#tothedevilsalter

[wiilde]

“Is that the end of the story?“

мємє

    “ I  am  afraid  so. “

    The  words  had  a  sort  of  finality  about  them , as  though  the  playwright  regretted  saying  them. It  would  have  been  a  lie  if  he  had  insisted  otherwise ; this  much  was  true  , at  least. Why  did  it  have  to  be  this  way , one  may ask ? Well , that  is  for  the  reader  to  wonder  and  only  the  author  to  WHOLEHEARTEDLY  know.

    The  author , along  with  the  personnages  in  his  tale. There  seemed  to  be  times  where  they  would  almost  come  to  life , speaking  to  him  in  plain  English  as  though  they  were  right  there  before  him. Oftentimes , Wilde  attributed  it  to  himself  being  completely  mad , and  perhaps  he  was right. Yet , whenever  he  heard  those  voices , so  alien  yet  so  incredibly  familiar , he  felt  COMPELLED  to  answer.

    “ Does  the  ending  DISPLEASE  you , Dorian , just  as  everything  else  in  your  life  has ? Is  it  MY  FAULT ? Do  you  blame  me  for  trying  to  make  you  see  your  errors ? Oh , Dorian , society  has  corrupted  you. Can  you  not  see  it ? “

[flatteredhim]

OH MY!

                            walking in on basil naked or even in his undergarments                                            bcs those were improper enough in victorian era u know

The boy was at times terribly thoughtless, though Hallward supposed it was one of those charming features of youth, that had made the other so careless and light-headed, when it came to maintaining etiquette around him. He took it as a compliment, enjoyed it somewhat that Dorian felt comfortable enough to be so liberal with him, being more boyish and youthful perhaps than he got to be in his own home. All with his whims and fits and laughter, Basil felt it good for him to be able to voice them. It felt natural, and it felt good. Not today, though, not today.

He perhaps was far too distracted, threading his fingers carefully through a stack of sheet music that he had come across in the studio, while wainting for the painter so that they could sup together. His lips were parted in a smile that shoved just a little of those bright teeth and his hair fell in his eyes when he finally rose it to look at Basil, whose room he had invaded so thoughtlessly. And his voice trailed off.

And so would Basil’s, had he been speaking. Rather than anything, he grew very red very fast, pulling his trousers on over his undergarments and apologising profusely. “If you would be so kind as to knock next time, Dorian--” His voice so low, he wondered if he really was telling the other to confine himself so. -- @tothedevilsalter

[humblestudentofbeauty]

✚

✚  Painting honey dust, edible paint, or other soft brush strokes on their body.

It was warm in the loft during the summer…even with air conditioning Basil could never get fully cool…all of those damn floor-to-ceiling windows.  So he sat on the couch in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top as he sketched away in a half-filled pad of paper.  While most of his mind was focused on ideas for an upcoming show, there was a small part fully aware of the other man in the room.  He could never not be aware of Dorian…which is probably the only reason the artist didn’t jump out of his skin when he felt the cool bristles of a brush trace along one shoulder blade.  Instead, he shivered, trying to ignore the desire that crept through him.

“Dorian…” he murmured, trying to pretend he was still focused on the sketches.  “I’ve asked you not to randomly play with my art supplies…you get everything out of place.”  The coolness of where the brush had touched his skin remained and the artist gave a soft frown, finally looking up from his work.  “Was there something on that brush…?!”  He tried to look behind him to see, but couldn’t get the right angle.  “Are you painting on me…?”

[raisedsomehell]

                          The road to HELL                                           is paved with GOOD intentions.

[humblestudentofbeauty]

❛❛ So, you’re the unfortunate soul stuck with me. ❜❜

@tothedevilsalter

Basil had been staring so intently at the countdown on his arm that he hadn’t even heard anyone approaching.  Which was a little absurd since this area of the park was typically abandoned this early in the morning.  In fact…if he were honest…he’d come here on purpose with the hope that maybe - just maybe - his clock would stop and no one would be around.  It wasn’t that the idea didn’t appeal to the romantic in him…but he really didn’t think he’d make anyone a good soulmate.  Just a humble artist doing what he could to make ends meet.  Nothing enchanting or exciting or interesting about him, really.  Nothing anyone would care about…

At the sound of the voice, the artist’s head jerked up sharply.  Shit!  So…this was really happening then?  He swallowed hard, just staring for a moment, unable to do anything else.  The man was…he was beautiful!  There wasn’t any other word for it.  Just that.  Beautiful beyond belief.  Remembering he’d been spoken to, Basil managed to stammer, “U-unfortun-nate…?”  Worry clung to him.  Soulmates were meant for each other, weren’t they?  It was supposed to be a happy thing.  But he’d heard stories…terrible stories.  Then, before he could stop himself, he continued, “P-perhaps it’s you that’s the unf-fortunate one…”  It certainly felt that way to Basil.  How could he even begin to compare to a man who looked like that?

[humblestudentofbeauty]

The First Step ~ Dorian & Basil

@tothedevilsalter

{ Alright, I'm using pg.115 of The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe, published by Barnes and Noble.  The short story is called 'Metzengerstein' and the quote is, "It was with difficulty that he reconciled his dreamy and incoherent feelings with the certainty of being awake." }

He couldn't look at the thing...not any longer.  Couldn't listen to the man he cared for speaking like a mad man.  Basil needed to think...needed air that wasn't musty and damp...needed to figure out what he could do to save his friend.  The artist turned to leave the attic, but when Dorian called out his name he made the split second decision to turn back around.

In hindsight, if he hadn't, things might've gone very differently.  It was only that last minute choice that saved his life.  As he turned, he saw Dorian's hand swinging down.  With no time to block it, he turned a fraction faster and a piece of glass (undoubtedly meant for his neck) plunged into his shoulder instead.  Crying out, Basil stumbled backwards.  What was happening...?  This...it couldn't be real.  Dorian wouldn't...

'Oh god...please let me be dreaming.'

Shaking legs carried the artist further from the other man until his back struck the attic wall. His vision went hazy around the edges. Everything felt incoherent...like a dream.  Yes, definitely a dream - not a side effect of shock or loss of blood - just a nightmare he'd wake up from any minute now...

'Stop fooling yourself and get out!' something within him screamed.  'Don't give him a chance to try again!'  For the first time in a long time Basil listened to his instincts...and fled.  He didn't make it very far.  How could he?  At some point his foot slipped out from under him on a stair, and he went tumbling the rest of the way to the bottom.  His head struck the ground once and he had just enough time to realize he probably wouldn't be waking up again when everything went dark.

[humblestudentofbeauty]

Librarian 115

{ I’m going to fudge a bit and use a different book for this one.  Fortunately, I’m surrounded by them, so shouldn’t be too hard to find something.  And unless you tell me otherwise, I might just go with a verse we’ve talked about but haven’t actually done…we’ll see how the sentence strikes me.  *grins* }

[flatteredhim]

Can we see Basil if he had gone into the military and becoming an artist after as a way to cope with the traumas?

what would u like to see basil endure??

    i’m honestly not sure if this would necessarily spring only in that direction -- surely, he would use it as some way of coping but it would also enhance his drinking and overall misery and basically. it wouldn’t be a happy verse. also, it would probably flip his style around, or his themes of choice, really. he’s very fixated on beauty, you see, on beauty of man moreover. i don’t think he’d be able to look at it the same way after seeing their bodies disheveled by war, after seeing a great many terrible things. this would be so full of angst honestly.