, and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before gently leading her into the kitchen.

Both Elain and Feyre grinned at each other in secret glee, before Feyre followed with Rhys at her arm.

“My Lady?” Lucien softly offered his arm to Elain, who smiled at him gently and gently followed her sisters with him.

Mor laid a hand on the small of Amara’s back, and gently motioned towards the table, and quietly they made their way to their seats, Azriel not far behind.

The world could wait one more evening.

One more dinner.

They would tackle it soon after.

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system-architect · 6 years

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gonna be doin some late additions to that ask meme since i was asked a bunch...! it’s a lot for four dif chars so i’ll be splitting it up into two posts. i might have to skip a few questions but we’ll see

here’s the gunner and xinn edition! i was asked uhhh... 1-6 and 9-19

gunner first!

Their physical weak spots: gunner is speedy and evades a lot, but can’t take too many solid hits in general-- anything that disarms him or messes with his ability to move/think fast will hamper him a lot. he’s actually mostly primarily weak to over-exerting his magic and making himself sick/’irradiated’ Their emotional/moral weak spots: he can be too stoic and too cocky and launch into things headfirst without properly assessing the situation or consulting his allies Scars or painful spots: his right arm/side is aaaalllllllll leyline scars! Best places to kiss on their body: he is partial to shoulder/upper back/neck/jaw/near ear kisses. also scar kisses Guilty pleasures: it’s not a guilty pleasure so much as a Secret Pleasure but gunner’s surprisingly talented at baking/cooking. he’s also very into sweets specifically chocolate Their vices (physical or emotional): it’s not particularly severe for him, but he sometimes turns 2 Substances when hyper stressed Humiliating memories: god i’m sure there’s a Lot but i gotta develop him more here. he probably has quite a few from growing up in novus but not being much of a typical asura. plus some embarrassing combat defeats Fears/phobias: afraid he’s gonna squandered his extended lifespan and amount to nothing despite that, afraid he’s gonna end up losing everything he has again like he did in the chak attack on rata novus, afraid he’s just been constantly making the wrong decisions and everything that’s happened to him is his fault and that he could’ve solved it if he was just Better, afraid that bad things are going to just keep happening to him Bad or petty habits: god he can be very stubborn and petty and aggressive or passive aggressive at times... he has a bad habit of overfocusing on himself and not considering others in a situation Grudges and vendettas: he’s got a grudge against Every Single Chak and will go out of his way to kill them. he loathes the inquest for all the shit they’ve done to ppl he loves and all the havoc they’ve caused with his DNA, and he’s also still bitter at zinn for leaving his people behind (he was very.. smug when he learned how zinn died) What gets them flustered: gunner is very strongly emotional despite acting stoic so it’s pretty easy to get him riled up into an argument... anything about synergetics or related to ppl gunner cares for or his fighting strats is a 1 way ticket to Yell Town Ingrained habits/forces of habit: he’s crossing his arms like 24/7 and he’s also a very paranoid person who is constantly surveying the area and whips his head about every time he hears A Noise.. he’s on his tactical survivalist fighter game like all the time What it takes to make them cry: takes a LOT to make him cry bc he bottles those emotions hardcore. things related to his parents or setting off his “alchemy why me, why do bad things keep happening to ME??” complex will do it Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’: he keeps the novan thing concealed but u all here on tumblr get to be privvy to it. he’s also very clammed up about how the mists affected him... Regrets: he’s constantly picking over and scrutinizing his past actions, big and small, and wondering how he could’ve done things better or if he could’ve prevented such huge messes by acting a little differently Things they’ll never admit: he’s bottled this a whole ton so he tends to be less aware of it tbh, but inside he’s a big huge softie who’s very emotional about a lot and he should bottle things less and he wants more gentleness in his life. he has a hard time admitting to himself that showing emotions isn’t Bad People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them: depends a lot on the situation.... idk much specifics but gunner def has had to kill people and generally views it as a survival necessity (think like, fighting enemies ingame-- bandits, centaurs, djinn, whatever). he doesn’t like needless killing. whenever he does have to kill someone he’s slightly crestfallen a bit, he does trudge onwards but the general concept he gets hung up on was how that person had a whole world and spirit inside them and he’s put that to an end now

aaaaaaaaand here’s xinnux--

Their physical weak spots: xinn is speedy and can put great force behind stabbing/throwing with his knives/machetes but he mostly marches in with his pets to attack things, so anything that disarms him or impedes his movement or separates him from his pets will render him useless. good luck catching him tho he’s like a mouse on red bull Their emotional/moral weak spots: xinnux is Les Enfants he gets emotional and confused about a whole lot of things. he doesn’t have a bad bone in his body but he’s still figuring out how morality works; he doesn’t quite Conceptualize death and good vs bad yet Scars or painful spots: he’s got a lot of weird scars from inquest tests and he doesn’t like any of them, they physically hurt and remind him of Bad Things Best places to kiss on their body: i’m just gonna slide in here for future ref, xinn physically appears to be 20 atm (his bday was nov 25th! woo!) but he is literally two years old and the narrative handles him as a child!! (xinn being a child who’s not been given a childhood and has been forced to grow up fast is Very Much a plot point, even!) so i’m not gonna b answerin any kind of questions about romance/sexuality for xinn. xinn is a toddler in a big boy’s body, he has dirt to crawl around in and retrieve bugs from, that’s his life atm he doesn’t mess with adult business like this Guilty pleasures: xinn feels guilty about nothing. he WILL binge eat what he pleases. he WILL ‘accidentally’ steal things. he WILL just literally do whatever he wants at any time. the concept of feeling guilty for something that is fun is like, beyond him Their vices (physical or emotional): this isn’t rlly a vice but like i said since xinn has a hard time conceptualizing things like death and pain, he will sometimes be a bit cruel in his treatment towards others, but it’s out of obliviousness and not direct malice.. he def has a strong sense of empathy he just.. doesn’t Understand things.... (think about when you were a kid and were cruel to animals not bc you hated them but bc you were a tiny untamed infant monkey who acted on instinct and “i want to touch that”, but the thought of “this thing might not enjoy being touched” wasn’t something that occurred to you because your tiny walnut brain couldn’t compute that yet. that’s about xinn’s predicament.) Humiliating memories: there’s probably a few memories he has of bouts with the inquest and tryin to run away but bein wrangled back into his cell and he’s like, embarrassed about his lack of strength there whilst also bein seething mad at the inquest for this all Fears/phobias: A Lot. he’s filled with fear and doesn’t quite process any of it. right now he just knows that feeling hurty things is bad and he feels that and he doesn’t like it. he is also really afraid he will never be Normal and it’s not really a fear he can do much about, or rlly directly a fear, but he’s very bitter and sad about not getting to be a kid and just be born and have a normal childhood. more normal phobia wise, he hates small enclosed spaces with no easy exits, and he hates doctor-related stuff, and he hates being alone Bad or petty habits: xinn can be very stubborn and if he’s told not to do something he will usually run off and try to do it either out of ignorance or just, direct spite Grudges and vendettas: big big ol grudge against all inquest/former inquest. except the one who let him free, that guy’s cool. fuck everyone else tho What gets them flustered: challenging xinn to an argument on literally anything will get him very mad very fast and he doesn’t know how to argue. it VERY LITERALLY will turn into arguing with a child Ingrained habits/forces of habit: he’s always scanning for exits in a room What it takes to make them cry: not much. xinn cries easily, though he does hate crying in front of people and tries to stop it. he doesn’t like bein reminded of his past and also he hates being told he’s wrong or that he can’t do something Dark secrets/’skeletons in the closet’: not rlly a Dark Secret uh, despite being physically 20 he still a lot of the time really wants to be treated like a kid and just entrust himself to parental units and be fussed over jhkgd he does fluctuate on this tho and can absolutely get very “no im adult!!!” too Regrets: the childhood thing i guess? he also feels regret when he unknowingly acts cruelly and it adversely affects someone/something. rn his brain is still forming the concepts of regret, really Things they’ll never admit: xinn can’t really form his brain around concepts like this. he doesn’t particularly have anything complex going on that he would never admit. he has stuff that’s tough to admit, but he does a poor job of hiding it People they’ve hurt or indirectly killed, and how it affected them: i’m sure he’s killed at least one person and probably some critters and like i’ve mentioned he doesn’t really Conceptualize death yet. he knows death is Bad but doesn’t really currently have the emotional development to put himself in other people’s heads and understand why killing someone is so bad and tragic

#text heavy #long post #oc talk #xin #asura!gunner #gunner #didnt rlly proofread sorry

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talpup · 4 years

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Lost Song: 4

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers. For full list of story tags or to read on AO3 check the link at the top of my tumblrs homepage.

Sorry if there’s a drop in quality. I really mean it when I say I write for myself, and edit and post to share with you all. Being dyslexic I spend almost as much time editing and polishing my fics for posting as I do actually writing. It’s become to feel like a job that leaves me disappointed when I don’t get many comments or interaction from you all. That’s NOT on you. That’s on me. Which is why I’m making the change to just enjoy what I do and forget about editing.

4.1

It had been a little over a month since his life had been turned upside down by the two Foundlings who had joined his Ilca. Thankfully the two had been self sufficient adults before arriving so all Shouta had to worry about was the rest. Problem was the rest was Oblvi. An entirely new world to Teris and Hizashi. A new world that was filled with Fourth's. Fourth's that would either revere Teris or call for her head, if not seek to end her themselves, if they learned she was a Griffon.

As much as Shouta hated it, Nedzu was right. The only way to save Teris and keep the peace was for her and Kai to build a friendship that would hold even after the Dragon learned she was a Griffon. In a closed loop thought, the idea made sense. But it would never work in real life. Shouta knew Kai. He knew dragons. No matter what sort of ties Kai made with Teris, they would be severed the instant he learned she was a Griffon.

Back a forth Shouta went. Hoping for the best. Planning for the worst. He would protect her no matter what. She was his.

Exhausted as he was, he didn’t catch the mental slip and correct the thought; instead blinking heavy, tired eyes as he stared at Teris from across the table. With the arrival of her and Hizashi, his already precarious sleep schedule had been thrown into a tailspin. The line of his mouth twitch ever so slightly upward at the memory of finding Teris in his bed her first night here. He wouldn’t mind finding her in there again.

Shouta frowned. Yes he would. She was a tiresome, too proud, confrontational woman. He could make her submit, he thought lazily looking her over. It would be a honor and pleasure to earn his beautiful, proud Griffons submission. Not his Griffon! And, no. No, it wouldn't be a pleasure or honor.

“Quit staring at me.” Teris snapped at the Sphinx, scowling at the weird dreamy, disturbed look on his face. When she had first met Shouta a little over a month ago, she hadn’t thought the Sphinx could look worse. But she had been wrong. The whites of his eyes were so bloodshot that they were more red than white. The dark bags beneath his eyes impossibly darker and bigger than the night they met. She was growing increasingly concerned about him. Though that concern was purely on a professional and humane level. Bossy and rude as he was, he was a person and her Ilca leader.

Pulled out of his thoughts, Shouta’s deep, graveled voice sounded calm, if not bored. “I’m not staring at you.”

“Yes you are.” Teris argued.

Such a contrary woman, Shouta thought. Why was everything always a fight with her? He slouched back in his seat, voice as expressionless as his face. “I was looking forward. You’re the one who chose to sit in front of me.”

“This is where I always sit.”

From his place to Teris’ right, Hizashi looked between the two, chewing. He hated when the two argued. And they argued basically all the time.

“And this is where I always sit. Quit being a child. Not everything is about you.”

Teris bristled at the Sphinx’s words. “I am not a child!”

Shouta fought down a smirk at her temper. She had such fire. “Then stop acting like one and eat your breakfast.”

Her mouth opened.

“Now.” Shouta cut her off before a single utterance came out. “I’m too tired for this today.”

It wasn’t the order that made Teris hold her tongue but the mention of his exhaustion. She truly was getting worried about him. How much sleep did a Sphinx need? And how much of it could they go without before it effected more than their mood and appearance but their health as well? Maybe she should ask Kai.

“So Oboro thinks he’s narrowed down what other half of Fourth I might be but refuses to tell me.” Hizashi said, looking to defuse things.

Something to do with talking, Shouta thought. No voice. Or maybe song. Damn he was so tired, he couldn’t even think straight. A Siren maybe?

“You like him.” Teris drew out, teasing her follow Foundling friend.

“What!”

“Too loud.” Shouta complained at Hizashi's outburst. Definitely some spirit or spite that had volume of voice.

Teris glared at the Shouta.

“No I don’t.” Hizashi shook his head, green eyes wide.

“Come on, Zashi. It’s alright.” She turned to Shouta unsure how same sex relations were viewed in this world. “It’s alright? Isn’t it?”

Shouta closed his eyes and nodded.

“See.” She smiled at Hizashi.

Hizashi smiled shyly in return. “He is really cute. And so nice and smart. I want you to meet him.”

Teris nodded thinking the same. Glad as she was that this Oboro made Hizashi happy, she had to make sure he was really alright. Hizashi was-- Pack beast. The term flinted through her mind. She glanced at Shouta hating to admit that he was right. Whatever she was she apparently was a pack beast because Hizashi was hers. Not in a romantic sense, but in a tie that was just as deep, if not deeper than family.

“What about you?” Hizashi asked. “Kai have any idea on what you might be yet?”

Shouta's head lifted, muscles tensing.

Teris shook her head.

Shouta relaxed, exhaling the breath that had caught in his chest.

Hizashi pouted, but his smile quickly returned. “Speaking of liking people. What about you?”

“What about me?” Teris asked, fully aware of what Hizashi was asking.

The blonde glanced at Shouta well aware that the heated tension between the Sphinx and Teris had nothing to do with distaste. “You know.”

Teris pointedly avoided looking at the man seated across from her. “No. I don’t.”

“Come on Ris! Is there anyone you like?”

“No.”

“No? No one?” Hizashi pressed, eyes darting back to Shouta.

“What are you, twelve?” Shouta griped.

Teris frowned at Shouta’s complaint. Hizashi was just being playful. Why was the man such an ass?

“Kai’s kind and handsome.” She told Hizashi, eyes still locked on the Sphinx.

Shouta’s dark gaze sharpened, heckles raised. A low growl bubbled deep within his chest but he fought it down. Huffing, he pushed back the chair and got to his feet. What did he care what she wrongly thought of Kai? “You should quit talking nonsense and finish up.”

Hizashi’s slightly pointed ears fell a fraction watching the Sphinx exit their dorms dining hall.

“He’s talking to you.” Teris told, stabbing at a piece of fruit on the plate before her.

Unlike Kai, Oboro taught a specialized class for the Ilca course. Though he didn’t teach everyday, the days that he did Shouta and Hizashi left together to walk to the campus part of Traverseen Hall.

Hizashi not wanting to make Aizawa wait and Teris eager to get to Kai’s, the two quickly finished breakfast.

Near the front door, Hizashi slipped on his coat and turned to Teris. “I’m still bummed that Kai won’t let you come to campus to see Aizawa and Kan’s classes square off this afternoon. Oboro says it should be a good learning experience.”

“So am I. But Kai said he has something planned for me today.”

Coming up behind Hizashi, Shouta tossed his coat at Teris harder than intended. It landed perfectly over her head and hung there.

Hizashi's hand clapped over his mouth, caught between surprise and sputtering laughter.

Shouta bristled both wondering and imagining what sort of plans the Dragon had for his-- His mind paused and carefully finished the last part of the thought. --Ilca member.

Teris yanked the dark blue coat off her head. “What the hell!”

“Put that on. It’s cold out.”

“No.” She growled, hating Shouta’s impassive face.

“You’re my responsibility. Put it on so you don’t get sick.” And Kai remembers who you belong to, he silently finished wishing he could properly scent her. “And don’t forget it at Chisaki’s. I want it back.”

“Than take it back!” Teris called after him holding out the jacket. But Shouta had already exited the dorm. She turned back to Hizashi. “Do you believe him?”

Hizashi smiled, buttoning up his coat. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet? Doubt he even knows the meaning of the word. He’s--”

“Yamada!” Shouta’s voice snapped from down the hall.

“Coming!” Hizashi yelled back. He gave Teris one last small smile. “Gotta go. See ya later.”

“Yeah.”

Left alone Teris frowned at the coat that was far too big for her.

“Rude, bossy bastard.” She muttered thinking about the dark haired Sphinx.

She put on the jacket, shoulders easing at the enveloping scent. Without thinking she pulled the collar to her nose and buried her face in the weighty material, breathing deeply.

4.2

Kai sniffed as soon as Teris entered the office, immediately noticing Aizawa’s scent on her. It wasn’t some weak smell that was left on her from merely living in the same Ilca dorm as the Sphinx. Nor was it the same as Aizawa's previous lame attempts to scent her. This one was overwhelming. Encompassing.

His jaw locked shut fighting back a growl. Though successful, there was little he could do to stop the smoke that billowed from his nostrils.

“Good morning, Kai.” Teris slipped the jacket off, leaving it on the chair by the door, but the damage was done. Aizawa's scent had infused into her skin and clothes.

“Outside.” Kai ordered, getting to his feet.

“I thought--”

“I said outside.” Kai’s hard, shimmering eyes softened at her openly confused, almost hurt expression. It wasn’t her fault that Aizawa had done this, taking advantage of her lack of understanding. If he told her, she would no doubt be furious. But telling her what Aizawa had done would mean letting her know that he had been doing the same, and he wasn’t ready for that. “I know we always start with academic lessons but it’s best not to get into routines.”

Agreeing with that Teris turned back to Aizawa's jacket and picked it up.

“Leave that.” Kai snapped moving to her. He stopped so close beside her that his chest brushed her arm. “I got my own way of keeping you warm.”

Teris shivered at the innuendo.

Kai’s gold eyes glided over her as she placed the horrid coat back down.

She jumped when his cool hand pressed against the lower end of her lower back.

Undeterred, Kai’s hand remained. “Shall we?”

4.3

“Shouta, you look terrible.”

Shouta grunted at Nemuri's remark, wishing he were napping in his sleeping bag instead of getting ready to watch his class face 1-B in a training challenge.

“I told you, you need to get more sleep. You work too hard.” Nemuri frowned at the Sphinx in worry.

“I have two unwanted Ilca members who happen to be Foundlings.” Shouta said as if they were the sole cause for his lack of sleep.

Calling him on his bad habits, Nemuri crossed her arms. “You were overworked and overtired well before they came along.”

Eyes closed, the Sphinx hummed. His head dipped forward then jerked back up, startling awake.

“That’s it. I’m coming over tonight. If you won’t sleep on you own, I’ll put you to sleep.”

“Kayama.” Shouta complained.

“No sense arguing. I’ll even bring dinner. It’ll give me a chance to met this other Ilca member of yours.” The Dryad said thinking about what Oboro had said about Hizashi mentioning how Shouta and the woman argued. She turned away, tapping him awake on the shoulder. “See you later.”

4.4

Teris panted, getting to her feet. The line of fire Kai had created when they first got started making her sweat all the more. Kai was magnificent in his dragon form. He wasn’t so bad in his human one either, she thought and quickly cursed the distracting thought, rolling out of the way of the Dragons lashing tail.

“Focus.” Kai’s voice spoke directly into her him.

The first time it had happen Teris had freaked out. After settling down she had worried that talking into her mind also meant he could hear her thoughts. But thankfully that wasn’t the case.

Kai’s gold eyes and scales reflected the the fire line of fire. His dark purple underbelly barely catching the light. His coloring showed his heritage, or so some of his followers told. According to them, his solid gold scales, horns, and wings meant that he was the son of the king of dragons; making him the rightful heir even if he wasn’t the last of dragon king.

Teris leapt to her feet lasso in hand. The goal of the game was to evade and persevere long enough to capture any part of the powerful Dragon. Given his size it should’ve been ease. But Kai was quick. His movement changing from sharp and fluid without any sort of tell or pattern. She tossed and missed. Cursing her slow speed and his quick.

Kai stomped and charged. He was holding himself back greatly. Slowing his speed, using minimal strength. The goal was to train, not to hurt or break her spirit. He also hoped that fighting her in his true form would further encourage the show of her true form. Aside form a few directing hints, such as her being a pact beast, he still had no clue what she was and dearly wanted to no.

His growing fondness for her had gotten to the point that he had decided to being courting. Not that he would tell her as much. It wasn’t that he feared rejection. He was a handsome, proud dragon of royal blood. There wasn’t another species or person who was more desirable than he. Still, he didn’t want to scare her off. She was new to Oblvi and their ways.

He blew heated ash her way a low rumbling growl of pleasure when ducked down and covered her face with a protecting arm. Now for the pounce, he thought heart hammering with excitement. He moved, shifting back to human form as he did so and was on her in an instance.

Teris fell back with a huff.

“Got you. You’re mine.” Kai declared, heart pumping more from the nearness of her than the training session that barely exerted him.

Teris stared up at him panting. “No fair!”

Hands on either side of her, propping himself up, Kai lowered his face further to hers. “How so?”

“You said that the lesson would be over when I gave up or caught you.” She told, face feeling a hundred times hotter than it did seconds earlier.

“You were talking too long. I grew impatient and decided to catch you instead.”

“But--”

“I’m the instructor. I can change the rules whenever I like.” Kai declared, thinking he could also take whatever he liked but would be patient. His eyes scanned over her face, a frown pulling at his lips.

“What?”

“You’re dirty.”

“We’ve been sparring for how many hours? Of course I am.”

He got up off her, frowning at his soiled shirt. “We can’t do lessons like this.”

“It was your bright idea to switch things up.”

He moved to hold his hand out to help her up and paused. She was covered in ash. His ash. This was his doing. His hand thrust out.

Teris took it, grateful for the assistance. Fighting a dragon was exhausting. She couldn’t wait till her true form displayed itself.

Kai instinctive pulled his hand from hers as soon as she was up. Wiping his palm on his pant leg, he directed her back inside. “Let’s get you clean.”

“Clean? Good as that sounds it won’t do much good. My clothes are just as filthy and I’d be putting them back on.”

Kai frowned a moment then smiled slightly. If Aizawa wanted to send her here in his coat then he would send her back wearing his clothes.

Hand hovering at her lower back he ushered her in doors already thinking which shirt of his he wanted to see her in. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to find you something else to wear for the rest of the day.”

4.5

Teris entered her Ilca dorms to find they had company. Boisterous company.

“There she is!” Oboro rushed to her as if they were long time friend’s and not two people who had never met. He paused seeing the over-sized button-up under the jacket she wore. “Hey, sharp shirt. A little big dontcha think?”

The Venti’s words and arm were slung over her before her hair had even settled down from the wind of his swift travel. Before she could respond or ask who he was, Oboro was leading her into her Ilca’s dining room.

“Nemuri. Emi. Kan. This is Teris. Hizashi's friend and Shou’s--” Oboro turned to the Sphinx. “What is she to you again?”

“My… Ilca member.” Shouta grumbled, pausing to think the correct words before saying them.

“Right.” Oboro drew out, smiling.

“Leave Aizawa alone, Sweetheart. You know he’s extra grumpy when he’s lacking his usual minimal sleep.” Nemuri chastised lightly.

“He’s only grumpy cause we haven’t gone out on a date. What da ya say, Aizawa? Wanna go out?” Emi asked, all smiles.

Teris bristled, sharp eyes locking on the smiling woman. Who was she and why was she here?

“No.” Shouta answered shortly.

Emi laughed, hand slapping the table as if his rejection was the funniest thing. “Ah, Aizawa! You’re such a kidder.”

Teris looked back to Oboro wondering who he was. Thankfully Hizashi was there to answer her silent wondering since neither Aizawa or the man himself seemed inclined.

“Ris. This is Oboro. The one I’ve been telling you about.” Hizashi beamed before her.

“You’ve been telling her about me?” Oboro moved to Hizashi, face close enough for Hizashi to see the slight fraying of the bandage he worn on the bridge of his nose. “What have you told her about me? Nothing bad I hope.”

“No.” Hizashi squeaked emerald eyes wide like saucers. If he just leaned forward just a little he could…

“It’s been nothing but good.” Teris told, smirking at her friend.

Oboro turned back to her. “Really! Cause I like him too.”

“You do?” Hizashi questioned, heart hammering in his ears. He had hoped Oboro liked him. It seemed as if he liked him. But he never imagined the guy just coming out and saying it like that. He remembered the Venti telling him how Fourth’s were freer with things like relationships than humans were, and smiled. That smile fell as soon as Kan spoke.

“You like everyone, Oboro.” The Vampuric Gargoyle rumbled.

Shouta chuckled at that.

Teris’ eyes widened. She had seen Shouta smile less than a handful of times and never heard him laugh. She had seriously begun to wonder if sphinx's were capable of doing so. She found herself moving to sit next to the large, red eyed man that had achieved such a fete.

“Teris.” Teris introduced.

“Kan.” Kan said. He caught a clear mix of dragon and sphinx scent on her and glance over at Shouta. Were the two sleeping together? It would explain the Sphinx’s added lack of sleep. But Kai’s scent? Aizawa and the Dragon hated each other. There was no way the two would share anything let alone companion. Kan was, dare he say friend's with Emi and Oboro, and he could barely stand sharing Nemuri with them.

More exhausted than anyone had the right to be, Shouta didn’t even bother looking as Teris sat across from him. He breathed in a tired breath and stopped, a loud growl sounding from his chest. Chisaki was here? Why did no one tell him the damned Dragon was in his dorms! Fathomless dark eyes, turned fierce and red. Head snapping up.

“Shouta, hunny? Are you alright?” Nemuri questioned from Kan’s right.

Eyes still searching, his nose traced the smell it was… It was coming from Teris. More correctly it was all over Teris. Another growl rumbled from his chest, lip twitching up in a snarl, he turned slowly to the woman seated across from him.

“What did I do now!” Teris demanded as soon as the Sphinx’s eyes locked on hers. “I brought back you’re stupid jacket.”

Jacket! Kan thought. He had known Aizawa would never share with the Dragon.

With a blink Shouta's eyes returned to their usual coal. He forced his lips into a thin line, effecting an expression of disinterested indifference. “What happen to your clothes?”

“They were dirty.” Teris answered, her own expression between a pout and a scowl. Why was he always like this? Couldn’t he just try and be nice for once? At least in front of the company they had.

Looking her over Shouta sat back and crossed his arms. “I thought you said you were having physical lessons daily.”

“I did. We are!” What was it about this man that got under her skin so?

“If this is the first time you needed a change, those lessons were worthless. I’ll see about having Nedzu find you a better instructor.”

“No!” Teris’ loud response surprised even her.

The lower half of Shouta's face ducked into his capture weapon, finding his frown.

“I mean.” Teris went on. “You’ve seen the state I’m in when I get back. It’s only Kai decided to change things up and do my physical training in the morning.”

To get my scent off you, Shouta thought. Smart. And then he sent you back in his clothes to retaliate. Such a jealous, child move.

“Kai has a thing about filth. Kan said, taking up his plate and serving.

“Kan! Sweetheart. Wait for everyone to be seated.” Nemuri scolded lightly.

“The food’s getting cold.” At Nemuri's expression, Kan put the serving spoon down and snapped. “Oboro! Will you and your boyfriend hurry it up and sit so we can eat.”

“Bo-boy--” Hizashi's stutter ended with a squeak as Oboro pulled him to the table. He swallowed, finding himself seated across from Nemuri, while Oboro took the chair to Shouta's left. “Hi again.” Oboro assured him the Dryad was find, but for some reason she made him nervous. Like she would eat him alive. And not in the monstrous literal sense. That he could've handled.

Once served the table was blessedly quite as everyone ate. Until…

“Hey, Aizawa, wanna mate?”

Shouta groaned. Why did life itself seem to hate him?

Teris turned to the woman to her left. “Who are you again?”

“Emi.” Emi said. “I’m part of Nemuri's Ilca.”

“We all are.” Oboro informed, brushing elbows with Hizashi and smiling over at him.

Never taking her eyes off the woman, Teris questioned without a care for how rude the query was. “And what are you?”

“A Kitsune.” Emi told easily. She put the side of her hand to her mouth and leaned to Teris as if about to reveal some great secret. “Though many consider it impolite to asked, so be careful.” Dropping her hand she went on. “Nemuri’s a Dryad, trained by His Purple Highness before joining the Ilca course way back.”

“It wasn’t that way back.” Nemuri told.

Shouta huffed in amusement. Nemuri was a young beautiful Dryad. Would stay looking young a beautiful until her end, but age was still thing for her.

“His who?” Teris questioned.

“His Purple Highness.” Emi answered.

Teris blinked at the Kitsune and shook her head.

“Oh right! I forgot you don’t know anything.”

“I know plenty. Teris said.

Emi laughed. “Sure you do.”

The way she laughed and spoke left Teris teetering, unsure if she was being sarcastic or agreeing.

“His Purple Highness is the Dryad King.” Shouta supplied, when Emi continued to laugh.

“Shouta was found by him.” Nemuri told, smiling softly at the Sphinx.

“Found?” Teris echoed, eyes on Shouta.

Shouta shook away her question. “A tale for another day. Back to proper introductions.” He went on, wanting Teris to learn all she could. “As I’m sure Yamada told you, Oboro’s a Venti. And Kan is a Vampuric Gargoyle.

Teris turned to the hulking man to her right. “Vampuric Gargoyle As in a hybrid of vampire and gargoyle?”

She didn’t know why she found it strange that vampires existed here when all the rest seemed to. But gargoyles? Weren’t they just gothic stone sculptures that acted as both rain gutters and superstitious protectors?

Shouta smirked at her reaction, though no one saw it beneath his capture weapon. “They’re a demon hybrid so prevalent they’re all but a sub-species. Shouta told.

“We’re good breeders.”

The table quieted at Kan’s comment. Then Emi covered her mouth, sputtering a laugh. Oboro joined in.

“I wasn’t joking.” Kan snapped.

“We know, Honey. I know. If ever I was ready to spawn, we would make so many children.” Nemuri soothed, petting Kan’s arm.

“Aizawa and I would make beautiful kits and cubs.” Emi said dreamily, turning to Shouta.

“No.” Shouta deadpanned.

Teris bristled more at the way Kitsune was looking at the Sphinx than what she had said. Clearly Shouta wasn’t interested. But Shouta was--

Nemuri's smooth voice disturbed her thoughts. “Emi. Please stop trying to mate with Shouta. At least for tonight, Love. He’s extremely tired.”

“All the more reason for me to try. He might say yes.”

“He’s not interested, Sweetheart.”

Emi looked over at Oboro sitting closer than necessary to Hizashi as the two talk among themselves. “Speaking of interested. Looks like someone is. Too bad the Foundlings weren’t put in our Ilca.” She glance from Hizashi to Teris. “We would’ve had so much fun.”

“Shouta’s been so long without anyone. I’m glad he finally has these two.” Nemuri leaned forward to smile at Teris.

Emi’s green eyes turned back to Shouta. “Aizawa could've joined out Ilca too. I gladly would've accepted him.”

“Shouta’s an alpha, Dear. An apex one at that. He wouldn’t be joining my or anyone elses Ilca. He was meant to lead. Though if he were interested, I would gladly share you with him. Just like I’d gladly share Oboro with Hizashi if he wishes.”

“What was that?” Hizashi asked catching his name being said.

“I said I would gladly share Oboro with you, if you so wish?” Nemuri said, turning to him.

Hizashi's slightly pointed ears lowered a fraction. He didn’t understand. Could they not date without their Ilca leaders approval? He shook is head. “I—don’t know what you mean by share.”

“Oboro! I thought you were suppose to be instructing him.” Nemuri censured as if scandalized.

“Yeah, Oboro.” Emi giggled.

“He’s new here. I had to teaching him the basics first.” Oboro told.

“What could be more basic than sex?” Nemuri questioned, archly.

“How not to get killed.” Shouta offered.

“How to fight.” Kan put in.

“Or how to help a Isengrim get one over on a Reynard.” Emi added.

“All of you are hopeless and unromantic. Nemuri declared. Her blue eyes fell on Shouta. “No wonder you’re having such troubles.”

“Can someone please tell about this shared business? Hizashi demanded.

“Oh, well that’s easy.” Emi said. “We’re all together. Well, except for Kan. He’s just with Nemuri.”

“All--”

“--together.” Teris finished for Hizashi glancing at Shouta before looking around the table.

Emi nodded. “Yeah. Nemuri, Oboro, and I are together. And Kan and Nemuri are companion’s.”

Before Teris could ask how that worked, Hizashi fixed sad green eyes on Oboro. “Does that mean you’re not into men?”

“What! No! I’m into anyone so long as I like ‘em.” Oboro assured.

“It’s Kan.” Nemuri told. “Though mating type Fourth's will usually sleep around as they search for a mate. Once they’ve picked mate, that carousing ends.”

“So… He’s picked you for a mate.” Teris said softly.

Nemuri smiled sadly. “He has.”

“But you haven’t accepted him?” She asked.

“Dryad’s aren’t maters.” Shouta schooled.

“We accept all pollinators, whether we’re spawning or not.” Nemuri expanded, hand over Kan’s.

Teris lowered her head, sad for the Vampuric Gargoyle. She couldn’t explain it but that thought of having chosen a mate only to have that person accept you as a lover but not a mate, hurt like a physical wound.

Emi saw her reaction and burst out. “You’re a mater!”

With a start, Teris realized that she was, though didn’t know enough to have that narrow anything down for her. She looked to Shouta for answer.

“Most beasts mate.” Shouta told. “It’s no great revelation that will tell us what you are.” Damn, he hated not telling her.

Disappointed, Teris turned to Emi. “Does it hurt that you want to mate with Shouta and he doesn’t? If you want that how can you be with anyone else?”

The last question held a tone of accusation, but Emi easily ignored that in her excitement to teach. “Kitsune’s are one of the rare species that cross the four divisions. We’re both beast and demon.”

“You’re hybrids.

“Once. Very long ago.”

“Kitsune’s date back to the first age.” Shouta said, eyes keenly watching to make sure Teris knew about the Ages and Kai was properly instructing her.

Picking her explanation back up, Emi went on. “Demons don’t care about mating. As Aizawa said, most beast do. It means Kitsune are capable of mating but are driven to the way, say a Sphinx or Manticore are.”

“But you do like men?” Hizashi asked Oboro, his mind and voice finally working again.

4.6

Jacket and bottle of Nemuri's pollen in hand, Shouta made his way to his quarters grateful that his Ilca dorms were finally, peaceful quite. Taking off his capture weapon, he blinding tossed the coat he had had Teris wear on a chair. Hearing a clink hit the floor, he turned.

A knife! Adrenaline shot through him, his exhaustion and Nemuri's pollen forgotten. Picking up the small, sheathed blade, he stormed from his rooms and to Teris’.

Already in bed, Teris would've ignored the insentient hammering on her door if she thought it would go away. With a growl, she threw the covers off and got out of bed.

Knowing full well who was on the other side, Teris yanked opened the chamber door, snapping. “What the hell!”

“Has he threatened you? Made you feel unsafe?”

Her face screwed up. “What?”

“Chisaki. What has he done to make you feel you need carry a weapon to his place?” He was going to kill him, Shouta thought. He wasn’t a killer, but he was going to end that Dragon.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

Hearing the disturbance, Hizashi poked his head outside his rooms. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.” Teris soothed.

“No.”

Trusting the seasoned Sphinx and Ilca leader over Teris, Hizashi stepped out into the hall. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing that concerns you. Go back to bed.” Shouta ordered. Sighing he pushed his way inside Teris’ rooms.

“Hey!” Teris turned. “I didn’t say you could come in here.”

“Do you really want to concern Hizashi more than he already is?”

Teris frowned and shook her head.

Pack beasts, Shouta thought smugly, ignoring the fact that he was one too and just as easily manipulated.

“Close the door. And tell me why you feel the need to carry this to Kai’s.” Shouta said, producing the small knife.

Teris’ eyes widened at the sight of it. Swinging the door closed she rushed to Shouta. “Where did you find that?”

“Answer my questions. What has Kai done--”

“Kai’s done nothing. He gave me that.”

Shouta's head pulled back. “He-- When?”

“Today. I guess I forgot about it what with the company and all.” She said, feeling guilty for having forgotten Kai’s generous gift.

Shouta's eyes narrowed. “Why did you he it to you?”

“Cause he’s kind and cares. He said that he understood as a Foundling I likely had nothing but a few rusted old weapons and outdated potions in my personal armory so he gave me that.”

Shouta's head lowered to frown into his capture weapon, forgetting he had taken it off.

“What’s with the face?”

He pulled his lips back up into a thin, tight line “Nothing.”

“He’s teaching me how to fight with various weapons.” She informed, thinking that the expression had been because he thought she didn’t know how to use the blade and inadvertently hurt herself of others.

Shouta couldn’t deny that Kai teaching her how to handle various weapons was smart. With Teris having yet shown her true form, she would be reliant on use of weapons to defend herself and others. Soon she and Hizashi would be going out a patrols with him; and with a poorly stocked armory, such an item as the one he held would be useful. Still, he knew the knife for what it truly was. The quality of it alone… Dragons liked such fine, rare, and expensive objects. For Kai to part with on willingly could only mean one thing. It was a courting gift. The Dragon was trying to court his--

“Can I have it back?”

Shouta started at her open hand wanting to say no, knowing he couldn’t. He handed the gift over.

Teris clutched it to her chest. “If that’s all.”

Shouta nodded.

“Night, then.”

“Good night.” Shouta murmured, watching her turn away trusting he’d see himself out.

He burned at the gift. Boiled at her coming back each day smelling like Chisaki. She was his. His responsibility, he corrected. She was a griffon. Kai a dragon. And now Kai was courting her. The urge to seek out Nedzu and tell him so the Director could put a stop to this was overwhelming. But he knew what Nedzu would say. Knew the Director would be pleased. Nedzu would think that if the two were courting that Kai would accept Teris when he discovered she was a griffon. But Shouta knew better.

Maybe if he could prove that Kai was a lacking teacher. But Shouta wanted the best for Teris and Fourth's learned best when taught by their own. No species was closer linked to griffons than sphinx's and dragons, griffons being the first hybrids born of dragons and sphinx's at the very start of the first age. He just hoped that Kai wasn’t infecting her with his hate for what he saw as lesser species. Or telling her how bad griffons were and teaching her to hate herself.

Lack of sleep had me doing a little playlist that goes with either a particular character or upcoming scene:

It's Like You're Always On My Mind – Pomplamoose (Hizashi and Oboro)

Red Right Hand – Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds (Kai)

Weighty Ghost – Wintersleep (Kan)

Start Wearing Purple – Gogol Bordello (Who else but His Purple Highness! lol This song never fails to have me dancing and singing along. Singing BADLY I might add.)

I Will Survive + Maroon 5 Mashup – Pomplamoose ft. Andie Case (upcoming scene)

Drumming Song – Florence and The Machine (Shouta and Teris)

Take Me To Church – Hozier (Shouta)

Comments really do make happy, make my day, and are something I go back and read. That said, I don’t need them to be happy. So if you enjoy this update and want to comment or interact with me YAY! If you don’t that’s fine too. Thanks for reading.

Thank you to those who have left hearts. And a special thank you to those who have left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going. Your friendship means the world to me.

#aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #yamada hizashi #hizashi yamada #oboro shirakumo #shirakumo oboro #nemuri kayama #emi fukukado #kan sekijirou #bnha #my hero academia #fanfic #lost song

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