#the way the scapula look like butterfly wings?

[jokerownsmysoul]

I love this scene because to me it shows how delicate and breakable Arthur’s body is, is one of my favorite.

The sunlight catches him in a way that shows how translucent and brittle his body is, it looks like the sunlight is entering his bones and shining bright from within. It highlights his curls by falling on his hair, sculpts his body and outlines his protruding bones. It draws the edges of his spine and of his dislocated scapula showing how breakable he is, and blends the colors of his bruise with the fleshy colors of his skin as if he were a work of art.

His body is grabbed by the sunlight in such a vivid way that his skin looks transparent. He’s so crumbly and vulnerable that he looks like one of those dry leaves that break in thousands pieces as soon as someone touches them, his body so fragile and thin that it looks like one of those slides that reflect a colored image when they are illuminated by light, it reminds me of the wings of a butterfly. I love the way the sunlight dances on his body because it shows the heavenly and haunted beauty of Arthur, yet looking at him I see only his strength and I’ve never seen a body more beautiful than his.

Every time I see this scene my heart is filled with warmth and an urgent desire to protect him when I think that such a vulnerable and breakable body gets beaten so many times, it breaks my heart. I just want to gently stroke him with my fingertips, tracing his bones and kiss him on the bruise and put love on every part of his body.

[ikementally-deficient]

Advanced Entomology - Chapter 6: Chrysalis

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice/Love and Producer

Rating: Carolina Reaper (See Masterlist for rating descriptions)

Warnings: dubious/uninformed consent, see masterpost A/N

Due to the nature of the questionable consent in this fic, if you enjoy this story enough to reblog it, please reblog the masterpost rather than individual chapters.

Author’s Note: Second to last chapter! Our first occasion of sex in the traditional penetrative sense, I’m so proud of them. One more to go; I might get it written this weekend if all goes well, but time is an illusion, productive time doubly so, so who knows.

Also of note: I finally managed to work in the prompt that started this whole mess!

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He can tell there’s been something on her mind. When they go out, she casts sideways glances at him, thinking him oblivious. She hesitates before taking his hand in public. She flinches every time another woman passes by.

“What’s on your mind,” he asks her over tea.

She flushes, her eyes skittering away from his steady gaze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He chuckles. “Of course you do.” He sips his tea, studying her over the rim of the cup. “You seem apprehensive, lately. Hesitant. As though you’re afraid you’re being watched, and judged.”

Her fingers fidget around the handle of her teacup. She sighs quietly. “Yes -- yes, I suppose I have.”

“Why is that?”

“Well --” she trails off, still staring into her cup. He waits. When the rest of the sentence comes, it’s in a blurted rush. “I don’t know what you see in me.”

It’s rare that Lucien finds himself caught off guard. He stares at her, cup still tilted in mid-sip.

She continues. “You’re so intelligent, and educated, and -- and h-handsome -- and my audiences love you, and I’m just --” her voice lowers sadly, “I’m just me. Plain and boring.” She turns the cup in its saucer, refusing to look up. “I mean, I know you’re getting tired of me.”

Lucien tries to marshal his thoughts into some semblance of order. “What makes you say that?”

“We --” her eyes dart from side to side, checking that no one else in the cafe is listening. “We haven’t even had sex yet,” she whispers. “Not properly. And you’re never, you know --” She gestures vaguely to her own lap, “ interested .” Her forehead is glowing beet red.

Lucien puts his cup down slowly, precisely centering it on the saucer, before he answers her. “I’ve been holding back, you know. I didn’t want to rush you.” Too controlled. He never thought there was such a thing. “I’ve been very interested , but my self-control is quite good.”

She still doesn’t look up at him.

“Do you remember the night you couldn’t sleep, and asked me to tell you a story over the phone?”

She nods.

“The artist and the butterfly. The colourblind artist and the golden, glowing butterfly.” Lucien smiles warmly at her. “I don’t know if I can explain it in better words than those, but perhaps I can show you.” He rises to his feet and drops a few bills on the table before holding his hand out to her. “Will you indulge me?”

Her lashes are still lowered, but she looks up through them, the gleam of her golden eyes tantalizing him. “Of course, Lucien.”

They make a few purchases on the way home: an art store, for India ink and brushes. A theatre store, for gold makeup and sponges. Lucien slides his coffee table out of the way and lays down a sheet on the floor. He stands a large mirror at one end of the room. She watches his preparations with avid curiosity.

“Here,” he tells her. “Take off your clothes for me, and lie down on your stomach.” She is, as ever, obedient to his wishes.

She lies naked before him. Her head is turned to one side, pillowed on her folded hands. Her elbows are splayed out in a line with her shoulders, letting her scapulae rest flat against her ribcage. Her legs are straight. The soles of her feet face the ceiling, big toes resting against each other as her ankles supinate outwards.

“Ink me, Professor,” she murmurs into her hands.

********************************************************

The brush drips black ink as Lucien holds it over the pot, waiting for the excess to run off. He carefully studies his canvas in the meantime, contemplating the placement of the next line.

His work is a delicate tracery that stands in stark relief against her pale skin: the careful symmetry of butterfly’s wings rooted between her shoulders, spreading across her upper arms and down her back, wrapping around her ribs and ending in a gentle curve around the undersides of her buttocks.

She’s been lying motionless as he works, for nearly an hour judging by the movement of the sun. Her breathing is so even and relaxed that Lucien thinks she’s fallen asleep. He wipes the brush clean and lays it down, then replaces the lid of the ink bottle. Finally he sits cross-legged to examine his work, losing himself in the intricate tracery of costal and sub-costal veins.

“Are you finished, Professor?” Her sweet voice breaks into his reverie.

“The first stage,” he replies. “The ink should be dry soon.”

She hums in reply, wordlessly comfortable.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Mmmhmm. The sun is beautiful on my skin.” She opens her eyes languorously, and he leans into her field of vision. Her answering smile is warmer than the sunbeam they’re resting in, and he gives into the urge to lie down on his stomach perpendicular to her, so he can breathe kisses onto her eyes and mouth. She giggles, a delicious ripple of joy which starts a warm liquid wave in his stomach that melts a path straight up his chest and face. He rests his chin on his forearms and smiles at her, a spontaneous smile that feels completely foreign on his face.

“I had the dream again,” she sighs, and all the warmth in him freezes solid.

“Which dream?”

“You know, the one from before --” her foot kicks in lieu of waving a hand. “The one with Kiro and the fog and that black haired woman.”

Lucien forces himself to breathe normally. “Was it the same?”

She shakes her head minutely, obedient to his warning about the drying ink. “No. Kiro wasn’t there this time. You were with me instead.”

The ice in his chest cracks; he can feel his heart start to beat again. “Oh.” He breathes in and out, once, twice, thrice before he thinks his lungs can carry on without active direction. “Good. That means I’ll be there to protect you.”

That means Zeus has taken his warning to heart. Helios will not be there to strip her of all his careful conditioning. That means she’ll still trust him, at the end.

Overwhelming relief sends a shudder through him, and he’s thankful her eyes are closed again so she doesn’t see. He watches her silently, memorizing every detail of her dainty features, currently blissfully relaxed and unaware of his tremor.

After a few minutes she rouses enough to look at him again. “Is the ink dry yet?”

He makes a show of examining her back, lightly dabbing his fingertips against the thick margins of her wings. “It seems to be. I can start the gold, now.”

He dampens a small sponge and begins working the shimmering pigment over her back, filling in each wing cell with iridescence that turns molten in the late afternoon sun. This is much faster work than inking the wings themselves, and Lucien finds himself working frantically, chasing the light across her. He feels a desperation in the pit of his stomach, a trepidation that isn’t soothed by the knowledge that he’ll be with her when she goes to the TV tower.

When he finishes, her entire torso is a beautiful blaze, resplendent and shining in the last of the light. He catches her hand, pulling her to her feet to stand in front of the mirror. He pulls her to face him and lifts her arms around his neck to show her the striation of the black veins as her wings flex and stretch. She cranes her neck over her shoulder to see her reflection. Her expression is a mixture of awe and delight.

“Do you see?” He demands hoarsely. He crushes her against his chest, heedless of the gold paint that smears into the weave of his shirtsleeves. “Do you see now what I see, when I look at you?” He turns her face to look up at him, begging for comprehension. All the other colours fade when he’s apart from her, but in his mind’s eye she is always golden and glowing. Her mouth falls open at his uncharacteristic intensity, but her gaze is compassionate and warm.

“Lucien, what’s scaring you?”

She doesn’t know. She can’t know, or everything will be ruined. Her awakening is so close now, and he doesn’t dare deviate from the plan. For the first time he regrets his choices, regrets his success in finding the Queen and preparing her for metamorphosis. He can’t find words to answer her, can’t bring himself to lie to her in this moment when she’s granted him such a tangible expression of his vision. Instead he slams his mouth against hers, claiming her in a fervid kiss. Her gasp of surprise only sparks fire in his belly. The voice of Ares ordering him to calm down and pull back is lost in the crackling inferno.

He bears her down to the floor and continues his voracious assault on her lips, not giving her a chance to protest. One hand tangles in her hair, the other fumbles urgently at his shirt buttons. Finally, impatiently, he yanks and hears buttons skitter across the floor as his shirt flies open. Small hands tug the tails free of his trousers and skim over his stomach to start pulling open his belt.

He grinds into her naked heat as she finds the button and zipper behind the buckle. He’s hard, rutting against her, the long months of self-restraint evaporated like water on a hot pan, leaving behind only the sizzle of need. She bites at his lower lip, not the tentative nips she’s essayed before, but a catch of sharp teeth and the taste of blood as she frees his cock and grabs his waist. She pulls him hard against her, and he slides up through her slippery folds, feeling the head of him rub along her nub. Her chest heaves under him and she releases his lip. He chases her mouth with his own teeth, before laying bruising kisses into her neck, moving down to the trapezius where he bites, hard, and rocks against her.

“ Lucien .” She gasps his name, husky and yearning, and he pulls back to look at her. “God, Lucien, please --!” Her nails drag lines of fire up his back and he pushes into her with no preamble. None is necessary: she’s wet and open and moaning wantonly with each thrust. She slides one hand into his hair and grips tight, as though fearing he’ll pull away. He returns to her mouth, panting into her, and grabs her other hand, lacing their fingers together against the floor. Her legs pull up around him and lock behind his lumbar vertebrae, pulling him deeper as she clenches around his cock. Lucien feels his eyes roll back in his head when his hips stutter.

“Not yet,” he hisses. He slides his free hand under her shoulders and lifts her with him as he pulls back into a sitting position. Suddenly her breasts are right at the level of his mouth, and he traps her against him to indulge himself in the plush roundness. She squeaks as he bites at the curving underside, but he feels her pulsing around him again. His ferocity isn’t frightening her. Just the opposite, in fact. He buries his face in her cleavage and sucks a red mark onto her sternum, branding her as his.

Lucien uses both hands to grasp her slender waist and lift, turning her on his cock until she’s facing the mirror, straddling his thighs. He spreads his knees, forcing her legs further open, and drags her back down to fully engulf him. His hands slide down her pelvis, gripping at her inner thighs hard enough to bruise before spreading her lips so she can see how he stretches her open.

“Do you see now?” He strokes her clitoris teasingly, and she jerks, driving her buttocks into him. “Do you feel how much I’ve wanted you, the fire you’ve lit inside me?” He wraps one arm across her pelvis and pins her to him, while the other hand keeps stroking, increasing in pressure and speed, until she’s shuddering around him, head fallen back on his shoulder and nails driving into his forearm. She’s entirely unable to speak; the only sound she makes is a keening wail while she tries to buck into him. His arm is an iron bar, holding her in exquisite torment. Finally he thrusts up into her and pinches her nub sharply. Her scream of ecstasy matches the violent clenching of her orgasm.

Lucien wastes no time in pushing her face-down to the floor and planting his hands under her shoulders. His abdomen slaps against her as he plunges in, whispering hotly in her ear. “You’re the only warmth in the world. You’re the only colour I see.” He can feel his thighs quivering and knows he’s close. “I can’t be without you.”

He groans gutterally as he comes, pounding against her helplessly until he feels empty and hollow. Breathing is difficult, and he rests his forehead against her spine. The gold paint is smeared everywhere, on her back and his chest and arms, but the ink wings are still precise and perfect.

He understands now that he fears losing her; not the Queen, but the woman wrapped around her. His butterfly.

[jokerownsmysoul]

1/5 I agree with everything, as usual 😆 More than 8 months passed and I continue to fall in love with him even deeper. Arthur and the movie are all about contrasts. I love them all, including that contrast in particular, it suits Arthur completely. His chest, the place where his heart is, his true core, is so delicate and vulnerable, exactly as he truly is. Even his nipples always seem "shy" to me (I know it doesn't make any sense, but somehow that's the word that comes to my mind about them).

2/5 He doesn't have much body hair, but it accentuates just perfectly. Small, modest and adorable crowns around his sensitive spots. In the beginning, at Haha's, the sunlight on his hair, eyelashes and chesthair is so wonderful, he looks made of light himself, so soft, tender and innocent. Like it's his heart that shines from his chest, it's not hairs but rays of light radiating from him. His chest has such a fragile and elegant beauty.

3/5 And with that sweater he tries to appear stronger, more confident and attractive. He hides that soft and delicate part of himself, as if being ashamed of it, doesn't want Sophie to see him "weak", showing only muscular arms (but we see them only in the end). He is sooo cute in that scene. Look, eybrows, smile, voice. Every moment of this fantasy is such a treasure. "Yeah..." 😭 And I love the way he sways his hand back after closing the door.

4/5 And then there are another body hairs. That happy trail is subtle and elusive, like his eyebrow lift that he does entering elevator in full makeup. But also determined in its destination, uniting his tummy and lower part by making a connection between his belly button and wherever is the precise point down there.

5/5 His hip bones and that arrow (you got my idea about being hit correctly 😉) are so arousing. He doesn't even need to do anything, just exist. And it's all the same person at the same time and I haven't even mentioned anything else (5 asks limit 😑). I think I might be a millepede for a number of Achille's heels I have about him 😩

Me too omg, every single day I fall in love with him over again and more than the previous one, it's a never ending feeling sksk. And I love his contracts too, the duality of Arthur is so mesmerizing and enchanted, we could talk about it forever and still there would be so many other things to talk about, and it's so beautiful 💕

Oh I know omg, I love his chest so much for the same reason. I love his body. He's so vulnerable, but at the same time there is this inherent strength and a rare safety and I love it. It definitely makes sense to me and I agree, his nipples are shy and I love them for that omg. They're cute and small, surrounded by his baby chest hair and I like that you called it a crown, it really is a crown for his sensitive spots and it's so cute this imagine. 🥺💕 It's so adorable that his nipples are surrounded completely by his baby hair, is another thing that makes him special. 💕 I love that trail of hair that connects his tummy to his lower part, it's my weakness. He’s so sexy and the skin there I think is soft and smells of him omg. I completely agree, he doesn’t have to do anything to be beautiful. He just is beautiful and probably doesn’t even realize it, no one has ever told him that he's beautiful and I think he doesn’t even realize how handsome he is. Not being aware of his beauty, both inside and out, makes him even more beautiful and angelic. I understand what you mean, it’s the same person and yet his attitudes and gestures are different and yet there's the same man, he's bewitching for that, like a spell 💕

Oh, you really are bringing up my favorite scene. 😭😭 Seriously the one when Arthur is at the Haha's is one of my favorite scenes, and actually I'd say my favorite one of the whole movie. I love this scene because to me it shows how delicate and breakable Arthur’s body is, it show is vulnerability completely. The sunlight catches him in a way that his body looks like something translucent, his veins on his body are so visible and it looks like the sunlight is entering his bones and shining bright from within. The way the light highlights his curls, sculpts his body and outlines his protruding bones is to die for, he looks a fallen angel. It draws the edges of his spine and of his dislocated scapula, showing how breakable he is, and blends the heavy colors of his bruise with the one of his skin, like a paintbrush and a canvas. His body is grabbed by the sunlight in such a vivid way that his skin looks transparent, so crumbly that he looks like one of those dry leaves that break in thousands pieces as soon as someone touches them, his body so thin that it looks like one of those slides that reflect a colored image when they are illuminated by light, the wings of a butterfly. I love the way the sunlight dances on his body because it shows the heavenly, emaciated and haunted beauty of Arthur, and yet, looking at him I see not only his vulnerability, but also his strength, and its so powerful, he's powerful. I love that in his body there are both strength and fragility. I could talk about this scene for years straight omg, and if we think that such a breakable body gets beaten so many times it's even more sad, and Arthur more lovable 🥺💕

I don't know if there's some canon in Arthur being insecure about his body, but I totally agree with you and I have the same thoughts him being insecure. Probably I'm only projecting lmao but this is my headcanon sksk. I mean maybe in his daily life he doesn't pay much attention to his body, maybe he doesn't even think that having a relationship is a possibility for him, but I think that if he had someone to love he'd compare himself to others or he'd be disgusted with his thinness. Arthur wearing this sweater to look stronger is so cute omggg, it's so naive and innocent sksk this sounds like something he would do omg. He really is cute in this scene, he's the embodiment of the shyness and sweetness, and the way he smiles... Omg I melt every time 😭😭 he looks like a bay who has been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done and it's so freaking cute 💕

"I think I might be a millepede for a number of Achille's heels I have about him 😩" omg I couldn't say it better, I might be a millepede too for the same reason. Truth be told literally everything he's made of is my weakness 😂