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#EDIT: added a subtle shadow for the door
azuries · 1 year
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first kiss aftermath!
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Elevating Fashion Photography: The Art of Fashion Photo Editing
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Introduction: In the dynamic world of fashion photography, captivating visuals are paramount. Fashion photo editing services as the invisible hand that refines and accentuates every aspect of an image, transforming it into a captivating work of art.
From color correction to digital manipulation, each editing technique contributes to the creation of visually stunning narratives that resonate with audiences worldwide.
Color Correction and Enhancement:
Color is a powerful tool in fashion photography, setting the mood and conveying emotions. Through meticulous adjustments, fashion photo editing brings out the true essence of colors. Techniques such as adjusting white balance, enhancing vibrancy, and correcting color casts ensure that every hue shines vibrantly.
Additionally, fine-tuning skin tones ensures a natural and flattering appearance, adding a touch of authenticity to the images.
Retouching and Skin Smoothing:
Perfection is often the standard in fashion photography, and retouching plays a crucial role in achieving it. Fashion photo editing expertly removes blemishes and imperfections, creating flawless canvases for fashion ensembles to shine.
Softening skin texture and sculpting facial features enhance the model's natural beauty, while eliminating distractions ensures that the focus remains on the subject.
Body Contouring and Slimming:
The human body is a canvas in itself, and fashion photo editing allows for its enhancement and refinement. By shaping body proportions, enhancing curves, and slimming waistlines, editors create visually striking silhouettes that complement the fashion garments.
These subtle adjustments create a harmonious balance, emphasizing the aesthetic allure of the overall composition.
Background Manipulation:
The background serves as the backdrop for fashion narratives, and its manipulation can significantly impact the visual storytelling. Fashion photo editing seamlessly removes distractions, ensuring that the focus remains on the subject.
Additionally, adjustments in lighting and shadows add depth and atmosphere, while background replacements or additions create immersive environments that elevate the overall narrative.
Clothing and Fabric Editing:
Fashion garments are more than just attire; they are statements of style and elegance. Fashion photo editing enhances clothing details, adjusts fabric wrinkles, and fixes imperfections, ensuring that every garment looks impeccable.
By creating symmetry and consistency, editors showcase the clothing in its best light, allowing its intricate details to shine through.
Image Composition and Cropping:
Composition is the foundation of compelling photography, and fashion photo editing optimizes it for maximum impact. By adjusting composition for better balance and cropping for optimal framing, editors enhance the visual flow and storytelling of the images.
Unwanted elements are removed, ensuring that every detail contributes to the overall narrative coherence.
Special Effects and Enhancements:
Innovation knows no bounds in fashion photography, and special effects push creative boundaries to new heights. Fashion photo editing incorporates dramatic lighting effects, artistic filters, and textures to enhance visual appeal and mood.
These enhancements add a layer of artistic expression, transforming images into captivating works of art that leave a lasting impression.
Consistency and Branding:
Consistency is key in establishing a recognizable brand identity in fashion photography. Fashion photo editing maintains consistent editing styles across images, reflecting the brand's aesthetic.
By ensuring coherence across series or campaigns, editors create a cohesive visual identity that resonates with the audience and strengthens brand recognition.
Digital Manipulation and Creative Editing:
Digital manipulation opens doors to endless creative possibilities in fashion photography. From composite image creation to surreal editing techniques, editors push boundaries while maintaining realism.
Fashion photo editing allows for digital painting and illustration, adding a touch of artistic flair to the images and elevating them to new heights of creativity.
Final Touches and Output Optimization:
The journey of fashion photo editing culminates in the final touches that optimize images for publication or portfolio presentation. Sharpening for print or web display ensures clarity and detail, while resizing and formatting cater to different platforms.
Fashion photo editing ensures color accuracy across devices, guaranteeing that the visual impact remains consistent regardless of the viewing medium.
Conclusion:
Fashion photo editing is a multifaceted art form that elevates fashion photography to new heights of visual storytelling. From color correction to digital manipulation, each technique plays a vital role in enhancing the visual impact and narrative coherence of images. By skillfully employing these techniques, fashion photo editors create captivating visuals that resonate with audiences worldwide, shaping the ever-evolving landscape of fashion photography.
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elfwoodfae · 3 years
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Writing’s On The Wall
Harrison Eo Wells x Reader
Chapter 3- A View To A Kill
I made the moodboard, I edited and found the photos. I don’t mind if you use it as long as you tag me.
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Rain drops fall through the sky, the subtle noise filling the silence consuming the house. Suspicion grows within him, when the door opens his eyes travel the expanse of the entrance, the moonlight coming through the skylight seem to be the main source of light as all the other ones are dimmed low, setting a soft ambience, reflecting that of romance. He wheels himself further inside, his eyebrows furrow in curiosity, he doesn’t see you anywhere around, making him wonder why you would be out this late at night.
The deaf silence is interrupted by the faint sound of water running, it’s almost imperceptible but he hears it over the rain. This is his chance to stretch his legs, to burn some of the speed cursing through his veins begging to be released. As he walks up to the decanter on the kitchen island with a drink in mind, his eyes catch the door at the end of the hallway, the one that leads to your room. The need to roll his eyes at himself feels to strong to resist, making him puff out a breath of frustration that seems to appear every time your presence grazes his mind. He walks up to the counter, grabbing the first glass he sees and serving the liquor into it, inhaling the scent before bringing the rim to his lips. His mind races against his will and suddenly the sound of the running water seems to loud and too important. He rolls his eyes, already knowing where this is going before the thought is born.
His eyes find the door again, trying to burn through it, taking an innocent peak inside. He knows himself, it wouldn’t be innocent and it wouldn’t be a peak. He clears his throat, trying to calm his suddenly raising pulse at the simple idea of what lays behind, the indecisive nature of curiosity burning him from the inside out, making him take a split second decision before he can change his mind. Mounting a stance his feet move at their own accord, he feels the crack of electricity as he speeds himself past the door. Once inside he looks around, he hasn’t been here since you started occupying it, not that he would visit it very often but somehow he noticed the details that weren’t there before, just as he notices the discarded clothes laying around, he hears movement coming from the other side of the bathroom door, his eyes snap against the wood as he walks in its direction, his hand grazing the end of the bed, his fingers tangling in a black garment, his eyes momentarily examine it before his hand brings it to his nose against all of his will, as if moving on their own as a way of punishing him, his nostrils filling with the scent of your perfume, one he wishes he could hate as much as he hates you, but instead it weakens him, catching himself a second before a moan can escape his mouth.
He throws the piece of clothing back to the bed before closing the distance to the door, his fingertips caressing the wood as he touches his forehead against it, closing his eyes as he takes a deep breath before committing to the torment it will bring him, as if he was a dead man walking, ready to enter the execution chamber. He phases himself, slotting his body in perfect symmetry with the wall, hiding himself perfectly from your view. His eyes land on the fogged glass door hiding you from him, he can still make out the shape of your body, the contour of your curves and the color of your skin. His breath hitches involuntarily the moment your body faces him, he sees your hands, traveling up your leg, moving closer and closer to the inside of your thigh and he looks away before he can see it reach its destination, feeling as if he may never recover from something like that. Ire fills him once again as the air becomes tense around him, his hands fisting at his sides, fury consumes him at the realization that he doesn’t have any control over his body, he can’t control the reaction you bring out of him. Everything he is, everything he has, has been taken by you and the thought alone makes him see red.
He leaves the room before he looses all of the sanity he has left, speeding to the living room he grabs the armrest of his chair, speeding it with him inside of his room, where he can lock the door and breath for the first times since he entered the bathroom. He whips around, and in two long strides he is standing in front of his bed, his hand wraps around the back of his neck, as his eyes close and his breathing quickens. He can’t, he can’t do this for much longer, he will break or he will break you, the thought of which could happen first tearing him down a little more, he is terrified for the first time in a long time at how easily he is loosing control.
His fingers trail down his neck, the room suddenly feels too hot, his finger hooks on the edge of the collar before pulling it, allowing some air to travel down his chest, he can feel the heat rising, the warmth taking over and the temptation to calm himself down feels the same way water would feel if he had been deserted in the sun for years. Only two more days before he can rid himself of you, he reminds himself. He drops the collar of his sweater back down, the movement allowing the trapped poison of your perfume to invade his nostrils, intoxicating him, only adding kindle to the fire in his pants while the thought of how it would smell on your skin runs through his mind, how would his nose feel running up and down the curve your neck, inhaling you in, as his lips would follow close behind, feeling the warmth of it.
He snaps his eyes open, walking to the bathroom in a hurried step, opening the faucet and splashing some cold water onto his neck and face, he needs to calm down. He is a man, not a teenage boy with a crush who he pretends to hate to gain the affection of. He doesn’t have time for distractions such as lust. Taking in a deep breath to stabilize his nerves, he looks at the reflection in the mirror, a habit he seems to be acquiring, he need to remind himself who he is. After a couple of minutes he leaves his room, wheeling himself into the kitchen, hoping to settle into some resemblance of normality that he so desperately craves.
Your voice breaks the quietness of the place, echoing off the marble countertops, Harrison’s name sounds so foreign in your mouth as you greet him, uttering words he doesn’t care to listen to. He offers you some generic answer while his eyes scan the area surrounding you, a movement you seem to catch on.
“I thought I could make us both dinner, as a thank you for your kindness.” He can’t tell if you are being sarcastic or idiotic but he doesn’t care for either, he doesn’t want to have dinner with you, but he knows there’s a façade to maintain and he can’t blow it all simply because he hates you.
“There’s no need to bother,” he begins to say before you interrupt him, making him purse his lips in a tight line.
“No, no I insist is the least I could do.” You persist and at this point he prefers to humor you.
“Fine, thank you.” He says, gesturing with his hand while his lips offer you the resemblance of a smile.
He notices the way you look through the cabinets, how some things are out of your reach and worry fills him at the thought that you may wonder how he reaches them himself. The thought never crosses your mind, he sees you going about, too busy in your own head to notice the way his eyes linger on your form, on the curve of your back, the nape of your neck. The silence feels asphyxiating, the air is too thick to breathe. Clearing his throat he moves his eyes away from you, waiting to see if he can get your attention.
“Would you mind if I play on some music?” He asks nonchalant, trying to pretend to be pleased and content, which he is failing massively at, to care for your opinion.
“Not at all, go ahead.” Comes your easy reply, your eyes never connecting with his as your hands are too busy moving things around.
The melody begins to play through the house speakers as he taps the tablet attached to his chair, he notices the way your head snaps up and moves in his direction as the classical strings of a violin begin to play.
“I thought you hated classical music, I don’t remember ever seeing you listening to it.” You comment, the accusation innocent in nature, almost as a curious observation, but it only triggers a fight response in him, a wild animal injured and defensive.
“Well it seems you don’t know me at all.” Comes his response, a pretentious smile playing on his lips as the proudness of finally having send a blow your way fills him.
“Yeah… I guess it has been a long time.” Your quiet reply finds his ears and suddenly his short lived victory doesn’t feel as sweet as he expected it to.
A quiet silence falls over you both, the only sound that can be heard is the quiet hum of the food, the soft smell of ingredients lingering in the air. His eyes move about the room, trying to stop themselves from lingering in you too much as the images of your body flashes through his mind, he feels the shadow of excitement beginning to grow on him and he needs to take control of it before it drags him through the roads of hell.
The food is served, in any other circumstances he would have enjoyed it, probably even commented on the preparation, but the most he can muster is a thank you, followed by it looks delicious. He plays around with his fork before bringing some to his mouth, he sees the way your fingers awkwardly move over the table, flickering softly over the surface as you look anywhere but him. Finally some courage seems to fill you as the question that had been nagging you all day comes out to the light.
“I was wondering,” you begin, catching his attention which makes him look at you through the top of his glasses. His face remains calm, neutral, not giving away any detail as to how he may be feeling.
“I noticed there’s no pictures of you, or Tess anywhere.” You complete the sentence, spitting it out, resembling a scare deer about to be hit by a truck, with fear and uncertainty.
He needs to think of his answer for a moment, knowing he had never prepared one since there was no one who was supposed to ever see this far into the house.
“I,” he begins, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes in what may seem like pain at the memories but in reality is frustration and hate waiting to explode out and scream.
“I can’t bear to look at them, to look at her everyday,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, putting on that performance he knows you will buy, the act of the pained husband, suffering everyday for the loss of his life.
“I can’t look at her everyday and know I will never have her back.” He says, pretending to choke on his voice. Your eyes soften, sudden guilt penetrates you at your indiscretion. Of course he would miss her, he loved her, the words of Christina echos through your mind, how she mention she didn’t even see pain on his eyes in the funeral, but this, right here shows you how much he hurts, how pained he his just at the memory of her.
“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” You hurriedly say, trying to soften the blow.
“No it’s okay.” He wipes his hands across his eyes, pretending to dry the imaginary tears threatening to escape. He will do anything to sell you his act.
“Which reminds me, I have something to show you.” You excitedly exclaim, getting up from the table without even acknowledging him or excusing yourself, how inconsiderate of you. Even though he knows he is being a brat himself.
He hears your footsteps approaching the dining room, hurried steps as you approach him, holding something in your hand.
“I found it at home while doing some cleaning.” He sees the way your eyes shine with emotion as you offer him the item, kneeling down next to him as your eyes look up at his face, waiting for his reaction; it seems to be some kind of tacky bracelet, it’s silver, with a four leaf clover. What kind of bracelet is this? He wonders, knowing he could never have such a bad taste to pick something so horrendous.
“It’s… nice,” he looks at it, pretending to be interested he grabs it from your hands, your fingers brushing momentarily and he has to hold back the flicker of speed he feels forming at the contact.
“You don’t remember this?” He hears the disappointment in your voice, he is walking on eggshells here.
“You gave it to me, you brought it back for me, from your honeymoon with Tess.” You explain, and he feels the shakiness that has taken over your voice.
“Yes, you are right, forgive me, my memory seems… to trick me.” He is trying to save the situation but he doubts you will be satisfied.
“It’s okay, don’t worry.” You tell him in a hurry, taking the bracelet out of his fingers.
“I will retire for the night.” You continue as you walk over to your plate, taking it and moving it to the kitchen, he notices the way your demeanor changes, how you seem almost saddened that he doesn’t remember it, and instead of bringing him joy, it only annoys him further and not for the reason he wishes it did.
“Good night.” He nods, as his eyes follow your form as you sprint to your room. He sights, removing his glasses for good and throwing them on the table, he is fucking up big time, he is loosing focus and he is two steps behind in this checkmate, he is aware he is the one that made the mistake second to last.
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glitterge1pen · 3 years
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You Only Water Plants With Cool Water
Rukawa Kaede x reader, sfw, fluff, word count 1,435
reader is a painter 
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Rukawa and you both had practice. Studio sessions, gym time, he needed to go to the store for new basketball shoes, you needed new paper or canvas. He knew when you had had a bad day. When every stroke of pigment was wrong, when you had to change water too many times. You knew when he had messed up his scoring percentages, or when he’d landed a shot not to his liking.
You also had good days though. Ones where you would be electrified, dragging Rukawa to the tiny bedroom studio in the apartment, excited to show him a new piece. He tried to be subtle about sharing his smaller successes with you. Quietly asking to go on a walk to the park on weekend mornings, picking up a basketball before heading out the door.
While Rukawa couldn't exactly understand painting, or art, he did understand you. He saw how hard you worked, the same as him. You too were striving for something. So he lets you ramble on about new art books you had bought, different painters you admired, ones you hated, an art supplies store you wanted to try your luck at. This was also how you understood him. You saw how at home Rukawa watched all the NBA games, kept tabs on different players.
The two of your respective passions consumed lots of your life. Which is why he didn't mind when you had the door to the studio closed when he got home from the gym. You didn't bother him when he was watching a game. He would sleep on the small couch you had tucked in the corner of the studio, the radio giving a play by play of some game. Legs hanging off the arm rest, simply enjoying being in your presence. Some days you would go to his practices, half watching, half sketching out ideas for a new chunk of canvas. This was one of those days.
Looking up from your lap you see that practice is almost over. You set aside your work to focus on Rukawa completely. He really is something else on the court. Brash, aggressive, and still sly. Those parts of Rukawa were the same. The part of him that bluntly told you while out shopping what did look ugly, that way you swore he moved stuff around in the fridge to mess with you, or how he shoulder checked people a little too often. When he was playing basketball it was like the various gears and screws that made up Rukawa were perfectly made to play, like it was the only that life made sense to him. It added something to his outward psyche, a fire of energy that exuded from every pore.
You watch as the team starts to wind down. Shooting from various points on the court, running sprints from one side to the other, to end practice there was a complicated passing drill that you couldn't follow. You were prepared to leave, grab some take out on the way home, but when Rukawa came over to you he flopped onto the bleachers.
“Hey! Come on you can't sleep here”
With a sweat towel covering his face he mumbles,
“I can sleep anywhere, just give me a couple minutes”
But you know with Rukawa that a couple minutes can range from thirty minutes to hours. You pull on his arm trying to get him up, his eyes are stubbornly closed though. You poke, you blow air on his nose, you ruffle his hair and pull on his clothes. When that doesn't work you try threats.
“I won't pay for dinner”
“I was going to pay”
He says, words muffled by the towel. Exasperated you sit back onto the cold bleachers. You reach into a plastic bag you have settled down by your feet. It's from the craft store, new paint, new brushes, you had stopped there on the way to see Rukawa. Cautiously you pull out some paint and let it rest against Rukawa's skin.
“If you don't get up, I’m gonna paint you”
“I dont care”
“Really?”
“Why would I care?”
Before you two had been playful, teasing, but when he asks that he is genuine. Like he couldn't possibly comprehend why that would bother anyone. He has one eye open now, peaking at you, seeing that you are considering it now.
“I don't care, go ahead, just let me sleep”
At first you're still a little apprehensive. You are slow to fill up one of the paper cups from the players bench with the water fountain. You use the colors little by little. Mixing them in the palm of your non dominant hand. You start with his arm. The paint moves differently on his sweat tinted skin and you have to adjust.
Rukawa floats in and out of sleep. Lazily watching your concentrated expression move expertly over him. He likes the way the brushes feel, the cool of the paint. He notes that you're holding his hand differently, it's deliberate, your fingers not laced with his but clasping onto him. You do this so you can twist his arm this way and that. He can see blues and greens mixed onto your own skin in puddles. Then he’s back asleep.
You are no longer paying attention to Rukawa, or the dance group that came to use the gym for practice. You like working here. The gym lights are bright, the AC blasting cold air. You were originally only going to do something small. But now Rukawa's entire right arm has been consumed by paint. You are putting the last few strokes of detail on his arm knowing that you aren't done yet. You are afraid to dab at the paint to see if its dry, you blow on it and Rukawa gives a small smile at the sensation.
You pull the towel off of Rukawa’s head and lay it over his chest, placing his arm there too. You grab your bag of supplies and move to the row of bleachers below Rukawa. His left leg your new target. This is harder for Rukawa to sit through at first. The bristles of the brush more ticklish, but it is soon calming once again. He wants to see what you’ve painted on his arm but his eyes are still so heavy, he so tired.
“Wow you're really good!”
“Thanks! He’s a pretty good canvas!”
Rukawa wakes at the sound of your voice.
“Oh sorry I didn't mean to wake you!”
It must be one of the girls from that dance team he decides.
“It’s okay he sleeps plenty”
You tell the girl, she laughs a little before waving herself away. You're packing up your things, swirling brushes into the cup of water, twisting paint tubes closed. Finally feeling satisfied with his nap, Rukawa slowly gets up. Used to sleeping wherever he pleases the dull ache from the bleachers doesn't bother him much. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sees it.
You've painted a river. From his right shoulder to his left ankle is a river. Patches of grass and flowers growing along parts of it, stones, clouds, waterfalls, waves of water. It’s dynamic, twisting over the grooves of his muscles. You are surprised at how gentle his fingers move along the outline of the water, tracing it down his whole arm. In between his knuckles the water fades off his hand in droplets. The red flowers a bold contrast to the cool colors of the water. Fish leaping in and out of the water, some not even breaking the blue surface of paint, shadows of warm color beneath the water.
“You like it?”
You ask, he only nods, still admiring your work. You get him off the bleachers, once standing the daze he was in wears off. He grabs his duffle bag and the two of you head out. The night air is refreshing, the sky dark blue but bright like how it is in the summer. The street is still buzzing from the dusk. People on the way home from work, light traffic in the street, store and street lights flickering in the newness of the night.
“I’m sorry”
“Huh?”
You don't know what Rukawa could possibly be apologizing for.
“I’m gonna have to take a shower and the paint will wash off”
“That’s okay I knew that when I did it”
Rukawa seems discontent with this answer but you aren't sure how to help ease him. At the next block Rukawa turns the wrong way.
“Where are you going the-”
“Walgreens”
“What?”
“They have disposable cameras at Walgreens.”
☽༓・*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*・༓☾  
A/N: If someone made a bingo chart of my writing Walgreens would be on it. Will post this on ao3 later today :) Also no :) I did not :) edit this :) 
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quazartranslates · 3 years
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Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH59
**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**
[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]
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Chapter 59: Purgatory Reunion (XI)
Burst brains mixed with dirty blood and flowed across the floor, filling the air with the disgusting scent of blood.
Ning Zhou was standing in the pool of blood, his dull expression unchanging.
He hadn’t actually done anything. What he did was to tear Mrs Kathleen’s enchantment with the Sword of Judgment, and then stand in the same place and shock this group of lower demons with his influence. However, under the oppressive feeling of terror, the demonic power in this group of lower demons became disordered, and the lower demons who couldn't control their demonic power had their heads blow up one after another like inflated balloons.
Bodies with destroyed heads fell to the ground, and blood was still streaming from the incomplete skulls. The brains and blood splashed everywhere on the ground, on the walls, and on the sofa, making this originally neat reception room like a slaughterhouse.
Mrs Kathleen was still kneeling on the ground, shivering and afraid to look up at all. Now she only hoped to save her life.
This bloody scene shocked Qi Leren.
Although he had confidence before and he felt that Ning Zhou should be able to handle this barrier, he had not expected...
Standing in the pool of blood, Ning Zhou was like a Devil King who had just come into this world. His eyes emptily looked ahead, but his sight seemed to have penetrated the wall and looked toward an unknown place. He never said a word, and remained as silent as ever. This bloody silence left a trace of gloom on his handsome face, which also made Qi Leren keenly capture his emotion—Ning Zhou was not happy.
Even his heart was in pain.
This kind of power was a kind of torture for him.
Even if he was delivering justice with the evil power, he was not happy. Because this kind of power perpetually lured him into the abyss of sin.
"Let's go and hand her over to the people from the Courthouse," Qi Leren whispered, stepping forward and touching Ning Zhou’s arm.
Ning Zhou recovered from his long silence and nodded his head.
Their entire journey back was silent. Qi Leren contacted Celia, the Trial Court’s contact person in Ant City. Celia brought people to take away Mrs Kathleen and her companions, and asked about the informant who had come to investigate before. Fortunately, this informant was still alive, but he was locked in a private prison and had suffered a lot of injustices.
The gambler who had claimed to have seen the Illusionist was dead, and died because of his high gambling debts. As Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had seen in this underground casino, it was even worse than that. All the useful parts of his body were removed, and even the blood was drained clean.
So for the time being, they couldn't figure out why the Illusionist had come here.
After returning to the Court’s stronghold in the Underground Ant City, Qi Leren talked with the contact Celia about the current situation, intending to take Ning Zhou back to the Village of Dusk after confirming the Illusionist’s safety.
Under the working conditions, the contact Celia was a very capable woman, who worked in perfect order and could handle the subsequent troubles of this underground casino despite having a shortage in manpower. Although she was obviously curious about the relationship between Qi Leren and Ning Zhou, she didn't ask a word about the things she shouldn't ask, and turned a blind eye to the two people holding hands all the time.
"This underground casino is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the Underground Ant City’s filth. Gambling, prostitution, and drugs in the lower city form a huge interest chain, and there are some higher demons standing behind them. For them, the humans and lower demons here are just slaves without brands." Celia frowned in disgust. "This Dragon Ant Queen is too careless in managing this place."
"What are these people thinking when they’re gambling?" Qi Leren couldn't understand it at all.
"They’re dominated by greedy desires and... greedy witches." Celia said, "As far as I know, the behind-the-scenes owners of most underground casinos here are Witches of Greed, just as the owners of brothels are mostly Witches of Lust, and this is also the arena where they compete for power."
Qi Leren seems to understand, but his understanding of "forces" had not jumped out of the concept that ordinary human beings could grasp. Even though he had broken his shell and even touched a higher level, he had not condensed a half-field after all, and he still had little knowledge of his "rebirth" force. When things here were over, he would have to ask Chen Baiqi and the Prophet when he returned to the Village of Dusk.
Celia added, "The letter of request has been sent, but I'm afraid it will be another week until the Court replies."
"All right, let's wait another week." Qi Leren thought about the Illusionist’s safety and decided to stay for one more week. Anyway, now that Ning Zhou had been found, he wasn’t in a hurry.
It was settled. Celia skillfully commanded the staff to interrogate Mrs Kathleen. Sitting on the sofa, Qi Leren suddenly thought of something: "Remember to ask her where the subordinate who came to the Underground Ant City with her is now."
Qi Leren had a subtle intuition that he couldn’t speak of; it was always right to be vigilant.
Celia looked through Mrs Kathleen's information. "Okay, I'll have this added to the interrogation. Take a rest first. I’ve prepared the room for you."
The room was a private suite with two bedrooms separated by a wall. The shared living room also had a beautiful small terrace where you can see the Underground Ant City’s underground river. Judging from the arrangement of the room, the Ant City’s contact person was a very careful and cautious person, and has a smooth integrity.
Qi Leren's spirit had been overloaded recently, but the compulsory monthly task had been put off until it couldn't be put off any longer. So after dinner, he greeted Ning Zhou and went to do this month's compulsory task—for a person who has already glimpsed his original force, the compulsory task of a novice was really too simple to mention.
It was only ten o'clock in the evening after completing this month's compulsory task. Qi Leren, who was exhausted physically and mentally, thought he could have a good night's sleep. However, he was haunted by nightmares, and various death scenes appeared in his dreams over and over again, forcing him to relive the tragic deaths again and again. After experiencing the Star Death Reality Show copy, he had experienced some new ways of dying. The horrible laser net was really a psychological shadow, and finally there was the fall into the deep glacier when he had fought Leviathan, which worsened how horrifying his nightmares were.
Amidst the weightlessness of the fall and the severe pain of his nerves, Qi Leren suddenly sat up from the bed and gasped. When he came to, his back was soaked with cold sweat, and his temples were still throbbing with the same frequency as his heartbeat, bringing a spasm of pain each time.
Qi Leren took the water cup at the head of the bed and drank half a cup of cold water, which made him calm down from his extreme panic.
It's no use. I'm going to lose sleep again.
Qi Leren took out the sleeping pills he had brought with him, but the pills stopped before they reached his mouth.
It wasn’t a good thing to sleep by taking medicine, so he shouldn't do it unless he had to. Qi Leren swallowed the temptation of taking medicine and getting a good night's sleep, got out of bed in exhaustion, and prepared to go to the balcony to smoke, relieve his mood, and slowly adjust himself to sleep.
Opening the bedroom door, ahead of him was the living room with no lights on, and beyond the living room was the open terrace. There was a figure standing behind the curtains blown by the night wind, standing on the terrace with his back to him.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, Ning Zhou looked back and met Qi Leren's eyes.
Both of them didn't speak. In this gentle evening breeze, the unexpected encounter in the middle of the night was as beautiful as an otherworldly dream.
Qi Leren trotted over and stood beside Ning Zhou, watching the underground river in the distance. There were several boats with lights floating on the river’s calm waves, and the surrounding streets were lit with streetlights. Sparse pedestrians walked along them, humans and demons alike. They walked silently on their own roads and were indifferent to everything around them.
But Qi Leren cared. He thought of the silent man beside him, and he could feel his inner unrest.
"Let’s talk," Qi Leren said to him.
"Talk about what?" Ning Zhou asked him.
"Anything will do." After Qi Leren finished saying this, he felt that he had not fulfilled his responsibility to guide the conversation, and started a temporary topic. "After I was resurrected, I saw your mother, Ms. Maria."
Seeing Ning Zhou's eyes focus, Qi Leren considered his words and said: "Later, I happened to learn some things about her and the Devil of Destruction... Speaking of which, had she never mentioned it to you before?"
Ning Zhou shook his head: "She chose to send me to Neverland, so that I wouldn’t find out."
Perhaps the Holy Nun had already foreseen such a cruel possibility, that one day she and the Destroyer’s child would follow the same path as his father, so she cut off this path from the beginning and guided him to condense a half-field that would incompatible with his original force by way of the Holy See. If there hadn’t been the accident of meeting Qi Leren, Ning Zhou would have walked on the clouds all his life, and he would have fought with demons and finished his life with inner peace and contentment.
"She didn't really hate him," Ning Zhou said.
Qi Leren could vaguely feel it.
"She said that he was a lost man." Ning Zhou watched the distant lights, which were reflected in his eyes. The ethereal flickering lights became spirited in his beautiful eyes. The light generated from pain and despair lit up his soul.
Qi Leren was almost stunned. He suddenly wanted to kiss his beautiful blue eyes.
"Maybe one day, I will become lost like him, and step by step go down the path of destruction. If that day comes... it will be enough for me alone to be in Hell," Ning Zhou said quietly. At this moment, he suddenly felt something called "fate", which was once cruel, and would only become even crueler.
Qi Leren, who was in a daze, asked him, "What about me?"
Ning Zhou looked at him and whispered, "I hope you can always stand in the sun."
Qi Leren's throat tightened, and the lights in front of him suddenly blurred. Always, this person always tried every means to protect him and the world. He was too gentle and kind. The world treated him so cruelly, but he didn't know what resentment was and didn't want to lash out. Even if one day he fell into Hell, he didn't want to take anyone with him, even the one he loved.
He would rather bear the pain and loneliness alone, and go to ruin silently.
"Then I’ll tell you, I don't want to," Qi Leren choked up and said.
As Ning Zhou was stunned, Qi Leren hugged him.
"You listen up: I don't care if you are a human being or a demon, or if your force is destruction or something else. I don't care if I stand in the sun. Only you, Ning Zhou, only you are something I must not lose, do you understand?"
Ning Zhou didn't answer. He hesitated, wrapped his arms around Qi Leren gently and carefully, and felt the people in his arms embrace him harder, so he hugged him too.
It was like holding the only salvation in the world.
-----
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Heyyyy! SO as a local comteologist- okay sorry lmao 😂 I was wondering! Could you maybe write about an mc that is very affectionate? Because I am like that and I would give my ALL and just everything for someone I love. So, maybe the guys are pretending to be asleep and they hear mc admitting her undying love for them? I don't want to burden you! So, I think Will, Jean, Leo and Napoleon would be fine :D
I love you! And please take care of your self cuz corona is a hondje- sorry lmao
Have all of my uwus my lovely, I relate HIGHKEY I’m ungodly affectionate irl~
You take care of yourself too! Tyty 💖💖💖 nothing to apologize for I love a good clowning, esp if Theo gets clowned in the process 😂😂
And never apologize for using my esteemed title I will die on this Comte-thirsting hill (☆`• ω •´)b
I hope these attempts bring you joy! 
William Shookspeare:
Our v creative playwright boy was just vibin’. He had a long day at the (obnoxious thespian voice) theater and while he loves the art with all of his being, the man is t i r e d. MC was late to bed and while he prefers to wait for her to join him no he is not horny perish the thought he just started dozing off from the exhaustion. He’s not sure when the lights go out, but he feels an immeasurable warmth around him. Faintly, he can make out a voice murmured at his ear, a gentle hand running through his hair. (I s2g if this bih says “Puck?” I’m gonna smack him for MC)
“Had a long day, hm?” He’s only just coming to, and can’t muster the energy to reply or open his eyes. “I’m sure this next performance will be the best one yet! You surprise me every day, Will...”
“Try not to work yourself too hard, sweetheart. Your work may one day be the world’s greatest marvel.”
He wasn’t sure what it was about the words that made his lips tremble. Was it the praise that always seemed to flow forth at a moment’s notice, the real kind he was so unaccustomed to? Or was it that unshakeable calm; her faith in him unmoved by any fear or doubt--the kind that made him wonder briefly if she was dull all those years ago. Now he was just thankful it was still here, no matter how undeserving he may be.
“But you will always be my entire world, my greatest marvel. I love you too much to let the world have you.”
Jeanne D’Arc (REEEEEE MY GOODEST BOY OTL):
It was early one morning, frost blossoming in fractals along the transparent surface of the bedside window. An inevitable, biting chill lingers in the room while the sun is fighting to climb past the horizon, its time so limited in these winter months. She watches as the light casts a gentle gray over the bare walls--something she promised to remedy soon--so reminiscent of how he appeared to her at first. Pure and bright, but still fighting off a darkness she knew so little about.
The thought made her draw him to her protectively, careful not to wake him up as she tucked him close to her heart. He was so warm, even despite the frigid weather. A product of his time as a soldier? She was never sure, but she was always touched by how often he used that warmth in service to her. 
She remembered earlier the other day, when she returned home from some grocery shopping with Sebas. Concern was overflowing from his stoic face--it was there if you knew where to look for it; his eyes a little more narrow, the line of his mouth closer to a frown. All at once his hands were reaching for hers, relieving her of whatever she allowed him to carry while walking into the kitchen alongside her. When Sebas stepped out again he took her hands in his, pressing them along his face. She had cried out, knowing her hands were freezing--it had to be painful to warm them in such a way. But he only smiled that beautiful smile to quell her distress, the one that always took her breath away, and insisted he could do no less.
“The same goes for me too, though, Jeanne.” she looked at the fierce mark on his face, so unworthy of someone so gentle. She resisted every urge to soothe her fingers across it, loathe to wake him up. She didn’t notice the fingers that twitched at her hip, his signs of stirring subtle. “Whenever you need me, whenever you can’t think of a good reason to walk out of this room. All you need to do is find me, okay? I love you so, so much.”
Leonardo Da Binchi (no i will not apologize. he deserves to be clowned, glorious moron):
Once again her lover was gloriously strewn across the library floor, arms crossed and fast asleep. An exasperated smile found her face at the sight. Perhaps it would have been a surprise at first, but nowadays she would just roll her eyes and walk past. Sometimes, if she was feeling forlorn or a little reckless, she would climb into his lap just as he was. He seemed to enjoy being woken up that way though, so of course she couldn’t give him the satisfaction every time; a woman likes to change things up. And sometimes she was too busy to spare the time.
Even so, the slowly dimming shadows under his eyes were a relief to see. While the celebration of his birthday could only be a blessing, she knew what a double-edged blade it could be. It invoked so many wounds that hadn’t yet healed. While she wished he would share that burden with her--however heavy it may be--she slapped her own cheeks lightly at the impatient thought. Give him time...
“I know you think you have to carry everything alone. And in some ways, it’s something I admire so much about you--the way you always seem to know just how to move forward. Like nothing can shake you.”
She leaned down close to him, bracing herself against the bookshelf as she pressed a kiss gently against his temple. “But know that whenever you find yourself wavering, or even if you just need a place to rest, I’m right here. I’ll always be right here. I love you so much more than you think, Leonardo...”
She stopped herself before she could finish the thought, knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to hear: “more than my own life.”
Napoleon Bonaparte (oh my little lion man...):
They were spending a nice afternoon in the courtyard, as a lovey-dovey couple do, and they went under the veranda to find some relief from the midday sun. Surprising literally no one, our sweet emperor started to doze after some yummy tea time snackies--drifting asleep against MC’s shoulder. She adjusted a bit to change the angle of the lean, making sure he wasn’t putting too much pressure on his neck. Little puffs of air made her bangs flutter as he breathed low and even, and she smiled.
He’d had a guard jobs back to back recently, which meant precious little time to spend with him. Restless and quieter than usual, she had suggested a little stroll together around the courtyard; admiring the flowers and telling him about the books she’d been reading to fill the silence of those lonely nights. It wasn’t long before he started to smile more, snickering when she gave ludicrous summaries of the characters and plot. 
Early that morning she had taken the time to make perfect tea time sweets, fully anticipating--and hoping--it would encourage him to rest. So often he would be worried about her missing out on things or trying to plan more elaborate dates, but if she were honest she didn’t care much for extravagance or constant excitement. These tender moments where he could trust her (and the mansion’s perimeter) enough to fall fast asleep, no nightmares in sight, was enough to fill her heart with so much joy.
“I know you can’t help but want to do everything you can for the people around you; protecting and serving others is your life. I never want to be a reason you feel you need to stop doing that.” She murmured in the silence, playing with the buttons on his coat with a faint smile. “But even so, remember you always have a home to return to. More than that, no matter how powerful or skilled; you’re also one man. A man I love more than anything else in this world, a man I always want by my side--if he’ll have me, that is.”
She took the hand that was entwined with her own, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his palm as his lashes trembled. “I love you, Leon. Whether I see you every moment of every day, or only in stolen moments between assignments. That will never change. There will be times where you belong to the whole world, but this” she placed a hand gently over his heart “will always belong to me. Let it lead you home to me, sweetheart.”
And because I can’t help myself, I added Comte, Mozart and Vincent:
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (he’s the melody I can’t get out of my head DON’T LOOK AT ME):
Despite all of his promises to quit his bad habits, she opened the door later that evening to find him fast asleep against the covered keys of the piano. His shock of white hair was nestled comfortably against his arms, piled together as a makeshift pillow. The sight made her think of those long, long nights in college; thinking you’d close your eyes for a minute--only to be adrift in seconds. 
Smiling wryly, she reached into a nearby closet to retrieve a blanket before draping it gently across his shoulders. Torn between waking him up and guiding him to bed or leaving him be, she decided on the latter. She got the feeling that waking him up would only mean “a few more minor edits” to the composition he was working on, leaving sleep an afterthought. While she knew he often couldn’t help himself, she didn’t want him neglecting his health all the same. 
She’d be back with some hot chocolate in a few hours, just how he liked it.
As she was about to slip back out of the room, the hand at his elbow clumsily grasped for hers resting on the covered keys. Heat bloomed across her face, ears burning as he clung to her warmth. 
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” She sat down on the piano bench carefully, trying not to jostle him awake. “Your music will never stop being the most beautiful and soulful sound I’ve ever heard. But even a mind as impressive as yours needs plenty of rest--even more so, I’d wager. You work yourself too hard sometimes, Wolfie.” She leaned until her shoulder brushed his, “But I’ll always be here to make sure you don’t overdo it too much. Sweet dreams my only love.”
Vincent van Gogh (he’s babie your honor):
MC was on her laundry rounds, Vincent’s aprons now thoroughly washed and folded for his use once again. She knocked on the door murmuring a greeting--though fully anticipated he might not respond. While he was usually so sweet and attentive, it was almost like he became an entirely different person when painting. Utterly serious, intensely focused; any attempts at speaking to him would require many tries before he came back to himself with a beaming smile. 
She sighed dreamily, easily picturing it. His eyes would always be stunning, a cerulean to rival the calm waters of the Mediterranean Sea. But in the midst of his greatest passion? They burned bright enough to make her forget the rest of the world existed.
Trying not to embarrass herself on unsteady feet, she opened the door cautiously to find his easel abandoned. Shocked, she scanned the rest of the room until she found him strewn across the couch; a blanket haphazard in its provision of cover. With a gentle smile she stored away the fresh aprons in the dresser before she approached him, kneeling close to the couch so that she could tuck him in properly.
He let out a pleased little huff before shifting slightly in his sleep, body angled in her direction. There was a faint smile on his lips, evidence of what was likely a pleasant dream or peaceful rest. She traced the outline of his ear cuff with insatiable fingers, eyes glistening a little when he nuzzled into the faint touch--trapping her between his cheek and his arm. 
“You’re more precious to me than anything else in this world, Vince,” the murmur was barely audible, he didn’t stir. “I can’t imagine my life without you, and if I’m honest--no part of me really wants to imagine it. This warmth is the greatest gift I’ve ever known; thank you for choosing to share it with me. I love you so much, sweetheart.”
Le Comte de Saint Germain (SAN GERUMAN HAKKSHAKKU):
Every day is a long ass day when you have 10+ children (yes, Leonardo, you are in that child count I hope you’re happy >:| ). For all his half-hearted complaints about the exhaustion and noisiness though, he loves his bubs, and wouldn’t have things any other way.
Even so, it doesn’t stop the delighted giggling that shakes her shoulders when she finds him fast asleep in his favorite armchair. His tie is undone and askew, head lolling to the side--any attempt at his usual poise long forgotten. While she most often found him to be charming and delightful, she loved it even more when he felt comfortable sharing these parts of himself too. 
She set aside the tea she would always have prepared at this hour and reached for the coat he had draped across the opposite chair, settling it carefully over his form. Resisting every urge to join him--Sebas would need her help preparing dinner--she carded a hand through his hair, tucking it behind his ear so it wouldn’t tickle him while he was asleep.
He was so lovely like this, face unmarred by the weight of several lifetimes that found him when he was awake. No matter how early she rose when they were together, she rarely ever got the privilege of seeing him a little drowsy, lost to rest as he was now. She brushed light kisses to his eyelids, smiling when he half-sighed her name.
“Tuckered yourself out did you? You big worrywart.” She resisted the urge to find his hand and entwine it with hers. “I promise to watch over them, so rest easy, my dearest love.” She played with the collar, tucking him in further. “I know everyone here is precious to you. But remember that you’re the most important person in my life too,” she leaned her forehead gently against his. “While I love to see everyone get along, I love to see you happy and well-rested even more. You’ll always be the only one for me, [insert Comte’s real name].” 
Bonus continuation because I still can’t help myself apparently, somebody please take my laptop away from me:
Arms like steel bands enclosed her in his embrace, a sleepy exhale washing over her ear as she shivered a little at the sudden warmth.
“Mm, ma cherie, surely you didn’t think you’d get away with that kind of teasing...”
“But I wasn’t teasing you! I was completely serious.”
Laughter shook his chest and hers too, making her melt at the undisguised affection in the hands that settled her close to his heart.
“Then you must be punished for such foul play. To think you would ruthlessly attack me while asleep, bien-aime.”
“And how might I atone for this egregious indiscretion?”
She could feel him smile against her shoulder, the rascal. “Stay here a little while longer with me.” As if he had any intention of letting her go. Not that she minded, honestly.
“Threaten me with a good time.” she mumbled, stroking a hand soothingly along his back as they closed their eyes for a while.
A few more minutes couldn’t do any harm, could it?
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His (Part one)
Edit by the wonderful 💕💕💕 joker_jessica295
Instagram: @joker_jessica295
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Special thanks to @neon-umbrella-for-stella (thank you so much for the ideas!) and @darkshadow90 for the tips on certain scenes 💕💕
• Author’s note¹: Another Arthur/Harley smut. Yes. It took me more than seven months to write it, based one a suggestion from a reader on a different take.
• A/N ²: 447 FOLLOWERS? WHEN tHE HELL DID I GET SO MANY?! THANK YOU SO MUCH OMG
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Summary: A piece more centered in Harleen and her feelings towards Arthur,  Flashbacks to the first meeting and kiss. More sex comes after their first night together as they open up about each other. Meanwhile, a clown has stirred Gotham City by murdering three young Wayne employees, awakening a popular fascination which not even Harleen won’t escape from. She doesn’t know this (wrongly) crowned hero is closer than she thinks.
Warnings: insecurity, self-hatred, swearing, darker Arthur ahead (possessive, lusty, crossing boundaries), age gap, strong sexual themes, sexual humor, oral sex (male receiving), fluff, breast oral stimulation, dirty talk, mild praise kink, possessive, unprotected sex.
WC: +9.946 (IT’S LONG I KNOW… I hope you don’t get bored!)
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November would mark one year since she got to Bronx Apartment after finishing her studies in Gotham’s University, obtaining a degree as a psychologist. Harleen was blessed with an exceptional intuition and a brilliant memory, this preventing her to burn her eyes away studying day and night for exams.
Once finished, she got a job as a therapist in social services. It had been hard to get but Harleen used her charm to convince the man she was ardently committed to social causes. A few smiles to the old, drooling creep during interviews and she got what she wanted. But with the unemployment rate increasing in the city, Harleen knew crisis couldn’t be avoided with a charming smile. Resenting her situation but with no other option, Harleen obtained a job as a bartender in shifts, most of them at night.
She was a frequent target of blatant ogling and indecent comments from men of all ages to which Harleen always replied with sarcasm that either scared them off or ended up with men insulting her under their breath. The first two months in the building were boring and gloomy, until she saw him.
Harleen had seen him a few times. He always seemed so mad, so drawn within himself and yet there was something oddly attractive about him. If not beautiful, it was certainly intriguing. He was the neighbor the other residents warned her about: the laughing guy from the eighth floor. Some told her he was ugly, deranged and creepy. Harleen got her first impression of him during a day off: she went for a drink when the mail boxes, surrounded by a small cage, were checked by the mysterious man.
There he was. The guy was wearing the usual yellow hoodie, navy blue pants, brown vest and a white polka-dotted shirt. Shoes were worn as much as his outfit, hair slicked back, gaze focused on the box that seemed eternally empty. She then noticed the frown that hardened his features, reinforcing the idea that he was always angry, while asking herself some questions about him. Who was he? What did he do for a living? Was he married? Did he have children? He looked old enough to have them.
What was his name?
She would have never imagined she’d figured it out months later. It was one particular night she went out to a party just to return home a little drunk. A catchy song refused to leave her mouth, while dancing in a lively way were enough to get the attention of the loner. He returned from getting his medicines. Hunched pace tracing his way back home, Arthur saw the young recently graduated young lady dancing shamelessly in the hall. She wore a short red dress and her lips shone in crimson gloss.
The image of her hair flowing, creating a blue and pink spectrum of colors turned out to be so unusual and beautiful that immediately sent involuntary visions of her in sexual situations. He hated the idea of her being out of his reach but felt a modest share of satisfaction just by seeing her. This became a common practice on his routine, with Harleen being completely unaware of it. She only saw her mysterious neighbor a few times from then, probably because he had to work. A lot, from what she could tell.
It was Thursday in the evening when she returned from the theater. Harleen was thankful she was on the taxi when the rain started. It was a small luxury she could gift herself after working so hard. She thought her day couldn’t get better when back home when she’d finally get what she wanted for so long.
Once in the elevator bag, in hand, she saw him. The door opening revealed the crestfallen individual, always withdrawn in his thoughts. That would explain why he almost jumped out in shock when he saw her, as if she was some kind of ghost. Harleen finally found the courage to grin and speak up.
“Hi”. One kind greet was enough to freeze him. At the same time, Arthur stared at her, examining the funny hairstyle that embellished her. Simple but pretty: a white sweater and jeans with short boots and a blue bag hanging from her left arm. Buns held her hair, blue the left one, pink the other one. A few platinum locks fell over her neck.
“Hi”, he finally replied. Doubt made his vocal chords tremble. His stare betrayed everything he felt for her, showing even how surprised he was for a woman like her to talk to him. He did his best to return the grin, his lips curving into a sneaky, playful one. Something inside Harleen trembled. Of all the reactions she expected, this was certainly an unexpected surprise. It was like a powerful bolt whipping her body. The odd attractiveness of her older neighbor caught her off guard. She did not expect him to actually have… charm.
There was something that tainted his unique beauty, however. She couldn’t help but stare in silent horror at the small bruise on his eye and a dry trace of blood on the bottom lip. His deep silence and mirthless look on his eyes despite the smile carved a deep wound in Harleen’s soul. He looked so destroyed and yet he managed to be polite enough to reply. She now paid attention to the adorable dimples embellishing his smile. The only thing she could do was smile back, not imagining the magnitude of the feelings she would unleash on him.
The bell rang. Harleen suddenly felt bad to leave for her flat, desiring just a few more seconds to appreciate his features. But she wasn’t willing to lose and her generosity gifted him an awkward but cute hand gesture, which Arthur took a long time to respond to. The absolute amazement in his eyes turned out to be an unexpectedly pleasant shock. That smile… so distant from the serious expression that usually carved his features, lost inside his thoughts.
Once in her flat, Harleen was incapable to stop thinking about him. And that wasn’t the only problem. Thoughts replayed the charming smile over and over again and became particularly intrusive while undressing to take a hot shower. She wanted to know more about him by being subtle, to increase the thrill this stranger had caused to her.
Probably the premise of “opposites attract” took a special meaning for the two of them, causing an authentic interest over the loner’s magnetism, not imagining how much of a surprise he’d turn out to be. What Harleen would have never thought was that the loner was also immensely interested in her…
Through fleeting glimpses of a yellow hoodie, she learned she had a secret admirer (this being a soft epithet for what it was actually an stalker).
Harleen became aware of it after noticing there was always a tall, thin man lurking in the shadows of the buildings in front of the playground she was always in during nighttime. It also happened while she was jogging or hanging on a rope to avoid any further danger lately. The latter was more interesting for him, given she could notice him better: still, predacious, not missing any second of watching her involved in such graceful moves, like floating in the air.
Harleen was sly, of course. She knew she was gorgeous. And the notion of being unreachable was highlighted by adding more sensual moves in this effective way to attract him, assuming the unpleasant cost of being constantly catcalled by other men. But of course her efforts paid off: the long expected meeting would occur on September. She actually expected another day to play innocent and let him stare at her instead of an actual interaction. A few pedestrians passed by, following a series of unpleasant whistling and blatant sexual commentaries.
But she couldn’t care less now, noticing it took him longer for him to show himself up through the dim lights in comparison to other days.
Harleen kept doing her job, however, repeating and extending the same moves to maintain her anxiety at bay. This resulted in more pirouettes so she could catch the familiar glimpse of the yellow hoodie near the darkened corner he usually stopped by to stare. The exercise turned out to be so pleasant that almost made her forget her initial goal, her focus now being to make a risky but stylish twirl.
There were no whistles or any indecent comments this time. Just a soft chuckle that evidently showed his amazement at the pirouette broke the deaf car honks, far screams from angry people that shattered the already silent place. Her swinging form immediately got down while trying not to lose the composure, calling him.
But far from what she expected, the man reacted horrified just to run away. She wasn’t going to give up, quickly jogging towards the fence that separated them.
“Hey!” she extended one hand, clawing herself with the other one. The hooded shadow stood there, panicking. He couldn’t bring himself to disappear in the dark, which made him look like a malevolent spirit.
“Come back!” she yelled, waving her hand incessantly to convince him to return, daring him to answer for such tenebrous and creepy attraction for her. It seemed her call paid off, since the man had no intentions to keep running, choosing to walk his uncertainty away through disoriented circles. He suddenly stopped walking, standing completely still now. Harleen rose an eyebrow, honestly expecting what he would do now. 
That man had issues for sure.
The idea soon morphed into a fact. Once she saw him coming closer to her to finally face her, she found herself unable to hold back a gasp to discover it was precisely her handsome but distant neighbor she had seen so many times and the reason why she had let him cross the line. She liked intense emotions, and something told her this man could give her a good thrill. The loner, for his part, turned around and almost tripped once realizing the short proximity between them.
It was certainly shocking to see an apparently cold, aloof individual who never talked with such searing lust in his eyes. Her hands now clawed at the fence, her icy blue eyes stared at him, feeling a shiver down her spine while she their glare revealed more things about him, one being his complete bewitch (or more like aroused) hearing his breath becoming more and more shortened.  But there was also a glimpse of guilt, lips twitching as if he was repressing a word or even a kiss, she’d dared to say.
The darkness highlighted the odd yet irresistible attractiveness that stole her heart, tracing a smile on her lips. He set his eyes down her body, ending the visual enjoyment focusing on the striking, extravagant mane that reached the upper part of her hips.
“You’ve been enjoying my show, have you?”, she went straight to the point.
A reply came out ringing in a remorseful, broken whisper:
“Yeah”
His name was Arthur. Harleen couldn’t be happier to finally know it, repeating it while taking her time to savor it.
Arthur Fleck.
Nothing prepared her to witness the very thing he was known for, however: the pained, cursed laugh that now resounded through the air.
At first she thought it was genuine but the horrifying shameful look warned her about his desperate attempt to stop and to breathe. The cackles were frustrating and, worse yet, exhausting to the point it made him lose balance while trying his best to look for something inside his pocket. She climbed up the fence to finally make direct contact with him. That seemed to shock him enough to distract his features in a more skeptical expression at the first time someone showing him kindness rather than giving him the usual disgusted stare.
A plastic, worn out card explaining his condition came from his pocket. The fit diminished to painful hiccups to tired sobs, relieved by a few reassuring words to make the stranger stay. It followed with a small talk about Thomas Wayne, unemployment in Gotham City and revealing each other’s “do for a living” but the topic of conversation seemed off. She could tell Arthur wasn’t used to social interaction, noticing how much it took him to find a tone and words to reply coherently. He never lost a sight of her, never taking his gaze off her as she spoke. The blonde felt actual amazement on the intense lust she had awakened on him, motivating her to test him, to see what things he would do to her in a more intimate place.
They arrived to the building. Harleen led her guest to her humble flat. Arthur was fascinated by the pink neon lights that banished the darkness to plunge his senses in a pleasurable, dreamlike numbness. They continued talking. Her flirty attitude and smiles made Arthur feel he was living the best night of his life. The loner was too lost in her bicoloured mane. A small smirk traced his lips, forming those dimples she secretly admired so much.
“It looks like cotton candy”, his mutter rang through her mind, resounding like a small demeanor confessed with relief. The sweet compliment was rewarded, subsequently, with a short, noisy kiss on his forehead. The action quickly makes him recoil for a few seconds, as her memory remembered, just to feel confident enough now to unleash a furious, hungry kiss on her lips. This violent outburst of passion had her lips against his dry, cracked lips, shocking her at first to eventually surrender and responding to the kiss. His inexperience was clear from the beginning but she had more of a convincing proof that the vehemence of the touch starved was, sometimes, more arousing than the dexterity of an experienced lover.
The sound of their lips breaking the caress made the sexual tension even more unbearable. He apologized; covering his mouth like punishing himself for behaving like a deranged creep but Harleen was just too impressed and lost after the spontaneous gesture, praising him for his passion instead of screaming at him. She had already accepted she’d never yearn for another lips except his.
It wasn’t easy for him, however. His rigid posture put in evidence his shame at the (obvious) first intimate contact he held with an actual person. With her head tilting tenderly, Harleen put a rebel curl behind his ear. He shrugged, stepping back, maybe processing the word she chose to describe him. As if that wasn’t enough, Arthur was too self-absorbed in his visible fascination over her chest. There was more than mere lust in his gaze over his disturbing fixation on her bosom, a far cry for the abandonment and yearning for intimacy but being too afraid to show it. Harleen fought the persistent (and reckless, utterly reckless, she had to recognize) urge to grab his hand and let them knead her soft forms, getting him to know her more personally.
Instead, Harleen took his hands on hers, caressing them tenderly. A defeated sigh, at last, made him regain composure. His whisper sounded broken but clear, much to her joy.
“Can you please...?” Arthur wasn’t able to even to complete the plea as the blonde closed her eyes slowly as her face broke distance with his to once again experiment the clouding, soaring euphoria their careless closeness brought with it. The party clown had a hard time processing the warm and maddening sensation of her lips on his, convincing himself that this was no hallucination. They took their time, finding the perfect angle to get a better caress from each other: Harleen had the initiative throwing her arms to his neck, causing the loner to respond by locking his arms around her waist.
Intimacy became too overwhelming when her tongue tried to play with his. The lovers laughed the nervousness off as the kiss finished momentarily to recover from the numbness. But he went back to devouring her to memorize every little sensation, growing more and more confident, tilting his head now to obtain a better taste of her mouth. It proved to be too much for him, however. She sadly felt him distancing from the embrace, most probably because his old fashioned ways deemed improper to sleep with a woman he just had met.
She felt so many things that fateful night misting her senses to verbalize her thoughts. But one thing was for sure:
She would burn Gotham to see him smile. 
*-*-*
It was 09:33 am according to the green bluish digits on the old clock, light drizzle falling over Gotham City. A disheveled, yawing Harleen woke up by herself. Laziness held her muscles still until her stomach made clear that breakfast was a must.
She put on black shorts and a grey, long sleeved-shirt, combing her hair to then make a couple pretty braids that fell over her torso. The combination of pink and electric blue was pleasant to the sight, as the mirror revealed. Soon after the observation, she contemplated the empty space left by her lover: Arthur Fleck. She closed her eyes.
That name sounded (or more like tasted) so different now. The memory of this lonely, sad man turned into a sex crazed lunatic still shocked her, as her facial expressions brought out. The fierce passion he had just loved her with turned out to be hard to be believed considering how deprived he was of human contact.
It wasn't just the thrill of surprise but the tenderness of his vulnerability, an aspect whose contrast between despite looking twice as older than her and being a late bloomer just highlighted their affair: Arthur was so different in intimacy, letting go of that repression that harmed his soul since he understood his needs as a man. She smiled, still thinking about what they had done. The thought led her to look for him while her vision became sharper, slowly overcoming the persistent need to go back to sleep.
When she stepped outside her room, a chuckle reverberated through the air, making her come to her senses. Eyes blinking, a pleasant feel of lightheadedness befogging her mind as the silence was broken by a familiar voice.
“Knock, knock”. Harleen was still too sleepy to catch a clear glimpse of the loner behind her who, in turn, locked her form as if she was a prey.
"Huh?" she hummed, confused. But there was no verbal response from him. Arthur reacted kissing her neck with ferocious passion, holding her figure possessively, absorbing her scent. The blonde made an instinctive futile attempt to free herself to recover from the scare the sudden grasp had caused on her. A breathy whisper in her ear dissuaded any intention to undo the embrace.
“You’re supposed to ask who's there”
Harleen turned around, her long blond hair tickling his face. He wasn't gone but by God, she was thankful for that. Arthur undid the hug, directing his hands to her face to press kisses on it repeatedly.
"Mr. Fleck--" the blonde murmured, "I thought you were back on the business making people smile". Arthur smirked. A high pitched giggle left his mouth. He now directed his fingers to feel those attention drawn to her gorgeous, full pink lips.
"I am right now" the loner leaned his forehead against hers. Now that her vision was slightly clearer, she noticed Arthur had left her flat for a moment, given he was wearing a red sweater he didn't bring before. The loner then proceeded to take a black wand off his sleeve, offering it to her. Harleen giggled and took it, deciding to play his game. The object lost its rigid shape, causing Arthur to laugh at her disappointed reaction. He demonstrated his aptitudes as a party clown taking back the wand just for it to regain rigidity once on his hand. He whistled, adding a funny sound as he shook it against his other hand, checking its stiffness.
"What are you doing?" Harleen seemed completely taken by the action, her smile encouraging him to finally offer her the aforementioned wand as a bunch of flowers while humming a song. A tender, excited scream made him chuckle as her hands stopped shaking to hold carefully the gift. It had plenty of feathers of different colors but she loved the simplicity of it.
"Thank you" she placed them in the table, along a small pot of flowers.
Harleen stared at him, tenderly. All Arthur could do was smile, holding her hands briefly on his to then slide one up her arm to reach her face. She suppressed a gasp, which seemed to change the course of the original touch in thought, as his hand recoiled for a moment to return with more intensity to her face.
"We had one hell of a good fuck, Mr. Fleck" Harleen whispered, intertwining her fingers with his. Arthur burst out laughing as her swearing manners still made a great impact against his older ways. But he liked her honesty, nonetheless.
"I think we woke up the whole building" Harleen laughed.
“I don’t see the problem with that”.
“I never said it was“, Arthur replied, cocky. A deep intake of breath then happened, “You know I—“he stammered, nervous. With a cute giggle, the blonde slid down her hands through the soft fabric of his half buttoned shirt that left a glimpse of his chest, invigorating him to keep on. Arthur stared at her, not a word from his mouth, enticingly.
“I-- was just wondering-- what else we can do", he kept on after seconds passed by, trying to catch her mouth with his, nuzzling her face, “’because-- I told my mother I had a call—“, he continued, “from work… so I'd stay away from my apartment for a while. I need some—“he took another deep breath, trying to find the courage to look at her in the eye to pronounce his intentions.
“I need some space, Harleen…” Arthur stared up and down at her figure, hands sliding up the collarbone to rub her shoulders, persuading her to be an accomplice of this reprehensible deed, "but not alone”. The words, though flawed in pronunciation, were perfect to keep her gaze lost as if Arthur had cast a spell on her.
“I plan to have you all for myself today and I'm--" he closed his eyes, hiding his face in her neck, sniffing her hair while trying to voice his intentions despite the nervousness that made him stammer, "I'm eager to know you more personally".
Harleen was actually shocked with what she just heard. A mixture of utter tenderness and searing lust made her blood boil. Did he lie to his own mom to spend more time with her?
"Well with the riots out there, bar is closed for a couple of days so consider it your lucky day” her voice chirped in joy. His eyes shone with modest but genuine happiness at the good news. Then he smiled, flaunting those crooked teeth Harleen loved so much.
The blonde felt she was about to kneel and unzip his pants to give him the reward he deserved for such gesture when her stomach claimed for some food, impeding the spontaneous sexual fantasy to become real, earning a disapproving look on his face. It took them time to regain calmness, as their laborious breaths tried to cool down the fire inside them.
“Why are you doing that?” his tone of voice revealed impatience, leading her to express the idea to have some good meal before any intimacy could take place, causing his displeased expression to turn into a wide smirk.
“Great!” Arthur chuckled, granting her some personal space.
They made their way to the kitchen. Arthur took a sit while waiting, taking a cigarette to light it. Harleen quickly prepared the table, taking the electric kettle to fill it with water to pour it on the coffee machine, putting bread on the toaster and turning the radio on in hopes to increase the domestic bliss. The smoke filled the room but she couldn't care less. The news announced a cold, rainy week while announcing a new episode of the Murray Franklin’s show presenting a famous actor as a guest next week given the release of the film he recently starred in the next week. The announcement ended with a shortened version of the groovy organ of Frank Sinatra’s anthem “That’s Life” which Arthur hummed along. But as soon as the theme song ended on a fade out, he silenced himself to hear, much to his annoyance according to the tired, throaty groan that followed the happy hum, a reporter pronouncing the news related to the continuation of the garbage strike.
Both stood completely silent as the report that exposed most of Gotham's slums to insalubrities. The fear of the possibility to catch a severe disease was reinforced by the citizens who claimed to have seen the rat population increase. The piece of news changed to the Mayoral election, which seemed difficult given the riots and general dissatisfaction of Gotham citizens with unemployment rate and apparent authority's indifference in the matter. The note ended with Thomas Wayne promising order and prosperity if elected. More announcements followed, but the lovers didn’t pay any attention to it. His great displeasure caused Harleen to turn off the device.
"I just can't understand how my mother thinks he's gonna help us" his hand took the cigarette back to his mouth, adding that just because she worked for him more than thirty years ago did not mean he had the obligation to run in aid for her. Arthur rolled his eyes, making clear his profound dislike for people like him and the insufferable infatuation Penny felt for him.  
“I’ve told her so many times she doesn’t have to worry about money. Everyone is telling me my stand ups are ready to make it on the big clubs”.
Harleen nodded, enthusiastic at the possibility of Arthur getting a name for himself in the stage.
“I’m not the man of the house for nothing”.
Harleen took the toasted bread and coffee kettle to the table.
“Man of the house, huh?”
“Yes, since I can remember. But even I need a break” he took another long drag, his lost look causing a deep sorrow on Harleen.
She lamented the prolonged solitude that caused him to pronounce such wounded words, hoping (maybe in an unconscious way to cope with stress) to get out the pain it caused him. The blonde extended her hand towards his, in a sweet attempt to cure or, at least, relieve his pain.
His absent gaze combined with the smile caused Harleen to feel a shiver down her spine. She laughed nervously to later pour the coffee in his mug to fill her own later. He didn’t laugh, staring at her and rubbing his forehead with his thumb. This dark glint promised her so many things, and few of them were good. He wasn’t afraid anymore to hide his intentions from her, seeing the affection was mutual. She could also see a spark of pride, engulfing his mind in another deep state of absent thoughtfulness. He pronounced no words, looking now at the recently poured coffee, whose steam slowly diminished to long twirls to nearly invisible white lines. She slowly and carefully extended her hand to his arm to convince him to leave the cigarette aside just to grab the large plate full of breads.
“Aren’t you a cute, little pleaser?”
The tender name immediately washed the worry away from her face while a reddish hue colored her cheeks. Arthur finally gave it a bite, cigarette finally left on the ashtray. The crunchy sound gave Harleen almost a cathartic relief. Whenever the chance to nurture him showed up she didn’t think twice to do it. He left the half eaten piece of bread aside to divert his attention to her.
“You wanna hear a joke?” the playful tone of voice and mischievous smirk made his face adopt such a devilishly appeal Harleen was unable to resist.
“Yes!” she said it as if that could convince him to have one more toast. 
“Why are poor people so confused?” his grin drew those adorable dimples in his face again.
“I don’t know” a frisky look gleamed in her eyes. 
“Because they don’t have any cents” he answered, before his voice exploded in a loud cackle. Harleen laughed at the simplicity of it. He was actually a funny guy, if only life could have been more generous to him. Bless his soul for making people laugh in such hard times.
Harleen was too lost in his joyful expression beyond if the joke was funny or not. His green eyes shone with a special light in the rare moments he could be in tune with his surroundings. It was as magical as seeing a shooting star. How she wished to take away the pain from him just to see his beautiful smile more often.
Throwing a smoking puff to the air, Arthur leaned in as if to tell her a secret.
“This is the first time someone is so nice to me", the loner confessed, shaking his head. He looked so lost, eyes following the smoke elevating in a single line undone by the move to breathe in the last remains of the cigarette. His personal battle against his warped perception of reality still gnawed his trust on her. A tender pout formed in her lips.
“You’re the first person who doesn’t feel uncomfortable around me” he muttered.
Her thoughts drifted to a greater, sadder horror: to make a difference in such a dark, mirthless man’s life just for being kind barely managed to even imagine the inhuman hardships he had been through during all his life. She lowered her head, trying to resist the actual pain in her chest. How a sentence that was so heartbreaking could also be so beautiful?
“I’m sorry, Arthur”. Her eyebrows arch in a sad expression that seemed to make him reconnect with reality.
“For what?” he frowned, confused. She tightened her eyelids, trying not to embarrass herself in front of him with such an explosive display of emotions, silencing her sobs the best way she could allow herself.  
“Everything” Harleen finished. His instinct ordered him to show distrust, unconsciously trying to find any trace of lies. Nobody ever had apologized or even shed a tear for him. As he realized her care was genuine, his mind replayed the phrase over and over again while trying to process these intense, new feelings blooming in his heart over the typical, negative thoughts ghosting around his mind.
“Oh, no.  No, no, no, no, no. Don’t do that” Arthur reacted panicked, “please…” his fingers dried the watery creeks, “don’t make that face to me. I’m here to put a smile on your face”.
He inhaled deeply, before continuing:
“You know… a famous comedian used to say… uh –“ his troubled mind tried to remember the name but then opted to articulate a coherent word to elude anything that could ridicule him –‘a day without a smile is a wasted day’.
A soft hum left her mouth, though a far shadow of sadness still haunted the tender quote.
“You know what I like about you, Arthur?”
“Yeah?” he was genuinely intrigued to know.
“You could even put the fun in a funeral”
His wide and evil grin, made her put a loose lock of hair behind her ear as a result of an involuntary move to cope with the nervousness.
“Fun in a funeral?” he repeated, a loud and moved hum sounding like a purr, staring at her while a chuckle shook his shoulders, “How sweet”.
How didn’t he realize how attractive he actually was? She asked herself surprised.
“Come here” Arthur patted his thigh loud enough for her to listen to it for her to reply. After drying the creeks coming from her reddened eyes, Harleen calmly got up from the chair. Arthur took distance from the table to allow her a comfortable sit. His fingers held her cheeks to create a smile despite her watery eyes.
Harleen blinked, and a tear escaped. Arthur brushed it away once it ran over her face. He thought she looked pretty when she cried, though. She gave him a sad smile and soon found solace in his face, ruffling the fluffy hair to distract her mind from any unhappy thought. Arthur closed his eyes, slowly caressing her thighs in sensual payback for her little attentions.
Once their foreheads found each    other, the blonde muttered:
“How’s that feel?”
“Feels… good” he hummed against her mouth. His lungs inhaled deep before adding:
“I thought I felt better when I was locked in the hospital”.
Harleen widened her eyes in surprise, taking a short distance from him, not knowing if it was another self deprecating joke or the truth, given the defeated tone the sentence was pronounced in.
“What?” but a castdown look was all she needed to figure out the sadness such place caused on him. It wasn’t a secret Arkham was a human dump, considering it held Gotham’s most demented and dangerous criminals and unfortunate souls who couldn’t go anywhere else. Harleen’s eyes widen in a horrified expression.
“Arthur” her hand caressed his cheek, worried about the lightness he seemed to take his life, she tenderly tilted her head, “why were you locked up in that place?”
His tone of voice revealed his annoyance mentioning that place. He shamelessly nuzzled her right breast, trying to avoid the subject:
“Who knows, maybe I lost it or tried to kill myself...I just didn't want to feel so bad”. Arthur gazed up to her. He had never been more honest in his life.
Her horrified reaction to be told being locked up, bashing his head against the wall almost everyday just reminded him how much worse was to have a significant other who made him feel alone. Months surrounded by people in white outfits, convincing him to take the pills to make him, at least, presentable to the world and also deprived of any loving contact from Penny’s part under the excuse of fright caused by doctor or anything related to hospitals. It reminded him how pathetic his life was. Sometimes he forgot how much forgiving he was with his mother’s recklessness concerning his own wellbeing.  
Her kiss on his forehead, however, seemed to bring him back to reality. Arthur felt he had awakened of a bad dream, but found himself amazed as he noticed he wasn’t alone with a blanket on while an alarm buzzed, as it was his usual routine. The loner stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Her blue eyes, dilated pupils, body full given in to him. The loner blinked, eyes half closed, fighting the dissociation.
“Arthur” she called him. He looked dizzy. The blonde felt a pulsing heat making a place between her legs when the loner held her waist to lift her figure in order for it to adopt a riding position. She gasped, clawing to his shoulder once her figure obtains the desired position.
“What is it?” she whispered. But there was nothing except for a dead silence. Maybe it was another relapse of a dissociative episode, which made his mind to distract so any negative thought would fade. He panted, hiding his face against the silky platinum braid falling over her breast. The blonde didn’t move an inch, anxiously expecting to know what he would do now. He was so hard to read most of the times, leaving so many doubts and thoughts capable to drift anyone off sanity. Maybe he just didn’t want to talk. Maybe he just wanted to bond through touches.
Harleen felt a shiver once his mouth kissed the covered breast, playfully nuzzling with the erect nipple highlighted by the thin fabric. Blood boiled, as if her body demanded immediately to respond to such attentions.
She could tell Arthur was immensely pleased at her receptiveness concerning sex. His breath shortened, fighting the lightheadedness their suggestive position caused on him, loving how her body rode his hips, like a thrilling prelude before any intimate encounter could take place.
An impish, seductive smile must have given him the hint to keep on but he was way too shocked at first to react immediately. Harleen tugged on the shirt for it to loosen enough in order to offer him a privileged view of her bare breast, awaiting his mouth to finish what it just started, setting aside a few obstructing locks. Arthur’s jaw dropped, a line traced by pleasure soon contorted his lips. She hummed softly, admiring the sight of the loner hungrily lapping his tongue over the pink areola.
“You’re such a surprise for a late bloomer” the blonde leaves a beautiful, mischievous expression take over her face. Arthur detached his lips from her to ask:
“You calling me ‘old’, Harleen?”
“No!” she rushed to explain herself. The sassy tone of the question eased down any thought of annoyance, “I just—”
“I may look old, but I’m a fast learner” he cut her off, mouth back on the sensitive part. Harleen threw her head back, not showing any sign of opposition while Arthur clumsily undid the garment to leave her topless. This only ignited the fire inside of him, hanging on to her waist to sink his head between her breasts, rejoicing in the softness of her skin as his arms imprison her body. The elation wasn’t strong enough yet to stun her muscles entirely, gaining a little strength to make paused (or more like patient) undulatory moves against his body. His eyelashes flutter, causing tickles up her chest.
"I want you to put more than just a smile on my face" she caught his bottom lip to devour his mouth hungrily. He consented the kiss but didn’t respond to it, not even bothering to close his eyes.
"And what would that be, Harleen?" he looked genuinely puzzled, intense hue of green piercing her soul. She combed his hair back, sliding her hands down to hold his face in them. Arthur felt like a youngling in love for the first time. And having her covered intimacy grinding the growing bulge swept away all rational thoughts, making him listen to his needs as a man for the first time without overthinking ruining it.
Harleen supported on his shoulders, intensifying the sinful friction. Arthur groaned, relaxing when she generously offered his body another warm rub that was close to send him to heaven. On his face a deep feel of pride and complacency traces his lines given the arousing effects he had on her. Shuddered and impressed gasps left their mouths, until her voice sounds again:
“You’re so hard. That’s a very good thing” a secretive whisper kept him enchanted, her flirtatious glare invites him to get up. Arthur frowned but let himself guide by her when the steps were directed towards the wall, where Harleen didn't hesitate to corner him with famished kisses, feeling his chest underneath the red shirt.
The blonde slowly undid his shirt to obtain a proper look of his upper body to worship with her mouth, starting with the neck, nuzzling a few curls out of the way to brush her lips against the curve lining down his collarbone.
His whole form shrugged, writhing and panting. The dubious nature of this situation  slowly dissipated to allow him to enjoy the treatment her mouth gifted now to the notorious prominence coming from his neck, not missing any inch of skin with her lips.
It didn’t take long for his pants to turn into needy groans as soon as his chest was blessed with kisses, then his abdomen, the blonde was careful to not overwhelm him, holding on a few seconds before continuing to reach her goal: Mouth waters at the sight of his the rigid manhood covered by his pants, giving it a tiny nibble.
The mood was immediately killed when Arthur jolted in shock when he finally realized what she was going to do.
The irruption visibly took her by surprise, facial expressions changing from excitement to disappointment.
“Did I…?” she stammered, shrugging in fear, “did I do something wrong?”
He sighed, sliding his hand on his hair in a nervous reflex. Harleen then remembered this was new for him, despite how much enthusiastic he was. How much violence had he faced during all his life, she would never know.
Arthur cleared his throat, inhaling deeply, still processing all those hands on his body with the sole purpose to pleasure him.
“No, no”, he rushed. His voice quavers, afraid a laughing fit could ruin a intimate moment he had longed for so much with a girl, trying to put his mind in order, “This is the first time someone does this to me... and that feels like a good thing to begin…”
A bright smile returned to her face when one hand held up her chin while the other one caressed her cheek in a tender approval of what she was going to perform on him.
“You want this…” she seductively stared up to him, while her hands unbuttoned his pants, obtaining what she just craved: the underwear contains the hardened member, which she frees with a quick fumble on the clothing.
Arthur stared at his private spectacle in hypnotized ecstasy, still trembling.
“Yes…” he hissed, “oh yes, I do”.
Harleen took a few seconds to admire the twitching, aching arousal held in her hand. She smiled as her eyes were up to look at him.
“Then feed me some candy, Arthur Fleck..." his jaw dropped, felt his legs tremble, lust slowly dissipating any other thought. Being addressed by his full name, certainly had an impact on him. The enticing image of a partially undressed Harleen between his legs surely made him forgot how vulnerable he was before her by exposing his almost completely bare body.
However there was not verbal response from Harleen’s part. Her firm hand caressed his erected intimacy for a delightful prolusion, keeping her lover completely in a trance, causing his nervous hands to grab in a contained, almost angry fistful of hair. Nothing prepared him for the next.
Her tongue, of course, did its wonders. First a few, paused licks to the tip while giving him sensual, playful looks to then leave wet traces down that soon derived to long, hungrier licks sent the loner in a desperate, ecstatic state.
“Godfuckingdamni--!” was all he could be capable of articulate, before any feeble attempt to form a word distorted into desirous gasps and screams, Harleen rejoices at his reactions. To be the first woman to see him free from inhibitions, given in to his instincts, shaking away his polite, silent manners felt like a privilege.
“Keep doing that” his demand was desperate, dealing with it by uncoiling a few locks.  A wide smirk approved her tongue to explore and taste more of him, feasting now on the tip to absorb it, so he could become more familiar with her mouth. The explicit image gave him the confidence to stop repressing his desires for the sake of decency.
Her greed to have a different taste of him made her take turns between moistening the full erect manhood to partially engulf it later.
He now couldn’t even stand still, writhing like a dying animal, incapable now to look at her in the eye, believing the mere sight would make him unleash his climax, hands held on to his thighs, climbing up to his hips, looking to elicit more sounds out of his throat.
His chest heavily went up and down while Harleen kept on her voluptuous routine: first oiling him with her tongue to then make the tip disappear in her mouth.
His closed eyes, completely given in with an overjoyed expression on his face moved her to cause a greater gratification on him. She waited for the right moment to make Arthur look at her so he could cherish what she had in store for him. For a more dramatic reaction, she choose to disconnect her mouth from him, the sound of her lips detaching from the tip had him about to pass out.
“You’ll love this” were the only words she said. No further explanations. Her tongue gifted him another paused, devoted lick. It worked to make the full intake more enjoyable for him. Arthur’s body rears up violently. Raspy, loud groans and moans elicited by the tease tore the air.
Harleen placed her hands on his hips, helping herself to feel more of him between her lips, staring up to him as she received his swollen, overstimulated masculinity.
Arthur gathered enough oxygen to talk to her.
“Harleen—“ his eyes widened in awe, focusing on not passing out. His chest shook violently still recovering from the initial shock, “you nev-- you never cease to amaze me”.
She let a sweetly sinful smile trace around him, bobbing her head in a faster pace, muffled moans struggling to come out as she savored the stiffened sex with voracious appetite.
“That’s it… that’s better” he hissed, lip twitching, completely bewitched by the scene, “you’re such a good fucking girl for me”.
A happy hum vibrated through his skin.
“Am I, mister Fleck?” her squeaky voice in false innocence  crowned an scene so obscenely explicit with a comic touch.
"Yeah… Like that... Just--" he gently slammed his back against the wall. Further vocal expressions of elation came from his mouth, trying to appease the urge to scream his lungs out for whole fucking Gotham to hear him. A shiver ran down his spine. It was so difficult to keep eyes open in that  moment but the need to set his sight on her triumphed over any sense of exhaustion. His worn out hand slid down to hold her nape to obey the instinct to thrust into her mouth, just to better cope with the wet, narrow warmth Harleen welcomed his manliness with.
The blonde placed her hands over his hips, executing a very subtle move to contribute to deepen the intrusion that maddened Arthur so much. The slowness of this action made her push him away to then bring him back into her over and over again, gradually increasing the rhythm that turned the party clown into a noisy, urging mess. The rapturing and breathtaking routine of her mouth colliding with his unrelenting length sparked a merciless shiver that weakened his thighs, a stunning reminder of the glorious pinnacle he was about to reach.
“Stop”, his tortured plea was unexpected.
The mesmerizing image of a joyful Harleen with him appearing and disappearing from her lips right below him at incessant speed was more than he could take without going insane. The situation was getting out of his hands when Harleen also gave it firm caresses and long, rushed licks.
“Please”, he whined, voice too weak, covering his mouth in order to quieten the moans, “oh, God--Stop!”
His command finally made Harleen react, seeing it was actually too much. It took him a moment to catch his breath and recover his strength to pronounce about his intentions.
“Arthur? Is everything okay?” she muttered.
“Take that off” his instincts took over his mind, leaning to get her up and direct his hands towards her shorts, lowering them. She doesn’t oppose, unable to respond verbally, having the feeling the behest was actually told to himself. It didn’t matter anymore. She smiled as she saw the impatient hands lining her curves, fingers clutching at the cloth to whisper, “I like it how it looks but I want it off”.
Harleen eyes the action in fervid silence while he couldn’t stop staring down at her fascinating nudity, directing one hand in a sinuous move to part her intimacy to delicately rummage the silky smooth folds he wanted so much to be wrapped around.
Harleen jolted, lolling her head back,  amazed vocal expression resounded in his ears. Her eyes gleamed with resolution about his intentions, and a shivering gasp follows the brash action. A vocal expression of mischievous complicity comes from her.
“I see… you want to fill up the tank?” she chirped with a frisky giggle.
Arthur nodded in impatient muteness, while crashing his lips on hers in such a reckless way their feet ended up nearly tripping on the way to the couch. At the same time, he got rid of his underwear, undoing her braids, bicolored mane perfectly lining her curves now.
A firm push to throw her to the couch was just the beginning. She almost landed completely on her back, if it weren’t for her arms avoiding it.
“Easy, clown man!” her expression turned out to be so funny for the loner to let a cackle loose. From her angle, Arthur looked so frighteningly dominant. It embellished his figure like a statue, his disheveled hair highlighting the hungry and desperate expression which his carnal urges claim to be sated.
The magnificent preface maintains him from a considerable distance from her, surrounding the blonde like a prey, unable to decide what to do to her first. 
Harleen makes the first move. to fulfill her purpose, she held her legs with a provocative glare, limbs hardly exposed her undressed figure to him. The wavy moves made Arthur crawl his way to her like a starving beast.
Her receptive reaction to the kiss motivated his hands to roam over her thighs, directing them up to the knee to untangle her legs, eventually.
A devilish smile approves the suggestive image of her  pressing now his waist, sensing they were so close yet so far of each other. He devoured her mouth avidly at the same time his sense of newfound dominance urged him to place himself above her.
Harleen slid her hands up his battered back, breaking the kiss to hold and scratch his scalp to mumble:
“I want you deep inside me”.
Arthur hid his face on her neck, wallowing in the gentleness of her touches. She clings to his arms, abandoning all defenses, letting him know she was totally his to possess.
His biceps accentuate by supporting himself. Long, brow curls fell over the curve of his neck, eyes on her when his hips moved even closer to her. Harleen diverted her attention to it, but she immediately crumpled her lungs for air as Arthur teased the burning folds with the tip, becoming familiar with the part he was going to invade soon.
“More… more, oh, please” her lewd smile, cute little hums and whines mixed with his own shortened breath and surprised but satisfied groans made them forget about the world for a short while. Arthur constantly rubbed his manhood against her moistened entrance, exulting at the furious grunts the sweet torture elicited.
In exchange, she pressed her legs as a slight punishment for such daring move. But she was loving every second of it. Her eyes appreciated the paused caress between their bodies.
Seconds passed when his prolonged absence began to cause her actual pain, wrapping her legs around his hips. He let his hands fell beside her head, to plant a last kiss before proceeding.
"Knock knock" he muttered against her lips.
"Who's there?" She replied with anxious anticipation.
"It’s the mailman, miss. I’ve got an special delivery. It can hardly wait for you to see it"
She widened her eyes in surprise before his boldness to even joke in a moment too intimate as this but ended up exploding in loud cackles that left her breathless. Her reaction caused an expression of fascinated disbelief to take over his face. Both laughed it off shortly to resume were they left off.
His stare, predacious and craving, petrified Harleen.
Once his bare sex perfectly fit her hot, silky intimacy, Harleen  threw her head on the pink velvety pillow, dramatically panting as her body focuses on adhering to this desired invader. His name leaves her mouth as a desperate prayer, as if he was her only saviour, much to his delight.   
"You like that, don't you?" he hissed while giving her body another brutal thrust so she could feel him inside her as intensely as possible.
“Yes!” Harleen replied, not giving a fuck if it sounded indecent, “Arthur, I want all of it, please! Please!”
“All of it?” he smirked, reinforcing his invasion, obtaining louder screams from Harleen, doing her best to deal with the urging length in, searing walls flexing around him.
“Allofit…” but it was unintelligible for him. Arthur was too busy indulging in a deeper intrusion, eyes closed for a better focus. His thrusts were taken over by an animalistic despair, not hesitating to harden the pace even more as the eventual natural need for release set aside any sense of self control.
Nothing could take the wide smile off her.
“You are so good at this, mister Fleck…” the playful praise sounded more like a helpless little whimper, arousing Arthur in ways he would have never imagined. It lead him to lean into her, but she quickly took advantage of it by captivating his form, legs pressing his hips to deepen the intrusion even more.
Arthur threw his head back, stopping for a moment to process the pleasure the abrupt move had caused on him. Harleen contemplated in silent joy how his arms had taken a more muscular shape, gifting him an evil, yet charming smile when she held his face with both hands to pepper it with kisses, holding to his back as if her life depends on it, body ready and eager to obtain more of him.
He slowly made his way out of her just to violently slam back in, causing soft sobs that ended in more desperate praises, which played an important part during the act.
“Keep fucking me like that… I beg you” he closed his eyes, ecstatic, lips parted.
“I will” he gasped.
As soon as she moans his name, Arthur sensed his last sense of self control disappear. He could feel her nails in the skin of his back, which doubled the joy of another brutal thrust into her, exhausted groans leaving his throat. Harleen squirmed while dealing with the intense pleasure his unmerciful pace caused on her.
“Arthurarthurarthurarthurarthur” the blonde called him before losing her own sense of reality, the last coherent word before a lovely, mellifluous mixture of moans, groans, grunts and sobs seized her lips.
Him.
It was all about him, she realized. She swore everything had lost into oblivion. There was nothing except the throbbing welcome her tight walls granted to his twitching gristle.
In that moment she finally comprehended his impact on her life, remembering all the good moments they had shared, everything that led them to this moment, so close to end the act with thunderous moans.
She wasn’t afraid to accept this man had become her entire life since she had lied eyes on him, the first and last person she thought about every time she woke up and certainly the reason why sudden smiles traced her lips during work.  
However, her body warned them about the proximity of the peak when the pulsing grip around him intensified, interrupting the happy daydreaming about him, returning her to the raw reality she was protagonist of.   
The gorgeous moaning mess he had done from her had encouraged the loner to fasten the rhythm, loving to bring her to the brink, frantic spasms whipping his nerves while her moans echoed louder and louder. Her features showed an agonizing expression, lips partly open but unable to utter anything, mind fogged by lightheadedness.
“Arthur, I can’t— I—” the violent, feverish orgasm caught her unprepared: a blaring, euphoric cry served as the glorious conclusion of their union.
Arthur found the strength to distance himself from her, far too weak to resist the temptation to earn a good vision of her naked body in that moment. Harleen was still numb, hair covering her face like a curtain, blue strands all over her chest, contrasting with her pale skin. He followed the long mane down, eyeing her quivering figure, so full of him. He stopped to stare at their sexes still caught in a sore and reddened embrace.
The loner eventually surrendered with a powerful groan, exploding inside of her. He exhaled in stunned relief and sexual bliss. His eyes behold such beauty so full of him, retaining him even when her moans indicate that it was too much for her to bear. This let an even wilder side of him to appear when pushing slightly deeper, thinking it would go unnoticed, but she was too immersed in her thoughts about the man who lied over her. The stillness helped her to put her mind in order, dimensioning this feelings blooming in her heart.
It was hard to stare at each other at this point, but she slowly turned her head to see him despite the blue mane hinders a proper sight of him. Sunlight shone brightly on his face, curls tousled, from what she could see. It was like a little light of happiness shining at last. For the others, he was a deranged creep, but in that moment, Harleen felt he was the most beautiful man she had ever met in her life.
The blurred image eventually became sharper when his face came closer to hers, oozing his seed inside Harleen through his spurred flesh. It felt like hours passed by.
Small beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his open mouthed  expression was of pure astonishment and fascination. The slender fingers set aside her hair, touching her lips, probably to kiss her again.
But nothing happened. Instead, Arthur decided to break the contact, paying attention to the zone in question.
With slow vehemence, he was finally gone.
The action left a thin, niveous line dripping from the tip, leaking from her in small creeks in a beautiful way their bodies demanded to reconnect each other.
“Fuck” he muttered, grinning. Despite the exhaustion, Harleen mimicked it. They couldn’t say anything else, for words were unnecessary. He wouldn’t know it, but Harleen had already accepted a great truth about him.
She was madly in love with Arthur Fleck. _______________________________________
Weeks passed. It was raining in a cold Thursday on Gotham City when Harleen returned home from work. The garbage strike was worsening, rioters looting any store they could and the mayoral candidate being the focus of criticism and repudiation of people. The reason behind it? She would find it out soon.
A taxi honking distracted from her quest for an answer but that didn’t stop her for too long. She heard people talking about nowadays and what Thomas Wayne had said about people in Gotham after something horrible had happened in the filthy subway. The macabre part awakened her curiosity. Was there something she didn’t know about? She looked for a kiosk at the end of the every block to see if there were papers about the aforementioned topic.
It was near a telephone cabin when Harleen finally found what she was looking for… but she didn’t know where to start. Just a headline in bold was enough to freeze her:
KILLER CLOWN ON THE LOOSE
LATEST NEWS ON THE MURDERS
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quickspinner · 3 years
Text
Damsel in Distress for Hire
I wrote this for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers sprint challenge ages ago, but life happened and I never got it edited and cleaned up. Now I have, so here it is! I used the @mlweeklyprompts prompt Bard. 
Luka reined in Sass before the gelding could clear the shadows of the trees, and eyed the keep tower with some satisfaction. It stood alone on a hill, with ground cleared around it and a wall around the courtyard, and only a single tower rising out of the fortifications. It looked like their information had been good, then. Their opponent didn’t have a large force, hence their underhanded approach. They were depending on the seclusion of this place to keep them safe, and not strength of arms. That made him breathe a sigh of relief. He of all people knew how much harm misinformation could do, and though he had done everything in his power to be sure of his information, there always was that worry in the back of his mind. 
Luka urged Sass forward at a walk. 
“Hail and well met!” he called cheerfully, waving. “I am but a single traveler, of no threat to you!” He dismounted from Sass and spread his arms wide, hands far from the rapier hanging at his side. The guards exchanged a look, but didn’t move. 
“I am a minstrel on my way from the capital to cities in the south,” Luka said, with a little bow that still kept his hands well clear of his weapon. “I’ve been travelling all night to get through these woods, and as I’ve stumbled on you here, I was hoping I could perhaps share your fire and the protection your company would afford me from the local dregs so that I may take a short rest in peace? I have some goods of my own that are better shared, if you would be so kind to allow me to sup with you.” He leaned over and reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a large bottle that glinted appealingly in the sunlight.
The guardsmen exchanged grins with each other, and invited him at once to come and share their watch, on the condition that he give them all the news he had and play a little for their entertainment. 
“Shall I not be detaining you from your duties?” Luka asked, glancing up at the Keep as he tethered Sass. “I’ve no wish to get you in trouble, nor be chased away for causing undue distraction.” He winked at the guards, who chuckled. 
“It’s light duty today,” one of them said easily, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Any force large enough to breach it will be seen from the tower long before we spy it from here, and nothing here to tempt anyone except a fine lady who barely even had any baggage. Come and give us the news!” 
It was amazing, Luka reflected to himself as he sat down, opening the bottle and pouring generous measures into the cups they they held out for him, what you could get away with when you carried a lute and some good wine.
“Aye, she was a nice one to look at though,” the second guard observed with a sigh. “I was on duty when they escorted her in this morning. A highborn lady, that, worth her weight I’m sure. Not that the higher ups tell us much.” His companion elbowed him and gave him a dark look, before turning back to waggle bushy eyebrows at Luka. 
“Ye seen many pretty ladies?” he asked, and a smile twitched at Luka’s mouth at the obvious attempt to deflect the conversation. “Bet ye have, a court songbird like you.” 
“Oh, many,” Luka agreed, hiding his distaste at the epithet. Court songbird, indeed. “Duchesses and princesses and high court ladies of every kind, but there is only one lady that holds my heart, no matter how much my eyes may wander.” He winked and the two men guffawed. Luka disguised a roll of his eyes with another deep drink from his cup. He’d been around this type enough to know what kind of humor they enjoyed. Luka turned his eyes up in the direction of the keep, hiding his scrutiny behind a dreamy expression. 
“My lady is as lovely as any princess I’ve ever seen,” Luka continued. “Clumsy, sometimes, but all the more joy in catching her, ey?” Another round of laughter. “She has beautiful dark hair, and the sweetest, most beguiling eyes you’ve ever seen, and her mouth was carved by the gods.” He sighed longingly. “And I’ve been apart from her much too long. I’m on my way back to her now, and I appreciate you sharing your fire with a lonely minstrel.” 
“There, there,” the taller man said, not without genuine sympathy, and patted Luka’s shoulder roughly. “Ye’ll be with her again soon, no doubt.” 
Luka looked toward the Keep gates and smiled as shouts began to rise in the courtyard. “I do believe you’re right,” he said, finishing the last of his cup. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but my lady awaits. I leave you this medicinal powder and my sincerest apologies for the headache you’re going to have in the mornings.” 
He set a small pouch on the ground, where it would be in plain sight of the men who had just slumped to the ground, unconscious. 
Luka tsked as he picked up their empty cups and examined the residue at the bottom. “More than enough to keep them out most of the day,” he murmured with satisfaction. He leaned back against his pack and waited.
Eventually, the heavy keep doors swung open, and a petite figure in a lovely velvet red dress came striding out. Luka couldn’t help his smile, or the sigh of relief and longing that passed his lips. 
She caught sight of him and scowled, completely ignoring the passed out guards that lay on the ground. 
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded. 
“Well met, to you as well, Marinette,” Luka laughed. His roguish smile made a mockery of his courtly bow. 
“Why are you here?” she asked again, crossing her arms. “You were supposed to wait in the capital.”
“I am no court bard, to find inspiration in perfume and flattery and empty love affairs,” Luka sniffed affectedly. “I am a seeker of adventure, and I follow my heart.”
“You dog my heels,” Marinette accused, reaching down to pull out the hidden ribbon she had worked into her gown. The dress split on the sides, and Marinette straightened, rolling the ribbon carefully around her fingers even as she glared at him. “Admit it.”
“Admit that you have my heart? Gladly.” Luka swept a bow, and Marinette rolled her eyes.
“Don’t flatter me,” she snorted. “You’re not any good at it.” 
“Shall I compliment you instead?” Luka asked pointedly, and Marinette blushed, looking away. His compliments were always far worse than his flattery, because he meant them. 
“Don’t change the subject. You were worried about me,” she accused, waving a dagger like an admonitionary finger. “I can handle myself.” 
“You can handle yourself, and me as well,” Luka grinned, and then softened his tone, dropping his courtly pretense. “But I’m always worried about you. That proves nothing except that I care about you.” He held up a furled parchment between them. “However, this is actually why I’m here. I also bring Lady Kagami’s thanks and her appreciation for your very convincing performance of a helpless highborn princess being carried off, although she feels it wasn’t a very accurate imitation of her.” 
Marinette snorted. “Kagami could have easily handled these idiots herself if her mother wasn’t such a stick in the mud. It probably would have been more entertaining for everyone if they had managed to kidnap her.” She sheathed her dagger and took the parchment, unrolling it as she added, “I hope she sent her payment as well as her thanks.” Her lips pursed as she read, and then pushed out in a pout as she looked up at him. “Okay. That’s a good reason.” 
“No point in riding all the way back just to traverse the exact same route again,” Luka agreed. “And since I was coming all this way, why not meet you at the door? I’ve stashed our supplies in a nice little campsite far enough away from this mess,” he gestured at the tower. “We can spend the night and set out in the morning.”
“We?” Marinette asked, eyebrows raising. Luka shrugged.
“I’ve no mind to let you get that far away from me for that long,” he told her, only half joking. “I’m sure there’s a noble house somewhere in the city looking for entertainment, and if not—” Luka shrugged. “Then there’s certain to be a tavern."
Marinette grimaced. “I don’t like it when you play taverns,” she muttered. “You’re far too good for that.”
“We take the pay where it comes,” Luka reminded her, plucking the parchment from her hand and tucking it back in his saddlebag.
“It doesn’t have to come with tavern wenches hanging all over you,” Marinette complained. 
Luka barked a laugh. “The noble ladies are just as bad, only more subtle,” he chuckled, mounting his horse. He extended a hand down to Marinette. “Shall we? I’m sure Tikki’s getting hungry.”  
Marinette looked up at his tall gelding and sighed. “I can get up myself,” she muttered, but she let Luka grip her wrist to give her a little extra boost. She landed across Sass on her belly with a small grunt, and then scrambled into place behind Luka. She could see the curve of his smile just before he faced forward. 
“I’m glad you’re coming with me,” she murmured into his shoulder blades. “And I’ll gut anyone who touches you.”
“My thanks, my gallant lady protector,” Luka said, patting the hands clasped around his waist. “I need fear nothing as long as you are with me, except the hour of parting.”
Marinette huffed, her breath tickling his neck. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
Luka looked over his shoulder and winked. “If my heart grew much fonder of you, you would never be rid of me.” 
Marinette was silent for a moment, and then said, “Maybe I don’t want to be.” She said it very quietly, and held her breath after. Luka’s big hand covered hers again, his thumb caressing the back.
“Then maybe you should say yes the next time I propose,” came the teasing answer, and Marinette’s mouth dropped in outrage. 
“You propose every time we pass a church!” she scoffed. 
“Yes,” Luka agreed shamelessly. “How many churches do you think there are between here and the Jewel of the Southern Wastes ?” 
“Not enough to convince me to marry you,” Marinette shot back. “I like the way things are.” 
"As do I," Luka chuckled.
Marinette sniffed. "I knew you weren't serious."
"Of course I am. I will wed you the moment you say the word. But if you are content, then so am I."
"You're infuriating, you know that?" Marinette huffed. 
“There, there,” Luka laughed, patting her hand before putting his own back on the reins. “We’ve a long way to go to get there, and through some pretty sketchy territory. Maybe if you’re really lucky, we’ll get robbed.”
“You think?” Marinette perked up. “Bandits?”
“Possibly even ruffians ,” Luka teased, and laughed when she smacked his shoulder. 
“Ruffians are always broke,” Marinette complained. “I want bandits. I’m going to have to buy new dresses when we get there, I can’t wear dresses from the Northern court in the South. I’d look ridiculous.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Luka, what did you do with my dresses? You didn’t pack them yourself, did you? They’re much too delicate—”
“I had them professionally packed and sealed and sent to Lady Alya for safekeeping,” Luka reassured her. “I would never dare let harm come to your wardrobe.” 
Marinette slumped in relief. “Oh, good.” After a moment she added, “Thank you.”
Luka lifted one of her hands from his waist and kissed the palm softly. 
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jenivi7 · 3 years
Text
First Lines Tagging Meme
I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE!  Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.
Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories! 
Hello!
Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.
So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)
1. Tango:
She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.
(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)
2. No Betting:
Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.
(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)
She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.
3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):
When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.
(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)
Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!
4. Human:
It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.
(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)
5. Blood:
Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses. 
(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)
6. Crazy for You:
The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.
(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)
7. Finality:
“What are you doing here?”
“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”
(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)
8. Pieces of You:
Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.
(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)
9. Cambodia:
“It was summer of fifty three...”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”
(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)
“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”
“Am I in it?”
“What?”
“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”
“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”
10. Coffee and Cigarettes:
"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch." 
Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not. 
(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)
11. A Million Missed Chances:
Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.
(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)
12. A Fear of Falling:
She drove.
Like she always did when something bothered her.
(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)
13. What Our Creators Make Us:
"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)
14. A Revolution of the Spirit:
It wasn't fair.  It just wasn't.
That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.
(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)
So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.
15. Cafe!
The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.
(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)
16. Treasure Hunt!
"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time."  Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention.  He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board.  "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."
(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)
Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.
17. What You Will:
In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.
(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)
18. Relentless:
You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.
Funny word, that. Mercy.
(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.) 
19. Black:
There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.
(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)
And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.
20. Two Princes:
It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.
(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)
21. Linger:
The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.
(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)
Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.
Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief
There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.
(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)
And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written! 
The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!
AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....
^///^ Hello!
Thanks for letting me ramble!
Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3
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lemonietrinket · 4 years
Text
Coward ||| Chan & Reader
Summary: you and your best friend that have been conjoined at the hip since you were little got into an argument 3 weeks prior, and you can do little to escape it Genres: Angst, but a happy ending with fluff Warnings: consequences of and therefore inferences to a big argument (actual events left vague), one explicit insult, poor language (2x f**k) Word Count: 2,099 Theme: Not a song, but this edit inspired the fic AN: guess how long I’ve had this here in my drafts? September 9, 2019. finally got round to writing it, even though I knew exactly what would happen this is my brain’s bs I don’t write angst super often so, I hope you enjoy!
High school/non-idol AU
~~~
With a sigh you let your chin fall onto your arms. You stared at your own muffled reflection in the glass as you sat on the windowsill, brain in a haze. The cicadas were chirping away below your hunched body, their chorus at its opening hook, and they would continue long through the night—much like the chaos next door.
You supposed, through the thicket of your thoughts, that you should be grateful that the swathes of bodies were just chatting loudly to themselves, instead of screeching to some awful trap beat like they’d been doing the week before. The speakers were playing full blast however, and it didn’t help a single bit that it was one of your favourite songs.  In fact, that was part of the reason why you felt so heavy.
Had things been normal, you would have been there, dancing and smiling and joking with anyone who would listen. But you weren’t.
He hadn’t invited you. Your best friend. Didn’t invite you—his best friend—to his birthday party. Over something so petty too.
You could barely recall the intricacies of the argument. All you could remember was his terse scowl, his soft eyes going from sweet to sour in a second, and the words that cracked like a whip and branded you. Your best friend was so gentle, with a heart of gold—you had seen him at his worst once before, what you’d thought was his worst, and even then you couldn’t imagine he could even contain the spite that then flew from his lips. Even if there had been warning for what could come, nothing further still could have prepared you for it.
He’d become a sort of cold vicious, insults thrown carelessly that then cut deep as if they’d been heated in a bare flame. “How can you be such a fucking coward, Y/N?” had been the one that had twisted as it was pulled out. It still snuck up on you, pounced when you thought you’d calmed down, and then left you reeling in unsettled hurt all over again. 
It never made you cry though. Not during the day. As night crept over the horizon however, it was a different story, and the cicadas’ call became a tepid siren.
You let the warm night air hold you, as if it would work as a suitable replacement, though you knew it would never come close. Breathing in the night air, you sank deeper into the arms of your jumper. It smelt of comfort, of home, of happiness, and the loose hairs there tickled your nose. It was as if your reactions were on a set delay, as it took you several seconds to realise that it was dog hair that was on your sleeves, and that scent was from the person that had taken the comfort away from you. 
‘He doesn’t want you anymore,’ you had to remind yourself, ‘you shouldn’t spare a thought on him.’
But there you were, moping nevertheless, your thoughts practically consumed by him. You couldn’t blame yourself entirely for it, because even as soon as you tried to lift your head away from the memories embroidered in your sleeves, you were still hit by the realisation that you were sat by your bedroom window—the very one that he’d clambered through unprompted years before. He’d been so desperate to escape being forced to tolerate his uncle’s ramblings about roadworks and his pitch to him to get him to come and work at his business instead of music. “Silly songwriting,” had been what his uncle had referred to it as, and your best friend always got a kick out of impersonating the man’s wily poshness. 
You used to chuckle every time your brain procured the memory randomly for you. Now, it just stung.
He’d always wanted to do music, and he refused to give in no matter what anyone told him. His parents had always been supportive, and you figured that was partly why he was so determined with it, though the sentiment wasn’t shared with his extended relatives that often visited. You’d always thought he was brave for standing up to them, it was something that you’d always wanted to do to your own for other reasons, but never found the words to.
You caught yourself in the loop, shaking your head miserably at yourself and the situation before you. How were you supposed to move on when everything around you seeped with him? The caps you shared were slung on the bedposts, the mess of homework scattered upon your desk, the guitar in the corner easing gradually out of tune. Even the night itself was his time. How were you supposed to hide away from the night when you’d spent pretty much every other one before with him.
The ember heat of anger rose in your throat, your thoughts spiking at the distaste of how no one seemed to take the jagged loss of a best friend seriously, at least to enough to help you. The heat grew wilder then; it was never directed at him.
With the sun set below the horizon you felt your lower lip quiver and you loathed its tenderness. You’d watched the sunset with him so many times, you could conjure the exact shades of gold and crimson in your head, it was just a hindrance that you couldn’t paint it without his messy dark curls in the corner.
A knock came from the front door, ad you found yourself counting its beats. Three, no sharps, just drawled pauses in between. You immediately questioned yourself on as to why it mattered. But you knew exactly why. Wishing one of your parents was home to go and answer it would not fix the problem no matter how much you yearned it to, and so you convinced yourself to trundle down the stairs to see who it was. It was probably only a delivery guy after all. Hopefully they wouldn’t try and talk to you unnecessarily.
Biting the inside of your cheek and settling your shaking lips into a firm scowl you swung open the door with a warning glare already in your eye.
To your surprise, it was no person holding a stack of pizza or a parcel of any kind, just a boy you knew too well, with his fallen-tipped eyes all downtrodden.
“Chan, what the fuck are you doing here?” you snapped, your hand itching to slam the door straight back in his face. The only thing that stopped you was his bitten lips. You hated how you knew him so well and that it left you vulnerable.
He drew a smile upon his face, but it was too tight-lipped to be convincing. You wondered if he thought you a fool to try and lie, but still you left the door open. “Too many people,” he finally managed, one fist curling in the cradle of the other’s palm.
“It’s your party!” you snarled, your heart’s leniency not transferring across to your words. You watched his lips hammer shut as his sad eyes glanced away, explanations or excuses—how were you to tell—pooling behind his barricade. You let him stew, the vengeful spirit seeking some joy in his utter discomfort and you didn’t have it in you to hold it back quite yet. The weeks he’d left you in turmoil etched across your mind, the insecurities he’d played on that he couldn’t use the ignorance-card for in the slightest too. You weren’t ready to forgive him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tag a ‘never’ no matter how much you tried. 
His response broke through the blockade of his silence. “I realised that I messed up Y/N, and it’s not my party if you’re not there and,” his gaze came back to yours and you indulged him, meeting his eyes and how they glistened, “and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
The vengeful sprite vanished from your shoulder, and you were left without a clue as to what to do. You wanted to forgive him, and he seemed genuine. He’d never pulled a stunt like this before, and you’d known him ever since you were little. But neither could you put his words to bed, and the actions that followed. You’d been to every single one of his birthday parties, you’d been such a staple to him that this wasn’t actually the first time you strictly speaking hadn’t been invited—because there was no way you wouldn’t have been at his side to begin with.  But this was a first, and it hurt. 
You took in the sight of the boy that you’d refused to even look at for the past three weeks. He looked exactly how you’d left him, only emptier. His shadow grew in the flitting light of the dying day sky, much like the ones beneath his eyes had already done. He was closed in on himself, the subtle confidence he always oozed nowhere to be found. You couldn’t picture his high tone catching laughter tumbling from his lips like this. Neither could you hear those sharp edged words on them.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it, it all just happened and... and this doesn’t fix it—I made you cry, and I hate that I did! It... it’s my responsibility. I accept that it’s my fault, and I’m sorry, I really am—”
You stepped from your doorway and took him into your arms. Three weeks was too long of a time to be from them after all, and you couldn’t stand the way the tears threatened to spill over both your eyes and his. 
He held onto you as soon as you fit against him as perfectly as you always did, hands clutching at your jumper while he nestled his head into your hair. Your tears dampened the collar of his sweater as you sighed, a staggered breath that only just pulled you back from crying entirely. You focused on him, just like you had done before, only this time it was less painful. You realised he smelt different than before, and it soon occurred to you that it was your scent that was missing. It surprised you to discover just how much of your perfume ended up all over him. It wasn’t like you were super affectionate and cuddly friends either. Your lips twitched into a smile without a single thought discarded.
The two of you stayed like that for a while, swaying before your wide open door as Chan slowly regained his stability. All the midges were probably fleeing inside but this once you didn’t mind. You had your comfort back, and even though things weren’t perfect, you could begin to move forward as things should.
“You better make it up to me,” you ordered, a feeble laugh filtering through. 
He sniffed and its stunned you just how close to crying he’d been. “I know, I will, I promise.”
Rubbing his back soothingly, you eased him into swinging gently with the song. It earnt you a warbled laugh, but it meant his usual self was returning. “Do you want to play Mario Kart and see how long it takes for someone to notice?”
You pulled away gently hearing him chuckle awkwardly. Peering up you saw his pink tinged cheeks and wet eyes that he half-covered-half-wiped with his hand. He was the same old Chan you’d known for years after all. “Sounds perfect!” You smiled, helping him wipe his tears with the side of your finger which caused him to sheepishly smile and repeat ‘I’m ok, I’m ok...!’ 
Unsure how to handle the next part, you ended up leading him inside his second home with an awkward shimmy of your arms. It was meant to be a dance move, but it didn’t look much like one and it barely fit the theme of the song pummelling across the air. It didn’t matter to you though, it was really a test of the waters, and fortunately: it worked.
Your restored best friend giggled shyly as he followed, steadying his breath as he watched you shuffle through your front door. He would make all his words up to you, he vowed he would. They’d all been misplaced, all been resentments with himself that he’d sprung weakly on the first other he found, and of course that was going to be you. He was going to make it right, never let you down, help you with whatever you asked—no excuses—and maybe let you win a few times at Mario Kart. And maybe one day he would finally work up the courage to tell you the truth.
~~~
AN: i wrote a thing! go brain!
[edited: may 31]
Masterlist
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queernarchy · 3 years
Text
Statement of Elizabeth Williams, regarding a box of tapes found in the basement of her student house. Statement given October 18th, 2018, 105 Hill Top Road, Oxford.
[INT. OXFORD, 105 HILLTOP RD, UPSTAIRS BEDROOM]
[TAPE CLICKS ON]
[SOUNDS OF BETH STUTTERING, APPARENTLY SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING TO SAY]
[A SHAKY INHALE]
BETH
Right. Um. I, uh. Right.
[PAUSE]
BETH
To be perfectly honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing. I- I found this. It’s the only one I’ve found in the box that’s blank. You know, I’ve never actually seen a tape recorder, like in real life? It’s quite - Well, I’m not even sure I know how to use it. Except … I do. Because I turned it on. I hit the button and now I’m talking to it, like it’s a person. Like I’m crazy, which … I might be. God, I might be. 
[BREATH]
BETH
I probably am. In fact, I hope I am. I hope I was just dreaming it all up. Another sign of an overactive imagination. Spending too much time with those books and not in the real world, as mum would say.
[PAUSE]
Even if it was real, there is no reason for me to be talking to you - no, to this. [TO HERSELF] It’s a tape recorder, Beth, it’s not a person. [BACK TO NORMAL] But I am. It feels right to, to tell you. So I’m going to. I’m going to tell you what happened and then it’ll be over. And I can go back to my life. 
BETH (STATEMENT)
I’m not great at this. The talking, the explaining, the storytelling, it’s not really my thing, at least not anymore. 
When I was a kid it was easy, you know? I was always latching onto one thing or another, letting it consume my brain and then going on and on about it to whatever poor soul I could corner long enough into listening. My parents didn’t let me use a computer until I was well into my teens - something about them making nightmares worse? It was all bollocks, really, how would they know that if they never actually let me use one? But, anyways, before that I used to spend hours in the Wokingham library touring the sections. Once, when I was twelve, I read a book on oceanography: Vanished Ocean: How Tethys Reshaped the World, and spent a solid week scouring the corners of every bookshelf for anything I could find on ancient supercontinents or vanished fault lines before giving my report to the first unlucky and unsuspecting librarian who happened to be out in the open. [LAUGHS] Poor Mike.
I never cared what the genre was, nonfiction, mystery, fantasy, that was never important to me. I just loved the pursuit, and the compelling joy of walking through a new world. It was like a secret between me and the writer, something that we knew that nobody else did. 
I always dreamed of being a writer too one day, but like I said, the storytelling part never actually came natural to me, no matter how many books I consumed. I suppose it must have been that lack of skill that bugged the people around me to no end. My father spent most of his time at work and I didn’t really get along with my brother or sister, but let’s just say that my mum was never as ... enthusiastic about my new interests as I was. 
It wasn’t her fault, I was deeply, deeply irritating. But to my credit, the minute I realized that, well, that’s when I finally started to shut up. Thinking back, I think that’s where it started. I had always kind of been afraid of pretty much anything and everything. But when I got old enough, I started to routinely feel a gripping terror bubbling up through my stomach, my chest, shaking my limbs and rooting me to the spot whenever I spoke for more than a minute at a time. 
All this to say, a few years ago I graduated secondary school with absolutely no skill in writing, the one thing I actually enjoyed, and a lot of anxiety. It seems inevitable that I would end up studying library sciences, doesn’t it? It’s practically what I’ve always done anyways - sorting and researching. And a future as a librarian with a couple cats and a cozy cottage, surrounded by books, well … there are worse things. Much worse. 
I moved into student housing right before my first term started at Oriel. I call it student housing, but it’s not, not technically. The actual dorms were a bit out of my price range, so when I saw an ad looking for flatmates in Cowley, only a 20 minute bus ride from the college, it seemed meant to be. There were ten living here all together, to start. George moved into his boyfriend’s place last year, leaving nine of us. [DARKLY] Well, eight, now, I suppose.
It was a proper house, renovated a few years back, I think, but it was already thoroughly  trashed by the time I showed up. It was one of those places that, the minute you walked through the door, you could just feel the grime lurking between the worn couches and stained mattresses, that musty smell of overuse. I tried to ignore it, I did, but one Friday night a couple weeks after I’d settled in, I waited until everyone had gone and walked to the closest shop to buy a blacklight. It went about as well as you’d expect. I spent that entire weekend scrubbing this house from top to bottom. I even cleaned Sam’s room. It’s not like I’m a germaphobe or anything, I just like to know where things have been. And if they dirty again, well, at least I know it’s the slobbery of my friends rather than that of strangers. 
I didn’t touch the basement, though. None of us ever did. I’m not sure why, it was always just an unspoken agreement between us. I must have asked about it when I moved in. I must have. I mean, it would be one thing if it just never came up, if it was just an unfinished and unsafe part of the house we didn’t go down to and that was that. But, you know, thinking about it now, we didn’t even mention it, not once. It’s amazing, isn’t it, what you can ignore. Right up to the moment you’re devoured by it.
I don’t remember the exact moment things started to feel wrong. Can’t have been more than a couple weeks ago. It was subtle, at first. Doors swinging closed on their own, misplaced items, shadows that didn’t really ... fit. All things that could be chalked up to the mind playing tricks out of boredom, or fatigue - just a consequence of one too many sleepless nights. I didn’t really think about it too hard, even when Sam brought it up at breakfast, started insisting the place was haunted. That was easy to dismiss, she’s always going on about some supernatural this or that and I don’t believe in ghosts, but even that would have been easily digestible as an explanation. 
It was like that for a few days, and all the while, that feeling of wrongness lurked in the background, pulsing beneath us. I honestly don’t know if I would have even taken notice if Milton hadn’t started behaving the way he did. Milton is - was - every bit the hipster film student of your wildest imaginations. I swear, I saw him wear a beret once, completely unironically. We’d been friends, as I was one of the few people who would listen to him ramble on about whatever arthouse film had caught his attention that week. We got on fine, well, actually, for flatmates at least. That’s not to say that I always liked him - I’d acted in a few of his student films, just by convenience, and he wasn’t exactly the most easy to work with. Everything always had to be just the way he wanted it, down the most minute detail. I swear, if he could have tied strings around our limbs and puppeted us from afar, he would have. [PAUSE] Sorry, that’s … that’s poor taste. 
It had to do with the cassettes. You see, Milton had always insisted on using magnetic tape for his recordings, refusing to even entertain the idea of a digital camera. Something about being more authentic - I never understood it, but far be it from me to get in between a film major and their precious ‘analog charm.’ He loved those tapes, and we all got used to seeing dozens scattered throughout the house at any one time. Which is why it struck me as odd when last week, they vanished entirely. When I asked him about it, he just said that he'd been editing a new project that he needed them for. I wasn’t sure what kind of project would require that many cassettes all at once, but he certainly spent enough time working on it. He’d be locked away in his room for hours, sounds of whirring machinery coming from behind his door. When he did come out, he was exhausted, gaunt. I tried talking to him about it, you know, but he’d just ignore me.
It was strange behavior, sure, but not supernatural. Perhaps I would have chalked it up to stress, just a bad week, but that’s when the nightmares started. I had always had them, just a side effect of my anxiety, but they’d died down a couple years ago, after I moved to Oxford. One sleep after this started, though, I saw Milton. He was sat at a desk, a mess of cassettes unspooled into piles of thin black magnetic tape scattered across it. He was tangled in tape as well, almost every limb bound by it. He stared at the pile in front of him with dull eyes, completely still. 
I didn’t realize until the tape began to lift his arms that he wasn’t just tangled in it. The long, metallic strands were embedded directly into his skin. The strands controlling every movement, he grabbed a spool, and, very slowly, raised it to his mouth. His jaw unhinged, farther than anything natural, and he began to stuff the tape down his throat. Again, and again, and again, until the entire pile was gone. I had never felt relief the way I had when I finally woke from that dream. I didn’t know that was only the first time that I would have it.
I woke from one of these nightmares late one night, heart beating fast and body sticky with sweat. I climbed downstairs, trying to clear my head, and found Milton sitting in the living room, staring at our small television screen playing his movie. At least, that’s what I assumed it was. There was no coherence, no audio, just rapid, violent black and white images that flashed across the screen sporadically and bits of static that faded in and out at random. Occasionally, I’d see the corrupted and disjointed image of my own face cross the screen, along with the other actors. The pattern was hypnotic. Every few minutes, the images would perfectly align, shaping spindly, bony legs that almost seemed to reach beyond the glass face of the TV.
After a while, I finally managed to ask him if he was alright, if the cassette had become corrupted somehow, if there was any way to fix it. He had always been so fiercely protective of his tapes, and with the state it was in I expected him to be furious, or devastated, at least concerned. But when he turned, there was none of that written into his face. Just a calm, blank expression. He studied me carefully for a long moment, before finally speaking. ‘We should feed our guest. She’s so happy to have arrived, and she is very hungry.’ He smiled after he said that. When he did, I could have sworn I saw that thin black film tape weaved inside him - webbed in the back of his throat and threaded right through the fleshy center of his tongue. I went back up the stairs immediately and locked my door, sat in bed until the sun came up.
I managed to avoid him the days after that. I thought about telling the others, trying to explain it to them, but I knew it wouldn’t end well. They wouldn’t believe me, why would they? I wasn’t even sure that I believed me. I thought about moving out, of course I did, but I had nowhere to go. No money, no real friends outside of the ones I already lived with. And who knows if I was just overreacting, imagining it all. So I decided I’d just ignore him as much as I could until he went back to normal or I’d saved up enough money for a new place.
It didn’t last, though. It was three days ago that it happened. It was late, and I had carelessly lost time sitting in the kitchen, studying for my history exam. I was alone when he walked in. He didn’t say a word, just, met my eyes with that calm look, like an invitation. Then he turned, with a finality I had never seen before, opened the door to the basement, and vanished down the stairs. 
I shouldn’t have followed him. I could have just walked away, went upstairs and buried my head in my pillow. But I didn’t. I had to know. To see. 
So, I walked down those old stone steps, dodging cobwebs. I don’t remember if I closed the door behind me, or if it did that part on its own. The cellar was warm, far too warm for October. It was unfinished, and empty save for an old, lidded cardboard box that sat neatly in the center of the room. A long, jagged crack ran through the floor and up into the far wall, as though the foundation had been damaged in an earthquake or something. Milton stood facing away from me, towards the crack in the wall, whispering something I couldn’t quite make out. I called out to him, and he turned to face me, expression wild with … something. Excitement? Panic? He had started to say something before, all at once, dozens of shadowy, spindly tendrils, adorned with what looked like coarse hairs crept from the crack and began to wrap themselves around him.
I felt that familiar terror bubble up, running cold through my veins, stronger than I’d ever felt it before. I wanted to run or scream, but I couldn’t. He didn’t scream either, but I could see the fear growing in his eyes, silently pleading. He didn’t move, not even as the tendrils began to … unspool him. They reached into him, breaking into his body like plaster, and pulled. He was hoisted from the ground, his limbs yanked in different directions and elongated. They just dangled there, arms and legs and head only still attached by threads of dark, magnetic tape, like an old, torn doll hanging together by string. And then the tendrils began to move him. They took their time puppeting him, and at the end, they pulled up his head, forcing his gaze to meet mine. His cheeks were strung up into a grin, but I saw the tears that flowed freely down his contorted face. 
I don’t know how long I stood there, watching him stripped him apart, piece by piece, slowly and deliberately. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks, although I couldn’t tell if they’d come from the terror of it all or simply because I no longer possessed the ability to blink. I watched and watched. And when it was over, and he was gone, I waited. I waited for them to take me, a part of me just relieved that I didn’t have to watch anymore. I had already shut my eyes tightly before I understood that I could. I felt my hands twitch, regaining their will. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was alone, in that old, dank basement, with nothing but that long dark crack, and, in the center of the floor, the cobweb covered cardboard box, now open, and filled to the brim with tapes. 
I don’t remember the rest of the night with any real clarity. I know I stood there for a while. I know at some point I calmly bent down, picked up the box, and walked it upstairs. I spent most of the last two days just staring at it. I’ve missed all of my classes. Sam has come to see me a couple of times, to ask how I am. This morning she actually brought me a plate of spaghetti. Imagine that, spaghetti for breakfast. I do appreciate the thought, even if it makes no practical sense whatsoever. Must be an American thing. She did mention that a man stopped by yesterday. Short, greying hair, lots of weird scars, asking about ‘strange happenings’ in the house. Sam told him about her hauntings, and apparently he had been, less than impressed. He told her he was sorry, and that she should move out, and then left without another word. [LAUGH] Creep.
I finally got up the nerve to look into the box. It’s pretty much what it says on the tin: Tapes and stationary. And cobwebs. So many goddamn cobwebs. 
Nobody has said anything about Milton. I expect in the next few days someone will notice he’s gone. How do you explain something like that? I’ve been seeing it again, though. My nightmares … my nightmares have been getting worse. I keep ending up back there. I just watch, and watch, and watch, and I can’t turn away. 
BETH (POST STATEMENT)
Statement ends, I suppose.
[STATIC RISES]
[STUTTERS, CONFUSED]
…. Statement? I, I don’t, I didn’t -
[STATIC FALLS]
[A SHORT SIGH]
I don’t feel better. I really thought I would. I don’t know why. Why in the world did I think that telling my stupid story to this thing would make me feel better? 
The box is still sitting at the foot of my bed. I want to get rid of it, I do. So why don’t I just toss it? It would be so easy. Just … throw it out. But I can’t. 
[RIFLING THROUGH THE TAPES]
Oh, huh - 
[STATIC RISES]
This tape’s blank as well. I thought I’d sorted through them all, but I guess I missed one. Hm. 
[TOSSES THE TAPE ASIDE]
They’re quite interesting, you know. I haven’t played any of the tapes yet, but I glanced at a few of the written accounts. Some of them are so illegible I can’t even read them but others are. Compelling. They make me feel, right. Scared, but [SIGHS]. I don’t know how to explain it. 
I did some research on them, the ones I read anyways. I say research, I mean some quick Googling, a bit of asking around. They’re not real. The Magnus Institute, that’s the logo printed onto the stationary, isn’t a real place. And, as far as I can tell, these people … these people don’t exist. Anywhere. I mean, I found a few names that match but nobody who lines up to the descriptions and when I reach out to them they claim to know nothing about any of it. One of the people I called, Timothy Hodge, his name is, actually gave me the number of his psychiatrist. [LAUGH]
So maybe it’s fiction. A collection of short stories about fictional people and fictional suffering. Just a practical joke. Except, I know that it’s not. I can’t explain how, I just … Know. 
I should probably move out. Only an idiot would stay in this place, after something like that. When I leave this room, I’m going to have to walk by that basement door. Every single day.. I should leave. I want to leave. I will leave. Just, not yet. 
I need to understand, to unravel the mystery, and I’m getting the feeling that there is something in this box that’ll help me do just that. I’ll try to record whatever I find out. I do have another blank tape, after all. [HM] End recording. 
[TAPE CLICKS OFF]
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Frankenstein: Facets of Film
Once a movie settles on its script, characters, and the behind-the-scenes crew, there’s still plenty of steps left before a project is turned into a film.
As it turns out, there’s a lot of things to do in order to make a movie.  There’s cameras, music, sets, special effects, costumes, and a whole lot of other stuff, done by a whole lot of people, that has to go into piecing together the parts of a coherent narrative in a way that makes sense to an audience.  Not only is this important in the screenplay and direction, it’s also the job of everyone on set from the hair and makeup department to the grip and electric department.
See, not only does a film have to make sense, it usually has to look good, too.  
These elements, cinematography, costuming, special effects, etc., are the elements that can catch the attention of an audience, taking a ‘good’ film, and turning it into a ‘great’ film, thanks to the powers of movie magic.
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At first, this doesn’t seem to add up to a whole lot.  I mean, like I’ve been saying, movies are centered on plots and characters, and the visuals are only an added bonus.
That’s true, but here’s the thing about movies.
Movies are, basically, a story in visual form.  You can have a good story and characters in a book, but you have to make up what you’re seeing in your own mind.  In a film, you have to watch what someone else made up.  This can be either an advantage or a disadvantage, and the difference is made entirely thanks to the individuals on the production team.  These ‘trimmings’, the elements that turn a story into a film, are incredibly important, not just to the filmmakers and the process itself, but to an audience.
Even casual movie-goers can interpret what the framing of some scenes is trying to tell them, even if they don’t know that it was the cinematography that told them that.  Most audience members subconsciously internalize things like thematic costume changes, or a musical cue, without necessarily figuring out what exactly was getting that point across.  The point is, these ‘facets of film’ are not only for filmmakers or movie critics: The storytelling shorthand is a tool that gives the audience all of the information they need to have, without spelling it all out in dialogue.
In other words, it’s very useful.
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A truly great director knows to use these aspects of ‘storytelling shorthand’ well, not simply competently.  Too often, directors can decide to focus the production crew, and the movie itself, in the wrong place: the trimmings instead of the tree.  It’s a common problem, one that becomes more and more obvious as the range and scope for the abilities of special effects grows.  Soon enough, they’ve put the plot and characters on the backburner in order to focus on the appearance of a film, and the finished project is more concerned with being a visual masterpiece than a good, compelling story.
There’s nothing wrong with being visually appetizing, but there is something important here:  a balance.  
In the best examples of film, visual storytelling accentuates its story, rather than overshadows it.  These facets of film are used to get the film across in the most effective way possible, focusing on what is important: the story and characters.
Such is the case with James Whale’s 1931 film, Frankenstein.
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Today, we’re going to be taking a look at the storytelling devices, the facts of film used by a movie crew, to answer this question:
How does Frankenstein use its movie-making tools in order to get across the story it wants to?  And does it do it well, or just competently?
Let’s take a look, starting with something that may seem kind of obvious: the camerawork.  (Spoilers below!)
The camerawork in a film can sometimes be the dealbreaker, or the dealmaker, depending on how it’s used.  When the cinematography is done well, it’s breathtaking, when done competently, it is adequate, but when it’s done badly, you really notice.  There’s a whole lot more to camerawork than just pointing it at the action.  There’s a lot to consider, like setting, lighting, character placement, colors, mood of a scene, and even mood of a character.  And trust me when I say that that’s not all they have to be thinking about.
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The cinematography, along with the editing of shots, is purposefully trying to get a reaction out of the audience.  A good director knows how to use the camera and his crew to emphasize certain details, moods, or even subtle clues or indications of the story itself in just what the audience is looking at.  The camera is not just ‘pointed at the action’, it’s used to help tell the story, while leaving a visual mark on it.
Frankenstein demonstrates this masterfully.
There are plenty of examples of striking visuals in this film, scenes like the initial pan in the graveyard, taking in the tombstones, the funeral party, and finally Henry Frankenstein and Fritz.  Or the fantastic ‘raising of the monster’ scene, combining the sparking of electricity and the intense visual atmosphere to build a tension of terror, or the utterly gripping shot of Henry watching his creation’s hand move.  While all of these scenes are great, unfortunately, I can’t go shot-for-shot through Frankenstein to show you all of them.  (Though stay tuned for scene spotlight, a feature that’s going to do just that)  What I can do is point out a few special examples.
The first one I want to bring to your attention is a weird example.  It’s the scene where Elizabeth and Victor are talking about how worried they are for Henry.  This doesn’t sound like it should be all that interesting, after all, we want to get to the monster, but James Whale knew where to point a camera.
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Most scenes open with an establishing shot, a wide shot that lets the audience get a look at where we are so they can orient themselves and the characters in the context of the area.  This scene doesn’t do that.
It opens on a series of close-ups: The framed photo of Henry, Elizabeth’s face, the door opening and Victor walking in, and only then do you get a wide shot, taking full advantage of the grand set.  Until then, the audience is subconsciously working to figure out where they are, and trying to orient themselves during it.  It’s a fascinating technique, one that isn’t very common, even in this movie.  It’s the only time he does it.
On the other hand, something that Whale does all the time is hold the camera at a distance from the action.
See, Frankenstein was based on a book, sure, but a book that had been adapted to the stage long before movie screens.  As such, early adaptations of Frankenstein tended to be, at least a little, based on the stage play.  Such was the case for this film.
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As such, the movie is shot, in many instances, like a stage play.
There isn’t a whole lot of camera movement in Frankenstein.  The camera is usually set kind of far back from the action, letting the audience see the players move around the set, kind of like they would in a play.  The camera doesn’t move with them, just sits back and lets the audience see what’s going on.  Watch the “It’s Alive!” shot, or the scene where the creature stalks Elizabeth.
Now, that isn’t to say that the camera doesn’t move at all.  There’s plenty of slow pans (the shot where the monster is raised through the roof) and close-ups (the first good look at the monster).  But for the most part, the audience is shown what’s going on from a slight distance, from Fritz in the classroom to Frankenstein confronting his monster.
It’s an interesting way to view the action, and at first, it can perhaps seem like a bad idea on paper.  After all, you want the audience in close, being there with it.  But in practice, in the film itself, it works very well.  The slowness of the movement, (aided with the total lack of soundtrack) adds to tension.  Being able to see the whole thing builds suspense for characters as you see what they don’t.
That being said, there are plenty of interesting shots, especially within Frankenstein’s lab, that allow you to explore the space in interesting ways, making full use of the weird angles and shadows to maximize ‘scare factor’.  Even the close up of the monster’s hand moving with Frankenstein reacting to it in the same shot is a masterful example of the camera in close, emphasizing the tension of the scene.  Other shots, like seeing Fritz’s hanged body in the background or that iconic first shot of the monster on its feet are all master-classes in and of themselves in using a camera to convey a feeling, as well as the story, to an audience.
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But there’s more to a film’s atmosphere than camerawork.  There’s the soundtrack, as well.
Or, in this case, the lack thereof.
We’re used to most movies having a soundtrack, favorites coming from geniuses like John Williams, Danny Elfman, or James Horner, but Frankenstein has no music in it at all once the opening credits stop.
Music seems like a natural part of filmmaking, from the heroic opening of Superman to the shrieking strings of Psycho, even to the haunting score of The Thing.  Music sets the mood, helping the audience feel what’s going on in the story.  Especially in horror, where the idea is to unsettle the audience, the soundtrack seems essential, building up tension and scare-factor in a scene.
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It seems odd that Frankenstein should be so totally silent.
However, it kind of works.
The silence of Frankenstein as a film works very much to the film’s advantage.  You are forced to pay attention to characters and what they’re saying, true, but that’s not really a problem often faced with soundtracks.  No, the benefits of the lack of music in this case are twofold, and they’re a little unusual:
1. Eerie silence works very well for this.
2. Without music cueing the audience in, it’s up to the individual viewer to determine what they think of characters.
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The first point is the easiest to discuss, so let’s start there.  
The only thing scarier than the creepy theme to Halloween is no theme whatsoever.
The absolute quiet in Frankenstein renders the tension harder to bear than if there had been music to cue the audience in.  Hearing nothing but the thunder during the scene of the monster’s creation renders it a more vivid experience, putting the audience in the scene without background music to remind them that they’re in a movie.  Even the scenes where the monster kills are more uncomfortable without music to warn us.
So yes, it’s scarier, in a way.  It also forces the audience to pay more attention.
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Music tells us a lot about a character or a film.  It tells us that Luke Skywalker wants more, and that Darth Vader is scary.  It tells us that Rocky is better for his training.  It tells us that the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park are awesome.
In Frankenstein, it tells us nothing, because it’s not there at all.
The lack of musical cues for the audience forces them to pay attention and think about what is happening.  Are we supposed to be scared?  Sympathetic?  Both?  Neither?  It’s hard to tell what music would play over the monster after he accidentally drowns Maria, or after Henry survives the climax at the windmill.  In that, it’s up to the audience to interpret whether these things are meant to be seen as good or bad  In that, somehow, a lack thereof still allows a soundtrack to do what it does best: accentuate the audience’s experience.
This ambiguity, also present in how the film is shot, allows this film to stand so firmly so many years later: it never gives you a thorough answer over what to think about what’s going on.  For all its differences with the book, it does have one thing in common with it: it extends questions for you to answer, without providing much of its own.  It’s on you to decide what to think.
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Even though there wasn’t any music, there was a whole lot of something else: sets.
The setwork in Frankenstein is massive, hugely expansive atmospheres and locations for the audience to marvel at, and more importantly, be unsettled by.  Shades of this scope appear later in things like Edward Scissorhands (albeit with a classic Tim Burton twist) and other horror-inspired films and shows, from the thunder-and-lightning surrounded tower to the interior of the lab.
James Whale shot sets in a grand way, letting the audience experience the grandiose scale of each individual location.  From the huge Frankenstein mansion to the interior of the mad-scientist lab, to the cemetery, even to the burning windmill, each setting feels larger-than-life, giving the gothic set-design an even better chance to shine.  The Frankenstein manor feels appropriately impressive, bright and safe, with shots that emphasize the scope of the luxury and the various rooms inside.  The mill feels dangerous, dark and cramped, with too many obstacles.
But of course, the set that everyone remembers is the Frankenstein lab, and with good reason.
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The tower, the stone walls, the electric gadgets and gizmos all going off together, the operating table, beakers galore, levers, control panels, and an open ceiling to raise the monster, now this is a mad-scientist laboratory.
Originally created in 1927 silent film Metropolis but codified forever in Frankenstein, James Whale knew how to shoot this set.  Loosely based originally on the labs of Nikola Tesla, the lab of Dr. Frankenstein is so iconic that it’s been recreated (or re-used) in everything from straight horror films or loving spoofs like Young Frankenstein.  Whale allows this place to feel unsettling, scary, helped enormously by Colin Clive’s crazed and uncomfortable performance as Henry Frankenstein.  The lab, much like most of the sets in the film, is full of dark shadows, of stark contrasts, feeling intentionally scary.  
Every set in this film is shot with plenty of shadow and darkness, allowing the audience to really feel uneasy.  But the sets aren’t the only thing that are adding to the scare-factor.  Also helping out drastically in these scenes is the special-effects department.
Long before the invention of CGI, monsters had to be created in the makeup chair.  The original looks what’s considered the ‘classic’ monsters were created through layers of makeup and prosthetics, from Dracula’s fangs to the Wolfman’s animal face.  The Frankenstein monster was no different.
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The appearance of the monster could possibly be considered as the greatest special effect this film has to offer.  The heavy lids, hollow features, electrodes and flat-topped head are all iconic visuals that continue into modern pop culture, and with good reason.
The effect of the original Frankenstein makeup was stunning, and instantly memorable.  For a film made in 1931, the makeup on the original monster looks incredible, standing the test of time almost ninety years later.  It remains a convincing effect, giving the creature a distinct, undead look that is incredibly striking.
But the visual look of the monster wouldn’t mean much of anything if it was just a makeup job.  There has to be something there behind the makeup that makes it really work: the performance of the actor underneath.
Thankfully, Boris Karloff was more than up to the task.
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See, no matter how good the cinematography, sets, or makeup, Frankenstein would be nothing if not for the final, essential ingredient: the performances.
And it is here that the movie goes from good to great.
As I’ve mentioned before, Frankenstein has no ‘small’ performances.  Everyone in this film brings huge energy to each role, and no one more so than the monster himself, Boris Karloff.
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Karloff manages an incredible range of expression through the heavy monster makeup, bringing out the monster’s innocent initial nature perfectly.  He is able to portray the gambit of emotions, from fear to rage, to curiosity, to joy.  It is Karloff’s performance that turns the monster into a creature that the audience sympathizes with, to the point that even when he is acting ‘monstrous’, it’s hard to forget his childlike happiness at playing with Maria.  Karloff’s abilities as an actor force the audience to contend with the monster’s humanity, and his expression through the ‘dead’ makeup and heavy eyelids is as incredible as it is compelling.  For one specific example, the scene where the creature is first exposed to light is a classic scene, that remains moving and powerful no matter how many times you see the film.  Karloff’s performance is that of a confused creature, just learning about the world and finding it a harsh and dark place.
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Colin Clive as Henry Frankenstein brings manic energy to his character in the first half, and regretful sobriety in the second.  He is the perfect quintessential mad scientist, howling about his accomplishments and seeing nothing wrong with stealing bodies to stitch together to create life, until he realizes his mistake.  Frankenstein’s transformation and breakdown is rendered believable and interesting through Clive’s incredible performance as the regretful scientist, determined to right his wrong after the monster runs loose.  His switch from the emotionally-distant scientist to a man concerned with his friends and family is dramatic but understandable, and the audience buys his uncertainty just as much as they buy his mad ambition.
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Mae Clarke’s showing as Elizabeth, despite not getting much in screen time or dialogue, manages to portray a woman trying to remain strong despite her fiance’s increasingly weird behavior and the undead-goings-on surrounding her wedding.  She’s worried, but she’s also in love, and doesn’t want to leave Henry, despite the things he’s done.  
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Dwight Frye as Fritz is the quintessential Igor, the hunchback assistant that we now associate so strongly with the story.  He’s a nasty being, mean-spirited and is ultimately the person most likely responsible for the creature’s bad streak of luck.  A bully without scruples, Fritz helps Frankenstein assemble his equipment and parts, and eventually dies at the hands of the monster, managing to remain entirely unsympathetic the entire time, which seemed to be rather the point.
Edward Van Sloan’s portrayal is that of a perfectly ‘reasonable’ scientist, an old man accustomed to the ways of science.  His concern is completely understandable, and he comes across exactly as he should: the opposite of Victor, entirely on the side of caution.  Unfortunately, his caution also leads to the decision of killing the monster, but Van Sloan portrays this not so much as lack of humanity, but lack of empathy and understanding that he is also dealing with ‘humanity’.  He is not a villain, but he isn’t really considering the whole picture here.
It is in these elements that Frankenstein truly becomes ‘immortal’
A film can have a great script, fantastic characters, and even great sets, cinematography and makeup, but it is in these incredible, vivid, vibrant performances that the film goes from good to great.  Without the sympathetic monster, the manic mad scientist, or even the crooked (in more ways than one) lab assistant, Frankenstein as a film would be just another one of the many incarnations of the story.  It is thanks to all of these facets of film that Frankenstein excels, going beyond simple ‘monster movie’ to horror classic.
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Everything in this film is perfectly crafted for the specific needs of the screenplay.  Every inch is designed to bring this spooky story to life, without forgoing depth of either the shadows or the characters.  From the sets and the camerawork to the work of the actors themselves, everything in Frankenstein fits together perfectly, a horror classic, but also simply a film classic, a landmark that definitely deserves its place in Hollywood History as one of the greatest films of all time.
James Whale and his crew certainly knew what they were doing.  Every facet of film, from the camerawork to the performances, demonstrating every mood and feeling without having to explain it.  The sets and characters feel perfectly realized, gothic, creepy, and compelling, setting the mood for the thrills and chills story.
Full of scares and screams, Frankenstein’s facets of film come together to convey a great tone, characters, and story, and in the end, that’s exactly what they’re supposed to do.
Thanks so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.
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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years
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Dark Stars {Part 4}
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*Loki x OFC*
Part: 4/10
Words: 3.6k
Warnings: adorableness and some darkness
Summary: ~Loki could just let her die here and now. His problems would be solved and he could go back to his usual ways. But then he would forever be left with an unsolved mystery and he hated the prospect of that even more than the fear of what would happen if she lived.~
A story of what happens when Loki stumbles upon someone who is like him in every way. Only better. Oh, and they just happen save Asgard too.
A.N.: To celebrate over 1000 people following me (how insane is that?!), I decided to share the newly edited version of the very first Loki fanfiction I ever wrote! Enjoy the mischief 💚
All Parts can be found on my Masterlist!
______________________________
Now that Ivy stood this close, Loki could see the anger dancing in her eyes, clear as day and mingling with the shadow of how much she hated him in that moment. It was an expression he had seen so often on so many people that it didn't take much to recognize anymore. But there was something else… something she tried to hide from him.
From the second he noticed it lingering in the shadows of her gaze, it appeared to be the most obvious thing he had ever seen, and he couldn't believe that he had missed it before. And something about this deeply hidden expression felt so oddly familiar to Loki that he didn't even dare questioning her about it.
Right in this moment, with her small, angry form in front of him, only illuminated by the moonlight occasionally breaking through the heavy clouds, he felt utterly defeated. The anger in her eyes, the knowledge that he was the cause of it, was squeezing the air right out of his lungs and he wanted it to stop. Right now.
"I don't regret it." His voice was quiet now, almost reluctant in its tone.
Ivy blinked a few times too many, as if only now waking up from a dreamlike state of mind. "What…?" The anger vanished from her voice in a blink, leaving it just as calm as Loki's own.
"I don't regret that I saved you." He repeated, more certain this time, breaking free from the spell her eyes had put him under by looking anywhere but at her.
"But maybe I do..." She whispered a few seconds later, making Loki's eyes snap right back to hers. The sincerity he found in them struck him like a cold lightning from deep within, making his lips part ever so slightly. Did she… no, she couldn't mean that. She didn't want to die… Loki didn't want her to die, for hel's sake! His eyes widened as they dug into hers, searching of her soul, but finding something greater.
Silence. Intimacy conveyed by nothing but an honest glance.
Now it was Ivy's turn to look away in the vain attempt to cover up her own vulnerability under his gaze, clearing her throat and taking a few steps backwards once she realized just how close they had been standing.
In an instant he had sorted himself out as well, going back to his normal, stoic self, rising up the walls. But he wouldn't forget what he had seen in her eyes that short moment ago, nor would he ever forget how it had made him feel.
"We should really leave this place. Both of us." Ivy said then, running a shaky hand through her tousled locks in an attempt to get a grip. She hadn't meant to say what she had said before, hadn't meant to reveal so much of herself, and she hadn't even noticed the words leaving her lips until it was too late. It was something she kept hidden deep within her, only to surface when she was sure no one would notice. No, she was strong, she was playful and she was smart. That's what she had to show the outside world. That's who she had to be right now.
"We should really leave this place." She said once more, repeating herself involuntarily. Of course Loki noticed, but he decided to keep it to himself. Just like he decided to keep quiet about everything that had just happened. If he would have remarked on it, had admitted to recognize it, he would have risked giving away too much of himself in return, and that was not an option.
"Where are we going?" He finally asked, for once forgetting about his urge to be in control. The whole situation had thrown him off quite a bit, and he was grateful for a pause in their teasing game.
"Do you trust me?" Ivy asked, back to her ever so present smirk. So much for a break…
And before Loki could answer, she had already grabbed his wrist and gone they were, only a short moment before the door to Sif's chambers was opened.
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Loki found himself at the outer rim of the forest, surrounded by only trees and darkness. Ivy stood right next to him, frowning to herself.
"Are you alright?" He asked as he turned towards her, unable to stop this expression of concern from showing.
Ivy smiled at him. "Do I hear worry in your voice?" She teased, but as his expression turned from neutral to clearly annoyed, she stopped smirking. "Yes, I am fine. I'm just not specifically used to..." Her mind caught on, making her stop mid-sentence. "This situation is rather new to me." She finally said.
"But is this…" Loki pointed to their surroundings dramatically, "...really where you wanted us to go?"
"Actually, yes!" She smiled, obviously satisfied with herself.
"Then not all hope is lost on you…" Loki muttered under his breath as he took his time to look around with a deep frown.
"What did you say?"
"Oh, nothing, dear…" Dear! There it was again, that stupid little term of endearment, adding much to Loki's annoyance.
Ivy smiled to herself, very much liking this effect she seemed to have on him. It were either annoyed, angry or flirtatious vibes coming from him at most times, and Ivy would gladly take the latter.
Without any further questions, she took a hold of his wrist once more and started walking ahead into the darkness that lay before them.
Loki rolled his eyes, but let her drag him through the forest without complaining. For some reason, their little moment of rawness back in Sif's chambers had taken most of the anger he had felt for her and simply erased it from his body, leaving him with curiosity and maybe the slightest bit of inclination, which he yet tried to suppress.
Suddenly Ivy stopped dead in her track, a few feet away from a huge boulder. It was almost double the height of Loki, and more than ten feet wide, but there really was nothing special about it, and after a few moments of Ivy just grinning at it, Loki started to frown.
"Did I hit you in the head too hard while fighting? Oh geez, you must have lost your mind…" He sighed dramatically, making Ivy chuckle and grin even more. Yes, he enjoyed that… making her laugh. Seeing her happy. Was by far better than making her angry, and by far more difficult.
Only when she started dragging him closer towards the boulder, he suddenly came to realize that she had indeed almost exactly copied his own magic barrier, and thus created the illusion of a solid stone wall. It didn't even look half bad, and he was only able to tell it was a doorway because of long years of experience. A normal guard surely would have missed it, even if they had stood right in front of the magic wall. Somehow, seeing her copying his magic made him proud, and seeing her doing it this well made him positively boast.
They walked right through the boulder then, a small tunnel leading them to the other side, to a clearing not unsimilar to his own. It was not as spacious nor as beautiful as his, but it would surely do, and it even enclosed a small lake in the far back. He had to admit that it was a rather good place for a hideout.
"I thought it would only be fair to show you my version of a secret hiding place." She smiled, while walking right over to a little spot where he saw a bag and blankets lying on the mossy ground. "You know, after you threw me out of yours, I had to build my own place."
Loki looked around the open space rather doubtfully, he wasn't even that unimpressed, but he just hadn't ever thought of his hiding place as a place to live in, as that obviously was what Ivy used it for.
"So… You live here?" He tried to hide his distaste for the rather dirty surroundings, just as he tried to hide his heart clenching at the thought of her having to live here.
"Not everyone is blessed with a palace and a nice bed and free meals." She laughed quietly, but he noticed the strain in her voice, the subtle sadness and shame.
"Why don't you live in the city, and find work there, or just build your own home out here if you'd prefer that?" He questioned, while Ivy motioned for him to sit down next to her on the dusty blanket she had thrown herself onto. Loki couldn't help but pull a face at it, yet when Ivy glared at him, he rolled his eyes once and plopped down right next to her.
"I can't afford building or buying anything at the moment. And well, I'm not what you would call 'welcome' in the city, and I despise being surrounded by so many people anyway, more than anything. So much for working there..."
"What do you mean you are not welcome?" He asked in disbelief, frowning.
"I mean that I'm not welcome. Simple as that. Don't ask about it." The harsh tone of her voice surprised even Ivy herself, but she didn't like talking about it and this was maybe the only way to counter Loki's curiosity. And certainly she didn't want to talk to Loki, of all people, about her past and origin.
"If it makes you feel any better, the people of Asgard certainly despise me more than they could ever dislike anyone else." Loki finally said, staring at the stone wall on the opposite side of the clearing.
"And how would you know?" Ivy asked as she rubbed her hands against her legs, trying to warm them up. Romantic as it may sound, nobody ever mentioned that living in the wild nature was shitty as hell when it came to the weather and temperature.
"They would never dare as much as outright tell me, as I'm still their prince and they ought to pay me respect." He started, earning a snort from Ivy, which again makes him look at her amused face in feigned dismay.
"I told you that you're an asshole right away. A puny excuse of a prince, a total loser, a..." Ivy started with a self-sufficient grin.
"Yes, I know that, Ivy, now shut your mouth while I try to answer your question. Will you do that?" He asked with a sarcastic undertone and Ivy made a move that looked like she was zipping her mouth shut.
Loki sighed. "The people, the citizens… they always put on a smile when it comes to meeting me, but nearly all of them forget their eyes. Their eyes tell me so much more than their words ever could. They are full of hatred, anger and usually also... fear."
"Why would they fear you?" Ivy frowned, crossing her legs beneath herself as her knee brushed against Loki's thigh.
Loki let out a sincere, but dark laugh. "If you even have to ask, then you must truly be blind. Or insane!"
"Oh, I'm clearly and utterly bonkers!" She laughed, and shoved her still freezing hands into the pockets of the jacket. "What do you see in my eyes?" She asked after a while, curiously, calmly… not at all frightened.
A cold shiver ran down Loki's spine… why did she have to ask THIS question? Of course he did see something in her eyes, but he wasn't so sure if it was something meant for him to see. Usually he would, for that sole reason, tease and torment her with it until she broke into pieces and crumbled into his hands. But he just couldn't. Not after what he had seen.
"I see that you're cold!" He finally said, and his face clearly showed the discomfort he felt, despite his attempt at hiding it. There simply was no hiding this kind of knowledge.
Ivy rolled her eyes, but to his great luck decided to let it go for now. Seeing Loki all flustered amused her greatly, and that was enough for the moment, but she had to admit that she was cold indeed, and thus buried her hands deeper inside her pockets. Until her hands touched something cold inside. She flinched immediately, pulling her hand back while making a small squeaking noise.
"What is it?" Loki asked in an instant, following her gaze down to where she just pulled a little metal device out of her pocket. It was not larger than her hand, flat and had a black glassy surface.
"What the heck is this?!" Ivy twisted the little object in her hands, inspecting it from all sides.
Loki on the other hand let out a sudden, loud laugh. He honestly had no idea how or why Sif had an ipod in her pocket, but it didn't surprise him either. She often ventured to Midgard, thus probably also the odd jacket…
Ivy was still staring, her eyes shifting between Loki and the ipod, unsure of what to think or say, but the moment she touched a button by accident, the screen lit up brightly, illuminating her face. With a small yelp she dropped the device into her lap, and in her surprised shock, she tightly grabbed onto Loki's arm. He smirked at the gesture and picked up the ipod from her lap, as second later, once Ivy realized what she was doing, she let go of Loki's arm and eyed the device with a frown.
"This…" Loki held the ipod so that Ivy could see the screen. "...is a device to play music with, mainly. It's Midgardian technology."
"But it doesn't look like technology." Ivy said quietly, feeling utterly stupid in the statement.
Still smiling, Loki unlocked the thing (for whatever reason Sif had not minded to lock it properly… but she also didn't lock her chambers, so much for that.) and scrolled through the playlist. He let out one disapproving sigh after the other, while inwardly making a note to criticize Sif for her taste in music.
"Let me see!" Ivy grabbed it from his hands, now almost too eager to find out what the mysterious device did. She pressed down on the screen and a faint music started to blare from the tiny speakers. "It's so quiet!" She said and looked at Loki expectantly, holding the small item out to him again.
"Good Lord…" Loki sighed and rolled his eyes, before finally waving his hand over the little screen, upon which the music started flowing all around them, well to be heard all over the opening.
Ivy looked first at the ipod, then at Loki, as she was deeply fascinated by the foreign music.
The song Ivy had picked by accident was not more than a loud blaring of various foreign instruments, not at all to Loki's taste, so he picked up the ipod once more and searched through the music, until his eyes fell upon a playlist called 'good'. Now, that was very creative of Sif for sure... He rolled his eyes.
Loki scrolled through the songs and found one he liked, selecting it and a few moments later it was to be heard all around them.
Ivy got up from her place on the blanket and started strolling around the opening, while Loki's eyes followed her every step. Then she slowly started dancing to the music.
"What are you doing?!" Loki asked with wide eyes full of surprise, and also a little amusement.
Ivy only laughed and continued moving. "It helps against the cold. You should try it!"
The rather dark lyrics made Ivy wonder whether he had chosen the song intentionally, or if it was all in her mind. But then she shook her head at herself, probably reading something into his choice of music that wasn't there. It was a good song after all... No lutes and harps for once, and that was good enough to enjoy it.
She looked over at Loki then and found him watching her, his head to one side and his arms resting on his propped up knees. He seemed to enjoy watching her dance… and she enjoyed his gaze on herself.
"I'm serious, come and dance with me right now or I will forever haunt and torment you!" Ivy said with an amused smirk. "You'll feel much better once you start! Or can Loki, the almighty god of cowardice, not dance with a lady?"
Loki rolled his eyes once more, but got up from the blanket with a small groan and a chuckle. She surely would be the end of him, no doubt in that.
He sauntered over to her slowly, his arms crossed behind his back, smirking ever so slightly. Whatever she was doing there, it wasn't dancing. But it certainly was adorable.
In a rush of excitement at having him actually following her order, Ivy pulled him closer to herself, trying to get him to dance, which eventually he did. Surprisingly enough...
Ivy had expected it to be awkward and somewhat hilarious –since he had refused to dance at all at first– but gosh had she been wrong. He moved with such an ease, such an elegance and grace... it was rather mesmerizing to watch, and thus she observed him for a few seconds, not sure if she should smile or stare in awe, and only then joined in to dance once again.
It was nothing special, really, and it must have looked utterly ridiculous to anyone who would have watched, but Ivy enjoyed herself and she was fairly sure that Loki did as well, even though he desperately tried to suppress the smile that tried to take over his features. Maybe, just maybe he was just was broken as she was.
As the song ended they both remained silent for another while, listening to the softer tunes that now started playing. That surrounded them in their own, comfortable little world.
"May I?" Loki asked in a polite yet gentle tone, holding his hand out for Ivy to take. He couldn't believe he was actually doing this. Where was his mind? His common sense? His normal self?!
She returned a small smile, placing her hand in his and he pulled her close to his chest without even thinking. Oh, he must be insane… But now, at least, they could be insane together for a while.
Loki placed one hand on the small of her back, the other capturing hers and holding it gently. Ivy on the other hand had no idea what to do, for she had never danced with someone before... or danced like this at all. But simply out of instinct, she placed her free hand against his chest and hoped he wouldn't cut it off for her daring to touch him. He didn't even flinch, and Ivy's skin started to tingle as she felt his heartbeat beneath her fingertips.
And like that they moved to the music, slowly and without any more words, as there were none needed.
Ivy didn't know what had overcome Loki all of a sudden, but she was more than certain to enjoy it while it lasted. She didn't dare to look at his face though, for she feared to see the same cold darkness in his eyes she had faced before. On the other hand, she didn't want him to see how much his touch affected her, and how much she wished to just let him in. To always be like this… close, trusting, honest.
Loki for his part was glad that she didn't look up to meet his eyes. He knew that his face would give away what he thought, what he felt… And right in that moment, with her in his arms and that comforting heat radiating off her like his own personal sun, he knew that he wouldn't be able to uphold his masquerade if only she looked at him with her beautiful green eyes. He was not ready for his facade to slip, for his walls to break down, and he certainly was not ready for any of the things Ivy was stirring up inside of him. So he took a deep breath to collect his thoughts, to force them away from her, sadly noticing the heavenly intoxicating smell of lavender, mixing with something utterly Ivy. He had come to a point now where he needed to chose if he would allow for this to continue, allow for her to become this maddening, all-consuming force in his life, or if he wanted to stay on the safe side and push her away like he did with everyone. A cruel choice, really… but he was scared. Scared of what would happen if he let this continue.
Thus, with every inner strength he possessed, he dropped her hand, letting his arms fall to his sides as he took a few steps back.
"Enough of this madness." He whispered gravely and turned around so that he wouldn't have to see her sad, confused face. All it would've taken for him to break, to turn around and pull her right back into his arms, into his life, was a single look into her eyes. And he wouldn't allow that.
Without another word of explanation, he walked away and left the opening through the secret barrier, taking the sound of the music with him.
_____________________________
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monstersandmaw · 5 years
Text
Male merman x male reader (nsfw) - Mermay Story #2
Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.
Well, plot happened amid my planned porn. Oh well! Here's 7692 words for you! It’s been up on Patreon on early release. My lovely patrons have just been told who’s up next, so if you want to know, and more importantly be involved in the next poll and get your sticker and reward when I hit 100 patrons, head on over to Patreon and sign up! 
Anyway, here's Connor. Light warnings for alcohol and the after-effects of a painful breakup. And... uh... two tentacle cocks. *shrugs*
___
Boxes.
Dozens of badly packed, disorganised, straining-at-the-seams cardboard boxes filled your new small seaside cottage, some marked, others not, all hastily packed, and the thought of dealing with them at the tail end of a long day was just… overwhelming.
In a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, you simply shut the front door behind you, with its cheery red paint peeling slightly under the influence of many a winter storm, and set off down the quayside with the only thing you’d not even packed away for the move: your camera.
It was your faithful workhorse, a chunky, veritable beast, and it earned you your living, so there was no way you’d risk packing it away in anything other than its soft, protective case for the move. It had sat beside you in the van as you’d driven it down the winding, cobbled streets of the old town of Starfall Springs, heading for your new home. And now as you set out into the spring evening, the pavements gleaming in the wake of a sudden shower, it hung around your neck, the familiar weight a comfort in the constant flux and chaos of moving house.
Seagulls whirled and wheeled overheard in crazy, lazy circles, and the constant lap and slap of the sea against the harbour wall and the hulls of the little pleasure and fishing crafts moored in the weedy harbour formed a constant backdrop to your evening walk.
Groups of locals gathered at the edge of the town to watch the sunset and stretch their legs after work or before dinner.
A minotaur’s hearty laugh made you look round, and you saw a blue roan centaur talking with the tiniest goblin you’d ever seen. She was barely three feet tall, and was standing on a bench to talk to the centaur, but she had him laughing and tossing his head with a very equine delight all the same.
A couple of gnoll cubs scrapped and snarled on the playground just set back from the harbour road, and a shy looking werewolf cub looked on in awe and longing.
You documented the light and the angles, but it was the stack of lobster pots, with their woven, birdcage appearance, that snagged your eye and drew you away from the more obvious spots towards the quieter shadows of the harbour.
Raising your camera to your eye, you tweaked the shutter speed as the light changed, and adjusted the focus with a subtle twist of your wrist.
Behind the network of the crisscrossing lines of the lobster and crab pots, the surface of the sea formed a calm, beaten bronze backdrop, gilded by the sinking sun, the tiny waves like hammer marks in a sheet of polished metal. You lost yourself for a moment, just staring out at it with boats bobbing and the waves nudging against the slimy stone of the harbour wall.
Breaking that magical surface, a figure appeared in the water for a moment, and you adjusted the focus instinctively, framing them as they breached the surface. The figure was one of the merfolk who lived in the area, and you almost regretted taking the photo without their knowledge. This was not a wildlife shoot after all, and despite the lithe, muscular tail, they were no mere fish. You’d worked with a rough and tumble tiger shark mer out on a shoot in the tropics the previous year, but aside from her, you’d had little contact with them. And every shoal and pod was different, especially in their attitudes towards humans. Some were chilled and helpful towards humans, while others were shy and reclusive, and there were those that were even predatory.
You assumed that here in Starfall Bay, the merfolk would be at least tolerant of humans. How tolerant of paparazzi humans they would be was a different matter, and you lowered your camera.
This mer was clearly enjoying the evening sun as much as the landfolk who strolled along the promenade. They rolled onto their back and you saw a long, lean, grey-blue tail rising up to balance them and hold them at the surface as they spread their arms and floated there like a snoozing sea otter; except this ‘sea otter’ had the lower half of a creature as lean and streamlined as a shark, or perhaps a marlin. This was a predator.
Your feet took you, almost without your realising it, towards the end of the harbour wall, and as you neared the final few yards of the curving stone cob, you felt a wild and bold urge sweep through you. You sat down on a rusty old cleat and dangled your feet off the edge, well clear of the waves, but it was obvious that you were watching the mer.
After no more than a minute, they saw you. Long black hair trailed in the water, and sharp, wet cheekbones glimmered in the sinking sun. A lopsided grin flashed, and they flipped over and swam a little closer. “Enjoying the show?” came the question in a husky, rich tenor voice.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” you said.
“Sure. Not been this close to a mer before?” he said playfully, and in a flash of his powerful tail, he was mere metres from your dangling feet. If he’d wanted to, he could have darted up and yanked you into the water. The thought gave you a strange thrill. Instead, he floated there and looked up at you with dark eyes glittering.
“Just once,” you said carefully.
He raised a sculpted eyebrow at you. Gods, but he was handsome. He had one of those faces that could have been painted by an Old Master and hung in a gallery somewhere; all sharp angles that caught the light perfectly, and framed by a curtain of shoulder-length black hair. You’d have loved to have taken his photo in that moment, with the light playing so beautifully on his features. He had a row of pointed teeth too, like a shark. He tilted his head. “Oh?”
“She was a tiger shark mer,” you said, without elaborating further. Let him infer what he chose from that.
The mer grinned broadly, showing off all those pretty white teeth. “You like us dangerous I see…”
You snickered at that and leaned back on your hands, your camera resting on your chest. “She was helping me with a job.”
The mer turned from playful to curious in a heartbeat. “What kind of job?”
You waggled your DSLR at him. “Photography. We were trying to film green sea turtles for a program on endangered species, and she was one of the mer who guarded the reserve where they’re being protected.”
“Sweet,” he said. “Nice to see our two species actually working together for a change.” A tinge of bitterness crept into his voice, but you let it slide.
“I know. We both had a blast doing it.”
He grinned and then the smile slipped from his face and he turned away, webbed hands waving slightly in the clear water of the harbour to keep himself above water.
“You… ok?” you asked hesitatingly.
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Fuck.”
You waited, hoping he’d elaborate. All the fun seemed to have gone out of him, like the sparkle of a bubble suddenly pricked and burst. He sighed and his shoulders drooped. He dipped beneath the surface and raked his clawed fingers through his long hair, scraping it back off his handsome face.
“What are you doing here in Starfall Springs?” he asked after a moment. “No endangered species here. Unless you’re documenting humans, that is…” he added with a wry smile. “Not too many of those here…”
“I actually just moved here,” you said gently, hoping that whatever it was that had darkened his mood would pass as swiftly as a scudding cloud.
He turned and looked directly at you. “Really?” he said. “Why did you settle on this place?”
You shrugged. “The lady I’m renting from had really good rates, and I want to expand my personal portfolio,” you said, camera in hand. “The landscape round here is amazing, particularly the coast.”
He smiled. “It’s gorgeous,” he agreed. “If you head slightly north there’s this huge sandy bay with enormous rock arches, and sometimes you can find fossils in the cliffs.”
“Sounds great,” you said, eyes going wide.
He paused. “I could show you if you like?” he said after a moment.
Your brows knitted. “You serious?”
He grinned. “Sure, why not?”
“I mean… you don’t exactly know me…?”
Again, the mer shrugged, a twinkle coming back to his eyes that made you lick your lips subconsciously. “So?” he said. “You free tomorrow?”
“Hell yeah,” you said. “Anything to put off unpacking all the boxes from the move…”
He laughed, a sound like sunlight on still water, and you found yourself beaming back at him.
“Ok, meet me tomorrow at 10am on the old bridge into town.”
“Wait, what?”
He simply grinned and disappeared with a flick of his tail, leaving you with about a million questions and no one to ask.
The next morning you made your way through the winding old streets of Starfall Springs and hurried towards the old bridge. You were wearing your usual ‘photography-ramble’ clothing - namely a nondescript and slightly nerdy t-shirt, and scruffy jeans - and the day was fast warming up. The bridge was empty when you arrived, but you checked the time and realised you were fifteen minutes early anyway.
You leaned your body against the ancient stones of the wall and peered over the edge. The water rushed down, clear and quick, from the eponymous springs above the town, and swept away into the harbour and out to sea. The way the water weed danced in the current was mesmeric, and, yes, incorrigible as ever, you whipped your camera out for a closeup of the textures and play of light on the water. It rippled, and yet was smooth as blown glass, and it caught your attention so fully that you almost didn’t notice the person approaching you until he came to a halt right beside you and leaned his backside against the wall and laughed, folding his arms across his slender chest.
You jumped, almost dropping your camera in surprise, though luckily the neck-strap earned its keep and saved the camera from a plummet to a soggy doom below (and not for the first time). You turned and had been about to scowl disapprovingly at the young man, both for invading your personal space quite so closely, and for interrupting you mid-photo, but the words died on your tongue when you recognised the handsome figure a second later. You knew your jaw was hanging open in shock, but you couldn’t wipe the stupid expression from your face.
The mer - who now had legs and clothes - simply tipped his head back, his long, blue-black hair tied in a low, scruffy bun at the nape of his neck, and laughed. “Oh man,” he said, eyes watering. “You should see your face.”
“But… how?” you faltered.
“Brackish mer,” he said. “We can shift at will. Though I still find these fuckers… weird,” he said, slapping one lean, skinny, denim-clad thigh with the palm of his hand. He wore a plain grey t-shirt and nondescript, slightly baggy jeans which rode invitingly low on his narrow hips. Your mouth went dry and you looked away.
“Well, that’s… unexpected,” you finally said.
“I’m Connor, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand to you. His fingers bore traces of webbing between them, stretching between the first knuckles of his fingers. Another reminder that although he walked on human legs, he was not, in fact, the same species. Your eyes darted to his neck and, sure enough, you saw three faint, almost scar-like, lines where his gills should be. Or perhaps they were still there but had closed over for his time on land. Merfolk anatomy was still very much a mystery to you.
You shook his hand as you introduced yourself by name, and felt how cool his skin was against yours. His grip was strong, his hands hard and smoothly callused. You wondered fleetingly what they’d feel like on your body. Fuck. Not helping.
Even in this new human form, he still had his row of pointed, predatory teeth, of which you were granted a beautiful view when he hitched his lips up into a lopsided grin and said, “Ready?”
You nodded mutely and allowed him to lead you through the town towards the northern side. A wide road led out of Starfall Springs, and Connor talked a mile a minute about everything as you passed it. He pointed out the marketplace on your left, and added, “I sell my catches there on Fridays.”
“You mean… you’re…”
“A fisherman,” he said. “Yes. There’s literally nothing, save for maybe another marlin mer, that can out-swim me. Even the tuna. I work with a team of open-water fishermen. We catch tuna and other fish and bring ‘em to market once a week. Sometimes we’re out for longer though.”
“How long?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a month or even six weeks sometimes? Depends on what we want to catch.”
“Do many of your kind do that sort of work? Are the rest of your crew merfolk?”
Connor shook his head. “Nah. It’s just me with the fish-tail on the team. And… most of my folks just keep to themselves, you know? They don’t get why I like humans and landfolk so much, and even though they can shift, they don’t.”
You tilted your head and snatched a sidelong look at him as you walked. He was lean and clearly very fit, with no sign of being puffed or overly warm despite the growing heat of the summer day. You on the other hand were getting distinctly warm under the collar, though you weren’t sure if it was the sun or the presence of the gorgeous merman walking beside you that was causing the reaction. You had your suspicions, though you kept those firmly to yourself.
Connor caught the look you gave him and tossed you another carefree grin. “Not quite sure what you’re thinking, but I’ll take a wild guess. Not all merfolk can shift, you know? And not many can shift the way we do. The more we do it, the easier it gets. Though it still hurts like a bitch.”
“What’s so fascinating about us? I mean, why do you do it?” you asked. As you did so, you caught sight of a butterfly sunning itself on an old, stone mile-marker and paused to focus your camera on it. The two of you had come to the edge of the town now, and the rolling countryside slid away from you in a series of gentle, undulating slopes adorned with orchards and vineyards to the north west, and the coastal road slid away to the north east.
All the while you snuck closer to the butterfly, Connor stayed silent and still on the road behind you, and when you’d got so close you could see the feather-like mosaic of colours on the butterfly’s wings through the view-finder, you snapped some shots, checked them reflexively, and then pulled back and blushed slightly to find him staring at you.
“What?” you challenged gently.
Connor only grinned and said, “Nothing. I just… wouldn’t have noticed that. You’ve got a quick eye, you know?”
You answered his gesture with one of your own. “Comes with the career, I guess.”
He led you off down a rugged footpath, having left your question about the fascination of landfolk unanswered, and as you passed by a battered-looking hut on your right, nestled among tall, flowering grasses dotted here and there with poppies, he said, “A friend of mine lives there. He’s a mer too, but he actually spends most of his time on land. Fuck though, you should see him as a mer. He’s got this big orca tail and these gorgeous markings…” he sighed.
“Sounds like you’ve got a crush,” you blurted.
Connor barked a laugh. “I did,” he admitted. “As a teenager, I crushed so hard on him that I forgot how to swim once and crashed straight into a wreck. He never let me live it down. We actually dated for a while when we were a bit older. Didn’t work out, but we’re still close.”
“That’s nice,” you mused, staring at the ramshackle cottage covered in honeysuckle and creeping ivy. “My exes don’t tend to want anything to do with me.”
“Is that a human women thing, or…?”
“Men,” you said absently, raising your camera to your eye to snap a quick shot of a passing seagull soaring just off the high cliffs below you.
“Oh,” he said, and when you looked back at him, he was staring at his shoes.
You smiled a soft, wonky smile, and continued in silence for a little bit, until the cove below opened up fully before you, and you gasped. “That’s gorgeous,” you breathed.
“Isn’t it?” He raised his hand, his bare, slender arms muscular and so inviting, and pointed at the rock arch at the end of the sweeping, sandy bay. “There are often fossils in that bit. You want to go take a closer look? See what we can find?”
His playful attitude was infectious, and the two of you were soon scrambling down the sandy, scree-slope path to the beach. At one point your soles slipped on the gravelly surface and you sat down hard on your backside with a grunt. Connor, three paces ahead of you on the narrow path, turned abruptly and snorted at the sight of you. “You alright?” he asked. When you nodded, a bit winded, he held out his hand again, and you accepted it without question and let him yank you back onto your feet.
The tide was creeping slowly out, leaving a swathe of dark, hard, wet sand behind, and the beach was littered with little shells and other gifts that the retreating water had left behind. Connor drifted away towards the waves and began to toss bits of debris at passing gulls, never close enough to hit, but accurately enough to make them wheel away, shrieking indignantly, which only made the mer laugh and yell at them.
In the short few hours you’d been with him, you’d come to love that laugh. His voice was husky and rough, like the rasp of dune marram grass disturbed by the wind, and his dark hair glimmered with a hint of blue in the strong sunlight. But there was something else to him that spoke of hidden currents beneath the surface. In moments when he thought you were otherwise occupied, the laughter died in him and a hollow sadness crept in at the edges.
It felt as though he were trying to forget something, trying to put something behind him, and he was focusing on you as an excuse to do it.
You barely knew him, so you didn’t press, but as you neared the cliffs and he wandered over to them, running his fingertips over the jagged, crumbling surfaces of the sandstone, you watched him more closely. He walked recklessly close to the base of the cliffs, picking at flaky portions of the rock until a rain of bits and dust scattered to the sandy beach at his feet.
“Connor?” you asked after watching him for a while.
“Mm?” The mer did not look up.
“What are you doing?”
He paused but still didn’t turn round. “Looking for fossils. Sometimes you can find ammonites and belemnites and…” he trailed off when he turned and saw the look on your face.
You shook your head. “I mean… why are you doing this with me? You saw some human taking photos at the harbour yesterday, and the next thing you’re volunteering to take me fossil hunting along the coast.”
“Can’t I want to do something nice for a handsome stranger?” he asked, a slight bite to his playful tone.
You simply looked at him flatly. “Sure you can,” you said. “But…”
“Forget it,” he said, shaking his head. Sections of his dark hair had come loose in the stiff breeze, and they whipped across his pale face and into his dark eyes.
You nodded. “Sorry I pushed,” you muttered, turning away and walking along the cliffs for a bit, hoping that a moment of privacy would give him a chance to recover.
The mood was different after that. The wind seemed to have a chill to it that you’d not noticed earlier, the calls of the seabirds almost mocking now, and as Connor slouched along the wet sand, he scuffed his heels and kept his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“I’m hungry,” he said after perhaps half an hour of walking along the beach. “You want to head back to town?”
“Sure.”
The house martins’ high, trilling calls filled the air above as they darted in and out of their nests in the eaves of the old buildings with their terracotta roves and sandstone walls. You watched them and tried to snap some shots of them with your long lens. Connor watched you curiously and when you turned back to him he smiled softly, some of the warmth returning to his face. His skin was pale and smooth as porcelain, save for a few scars here and there, his cheekbones high and sharp, and his lips… there was something inviting about his soft lips. They curled slightly at the corners, making you think of stolen kisses and secret smiles.
He walked with you back to your house in near silence, but when you asked him inside, he shook his head. “Nah, I should to get back to the sea. Too much time on land isn’t good for me. Not just… physically…”
“Right. Well, thanks for today… for showing me around a bit. I had fun.”
Connor shrugged one shoulder, hands still in his pockets. “Figured it’d be a nice thing to do, you know? Since you don’t know anyone here yet.”
“I appreciate it. Let me know if you want to meet up again some time…”
A little light kindled in his dark eyes and he flashed you a sharp-toothed grin. “Alright,” he said. “I will. And I look forward to seeing your photographs in the gallery sometime soon…”
You answered him with a shy smile of your own and watched him walk away down the narrow, cobbled street, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed and his gaze fixed on the road directly in front of him.
After a day which had turned out in an entirely different way from the one you had imagined for yourself when you’d woken up, you settled down later that evening, having edited all your photos of the trip, and sank onto the old, squashy, comfy sofa, and sighed. There were still boxes everywhere, but now, with at least a fleeting connection made, you felt more tethered to the place. The task of unpacking didn’t seem so daunting, somehow. It seemed… worth it.
A bashing at your door just after ten o’clock frightened the living daylights out of you.
You stood and cautiously went to the front door, heart hammering in your chest, almost louder than the pounding on the wood. No one here knew you yet, and there was no call for anyone to be thudding away at the little red door at this time of night, surely?
Peeking through the tiny, warped glass window, you saw a pale face and frowned. It looked like Connor, but he’d said he was going back to the sea.
You opened it and found him listing heavily to one side, like a ship floundering on a reef, leaning all his weight against the thick wall of your cottage, his hair hanging loose into his face. “Shit,” he said when he saw your eyes wide with surprise. “Shit, I shouldn’t… Fuck.”
His words were thick and slurred, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Connor? What happened?”
“So… I didn’t go back after all,” he said, swaying again and staggering as his body tried to adjust and correct. “Fuck.”
“Here,” you said, stepping forward and scooping your arm under his to help him inside. “Sit down before you fall down.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you chuckled. You’d dealt with drunk friends before, and manoeuvred him easily enough onto the sofa you’d just vacated.
“Walking is fucking hard,” he commented when you were halfway there. “I mean… I can just about manage at the best of times, but fuck me… I mean, you don’t have to do that. That’s not why I came here. You are gorgeous though. But… ah… fuck.”
“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” you smiled, easing him down onto the sofa and taking a look at the greenish tinge to his cheeks. “Hey, you gonna throw up?”
“Maybe?” he said. Then, the more he thought about it, the greener he got.
“You sit tight. I’ll find a bowl or something. And a glass of water.”
When you came back, he was leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing. “I’m… I’m gonna…” he said, and you instinctively shoved the bowl into the space in front of him. Just in time.
His body heaved and you rested the bowl on his knees while you held his hair back out of the way. You’d done this for girls at college who’d had hair as long as his, but you’d never done it for a guy. Somehow it felt different. More intimate, despite the fact that he was still practically a stranger.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to say again between heaves.
It wasn’t long before he recovered enough for you to be able to leave him and deal with the bowl. When you returned, you found him, ashen-faced, sipping the water and looking frankly about as miserable as a wet raccoon. He even had the shadows under his eyes too, for sure.
“What happened?” you asked tentatively, sitting down beside him.
“Got thinking,” he said without opening his dark eyes.
“About?”
“Him.”
“Who’s ‘him’?” you asked, instantly knowing you were going to regret bringing this topic up.
He swallowed. “My ex.”
“Ah.”
“I had fun today, you know?” Connor said, casting you a careful, sideways look through squinted eyes. His dark gaze was still unfocused and glassy, but the pain in his eyes was clear as day. “It was nice. But it made me think…”
“Yeah, that can happen,” you said.
“He was a human too,” he said. “Is. He’s still around. Doing fine. Moved on to someone easier to be with, I guess. Someone who doesn’t need to sprout a fucking tail and go back to the sea. Hey, you know what he said? Right before he broke up with me?”
This was not a healthy line of conversation, but for now, you allowed it, sensing that he needed someone new with whom he could talk this through. He’d probably exhausted his friends with it already. “What did he say?”
“He said ‘you’ve got a nice ass, Connor, when you’re a human. It’s just a shame I can’t fuck a fish!’”
“Thats… wow, that’s callous.”
“Right? I’m not even a fish! Mer aren’t fish. We’re not mammals either. Fuck knows what we’re classed as. I don’t even care. But you can definitely fuck a mer. That’s for sure.”
“So, tell me then… how does alcohol affect mer?”
“Can’t you see?” he said sourly. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Yeah, but… you gonna be ok?”
“I’ve been drunk before.”
“Why didn't you go back to the sea earlier? Have you been drinking all this time?”
Connor shook his head and then rapidly looked like he regretted it. He groaned and sat back on the sofa, eyes fluttering closed once again. “I walked up to the springs for a bit. I’m not… I’m not normally like this,” he said, his voice gravelly. “I don’t normally get drunk.”
The sadness in his tone struck you deeply. “I get it,” you said. “Breakups suck.”
“He sucks,” Connor retorted petulantly. “Ah, fuck. I should go. I don’t want you to see me like this. Not when… not… not after…” he broke off, shaking his head. He tried to stand but his knees gave way a little and he veered sideways.
You shot up to catch him before he face-planted onto the floor and, laughing gently, you laid him back down on the sofa. “You stay right there,” you said, helping him to lie down. “Sleep it off. Let me grab a blanket.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his eyelids already drooping.
By the time you returned with a blanket from a box upstairs, he was sound asleep. He was going to have one wicked hangover in the morning though.
You took his shoes off for him, surprised by how cold his feet were despite the socks and the temperature of the room. Maybe merfolk just ran cold; you recalled the coolness of his palm from earlier and shrugged. Somehow, he was still gorgeous, even pass-out drunk on your sofa.
You left the, now clean, bowl within hurling distance and hoped he wouldn’t need it, and made sure he was lying comfortably on his side with a cushion beneath his head. He didn't wake as you lifted him gently and slid the small cushion under his cheek, but you were surprised when he let out a deep, sleepy moan at your touch.
“Sleep well,” you said as you headed upstairs, leaving him with a large glass of water.
Morning came and you stretched groggily. It was only as you thought about taking yourself in hand to ease out the tension of your morning wood that you remembered that you were not alone in the house. Lying there for a little while longer, thinking about Connor and the sharp, chiselled planes of his face, did not help matters, and eventually you relented and closed your fist around your cock. You gasped at the rush of pleasure, and it wasn’t long at all til you were spilling into your hand, thinking about what it might be like to be with the merman. Guilt rushed in to replace the elation of your release when you remembered that he was not long into the first stages of post-breakup hell, and thinking about him that way was probably not the most appropriate thing in the world.
After a perfunctory clean up, you dressed and headed downstairs. The moment you reached the bottom of the staircase, you froze. The sounds drifting from the living room were not the sounds of morning pleasure. In fact, at a faint little whimper, you shot forwards into the room and saw that Connor was lying on his back on the sofa, writhing weakly and gasping.
“Connor?”
“Help,” he rasped, clawing at the blanket. As it slid slowly off him, you realised with a jolt of shock that the pile of clothing on the floor was his discarded jeans and t-shirt from the night before. Your eyes shifted back to his legs and you gasped. His skin was in the process of fusing together, turning dark and shadowy, his legs pressed together and clearly trying to become a tail.
“What do I do?” you asked helplessly. “Connor…”
He wheezed and jutted his head back, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. His hands were clawed now, the webbing stretching right up to the tops of his fingers, and visible as he flexed and balled his fingers in obvious pain. He looked across the room at you with his large, dolorous eyes, and tried to smile. “I…” a long, rattling inhale followed, and when he was finally able to speak again, he added, “I should have gone back to the sea. I -” he broke off with a sharp cry as his legs fused into a tail and his skin darkened to the familiar grey-blue you’d glimpsed in the water. The fan of his tail spread across the far end of the sofa, looking strangely like crumpled tissue paper.
“You’re gonna be heavy,” you said, “But I could probably carry you to the harbour from here if you need to be in the water. It’s not far. Maybe only a hundred yards or so?”
“Would you?” he asked, gratitude surging in his expression. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you said. In fact, you were the one worrying. He looked dried out, and probably the alcohol from the previous night wasn’t helping in the dehydration stakes. “C’mon. Let’s give it a go.”
You opened the front door and grabbed your keys before turning back to the merman who had now completed his transformation and was lying limply on the couch, breathing rapidly and shallowly. There was still a tight wheezing to his breaths, and you noticed how the gills on his neck had opened in a futile attempt to draw in more air.
“You good?” you asked, and he nodded.
“I will be. Shit, I’m so sorry. I tried to hold it off but… I can’t stay ‘human’ on land for too long. I pushed it by staying last night.”
Connor’s pale cheeks flushed crimson as you stooped and slid your arms under his tail and around his torso. He immediately latched his arm around your neck, and you rose, staggering slightly.
“Fuck, you’re heavier than you look…” you grunted.
“Isn’t that romantic,” he quipped, turning his face away. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
“Ah, don’t worry about it,” you said. “It’s been an interesting time lately for you. And nothing says ‘getting to know a guy’ like carrying him ‘bridal style’ to the water and tossing him in… you know?”
Connor managed a weak laugh. “I knew you were a good’un when I first saw you.”
“No you didn’t,” you retorted, letting the front door slam shut behind you.
“You’re right. I just saw a good looking guy and thought I’d try and get into your pants to make me feel better. Happy now?”
“You’re not in my pants…” you pointed out, grunting again as you adjusted his weight.
“No, but I’m in your arms. That’s pretty close…” He turned serious and added, “But you deserve more than some rebound fuck… I’m… I’m sorry. For all of this.”
“I’m not,” you said. “My back might be tomorrow, but…”
Connor laughed again, and buried his face at your collarbone. “I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you somehow.”
“Let’s get you to the harbour first, and then we can talk about making up. Or out…”
His grin was broad and toothy and genuine, and it went some way to reassuring you that he’d be ok.
It was a long, hard slog to the harbour, but you made it and just pitched him over the wall so that he fell, undignified and flailing, into the harbour mouth with a disgruntled squawk that made you laugh. The splash of his landing got you all the way up the front, but you sat down on the edge of the wall as he circled a little in the water, drawing water through his parched gills, and then bobbed up at the surface again, looking sheepish.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes fixed on his hands as he floated there in front of you.
“No problem,” you replied. “Seriously. I know what it’s like to go through a rough breakup. It’s shit. You seem like a good guy, and I’m happy to be here for you. I’d like to get to know you better anyway… regardless of what…  you know… might happen down the line. Or not.”
Connor’s smile was as broad and white as it had ever been. “Thanks. I… I’m not sure I deserve that, but thanks anyway.”
“Look, I’ll let you get sorted out for now, but if you’re free tomorrow, meet me at the cove with the fossils again? You don’t have to come on legs this time either.”
He nodded, seeming surprised at your last comment. “Alright. I’ll see you there. What time?”
“Just before sunset?”
Connor nodded once more, and then disappeared in a flash of his tail as he sped away through the clear water of the harbour, out to the brackish waters of the estuary beyond the protective curve of the wall.
At sunset the following day, you had taken your shoes off and were enjoying the cool water with your jeans cuffed up when a splash further out to sea signalled the arrival of Connor. He looked brighter, healthier, and he powered up through the gentle, lapping surf and dragged his body up above the tide line to join you. “Hi,” he said, rolling onto his back and splaying his arms out at his sides like a starfish to recover his breath after the effort. “Fuck. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I’m not a complete drunken loser, I swear.”
“Like I said, I get it,” you said, standing beside him and staring out at the sun as it sank low above the horizon, heavy and as searing as a blacksmith’s coal over the water. You looked down at him then, and something began to thrum in you. You’d yet to see all of him like this, as he truly was, and he was even more beautiful than he’d been in his ‘human’ form. You hissed a soft curse to yourself, but he heard it and flashed a frown at you.
“What?”
“You’re… You’re stunning, Connor. I don’t know what your ex was thinking, but… you’re beautiful like this. Especially in this light.”
Connor blushed and looked away. Then, with a snort of laughter, he grabbed your ankle and knocked your knee out from behind you, sending you sprawling into the wet sand beside him. Your jeans soaked up the seawater instantly, and you gasped at the shock of the cold water.
He pulled you close and crushed a kiss against your lips before you had time to register it, and you found your body responding instantly. “Connor,” you panted, drawing back and finding his pupils fully dilated. “You sure you want this?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “I want you. Please…”
You ran your hands down his slender torso, to where his hips melted into the rough, pale skin of his shark-like lower half. The skin there was tough as fine sandpaper, and as you skimmed over his hips, he arched his spine and whimpered.
“Connor?”
“So good,” he mumbled. “Fuck, that’s so good.”
You lavished attention on the transition point at his hips, and he was soon a writhing, squirming wreck, left beached high above the retreating tide. His tail flopped uselessly, and his clawed fingers raked furrows in the hard, wet sand. He bucked upwards into you and you found a slit swelling and opening in his lower body. It was slick and as you guided your fingers to it, running your fingertips around the hot, silky walls of the inside, he yelped and moaned, biting his lip and swearing. “Fuck, yes, there… fuck. Fuck!”
And as you slid your fingertips further inside the slit, you found that the puffy, smooth walls hid a delightful surprise. Not one, but two cocks began to swell inside, and as you ran your finger along the slick interior, a large tentacle-like cock slid free and writhed idly in the cool, evening air. The second cock, a little smaller but equally hard and eager, slipped free a moment later, and writhed beside it.
“Well,” you said. “Isn’t that a surprise.”
Connor smirked softly and raised his hips weakly. “Please…” His cocks were leaking already, and a line of pre-come hung between them from tip to tip.
“How could you not have been enough for anyone?” you mused aloud, growing painfully hard yourself. Your cock was soon straining at your boxers, and you ached to run it between his twin cocks and feel the slickness of his heat against your body. “Can I?” you asked, and he nodded instantly.
You took both of his cocks in one hand and pumped them gently, the way you’d have taken a human’s cock in hand when just starting out, warming up and teasing. Connor tipped his head back and moaned deliciously, exposing his pale throat to you as he tried to grind his hips up into your hand, seeking more contact, more friction… more.
“Please…” he gasped a moment or two later. “Please…”
“Please what?”
“Anything, dammit,” he snarled, teeth on show. “Anything, just… it’s… it’s not enough… and… and I want to see you. Please, let me see you.”
“Just see?” you teased.
You were met with another growl and a row of white teeth.
“I’m not letting those pearly whites near my cock unless you grow some manners,” you snickered as you undressed, heedless that this was a public (if quiet) beach.
Once naked, you watched as Connor’s eyes drifted down your body to your hard cock and his pupils soared even wider. “Fuck, look at you,” he said. “You’re fucking perfect…”
“Connor, I want… I want to… but…”
“My slit…” he said. “Fuck my slit. Please. I’m slick enough…”
You needed no more encouragement.
You straddled the merman, feeling the hard, rough skin of his shark-like tail between your thighs, before you leaned over him, lowering your hard cock towards his own. His two cocks were both weeping, the tentacle-like shapes twisting in the cold air, desperately seeking out heat and contact. When they found your own, painfully hard cock, they instantly began to coil around your length, gripping you with incredible strength. They were leaking and wet, slippery and searingly hot, and you felt your balls tighten at the way they twined around you.
You swore and Connor groaned as you rocked your hips between them. His two cocks spiralled around your own gripping you so tightly it stole your breath completely. You swore, head tipping forwards over him as sparks ignited along your spine. His clawed hands found your back and he raked delicate, red lines across your skin as you rutted into him.
Your tip hit the entrance of the slit which contained his two cocks, and he cried out as you entered him.
“You want me… to stop?” you asked, breathless.
He shook his head. “Fuck no. Keep going. That’s amazing…”
You slid into him and as you did, his cocks gripped you tighter. “I’m not gonna last much longer if…” one of his cocks coiled around your balls and slid towards the cleft of your cheeks. “Oh fuck, Connor, I’m.. That’s…”
“You don’t want me to?” he managed to whisper.
“Please,” you said. “I need you…
And with your cock now buried fully in his slick sheath, and with one of his cocks wrapped tightly around your shaft, you felt his other cock slip inside you. The intrusion wasn’t as painful as you’d though it was going to be, having had no preparation, but perhaps that was because of the shape of him, and because it was the slightly smaller cock that was sinking into your ass. The tip of it nudged suddenly against your prostate and you saw white.
His other cock clenched around your own, and as he hit you again and again in that bundle of nerves, you cursed, grabbed his shoulders, bowed your head, and as that heat surged inside you, you spilled all over his chest. A second or two later, while you were still twitching and convulsing through your own release, Connor found his peak and emptied himself over his own stomach, and inside you with a wild, high yell of pleasure.
You felt his release hit you deep inside as well, and after a few seconds, it began to slide from you as his second cock softened a little.
His whole body twitched and shuddered, his eyes had rolled closed, and his chest gleamed with sweat.
Eventually he came back to you, and his tentacle-like cock unravelled from around your own and you rolled off him into the wet sand beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly and his pale skin was flushed and heated with the exertion.
Connor reached clumsily across the space between you and ran his leathery palm over your stomach and up your chest to your neck where your heartbeat pounded. Limply, he rolled onto his side and kissed your throat, raking his teeth gently over your sensitive, flushed skin. “Gods, I came so hard…”
You snorted a smile back at him and he laughed, flopping back into the sand. “What are we doing?” he murmured.
You shrugged. “I don’t know. But… I’m willing to see where it goes, if you are?”
“You mean you’re happy to fuck a fish?” he asked bitterly.
You rolled your eyes. “I just did, didn’t I?”
Connor offered you a lopsided grin and met your eyes askance. “Yeah. You did. Did you like it?”
You eyed the mess you’d both made of his torso pointedly.
Connor gave a final smile and pushed himself upright. Your combined mess slid down his front and you watched as his cocks retreated back into the sheath with slow, deliberate pulses.
He caught you watching him and blushed crimson.
“What?” you asked.
“I… Nothing,” he said, still not meeting your eye.
“You really are beautiful,” you said.
“Even like this?” he said with a deliberate flick of his tail.
You scowled and sat up too, reaching out and taking the back of his head in your hand.
His hair was wet, and he tasted of the sea, but you didn’t care.
You kissed him hard, biting his lip and making him moan and his eyes roll shut again.
When you pulled back, you practically growled, “Especially like this, Connor.”
************************************
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kaetastic · 5 years
Text
BATHTUB
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pairing: Michael Langdon X Reader
summary: After a long night, Michael decides to join you in the water; except this time, he brought a camera.
word count: 1.7k
warning: Vaginal Fingering, Top!Michael, Teasing, Bathtub Fingering, Breast play.
note: I always have the good ideas before sleeping, hence why sleep is the killer of my ideas 😪 Will re-read later + possibly edit it again. I have another Duncan X Michael X Reader smut, but classes are starting tomorrow 😭😔
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An exhausted sigh left her lips, eyes shut tight at the droopy feeling as sleep sung like a soft lullaby. The splashes of water caressing her skin felt heavenly. Head resting onto the walls of the tub, she could feel her consciousness ebbing away; draining as her battery charge blinked to rest. The gentle sizzling of the bubbles which reminded her of when she would drip water onto a hot pan floated on the surface of the warm water, seeped into her thoughts, relaxed and calmed, no worries in her head. 
Her hands that were placed onto the cold sides of the bathtub, exposed her skin to the air that was chillier than the temperature of the water she was indulging in. She dipped it in, not bothered to open her eyes as she smiled faintly, the warmth of the water engulfing her used to be shivering arm. Eddying her skin was the water, separated from the air with a sheer layer of bubbles. She focuses on the individual soothing drips of water as she pulls her arm out. She was in her own zen. 
Flickering onto her eyes were the faint illumination given off by the unscented candles (which were quite numerous) she had decided to lit, sat on the counter; the only light source to glow the dark shadows of the bathroom. Her eyes fluttered to an open when a very familiar cologne slipped through her nose, her head turning to face the door that was opened to display the strawberry locks she loved dearly.
“Enjoying, love?” He crossed his arm, pushing all his weight to lean on one of his leg, body resting on the doorframe as he sent his casual, faint smile. The view enticed him, his eyes weren’t shameful to move from her exposed shoulders to her toes that peeked out of the water. She hummed, nodding with a content smile. “Rough day?” She curtly nodded her head, a frown playing on her lips as she remembered how bad the day started; regret seeped in, wishing she could restart the day again. Corners of Michael’s lips curled down, at the shift of change of demeanour; slightly irritated at the memory that played in her head.
Tugging his leather iconic robe off (that he would wear nearly every single day to his workplace), Michael folded it in half, hotdog style and once again. The long cloak now smaller in surface area, he placed it onto the marble counter. The only clothing that covered his chest was his plain black shirt and the silk tie; the colour he described as- red like hellfire. Pulling the tie off, he placed it on the cloak. He unclasped the cuffs that encased his wrist the whole day, he shook his hand, making sure he could still move it.
Noticing the subtle stare she rested on his figure, a smirk played on his lips. Clenching his hand, veins popped out to make an appearance. A barely noticeable gasp escaped her lips, to which she silenced herself by covering with her hand. A faint blush playing on her cheeks. He twirled to face her, taking two steps before kneeling beside the bathtub, “May I join?” Caressing her cheeks with the softest touch, a shiver flew down from her face to her toes- twitching at the coldness of his metal ring. The jewel that was embedded into the accessories mirrored the shine of the candle.
Y/N nodded, a faint smile playing on her lips at his suggestion. He grinned back, displaying his pearly white teeth that twinkled- pushing himself back up, he unbuttoned the top three buttons; exposing a tease of his pale chest. Before halting his finger that was ready to unclasp the fourth, as he remembered something, “I’ll come back, darling,”
He paced out of the bathroom before she could even ask him anything, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she watched his figure fade away into the hallway. She sighed, wiggling her hips to find a colder and more comfortable spot, humming when she found the perfect area. Her arms rested on the sides of the tub, shaking her legs as a catchy melody played in her head. Soft splashing created waves to crash onto the walls.
Michael entered the bathroom once again, this time holding something... quite questionable to bring in such a setting. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, pulling herself to rest her arms to hang off one side- she darted her eyes from the electronic to the man; not able to comprehend to the random object he had brought, “Well, I feel like we should make memories...” He suggested, quirking an eyebrow to her.
“Memories? What? We’re filming porn?” She chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief, the smile that she wore for his amusing joke faded away when she noticed his stoic expression; the air absence of his laughter. His eyes bore into her, not a slight of humour or comedy put into the idea. “Oh...” She bit her bottom lips at the thought, fingers curling onto the walls of the tub.
“I know you want to relax, but trust me,” Michael placed the camera onto his clothing, gently. Wincing at the faint clash between the hard surface and the electronic. Crouching next to the bath, Y/N’s chin rested on her crossed arm, finger tapping onto the tub as his face hovered in front of hers. “This will get it off your mind.”
His soft assurance made Y/N’s stomach flutter with butterflies, “I trust you Michael, but... I’m just-“ Before she could finish her sentence, he cut her off with his thumb caressing her lips that were left gaping open.
“Don’t. There’s no need to doubt yourself,” Michael assured, his warm thumb brushing her bottom lips, pulling it down gently. Which slipped into her warm cavern of a mouth, his eyes trained on his thumb; not moving it away as she continued to swirl her tongue around his finger, the tingly feeling flew from his fingers to his toes. A shudder nearly passing his body. Giving kitten licks on the underside of the thumb, she made sure to have a slow and languid pace. Hollowing her cheeks, she pulled away from the thumb with a ‘pop’. Wearing a proud smile as the bridge of saliva crack, landing onto the tile floor. “Fuck,” Michael groans, pushing himself off the floor, fingers unbuttoning the buttons; sighing in anger when it didn’t work out- his fingers on fire at the friction. Tugging his cotton shirt, the stubborn buttons flew with a clash, it drums onto the ground before resting still.
He was quick to remove the belt but once his eyes landed on the camera, he abandoned the task of tugging the belt off- now focused on starting the electronic up. Biting her bottom lip, she watches as the pants he wore did his legs justice, her eyes trailing down from his exposed shoulders to his butt. Michael smirked, glancing at the mirror to send her a smirk, knowing she was staring at him before continuing to start the Canon G7X.
Finally, he sighed in relief as he flipped the camera so they could see the display of his lover in the bubble bath. Excitement roared in her, somewhat ready for this. Angling it to face down, he smiled proudly when it captured her more- rather than her hair and head. As soon as he was happy with the setup, he tugged all his clothing off, not wanting to waste a second. She watched as he performed a show for her, her eyes stuck to focus on the semi-hard shaft that was suffocated in the confinement of his boxers. He pulled it down, her breathing hitched at the sight of his cock hardening as it was exposed to the air.
His fingers curled around his throbbing shaft, pumping it with a slow pace, his head thrown back as he imagines it was her hands around him. But he had to stop himself or he would have just undone himself there and then. Pressing the record button, the screen flashed, a sign of readying. Y/N shifted to the front as a sharp crash echoed through the room- his luxurious rings making contact with the hard counter; making space for him at the back; she leans her body forward, hair bulging as she feels the soft caress of his skin against her own. 
The warm water hugged the couple, the tip of Michael’s hair, that was curled in the morning untwirled to create soft waves; barely brushing against the water. Erotic moans left her lips with her eyes shut tight from the pleasure rippling throughout her body, biting her lips as she arched her back. His hands cup her breasts, fiddling with the nipples that were erect, displaying into the air, ready for him to indulge in. Swirling the erected but between his fingers, he watched as she writhes under him- but every time she would move, she would rub into his dick that started to harden.
Wrapping his hands around her thighs, he placed each on the sides of the tub, making her leg open- displaying her bubbles covered pussy for the camera. She clenched the tub, head thrown back to rest on his shoulder as he rubbed her folds with his index and middle fingers- spreading it open for the camera. 
A breathless moan left her lips as he slipped in his middle finger into her, with no problem- thanks to the lubrication of the water. He stopped until it reached his knuckles, curling his finger, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he inserted another digit, adding thickness to before. The palm of his hands rubbed against her clit, she bucked her hips for more friction. He chuckled into her ear, the heat from his breathing warmed her ear. 
Almost like a teasing manner, he didn’t move his fingers, leaving it to be warmed in her; loving the way her walls would clench around his fingers. Only sheer movements of curling to push her to the edge. Her lips smacked, open- ready to utter something but all of it blurred to a clash as he glided a third finger, thrusting into her without warning. His ruthless pace left her breathless, mouth gaped open to let out intermittent gasps as he continued to pump in and out of her, palming her sensitive clit; he wore a smirk as she jerked her hips and grinded against his hand. And with few more thrusts and the strings of his name snapped as the last stroke of his fingers against her wall, she felt herself undone when the spark in her core zapped through her body.
“I need to be in you, now.”
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Covid-19 Update
Due to the quarantine situation I will be making some tweaks to my graded unit plan.
Updated Equipment
Olympus OM-D
Olympus 12mm lens
Instead of shooting film I make the decision to shoot digital and send away for prints, as I don’t have access to the college facilities to develop film and print myself. Although I would like to keep all the images in black and white, with a slightly over-edited look to hopefully emphasise the mood and my own response to the situation we find ourselves in.
Subject Change
I will be shooting a similar subject with the same style, just focusing more on how the quarantine is effecting people with the social distancing, people wearing masks perhaps in shops. I would also like to add some self portraits of myself showing how it is effecting myself and photograph some closed businesses. I feel strongly about what I want to photograph as it is a once in a lifetime experience and would love to take my shot at capturing it how I see it. Overall I want to produce a series of documentary images.
I have added some new research images to give a better idea of what I wish to achieve.
Research Images
Unknown
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The implication in this image is very strong, with the troubled woman hurrying to perhaps travel home which is suggested by the luggage. The simple framing is very effective with the subject being slightly off centred, coupled with the harsh lighting casting a shadow almost chasing the woman.
Unknown
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The perspective in this image is a powerful statement which suggests the people cannot leave their drawn circle, with their shadows almost staying within the lines. The bored posture of the people shows their patient disposition in these times. I am inspired by this image in particular and would like to photograph something like similar in my own way.
Jamie Harmon
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This is from a series of images of Jamie Harmon’s quarantine photographs while are of people behind their household windows. This image is really compelling as it reminds me of something we are starting to see, people visiting friends and family communicating through windows to prevent spreading covid. The person behind is on their phone, probably scrolling endlessly, suggesting they are quarantined further spreading the message to stay home but showing the boredom we face.
Travis Wise
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Again the lengths we have to go to are portrayed in this image through the closed shop and the subtle use of symmetry with the trolleys blocking the doors. The composition is really closed off with nothing in frame we don’t need to see. 
These images are pretty diverse but all fall under the same theme of documentary. I would like to produce such a variety of images which I understand will be challenging but I am excited to start shooting and have lots of ideas.
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