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koboldsoul · 4 years ago

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a new little day within my hand

this was supposed to be for sg week but I’m bad at finishing things period, much less on time. in any case, we get to have some indulgent h/c between our two emotionally constipated wizards. as a treat. special thanks to @strwpup for betaing! 4585 words, shadowgast, gen, ao3

“I have more of Caduceus’ mixture,” Essek said from the doorway, the little ceramic pot in his hands testament to the words. Caleb nodded his assent to a question that had not been asked.

“Ja,” he said aloud, rather unnecessarily. The hoarseness was new, but welcome: for two days after that final, awful battle, he hadn’t been able to speak at all. Maybe he was still relishing the ability to coax sound from a shredded throat. “Thank you.”

That seemed all Essek needed to be confident in his approach, and this, too, was new. Since reuniting in Eiselcross, mutual hard worry had softened into gentle concern somewhere along the course of relearning their dynamic, and though Caleb had warmed at the change, there was no telling what had inspired it.

In any case, Essek settled beside Caleb on the low settee without apprehension, and removed the lid from the little pot. A week into his recovery, Caleb no longer flinched at the sharp smell of herbs; now, as Essek took his battered hands and carefully unwrapped the bandages, there was a comfort—nearly a sweetness—to both the touch and the scent.

Caleb’s hands immediately began to tremble without their wrappings, the tendons flexing in uncontrollable spasms. Time had yet to complete its work on their appearance, either: to Caleb’s eyes, they seemed a stranger’s, warped and scarred beyond what his past teachers (the archmage, the streets, the call of adventure) had managed on their own. There were many things he used to know like the back of his hand—they were a mystery, now, and the limbs themselves unrecognizable.

He glanced at Essek’s face instead of contemplating that further. His impeccable recall wouldn’t let him forget what his ravaged flesh looked like, anyways, and he would much rather commit to memory the dusting of silver across the bridge of the drow’s nose and the sharp angle of his cheeks, a shade darker than the platinum of his lashes and hair. His brows, knit together in concentration, matched.

They were seated close enough that Caleb could feel the puff of air from Essek’s soft sigh. It accompanied a flash of hurt in his eyes, something vulnerable and sad, when he brought Caleb’s exposed fingers up for inspection. “Your hands look…” He trailed off, apparently searching for the words. Caleb was not sure what would hurt most, what would ache best—there were no words for the destruction he had wrought on his one infallible tool. “...better,” Essek eventually decided, and got to work applying the salve.

Caleb could argue, but it was true enough. Each day of intensive healing, of careful application of potions and poultices and therapy, had made them more closely resemble what he remembered. Neither cleric was sure if they would ever be the same, though Veth was—as always—recklessly optimistic, promising he’d be back in fighting form in no time. Sometimes it chafed, the hope. It burned and blinded the same as any raw magic.

“Any sensation, yet?” Essek asked, voice low.

Caleb watched the salve spread over his skin and imagined it cool and smooth, faintly tingling as was typical of many of Caduceus’ blends, but...he shook his head. “Nothing,” he rasped, and tried not to let the terror behind the admission show on his face.

He must not have been able to keep it out of his voice, however, for Essek paused in his application to shoot him a look of concern. Why he had elected to oversee Caleb’s treatment when he was not well-versed in the healing arts—and moreover, why Caleb preferred his fellow wizard in the role as opposed to another, better-suited member of the Nein—was still something of a puzzle to them both.

Perhaps it was reassuring to be tended by someone who understood, better than anyone else, that a wizard’s hands were his life. Perhaps—and this was a notion Caleb loathed to put words to—he simply enjoyed Essek’s company, the practiced motion of his fingers. Or perhaps Caleb was simply a coward, and could not bear to look the Nein in the eyes, not after what he had done to ensure they all returned to the Material Plane alive.

Saved us, Veth had said. Scared us, Beau had said. Really done a number on yourself, Caduceus had said, and Jester: Protected us, so now it’s our turn to protect you for a little bit, okay?

Caleb knew they meant well, and a part of him longed for their companionship and their care; the rest of him, however, could not bear to see them, or to be seen. Because...for a little bit was optimistic. For a little bit implied a promising prognosis. For a little bit was not—was not what was in the cards for a scholar who could not write, an adventurer who could not fight, a mage who could not cast.

But even after a week alone with these thoughts, Caleb was hardly about to articulate this to himself, much less say this to his friends. So he let Essek finish his treatment in silence, patiently massaging the salve into each hand and working them through stretches that Caleb could not feel. When he was done, they simply sat, hand in hand. Breathing. Thinking.

Essek cleared his throat and absentmindedly rubbed some circles into Caleb’s ruined palms. “I…” he started, trailing off, and Caleb tensed; these treatment sessions were not habitually accompanied by conversation. “I understand, how...how difficult this must be—”

“Difficult?” Caleb repeated, the consonants catching in his throat so sharply he had to bite back a cough. He knew he was meant to be resting his voice, but although there was no vocabulary to describe his present circumstance, not in a way that captured it faithfully, difficult was so woefully inadequate that reticence was out of the question.

“Essek,” he went on incredulously, “I—I cannot do anything like this—write! Eat! Dress, even. I can’t cast or light matches or turn doorknobs or—anything. Without my hands, what am I supposed to—how do I—” It was too many words at once, and he tugged his hands out of Essek’s grip to muffle a round of coughs with his arm. When his eyes watered, he blamed it on the discomfort and could only hope that his nurse also ascribed the symptom thus.

Essek remained quiet through the outburst and fit alike, but out of patience or unease, Caleb did not know. Palm-up and empty, his hands rested loose and...forlorn, almost, in his lap. Oily residue from the salve gleamed in the lantern-light, gold on the dark of his skin.

Lanterns, for once. Lanterns—because Caleb could not muster the dexterity for even a simple cantrip he had learned to cast at six years old. His eyes continued to burn even when the fit passed. His throat remained tight.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.” Essek addressed their knees, knocking together on the narrow couch, but the unexpected honesty still hit Caleb full in the face. Uncertainty, Essek had once said, was the surest way to lose one’s footing in the court, and though his time with the Nein had given him ample opportunity to labor at vulnerability, it seemed to Caleb that developing the habit was a glacial process. “You are...such a gifted mage, and I—”

He broke off again, but Caleb had nothing to add. Was, he might have corrected, but the past tense would have grated like broken glass, and he choked it back with the tears.

“I cannot begin to imagine,” Essek said at last, studying his own hands, flexing his fingers and rubbing at his palm with the pad of his thumb, “how it would feel to lose my own hands. How...terribly feeble, and exposed, and...and useless I would suppose I seemed to others.”

Caleb scoffed to cover up his sniffle, and turned his head away and down so that he wouldn’t have to see the pity in Essek’s eyes when the drow inevitably looked up to meet his gaze again. “Ja,” he said, harsh and bitter, “you have the right of it.”

“But,” Essek went on, louder, more firmly, “I am not any of those things, and neither are you, do you hear me, Widogast?”

Essek might have thought this a kindness, these trite words, but all they did was sour the hopeless feeling in Caleb’s chest. It was heavy enough on its own without the gall of false affirmations.

“Like this, I can open a locked door, blur my form, and cross a space, and that is all,” Caleb said, and the rasp only made him sound angrier. He had catalogued his spells over and over again, every morning and evening, mentally flipping through the books whose pages he could no longer physically turn.

“That is all,” he repeated, and it was wet where he wanted scorching. Fire was familiar. Anger was easy, and burned better than sorrow. “That is the extent of my ability without my hands, you understand? I cannot protect them this way. I cannot—I cannot even summon a place for them to stay, a place for us to regroup while they plan around my...my inability to—”

“They don’t keep you merely for your ability to—”

“I know!” Caleb burst out, and there were tears falling in earnest now, landing on his useless, scarred-up hands and leaving dark splotches on the blanket over his legs, left there lovingly by Veth some hours ago. “I know. But I...I need this, Essek. You have to know this. You know this better than anyone else I have ever met.”

Essek did not do him the disservice of trying to argue. “I...I do.”

“If I don’t…” Caleb dashed uselessly at his eyes, and it was clumsy and humiliating the way he couldn’t feel what he was doing, the heel of his hand catching on his nose before he could reach his cheek to brush away evidence of at least this one failing.

Foolish, this attempt at subterfuge. As if he were without an audience. As if Essek had not already seen him at his lowest. As if crying like a child was the only sign that things were terribly, terribly wrong.

“If I don’t recover, all I can do is get them killed.”

“Do you regret it, then?”

That brought Caleb up short. He abandoned his attempts to scrub his face dry. “Was?”

“You could have let go,” Essek explained, kindly, as if this weren’t the most obvious thing in the world. “As soon as you felt the magic begin to burn, you could have let go. Let the gate close. If you could go back—do it over—would you have let go?”

“You know I wouldn’t have.” He said it softly, like a dirty secret, even though it was insultingly self-evident. The alternative—it didn’t bear even considering.

Essek nodded, and when Caleb turned his head away—tried to escape some of the intensity in Essek’s gaze—the drow dropped to his knees on the rough wood floor, equally unyielding. “You weighed the risk,” he agreed, and insisted, “and you chose their lives over—” Essek bit his lip, one sharp canine peeking out as he laced his fingers, folded his hands in front of him. “Well. You...you have to understand what you—what I—what...what it looked like to...to watch.”

Caleb could only imagine. The gate had resisted his touch with violent intent, endlessly fed by a wellspring of terrible, raw planar magic. He remembered...pain. Remembered the iron conviction that his friends—the Nein—his family—needed more time. He remembered...counting out the seconds, holding the gate open with his bare hands, even as his skin bubbled and melted and his nerves weathered the assault of surging magic, waves whipping the Weave about with the furious abandon of a storming sea, and the burn burn burn of power—too much, not enough, everywhere.

He didn’t remember screaming, but by the state of his voice afterwards, he must have. He didn’t remember Veth and Jester making it out, though they must have—they were here, safe. He certainly didn’t remember passing out, but that must have happened, too. So no, he supposed he did not fully know what his suffering must have looked like to an outsider, but...

He chuckled entirely without humor. “I assure you it felt worse.”

Essek nodded. “I don’t doubt that,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt that. And you knew, if not before, then certainly very quickly after, what was at stake. Am I wrong?”

He was not. Caleb didn’t need to say the words aloud for Essek to know.

Shoulders slumping, Essek settled on his heels and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “And you would do it again,” he said. “Even knowing you might never cast again, even if it cost you the magic you love, the alternative...that price would have been too steep, and no one would disagree with you on that. Caleb,” Essek said, leaning forward and taking his face between his hands, brushing away frustrated, shameful tears with his thumbs, “they both would have died. Veth, Jester—neither of them would have made it out.”

Instinctively, Caleb’s hands came up to take Essek’s wrists—not to tug them away, but just to hold—but he could neither feel them nor sufficiently flex his fingers for a satisfactory grip. It was the final straw.

“I know,” Caleb said, voice cracking along with what remained of his composure, and he did not fight when Essek pulled him down into an embrace.

This, too, was new, and—Caleb hesitated to call it good, because touch had always been a fraught thing between them. There were so few touches they had ever shared without pretense, but...he did not have the energy for pretense now. He didn’t even know what agenda he would be pushing if he had.

Numbness in his hands aside, every other inch of skin seemed abruptly hyper-sensitive, and Caleb rattled apart in Essek’s hold, blind and trembling. Careful fingers found their way into his hair, gently guided his head into the crook of a neck, encouraged his hands into the tiny gap between their chests as arms tightened about his shoulders. Claustrophobia warred with the awful certainty that he would shatter without this grounding pressure to hold his pieces together.

It had been a long, long time since Caleb had cried with such abandon. He had tipped past some long-forgotten (or long-buried) threshold, found himself drowning in the great whelm of fear—grief—fury—relief—and knew, suddenly, that this was why it was always Essek who insisted on treating Caleb’s injured hands, who never suggested Caleb accept help from one of the clerics. That Essek had been patiently anticipating this—and had wanted to spare Caleb the anguish of losing control in front of the others.

Trust was a complicated thing, and this was not trust so much as it was understanding. Essek was not safe in this sense, but—he was a place free of condemnation. Hypocrites they were, both, but playing at judgment was a thing of the past, and despite the uncertainty, the still-healing rift, they had both silently agreed to turn their eyes towards the future.

And so Caleb sobbed like a child and ignored the many warring voices inside of him that by turns berated and applauded him for this show of weakness. All the while, hands that had rent reality, started wars, plucked at the threads of fate like the taut strings of a harp—these hands cradled him like something precious. Comfort and protection in one.

There were no words for this, not even those that could be expressed in touch. If Essek tried to speak, Caleb could not hear him over the blood roaring in his ears, the hiccuping gasps and involuntary wails coming out of his own mouth. If any of them resolved themselves into intelligible speech, he had no inkling of what he was trying to say.

He had saved his friends, yes, and in so doing had damned himself beyond the point of no return.

It was a long time before the shaking stopped, and when it did, Caleb slumped, exhausted. He ached from his knees to his sinuses, scooped out and hollow. He was warm here, tucked up against Essek’s chest, and stooped—Essek was slightly shorter than him—but Essek’s fingers were cool where they rested against the back of his neck.

Embarrassment quickly rushed in to fill the empty space left behind by this great purge of emotion. Though it tested what little reserves of energy Caleb had left, he tensed. Essek’s grip tightened in response, and faintly, over the sound of his own rattling breaths, Caleb heard him whisper shh, shh, shh.

This is alright, he seemed to say. This is alright for a little while. And Caleb did not have the wherewithal to argue, so he curled in tighter and resolutely did not think about the arms wrapped around his torso.

“Let me teach you something,” Essek murmured into his hair after some time. “Something new.”

The words were difficult to find, and when they came, they were rough. “How would that work?”

“We will start small.” Essek pulled away—Caleb mourned the contact briefly, though the relief of being able to breathe freely again washed over him in a confused wave with his release—but only to resituate at Caleb’s side and stretch his right arm out over Caleb’s, his left underneath. Caleb’s palm, he sandwiched between both of his hands. “You will remember if I show you, I have no doubt, but...this is better.”

Wish I could feel it, Caleb thought, absurdly, but that was fruitless thinking. Wish I could feel you was even more sincere, but that was a step too far. “What does it do?”

“Does it matter?” Essek asked, and Caleb supposed it didn’t.

For several long minutes, Essek manipulated Caleb’s shaking hands and useless fingers into careful shapes, puppeting him through a series of somatic gestures that he narrated in a soft voice directly into Caleb’s ear.

Fingers curled, wrists twisted. Over and over again, they formed poetry in angles and strokes, some of the elements—the careful geometry—familiar from past lessons in the dunamantic arts. Their hands blurred together, deep blue-gray-purple and angry red-pink-white, exhaustion or the lingering burn of tears painting their shapes with a singular uniformity.

Perfect memory had Caleb anticipating each movement by the second sequence, and it felt good—even satisfying—to trace out the gross motor elements with his arms, though he could only watch the finer motions take shape. He was putty, malleable clay. And then...Essek’s ministrations stuttered, an uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Did you just—” Essek cut himself off. As if trying to forget the moment entirely, he made as if to finish the sequence. It was slower, though, and sloppier, and no sooner had he completed the final flick than he seemed to reconsider. “I thought I…” he started, faltering. “Did you…?”

“Do it again,” Caleb whispered. Seven times Essek had gone through the motions, and on the last...Caleb could hardly dare hope, knew he was likely imagining things, but…for a split second, maybe…

They traced the rune on the air together. Essek tugged Caleb’s pointer finger in, extended the outer three. Brushed them through imaginary gossamer, lack of intent unable to bring them in proper contact with the Weave, and then—a simple thumb stroke. But Essek’s gentle grip was just a split-second behind the movement of Caleb’s thumb against the outside of his index finger.

Neither of them spoke. Bringing it to light, giving voice to it—it was not up to them to tempt fate in this manner. They only sought out fate with intent to control it, and this was too fragile a thing.

But Caleb could hear the tension in every inhale-exhale. Excitement—curiosity—very nearly hope—was in the very air they breathed. There was no sensation in his hands, but the frisson of thrill was an illusion of lightning arcing down his arm, making the hairs stand on end and...and easing the tremble in his fingers.

They repeated the somatic component one final time, but Essek did not let go of his hand. He laced their fingers together and let both fall to Caleb’s lap. “Now with the material component?” he suggested, and it was the most tentative sort of excitement Caleb thought he had ever heard from the man. Essek was a reserved individual, yes, but his anticipation had never been a frail thing.

“What is it?”

In lieu of answering, Essek freed one hand from their tangle and reached back. Caleb heard the jingle of metal and precious stone, much closer to his ear than he’d expected and—he craned his neck, curious.

“Ah,” Essek said, and just as he managed to free one piece of jewelry from his left ear, he said, “any crystal will do, though of course quality can, ah, affect the spell’s potency. Not in the shape standard for this particular spell, but it will do in a pinch.”

And how like a mage to ensure he was never without his tools of trade. How like Essek to ensure that his components were both beautiful and quick to hand. They were both ever-practical, but where Caleb’s pragmatism was, by necessity, ruthless, Essek’s had always been a touch elegant.

“Between your third and fourth fingers,” Essek instructed softly, and demonstrated himself. The stone shimmered between his knuckles, and when he twisted his hand, it caught the lantern-light and flashed like a tongue of flame. “Here.”

Essek slipped the gem into place—Caleb dutifully raised his arm to an appropriate casting height—and used both hands to mold Caleb’s into proper formation.

“I’ll drop it,” Caleb warned, as Essek went to release his fingers in order to begin guiding him once more through the somatic sequence.

“You won’t,” Essek replied, and it even sounded sincere. “We will...we will go slow. All you need to do is hold on.”

And wasn’t that always the case? Wasn’t that how Caleb had gotten here in the first place, what he had told himself as he counted down the seconds through a haze of pain? All you need to do is hold on.

He took a deep breath in. Held it.

Hold on.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see the edge of Essek’s profile. His chin rested lightly on Caleb’s shoulder. His cheek brushed Caleb’s jaw.

We will go slow.

Caleb thought about dancing, and circling, and spiraling inevitably towards gravity’s center until you were close enough to walk hand in hand. He was human; he was not accustomed to going slow. Essek, with his elven lifespan and his particular expertise in the arcane, had so much more time at his disposal—

And he had chosen to spend it here. With Caleb. All you need to do is hold on.

Caleb breathed out, focused hard, and steeled his will. “Ja, okay. I can...I can do that.” He felt Essek nod, then heard his verbal acknowledgement.

“Just hold on,” Essek said again, and Caleb did. He honed in on the crystal between his fingers, bid his deadened nerves and healing muscle to bend to his will. And when Essek let go, left the gem entirely at the mercy of gravity and Caleb’s grip, it—it shook in his grasp, but it didn’t clatter to the floor.

The sharp laugh that Caleb barked out startled them both, but the sheer delight—sunlight breaking through clouds, the first POP of a corn kernel in the pot, the last term slotting into place to make a formula work—could not be contained to his chest. How ridiculous to be so pleased by so simple an act, and yet—

Essek let out a disbelieving chuckle that quickly gave way to several more in succession before devolving into a full bout of giggles that he tried and failed to muffle in the crook of Caleb’s neck. Had Caleb been wearing his scarf, the sound might have found some measure of cover, but clad as he was in clothing for sleep, each giddy exhale was a spark against his skin and deafening in his ears. Infectious.

They did not manage even half the somatic sequence with the crystal in hand—it fell to the ground when Caleb curled his arms over his aching abdomen, quaking with hysterics—but he had not laughed like this in...in...he did not know how long. He was wrung out. There was nothing in him left to dampen the hilarity of it, to absorb the heady, intoxicating spread of this great wildfire feeling.

Was this it? Was this the tipping point? Where the simple act of holding a stone between two fingers was enough to promote wonder? Had he finally cracked entirely, gone over the edge?

(Maybe. Maybe. But was that so awful? Especially when it might be enough, too, to send them both over a different edge entirely?)

Briefly, Caleb considered the fact that this small victory was no indication that things would truly improve, that the future held anything more than the tragedy of a slow and incomplete recovery, but nevertheless...he laughed. It was something. It was something. Hearing his voice and Essek’s mingling—wordless mirth—and reveling in a shared moment over a personal triumph...it was something.

When the laughter died, Caleb became aware that they were leaning solidly against one another, foreheads pressed together and Essek’s nose brushing his cheek as they both recovered their breath. Joy—the first he had felt in weeks—faded to simple hope, but that was no small thing. It ached, still, but...not quite as unbearably as before.

“What is the incantation?” Caleb panted, drunk on the feeling of it.

“Ah, it is—” Essek cleared his throat. “Gyllenek’eroth zere. Be careful not to—ah, to agitate your throat. Repeat it...repeat it slowly. You should feel it, ah, here.” And so saying, he pressed his fingers to the vulnerable skin under Caleb’s jaw, just to the outside of his jugular. It should have been a viscerally distressing sensation, intrusive at best, and though it certainly wasn’t what Caleb would call comfortable, he found he didn’t mind.

“Gyllenek’eroth...zere,” Caleb repeated. With Essek’s hand there, he was keenly aware of the vibrations of the rumbling consonants.

“Nearly,” Essek whispered, breathless. “Again. Slower.”

Letting his eyes fall shut, Caleb complied. “Gyllenek...eroth...zere.”

“Again?”

He repeated the incantation, softer. Then again, even softer, tilting his head. They both sighed when their noses brushed, when Essek’s hand slid around the back of Caleb’s neck. Once more—carefully enunciated—Caleb murmured the incantation, and felt the warmth of his own air against his lips. It would be a matter of millimeters to press their mouths together.

“Is this okay?” he breathed, and wondered how many steps were left in this dance.

He felt Essek’s answer, a breath against his skin, before he heard it. “Your pronunciation is perfect.”

Just a few more steps, then. “Okay.”

“Once more?” Essek asked, and Caleb was braver with his eyes closed.

He whispered the incantation into Essek’s mouth and swallowed the gasping reply.

#critical role #cr fic #critfic #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #shadowgast #so I started writing this early in the aeor arc before we had any idea what the final battle was gonna look like so uh #ya girl was speculating and wringing every ounce of h/c potential from the complete lack of limitations as she could #so here there be vague references to events that didn't actually happen BUT it was my excuse to write wizardly intimacy #which I now realize might be becoming my brand :|#whelp nothing for it I suppose #my fic #fun fact the spell essek is teaching caleb here is reality break #why? it's the only dunamancy spell with components that worked for the scene I had in mind 😂😂#L E T T H E W I Z A R D S T A L K

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kaepop-trash · 4 years ago

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IM SHOOK? SHAKEN? CHANGED??:&:9 PUSH AND PULL IS SO GOOD??:&:@; AAAA. I LOVE YOUR WORK.. LITERALLY OBSESSED ... i was wondering if it had a part 2 BUT THE CLIFF HANGER .. GOD INSANITY.. UR SUCH A GOOD WRITER AAAAA

There was a time when I had considered writing another part for it, but truly there was just one scene I really wanted to write. When I saw this, I felt compelled to write it. Consider it an apology for the cliff hanger I left the fic on. Not that this is any better.

I was intrigued by this dynamic when I wrote this fic and I continue to be even now. So consider this more self-gratification than anything else. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it.

Tw: unhealthy relationship dynamic, hints of obsession and violence if you squint.

This was strange. She was allowed to think that. The restaurant was a good one, she was dressed as well as she always was.

Kim Doyoung was in a white shirt and dark jeans. His eyes were focused on the menu in his hand, brows stitch together in concentration. The other hand ran through his hair, an honest effort to push it out of his face. But it was long and fell over his eyes just as soon as he let it go, the only difference being a few strands that stuck up.

She looked down at her fingers, nails now cleaned of the blood from his scalp. He had very soft hair too, she could remember the feel of it against her palm. She could remember the other parts too.

"Have you decided what you want?" His voice made her look up. He was watching her with careful calculation, the gaze of a panther assessing his prey. He was a fool to think she wasn't herself a predator.

"Sure." She slapped the menu close, the sound sudden and loud.

He just nodded, "Okay." His eyes coloured with amusement. She clenched her fist tight, impatient and irritated. "Are you usually this quiet?" He sat back in his seat.

"I speak when I want to, Mr. Kim." Her voice was curt.

He gave her a heinous smirk, "I had my tongue in your cunt, (Y/N). You can call me Doyoung." He reached for his glass of water.

His words made her shift in her chair. Her body reacting against her will was what made the last thread of courtesy snap.

"Other people have done more than that. Physical intimacy isn't grounds for familiarity, not with me." She settled back into her chair. When his jaw flexed, she smiled. At least now they were both annoyed.

"What is grounds for familiarity with you?" His voice was sharper, gaze narrower.

"Why do you care, Mr. Kim?" She snapped. "I'm not interested in being familiar with you."

"Why not?" He furrowed his brows.

"I'm not interested in being familiar with anyone." It was the first honest thing she'd spoken in a while.

"Scared?" He looked intrigued.

"Indifferent." Her frown twisted further.

He hummed, considering her words. "I could make a compelling case."

"It would be a wasted effort. I'm sure you'll find someone more suited to your demands elsewhere." She reached for her glass of water, confused and displeased by the way this was going.

Yet a part of her clawed with intrigue, wanting to know why he was seemingly undeterred. It stopped her from walking out the door, "Can we order?" She questioned. He gave her an unbothered smile, nodding in answer. She wanted to pry open his skull if it told her what he was thinking.

"I don't understand why you're being so persistent. I'm not trying to be coy, I'm not interested in anything beyond sex." She told him once the waiter left with their orders.

"We can have sex." He said it like it was a consolation prize, one he only considered in hindsight.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "What do you want, Doyoung?"

He licked his lips, eyes grazing the skin over the low neckline of her dress. "I started a painting the night I first met you. I haven't painted anything in three years." His eyes glazed over at that, clearly not present at the table anymore. "The second time I met you, the image became clearer, I could picture the colours of it." His eyes focused again, honing in on her. Her stomach flipped. "Last night I thought of a different painting I will paint after this." He gave her a look of conviction, "I must get to know you better." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not keen on being used." She brushed it off.

"Being somebody's muse is a privilege, (Y/N)." His tone flares with offense, "It's being immortalised in memory. I want to capture you in between my brushes and commit you to canvas. I want to make you art." He frowned at her, confused by the rejection.

"Privilege?" She laughed, the sound light and melodious. "It sounds to me like I'm the one doing you a favour. It's your privilege, Mr. Kim." She laughed a little more.

"I don't care what you think." His words didn't match the look on his face, "I haven't had inspiration in years. I'm losing my touch. If I don't create, I cease to be." Anger seeped into his eyes, burning bright red.

She sat back in her chair, "What do I get in return?" She couldn't believe that she was actually considering it.

"What do you want, (Y/N)? Other than an artist's devotion."

She scoffed at his words, "Let me display your art. Anywhere, anytime. If you want to use me, I want to be the only person who gets to use your paintings." She saw the gears grinding in his head at her words.

While it would be a good deal to have, a part of her was sure he'd never agree to it. She knew his reputation. Kim Doyoung did not like sharing what was his.

"Fine." It was his lack of hesitation that caught her off-guard. “But I have a single condition instead. It’s not up for argument.”

She nodded, the possibility of having the exclusive right to display the art of one of the most coveted artists alive worth anything he could demand. He smiled like he was aware of that.

“I want you to myself. No other people.” His eyes bore into her, his gaze the most intense thing about his presence. She clenched her fist so tight that her nails dug into the skin, her palm stinging.

She wanted to slap him.

The demand was a clear sign of control over her. She knew artists, knew the extent of their obsessions. She also knew they tended to fade fast.

“Alright, Doyoung.” She bit her lip. “Have your way with me.” Despite herself, she felt her chest stir at her own words.

He flicked the light on, the large empty space illuminated with harsh white light. She looked around, the studio mostly empty save for a single canvas that rested against the wall. The smell of paint thinner in the air told her that he had been at it recently. Doyoung stood by the door as she walked towards the piece, the click of her heels echoing in the space.

The canvas was a messy blend of colours: red, orange and white. In the centre of ot sat the outline of a couch. “This is what you made?” She questioned, the perceptive eye of someone acquainted with art observing every detail.

“Don’t like it?” He spoke from across the room.

She focused on the blend of colours; despite the bold mix of red and orange, it was the white strokes that felt aggressive. “It’s confusing.” She shifted her weight between her feet.

She heard his footsteps approach her, “Have you ever felt rage, (Y/N)? Blinding rage that you cannot control? Only channel?” His words bounced off the walls.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve your rage.” Her voice was softer.

“You seduced me, (Y/N).” His footsteps stopped short of her heel. “You were using every dirty trick one could do it. And you were so blatant about it.” He groaned.

Her lips tugged, “I’m known to go after what I like in the moment.” She swallowed.

“You’re shameless.” He spat the word like an insult. She clenched her jaw, “And it makes me furious that I can’t stop thinking about you.” There was a crack in his calm voice, it made her breath falter for a second.

“You aren’t the first." She scoffed, "You don’t have to be hard on yourself, I know what I’m doing. Your reaction is to be expected.” She tried to keep her voice level, not giving him the priviledge of seeing her own rage. Rage was an admittance of effect and she would not let him see his effect on her.

She gasped when his finger brushed up her thigh. “You don’t know anything about me." He mumbled, still maintaining the last few inches of distance. "I don’t play games, I don’t collect conquests.”

She laughed, her head falling back. He took a step closer, pushing her head to the side to brush his lips over her neck. “I know people, Doyoung. I especially know men. You want to believe you’re complex,” He bit down on the smooth skin, she moaned. “But lust is never complicated. It’s deceptively simple. You’re currently playing a game with me, one you want to win. You just don’t know it, which is your loss because you don’t have a prize in mind.” He licked the skin he just ruined, purring into her throat. He bit down the same place again, harder. She whimpered.

“I know my prize.” His nose brushed up her jaw, his breath heating her skin.

“I’m not a trophy to be acquired.” She took a step back, pressing into his chest.

Doyoung sighed, hand reaching around and tugging on her waist, “Who said I was talking about you?”

She clenched her jaw. “What is it you hope to win then?” His hand brushed up and grabbed her jaw, tilting her head back further.

“Let me show you.” His lips brushed against her cheeks. He gathered her dress in his hands, hitching it higher. “Lift your arms.” He whispered. When she did, he pulled the material off.

His fingers made quick work of the rest of her garments. Once she was completely bare, he turned her around. His smile was deceptively gentle, “Do you enjoy being a whore, (Y/N)?” He took a step back, looking her over with detached scrutiny.

“Very much so.” She stepped out of her underwear. When he looked up with a sharp gaze, it was her turn to give him a sweet smile.

“Will you enjoy being my whore?” He brushed his index finger on his lips. Soft, pretty lips that she made a note to destroy.

“That is to be seen.” She breathed out.

He smiled wide, pointing behind him. “Sit on that sheet.”

She gave him a skeptical look. When he added no further explanation, she did what she was told. She walked up to the large white cloth that lay flat on the floor, ready for whatever he had planned. She bent over, deliberately slow, and took her heels off. Walking over to the centre of the sheet and sitting down, bringing her knees up to her chest. She sat patiently.

“Such a pretty picture you make.” He hummed, walking over to a table littered with paint and brushes. He picked up a few bottles, coming up to stand in front of her. Her heart beat so fast with anticipation that she was certain it was echoing against the walls.

He kneeled in front of her, “Give me your palms.” His eyes stayed on her face, his voice still dispassionate. She lifted her hands and laid them out for him. When he looked down at them, she glanced at his features. Without his dark gaze, his face looked almost delicate. She felt thick liquid on her palm, looking down to see him squeeze blue and green paint on each palm.

He looked up when he finished, “Lust isn’t simple. It’s like being on fire one second and being drowned the next. Put your hands behind you and lean back.” She took in an unsteady breath, sitting back.

The paint squished between her palm when she pressed them on the sheet, coming out from between her fingers. He sat back, unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes didn’t leave hers the entire time.

“Which one of us will drown?” She breathed out, words mixed with soft pants.

He unbuckled his belt, smirking when she squeezed her legs. “That is to be seen.” He repeated her own words back, grabbing her knees to open her legs again. He stood up, pushing his jeans off. Once he did, he squeezed the green paint onto his knees. Her breathing was ragged now, bouncing off the walls and filling the space with the admittance of her eagerness.

He walked around to her back, leaning down. “Sit up.” His voice was lower, and to her victorious realisation, afflicted. When she did, his knees pressed into the small of her back, paint rubbing against her skin. She couldn’t explain why, but the rudimentary action made her moan. He brushed her hair up, tying it up on her head with a tie she didn’t know he had. Everything felt meticulously planned.

He squeezed more paint onto her spine, rubbing it around with precise fingers. He remained unnervingly silent, getting up and coming back around to face her again. “You’re so beautiful.” He gasped.

The words made her smirk, chest heaving with quick breaths. “I know.”

He smirked back, “I’m going to make you divine.” He put his knees on the sheet, the blue and green rubbing together. She stared at the traces, for a moment mesmerised by the mark it left.

She yelped when he grabbed her ankle and tugged her, her wet palms slipping. Her back landed on the sheet, her head stinging a little from the sudden contact. He parted her legs with his knee, she looked up to see him squeeze white paint into his palm. He rubbed his hands together, before using them to hover over her. “You’re going to display the very manifestation of your lust in museums all over the world, (Y/N). We’re going to commodify your sin. That’s my prize.” His hands slid across the sheet and grabbed her waist.

She reached up and grabbed his throat, the smooth white skin tainted blue and green. “It’s going to be our sin, Doyoung.” She dragged her eyes from his eyes to his lips.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t want familiarity.” His hands rubbed white paint up her sides, brushing under her breasts. Both their breathing matched in impatience.

She pulled him closer, resting her lips on his. “If you’re going to immortalise me, I will own you.” She promised. He smiled against her lips, kissing her.

Send me an ask about a character from one of my fics in a scenario and I'll write a drabble.

Character from: Push and Pull

#doyoung smut #nct smut #doyoung scenarios #doyoung drabble #nct doyoung #doyoung #kim doyoung #nct drabble #miscellaneous #push and pull #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct 127 smut

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fulgurantfirstborn · 3 years ago

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{{Meta post about Gwynfor, usual morning bus writings, inspired by Aven's answer about power and needing to fight that I recently reblogged}}

So much of Gwynfor's development, in all verses, is unlearning the way of war. He has been his father's blade, or that of Marika and Godwyn's in the Elden Ring verse, most of his life. He may seem happy-go-lucky now, but it's taken a long stretch of time to process what he has witnessed and experienced as a war veteran and to truly sit down and think about why he fights.

Of course, the physical action of fighting is exhilarating. He always enjoys a good spar. But in the context of things far more momentous such as war and politics, a spar cannot simply be a spar anymore. You have conflicting interests, hidden motivations, and violent conquests, all these just part of the game. People will always have their differences, and if nuances clash and spark a roaring flame, the game brings out the worst of people.

Gwynfor has never been good at thinking about such things. He is too honorable and trusting and even foolish, as various Dark Souls 1 items say about Gwyn's Firstborn. Power struggles are almost beyond him. After all, he has usually been on the winning side and has never had to experience the consequences of losing battle.

As a Divine, he has the privilege of near immortality, literally centuries, to ponder over his part in the war against the dragons. As a Tarnished, while he knows mortality, he has the privilege of Grace reviving him and giving him another chance at life.

It always strikes me how the Nameless King chooses to stay in Archdragon Peak rather than attack and take over Anor Londo once his father sacrificed himself to the Flame. I believe this could be due to guilt over betraying his family and over committing war crimes. But also... Gwyn's Firstborn just does not want to deal with war and politics anymore. I have drawn a lot from my own life regarding this part of Gwynfor's development. The idea of forging one's own path, free of others' expectations, is something daunting and yet so liberating as someone who had previously considered going to medical school.

But in any case, at least with Tarnished Gwynfor, that's why he stops and smells the roses in that drabble with Latenna. By the gods, if he no longer has to fight for someone else, just for himself on his own time, he is going to take all the time he wants to just... be.

#txt #ooc #headcanons #writing on the bus again so sorry for any incoherency

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catharsistine · 4 years ago

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To Write A Good Villain

TW: loss of control, hallucinogenics, dr*gs, sc*rs, venom, bl*od, death, defeat, s*x, god, volcanoes, pr*dtors, m*rder, j*alousy, smoking, ab*se, cheating, sl*very, oppression, servitude, vampires, destruction.

Technically, I'm here on Tumblr as a writer. So. It's time I contributed my itty bitty bit.

Many things make a good story. Some claim it is world-building, some think it the cast of protagonists, some the vivid descriptions. All of those elements, however, will seem lacklustre, if your story does not have a good villain. What use is an MC with glorious superpowers or magic, if there is nothing to oppose them? Can there be any victory without a great evil?

In real life? Perhaps. In any fictional world? No. The readers tune in for awesome conflict, so we writers must provide, and enjoy ourselves while doing so.

So what does make a great villain?

Before we explore that, let us review the types of villains. Most important to remember is that a villain need not be human. In literature, there can be many types of discord:

- Person Vs Self: Often used as a compelling subplot, this kind of conflict is valid when a person needs to do something that is opposed to their inner self, something they find morally, emotionally or intellectually repulsive. Eg; A scholar forced to indulge in activities that are unscientific, like smoking when they know it is bad for their health. A pacifist who is forced into a war situation and must commit murder to save their own or their family's lives. A person seeking enlightenment struggles with jealousy when their guru finds a new favourite. (IMPORTANT: Feeling conflicted due to one's morals is acceptable. Hating oneself due to a mental disorder is not. Please do not use mental illness as a plot point.)

- Person Vs Person: Often used as a primary plot point in standalone stories and movies, this kind of conflict is valid when a person bears a personal grudge or hatred toward another. Eg; A wrestler hating someone who defeated them in the ring through sabotage. A child-hating the murderer that orphaned them and their sibling. A person hating their lover who manipulated, gas-lit or cheated on them. (IMPORTANT: Ensure that abuse and abusers are not romanticized, that the healing journey of the character does not lead to them forgiving their abuser. Forgiveness is not a prerequisite for closure. Please do not encourage abuser-abused relationships.)

- Person Vs Society: Often used as a primary plot point in dystopian stories and movies, this kind of conflict is valid when a person aims to fight against a law or a government that systematically oppresses them. Eg; A womon fighting against the law which considers them as lower-class citizens. A PoC fighting against slave laws. A member of the working class rebelling against the bourgeoisie. (IMPORTANT: If you are not a minority, do not presume you are qualified to tell their story. Our stories belong to us alone, and taking away from us the privilege of sharing our trauma when we feel comfortable enough to do so is the worst kind of representation. Please remember if you occupy a position of power, you have no right to speak on our behalf. Already we are often silenced, do not participate in that further if you claim to be an ally.)

- Person Vs Machine: Often used as a primary plot point in science fiction stories and movies, this kind of conflict is valid when any man-made object gains enough intelligence to be considered sentient and becomes a threat to humanity. Eg; A machine that acts as a maid desiring to be free of the bonds of its servitude. An AI which does not have empathy and value for human life. A robot that attempts to destroy mankind. (IMPORTANT: These conflicts are often intricate, and can be spun anyway. Perhaps a human tries to teach a robot to love, and the result is embarrassing in a comedic way. But do not try to equate people on the asexual and aromantic spectrums, people with mental illness or people with severe trauma to these AI. They are extremely discriminated against. Please, do not contribute to the stigma.)

- Person Vs Nature: Often used as a compelling subplot, this kind of conflict is valid when a person is pitted against fauna and flora in a vulnerable state. Eg; A captive who has escaped their bonds only to come upon a harsh landscape. A person with severe allergies visits a place that is opposed to their disposition. A person with a grudge against a famous wild animal who bit off their leg. (IMPORTANT: In many such stories, a trend is that a character comes across a hostile tribal group. These tribes are portrayed only the negative attributes of certain PoC cultures. Doing so is blatantly racist and highly offensive. Please refrain from representing us in such appalling ways.)

- Person Vs Fate/Supernatural: Often used as a primary plot point in fantasy and YA stories and movies, this kind of conflict is valid when a person is threatened or working against a force that is outside nature. Eg; A person coming across a magical artefact belonging to a god, and the devil's henchmen are after it, but it has bonded to them. A lower-level employee working in a tampon factory accidentally discovering their boss is a deadly vampire. A person falling in love, only to discover their partner is heir to a clan of selkies, and their younger sibling plans on overthrowing them. (IMPORTANT: Oftentimes, the villains are given physical and cultural attributes exclusive to PoC and their culture, like the antagonist having dreadlocks or enjoying food that lies outside white cuisine. Please realise that is racist.)

How to create a proper villain:

1. Motive.

Arguably the most important factor in a villain is motive. Their end goal must be reasonable(depends on their moral compass), achievable(depends on their means), and must cause moral conflict in the protagonist.

Eg; Due to childhood trauma, a villain feels weak and unsafe in their own skin. Adopting a terrifying persona, they seek to control everyone around them, and by extension, the world, through a potent hallucinogen. Considered worthless until they design a new identity, the villain is only considered a threat when they overthrow a monarchy/gain obscene amounts of money/create a giant machine. The MC knows that the villain is wrong in their actions, but understands that their henchmen are drugged, and must choose a different course of action than brute force to defeat them.

2. Power/Skill

Expanding on the earlier point of a goal being achievable, a villain must have the capabilities to obtain the prize they desire. If they perform actions outside their means, the entire premise becomes boring and unrealistic. Unless the villain is playing pretend for a future plot twist, humble the antagonist before they get out of hand.

Eg; A machine cannot destroy the world if they do not have an intricate base code if they are not linked to machines around the world. An animal cannot be famous unless its existence is questionable unless it is more mythical than real unless it possesses some quality (a missing tooth, a scar across their eye) that the others of its breed do not have. Kindness cannot be a source of a moral dilemma if it is not shown in many actions of the protagonist.

3. Appearance.

Contrary to popular belief, the way a villain looks contributes greatly to their story. If the appearance of an antagonist does not match their other attributes, the villain may fall flat and feel one-dimensional.

Eg; If a person comes from humbler beginnings, them wearing designer clothes is not feasible. A wealthier person should at least maintain the appearance of being well-groomed, but a few things out of place, such as a tie clip, messy eyeliner, or stubble are acceptable, perhaps due to lack of respect for themselves, or mania from unfulfilled desires. If a plant is secretly venomous, let insects keep away from it. If a werewolf is known to violently transition, let them have a feral look in their eye, larger canines and stronger jawbones.

4. Presence

Outside of appearance, the overall vibe of the villain is of the utmost importance. Their aesthetic instils fear, inspires awe, which is one of the primary things that cause audiences to secretly root for them. Their smooth delivery of scathing, savage lines makes us fall in love with them. Having a stellar, scary presence amplifies whatever the villain does tenfold.

Eg; If a villain wears a daring dress, different from the style of their era, it will make them seem much more impressive. Fresh after a murder, if they have blood splattered on their face, it will make the ghastliness of their actions more resounding. If they're haunting little children, having grotesque features instead of sharp ones will terrify the kids more, and the readers.

5. Backstory

Why did the villain become a villain in the first place? This is perhaps the most important question when it comes to antagonists. Not only do backstories help us understand the villain's motives and reasons better, but readers may also root for them if they glimpse a part of them reflected in the villain, making the tale more painful to read.

Eg; If a bully has been abused at home, it explains their actions. If a villain was in a situation where their body was not theirs, their actions may be born out of a desire for control.

Things to avoid:

1. Do not make them a caricature. Avoid toxic and dull stereotypes such as "catty ex-girlfriend", "sex-crazed womon", "evil old pr*dator" etc. Not only are these caricatures cartoonish and overused, but they also make a villain hollow and lifeless. Villains are humans too, give them quirks, bad habits and things they enjoy, beliefs of their own. (Eg; They enjoy watching cat videos, smoke or bite their nails, enjoy mixing drinks for fun, and think God is a hoax.)

2. Avoid coding them as PoC or LGBTQ+. If you have a diverse cast of various races, ethnicities, sexualities and genders, then it is completely alright to write another such character as the villain. However, if your only minority character is the villain, that is highly problematic.

3. A backstory does not equate to sympathy. If the villain's actions are extremely reprehensible, including and not limited to; r*pe, g*nocide, ab*se or s*rial murder, please do not try to redeem them. Understanding someone's motives is wildly different from making the audiences sympathize with them. Do not romanticize their flaws.

4. Lastly, humble them. A villain will always entertain the audiences if they suffer a bit too. Instead of constant angst and pain, add lighter moments, moments where they stumble, trip, are tired or bored. This would make their eventual death/defeat burn even more, and the audience will definitely mourn the loss of a wonderful antagonist.

Like a volcano, a true villain leaves ashes in their wake, but their fire forces the protagonists to solidify into stone. Let their actions echo into the age.

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writer #writing tips #writing advice #am writing #tumblr writers #writing community #villians #antagonist #evil #backstory #writing tricks #writing help #okay im done

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rosesloveletters · 4 years ago

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Self-Shipping Reference.

I have been debating on creating a self-shipping reference for these two, but since I am certain of our dynamic at this point, I wanted to delve right in; I love Will and Jakob so very much and I wanted to create a little collection of our relationship like I’ve done before in the past. Most of all, this is for me so that I can have it as a reference, so there is absolutely no obligation to interact with this post. If you do, thank you for showing us so much love and care, I really appreciate it more than anything. This community is so welcoming of self-shipping and that means a lot to me<3.

last updated: June 17, 2021

please do not read if you are not interested in or comfortable with self-shipping.

word count: 2,908

Ship name?

Our collective ship name is Grimmrose, for obvious reasons (my poly heart can hardly take it😭✨💛)

I do not feel I should need to say this (as it should already be implied), but since I do not want angry anons in my ask box about this, I will state: Will and Jakob are not romantically involved in our dynamic; the love they have for each other is familial only. They both share me, but that is as far as it goes. There is absolutely no incestuous aspects of our relationship.

Date you got together?

Jakob: May 26, 2021. The open honesty and security within our vulnerabilities were what prompted Jakob and I to jump in headfirst. We knew how we felt almost immediately; Jakob believes in love at first sight and I value that sentiment. It was a mutual understanding that the two of us were meant to be together (even if I hadn’t already known, the darling would have convinced me - he is extremely persuasive and given to a dreamer’s mindset.) The two of us easily came to an agreement on beginning a relationship because of how similar we have found ourselves to be. It was not difficult to access what each other was thinking and how we chose to approach those thoughts and feelings. Jakob is driven by those, after all, and his bright spirit and general interest in the things that cannot be so easily explained drew me to him.

Will:

Platonic: May 26, 2021.

Romantic: June 14, 2021.

Will was, to my surprise, not as difficult to access as I expected. He has a much different personality to Jakob’s; the two are near opposite ends of the spectrum. Will’s mission has been to protect Jakob, mostly from himself, but Jakob does not understand that the reason Will is so hard on him is because Will feels helpless around him. Jakob’s mind is so bright and open, while Will does not understand how to compete with that nor how to understand or fit into Jakob’s world of folklore and mythical, magical beings. He feels weak in comparison to Jakob’s spirit; Will values my ability to cross those lines and connect with both him and Jakob. Will has never known another to be so well-suited for his brother and he is respectful of how we interact, since until now he has been the only one who has been able to reach Jakob. We were platonic for several weeks out of respect for Jakob, but soon entered into a mutual agreement to share the love that we all have for each other; the brothers agreed to share me since they have both developed such strong feelings.

Favorite personality trait?

Jakob: His sense of security within vulnerabilities. Jakob is more given to childlike excitement and the thrill of action whenever it is of a magical quality. He fidgets, has a distinct nervous energy/uncomfortable body language, a clear mind but one that fancies fiction over reality. Whenever he drinks, he’s giddy and excited; the only one who can get through to him in these moments are Will and I. The thing is, Jakob has never tried to be anybody but himself. He is aware that these qualities are not valued by the vast majority and are perhaps seen as weaknesses or even are simply frowned upon (much of this he experienced as a result of the way Will treated him over the years), but even all of that has never caused his personality to shift or made him close himself off. Jakob has always found security within who he is, regardless of whether those around like it or not.

Will: His protective commitment to those who he loves. Even though Will canonically admitted his frustrations over Jakob and how he “hates” his younger bother, stating how Jakob “drives him mad”, he is fiercely protective of him and committed to maintaining their relationship in spite of any disagreements or arguments. Will does not give up on those he loves. Even though it would have made sense for him to toss Jakob into the streets and leave him if he truly hates him, but Will does not. Despite his confession, he has never actually hated his brother; Jakob makes him feel weak, helpless and inferior because Jakob’s comprehension of things beyond Will’s understanding or compulsion to understand or look beyond what is right in front of him is too different and unusual to him.

Favorite physical trait?

Jakob: His eyes. Jakob’s eyes are so expressive; they sparkle in the light and his irises twinkle. His soul appears as if it were made from stardust and every bit of him glows. His eyes reflect the innocence and playful mischief bound within him; he is a dreamer at heart and his eyes mirror that.

Will: His smile. There is a scene when Jakob and Will first arrive at Marbaden and they are confronted by the townspeople with weapons, uncertain of who these two strangers are, and when Will tries to explain who they are his smile is simply dazzling. I believe that was the moment I found myself in love with him; I have not seen a smile so bright in a long time. Here’s a screenshot of his smile (Jakob’s expression in the background is so funny😂):

Couple song

We do not have a couple song yet; we have couple albums.

Taylor Swift’s albums Folklore and Evermore are sister albums, so it only makes sense that they are representative of the two brothers respectively: Folklore for Jakob and Evermore for Will.

Both albums are suited to the three of us; the feelings provoked from both establish the tone of our relationship.

Pet peeves…

There is only one: their constant bickering/arguing and fights. It is natural for siblings to fight, but the longer I spend with these two, the more consistently they seem to fight in front of me. I do not believe the fighting affects their relationship as perhaps it did in the past; they seem very content, even after they’ve been fighting a while, and neither of them holds a grudge anymore.

Favorite outfit on them?

I will share photos since it would take some time to explain in enough detail; I am a sucker for older/medieval clothing (perhaps this is why this movie spoke to me in such a way?)

These are my favorite outfits of theirs:

their armor is a close second, because it really makes me laugh:

Favorite meal?

Jakob: This bit is indicative of all of us and I was the one who introduced the brothers to this meal - vegetable soup; beef/broth, noodles, peas, carrots, tomatoes, corn, green beans, potatoes. The brothers are used to eating whatever is being served them at the pubs they visit and the inns at each town they stay and, needless to say, are not often prepared a meal especially one to their specific tastes. The first time I made this for them, they ate heartily and it has been their favorite since.

Will: This is less of a specific meal and more of a eating habit of his, but Will is partial to sweet treats and desserts of all kind. His favorite treat is soft bread with a sticky, sugary glaze (wait until I tell him about glazed donuts😂)

Early bird or night owl?

Neither of the Grimms are particularly one or the other. They both have been known to stay awake all hours of the night for one reason or another; Jakob stays up writing most nights when brand new ideas flood his mind and prevent sleep. He works whenever inspiration strikes and if that is the middle of the night, then Will or I will find him hunched over his desk, pen scratching away across the page as he squints to read what he has written under the low candlelight.

Will stays awake late born out of a habit he has yet to change. He does not like to sleep very soundly until he knows that Jakob and I are either asleep or keeping each other company; Will takes responsibility of us quite seriously. Since we’ve begun a relationship, they do not go out as much as they once had and when we do, they are awake nearly the entire night and whenever they crash, they are both out cold.

If I wake up throughout the night, Jakob sleeps so soundly that he would not know (he wears earplugs if we’re staying at an inn because the noise bothers him.) Will always wakes up whenever I do; the shifting around wakes him, but he does not usually open his eyes or speak to me until I come back to bed and he settles me back into my spot.

Snorer or sleep talker?

Jakob: SLEEP TALKER! Jakob talks in his sleep nearly every night, most especially if he has had something to drink beforehand or if Will has gotten under his skin about something. Stress/anxiety also trigger it; I don’t hear him often, because he only does it in a deep sleep which is usually whenever I’ve already fallen asleep.

Will: Will does not snore or talk in his sleep; he is unusually quiet, however, he will groan or mumble softly if he’s turning over or something like that. He does not move a lot when he’s sleeping either.

Do you have any pets together?

No, our lifestyle is not suited to pets, unless horses used for transportation count.

Pet names! (Both from them and yours for them)

Will’s for me: little one/little girl, peanut

Jakob’s for me: sweetheart, darling, lover

Mine for Jakob: Jakey, Beanstalk (turning Will’s mean comments into something sweet💕), Dreamer, Sweetie/Sweet One/Sweet Baby

Mine for Will: Blondie, Prince Charming (only in certain scenarios)

Ones Jakob and Will use collectively for me: Briar Rose, Rosebud, Unicorn, Beauty/Belle (a play off my favorite fairytale), Princess

Ones I use collectively for Jakob & Will: Grimmy

How often do you fight? What starts fights?

I have yet to have any fights with either of the brothers (though I have had mild disagreements with Will over the way he speaks to Jakob.)

Jakob and Will fight often and about everything, but more often than not, the source of the argument is their personality difference. Their interests clash significantly and they find it difficult to coexist at times because Will feels he must fill the role of Jakob’s caretaker, while Jakob simply wants Will to be his brother and believe in him.

I usually do not get involved in their squabbles unless Will speaks out of turn. He can be somewhat hateful in the remarks he makes to his brother and I am not afraid to set the record straight. Jakob has gotten much better at standing up for himself; he is not afraid to get physical if things escalate to that point, though I have yet to see them lay a hand on each other. Jakob knows that one swift punch is all that he needs to deliver for Will to fall in line and understand that he is serious; he saves them for when he needs them and has only punched Will outright one time, that I am aware of.

Who apologizes first?

This depends on who feels they are “wrong”. Will does not like to apologize, so usually it is Jakob who initiates the apology. Occasionally, neither will apologize and it is implied that they both have and things will continue on like normal as if nothing ever happened (this is best case scenario.)

I have not known them to simply not apologize to each other for wrongdoing; Will has apologized to Jakob on a number of occasions where I have been present. If Will apologizes, it is usually for speaking too harshly to Jakob or bringing up the “magic beans” he has terrorized Jakob with for years.

Big spoon or little spoon?

Jakob: Jakob adores being the little spoon. Even though he likes to hold onto me at night, nothing seems to compare to being held. Jakob has gone the majority of his life without being shown affection and tender love; he is so touch-starved that he asks to be held almost every night.

Will: Will is the only F/O (aside from J) who I allow to be the big spoon on a regular basis. I trust him implicitly and know that he will keep me safe; he likes to hold onto me while we sleep so that he knows and can feel he isn’t alone. He does not like to sleep whenever it is too cold and he wants a warm body pressed against him.

Dom or sub?

Jakob: Submissive.

Will: Dominant.

Will has had his misgivings over Jakob and I, both being submissives, entering into a relationship together, but it has not presented an issue so far. Most of the time, Jakob and I love all over each other so it doesn’t matter one way or another😂 It is rare for Jakob and I to be sexually intimate.

Will takes on the more dominant role, since he has been so with Jakob over the years of their lives before they’d met me. Will is the nurturer and takes care of us both; he remains protective of us despite certain insecurities and fears. Will takes on more of the sexual responsibilities of their relationship with me because of his experience with women.

What are their kisses like?

Jakob: Jakob’s kisses begin as achingly shy, reverential ones that develop into slowly sensual, spontaneous or exploratory ones. Jakob likes to hold my hands when we kiss and I like the way his facial hair pleasantly scratches my face; he is always extremely gentle and never oversteps. I especially love when he kisses me with such eager impulsivity that our cheeks turn red and we laugh when it’s over.

Will: Will’s kisses can either be covetous and greedy, fervent, and deeply passionate or chaste and flirtatious. He always cups my cheeks, chin or tangles his fingers in my hair at the back of my head while kissing me; his lips often taste sweet or sugary from how often he indulges on sweets. My favorite of Will’s kisses are the languid, open-mouthed ones when he uses his tongue.

What do they smell like?

Jakob: Parchment, books and ink, candlewax, earth just after it has rained, sweet basil, a vaguely sweet musk, warm skin.

Will: Warm sugar, sweat/spicy musk, pine, flame.

What are their hugs like?

Jakob: Bear-like, full-bodied, fiercely affectionate and warm.

Will: Long, tight, unexpectedly powerful and almost needy.

Who is more protective?

Will.

Both brothers are fiercely protective of me and I know that, in spite of their differences, neither would ever let anything happen to me. As long as they are facing danger together, they would willingly take on any enemy (Jakob would never let Will face danger alone and vice versa.)

Interested in children?

No. Will says that Jakob and I are enough like children as it stands😂

Who needs the most TLC when sick?

Will AND Jakob. They are both huge babies whenever they are sick and all they want is to be taken care of. Surprisingly, they bicker a lot more whenever they’re sick; mainly, they fight over who gets to cuddle me first.

Whenever I am sick, I tend to react the same way and the brothers are more than obliged to take care of me in any way they are able. Will takes the more ‘hands-on’ work like fetching me a drink, food, blankets, etc. and helping me move about as I need. Jakob does not like to leave my side and he will not do so unless instructed by Will and he will fetch me whatever is needed and then return to cuddle with me.

Who says ‘I love you’ first?

I was the first one to say ‘I love you’ to either of the brothers. I told Jakob first; we nearly admitted it at the same time. We knew how we both felt upon the first of our meetings.

It took me a while to say ‘I love you’ to Will. Our relationship began platonically; I did not feel comfortable saying so to him until I spoke with Jakob about it first. Intuitive of human emotions is he and he was already well-aware of how we felt about each other and, with his blessing and consent, the brothers agreed to share the love and, well, me.

Which of you is more accident prone?

I bet you’re thinking either me or Jakob. WRONG! It’s Will. Jakob and I are very steady on our feet because we are full of rambunctious energy; Will is more laid back than either of us and he gets more indignant whenever he does accidentally hurt himself.

Bed hog?

Jakob is more of a bed hog than Will or I. He is consistently moving around in his sleep, talking, etc. There is one unspoken rule: Jakob sleeps on the left side of the mattress, I am in the middle and Will is on the right. Both use me as a barrier and do not cross to the other’s side of the bed at any point and they each take turns cuddling with me until we all fall asleep.

Who loves the other the most?

As if it even needs to be said, we all love each other equally, but in different ways. Jakob’s and Will’s relationship and love for each other is strictly familial, while the brothers’ relationships with me are both romantic.

Will understands and accepts that my relationship with Jakob takes priority, as we began ours first and I am unspokenly Jakob’s above all else. Any and all major decisions are made between Jakob and I; we of course always consider Will’s emotions, well-being, etc. but Jakob prefers to take the reins in terms of calling the shots, in spite of Will being the dominant and more protective one. He feels like Will owes him this and Will is happy to allow his brother this courtesy, considering this is Jakob’s first true relationship.

#🌹grimmrose #self-shipping

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vance-emmeline · 4 years ago

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ϟ ━ was that EMMELINE VANCE around the leaky cauldron ? SHE disapparated before i could approach them ! what a pity, for they are DETERMINED and LOYAL, but maybe it's best to keep my distance because they are also CLUMSY and FIERY. i remember that they were a RAVENCLAW back in school but have since made a name for themselves as a DAILY PROPHET JOURNALIST. if this alleged war came knocking on their door, it is supposed that they would FIGHT FOR DUMBLEDORE ( cis woman & she/her / zoey deutch / 26 / half-blood).

biography & statistics below the cut

𝒷𝒾𝑜𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝓎

Emmeline Vance has always been described as ‘capable’. From a young age she was solving puzzles in creative ways and forging a path for herself early in life. Her parents offered Emmeline a safe and happy childhood, although they both worked long, exhausting hours at the ministry meaning that child-care was left to her grandfather who owned Honeydukes sweet shop. As a small child, there was nothing that Emme loved more than suggesting new sweets her grandpa to try and make to try and then helping him make the ideas from her imagination into a reality. When she was six years old, her grandpa gave her her own little apron and nametag for when she was at the store.

Helping out at the store truly shaped Emme as she grew up. All sorts of people stopped by the store in their trips to Hogsmeade - all shapes, all sizes, all races, all blood statuses. Emme naturally became kind and compassionate, willing to help whoever might need it no matter what their background. Her first signs of magic showed in the store - she had to carry 3 tubs of jelly slugs from the cellar to the top of the store, and managed to levitate one in front of her like grandpa did with a degree of concentration after huffing about the fact she couldn’t carry three with her little hands. Certainly, her grandfather was more of a parent than her own parents ever were.

The issue of parenting came to a head just before her ninth birthday, when her parents decided that they were going to move to France to start life afresh. Emme’s father had been offered a job at the French Ministry and they had taken it easily, jumping at the opportunity to start life again in the beauty of France. But Emme’s little heart broke at the idea of not only being taken away from Britain and the promise of Hogwarts, but from the most important person in her young life. A few roaring arguments between her father and grandfather while Emme was supposed to be sleeping (but was really hovering at the top of the stairs trying to listen to what the adults were saying) and the three adults called her downstairs asking her a simple question.

“Would you rather live in Britain with grandpa or move to France with Mummy and Daddy?”

Emme never answered verbally, but instead ran over and clung to her grandpa’s leg, who had been more of a father to her than her own father had. It wasn’t their fault, of course, that they worked long hours and hardly ever saw their daughter - but Emme’s decision was easy. And so it was that within the next few months Emme’s parents prepared to move away and prepared to leave their daughter behind (promising visits, of course). In January, her parents were gone leaving her to live with grandpa and grandma in their small flat above the store. Life passed by peacefully until her eleventh birthday arrived and with it, a letter inviting her to Hogwarts.

On her first day at Hogwarts, Emme learned that not everyone was as kind as her. Her grandfather had pulled her aside at Hogsmeade station before she ran to join the arriving students and said ‘be brave enough to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves’. Those pearls of wisdom stuck a chord deep within Emme, who had always considered herself kind but hadn’t had to put herself in any level of discomfort to be kind so far. She had lived a reasonably sheltered upbringing, after all. Cruel thoughts had not been present in either her home or the sweet store (after all, who can find it in their hearts to be cruel when surrounded by that much sugar). With that wisdom fresh in her mind, Emme made her way towards Hogwarts where the sorting hat confidently placed her in Ravenclaw.

From there, Emme excelled at school. She had always loved reading as a child, and she made a name for herself quickly as one who always placed near to the top of her class. She engaged in lots of extra-curriculars including Charms club and Dueling club, and spent most of her evenings buried in magical practice and theory. In fifth year Emme became a prefect.

During her careers meeting, Emme looked at the pamphlets before her and knew there was only one real option for her. She had half considered the aurors programme, but reading and writing had always been her passion. Emmeline applied for a job with the Daily Prophet as a junior journalist. Working hard at her N.E.W.Ts, Emme left Hogwarts with an Outstanding in all subjects and a well-earned place at the Daily Prophet.

Since starting work at the Daily Prophet eight years ago, Emmeline has carved a name for herself as a well-respected journalist. She always works for the truth no matter how uncomfortable or unsettling it might be, and is determined to bring the truth to the public. This has, on occasion, led to Howlers being sent through the post but Emme is not deterred.

Emme is a notorious coffee drinker and can almost always be found with a flask in hand. She also loves to bake, frequently bringing in home made snacks to share around the office - Merlin only knows that their office needs a sprinkling of happy on a semi-regular basis. She gets excited about any and all holidays, and her absolute favourite place to be is the beach - especially when she’s wandering up and down the sand wearing a cosy jumper and bright yellow wellington boots. Despite reporting on some of the atrocities that happen in the wizarding world, Emme still lives with a sense of optimism and an understanding that the world really is full of good people even if it might not seem like it.

Emmeline is committed towards seeking justice both professionally and personally for all. She believes that the way that muggle-borns were treated at school was unjust, and has continued to speak against this in her journalism. When it becomes clearer that Voldemort is truly persecuting muggle-borns, Emmeline will step up to work against him firmly. When Emmeline commits, she throws her whole self behind a cause and can never be called ‘half-hearted’.

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈

Basics:

FULL NAME : Emmeline Raye Vance MEANING : The name “Emmeline” means gentle and brave. MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Emme GENDER AND PRONOUNS : Female, she/her DATE OF BIRTH : 13 April 1958 AGE : 26 ORIENTATION : Bisexual OCCUPATION : Daily Prophet Journalist

Background:

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, French FAMILY : Samuel Vance (father), Eliza Vance (mother), Ambrosius Flume (grandfather) SPOUSE / SIGNIFICANT OTHER : open & wanted for plotting! CHILDREN ( chronologically ) : n/a

Magical Detail:

BLOOD STATUS : Half-blood ALUMNA OF : Hogwarts, Ravenclaw, 1976 ACADEMIC FEATS ( clubs, organizations, positions, etc ) : duelling club, charms club, prefect O.W.L.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : astronomy, charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes, arithmancy. O in all subjects but arithmancy and history of magic which were E’s. N.E.W.T.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes. O in all subjects. WAND : Maple, unicorn core, 10 ¾ inches, supple AMORTENTIA : Fresh coffee, baking bread, the smell of seaside air, new books. BOGGART : Werewolves PATRONUS : A swift - a creature with a strong sense of determination and a drive to accomplish things. They are hopeful, positive and energetic and are drawn to live and work in large communities where they find inspiration from the high spirits of others.

Physical:

HAIR : Mousy brown EYES : Brown HEIGHT : 5’3 BUILD : Athletic, slender. MARKINGS ( birthmarks, tattoos, scars, etcs ) : A scar on her left hip from a fall down the shop stairs when she was younger. A small tattoo of an opening speech mark on her left wrist, and a closing speech mark on her right wrist - inspired by her journalism and her love for writing. Not a permanent marking, but Emmeline has a sapphire necklace that was a 17th birthday gift from her mother. It is perhaps the most expensive thing that Emme owns, and she never takes it off.

Personality:

TROPES : Gentleman and a scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted and socially engaging human being, some times even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intellegent Gentleman and a Scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted, and socially engaging human being, sometimes being even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intelligent characters. Frequently, his emphasis is more on the humanities than on the natural sciences.” MBTI : ENFJ-T ENNEAGRAM : Type 2 - The Helper ALIGNMENT : Lawful Good TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic ZODIAC : Aries POSITIVE TRAITS : Determined, loyal, resillient NEGATIVE TRAITS : Clumsy, fiery

#principium.intro #principium.task #about #i wish i could use photoshop & create a good looking graphic but alas!!!#excited to get started <3

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years ago

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A Zhang Of Redness ~ Yin Zhen x Reader

Warning: The first part has some angst to fluff, yet, if you’re brave enough to read the “Sad Ending”, then I warn you, I cried at least 6 times reading it, and 5 times at night, thinking about how to write it properly, all while listening to sad flute and zither ancient Chinese songs. I may need help.

Also, I forgot to explain, in case people don’t know:

Meimei - Term for younger sister. Jiejie - Term for older sister. Niangniang - Term for someone above in title, like an Empress or a Noble Consort. Changzai - First-Class Female Attendant, called ‘Present’, and was the 2nd lowest title in the harem. Daying - Second-Class Female Attendant, called ‘Promise’, lowest title in the harem. Hua Fei - It can vary as a title, but it refers to an Imperial Noble Consort. A Zhang of Redness - One of the 5 punishments from Qing Dynasty : Beating someone over the back, butt or the back of their legs with a some sort of bamboo or wooden bat/cane/rod until the tendons/muscles/bones were crushed, there was lots of blood, and the person either died or became paralysed from waist down.

Also, I got inspiration from watching the Chinese Period Drama ‘Empresses in the Palace/Legend of Zhen Huan’ that focuses on the Harem during the reign of Emperor Yongzheng, aka Yin Zhen, the 4th Prince, and Duke Guo is the 17th Prince, his brother, very young, and very close to him

“Now, Y/N, you and your sisters are of age, so you must go serve the Emperor. It will bring our family the greatest honour should you be selected as a concubine for the Emperor and bring a Prince into this world.” the father put his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, making her look at him with a blank expression, masking her disdain and disgust with excellence. “We are honoured to serve and serve our family and His Majesty, the Emperor.” she bowed gracefully, speaking with an adult maturity that many would envy. “Very well. Take care of your sisters. The Palace is a cruel place, but you, above all, must prevail and bring your sisters up with you.” were the last words her father spoke before sending off his three daughters into the carriage, ready to go with the ‘reaping’, as the eldest would call it.

Unlike her younger siblings, she prayed not to be accepted, since it would be the worst thing that could happen to her and she’d rather die than have to live in eternal imprisonment, having an old man touch her body and impregnate her, despite him being the Emperor himself.

When the three of them arrived at the Palace, and she saw the swarm of girls dressed the same, with the same accessories and hairstyles, she almost felt like puking, although she couldn’t blame them, since that’s how this lame fashion dictates.

She was the only one standing out, much like a sore thumb, completely different, both in appearance and clothing, which made her anxious and nervous, knowing very well how she will be the target of bullying, and in turn, deflect it to her unfortunate sisters as well.

Y/N was the only woman with vibrant red hair and green eyes like the evergreen forest, for her father is an Imperial merchant, and her mother was a foreigner, the most beautiful being alive, that could even compare to the Gods, and yet, the very same Gods she worshipped were cruel to her, as when she gave birth to the twins, she perished, leaving her husband heartbroken and alone to take care of his three daughters.

She didn’t wear any headpiece, nor had any intricate hairstyles, preferring to keep the upper part of her hair in a beautiful rose bun, while the lower part was let loose to cascade past her shoulders, down to her waist, like a fire waterfall. She didn’t use heavy make up, only choosing to highlight her eyes and bring out the shrewdness and brilliance in them. She didn’t wear any jewellery, save for some beautiful pink flowers carefully placed in her hair. She didn’t wear heels, for she was taller than most petite girls, and didn’t want to stand out more than she already did, and of course, she didn’t need them to highlight her grace and dignity. And, most of all, she didn’t wear the traditional clothes that every girl did, instead, worse a long, flowy dress, green, with flowers of a darker, more vibrant green - A dress that suit her like she was the embodiment of Spring, and her slender silhouette was shown off beautifully - Because, after all, this was the dress her mother sew specifically for her in the period while she was pregnant.

When the time finally came for her to present herself in front of the Emperor and the Empress Dowager, the six women walked in a straight line, in front of the Imperials...Only to see a little surprise.

Seven of his sons were there to attend, for one of them were to one day become Emperor, and they must know how things must be done.

“You...You are Y/N, I see. When your father mentioned you were beautiful, just like your mother, I couldn’t believe there could be someone even greater than Diaochan or Yang Guifei.” the Emperor chuckled, looking down at her. “Your Majesty, pardon my rudeness, yet truly, you must jest. My face does not put flowers to shame, nor does it embarrass Mother Moon herself. Likewise, I would say I that...That there are other women in history that would fit me better, should you truly wish to compare me.” she could feel the intrigued, burning gazes of everyone, and it took everything she had not to visibly gulp or show any kind of emotion. “Raise, child, and look at me. Who would you think I should compare you to?” the Emperor so gracefully talked, with the same dignity that any Imperial must have, yet now, it seemed to be warmer. “Tan Yunxian.” she spoke bluntly, her green eyes not wavering as she held eye contact with the Emperor. “Tan Yunxian...You are a bold one to speak like that. You are a sharp woman, intelligence is obviously sparkling in your eyes, you know what you want from life, and you choose to be branded a witch by practicing the medical arts that only men do and risk death, instead of aiming for a peaceful and resourceful life as a wealthy concubine and bring honour to your father. Why is that?” he asked once again, which made her bow, but not look away from him. “Most people tell the gender of a rabbit by its movement: The male runs quickly, while the female often keeps her eyes shut. But when the two rabbits run side by side, Can you really discern whether I am a he or a she? That is my reply to your question, and I would beg you to forgive my rudeness by speaking so directly, but this was never the life that fit me. The only arts that suit me are the exact ones - Healing, Calculus, Atrology, Physics, Alchemy...My sisters are much better at the arts of the heart, but I prefer to make a difference on this world. Too many women preferred to let themselves die because of scrutiny - A woman should rather starve to death than lose her chastity - they said, yet, for me, life is a sacred gift and should be treasured above all. There are no female physicians in the palace, Your Majesty, and males cannot fully comprehend the pains of a woman, nor can they properly treat one. With your grace, should you choose not to kill me, I would very much like to serve the Emperor with the way fate dictated my strengths.” she spoke without any hint of fear in her heart, already waiting for her death penalty to be told, and yet, the Emperor chuckled and looked to his right, sharing a look with one of his sons, the one dressed in vibrant gold, the one whose eyes resembled his the most. “My son, I see you are interested in this one as well. Tell me, what would you do, should you meet someone as peculiar as this one?” the Emperor asked, letting him have the final say in it. “She quotes the Ballad of Mulan so boldly, as if she herself is Mulan. Do you remember, Father, that in some stories, when Mulan was forced to join the Harem, she chose to commit suicide? I see this one none the wiser. With the proper training, she could prove to save more lives than most of those useless physicians could, I would say. She has enough fire and ambition...But What if she wavers in front of dangers?” the 4th Prince asked, almost rhetorically, only for his older brother, the 3rd Prince, to chime in. “Let’s see, then.” he shrugged, motioning for an eunuch to step forward. “Should you be able to keep looking into my eyes for the whole trial, your position as a physician will be locked.” the 4th Prince mused, his dark eyes peering into her jade like ones, and it seemed almost as if they were in a trance, and nothing around them existed anymore.

The little eunuch threw water at her feet, yet she nonchalantly stepped over it with no second thought. They made loud noises behind her, or close to her ear, yet her only interest was the beautiful dark shade of the Prince’s eyes. The test continued on, until the Prince walked forward and drew his sword, putting the tip under her chin, raising it. The silence created tension for everyone, causing her sisters to gasp and hold tightly onto each other from fear, while some labourers were confused and panicked at the sight before them, while the two only got deeper and deeper enchanted by the other. It wasn’t until one of the Gugu matrons stepped forwards with a cat held in her arms and threw it at the ground violently that the girl slapped the blade away and let herself fall to her knees to catch the poor feline, then rose back again, gently petting and calming the animal, while throwing a harsh glare at the elder woman, before turning back again to the Prince.

“You lost the trial.” he said, yet mischief was glittering in his beautiful eyes. “Life over all. ALL life over all.” she pointed out, stepping closer to the Prince, and as soon as she knew she was completely hidden by his much larger form, she smirked at him, challengingly, which made him scoff in amusement right back at her. “You lost the trial, but won the position with your virtuous, unwavering heart. Father, with your approval, I will be responsible of her, and she will be my personal physician, and the physician of all the women in the palace. Her thinking is mature, righteous and ahead of her times.” the Prince bowed in front of his father, vouching for the girl next to him, who could only look in shock at the Imperial Son who seemed to trust her so. “I dare not deserve such baseless praise. Wait until I have achieved anything of significance.” she bowed next to the Prince, letting the cat go back to its owner. “Very well, I approve of your request. From now on, Lady Y/N shall be promoted to Lady Shuyu, the Wise and Virtuous Lady, she will be taught by the imperial physicians and will report directly to you, 4th Prince. Likewise, she will be staying at the Palace closest to the Imperial Library, yet, I believe I should change its name, since it needs renovation. Do you have any preferences?” the Emperor asked, as the girl was bashfully looking at the ground, not believing that her dreams were finally becoming reality. “Father, if I may, I would suggest - Palace of the Blue Lotus - for it is the symbol of victory, intelligence, wisdom and knowledge, something that My Lady seems to be the embodiment of. I heard it once being called - The Perfection of Wisdom - and I believe it fits her very well. Look at her, with her outfit and hair, she almost looks like a Lotus flower herself, wouldn’t you say?” the 3rd Prince commented, making the Emperor nod in approval. “Very well, I agree with you, 3rd Prince. Then, Lady Y/N, until your Palace is completely renovated, you will be staying at 4th Prince’s Palace and have him look after you.” the Emperor’s order made her eyes widen and cheeks redden from embarrassment, yet she gracefully bowed in thanks for the Emperor. “Your Majesty is benevolent and kind above all, I thank you for giving me a chance.” she spoke in a much softer voice. “Look at this one, she can be anything she wants. A Hua Mulan, a Diaochan...Yet, above all, I believe she could even be the next Wu Zetian, wouldn’t you say, my Son?” the Empress Dowager spoke with a gentle smile, which made the girl gasp and bow to the ground, flustered. “Your Highness, I am undeserving of such praise! I am but a mere woman who wishes the best for her peers, but I will never be able to get close to Wu Zetian’s greatness!” she spoke rapidly, not daring raise her face to them, only to receive chuckles and laughs from the audience. “She may not be the next Wu Zetian, but she may as well be the first Y/N L/N.” the 4th Prince teased the girl as he offered his hand to help her to her feet, before pinching her reddening cheek. “Indeed, indeed! But what should I make of your sisters? You say they are talented in arts, correct? Then, I will accept them, and wait for the time they can heal my soul with their magic and grace.” the Emperor’s eyes held amusement, as all three sisters bowed in unison. “Your Majesty is great and kind above all.”

And so, for the first time in their life, the sisters were separated from each other. While the twins enjoyed a palace to themselves and another high ranked concubine, Y/N was comfortably staying in 4th Prince’s Palace, having just one trusty maid, for more would be a hindrance, and dressing in whatever comfortable clothes she wished to wear, sown by her and her maid.

She wasn’t a fan of sewing, but she practiced it regularly because she believed having dexterous fingers meant you would be a great physician, so she continued her work, using the softest cotton bolts brought from Western countries, and she made a beautiful light pink nightgown along with a pair of shorts and embroidered small purple flowers, and since then, her sleep has been the best she’s ever had... Although the silks from her bed must have added to the comfort as well.

As thanks for the Prince, the girl decided to sew a blue pyjama from the cotton, Western bolts for the Prince with whom she was residing, and used Chinese threads of gold and violet to embroider dragons on it, wanting to make a little play on the Western symbols of royalty.

Days passed way too quickly in the Palace, as the 4th Prince was excellent company and would humour her often with a cup of tea and a lost game of chess since truly, he wasn’t the best at it yet, but the quick exchanges of wit were worth the time spent there.

When she wasn’t by his side, she would go to the swing in the Garden of Peaches all by herself and swing herself high, almost as if she was trying to reach the sky, and when returning, she would let herself lean down, to watch the clouds, all while laughing in complete freedom, just like the tale of the Crane Wife.

Every time she would stop swinging, she would take out her jade flute and, unbeknownst to her, the Prince would hide just to hear her play with such skill and emotion that it truly moved him, and he had to admit, the saddest song she played, Autumn Moon over Han Palace, the one that truly depicts the cruelty with which the young and innocent souls of young women get crushed in the palace, only to be rewarded with misfortunes and sorrow, and he knew then that there was no way he would let anyone harm her.

The Emperor made him look after her, and so, he will.

“4th Prince, now that I shall not be living in your Palace anymore, I should thank you for your hospitability and kindness for the time I bothered you and invaded your privacy. Please accept my humble gifts for you, as a thank you for all the goodness you’ve showed me.” she personally handed him the boxes of gifts, since it was too personal to let her maid handle this matter. “I thank you for the gifts, yet you need not thank me for something so trivial. Congratulations in moving in your own Palace, little Lotus, but don’t forget that this has been your home too, and you are always welcomed here. I have also sent you gifts at your new residence, I wish you will use them with a smile on your face.” the prince spoke, putting the boxes on the table and petting her hair gently. “Without all the snark and witty comments, I almost don’t recognise you, Yin Zhen. Could you perhaps be ill?” she scoffed in amusement, making the man flick her forehead. “Going by how red your cheeks are, I’d say you’re the one who caught a fever.” he spoke with an obvious undertone. “How rude of you, Prince! Don’t you know it’s unfair to tease a lady?” she pointed out with a flustered scowl on her face. “Sister, weren’t you the one who once that that if a man teases a woman, he must be in love with her?” a soft, yet playful voice came from behind Y/N, which made her yelp in surprise and turn around in shock. “You’re horrible sisters, you know that, don’t you? I only said that so you’d feel good about your little, young selves, when the general’s son came over to visit father!” she sighed, looking away. “He doesn’t matter anymore! Now, look at you, the most favoured woman in the Palace by the Emperor, the Empress, the Dowager AND the Princes! We couldn’t compete with that, even now that we both served the Emperor and we were barely given the title of “Changzai”, and that’s mostly thanks to your influence and the fact that you helped the Lady of Morality give birth to the Princess.” Liyan spoke out, tugging on one of the arms of the elder sister. “It’s a bit weird if you think about it. Y/N Jiejie is over here, falling for the Emperor’s son, while we are pillow mates with the Emperor. He’s older than father!” Xiyan spoke so shamelessly, tugging on the other arm, that it made the poor elder sister blush deeply, and putting her hands on the back of their heads, she hit their heads together. “Liyan Meimei and Xiyan Meimei should learn how to be less vulgar and have some shame! Now, if you would excuse me, I must go do a regular check up on the Noble Consort’s pregnancy, I have no time for your foolish nonsense. I bid you all farewell.” she gave a sarcastic bow to the three before rushing out of that place. “I haven’t seen Jiejie so flustered before. Remember when that young poet came over and started playing the zither and singing for her, and she still turned him down?” Xiyan giggled, intertwining her fingers with her twin. “Yes, I remember! And it was the famous JiKang, the best zither player in the country! It’s a pity, really, I remember Jiejie saying how much she’d have liked to be free and travel the world, but she has to honour her duty to her family, otherwise she will be a disgrace and get killed.” Liyan sighed, looking away. “If your sister heard you gossiping like that about her, she’d get very upset at you. Now run along, you two.” Yin Zhen commented with a hint of playfulness, ushering the two sisters to scatter.

Days and nights went by fast, and Y/N was quickly climbing the ranks of a physician due to her hard working and witty disposition, and yet, when winter came and snow started falling hard, and the Consort was now 5 months pregnant, and need to have her regular check up. As Y/N gave her the medicine to drink, the consort started screaming in pain and collapsed on the bed, her nether regions bleeding. She was having a miscarriage. With the help of a few maids and physicians, she managed to stop the bleeding and keep her stable, but she knew very well it would be hell once everyone finds out about the loss of the Imperial offspring...

And the consort was a truly vengeful one.

“How could you...?! How could you?! You insolent wretch, you made me lose my child!” the consort was livid, thrown things at the girl who was trying to calm her down. “Hua Fei Niangniang, what have you been eating and drinking recently? Perhaps there may have been something put in your food or tea? Or perhaps the fragrances or incenses?” she tried to ask, but it was to no avail. The consort was so upset that the Emperor himself, along with the Empress, the Dowager, the Harem and the Princes had to come and console her. “Emperor! Emperor! This stupid bitch is jealous that you favour me and made sure I have a miscarriage! It happened just as I drank the medicine from her!” the consort threw herself in the Emperor’s arms, sobbing loudly. “Medicine takes at least half a day to act, and you barely took a sip from it. I’m asking again, has your food and drink intake been properly taken care of?” Y/N asked once again, in a gentle voice, hoping to have an answer...But none came, only screeches. “You vile devil! You came here to have all women of the Harem miscarry! You want favour all to yourself! That’s why you walk around the Princes like a fox, drawing them in! You’re a lust demon! Get the guards and take her! Make her punishment be fitting to her hair! A Zhang of Redness!” she shrieked, making all the women gasp in shock. “Your Highness, I have nothing to do with Niangniang’s miscarriage. You can have any physician look over the tea I prepared and all the prescriptions I gave her, and none of them hold any abortifacient plants. I rest my case, and I will investigate the causes of the miscarriage, and should it have been my mistake, I will accept such a punishment. If not, then I beg for Your Majesty’s mercy.” Y/N bowed deeply to the ground in front of the Emperor, who seemed to nod in understanding. “Very well. I won’t offer you much time, but until then, you have all resources at hand. Everyone is dismissed.” and thus, they all left...Except for the 4th Prince who crouched and helped the girl up, his expression unreadable. “You truly know how to get yourself in trouble, don’t you?” he spoke with obvious concern. “Though I withdraw my sword to cut the water, it still runs. I toast to dispel worry, and create more worry…The water still flows, though we cut it with our swords, And sorrow returns, though we drown it with wine…” she muttered, looking ahead of her, in the void of emptiness that became her heart. “You once said you were not talented in arts, yet here you are, quoting Li Bai. You will always be a surprise, won’t you?” Yin Zhen cast her a half smile, which she returned. “It only fits. Now go. The Emperor will have my head should I let a man rummage through a woman’s belongings.” she sighed, turning around to investigate the place, while hearing the taunts of the consort...Until she found a cup that oddly smelled like green papaya, and a mortar and pestle that still had some cinnamon and pomegranate seeds powder in it. Afraid that the consort would realise she found the incriminatory objects, she took out a bag and threw it on the table, feigning that she putting all her medical belongings back in the bag, only to have the cup and mortar taken as well, and with a bow, she hurried to her Palace to study them.

She didn’t know much about such plants since they weren’t exactly used in medicine, and yet, she had to study them, while hiding the bag with incriminatory objects very well.

It was a cold, yet beautiful snowy night, and Y/N felt so crushed by fear from the recent events, that without realising, stepped outside, her feet dragging her to Yin Zhen’s Palace, and she had no idea until his Eunuch spoke to her, welcoming her inside and scolding her for not wearing something warmer, before having the maids prepare tea and telling the Prince about her arrival.

Silence took over them as they played chess and drinking tea, yet her mind was somewhere else completely, making her lose for the first time...But he wasn’t surprised in the least.

“What did you find out?” he asked bluntly. “Do you hate me, Yin Zhen?” she asked, using one of her silver ring claws to stir the tea in her cup. “Why would you ask something like that...? Do you suspect me of framing you, or what?” he asked, shock obvious in his voice, until he realised the tears that were falling down her face. “Then...Why...? I...I thought you...Of all people...Wouldn’t...” Y/N was unable of cursive, coherent words as she raised her finger to eye level, showing that the silver claw became back. “I did NOT poison your tea! Shu Pei Gong, who prepared this tea? I want them brought here and held responsible right now!” the rage the Prince felt was immense, but he knew now to let feelings overtake his ration. “What did I do to deserve such hatred...? I’m not part of the harem, I never hurt anyone, I’ve always been respectful and helped everyone, I never wished for promotions, titles, ranks or favours...So why...Why...?! Why is this happening to me?!” she cried out, her heart suffering greatly, enough so that before he could say anything, she ran out again, taking a shortcut through the Plum garden, where she let herself fall to the ground, the freezing cold unbothering to her, as she felt as cold as ice from the constant heartache she suffered.

She hated the colour red, it was everywhere, yet people didn’t understand why she’d despise such a beautiful colour. It was the colour of her hair, the colour of Maple leaves, the colour of Plum blossoms, and of course, the colour of blood.

Blood, for that’s all she was seeing - Laying there, on the pure white snow, crystals falling from the sky, covering her in a soft blanket, the shade of her skin, contrasting her hair, her flowers and...The blood from her injury.

But as the dark abyss of death started taking over her senses, she saw two little jades that appeared and disappeared just like shy will’o’wisp spirit orbs.

What was in her head, running away like that, in the dead of such a freezing night, and why the Plum Garden that is like a crimson maze that could have served as her resting place.

Who would have known she would be so sensitive, Yin Zhen thought, and yet, he is her confidante, and she thought he poisoned her, which would be a shock for everyone, especially after everything going on in her life.

She looked so petite in his large bed, in his own pyjamas, as her own clothes were soaked from the snow and she’s already shivering, the last thing he’d want is for her to get deadly ill.

“Your Majesty, a blow to the back of her head with a blunt object cause her collapse and fainting, but the coldness worsened her health. She will need to rest and take medicine regularly. And...As much as possible, she must not stress, mentally, emotionally or physically.” the physician bowed to the Prince as he sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly brushing away the hair from her face. “Easier said than done when you’re dealing with such a stubborn hard-head...You may go now. I will look after her.” the Prince dismissed the physician who kowtow-ed and left the place that got quiet...So quiet...Save for her unconscious shivering. “What will I do with you, Y/N? How can I save you when you run away from me?” he muttered, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “You should have left me there.” a soft whisper was her, as the girl opened her glistering eyes. “Don’t speak such nonsense.” he scolded her, yet his eyes were gentle. “What is death if not a blessing in disguise? For unfortunate people like me, only followed by misfortune...What is there to live for? Instead of investigating her case, I should have let her punish me. It would have been less painful than my discovery.” her voice was devoid of any life, yet the tears that delicately made their ways down her cheeks were enough proof of sorrow and heart break. “What are you talking about, Y/N? What did you discover?” he asked, his attention not wavering from her. “Wu Zetian? Diaochan? Hua Mulan? Tan Yunxian? Yang Guifei? What the hell was in my head? The only thing I could share with them is a broken heart. Why did I even dare to think that I, as a woman, would have any chance to achieve happiness and freedom? I can’t even try to be Lin Siniang, for I have no martial arts, and I can’t go and die in battle for someone. I’m completely and utterly useless.” the girl sighed, turning her back to the Prince, letting her hair drape over her face to avoid being seen. “Y/N, I am your confidante, tell me what happened. When you feel like you can’t trust anyone, not even your family, or the world, I will be here to listen and be honest with you, no matter what. I promise.” he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, stroking her hair to calm her down, yet in only generated in her sobbing. “When I was struck and fell, I feigned being dead. I kept my eyes half-open, and I didn’t blink. I stopped breathing and looked up at the sky. And despite my blurring vision, I saw a pair of green orbs. And then, I heard a giggle, and a word. Just one word. You know what it was? They said - Finally - and then left. Do you understand what I mean, Yin Zhen?” she asked, letting go of him and looking him straight in the eyes. “You don’t mean...?” his eyes widened with surprise, not having expected something like that. “When I investigated the consort’s room, I found a cup that smelled of papaya and a mortar with cinnamon and pomegranate seeds. When she wasn’t looking, I stole them and went home to read more about these. My sisters visited me that night and we discussed about those items...And it was then that I found out that those plants cause natural, spontaneous abortions. They said they were worried about me...And then...They snitched on me to the consort. My maid warned me there were suspicious people lurking around so I secretly left my Palace and came to yours after taking the longest and darkest route. Somehow, they managed to make me paranoid enough by poisoning my tea in your own house...And I got scared and ran away. I was going to seek refuge at the Dowager, until the consort’s eunuch found me and yanked me over the head. That’s when I saw my sister’s eyes...The very same eyes that I hold...And most likely, they stole the items from my Palace and disposed of them...So what is there to live for, anyway?” she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder, weeping silently. “You have me and I will help you out. I won’t let anyone punish you, I promise you that.” he cupped her face, making her look at him with her sad, doe-like eyes. “Even if I escape punishment, who can mend my shattered heart? My father never supported my passions, so I did everything in secret...And my own sisters plotted and went against me, for some reason that I’m completely unaware of, considering I always took care of them, sent them any riches I had and got them out of trouble...And there’s no way I will ever escape the hell from the harem wrath, even if I’m not part of it. I am lost with no place to call home and nobody to love me. I should just go end myself with some wine, out in the Plum Garden. It would be a very fitting end with no pain. Very beautiful...Maybe some music would have made it perfect - “ she kept talking in self-deprecation, not realising how it upset the man in front of her, until he stopped her by kissing her with enough fire to begin the melting process over the frozen pieces of her heart, “Stop speaking like that, you are upsetting me. How can I marry you and spend the rest of my life with you by my side, if you let the world get to you and kill you?” he was scolding her in a gentle manner, his hand on top of her head, putting his forehead to hers. “How can I not, when my own sisters, that I raised and took care of since mother died, plotted my death and were happy to see me fall? My own family, Yin Zhen! How can I bare with that?!” her voice was full of emotions of all kinds, desperate to have someone to cling on. “Those who wish ill on you are not your family, even though you are bound by blood. You have me, Y/N. I vow to you, I would never leave you alone. I will always be there for you, no matter what, and I will never let anyone hurt you again.” the man said, making the girl sigh and shake her head. “What are you trying to say, Yin Zhen? There’s only so long until you’ll become the Emperor. Even if you want to, you won’t have the time to even remember I exist. And you will be busy with all your concubines every night. Don’t vow what cannot happen, or you will anger the Gods. Be realistic. You know how I am. I refuse to bare children, I refuse to deal with the harem. I will get jealous, and in the end, you will end up hurting me more than my own family did.” she hung her head, wiping away the stray tears. “When I become Emperor, I will be able to do anything I want to. It’s true, I will need heirs, but that’s what the harem is about, but that doesn’t mean I won’t hold you in my arms every night. You will be Empress, and you will help me with matters of the Palace. If the Consort can deal with the harem now, she can do so when I reign as well. Not to mention, the current Empress favours you, she will be kind with you once she becomes Dowager.” he explained reassuringly, which made her look up at him slowly. “Do you vow you always love me the most and have me and only me as your priority? And you will listen to me when I talk. And we will still hang out at midnight in the Cherry Garden, we will still go swimming, or swinging in the Peach Garden, we will still play the Zither and Flute together and you will still compliment me over the littlest things, no matter what?” Y/N spoke a bit more harshly, to get her point across, which only made the man chuckle. “I vow that I will still be your Confidante, and you will be mine, and things between us won’t change even when I become Emperor. Who else could sew me such comfortable pyjamas and then wear them much better than I do?” he pinched her cheek before kissing her forehead tenderly. “That’s because I have style. Now...Tell me, what should I do?” and her reply came in the form of a scoff of amusement as the Prince pulled her to his chest, making her sit on his lap. “Sometimes I wish you were more ruthless, little fox. But it’s fine, I will be ruthless enough for the both of us. Just trust me, and tomorrow, we’ll go together and prove your innocence once and for all.” he declared in a voice fit for an Emperor, before putting one hand on the back of her neck, while the other was on her waist, and pulling her flush against his chest, he kissed her, gently at first, to make sure she wouldn’t shatter in front of him like a precious china doll, only to gradually become more and more passionate.

And once again, just like when they first met, they locked tender gazes and got lost in their own paradise - You are mine and you can only be mine - He’d think, just for a split second, as he continued kissing and touching her skin, softer than any cloud.

The next day marked the beginning of his vow, as she woke up with his arms draped around her small form and him stroking her hair gently, before they got dressed properly and went to her palace, the Blue Lotus, only to find her maid freaking out and checking her for any injuries.

When they explained to her what happened, Shi Lian grinned and ran to fetch a bag that she buried in a secret place under the snow, revealing the incriminatory objects that she risked so much for. The maid then pointed out that some eunuchs came over and tried to search the place, with the help of one of her sisters, only to find nothing and return fearfully to the noble consort, their mission failed.

Wait until they see she isn’t dead, really.

And so, Yin Zhen baited the sisters into going to the consort’s house, and told the Emperor to wait outside of the door and listen, only interfering if and when he sees fit.

“4th Prince, what ever could be the reason for summoning us like that?” the consort asked with a feign-innocent smirk o her face. “I believe it’s high time to finish investigating a crime, correct, consort? The mystery behind your miscarriage?” Yin Zhen’s eyes were sharp, yet victorious. “Ahh, yes, but wasn’t it confirmed to be that woman physician’s negligence?” she preferred to fake admiring her hand jewellery, instead of looking at the prince. “That is quite the narrative you painted, isn’t it? Painted with her blood, and the blood of my father’s offspring. Clearly, there is no shameful level of low-ness that you wouldn’t stoop to, just to gain my father’s attention and favour, isn’t it? Even going as far as to frame the only physician who would properly be able to heal you and the women of the Palace. She fought hard to convince my Imperial Father, the Emperor, to allow her to be a medicine practitioner, with you in her mind, not her own well-being. You must truly be cruel and desperate to want to get the Emperor’s favour that badly, again. You must know you’re getting old and ugly, and you won’t be my Father’s favourite anymore...And his favourites will be the newer concubines...Like Y/N’s sisters, who have unique, green eyes, unlike all the other women here.” the Prince hit the nail spot on, making the consort look at him with fear and indignation. “U-Uhm, Prince, I know you favoured Y/N Jiejie, but why are you dragging us into this?” Liyan asked cautiously. “Because the consort came to you with an alliance - If you get rid of Y/N, you won’t bully the sisters for being young and favoured. However, the sisters were jealous of Y/N of having favour from everyone without having to conform to the norms every woman has to, for she is not a concubine, therefore, she had nothing to fight for except your lives. To think that her own sisters that she took care of would plot her own demise without a single speck of regret. You caught her when she was most vulnerable, alone, in the Plum Garden, then had some eunuch strike her over the head with a wooden bat. Truly horrific to think family would behave like this.” the Prince played the detective part, explaining the story he heard from the girl herself. “What gives you the right to accuse us of such treacheries?! We would never hurt Jiejie!” Xiyan growled at the man, only for a surprise to happen, as the woman in cause entered the scene dramatically. “Wouldn’t you?” Y/N asked in a low voice, earning gasps of shock from the 3 other women. “J-Jiejie! You’re alright! You’re alive!” Xiyan’s lips quivered, as her eyes were darting between her sister and the consort. “Why wouldn’t I be alive, Xiyan Meimei? Was something supposed to happen that would guarantee my imminent death?” Y/N tilted her head slightly to the side, staring deep into her sister’s eyes, searching for the truth. “N-No, of course not! Why ever would you claim something so cruel?” Xiyan chuckled nervously, walking a few feet backwards. “All my life I thought myself the family disappointment since I never was the perfect woman that father wanted me to be, to bring honour to the family...But I know for sure that I never raised a liar or a traitor. You are a disappointment. To think you’d partner up with the consort to kill me, and then, when I talked to you about the evidence I found in her palace, you’d try to kill me and steal the objects. My maid is my family more than you ever were.” Y/N shook her head in disappointment, taking out the bag, which made the three women widen their eyes in horror, knowing very well what was going to happen. “Look at them, they are already pissing themselves with fear. They know what is in them.” Yin Zhen scoffed at them. “This is the consort’s cup, from which she drank Green Papaya juice...And this is a mortar in which cinnamon and pomegranate seeds were crushed into a powder. All of these are known to naturally induce abortions, so it’s no wonder she had a miscarriage when I gave her the medicine. You wanted the attention and to kill me, so what better way to do so than to frame me, punish me yourself, and have the Emperor hate me and potentially kill me? A Zhang of Redness, you said. How cruel of you, Consort.” Y/N taunted her once again, showing the evidence, putting them on the table. “You’re insane! This is a conspiracy! You have 4th Prince’s and you got him to conspire against me! You’re the worst!” the Consort shrieked at the girl, almost getting physically aggressive, until the Emperor himself stepped in the room. “That’s enough! How shameless can you be? I understand being jealous of the women of the harem, but of someone who is here only to save your lives? Impertinent!” the Emperor’s booming voice resounded throughout the room, drowning out the consort’s whinings for a little while. “Y/N, you have been the wronged one here, I will let their punishment be of your choosing, no matter how harsh. I will take my leave now, I cannot stand to look at these wretches anymore.” and so, he left the place, letting the consort grovel on the ground, helplessly, shrieking in the worst high-pitched voice. “All’s well when it ends well, I’d say.” Y/N muttered, looking at her two little sisters. “What do you two have to say in your defense?” “We are sorry, Y/N Jiejie, we were wrong! Please, forgive us!” the twins jumped on her, hugging her tightly, stunning the poor girl. “How cruel. You know she’s soft hearted so you try to play her again. You are shameless leeches.” Yin Zhen spoke out, seeing the conflict in his lover’s eyes...Only for her to gasp suddenly and widen her eyes in shock. “Finally...Huh? You’re truly the worst...Yin Zhen told me to be more ruthless...Perhaps I should begin now.” with a pained expression on her face, she pushed the sisters away from her, revealing the bleeding stab wound from her abdomen. “How many more times are you going to try to kill me? As many times needed until you finally succeed...But you think a tiny blade like this will do the trick? If poison, a bat to the head and the freezing cold didn’t kill me, this is nothing more than a mosquito’s bite for me.” Y/N looked at Liyan with disgust as she snatches away the dagger by the blade, throwing it away. “Y/N...!” Yin Zhen looked in horror at the wound that kept bleeding and bleeding, staining the green material of her beautiful dress. “This all began when you wanted to punish me with A Zhang of Redness. My hair is red. The Plum blossoms are red. My spilled blood was red as well. Now, it’s your turn. All three of you, I punish you with a Zhang of Redness, and should you live, I will take away all your titles and riches. Hopefully, you will see what I felt when I realised that death would be a blessing, rather than living. Enjoy your lives as paralysed traitors, you three.” despite the single tear straying down her face, Y/N’s eyes were cold and merciless, at least just for then, as hearing her little sisters scream, sob and plea for her to have mercy on them and forgive them was something that unavoidably crushed her, but there was nothing she could do about it anymore. “Every day with you is like watching a dramatic tragedy at the opera.” the prince sighed, picking her up carefully and bringing her to his palace, so the physicians would tend to her wound. “Isn’t my life a tragedy enough as it is, without you having to remind me?” she scoffed, turning away from him. “It won’t be anymore, my dear. I promise you.” and with that, Yin Zhen embraced Y/N once again, taking away all her sorrows, at least for the night, and many more other nights.

~~~ I also have a Sad Ending, read at your own risk. If I were you, I wouldn’t read it, but we all know how some need angst to live ~~~

But years passed faster than the blink of an eye, and as the norm asked for, problems still surrounded everyone in the Palace, since it wouldn’t be the Imperial Court otherwise.

It was needless to say was still mourning not having her sisters around anymore, as one of them died, while the other remained paralysed in the Cold Palace, and as soon as her father came by to sell his Western products and found out the fate of his children, he blamed Y/N for being heartless and bringing dishonor to their family by being the complete opposite of what a woman should be.

And so...They weren’t so young anymore, but double the age from when they met, and Yin Zhen now became Emperor Yongzheng, and Y/N was his Empress, just as promised.

At first, he was loyal to his vow - No matter who he’d be forced to visit for the night, he’d still return to her and hold her in his arms until the light of morning creeped through the windows, waking them up, but time is a feeble enemy, and words are easily forgotten.

Daily, became Weekly, just like Weekly, became Monthly.

He would barely come by to visit, let alone spend the night with her, and meals together were as scarce as trustworthy people in the palace.

Every day, she was forced to wake up and get ready to welcome all the concubines who had to pay their respects to her, only to be mocked for not being the Emperor’s favourite anymore.

It wasn’t like she couldn’t complain too much to the Dowager, as she already tried to remind her Son multiple times not to forget and neglect his own Empress, his own wife and beloved for so many ages, and yet, it only worked for a little time, and so, realising how she was being problematic to everyone by complaining about her loneliness, only to get shut down and reminded that that is the fate of any woman...

A woman, more alone now than ever before.

She would often go out to the special places she shared with Yin Zhen, often lost in thought, as memories kept flooding her mind and damaging her heart, only to realise that no matter how much she’d try to keep herself busy, her mind would still fly over to him.

She would try to practice the flute and zither from dusk till dawn, and even to the latest hours in the night, only for him not to even remember she could play, and asking the younger, pretties concubines to play, at all banquets held.

She would practice all kinds of intricate dances, wearing the flowiest of dresses that looked like the river, only to hear that she should settle for clothing fit for her age, and see him dancing with other women in the light of the moon.

She would sew random brocades and threads in whatever piece of garment she could think of, only to then throw it in the fire in frustration, knowing he hasn’t worn anything she’s made for him lately.

She would practice calligraphy until the candles were almost burnt and her eyes were burning from the sleep depravation and straining, only to rip the books apart, noticing the tears, smudges and shakiness on the pages.

For a while, she refused to leave her palace completely, only to realise her thoughts were much darker when alone, so she would walk through the secluded gardens and weep on the now deserted swing from the Peach Garden.

No matter how much she tried, her poor maid, Shi Lian, could never make her happy again, for the only one who can mend a broken heart is the one who threw it to the ground in the first place, but he was too busy with others, and Shi Lian was so angry at the Emperor, pitying the poor woman, especially since she, herself, was married and with children.

But she was happy, and Y/N was at least happy for her good fortune. At least she, her only friend, deserves to be happy.

On one winter day, the Emperor held a banquet, declaring that a famous Zither player would entertain them, and as customs said, the Empress must, too, attend, but big was her shock when she recognised that beautiful and otherwise stoic man with silver hair, whose emotions coloured the worlds while playing the instrument, and she couldn’t help but cry when she heard ‘Autumn Moon over the Han Palace’ and ‘Plum-Blossoms in Three Movements’ , songs which reminded her of her younger self, and the time he started courting her, before she chose duty over happiness and entered the Palace.

What a foolish decision. Instead of living for herself, she always lived for others, which only caused her sorrow and misfortune. Maybe she deserves it, and this is her karma for being such an idiot.

After the banquet was ready, she went to talk to the musician alone, who clearly recognised her as soon as he first laid his eyes upon her still beautiful face.

“Not even time can destroy such beauty. My heart is happy seeing you again, Y/N. And I see you became the Empress.” JiKang spoke, his voice warmer now than with anyone else. “Time is cruel, for it destroys words and promises. I am an Empress over nothing but the ashes of my own heart and the disrespect I receive from everyone. You, however, seem to be thriving as usual. I can only guess how many places you’ve visited thus far, and how much you’ve learned over the years. I truly envy you.” she spoke with sorrow and helplessness. “Women are forced to choose duty over themselves. If you, however, wish to defy all laws, my offer still stands.” he spoke, taking her hands in his, rubbing them comfortingly. “If I could turn back time, I would give up everything, just to be with you. To be free. To have someone who wouldn’t lie to me for decades and then forget I exist. I only wished to learn, love, and be happy...But I suppose I was too greedy to even dare wish for good fortune on myself. Which is why, I cannot leave without first talking to the Emperor. If I leave without another word, he would hunt me down, and kill you, above all else, and that is not something that I would ever wish for. I will tell him to fake my death and get another Empress. If he accepts, I will come with you. If not...Then...” she trailed on, sighing, without having the strength to utter those dreaded words. “Then, I will return to you another time and play songs, to mend your heart.” the Zither player promised, only for a brief silence to take over, as her green eyes, once full of life, like the evergreen forest, were as dead as the ashes of a pine tree. “...There will be no next time.” her sentence was coded, but him, as an emotional person, was the one who understood her the best. “Then I shall create a score and play the ‘Requiem for God’s Caged Bird’ and ‘The Lovely Fox Spirit and The Wavering Dragon’ in your honour, wherever I go.” was his last promise to her, as he watched her small form become no more in front of his very eyes.

And it was true, he never saw her, for the discussion between the Emperor and the Empress went as bad as it could get, even going as far as to strike her face, which reminded her of yet another promise that he broke. It should be all of them, by now, she thought, as she looked at him with an exhausted expression.

“You promised me so many things, and in the end, you broke all of them. Thank you, my darling Yin Zhen, for reminding me that I’ve been nothing more than your caged song bird that you forgot and threw in another room, in cold and darkness, to slowly starve and die in agony. The least you could have done was to fake my death and let me be happy, for the few years that I had left on this world. But, of course, nobody from your collection can escape, can they? Next time, I would suggest Zhen Huan, she is a lovely girl, and you love her the most, and in turn, she truly loves you. Just...Make sure not to treat her the same way you did with me...Goodbye, my beloved Yin Zhen. I truly loved you...And I still do.” she spoke...And then she left, not giving him the chance to say another word.

But that all happened during day light, as the next night, the true banquet would take place, to celebrate New Year’s Day, and JiKang would play once again. And she wasn’t there, just as he’d expected. And he played more beautifully, more emotionally, than he ever did in his entire life, showing how much he cherished her, and how angry and frustrated he is with the Emperor took her away from him, mistreated her, constantly lying and breaking her heart.

“Shi Lian, my dear, why are you still here? You should be with your family, not with some old, pitiful woman like myself.” Y/N spoke from her writing table as she finished a note, putting her seal over it, and folding it so its contents won’t be seen. “Your Majesty, don’t be silly! I am your maid, I will always be here for you!” she chuckled brightly, which made the Empress give her a sad smile, her heart hurting as if impaled, once again. “Well...I won’t be going to the Banquet tonight, that much is clear. I can hear the beautiful music from over here. Here, take this. Give it to the Emperor’s Head eunuch as fast as possible, and tell him to give it to the Emperor when he wakes up in the morning, otherwise, nobody is allowed to read it, okay?” she said, wiping a few tears. “Yes, Your Majesty, I will hurry there right now!” the maid said, but before she left, the Empress rose to her feet, pulling her into an embrace. “Thank you, Shi Lian. You have been my only friend all this time. Thank you for everything. Now, please, after you’re done with this task, go stay with your family. I will have an early night...I am extremely tired.” she stroked her hair, almost in a motherly way, which confused the maid, but nonetheless, smiled at her master. “No, Master, thank you for being the amazing woman that you are. It’s an honour being by your side!” she bowed slightly, before rushing to the door. “Sweet dreams, Y/N Niangniang!” Shi Lian grinned cheerfully before taking off to the palace. “...I’m sure I will.” Y/N sighed, taking a bag and going to the Plum Garden, wearing nothing but her pyjamas.

She sat down on the soft grass, ignoring the cold that was paralysing her senses, and she took out the bottle of red wine, pouring herself a cup, before letting it spill on the ground. Then, she took a sachet, pouring its powdery contents into the bottle, and started rapidly gulping it down, letting the burning sensation in her throat be the only warm part in her body. When the bottle was finally empty, she put it back in the bag, taking out a beautifully engraved vertical jade flute, that Yin Zhen gifted her after winning the competition where he played the zither, against the Princess of Western Liang, and so, she let all her emotions flow and be scattered all over China, through the wind, propelled by the sound of the instrument, all while the snowflakes were beautifully dancing around her, creating different accessories embellished with ice, that would set down on her, making her look like a Snow Empress.

If it weren’t for the tragic truth, she would look almost ethereal - With her white face, and white nightgown, the white decor, the green eyes and flute...The red hair, the red wine, the red plum blossoms...And the red blood.

She played and wept until she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore, not her frozen lips, as the flute fell from her hands and she let herself sit back on the bed of snow, looking up at the sky, just as she did, over 20 years ago.

Her death was tragically beautiful, just as she said back then.

“I should just go end myself with some wine, out in the Plum Garden. It would be a very fitting end with no pain. Very beautiful...Maybe some music would have made it perfect.” that’s what she said, long ago, and remembering her own words, she let darkness take over her, greeting it with a smile on her face - A smile, after decades of weeping.

A true smile.

The next morning, the Emperor woke up, with the beautiful Zhen Huan by his side, and his Head Eunuch waiting for him for any command.

“Your Majesty, the Empress’ maid came by yesterday, saying that Her Majesty instructed her that you should be reading this now, in the morning, as you’ve waken up. She said she doesn’t know what it contains, as Her Majesty was secretive, but she said Her Majesty was behaving a bit...Odd.” the Eunuch explained the situation, as the Emperor, nodded with a grunt of approval, taking and unfolding the scroll that was neatly written in her beautiful calligraphy.

My Darling Yin Zhen,

To think that this is what time had in store for us...It’s almost pitiful to think that we would grow apart like this, considering how close we used to be at the beginning, when you were still a Prince, and we didn’t have any real worries on our shoulders.

Now, here we are, the same way we promised we would never become - Enstranged.

I missed you so much, every day and every night - I would always look at you, and see you, yet you never spared a glance my way anymore.

Saying that I used to be jealous is an understatement, I warned you of that before I even accepted to be with you, yet I never imagined that this would become beyond that, and that I would die of a broken heart, for my missing beloved.

Every day, I would count the promises and vows you made for me, and every day, I would cross them, one by one, and crush a flower in my hands, for every broken one, until there was nothing left.

You promised you would love me, and only me, but as soon as the Palace became flooded with gorgeous concubines, all yours to take, your heart forgot me, and it split all its love to all the women that you shared your bed with, and so, I crushed a Lotus flower.

Your promised you would always hold me in your arms at night, no matter of the woman you’d have to do your Imperial Duty with, and yet, it didn’t take long for you to remember that my bed was made for the both of us, and so, I crushed a Cherry blossom.

You promised you will always tease me, flick my forehead and pinch my cheeks, then kiss them, only for you to cast cold eyes at me whenever I spoke or did something silly, letting the Consort or Dowager deal with me, while you would play and to the same things you used to do with me, with other women, and so, I crushed a Plum blossom.

You used to compliment me on all my small achievements, no matter how silly or insignificant they were, but now, you gave away all the clothes I sew you, all the snacks, cakes and tea I would make you, and all the accessories I would spend days and night to make, and so, I crushed a Begonia flower.

You used to point out how my eyes were sparkling with life and joy whenever I was around you, and how all colours looked amazing on me, you said I was the Empress of Flowers, and yet, ever since you became Emperor, only dark eyes sparkle with happiness around you, and you said I should wear clothes for my age and stop fooling around, and so, I crushed a Peony.

You used to always accompany me whenever I played music, we even beat the Princess of Western Liang together, I with the flute, that you later gifted me, and you with the zither, and after that, you even gifted me that amazing Liang hair ornament...Only for you to forget that I can play musical instruments too, and only let the younger girls perform for you, and so, I crushed a Chrysanthemum.

You used to kiss me with so much love and passion, warming up and mending by broken, frozen heart, as you promised nothing in this life would ever hurt me again, and I would never be alone, and yet, you are the one who completely crushed me, forgetting about me, as if I was some ugly, ragged old doll, thrown away and forgotten by time and life, and so, I crushed a Camellia.

You used to be my confidante, my best and only friend, we trusted each other with all our secrets and gossips, and only each other, and yet, you completely stopped talking to me, making other confidantes now, and here I am, having no one but my maid to talk with, as my last living sister hates me eternally, and rightfully so, and so, I crushed a Narcissus.

You used to take me out at midnight and dance under the veil of stars, under the healing, guarding, loving light of Mother Moon, and we would confess our undying love for each other, and yet, nothing is eternal, and your love for me extinguished like the fire from a candle, and reignited on many other candles, and so, I crushed an Azalea.

But most importantly...

You promised that, no matter what, our hearts will always belong to each other, and nobody else - I kept my end of the promise, but you broke it as soon as you took the throne, and I watched you run further and further away from me, while I was wilting away, exhausted, starving, alone...And so...I crushed a thorny Rose...And let the blood spill on the pure snow...The same pure snow that was my life and innocence which you tainted with your negligence and lies.

The least you could have done was to let me live, at least for now, but it is as you once said - ‘Don’t look at other men, don’t leave me. You are mine, and you can only be mine’ - such an innocent phrase, that only applied to you, not to me, as I had to share you with countless women, yet you didn’t even let me tug on the last string of hope that coincidentally found itself in front of me.

It was a mirage, just like the happiness you promised me, and no matter how much I tried to run, the image became further and further distant, until my legs gave up, and I began crawling...And crawling...Until it disappeared completely, and I lay grieving on the deserted snow, warmer than your own ice-cold heart.

I should have chosen happiness over duty - I should have eloped with JiKang back then, before I chose to honour everyone and come into the Palace, but that was my biggest mistake, and my greatest downfall - I met you, and as soon as I looked into your eyes, I was trapped.

I was truly nothing more than your caged songbird, and once you got tired of my song, you threw away the key, and my cage in some forgotten chamber, scary, away from any form of life, darker and colder than anything, even Hell.

But it’s fine.

In the end, if it wasn’t true for you, it was true for me, and on my last seconds alive, as I lay on the blanket of snow, just as I told you back then, listening to my own Requiem being played at the Banquet, I count the falling snowflakes, and with each of them, I would think of a beautiful moment that we shared together, and my heart, despite being shattered, smiled, after ages of forgetting how to.

I am happy, at least now, as I lay dying, knowing that I will finally see my beloved Yin Zhen again, as you took him away from me - You, Emperor Yongzheng, destroyed the love between me, Y/N, a simple physician, and Yin Zhen, the 4th Prince, who truly loved me with all of his heart, and I, in turn, loved him with every fiber of my very being.

I blame you, Emperor Yongzheng, for taking my beloved away from me, and taking my youth and heart and locking them in a cell, but at least now, I know that I can be happy, with him, my beautiful, sweet, lovely Yin Zhen, my husband, best friend and confidante.

The only person who was ever by my side all this time has been my maid, Shi Lian - And as a thank you, I want to promote her to Lady Yongqing, and all my riches go to her - I wish you only the best, and I hope, my dear Shi Lian, that you will be happy for me as well.

In the end, I was never Wu Zetian, or Hua Mulan, nor Diaochan or Yang Gufei - I was just Y/N, a pitiful Physician, a pitiful Empress, and, above all, a sad woman, trapped in a hopeless world of sorrow.

Goodbye.

Y/N, the Female Imperial Physician.

Reading that, the Emperor didn’t realise that tears were escaping from his eyes, as he rushed out of the room, making his way to the Plum Garden, only to find the woman he loved with all his being dead, covered by snow, her skin paler than ice itself, and a red stain where her head was - Wine, replicating the incident many years ago. Next to her, lay the flute he gifted her long ago, and he realised that she was playing her sorrows until the very end. He discovered the wine bottle and poison sachet in the bag, the very bag that she used to steal the incriminatory objects from the consort long ago, and on the snow, he saw a phrase written, one so ironic, yet painful beyond belief.

“A Zhang of Redness”

In the end, she was right - It all began and ended with A Zhang of Redness.

He was, once again, Yin Zhen, the man hopelessly in love, and hopelessly crushed, as he held her in his arms and wept, the salty droplets of water falling down her face in rivers, and in that moment, he couldn’t help but have flashbacks from his youth, all of them, with her by his side.

He truly was the worst, being capable of neglecting the one person he held in higher esteem than Buddha himself, and yet, he let this happen.

How could he let this happen? Why did he do something like this? Did the title of Emperor really get to his head like that? Did he truly forget who he was all this time? Was he, maybe, the one trapped in a false world, away from any exits or escapes?

He didn’t know, and yet, one thing was sure - Y/N was dead, and there was no bringing her back.

At her funeral, he invited JiKang to play, and the Emperor could feel the musician’s own heart throbbing in sorrow, as he looked at her with empty eyes, and yet, the pity and anger he felt was obvious from the way he played.

As night came, and they all lit lanterns to float into the skies, and put candles on lotus flowers, to light up her way to a better, more beautiful world, the two men remained alone, only sadness linking them.

“What were the songs that you played?” the Emperor asked in a low voice. “Songs that I promised I would play in her honour, the last time we talked. I knew what she was going to do, and yet, knowing that she killed herself when I played for her - And more - that she, herself, played, makes my heart ache even more. ‘Requiem for God’s Caged Bird’ and ‘The Lovely Fox Spirit and The Wavering Dragon’ were the name of the songs.” the musician replied with a certain harsh coldness that resembled a blizzard. “I see...Very fitting indeed.” he grunted in approval hearing his statement. “You are the cruelest man alive. Instead of taking care of her, you let her die. You didn’t even give her a second chance of living. You were desperate to possess everything and everyone. To have everything under your control. So much that you don’t even notice, nor care, that the most beautiful flower wilted in your very own hands. You should be ashamed of yourself, to even call yourself an Emperor. You never deserved her, that much, is clear to me.” JiKang glared at the Emperor, not caring for any kind of repercussion. “You are correct. I never deserved her. I loved her more than anything in this world, and yet, I destroyed everything for her, and now, she is no more. She shares the same fate as all the Four Beauties of China - A most tragic end, for all of them. And the worst is that she needed to die in order for me to wake up, and now, I can’t even make it up to her. Honouring her after death means nothing, if I didn’t while she was alive. It changes nothing.” the Emperor sighed deeply, looking at the stars, the ones she loved so much, and would count together from the top of the flowery hill. “That star right there - It used to be our star. Whenever we’d go to the hill together, we’d search for it. It was our guardian star. It was the brightest, and most beautiful. And now, it seems to be be even brighter...Just like that tale of the Rabbit Moon Goddess.” “...At least bother remembering her after death, if you couldn’t do it while she was alive.” the musician left the Emperor to his own thoughts. “I am sorry, my darling Y/N. I love you. Forever. Endlessly. Only you.” the Emperor muttered, staring at the star, allowing himself to mourn properly now, away from anyone’s eyes.

The Palace of Blue Lotus became her shrine, filled with flowers and beautifully written poems, and guarding it, a statue of her, and a statue of a nine tailed fox, a Huli jing, were standing there, letting offerings of flower crowns, jewelleries, jades and trinkets be placed around and all over them, to honour her kind, beautiful heart, as it should have happened while she was alive.

As promised, the Emperor promoted Shi Lian, but to the title of Lady Shuyu, just like Y/N once was, and offered her a huge allowance, almost the size of an Empress, hoping that it would make Y/N happy beyond life...Yet seeing the maid grieving, her face pink and puffy, no longer cheerful, hurt him beyond belief, as he was reminded of the sins he committed.

And so, once again, he had to pink new concubines for his unfortunate Harem, along with his new Empress, Zhen Huan, just as Y/N said...And there she was, a beautiful young woman, full of life and hope, obviously not wanting to become a slave to him, so he interrogated him, just as he did with Y/N, long ago. This time, his brother, Duke Guo, a free soul seeking his soulmate, was by his side.

The Emperor ordered for a zither to be brought forth for the woman to play, and as soon as she did, his brother joined in, accompanying her in perfect sync, and just as it happened to him long ago, their eyes were trapping each other in a beautiful enchantment of love and bashfulness.

Please, Gods, let them be what I and Y/N couldn’t be, Yin Zhen begged in his heart, watching those two shyly exchanging looks.

“I know you never wanted to serve me as a concubine. You very much resemble my wife, the late Empress Y/N. If you were to join the harem, your heart will be destroyed. That is why...If you would want to, I will allow you to marry any man you fall in love with, even if it is my own brother, Duke Guo. He always preached about wanting to find the his soulmate, and you two look at each other the same way I and Y/N would, long ago. Don’t waste this love on stupid things, like I did. Cherish it, and keep your promises to each other. You never know when life snatches away your happiness, leaving only emptiness and sorrow behind.” Yin Zhen looked at them, his heart conflicted, feeling both happiness and sadness, as the man and woman in front of him appeared to be just another version of himself and Y/N.

He couldn’t see the girl, nor his brother.

He could only see a beautiful red haired woman with green eyes, flowers in her long, cascading hair, and her gorgeous green gown, looking like a Fox Spirit, or a Lotus...And a man, gazing at her lovingly, wearing vibrant gold, his expression soft, despite the deep, dark eyes, that now held love, warmth and tenderness in them.

It wasn’t some random girl and some random boy.

It was Y/N and Yin Zhen.

And then he wept once again for their lost love.

#legend of the phoenix #legend of the phoenix imagine #legend of the phoenix x reader #yin zhen #yin zhen x reader #yin zhen imagine #yin zhi #emperor kangxi #emperor yongzeng #empress #noble consort #a zhang of redness #angst #legend of the phoenix yin zhen #legend of the phoenix yin zhen x reader #legend of the phoenix yin zhen imagine

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dweemeister · 4 years ago

Photo

Kiss of Death (1947)

When 20th Century Fox put together the pieces to launch a production of film noir Kiss of Death, the picture was to be a vehicle for leading man Victor Mature. Mature had impressed Fox’s chief executive, Darryl F. Zanuck, in a supporting performance as Doc Holliday in My Darling Clementine (1946). Zanuck wished to reward the Fox contractee with a starring role, buying the rights to the film’s story with Mature in mind. But no one at Fox expected what would happen next: an actor debuting in his first film role would overshadow Mature. Kiss of Death marks the cinematic debut for Richard Widmark, best-known at the time for his Broadway work in pleasant, romantic comedy roles. For his first movie appearance, Widmark – and I don’t write something like this lightly – provides one of the most terrifying debuts in film history. This is not to downplay the performances (of Mature, Brian Donlevy, or fellow debutant Coleen Gray) or the filmmaking, but Widmark’s performance alone make Kiss of Death – directed by Henry Hathaway, from a screenplay by Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer – an essential film noir.

After a failed jewelry store robbery on Christmas Eve, ex-con Nick Bianco (Victor Mature) is offered leniency from New York City Assistant District Attorney Louis D’Angelo (Brian Donlevy) if Nick can provide the names of his accomplices to the robbery. Against all common sense and in the belief his accomplices will take care of his wife and daughters, Nick refuses. He is handed a twenty-year sentence in Sing Sing. Several months into the sentence, he learns that his wife has committed suicide following a rape by one of his accomplices* and that his daughters have been handed over to an orphanage. Former babysitter Nettie Cavallo (Coleen Gray) divulges this news to Nick, who then indicates his desire to cooperate with the ADA. In an arrangement agreed to by D’Angelo and Nick’s lawyer, Earl Howser (Taylor Holmes), Nick becomes a jailhouse informant and is given the possibility of an earlier parole. While serving as a jailhouse informant, he will encounter Tommy Udo (Widmark) – who, eventually, uses any means at his disposal to keep Nick silent about his plans and partners-in-crime.

The film also stars Mildred Dunnock (appearing briefly in one of the most memorable scenes in any film noir), character actors Howard Smith and Millard Mitchell, and only the second credited film for eventual star Karl Malden.

Before commenting on how the performances heighten what could have been your run-of-the-mill film noir, Norbert Brodine’s (1938’s Merrily We Live, 1949’s Thieves’ Highway) cinematography and J. Watson Webb Jr.’s (1944’s The Lodger, 1952’s With a Song in My Heart) editing are superb. One only has to watch the opening moments of the film to witness the benefits of their collaboration. The failed robbery scene is a textbook example of economical filmmaking. Webb’s cutting neither lingers nor moves away too rapidly for the audience’s comprehension. Brodine’s strategic placements of his camera and use of blocking – of Mature, the supporting actors, extras, and the production design – ratchets up the tension, suggesting without any words how little room for error there is in this operation. Small details such as what level an elevator is on allow the audience to agonize – however much we do not want to see this robbery succeed – over the robbers’ wasted seconds. In Kiss of Death’s tensest scenes, this mercurial combination splices into moments that will shock and unnerve. Kiss of Death is an ideal counterargument to black-and-white film’s uninformed naysayers but, more compellingly, an entry point for film noir novices.

When complemented with Richard Widmark’s performance, Kiss of Death becomes horrifying. Widmark’s face often sports a toothy half-grin that only serves to intimidate. To make matters worse, as Tommy Udo, his staccato snigger accompanies a grin belying a man unhinged, delighting in his sadistic and psychopathic ways. Udo’s disconcerting voice and manner of speech reveals a character as slippery as a soapy eel. The way he tells a cop prodding for information that, “I wouldn’t give you the skin off a grape,” comes laced with dismissal, menace, and even playfulness.

It is difficult to watch the harm Tommy Udo brings to others. But Widmark is so convincing in the role, it is impossible to keep one’s eyes off of him. If you are aware about the basics of the Hays Code, you can easily guess Tommy Udo’s fate. But beyond the scope of the film’s narrative, the character inspired certain men in American colleges and universities to form Tommy Udo clubs or fraternities. These clubs and fraternities codified Udo’s disgusting male chauvinism – as if colleges and universities needed any more such behavior. It is a magnificent about-face from Widmark’s Broadway roles at the time; his actual off-screen persona (by all accounts, Widmark was one of the kindest people in Hollywood and was known to apologize for any hurtful words or behaviors he performed while in character on a film shoot); and many of the upstanding roles he would play later in his career.

Though outshone by Widmark, Mature strikes the balance of being a former hoodlum and caring parent. His physical acting cannot hide his character’s violent past, but – akin to his performance as Doc Holliday the previous year – there is ample room for melancholy and remorse. Mature pairs well with Coleen Gray, whose innocent demeanor recalls her later performances in Red River (1948) and other film noir projects.

Speaking of film noir, most noir is set in an urban environment and filmed on a soundstage. Kiss of Death is no exception to this rule, but a decent portion of the film was shot on-location in New York City and numerous interiors do not feel as if shot on a soundstage. The Bianco family home has a riverfront view in Queens and the interior and exteriors of the Chrysler Building (where the opening heist is filmed), Criminal Courts Building, Sing Sing (Hathaway had Mature and Widmark go through a simulation of convict processing to help them embody the mindset of a prisoner), among other locations. Quotations from the main theme of Alfred Newman’s score to Street Scene (1931) bolsters the authenticity of the film’s New York environment. In terms of backgrounds and production design, there is little sense of artificiality that might have emanated from an all-too-obvious soundstage. Hathaway’s direction posits Kiss of Death as documentary-like without ever quite crossing the lines of fiction and non-fiction. In combination with the performances, these decisions, in aggregate, elevate Kiss of Death from just another film noir. No disrespect intended to the esteemed and prolific screenwriters, Ben Hecht (1932’s Scarface, 1946’s Notorious) and Charles Lederer (1940’s His Girl Friday, 1960’s Ocean’s Eleven), but this was not their most original screenplay – ideologically, structurally, or in terms of character development.

Other reviewers have noted how Tommy Udo might have been influenced by the Joker from the Batman comics. Some go further, claiming that Widmark was a fan of Batman and based Udo’s persona on the Joker and that actor Frank Gorshin based his portrayal of The Riddler in the 1960s Batman television series on Udo. There are no primary sources to confirm any of these claims. If any prior narrative media influenced Widmark’s performance, I cannot confirm any such claims however convincing, on the surface, they might be. The provenance of the influences of and by this performance remains a mystery.

Kiss of Death derives its power almost solely from its performances and nail-biting action. The latter is almost entirely accomplished with slower and/or less motion than one might expect. It is another tribute to the editing’s manipulation of space and time that segments featuring a steady walk, a seemingly ordinary dinner table conversation, or a character sitting alone in darkness watching the movement across the street can leave viewers with wide eyes and goosebumps. Kiss of Death may not stake a claim to being one of the best examples of film noir. Yet through its incredible performances and dramatic ferocity, it will leave impressions that will jangle even the most composed viewers.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. Half-points are always rounded down. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog (as of July 1, 2020, tumblr is not permitting certain posts with links to appear on tag pages, so I cannot provide the URL).

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

* Actress Patricia Morrison (1943′s The Song of Bernadette, 1946′s Dressed to Kill... but better known for her stage performances) was cast as Nick Bianco’s wife. She filmed both the rape and suicide scenes, but both were cut in the final print. It is unknown who – Hathaway? Kohlmar? Zanuck? – made this decision. But I imagine that the Production Code Administration, applying the Hays Code which forbade such depictions, might have been instrumental in forcing Fox to drop the scenes.

#Kiss of Death #Henry Hathaway #Victor Mature #Richard Widmark #Brian Donlevy #Coleen Gray #Taylor Holmes #Ben Hecht #Charles Lederer #Norbert Brodine #J. Watson Webb Jr.#Fred Kohlmar #Darryl F. Zanuck #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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imasimpforstevengrant · 5 years ago

Text

Into you

@raven-romanoff

@maristela1968

@flaky178

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Author's note:

First off... Gif made from the original video.

https://youtu.be/iqDUGD8SHF4

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I have to confess I wanted to write another smut for Arthur/Harleen since the first one I wrote wasn't so satisfying... So, here it is! It took me a long time to write it (two months, actually. Bless the writer's block, FFS) so I hope you like it!

Second, sorry for any typos because english is not my first language (Chilean Spanish Strikes Back once again lol).

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Summary: Follow up to "I feel you". After his first night with Harleen, Arthur cannot get enough of her... And she has more in store for him than just a few warm, kind words.

Warnings: insecurity, (considerable) age gap, self loathing, swearing, masturbation (both receiving), strong sexual themes, unprotected sex, mild dirty talk... And smut.

Words: 8.540 (sorry if it's too long. I hope you don't get bored)

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The clock marked 5:46 a.m. when Arthur opened his eyes. He had a blanket over his frail, undressed form and was alone. The missing presence of Harleen alarmed him, believing it was another painful hallucination or worse. The idea she regretted the union and decided to lock in her bedroom to sleep by herself harassed his mind incessantly.

As soon as the neon lights shone before his eyes, he knew everything was alright. He almost fell on the couch again, relieved. But he never stopped asking where she was, though the calm background around him tenderly convinced the convulsed psyche to not keep tormenting.

As he yawned, taking a seat, he replayed everything that happened a few hours ago.

He just had sex.

Chuckling, he lit up a cigarette. And thought about what happened one more time so his brain would memorize it.

Harleen allowed him to touch her.

The memory of her moaning and straddling him set him on fire. Harleen had such a good time and he loved to see her enjoying it. The killing eagerness to repeat the act, just to see her again coming undone, to hear her lustful moans slowly took over his mind.

He took a deep breath and looked for his hoodie. The cloth in question was found on a puddle of mixed garments, which included her peach coloured pajamas and his pants. Arthur took the blanket off partially to grab the sleeveless shirt with certain desperation to smell it, to prove himself this wasn’t his imagination. The sweet, fruity smell filled his nose, almost submerging him into a high state. It wasn’t enough, though. A profound nuzzle into the garment served as a vain way to revive the sensations experimented as Harleen let his mouth roam over her chest. He absorbed the fresh, fruity scent. Eventually the need the dirty habit brought with it overcame the ritual that reduced Arthur to a starving animal. As the hunger diminished, he put the piece of clothing aside. Arthur took his time, remembering the initial goal by rummaging the cloth puddle: the pack of cigarettes showed up coming out the right pocket in a scalene triangle shape. He took it immediately, also taking the lighter.

As he smoked his cigarette, for the first time he thought how lucky he was. As a malevolent chuckle reverberated through the air, he finally savoured what was that contact he yearned so much. A sensation of being an ordinary man nested on his heart. That’s what an ordinary man had, right? A job, a girlfriend, a sex life. He laid back on the couch again, bathing in this new, positive emotions. Looking at the shelf full of books, small crystal figures and a portrait of her holding a scroll, most likely her diploma once she got her degree. Arthur quickly got up to hold the portrait, watching it carefully. She seemed so… happy.

Returning the portrait to its original place, he stepped to the couch again. His thoughts clouded by the wonderful moment Harleen shared with him: loved how gentle she was, how considerate and patiently handled the loss of his celibacy in such an skilled way. It was the first time he truly felt in tune with someone in his entire fucking life. It was way beyond the physical bonding. He couldn’t find the words for it but he was sure about how he felt.

Seen.

While Arthur was searching another cigarette to smoke, another rowdy idea swarmed in his mind: he had never found himself attractive, given his eternal history of rejection from everyone and his frail appearance just increased the mute but obvious aura of dislike around him. What were the odds for a woman like Harleen to fall for him? One in a million. Her looks could perfectly allow her a good life as a model and her kindness and easygoing personality would even take her farther away from the poverty of the building. Yet, she didn't seem interested in pursue a better, new life. She could perfectly have any man at her mercy and still she preferred to stay, actually giving a damn about others.

Suddenly his self loathing bloomed fully again. What could he possibly offer her, except for misery and sorrow? Nothing. Nothing but a unquenchable thirst for her. An aged, pained soul devoid of love. She deserved better. A strong man.

A man of her own age.

Quickly his eyes closed. The hated guilt, the same he swore he had overcome, came back like a furious, stormy surge. Arthur felt he had committed an unforgivable sin by sleeping with her. She was so precious, so joyful... And so young. Things Arthur was far from. He was so inexperienced, so clumsy, so flawed... A dark part of him felt he had defiled her, that he had taken advantage of her gentleness to sate his own selfish desires. This sense of perversion flooded his mind, reducing the happy moment to a mistake that shouldn't have been. His lungs crumpled the air, if the smoke didn't disperse it. The hand that left free palmed the forehead, to drive away the negativity.

Suddenly his mind remembered the laughing fit. And the gentle hug that followed it. The pieces in this puzzle came together. Harleen holding him right against her chest in a searing yet tender embrace. Not even his mother would offer such comforting balm.

Arthur then let a short cackle to shatter the silence. He definitely had something but he did not know for sure what was that something. It had to be more than just being a 'hard working man'. If she was so gentle with him, surely a feeling was on the way. To his mind comes the tender memory of their first meeting. The first thing he got from her was a warm, kind smile through the fence.

Of course, the cursed fit fucked up everything. But it happened! The open palm patted his chest, calming down the turbulent flow inside of him. The happy memory of their first meeting brought also the passionate moment of the first kiss which almost led them to the bed.

Arthur processed a thousand things that night. But one thing was for certain: that night Harleen awoke a hunger he had never felt in his life. Never saying it but showing it in their kissing sessions. He remembered that one time when he was expecting her to return after her shift. It was late at night. His knee bounced while Arthur smoked three cigarettes in the meantime. But he wasn’t alone. There were two young men a few feet away who minded their own business. Arthur feared them to be robbers but nothing happened. He put his hoodie on and kept smoking. A bus arrived but she wasn’t among the four people who stepped down from the vehicle. Two more came, but she was never among them. It started to get on his nerves when a taxi finally stopped and revealed the lovely passenger:

As soon as Harleen set foot outside, Arthur jumped out from the bench. The two other men witnessed the scene: their faces changed from curiousity to actual surprise when the blonde threw her arms to the man who evidently was older than her. But the lovers didn’t care. Their kiss was so heated that the youngest of the two muttered “damn” under his breath. They couldn’t stop staring at them, but Arthur was too focused on sharing their lips in a desperate dance. He was oblivious to the envy he inspired in every man whenever Harleen would display her affection in public. Therefore, he didn’t care. He longed to take the initiative in their eventual intimate encounter but the fear his inexperience would ruin it prevented any attempt to start intimacy. Harleen was aware of how hard was for him to begin with physical contact, though he never denied it. She could tell he had so much to say by just looking at his eyes. Patience with him would pay off. And the worst part of all this? The fits.

The fucking laughing fits. And Harleen could only hug the pain away against her chest while his head found shelter in it. He froze in the position where he basically clawed to her body. It was the third time he had one in front of her, the second being in the empty subway after a date. It was after a careless kiss Harleen granted to his lips while waiting for him to go off work. He could tell she had been drinking: she was way more affectionate than usual. The spontaneous caress on his lips took him by surprise. He laughed at his fucking frustration on how he could possibly cope with what was regarded as the ultimate loss of personal space. He considered himself as a romantic at heart but Harleen’s overwhelming passion reminded him of how inexperienced he was, how unsure he was actually feeling relating to his damaged masculinity.

It was almost like a pessimistic prelude before their first night together, since Arthur did not have the chance to come closer to her disregarding sex. He just had kissed and embraced her, restraining his touches to her face, neck and waist but never beyond there. Arthur preferred the silent sensuality of passiveness, though he desired to sink down deep inside of her.

The crude self loathing drifted to another question: Where was she?

Taking the blanket off him and putting his pants on, Arthur wandered over the flat and saw a dim orange light glowing behind the door, which was open just a crack. Analysing the lit lines, he then paid attention to the steam coming from the bathroom. He stopped breathing, closing his eyes to not commit the sin to spy on her.

His right hand knocked the door, leaning into it expecting the answer. A few seconds later, her voice approved him to get into the place. Arthur got in, anxious.

The sight of her completely overrode his senses. He stood completely frozen trying to process, once again, what was happening. The mere action of this impious gaze was enough to make him turn his head. She bursted out laughing. And hearing she wasn't upset with his presence managed to look at her.

Harleen was on the bathtub, laying on her back. Her damp hair covered her chest while the foam didnt allow to see more of her body. This didn't upset him, of course. This new glimpse of his lover was something he would never forget.

Amused by his priceless expression, Harleen covered her face.

"Are you in need for another ride, Mr. Fleck?", She asked, temptingly.

Arthur licked his lips as he closed the door behind him.

"After that? Always". The steps towards her made Harleen change her position to lie on her side, to grant him a better sight. He sat on the floor, eyes concentrated maniacally in her figure. Her soft, wet hand touched his own, intertwining her fingers with his for a brief moment to kiss them.

Arthur stared at her for long seconds. Harleen didn't seem uncomfortable despite how much he struggled to remain modest. She couldn't blame the poor guy. Her pose was way too sensual to be indifferent. The appreciation showed a silent invitation for more intimate contact, for more comfort and company. He could only see her precious lower curvature showing partially. Her left arm covered her chest while supporting herself on the edge of the bathtub with the other hand. He loved how much sensuality she oozed even when she did nothing.

“Did you have a good sleep?”

Arthur replayed the question to process it.

“Yes” he simply nodded, “but it seems you didn’t. You weren’t there when I woke up”.

“I don’t sleep too much, Arthur. Just needed to take a bath to refresh myself after our hot, noisy turmoil”.

Arthur grinned widely. And it wasn’t only for the friendly reminder of why he felt excited. He darted his eyes towards the platinum strands of hair stuck on her face, falling down to stick to her shoulders and forearm, creating a sinuous curve that lined her hip with blue shades. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Harleen finally pronounced:

“So, since we’re in this situation… would you like to talk about what happened?”

“Yes”. Arthur was anxious to take advantage of any chance he’d had to end up in the bed with her. But he was too nervous to start a conversation about the subject. She noticed it and did her best to not put him in an uncomfortable position. Arthur just glared at her.

“It feels so different when you don’t have to lay your hands on yourself”, he cleaned the sweat that formed in his forehead, “it’s different to have a… um”, doing his best to retain the stammer that prevented a fluid talk, he tried to look for the right words to describe what happened in his head.

“A…?”

“It’s different when you see it than to experience it. It feels better when you have a body next to you”, he gulped, trying to swallow the nervousness, “it was a long little yearn since I began to understand these things about…”

“About sex?”

“Yes” was his answer, “I’m sorry if I sound strange. But this conversation is too personal and… and all this is new for me. I never thought I would be with a woman like that and it turns out it’s better than I expected”.

Harleen tilted her head, paying attention to every single word.

“Is there something you liked in particular?”

Arthur lowered his head, trying to think and replay the scene. From the passionate, tenderly patient foreplay to the scandalous and thirsty ride. There were so many good moments to pick one in particular. But then, her voice broke his thoughtful immersion.

“Or maybe was there something you did not like?”

This drew a devilish, naughty grin in Arthur.

"What's not to like about it?” his hand slicking back the fluffy hair, “We fucked like crazy and you ask me if there's something I did not like about it?", the verdant glow turned darker. Harleen rose an eyebrow, expectant. Arthur began to pant and cleared his throat in an almost hilarious way to hide his incipient arousal.

"I couldn't resist... I simply couldn't... because I've been wanting to do those things to you since I saw you--" a chuckle left his mouth at the raw confession. A painful slap on his mouth to quieten down the noise made Harleen immediately sat in case a fit of laughter would tear his throat apart again. Extending her hands to grab his forearms, the violent move shook her long, wet hair which allowed the loner to catch a glimpse of her naked chest.

The fit, thank goodness, never came. Arthur just coughed, waving his hand so any sense of worry Harleen felt would dispel in time. As things settled down, Arthur continued the talk where it left off.

“This—this feels like a very good beginning. But—“ his words concluded but his expression reflected a profound thought he couldn’t put words on yet.

“It’s alright. You can tell me”.

It took a long while to answer. There was almost completely silent if it wasn’t the for the tense breathing that Arthur fought to control.

“You really enjoy doing this to me, do you?”, Arthur embed the green spell his eyes had cast on her.

Harleen’s expression went from amusement to actual surprise. There was more from him to tell her, however. She nodded almost imperceptibly to give him the confidence he needed.

“You never felt uncomfortable with me even when you knew the things I wanted to do to you from the beginning. You let me kiss you, you let me touch you… you were never afraid to show me your body from the first day as you now do” he came closer to her, demanding answers, “until a while ago, I thought I could never awake those reactions on a woman. But I did”. He licked his lips, tilting his head to stare at her, “do you enjoy doing this to me?”

“By saying ’this’ you refer to… provocation?”

“Yes”, Arthur’s tone of voice revealed his relief to finally know the word for the aforementioned action.

Harleen hummed, thoughtful.

“I did not intend to provoke you to torture you. I intended it just to get your attention. You left just before the best part in our first kiss and I’ve been craving you in that way as well since. I wanted you to touch me… yet our caresses did not go beyond a cuddle or a kiss, so I thought that leaving the door unlocked after I arrived from work, wearing a few pretty clothes would give you a hint to come to me so we could be together like that at last”.

Arthur was completely mute at this point.

“But if you feel uncomfortable with me like this, I won’t keep on” she raised her hands in a childish sign of surrender. Arthur shook his head.

“It’s not the fact I don’t want to touch you. It’s… another thing. I know you won’t deny me your body. There are so many things…” he ruffled the disheveled hair in an involuntary move to relax.

“What?”

Arthur sighed, finally finding the courage to voice what troubled him.

“How’s that you don't feel uncomfortable with my condition or—“

“Or…?”

Arthur gulped.

The hardest (and the most perverted) part would come to be verbalised.

“My… appearance?”

“What the fuck is wrong with your appearance?”, Arthur sighed and replied:

“I look old enough to be your father!” the green eyes pierced hers. If only the thought of it was dirty, confessing it was downright indecent. Eyelids were tightened to the point it caused him pain, in a futile attempt to erase any improper thought in which Harleen was the protagonist. However, her voice exploded with loud cackles, splashing the water with open palms. Was she actually laughing at him? He frowned, getting upset and impatient to obtain a good answer.

“And…?” was all she said, much to his chagrin. The puzzled glare did not display satisfaction for his part.

“Doesn’t that… disturb you?”

“In the slightest. It’s actually quite the opposite” she supported her chin on the edge of the bathtub, staring up to him while biting her lip playfully. Then in a false pretension of innocence, she giggled, her hand making a move to tell him to come closer to her.

“That’s one of the many reasons why I like you very, very much”. The sweet sinful sound of the whisper was irresistible to Arthur, whose lids were almost completely closed, jaw slightly dropped. The reality of this situation caught him off guard. It was unbelievable to the point of obscenity and a persistent need to step back from his lewd intentions out of disgust on behalf of common modesty.

“I like you, Arthur Fleck" her face came closer to his and in a manner so typical of her, took his hand to open it from the fist it had reduced to in order to grant it a provocative kiss on his fingers, sliding the bottom lip against them.

Remaining silent and completely hypnotized by the scene, Harleen proceeded to trace invisible lines with the tip of her fingers on the early, harsh wrinkles that were more of a proof of how devastating his life was. It was a testament, a living, bleeding monument of how much cruelty and indifference could drive a man to insanity. Her thumb ran assiduously on his lip scar, which she found gorgeous to look upon. His breath shortened, pupils dilated, blood flowing to his groin.

Her digits now went over those adorable dimples that only increased the odd beauty of his mirthless, worn out face. His eyes moved from one direction to another, trying to cope with this tender attention, closing them eventually, leaving the embarrassment aside. He smiled but her voice shattered the moment.

“How can I judge you for a condition you did not wish to suffer?”, her fingertips ran over the notorious wrinkles in his forehead, “it’s not your fault”.

She admired the subtle silver hair that would make the brown hue fade in time, ending the journey all over his face.

“You find me… attractive?”

“Well of course I fucking do”.

Again, the green menacing eyes had the effect on her.

“What is it that I have that you like so much?”

Murmuring against his lips, she replied:

“You’re oddly attractive” she held his face to reinforce their bond, “and yet you don’t know it” she kissed the lip scar, “of all the men I've been with, no one has looked at me in the way you do".

Arthur set all his focus on the praising words, which served to mend or to relieve a little the inhuman treatment he had received from the world as long as he remembered. There was nothing he could do, except process and replay the words every time a silence took place between them. Kindness seemed a far ghost, a laughable little dream, a cruel joke.

A pause allowed them to hear a few cars passing by, followed by sirens of an ambulance. It didn’t matter, since none of them mentioned it.

"I've never met a man who's been so grateful for a kind greet or a simple smile. I couldn't help it that rainy day you came back from work to talk to you. At first I had an idea about my secret admirer simply being another guy who drooled over my ass. I would have never imagined the man behind my steps was so hungry for affection. Your eyes are an open book, Arthur. I noticed your intentions... and I liked the idea of you and me together like that from that night”.

Arthur directed his hands to her lips, holding the ever persistent, painful question that scarred his psyche:

Was she real?

His hands touched down her jawline and neck. Just a stare and Arthur told her everything. Because, somehow he knew that it was through an intense stare that lovers could tell the most intimate things. He spoke through his body, through dance. But what about sex? What about the act that dazed him so much? She actually understood why he needed intimate contact with such urge. The repression he hated so ardently for being a cruel insult to his ego tasted so differently now that she sated the thirst just to leave him craving for more. He felt… like all the years with no female attention were worth it if the pleasure people would lose their heads about was true.

"I want to make you feel good. It’s what you deserve. And if no one gives you relief, then I’ll gladly do”, she put a curly lock behind his ear.

But before any sparkly iniciative took ahold of his voice to manifest the need to consummate their relationship for a second time, Harleen pronounced, as a pleasant surprise for his intentions:

"Because you know” her gaze was pure, burning lust, “I could use a good fuck right now". Her tone of voice was seductive, though secretive, like confessing a small misdemeanor. His hand was not free from her soft grasp and her teeth gifted it with a tiny nibble. Arthur’s body stiffened, processing the words. However, no reply emerged from his mouth. The attention was entirely drawn to her face. The suggestive smile betrayed her reciprocity related to his intentions. He was so lost with the tantalising promise of more affection that he missed out the loving, yet flirtatious offer Harleen uttered.

"Huh?" Arthur shook his head.

"Come on, I'm bored". Her mouth adopted a puerile pouting in an attempt to persuade him, "I'm bored, play with me".

Harleen crawled out from the bathtub, exposing her bare, wet body for the loner to see. Arthur's breath immediately cut off, his heart galloping wildly. Her milky, marmoreal skin glistened with drops of water which marked thin creeks all her body before the enraptured glance of the loner. This was an erotic image that Arthur could have only dreamt of.

Once again his hands served as the eccentric – and intrusive – instrument to trace the almost invisible, indiscernible line between fantasy and reality while the blonde was only entertained by his obvious, euphoric goodwill to comply her wish. She sat next to him.

"P-play... with you?" He repeated, battling the urge to faint, holding her body in his arms.

"Like you did on the couch with me", her hands held his face gently to kiss it, to then throw her arms to his shoulders, “touch me, Arthur. Touch me. Don’t be afraid”. The mentioned man was unable to pronounce anything, reducing his exploration by touching blindly her waist and back. She continued pressing her nude body, taking delight on watching her Arthur plunged her into a solid, vigorous embrace, absorbing her, holding her nape so hard to not allow her escape, focused on how good her wet hair felt against his chest… as if her bare bossom wasn’t the best part of it.

Harleen slid her fingers over his left shoulder, becoming more familiar with the protruding bone. She placed her hand in the same place where Arthur told her not to. This caused an immediate response from him. As Harleen noticed the horrible, vast bruise all over the right shoulder blade. A gutural groan warned her. She quickly apologized. But Arthur shook his head.

“It’s nothing. People are not precisely kind when they see me at work”.

The dark brown eyebrows arched in a sad expression. Her left arm assured a stable position for what she had in store for him. Arthur had no idea of what it was, but he knew it would be mind-blowing.

“I can make you feel good”, he leaned his head in her forehead. Despite his celibacy was no more, all these touches were still new for him and he wanted to treasure them as much as he could. Air was heavy. The fear of another laughing fit ruining the moment clouded his mind but Harleen didn't seem to notice. The devoted, passionate embrace that held them so close just fed the fire inside him to take things to another level.

Specially when her hand, teasing and avid, slipped above the pants where his manhood had responded to the visual, constant incentive. Fumbling the part to gradually pull down the pants in an enthralling motion that rendered the loner totally speechless. Once the cloth allowed his member to be graced by her hand.

He gasped, jolting at the sensation of the damp but warm hand around his length. It was so unbelievable that just yesterday, that part had met his own contact during years. The rapture again battled with the persistent and its idea that everything was his imagination. Negative thoughts misting the moment. No kind touches except from Penny. But even she seemed aloof, unaware on how much damaged her own son was. This fade away once the caresses grew steadier.

The rhythm of his breathing violently shook his chest up and down. He undid the hug partially to stare at the zone she paid so much attention to. His fully erect hardness receiving such caring treatment was taken straight out of a fantasy. His eyes couldn’stop glaring at the precious sight of the delicate hand going up and down in a maddening sway. He threw his head back, panting.

“Like that--just like that- please. Don’t stop it”, he whispered, holding to the border of the tub, his voice broke out in agonizing moans, varying from groans and hoarse screaming, mixed with very sharp swearing as the building up to the peak made presence as minutes went by. His legs trembled almost uncontrollably, hips thrusting up constantly.

Harleen of course was greedy. Taking advantage of the situation, her mouth sucked the prominence located at his neck to then lick it. Her sensual chuckle vibrated as she slid down the free hand on his convulsed chest, tenderly pressing it to calm down the crazed heartbeat. It didn’t take too long for him to start feeling a vertiginous shiver that expanded all over his groin. Sensing the situation was started to get out of his hands, the blonde rushed in:

“Don’t hold back. Do it”.

Arthur gasped as the climax hit him. He groaned into the air as the fierce hustle concluded. He was shaking, trying to not make a mess. The niveous strings spread all over the floor. Harleen glanced the scene, amazed to see Arthur a little less stressed. He lolled his head back, still pursuing the first intense feeling standing motionless, arms to his side, almost in a trance. Nothing could take the wide smile off him.

A soft massage to his collarbone made the aforementioned man react at last.

“My, my. You’re such a bombshell” Arthur muttered, blatantly ogling her. She smiled, smooching his cheek to quickly get up, much to his surprise. Harleen took a towel to wipe her hands and her body, leading her steps out of the bathroom. The loner was about to protest when she asked:

"Are you waiting for an invitation, Mr. Fleck? Or isn't the sight enough to motivate you to come to bed with me?"

The fascination held him still for a second, thinking the words that echoed in his mind repeatedly while enjoying the blonde's shameless exhibitionism. He turned the lights off as he searched for her. The outside lights prevented a complete darkness in the apartment. The drizzle hit the windows, creating a perfect, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

He had to see her to confirm his yearn could become real. And so, he found her stepping into the promised place, while the towel dried the mane, which seemed longer now, almost reaching the highest part of her thighs. Arthur got rid of his pants immediately.

Just about to reach the other foot to the room, Arthur extended his hand to reach her shoulder so she could turn to face him. Harleen was unable to suppress a surprised expression at the glimpse of his now completely naked body, causing to drop the towel.

Once she called his name, Arthur took her face between his hands to crash his lips on hers, pressing them into his several times to crown the passionate caress leading her in to the bedroom, their bodies entangled, anguished in a needy dance. They almost tripped over but the weak white light coming from a small lamp on the nightstand prevented it. He didn't pay too much attention to the surroundings once his body fell over hers on the bed. It were only them in this moment, and being on top of her unleashed a feverish want his psyche and body were not capable to contain anymore.

"You've chosen wisely, Mr. Fle--" his tongue was so insisting on earning a place inside her mouth that her words didn't come. Not that it bothered her, of course. Arthur’s eyes shone in a different light. It wasn’t just an exciting new hue. His fluffy dark hair, his lean muscles made a combination that made Harleen genuinely think that the man who was just a breath away to possess her wasn’t Arthur. His eyes had become greener. His stare was not only predacious. It gave the impression that he intended to enter not only her body but her soul too.

Harleen extended her hand towards the lamp to sink the room in darkness. She was close to success in her action if it wasn’t for Arthur mimicking it, just to ask her not to.

“It’s more exciting in the dark.”

“Why?”

“Because you only feel. You see nothing”.

Arthur whispered against her mouth:

“But I want to see you”.

Harleen rolled her eyes, laughing.

“Alright then” she chirped. Arthur covered her neck with doubtful kisses, afraid to make a wrong move. He then remembered:

(Like in the couch).

He stopped his course to descend to her chest. Harleen paid extreme attention to his reactions, which drifted from amazement to utter joy.

The man stood quietly, admiring the messy mane at her sides. A pink, bluish disaster covering her chest. The dark sense of dominance proper of a man who finally felt control over his life acquired a lighter shade as he distanced himself from her just enough to appreciate her astonishing beauty. Carefully, he slid a hand to dedicate his attention to the blue strands of hair, curling it around his finger, as he fantasized about for so long.

Harleen did not interrupt at all. This eccentric – but precious - way of communication was also new for her. What started as a simple invitation for a sexual encounter was progressively turning into a passionate discovery about each other. She knew Arthur wasn’t the most experienced man when it came to sex… but his enthusiasm was in no way to be questioned. Actions spoke louder than words.

The pink strands of hair winded around his fingers, uncoiling as his digits made it aside to have a good vision of her uncovered breasts. So focused he was that he did not come to realize Harleen moved her arms to allow him a better access. She looked at those arms. God, those arms. Veiny, hairy, bony. Inhabited by little spots near the elbow. It drew a sharp contrast with the softness of her skin. Soon, she would pay attention to them.

His facial expressions were a wonderful mixture of arousing disbelief and sincere admiration. Arthur seemed to be thoughtful for a few seconds on what he was going to do but he dared to slide his fingers over her collarbone, not leaving any inch of skin untouched. Then, he lowered to the sternum, circling it carefully to direct his ravenous digits to her left breast, studying the orbed part cautiously, examining its shape. The dedicated, paused fondling of it elicited a soft moan from her.

An evil, perverse grimace delineated his lips. Ah, that beautiful, sensual sound resounding again. How could he resist it?

It was with a predatory inflame that Arthur threw himself to pamper the zone with his mouth. The sudden outburst made Harleen grunt for air, grabbing the bedsheets, a violent spasm shaking her legs, making her toes curl. The voracious appetite he devoured the breast was combined with such despair that seemed the act was far from satisfying. Despite she was aware of Arthur's consistent (and certainly disturbing) fixation with female chests, she preferred to stay quiet about it and enjoy the use he gave to such compulsion. He did not restrict it to a simple suckling, as Harleen saw how he nuzzled his face against it to then cover the damp, shiny skin with kisses, sending shivers down her spine.

“Oh, Mr. Fleck… You do know how to put your mouth in use, do you?”, she felt high. As if she had taken a drug.

The flattering words enlivened him to concede the other breast the same treatment and Harleen couldn't stop flailing, now completely taken by the action. The unoccupied hand fondled her belly to pass over the hip to end in her thigh. When his mouth detached from the hardened nipple, he licked all the way up her chest and neck, savouring the salty taste of her sweat, causing Harleen to ragingly rear up. Arthur ascended to face her once more just for her to grasp the strongly angular wrist once his arms found themselves near her waist. He frowned, confused. But his apparent disapproving look contorted to a one of complete flabbergast when Harleen opened her mouth so her tongue would coax his index and middle fingers, oiling them to steer the hand towards her searing feminity. His eyes widened, like a small kid watching in awe a mischievous deed. The absolute lewd look in her eyes erased any logic sense on him, if there was any in first place.

“Sure you want to warm up things first before diving in, do you mr. Fleck?” she spread her legs and Arthur lowered his head, dealing with the joy that overflowed his being.

“Yeah”, his murmur was impatient and euphoric, “I can’t wait to…” he couldn’t say it.

“Come on. Don’t be shy” she chuckled, frisky, “say it”.

“I just can’t wait to do it inside you”. She gladly approved as their hands went on tune on her intimacy. Arthur was startled, “but I don’t… I have never done this to a woman”.

Harleen nodded eagerly.

“Then allow me to show you how”, a toothy, naughty grin was all he got as a reply. He ended up emulating her. The grin was substituted to a temptative whisper:

"There... There". The first touches to become familiar and then to please them. This new action left Arthur completely speechless. A mess of joined hands constantly massaged the silky, wet little space of hers. It didn't had an effect on Harleen only, making the rigid consistency return.

He smirked, evilly, as they took their time. Despite his restiveness, he knew patience would pay off. The caress went over the slick folds which soon would welcome him, kneading it constantly. His slender fingers then began to approach by own initiative, applying what he just had learned. Seconds later, with the same patience, Harleen made him stop precisely at the weakest point of a woman. He sensed a humid nub. As their hands began rubbing it, Arthur noticed it made her body jounce, a chain of gratifying sounds fleeing her throat. He was not able to stop staring at the body part receiving the sweet and lecherous attention, putting more effort into it. Gradually her hand got away to let him take the iniciative now, encircling it.

The uncontrollable tremble that shook her legs made her close her eyes. Arthur stood there, his hand still stimulating her sex as intensely as posible, spellbound, captivated by her reactions. He leaned a bit when her breaths stirred her chest for more air. The blonde panted, trying to look for something to cling to as she was coming to her peak.

“Arthur… I can't—I can’t endure it anym—“ The phrase marked the last thing she could control before the fulminant end. Mellifluous moans came from her mouth, praising him, calling his name repeatedly. He was certainly bewitched at the image. So lost in the ecstasy that only the amatory practice could bring her, Harleen missed the fact Arthur did not blink in any moment, recording obsessively every move.

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about” his chuckle causing her insides quiver. He loved how her muscles twitched on his hand, priding himself on the magnificent reaction he had caused on her.

Arthur patiently awaited for her to regain her breath before the best part would take place. He placed his hands at her sides to remain firm, his muscles tense and strong as a rock, marking the defined biceps Harleen loved so much. She opened her eyes just in the right moment when the hungry loner expected to end the hunger that harmed their souls so much.

Harleen caressed his cheeks with the backs of her hands. Arthur leaned so their foreheads would touch. It was a torture for him as well. He placed a hand on her hip, sliding it down to the inner thigh, aligning his stiffened arousal in her entrance, brushing the sensitive nub with his tip. The tease took her breath away, making her spine twist.

"Oh, God… please… please…", her vision blurred, her senses numb.

"I know"

"Please!" She begged, "I need you inside of me, please". The hopelessness in her voice did not manage to act immediately but it certainly had a great impact on him. The fear of not being capable of carrying the dominance now sparked a furious, impetuous need to silence the voices that insisted he wasn’t man enough to please a woman.

Through a furious, vehement move, Arthur finally made his way inside her, a sharp hiss and a vivid expression of sexual bliss seizing his facial features. He abruptly shut his eyes at the tight inner grip, lips slightly parted, hearing Harleen let out a long, languishing moan. She arched her back, squirming beneath him. Arthur smiled, extremely pleased at the erotic reaction while still trying to find a more comfortable angle to keep doing his part. He wanted more, however, and he was gonna manifest it by holding her chin in his thumb and index finger. Harleen opened her eyes while Arthur awaited her reaction as she received him fully. Taking a deep breath, he managed to open his eyes to cherish the fantastic view of her trying to handle his hard length making a place inside the best way she could. She held his head, carefully tugging his curls.

Invader and invaded stared at each other.

"Take your time... We're not in a rush". The calm words soothed the anxiety prior to sex but the pleasure the act had to offer them rushed him to resume their act: Arthur deepened the insertion into her hot, velvety intimacy. Harleen gasped while becoming used to his presence inside of her, taking utter delight in the raw feeling of her warm walls adjusting to the intrusion, sensing every nerve shuddering and throbbing around him. Her mouth was open, yet no words were articulated. Maybe because they weren’t necessary.

As for the loner, his vocal expressions of pleasure went from a heavy gasp, then to a loud groan to a thunderous moan.

"Fuck---!" Arthur cried out, while struggling to form a coherent word but he was way too aroused to dedicate energy to other action, except for moaning against each other's mouth, never breaking eye contact.

The first few seconds following their fleshes fully merging into one, Arthur experimented with paused and insecure moves, afraid to hurt her if he ever accelerated the pace but also afraid to ridicule himself if he’d last less than one minute. His slow thrusts allowed a better way to cope with the overwhelming, tight heat that kept their privacies tied together. He caught an steady rhythm that finally eased down. Sliding in and out, down and forward. Just two individuals who tried to bond despite their differences.

“Y—You”, Harleen suddenly pronounced herself. Arthur huffed for air as he paid attention, “you feel… you feel so good inside me”.

“I can--, I can tell”, he could hardly articulate.

Pressing his body against hers, Harleen whispered:

“We really lost a lot of time, did we?”

She let her hands, avidly and blindly, over his chest and collarbone as his hips, by mere sexual instinct, insisted on a faster, harder pace. To increase his confidence and to let him know she enjoyed it, her legs pressed his hips. For a moment, Arthur stopped, taking the opportunity to regain all the air in heavy pants. Harleen held his face, making aside the curly, sweaty locks that formed over his face. His aroused but exhausted expression was a delight to see.

“I swear to God—“ his ragged breath made his voice sound raspy, “if you keep doing that—“ another difficult exhaling move, “I won’t last too long”.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to”.

"I'm not upset" his shortened breath intake aroused her just as much his insertion did.

The rain intensified. Drops clashed against the window. It proved to be a pleasant background sound as the two lovers expressed their feelings through their bodies. Arthur certainly had the time of his entire fucking life engulfing himself in her over and over and over again. The rhythm worked perfectly slow for the two of them as they slid together, in perfect harmony, over the bed. The pace that carried them away from sanity was combined with passionate, wet kisses, sometimes tugging on his bottom lip and tangling her tongue in his mouth, kissing him behind the earlobe, whispering sensual words.

Arthur had the perfect gift to reaffirm his existence and Harleen’s whispery voice calling his name just ended up pushing him deeper and deeper. Where did he suddenly become so strong to hold on for so long? He’d never know.

Between moans and kisses, Harleen returned the passionate gestures with a strong, bloody scratch in his ribs. Arthur broke the kiss with a loud, pleased groan, responding to the scratch with a harsh thrust. Harleen screamed beneath him. Arthur, lightheaded by the sexually charged response, just stood still, trying to not give in to the already close peak of the act.

Harleen was ready to make clear how much the sudden irruption had upset her when she heard an unintelligible mumble.

"Uhh. What?" Harleen could hardly heard his petition.

"Do that again", he whispered. The frown on her eyebrows revealed how much puzzled she was.

"Do wha--?”

The harsh thrust took her by surprise, as expressed by the intoxicating sound that made Arthur so infatuated. As he delighted in the joy of obtaining exactly what he wanted, Harleen heard a a sweet, malevolent whisper:

"That’s better...". It ghosted his lips, more to himself. He supported entirely on his arms, to keep on the rough onslaught. Those screams were music to his ears and he had plenty of reasons on why he deserved to hear more of them when he believed she had something else to say.

The blonde mouthed. And Arthur read her lips.

(Harder)

Harleen placed her hands at the sides of her head, abandoning herself to Arthur‘s mercy. She wanted it? She would get it. Another plea gone with the air, an arm on the matress reinforcing the pace to make it rougher and rougher. She felt she was unable to speak his name anymore, not knowing what aroused her the most: if having him inside her or hearing his assiduous effort to breathe through the final and most exciting part of their act.

Exhaling aggressively, Arthur hung on to the mattress to harden the already brutal slamming that had reduced Harleen to an incoherent mess. His jaw dropped as the pleasure was becoming unbearable, growling as he leaned his head to keep closer to her. His arm was a key to maintain the disastrous rhythm as unrestrained but steady, grasping the wood which mattress was made of. The limb showed hard lines, ligaments standing out of the skin.

She legitimately thought, in a short moment of lucidity, that his arm would end up breaking it down. Neither of them heard a furious knocking on the wall, asking them to quiet down their sounds. Even if they did, they wouldn't care. Harleen sensed he'd love the idea of the whole building hearing their scandal.

When the excessive sensitivity down there traced a faint line between pain and pleasure, her moans echoed louder and louder, pushing Arthur to his limit.

“Look at me”

It was hard to keep eyes open at this point. Harleen did her best but Arthur mistook it as another little game of hers.

“Look at me”, he hissed.

She inhaled deeply, turning her head towards him.

“Look at me!” he yelled, desperate.

She quickly did as he demanded.

“Look at me when it happens”, he was not angry, despite the fierce, crazed stare suggested otherwise.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” he hissed under his breath, trying to keep up with the rampant search for release despite how much exhausting it proved to him. He wasn’t willing to be defeated: his hands fell to her sides to pound faster and more erratically, almost tearing the bedsheets. Harleen was unable to speak now, restricting to whimpers that granted him an inconmensurable feeling of power.

Then it happened. It caught him sooner than he initially had intended, but that didn't make it any less delightful. The blonde screamed his name at the top of her lungs as the spectacular orgasm hit her.

That was too much for him to bear.

One more enthusiastic, desperate thrust and it was over. Harleen had no control over her reaction, imprisoning him completely with her legs and arms crossed over his body. A hot attempt to retain her lover, clenching as hard as she could possibly do. They shared a fleeting gaze as he spilled himself in a wave of nervous, uncontrollable convulsions that spurred his nerves. She would never forget the expression that moulded by the moment: his face was an authentic, vivid expression of ecstasy. His eyes closed, catching air, sweating profusely, rebellious locks falling down. The desperation in his voice diminished to a pleasured groan to a exhausted, but satisfied series of sighs. He finally collapsed on top of her, hiding their faces in each other's neck.

“Easy…” she muttered while Arthur bathed in his newfound masculinity. She knew the magnitude of his enrapture when he displayed no reaction at all when she caressed his hair.

Arthur was enjoying his blissful release inside her, memorising every little sensation. The soft sighs escaping his mouth made her believe he had finally lost the little touch he had left with reality.

He still wanted more, though. Arthur refused to break the physical bond, not getting over the warmth narrowing around him, looking for more thrills, seed still dripping.

“You’re hard to quit” Arthur hissed, breathless.

“I'm not asking you to ”, and both laughed.

Harleen untangled a few curls, enjoying how they recoiled to their original form, emptiness replacing the fullness of his presence once he was gone. Laying on their sides to face each other, now under the blankets. The water falling in the sky helped them to concile slumber.

"I'll be hardly out of you after this, Harleen" was the last thing she heard before lights were off.

________________________________________

It was cold. It was wednesday and the train was full. Arthur had gone early to his weekly therapy with the social worker. Once he reached the building, waiting in the hallway. He smoked a cigarette, journal on the inner part of his hoodie, a confident smirk lining his lips.

The grimace did not change at all when he got into the office, greeting her and taking a seat. It started with the usual 'how's your job?', 'are you having negative thoughts?'. Arthur replied more confidently, without avoiding eye contact as he always did. The worker noted immediately a dark, evil glint in his eyes. He couldn't stop smiling just as he couldn't see how much his new attitude unsettled her. She decided to ask for his journal, asking if there was something wrong or different. Arthur just took another long drag of his cigarette, smiling to himself.

Once the copybook was handed to her, the worker noticed a brief, new sentence along a photograph of a beautiful young woman whose platinum hair showed different colours from the half down. She was dressed in a short red dress and smiled.

She read outloud the phrase written in red. Arthur had to suppress a cackle to not get too much attention from her. He deducted by her expression she did not understand it but he did not expect her to.

“I’m prod of mysel”.

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