#all I have is a basic little sketch showing rough measurements and how the finished garment is mean to look when laid out

[thebeebi]

your little games pt. 11

pairing: Jungkook x reader

warnings: fluff in later chapters, smut, non-con, mention of r*pe attempt, implied murder and many more! Read only if you are okay with these topics!

genre: historical AU, 18th century?

word count: 3k+ [part 11]

a/n: Hello! I hinted this and I am so excited to say that we are finally going to see what is Jungkook thinking (well to some extent). I hope you will like this chapter and are excited as much as me! ♥ Love you and enjooooy :)

taglist: @njrwifey​ @danietoww04​  @kaithezaftig​​ @she-is-dreaming​  [If you want to be added, just let me know :)]

You ran away from the man who tried to take an advantage of you. You stabbed him and escaped. Escaped to the arms of the handsome captain who was even worse than the man you just killed.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10

You quickly shook your head and got nervous because his hand on your cheek started burning your skin. You knew that feeling and softly pulled yourself away. He knows that he has this kind of effect on me, yet he does it anyway. You thought about how close he was. He knows how much his touch scares me, yet he... You closed your eyes, trying to calm down. He was everywhere, surrounding you. At first, you almost paid no attention to his thighs but the soft touch on your cheek reminded you how close he actually was. “This one,” Jungkook pointed at one of the sketches. You opened your eyes and looked over to the side, curious what kind of dresses he likes. “It will look good in the golden colour. My wife will look beautiful in it.” Then he looked over other sketches, putting one aside noting that it looked too cheap. He chose another five dress and rejected two of the designs Mrs Dubois strongly recommended.

You were watching him speechless. He picked everything you would have chosen and what he rejected, you would have also rejected. It was like he was reading your mind. Jungkook then stood up and walked around checking out different dresses. He picked a few more and then returned to Mrs Dubois, paying her for all of them. You were surprised by how many dresses he actually got you. It was way more than you expected. You would have never chosen that many, not even if you were rich enough to do that. It felt surreal that he was this generous after what he told you before. “Do you agree with all of the dress I chose for you, my dear?” He asked you smiling but you knew it would not matter if you agreed or not. He bought the dresses for his own satisfaction and entertainment, so he could see you in dresses he liked. But you agreed with all of them anyways, you liked them. How could you disagree when he picked out the most beautiful ones?

You nodded. “You are really generous.” Jungkook looked at you from above, having a clear sight on your showing bust because the dress you were wearing was too revealing. Before he would love to see you in them but now it was different. He wanted to touch you right there and then but he reminded himself of his warning and promise. He looked away, making his way to Mrs Dubois. “I need one more,” he sighed. “ A dress my wife could wear right away.” Mrs Dubois looked around the shop thinking. Out of nowhere she randomly gasped and smiled. “Oui, monsieur, I have the perfect one I finished yesterday!” With that, she disappeared behind the curtain and brought back the dress. “Something like this?” You could hear her voice before she appeared once again. She showed Jungkook the dress that was made of sky blue velvet material. “Yes, pack them up for us. Now we will go look for some accessories to compliment the dresses we bought. Mrs Dubois, we are leaving in a week so I expect you to have everything ready by then.” The dressmaker opened her mouth to protest. “But, sir, that is impossible! At least a month please!” Jungkook shook his head. “I am sorry but we are leaving in a week so I will bring my wife back here in three days for the last measurements. In a week, I want everything on my ship. If you will make it till then and the dresses will be in good quality, I will pay you double, if not, then it is your loss. Do you agree?” Mrs Dubois could not let such an offer go free, so she nodded and shook Jungkook’s hand in agreement. “Very well, Monsieur Jeon. We have an agreement.”

The shops were full of well-dressed ladies and elegantly dressed gentlemen, that were pushing through each other to get to the place they wanted. They reminded you of yourself when you used to go happily to these shops with your father as a little girl. Your mood got suddenly better since the thoughts of childhood were always nice. You talked to the shopkeepers smiling, trying on the different kinds of accessories, laughing at yourself in the mirror, seeing how funny you looked. You were walking from one side of the shop to the other, charming everyone with your personality. Jungkook did not say anything, just nodded at the sellers whenever you wore something he liked. Well, he bought basically everything you tried because he liked how it looked on you.

He did not say anything even when you touched him and pulled him to another shop. He did not protest, he just let you guide him wherever you wanted. You never asked him for anything though, you never expected him to buy you anything. You just felt happy enough to be able to try on different accessories and to look at everything. You were watching all those charming ladies walking in front of you and laughed at their not-so-fit husbands that were trying to follow them. The smile on your face was genuine, you really enjoyed it because you felt like there were no worries in the world at that moment. You turned around, looking at different props of the shop that were decorating the interior and your hair was flying behind you whenever you turned too quickly. The men in the shop, even though they were attending to their wives, could not take their eyes off you.

The sun almost set down, once you stood still in front of the window of the shop. You were silently looking at the wooden crib. You softly touched the glass, as if you wanted to feel the connection with the crib behind it. You bit your lower lip and turned to Jungkook. He walked closer to you and looked at the crib.  “I have a better one at home.” He told you. “It was mine but it is still in great condition. Mary always wanted me to have a child and use it as soon as possible.” You opened your mouth nodding then furrowed your eyebrows confused. “Mary?”

Jungkook smiled at the name. “Yeah, a woman who is taking care of my household.” He answered. “She had been working for our family even before I was born,” Jungkook turned to the main road and waved at the carriage. You walked closer to him and he continued. His voice was different than it was a few seconds ago. It was rough and you did not like the change one bit. “Mary was waiting for me to get married and become a father” He looked at you from the corner of his eye, head still looking ahead. “I am sure she will be happy once she sees you. When we come to my hometown, you will be pretty big.”  You pulled the cloak that was on your shoulders around your belly. “You were supposed to get married once you came back. I am sure Mary is going to hate me for this.”

“She will not.” The tone of his voice did not allow you to ask any more questions. He looked at the incoming carriage. You weren’t sure why she would not hate you for what they…and you did to Jungkook. Something felt off but you weren’t sure what. When the carriage stopped in front of you, Jungkook told the carter the name of the tavern you were staying at, he put into the carriage all the accessories he bought for you and then he helped you get on. You slowly sat down and it felt like all the exhaustion came crashing down on you. The shopping was tiring and now all you wanted was to get to bed and sleep. You closed your eyes once you saw that Jungkook sat next to you.

Jungkook was looking at your head that started leaning on his broad shoulder. He softly took your head and placed it on his chest. You were softly mumbling in your sleep and your hand was falling into his loin unknowingly. Jungkook held his breath. The colour of his face disappeared and was cursing himself, for letting you have this kind of effect on him. You were driving him crazy. He was feeling as he were a virgin, who is preparing to have his first experience with a woman. One second he was feeling hot and was sweating, then in the other the blood in his veins froze and he could not move. Jungkook was the type of man who could get any woman he wanted without any bigger effort. He used to have sex for his own entertainment so this kind of feeling he is feeling right now is something new for him. You were too inexperienced and he was barely holding himself back from pulling you to his embrace. Where are my sanity and self-control? Where are they? Have they jumped down the dwell when I threatened her that I will never treat her as a husband? Am I acting like this because I realised I cannot touch her and that is why she became so desirable? He asked himself yet he knew it was not the case. He wanted you even when you disappeared and he thought he would never see you again. What are you doing to me, Y/N? You are almost not old enough to carry my child, yet you are here. So close. Jungkook’s inner fight was strong. His thought and reasonings could not deny the fact that he wanted to touch you, that he wanted to make love to you. He wanted you right there and then, he did not want to control himself. How long am I going to last with you by my side? How long am I going to last while watching your naked body without actually touching it? He sighed and clenched his jaw. He could not do anything with you even though he wanted it. He could not simply forget his threats. He swore he would make you pay for everything you did to him. No one is going to blackmail me without punishment. The pride will not let me do that. She is just a woman and they are all the same. I will get my mind off her once I see someone else. I have never met someone I could not get out of my mind. He reasoned within himself. But Y/N is…different. It would be unfair to her to say that is is not. He thought about all kinds of women that he slept with. They were all willing and very passionate when it came to love. They knew what they were doing but you were different. You were innocent, pure and he took your virginity by force. He was well-aware that you knew nothing about the men and love. And now you are his wife and are expecting his child. Only that reason is enough to say you are different. How could I forget the fact you are my wife, little one? That reason alone is enough to say you are different than them. He said looking at your sleeping figure. He was about to caress your cheek but the carriage abruprtly stopped in front of the tavern.

“Y/N?” he whispered softly with his lips almost touching your hair. “Should I carry to the room?” You moved your head that was leaning onto his chest. “What?” You asked while still being half-asleep. “Should I carry you to the room?” You opened your eyes, still in a daze. “No,” You answered but you did not even attempt to stand up. Jungkook smiled and covered your hand with his. “If you want, little one, we can ride around the town for a little bit more.” With a squeak, you sit straight up and pulled your hand from his. When you saw his smirk, you blushed and would love to die right away without feeling so much embarrassment. You jumped up and passed him by to open the door of the carriage. You almost fell out but Jungkook quickly held your waist to save you. He pulled you in the carriage and sat you up on his lap. “Did you want to kill yourself?” He asked coldly. You covered your face screaming “I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU.” Jungkook’s expression changed to even colder one. “Oh, I am sure you do.” He said sarcastically. “After all, if you did not meet me, you would still be living with your wonderful aunt while being treated like a rug and hiding your nakedness underneath the dresses that were ten times bigger than you needed. You would be hiding in the hellhole as an old virgin and you would never get to experience what it feels like to be a mother. Yes, how cruel and hateful of me to take you away from that wonderful place. You were so happy there and I should be struck with a bolt of lightning to actually take you away from such a peaceful place.” He stayed silent for a bit just to continue even more harshly. “You do not even know how many times I regretted that I let you seduce me with your looks and did not find out you were just a kid. Now I will have you around for the rest of my life and just thinking about it makes me mad. Oh only if I castrated myself before meeting you, I would have lived my life in peace!” Your shoulder drooped down and you let the tears you were holding out.  You covered your eyes with the back of your arm and cried like a lost child. You never wanted to be a burden. You never wanted to be hated and unwanted.

When Jungkook saw how is your petite body shaking, the itch to hurt you disappeared. He frowned and the smirk from earlier disappeared. His chest felt heavy while looking for a handkerchief in his pockets. “Where did you put the handkerchief?” He sighed. “I cannot find it.” You shook your head while he was still holding you in the embrace. “I don’t know.” You replied in-between the sobs and panting for air. You wiped your tears into the hem of the dress while Jungkook was looking through your pockets. Meanwhile, the carter hopped down from his seat and walked to the open door. He looked inside asking unsurely. “Can I do something for madam?” He opened the door wider. “I heard the cry and it breaks my heart whenever I hear a woman cry.” Jungkook looked at him still frowning and kept looking for the handkerchief. “Thank you for the offer but my wife is upset that I will not let her mother live with us. When she will realise, that tears are not going to change my decision, she will stop.” The carter smirked at the remark. “In that case, I will leave it all up to you, sir. I should have been this straightforward when I got married too. I wouldn’t have been living with a witch now.” With that, he returned to the horses and Jungkook finally found the handkerchief that was hidden near your right breast. He pulled it out and wiped your tears, then let you blow your nose. “Are you feeling better?” He asked. “Can we go to the room, now?” When you nodded, Jungkook put the handkerchief back to the place he found it and let you stand up. Once you did so, he patted your butt and walked down the stairs of the carriage to help you down.

The tavern was loud, full of shouts of drunk sailors. Jungkook was pulling you through the tavern up the stairs to your room, hiding your red puffy face from the sight of the others. Jimin was sitting near the fireplace when he saw you and his captain, he jumped up and quickly followed you. When Jungkook opened the door to let you in, Jimin stood still in front of him listening to all of his commands. Jimin nodded and left to carry them out. With that Jungkook entered the room and closed to door behind himself, looking at you standing in front of the small sink, washing your face.

“Jimin went to grab food. I will not eat here today and I would like you to not go out of the room. I don’t think it would be safe without me. If you need anything, Jimin is going to be in front of the room. Ask him to do anything you want,” You looked at him over your shoulder whispering a soft: “Thank you.” Without any other words, Jungkook turned and left the room. You kept on looking at the closed door sadly.

The soft movement was like a swing of butterfly’s wings and it was so gentle, that is almost felt unreal. You were laying still underneath the blanket in the bed. You were worried that if you moved, the movement inside your belly would stop. You smiled once you felt it again but this time it was stronger. Your hand slid down to cup your belly and suddenly all your thoughts cleared up a little. Even though Jungkook was right, it was not easy. You would not get out of your aunt’s house to enjoy yourself. She would have watched you for the rest of your life if Jungkook did not take you away. You felt the movement again.

I will be a mother now and he will hate me for making me become that. But does it really have to be like that? It is hard to show him gratitude and affection when I know that he hates the ground I am walking on and the air that I breathe. He said he regretted meeting me. He would rather not be a man than to have me by his side. He was nice so far even though he hates me. I have to show him how grateful I am, I have to show him I am not a kid anymore but is not going to be easy. You were scared. Scared of him, his touch and things he is making you feel. But you wanted to try.

Chapter 12

a/n: The important question is: Did Y/N overreacted or nah? I am just curious about your opinion. Also, we are slowly but surely getting to the middle of the story! It is a long series I know! HAHHAA I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Love you all ♥ 

#bts smut #jungkook #bts #jungkook fics #yandere #jeon jungkook #bts yandere #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #bts jungkook #bts fanfics #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bangtan #fanfiction #bts fanfiction #yandere jungkook #jungkook smut #your little games series

[xxsmokeyy]

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

#reader is basically a lost girl #sorry levi you lose #the amount of fuck in this fic lmao #i didnt realize this reached 12k what #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levixreader #leviackermanxreader #levi #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi heichou #levi fanfic #levi imagine #levi scenario #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman scenario #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi x reader smut #reader insert #drug dealer reader #smut #levi smut #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story extras for Chapter 6: The Future

Chapter 6 of This Isn’t A Ghost Story has been posted! You can find it here on Tumblr, or here on AO3. Spoiler-ish extras under the cut!

With chapter 6 under our belts, we’ve made it through the main portion of this fic! The next two chapters will wrap up a few loose ends -- and possibly create a couple more, of the open-ended variety -- and if I hadn’t gotten quite so deep into the world-building for this, I might have actually ended the story here. All the research I did for the world-building directly inspired the next two chapters, which were both written and finished before I had anything more than a basic sketch in place for chapter 6. 

Egyptology in the 1920s has clearly been a huge part of the world-building for this story from the beginning, and we get a bit more of it in chapter 6. The Doctor mentioned Howard Carter briefly in chapter 5, and here we loop back around to that and find out that Clara and the Doctor knew Carter well. I didn’t want to derail the chapter too much with talking about their friendship in any detail, but large portions of the timeline of when they were in Egypt in the 1920s was built around the historical events of the discovery and documentation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, and there are a few passing allusions to it in the journal entries in chapter 3 as well.

Howard Carter (pictured above in 1924) and his team of excavators found the entrance to Tutankhamun’s tomb in November of 1922, which would have been during the phase when Clara and the Doctor are exchanging letters and falling in love. One little historical detail that I sadly couldn’t quite use was that 23 November 1922 was actually a date of minor significance in the discovery of the tomb. It was the day that Carter’s financier, Lord Carnarvon, arrived at the dig site to witness the opening of the tomb, along with his daughter Lady Evelyn Herbert, who would have been about a year and a half younger than Clara. This picture of the three of them was taken at the entrance of the tomb in late 1922, and is similar to how I imagine Clara and the Doctor’s picture with Carter would have looked:

As the tomb was being excavated, Carter and Carnarvon assembled a team of experts to help with the huge task of cataloging, preserving, and translating all the many items found in the tomb, and though I never called it out specifically in This Isn’t A Ghost Story, I figure the Doctor was part of that team, probably specifically focused on translation work. In late February 1923, there was a short halt in the excavation that lasted a few weeks, which was what led, in our fictionalized version of events, to the Doctor briefly returning to Glasgow, and Clara’s impulsive decision to follow him there. After their wedding in May of ‘23, Clara and the Doctor went directly to Egypt, and the Doctor returned to work on Carter’s team.

Family members, tourists, and the press were all known to visit the dig site during that first year of excavation and the resulting media craze:

Given that, and Clara and the Doctor being ‘disgustingly in love newlyweds’ it seemed reasonable that Clara would have visited the site at least a few times, and been on good terms with Howard Carter. Carter actually got his start in Egyptology when he was hired as a young man to paint reproductions of ancient temple walls and other Egyptian artifacts:

During the excavation of Tutankhamun’s tomb, he made detailed sketches, including careful measurements, of every item removed from the tomb and where it had originally be found in the tomb. Much of what we know about King Tut’s tomb now is down to how methodical Carter was in documenting the original untouched state of the tomb, both with measurements, drawings, and photography. These are both drawings Carter did of the tomb during that period:

Chapter 3 mentions that Clara decided to learn to draw in the summer of 1923, so I liked the little detail that it was Howard Carter, with his meticulous and beautiful art, that suggested she take up the hobby. Modern Clara also notes in passing that she drew all throughout her childhood, particularly her ghost, which all connects back to those early days of their marriage in 1923.

I’ve got more up my sleeve about the world-building elements for the next two chapters, but since chapter 6 was the last chapter I finished, long after chapters 7 and 8 were done, I thought I’d talk a bit about the writing process as well. The final scenes I wrote for the entire story were near the end of chapter 6, and despite knowing what I needed this chapter to do, what needed to be in place to set up chapters 7 and 8, chapter 6 gave me a bit of trouble along the way. 

I imagined this chapter in a lot of different ways as the story was evolving, but I always knew I wanted to emphasize the possibility of future travels for Clara and the Doctor. The theme of ‘101 Places To See’ is so strong in canon that echoing it for 1920s Clara was a big part of my world-building from the beginning, and I felt like any version of a happy ending for Clara and the Doctor had to include travel. An early draft of this chapter ended on Clara’s final line from Mummy On The Orient Express, ‘Then what are you waiting for? Let's go.’ to help emphasize that travel theme -- and because I can never resist borrowing a line from canon whenever I can find an excuse.

Another early sketch for this chapter had Clara and the Doctor venturing out for grocery shopping, with the Doctor complaining up a storm while Clara tried to carry on a conversation with him without any strangers taking note of it. Originally I had planned to include more of Clara’s work week, and had scenes roughed in where her friend and fellow teacher Amy Pond found out that Clara had gotten “engaged” over the weekend, leading Clara to have to make up something on the spot about how she’d been in a long-distance relationship that had only recently turned serious, which was why Amy had never met him. There was a whole thing about how Clara and Amy (who taught ancient world history) were co-directing Coal Hill’s production of Antony And Cleopatra, and Amy wanting to make sure that Clara wasn’t going to run off to see the world with her new fiance before the night of the play. Eventually that all got boiled down to just a single exchange between Clara and the Doctor, as I decided to keep the focus tight in on the two of them and their relationship, and not even include dialogue from any other characters.

One thing that comes up again and again in my writing projects is that when I’m imagining the plotline early in the process, it always takes up a lot more calendar days than the final product does. I imagine events taking place over the course of weeks, but then find that the emotional flow works much better condensed down to a handful of days instead. Despite my stories following that same pattern in development for more than a decade now, it somehow always seems to surprise me, lol.

Really early on in working on Ghost Story, I knew I wanted to keep Clara’s canonical birthdate of 23 November 1986 and build the rest of the timeline around that, and I picked out November 2014 as the time period for the main part of the story because it corresponds roughly to when the end of s8 of the show originally aired. But in a very early outline of events, Clara didn’t have the nightmare that led to her memories coming back until the night of her birthday, a full week later from what ended up happening in this final version. 

Even as recently as a few weeks ago, I was still planning on ending this chapter on her birthday, and it wasn’t until I started digging into the scene by scene and line by line breakdown of the chapter that I realized that it really wasn’t necessary. And leaving her birthday as an upcoming event folded in nicely with the ‘Future’ theme I wanted for this chapter, so again I decided to keep the focus tight on Clara and the Doctor’s relationship as they unravel the mystery and deal with the fallout of what happened in 1927.

Figuring out what I actually wanted to happen this chapter versus what could be left on the cutting-room floor, as they say, was a huge part of the final phase of writing This Isn’t A Ghost Story. Once I had cut out extraneous scenes and meandering plot tangents (and poor Amy Pond), I was left with a very specific list of scenes and conversations, and I wrote them much the same way I write everything, jumping around to a given scene as dialogue or internal monologue occurs to me. To me it always feels like putting together a large jigsaw puzzle, filling in holes and connecting up pieces as the puzzle comes together.

I find that technique works really well for me when I’m in early and mid development of a story, but once I was down to just a couple of scenes that still needed written, progress slowed way down. I got to the point where I knew the emotional content of a scene and even most of the dialogue, and needed just a little bit of stage direction to stitch the whole thing together. Those of you who have been following along with my #process thoughts posts here may remember me posting about working on that last scene just a couple of weeks ago, trying to wrestle it into shape. 

@tounknowndestinations, @praetyger, and a few others of you have asked about it, and I can now reveal that the very last bit to get written was the sequence with Clara preparing for bed and then the two of them getting into bed. I had the awkward sex conversation and the final scene the next morning already written, I just had to connect the first part of the chapter up with those last scenes. I’m happy with how it eventually came together -- and very curious to hear if any of you could pick out that that was the last bit written? -- but not having the option to work on anything else, just those specific words in that specific place, made it more of a struggle for me than writing most of the rest of Ghost Story.

My husband and beta reader Jack was more involved with the editing of this chapter than he was with any of the other chapters, and in several places helped me rewrite individual lines or conversation beats until we were both happy with how they read. @praetyger asked how I know when writing is ‘done’, and I have to admit it’s mostly a process of reading it over and over again, and then getting Jack to read it and taking his feedback seriously. I tend towards overly long run-on sentences, so if Jack gets lost while reading a sentence, that’s one he’ll call out as needing to be reworded for clarity. 

There’s one sentence in this chapter that we went back and forth over quite a lot: ‘The feeling of what might have been that seeing their wedding photo had elicited in her wasn’t some strange, misplaced jealousy, but rather the knowledge she carried deep in her soul, buried in her subconscious, that their story wasn’t over yet.’ It was originally even more wordy, and Jack would have preferred the final version be a lot more simple, but it just didn’t read right to me without ‘elicited’ so I stuck to my guns on that bit, even as I filed down some of the wordiness in other parts of the sentence.

Both for reworking a sentence and for writing big sections in the first place, my method is generally to write it and edit a little as I go, trying to get the word choice and pacing as close to what I want as I can on a first pass. Then I’ll let it sit, at the very least overnight but often for days or longer at a time, then come back and reread it when it isn’t so fresh in my mind. At that point, sometimes a phrase will jump at me as awkward or something I used just a paragraph or two earlier, so I’ll rewrite it, let it sit, come back and edit it all over again. Sometimes what seemed like plenty of room for an emotional beat when I was writing it will go by way too fast when I reread it, so I’ll add to it, give it space to breathe. Rinse and repeat.

For the record, Jack’s favorite line from this chapter is this bit of dialogue for the Doctor: ‘“Yes,” he allowed warily, clearly not sure where she was going with this.’ I imagine it’s probably for similar reasons as why he liked the ‘she didn’t add again but knew they were both thinking it’ bit from chapter 5. I try not to put my own marriage into my writing too much, but there are some experiences of being married that I think are probably pretty universal.

@ephemeralhologram asked about my writing inspiration, and for me my writing is always driven by a kernel of a what-if idea and a desire to convey a certain emotion. I almost always start out with a ‘plotbunny’ idea, some tiny thing that I daydream about and consider from multiple angles until a plot and emotional tone starts coming into focus. 

For Ghost Story, it was actually a shitpost here on Tumblr about a real estate agent having a conversation with the ghost who haunts the house they’re trying to sell, along with wanting to try telling a Twelve/Clara story in an alternate universe completely separate from the show canon, which I had never done before Ghost Story. The emotional tone started out much sillier, more in line with that Tumblr post, but as I got into the world-building and decided I wanted to have a mystery and mutual pining at the center of this story, the tone shifted quite a lot.

The other major drivers of writing inspiration for me are that I enjoy putting words together into interesting and emotionally evocative combinations, and I enjoy conveying character emotion and eliciting emotion in the reader. No matter what fandom I’m writing in, no matter how close to canon or how AU, how short or long the story is, those two things are always at the center of my writing.

I walk around the house or do chores that I don’t have to focus on too much (dishes are excellent for this) just tossing around bits of dialogue in my head until I find an emotional beat that grabs me or a bit of phrasing that I really like. I jot those down into a googledoc -- most of my DW stories start out in a doc called “Doctor Who Bits” that is in fact just fragments of multiple stories, and then eventually a story will graduate into having its own dedicated googledoc. Figuring out the plot is just as much about deciding on the emotional journey I want to take the characters and/or the readers on as it is deciding on an order of events.

Thank you to @tounknowndestinations​, @ephemeralhologram​, and @praetyger​ for the questions! I am more than happy to answer any questions about my writing process or details about this story, or anything really, so feel free to hit me up in my ask, or in the comments on this post, or in a comment over on AO3. Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this story, and for all the support and encouragement you’ve offered along the way, I couldn’t have written this story without this wonderful little corner of the Whouffaldi fandom! ❤️

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Extras for Chapter 7: The Museum

#This Isn't A Ghost Story #This Isn't A Ghost Story extras #process thoughts #my writing #Doctor Who #Doctor Who fanfic #Clara and the Doctor

[imjeralee]

Comfort in Despair: Chapter 8 - Me Kill You

Leon x F!Reader

Disclaimer: Do not own Pokemon

Summary:

Galar is rich in folklore and tales of the supernatural.

As a Pokemon Researcher who specialises in ghost types, this is a great opportunity for you to investigate and learn more about the paranormal.

Along the way, you meet Leon (in the most awkward way possible) who becomes embroiled in your adventures.

^ Basically this story is about ghosts :/

Rating: General/Teen

Me Kill You

…

…

[Robert the Doll is the world's most haunted doll. It can move on its own, change its facial expressions and cause misfortune]

…

…

After Sonia’s helped you pick an outfit and matching shoes to wear for tomorrow’s dinner, you fish out the Wooloo plushie from your closet. You had mentioned to Leon a while ago that you had a spare for his little brother and you inspect it, turning it round and round. It’s clean and in great condition so you place it carefully inside a white plastic bag, tie the straps together and leave it beside your backpack on the floor, ready for tomorrow.

When it’s around eleven pm, Sonia, Cutiefly and Poltea go to sleep so you quietly make your way downstairs. Magnolia has left spare food for you as usual and after reheating it, you carry the food with you to the lounge and sit down on the sofa.

You’ve got a whole night ahead of you and you have no active cases so it’s a good time to study Gengar.

It’s peculiar; for the past couple of years and you didn’t think about owning pokemon but here you are with a Gengar and Froslass, though you will need to hand the ice pokemon to Graves very soon.

It’s inevitable and hopefully she will be in better hands under the right ownership. You had thought about releasing her but if Graves finds out, you’re done for.

You finish your food and when Gengar emerges from your shadow, you grab your journal and ask him to stand still so you can sketch him.

He can only stand still for a few seconds or so before he yawns and decides to float in the air and cartwheel around the lounge.

When you finish the sketch, you ask him to stand before you which he does, his feet touching the ground for a change, and you use a measuring tape to take note of his height. He is roughly five foot eleven.

“You’re very tall compared to the average Gengar,” you utter and he nods vigorously, grin widening. “You have teeth too. Human teeth.”

He nods again and opens his mouth wide, showing you his pearly whites. You tap your chin with your pencil, tilting your head to the side as you inspect his mouth.

“You even have a human tongue.”

Gengar proceeds to stick his tongue out which extends all the way out of the door of the lounge and into the landing.

“Interesting…”

You use the measuring tape to work out the length of his tongue and it turns out to be even longer than his height. Once you’re finished, Gengar rolls his tongue back up and chuckles darkly.

“Well, according to the pokedex entries, you were a human in your past life…” you put the measuring tape away, flip your journal to a certain page and read aloud, “'Should you feel yourself attacked by a sudden chill, it is evidence of an approaching Gengar. There is no escaping it. Give up’.”

Gengar laughs in response and rolls around the air with glee, clutching his tummy.

“Do you remember your past life?” you ask and he pauses to ponder, then shakes his head. “Do you remember how you became a Ghastly?”

Again, he shakes his head.

“So you woke up one day and you were a Ghastly?”

He puts a hand on his hips and a hand under his mouth as though deep in thought, but shrugs.

“What did you do when you were with the Duke?”

Gengar glances round, points at your pencil which you give to him; he returns to float in the air, then pretends to stab at the air viciously and as though he is fighting an invisible enemy.

“You fought in a war?”

He nods and returns the pencil to you, sighing inaudibly and wiping his forehead. He looks tired.

“This is really interesting,” you mutter to yourself, scribbling notes in your journal before you reach over and pat the top of his head.

He is rather cold to touch and you retreat.

"You’re tangible," you mutter, before you plant your hand over to where his stomach should be to pat his belly. Much to your surprise, your hand sinks in and you feel...nothing. You attempt to grab but you cannot even feel your own fingers. "Whoa. Obviously you can be tangible or intangible at your own free will. What’s inside you? Can I see?"

Gengar nods, grabs you by the arms and pulls you inside his tummy face-first for a few seconds or so. When he pulls you back out, you gasp and blink dazedly.

"...Darkness, swirling vortex of nothingness, an eternity of black, a void," you mutter unfocusedly, before you quickly rush to the kitchen and pull open one of the cupboards to grab a few snacks, tearing off the wrappers and stuffing them into your mouth. You even grab a chocolate bar, unwrapping it and munching it quickly. You feel better at once and sigh with relief. Putting the chocolate bar down, you exclaim, "I shall write this down!"

You return to the lounge, flinging yourself over the sofa to grab your journal and you begin jotting down what you had witnessed and experienced when Gengar showed you his insides.

You describe how there was nothing and you had no sense of self, nor were you aware that you were alive though you experienced intense feelings of hopelessness, despair and sadness and you also write down that he smelled somewhat of sulphur but the golden question really is:

"Hey Gengar, can you take me to the spirit world?"

He looks at you with widened eyes, then shakes his head.

"Why not?"

Glancing left and right, he grabs one of the flowers from Magnolia's vase on the mantelpiece and holds it in his hands, then moves to float on his back, lying horizontally in the air as he clutches the flower to his chest with his eyes closed.

"Yeah, I know one is usually dead in order to go there but...can’t you separate me from my body?”

He looks confused.

“Like, um….split my soul from my body?”

Gengar glances at you before he circles the side of his head with his finger.

“Don’t give me that, I’m not crazy, okay? I mean, what happens if a living person is accidentally brought there? Can they escape? Are they alive or dead?"

He looks confused by your question and again, imitates being dead.

You sigh, shaking your head, and turn to a new page of your journal, eager to study more and so you let Froslass out of the capsule and into the lounge.

You sketch her as she looks around and inspects random objects; she appears curious about her surroundings and eventually picking up one of Sonia's hairbrush which she had left lying on the coffee table and returns to your side, brushing your hair and trilling a somewhat melancholic tune.

You try to study her as much as possible but she doesn't appear to listen to you and keeps floating around, picking up random things and throwing them around in the air when they're not interesting to her.

When you are left to pick them back up and put them into their respective places, she puts her little paws to her mouth and giggles. Quite the prankster, this one. You determine she has an impish personality and she has taken a liking to the hairbrush, holding it tightly to herself.

When it’s six am, the ghost Pokemon are exhausted and you emit a loud yawn and stop studying them though the entire session has aroused more questions than answers. It’s time to retire and you're exhausted; you quietly head up the stairs and into the room.

Sonia dozes in her bed, lying on her side with her back to you. You slide into your bed noiselessly, wrapping your thick, cosy covers around you and close your eyes.

You drift off to sleep until a rough shake on your arm forces you to wake and you open your eyes groggily to see Sonia standing by your bed.

“…Huh? What…what is it, Sonnie…?” you croak out, rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up so early but you have a new client…” Sonia mutters and you check the clock.

It’s ten in the morning…and you groan out loud and slap your hand over your eyes tiredly.

“They really want to talk to you," she adds, "They really, really want to talk to you.”

You can hear the emphasis so you nod.

“………….Alright, fine,” you mumble as you get up from bed and grab your black dressing gown from the chair and drape it over yourself, half-awake. You only managed roughly four hours of sleep…

Sonia watches as you tiredly trudge downstairs, barely awake, and the light hurts causing you to hiss and wince as you blindly make your way through the lounge. You head to the direction of the conservatory where you peek through the gaps of your fingers to see a couple seated on one of the sofas. They look relieved to see you despite your frumpy and drowsy appearance.

Lethargy has taken over; once your eyes has adjusted to the light, you stop wincing and plop yourself in the empty sofa as the couple nervously fidget, balancing a white plastic bag in arms.

You're finding it really hard to stay awake.

“Thanks for seeing us,” says the man, and you’re assuming it’s the husband.

You nod wearily, crossing your arms as you nod off.

“No problem..." your voice is sluggish as you fight to stay awake whilst emitting a huge yawn, “How....how can I help…?”

You are so tired you can only catch snippets of what they're saying as you yawn once more.

"We live in Turrfield,”

"Our daughter turned eight."

"We got her a gift for her birthday."

Your eyelids are drooping no matter what. "...Okay…Zzz…”

"This doll."

"...Mm….hmm…yep��what about it…”

"...Makes strange noises......moves on it’s own…."

Your eyes jerk open.

"What?!"

Looking up and around, you see that you are still in the conservatory but the couple are gone and you are alone. In an instant, you sit up as you look left and right. The room is empty.

"Where'd they go?" you squawk.

Sonia enters the conservatory and you throw your wide-eyed glance to her.

"They left an hour ago. You fell asleep," she says, walking round the sofa with a teapot and cup before she seats herself on the sofa opposite yours, crossing her legs.

"Oh," your eyes grow wide and you scrabble up to stand, "That's terrible. I should call them.”

"Relax, they said they left something for you." Sonia gestures to the corner where a white plastic bag sits against one of the potted plants, the straps tied tightly together.

You head over, picking up the bag and realizing that it is exceptionally light; untying it, you pull the straps apart and peer inside.

It's empty.

“….Hey Sonnie, where’s the doll?”

“What doll?”

“There should be a doll.”

“I didn’t see any doll.”

“That’s weird,” you mutter, rubbing your chin, “They came all the way here and forgot to bring the doll?”

Scratching your head, you shrug and decide to return upstairs with the white plastic bag. There is no doll inside so you’re not sure what’s going on. You will call the client later to inform them they must have forgotten it.

When you return to your room, you emit another long yawn, scratch the side of your hip and flop over your bed, snuggling into your pillow and burrowing yourself with the blanket once again; the moment you hit the bed and you close your eyes and begin snoring immediately.

You’re not sure how long you had slept when you feel the blanket slowly being pulled away from your body and you begin shivering.

“Nnmm…Yamper, cut it out…Stop…stop that…” you mumble under your breath.

The blanket continues shifting down your body until it slides off the bed and flops loudly onto the floor. The coldness forces you awake and you open your eyes, blinking groggily in the dark room.

“Huh?” you croak out as you push yourself off the mattress using the back of your elbows, looking around the empty bedroom before you spot the blanket lying crumpled at the foot of the bed.

You must have kicked it off in your sleep somehow… though you swear someone was pulling the blanket off you...

Crawling to the edge of your bed, you bend down and reach for it, grabbing the blanket and lifting it up and you do a doubletake when you see a strange shape lying on the floor underneath it.

Lifting the blanket up, you reveal a small, grey and dirty ragdoll with an enlarged head, two black buttons sewn on for eyes and a jagged line of black stitches that you assume is supposed to be the mouth. It has short black strands of thick yarn for hair and its limbs are round and stubby.

It can’t be Sonia’s for you believe it’s rather unsightly for her liking… and it’s certainly not yours, that’s for sure. You don’t think this could be a new chew toy of Yamper’s, either.

It’s most likely the doll your client mentioned.

“They got this for their daughter’s birthday?? It looks like a voodoo doll...” you say aloud before you can help yourself. Shrugging, you scoop it up and let it sit on your bedside table where it slumps against Sonia’s hairdryer, and you grab your duvet and wrap yourself up once more and roll over to sleep, closing your eyes.

The room falls silent.

You’re so exhausted, your body begins to relax. Your mind grows weary, a blanket of darkness consuming your thoughts until a cold grip seizes you by the ankle and drags you several inches from your spot.

You sit up at once, kicking the blanket off you and staring wide-eyed at the edge of your bed only to see the ragdoll sitting near your left foot with its head flopping backwards.

“What the….”

As you gawk, the doll begins to twitch aggressively before its head flips forward and into its normal position, and your eyes grow wide.

“Haunted doll!!!” you yell, and Gengar manifests from your shadow on the wall. You point hurriedly at the doll, “Gengar, attack!”

Gengar obliges and immediately fires a beam of purple energy at it, blasting it off the bed and burning a small section of your mattress in progress. The ragdoll flies into the air before it lands on the ground with a thump.

It doesn’t move and you and Gengar glance at each other warily before you quickly tiptoe forwards, seize the white plastic bag, grab the doll by the scruff of it's back and dump it inside. It begins to thrash and you tie the bag in a tight knot, then hastily murmur a quick chant to immobilize it. Rushing to your desk, you open one of the drawers and find a scrap of scritta paper, grab a red marker and draw a symbol on it before you stick it on the bag. That should do it.

The entity sealed inside the bag struggles and flails and you glance at Gengar with a wince. “Well, that’s a first,” you say, lifting the bag up and giving it a shake.

It continues wriggling violently, accompanied with a sound akin to the noise of teeth grinding. "Kccchhhkhhhkk...."

“Yeesh, it’s like a tiny terror, right Gengar?” you mutter as the sound sends various shivers down your spine, and Gengar nods.

You throw a glance to the clock; it’s now one in the afternoon. You need to get ready for the dinner which means unfortunately, you will need to deal with the doll later. However, you're still sleepy so with the doll subdued, you fall back into bed, fast asleep.

At five pm, you awake from the beeping of your alarm and unfortunately you're still tired from being woken up so many times during the day but you force yourself to get up so you can utilise the additional two hours to get ready. You get dressed in the outfit Sonia had sussed out for you and before you leave the house, you grab the bag with the Wooloo plush that’s meant for Hop.

The Wooloo doll and the haunted doll have been placed in similar white bags but you made it a point to keep them separated and also, you put the talisman on the haunted doll bag so you pick up the bag that has no talisman and open it for a thorough doublecheck.

Indeed, the Wooloo doll is inside.

You put the bag back down and continue getting ready, rushing around your room to grab some accessories and a spare hair tie just in case. Once you’re done, you grab your pouch and the Wooloo bag and leave the room.

“Sonia, professor, I’m heading out now!” you exclaim as you head downstairs..

“Have fun at Leon’s, dear,” Magnolia says; she’s in the kitchen washing the dishes whilst Sonia lounges with Yamper in the living room, watching a chatshow.

“Tell Leon I said hi,” she says.

“Okay,” you settle the Wooloo bag on the floor and head to the cupboard under the stairs to grab the sandals Sonia prepared for you and return to the front door, slipping them on.  

When you leave, Sonia gets up and off the couch a few minutes later with her empty mug to get some water. However, she spots something lying on its side, hidden behind the umbrella stand.

It's a Wooloo plushie.

…

You make your way down the path of Wedgehurst to Postwick. Sonia’s picked out a white summer dress which she thinks is perfect for the weather.

Whilst you’re far more inclined towards the colour black or anything that would cover up the most skin, this dress seems to reveal a lot of leg and chest than you had wanted. She’s picked a pair of matching nude sandals and a little beige pouch to complete the look, and she’s also helped with your hair and makeup; she has brushed your hair neatly and applied minimal makeup for a more natural look.

You can't help but wonder what Leon will think of you.

The path to Postwick is linear albeit covered with tall grass which you avoid at all costs and very soon, Postwick looms into view; it’s a tiny farming town with a small population. It’s pleasant and dainty with cottages straight from fairytale picture books, with thatched roofs and walls covered in ivy. One wouldn’t have thought the Champion of Galar would have roots from this modest settlement.

Leon’s house is not hard to miss. As he pointed out, it’s the biggest house and you pass the trimmed hedges and stone walls, pass the mini battle court and the garage. There’s a large barbecue grill and an outdoor table which is where the dinner will possibly take place. Leon wasn’t kidding. His house could be mistaken for a mansion...

You arrive at the front door and press the doorbell, then take a step back and wait on the doorstep whilst smoothing your dress down and tidying your hair, inwardly rehearsing some lines in your head. “Hello, Mrs Leon’s mum. I am a Pokemon Researcher. How do you do? Wait, let’s try that one again: How do you do? Oh, how splendid. Me? I’m well, thank you very much. Thank you for inviting me for dinner….”

When the door opens, you stop practising and look up to see the same woman from the hospital standing before you and she smiles widely.

“Oh! You must be…” she says your name and you nod. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too.”

“Come in, come in!” she exclaims happily as you shake hands, and she opens the door wide for you and ushers you inside the house, “Leon, your friend is here!”

You hear footsteps from upstairs; Leon arrives at the top of the stairs and hurries down, looking rather flustered. He’s also dressed very casual, barefoot and donned in a pair of black joggers, a thick and woolly, white sweater and shirt.

When he sees you at the door however, he freezes on the last step as he gets an eyeful.

“Hi Leon.” You wave at him as you stand on their furry ‘home sweet home’ mat.

“H-hi,” he utters. His face grows pink as he looks at you from head to toe, jaw going slack. His reaction does not go unnoticed; his mum giggles as she heads over to his direction and plants a hand on his shoulder, steering him towards your direction until he’s directly in front of you and you look up and he looks at you and your gazes meet.

Following that, you hear another set of rapid footsteps bumbling down the stairs and it’s the little boy from the hospital clutching a Charizard figurine in hand. With a Wooloo rolling down the stairs after him, he leaps off the last step and lands in front of you, looking up at you with a big grin whilst Wooloo takes a baby leap off the step and trots over.

Leon’s little brother grins widely at you and says, “Hi there, Lee told me all about you! I’m his little brother, Hop.”

“I know, he told me about you as well,” you say with a smile as he looks up at Leon, who grins and playfully loops an arm around the back of his neck and Hop begins to laugh as Leon proceeds to playfully drive his clenched knuckle over his head.

“And he’s my biggest fan too,” Leon adds.

“Leon told me you like Wooloo so I brought you something,” you hand him the white bag, and he blinks as he accepts it.

“…For me?”

“Of course.”

“Oh wow! Thanks, mate!” he exclaims, “Lee was right, you’re pretty and kind!”

Your eyes bulge as you gape at Leon who begins spluttering at once. Leon’s mum and Hop exchange glances before they grin at your interaction.

“Hip-Hop, would you like to help me get the barbecue sorted out?” Leon’s mum coos before Hop can open his gift.

You chuckle under your breath. Hip-Hop….how adorable…

Hop looks at the bag briefly then nods, “Okay, mum, let me put this in my room first," he says, before he rushes up the stairs with your gift.

“I’ll send the Hopster to get you when everything’s ready,” Leon’s mum says to you with a wink, and when Hop returns downstairs, they make a speedy exit towards the direction of the kitchen.

It’s just you and Leon.

“So uh…where can I put my shoes?” you ask, and Leon finally tears his eyes away from you to throw his glance to your feet.

“Oh, here is fine,” he gestures to the side of the door where a bunch of shoes are lined up on the floor over a mat and you slip out of the sandals and carefully place them beside Leon’s champion boots. “You look lovely.”

And your cheeks grow pink in response. “Thanks,” you offer him a smile, gingerly placing your hands behind your back, “You have a very nice house.”

He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck at your compliment. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour,” he says with a grin, and he leads you into the living room where an elderly man sits on an armchair with a Purrloin who is fast asleep in his lap.

Leon enthusiastically introduces you to his grandfather who looks up from the snoozing pokemon and greets you politely and you do the same; he asks you briefly about your work before he’s conveniently called to the kitchen by Leon’s mum.

You’re alone with Leon once more as grandpa settles the snoozing Purrloin over the sofa and slowly shuffles to the kitchen. Leon tosses his glance to you as you take the time to look around his large and spacious lounge, spotting the numerous trophies displayed on the mantelpiece. There is also a portrait of Leon in his champion attire beside a framed medal on the wall.

“Where are these from?” you ask as he joins your side, “This one looks interesting.”

He looks sheepish, cheeks reddening as you step towards the fireplace and peer at the engraved words on one of the trophies. “I won that at the World Coronation Series."

“That’s really impressive.”

Your words only serves to make him blush harder and Leon blurts out, “Do you want to go to my room?”

There is a brief silence until Leon’s face grows even redder than ever before and he begins spluttering incoherently.

You guess he doesn't invite girls to his room often but you say, "Sure."

Leon stops stuttering and his eyes widens a brief fraction at your response. Nodding limply, he leads you out of the lounge, heading up the stairs. Along the way, you pass his grandmother; she greets you politely and after a brief introduction, decides to head downstairs to leave the both of you alone.

Leon’s house is huge with several winding corridors and turns, and you can’t help but wonder if his poor sense of direction started with this but you see there are signs stuck to the wall that will help him find his own room and when the signs run out, he has arrived at a random door, opening it.

He lets you go in first and this would be the first time you’ve stepped foot into a boy’s room - and the Champion’s room, nonetheless. You’re stunned that his room is quite plain and the interior decor are Autumn-inspired, with the reddish floor and the tawny shade of his walls and curtains.

There’s his bed, a desk, a bookshelf lined with boxes and a workout station in one corner though they don't appear to have been used much. You also spot a colourful collection of snapbacks on display, neatly lined up side by side on several shelves. You count them all and the total goes over thirty.

As you look around his room, Leon watches you as though he is waiting for your reaction. You head over to his desk where you see a desktop calendar with random dates circled and notes, and Leon makes his way up to you when you scrutinise it.

“That’s my schedule,” he says, as he scoops it up and hands it to you for a closer look.

“You’re booked out for the entire year,” you utter in awe as you flip through the pages and he nods.

Once again, you are subtly reminded of who exactly you're dealing with here. You're talking to Leon, the Champion of Galar. Not only that, but he has invited you for dinner. The gravity of it all makes you almost faint. Leon is...a celebrity.

You go through the dates and what the events are. "Rose of the Rondelands Charity Gala Ball, Paediatric Visit, Soda Pop photoshoot, Soup Kitchen for the homeless…Miss Galar Beauty Pageant??”

Leon crosses his arms over his chest, nodding, “Yeah, I’m supposed to make a brief speech.”

You raise a brow at the thought of Leon being surrounded by smiling, beautiful girls in swimsuits. You didn’t realise his duties as Champion would extend to the Miss Galar Beauty Pageant too...

“I see,” is your reply, before you catch glimpse of his 'Official Fanmeet and Signing'. It's then you recall you have his poster and wonder if it would be possible to sign up...

"This is for you," Leon fishes out a flimsy small envelope from one of the drawers of his desk and hands it to you, "It's the ticket to my next match. Actually, it's an annual pass for Wyndon Stadium... so you can attend all my matches."

Your jaw drops. The Wyndon Stadium annual pass costs a five figure sum!! "You're kidding, right?"

"No, why would I be?"

He sounds a little puzzled and it occurs to you he took your words quite literally.

You accept the envelope with a wide grin and Leon's face grows red at the sight of your gratitude. "Thank you so much!!!" you gush at him.

"You're welcome," he says quietly.

And you put the envelope away safely and return the calendar over the desk. As you turn, your bag swings round and you accidentally knock a random snapback off. It’s a white cap with a black visor and the League’s symbol on it. It’s quite possibly an expensive collector’s item and you gasp.

You attempt to catch it before it drops to the floor, diving for it, and so does Leon, and suddenly he has grabbed your hands and you both completely miss the snapback, which lands on the floor.

The two of you simultaneously freeze at the same time.

His hands are so warm compared to yours, and you look at him and he looks at you before he quickly releases your hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you croak as your fingers tingle all over from the unwarranted contact and your heart begins to pound. You quickly pluck the cap off the ground and you both move to stand. “H-here’s your hat.”

“Thanks,” Leon cradles it to himself gently, “This one is vintage. In fact, my collection are all vintage, limited or special editions. This one commemorates the fiftieth Galar Pokemon League gym challenge,” he says with a smile and as he glances at the hat in his grip, he reaches over and fixes the cap over your head and proceeds to fasten the strap behind your head, tugging on it securely.

You go still once more, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

He is standing so close to you. He doesn’t need to be, but he is. You can feel his breath on your cheeks, his hands skimming over the side of your face gently. You swerve your eyes up to him and as he looks at you at the same time, you quickly avert your gaze and he takes a step back once the hat is fastened properly. “It suits you.”

“I’m just missing your cape,” you blurt out.

“You’re right. Wait a second, I’ll go get it,” Leon replies and he heads to his wardrobe, opening it and pulling out the thick, red champion cape from within.

“Uh…” you pale slightly when you realise Leon had taken your words seriously again. With cape in hands, he proceeds to step behind you and carefully position it over your shoulders and tie it around you, and you realise there are also two unnoticeable clips on it that attaches itself onto the shoulders to prevent it from falling off.

“There we go. All done.” Leon says, and you’re astounded he’s letting you try it on.

“Oh, I…I feel weird,” you croak out as you attempt to twist your body left and right to see the cape; Leon is taller than you, so unfortunately the cape brushes against the floor and you attempt to bundle it up.

The beautiful fur that lines the cloak tickles your chin and the sides of your face and ears. Furthermore, you accidentally catch a heavy whiff of Leon’s scent all over and you blush.

Leon takes another step forwards and begins slipping his fingers underneath the cap and brushes some hair from the side of your face, tucking it behind your ear. He replaces the cap over your head once more and smiles. “You look really pretty today,” he murmurs.

“Um…..thanks.” you can’t help but blush furiously; he’s said it twice now. As you glance down at yourself, you grab a section of the cape and lift it up, hiding the lower half of your face with it. Leon laughs in response as you quirk a brow at him. “How do I look?”

“Not bad!”

“I could get used to this,” you say, “No wonder you wear it all the time.”

Next, you use your other hand to grab the other side of the cloak and lift your arms up in the air, the cape rising and Leon chuckles as you parade around the room.

“I should take this off now,” you say before you get carried away as usual.

“How did it feel to be Champion of Galar for five minutes?”

“Pretty good but the cloak is heavy," you reply, as you take a few steps and the cloak’s weight makes your shoulders feel hefty.

He grins and helps you remove the cloak, it brushes against the floor once more and as you hop backwards, you accidentally step on one corner just as he lifts it up and your eyes grow wide as the ground beneath you disappears; you lose your footing and begin to slip.

However, Leon’s quick to catch you by wrapping a thick and sturdy arm around your back but it doesn’t stop you from falling and he doesn’t abandon the cape; you fall flat on your back with a grunt and Leon topples over you, the cape spooling over him.

His weight causes your eyes to bulge and a few strands of his long hair catches in your mouth which makes you splutter. Muttering a long string of apologies, Leon scrabbles to get off you and the heel of his hand accidentally presses hard against your breast and his jaw drops in horror.

Before either of you can move, Hop suddenly pokes his head into room.

“The barbecue’s-“

Hop pauses, eyes widening at the sight of you lying on the ground with Leon on top and the cape covering your lower bodies and most importantly, his hand on your breast. Hop blurts out an apology for disturbing you but not before spinning on his heel in a one hundred and eighty degree turn and he rushes away, stampeding down the corridor.

“Hop!” You and Leon yell at the same time, before you gape at one another.

Next, you throw your gaze to where Leon is touching you and finally he lifts his hand off your chest, lifting himself off you in general and as he sits up, his hand is trembling, his face a thousand shades of red. He collects his cape into his arms and bundles it up.

“Arceus, what a mess!” he groans before he turns to you, “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Leon…” you croak out as he sticks his hand out; you accept his hand and he lifts you off the ground so you can sit up. One of the straps of your dress – and your bra – decides to fall off your shoulder and Leon accidentally catches a glimpse of your exposed shoulder and your bra strap and he looks away to bury his face into the soft material of his cape.

“Sorry.” Is his muffled apology.

“It’s fine,” you wave your hand dismissively before you pull the straps over your shoulder and into the proper positions. “It was an accident. Is Hop gonna be okay though?”

Leon lowers the cape, then nods. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle this. Let’s go find him.”

You agree with a nod and you both get up to stand; Leon carefully hangs his cape in his closet and you both leave his room. Following the directions on the wall, you both make your way to the stairs and as you pass a random door, it is open and it’s then you see that Hop is inside, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Hop?” Leon says, and he looks up.

He has the white bag in his lap and when he sees you and Leon, his face visibly goes red. “I-I didn’t see anything!!!”

“It’s fine, Hop, it was just an accident,” you say as you step into his room. “I fell after slipping on your brother’s cloak and he tried to help me, but unfortunately he ended up falling on top of me too and his hand-”

Hop’s eyes grows to the size of saucers.

“Um…” Leon steps in before you can finish, “Maybe I should…”

“Oh right, yes, please do…”

Leon moves to sit down beside his little brother, sitting cross-legged over the carpet and places a hand on his shoulder. “Hop.”

“Yeah, Lee?”

Leon takes a deep breath then says, “I know it’s not yet time for you to have that talk with mum about the Pidgeys and the Beedrills, but I wanted to let you know that what you saw in the room, I wasn’t the Beedrill and she wasn’t the Pidgey. It was just an accident.”

Leon goes on and on and you’re left standing, wondering what he is on about.

“Hey Lee?”

“Yes, Hop?”

“I get it.”

“Oh, you do? That’s good.” Leon pats Hop on the shoulder; the younger brother grins at Leon, then turns to you with a somewhat sly grin.

“Whatever you say, Lee,” Hop adds, grin broadening, and you don’t think Hop is as innocent as he seems. “Can I open my gift now?” he adds excitedly.

“Sure, go ahead,” Leon replies with a smile.

Hop proceeds to open the bag with an ecstatic whoop of glee and unties your bag, sticking his hand in and once he’s grabbed the doll, he pulls it out. There is a silence when he lifts it up in the air.

It’s the ragdoll.

“What the-?!?” you squawk, whilst Hop and Leon blink blankly at the hideous toy, before they turn to you questioningly. “Arceus, I’m so sorry…Hop, there was meant to be a Wooloo plush but-"

When the ragdoll squirms under Hop’s grip, he drops it in alarm.

“I-it just moved by itself!!” Hop exclaims and the two brothers are quick to jump onto their feet with Leon immediately ushering his little brother behind him.

Before anyone can make a move or speak, the doll twitches fiercely on the floor of the bedroom and you, Hop and Leon exchange wide-eyed looks before the doll twitches on the spot, its stuffed body convulsing rigorously and finally, the ragdoll inches off the ground and sits up.

“Mi…..me….me kill you….” A distorted voice emits from within.

Hop yelps with panic and you immediately call for Gengar whilst Leon steers his brother away from the doll as far as possible.

When Gengar manifests from the corner of the room, he spots the doll and you command, “Dark Pulse!”

Gengar aims a beam of dark energy at it and the attack smacks into the doll; it soars into the air once again and one of its stitches comes loose on the little doll’s face as it flops to the floor.

“Kkkccchhhkkk….” the noise akin to nails scratching on a chalkboard returns and the doll struggles to sit up as one of its button eyes pop off, its head flopping to one side limply, revealing a pair of glowing dots underneath the worn out fabric. “Kcchkkkk….!”

“Look out!” Leon yells, as the doll's head snaps back onto its normal position and a shadowy appendage bursts out from the gap between the torn stitches, aimed at your direction.

You gasp but Gengar jumps in front of you and the claw slams into his body. Gengar goes reeling from the impact and finally, Charizard comes bumbling into the room.

“Charizard, ember!” Leon is quick to instruct, pointing at the doll of terror.

Two long shadowy claws have emerged from the ragdoll's body, rising high in the air as it takes tiny steps one foot at a time towards your group, and Charizard stares at the minuscule adversary in confusion for a split second or so before he coughs out a weak ball of fire the size of a golfball from the back of his throat which immediately catches onto the doll’s yarn hair.

The doll stops at once, the two glowing dots blinking numbly.

“Mi??” a voice from within squeaks, before it senses the flames on it's yarn hair and leaps an inch into the air with fright. “Mi mi!!!”

The doll begins running around frantically in the room, its hair on fire.

“Mi!! Mi mi mi mikyuu!!”

You and Leon gawk at each other whilst Hop blinks wide-eyed at the spectacle, before everyone bursts into laughter.

As the doll runs around the bedroom helplessly, you walk over and begin stamping on its head with your foot to clear the flames and you hear the doll squealing and squeaking in agony until the fire goes out and it flops over the floor, it’s hair fizzing with smoke.

You’re amazed the fire alarm hasn’t been triggered and when you and Leon look at each other again, you let out a chortle under your breath.

“Go ahead.” Leon says, crossing his arms and you pull out an empty Dusk ball from your pouch, tossing it at the pokemon and it is sucked inside. The capsule shakes a few times before the light goes off, indicating its capture.

You pick up the black and green coloured capsule and sigh whilst Leon checks if Hop is okay. “Sorry, Leon. Sorry, Hop.”

“What do you mean??!!!” Hop exclaims with a wide grin, clenching his fists tightly, “That was soooo awesome!”

You raise a brow until you hear Leon's mum downstairs, informing everyone that the barbecue is ready. Leon gives you a wide smile as Hop makes a beeline out of his room.

"C'mon, let's race! Last one down is a rotten Exeggcute!"

Leon turns to you and grins, "Let's go," he says, motioning for you to follow and you nod, trailing after him into the corridor.

#leon #dande #leon x reader #Leon x you #fanfic #fic #jeralee #archive of our own #comfort in despair #reader #reader insert #pkmn #pokemon #pokemonshield #pokemonsword #pokemon shield and sword

[mobius-prime]

234. Sonic the Hedgehog #166

DON'T. PANIC. I know. It's back. Don't worry too much though - it only lasts for two issues, so even if you detest this AU with all your heart and soul you only have to deal with it for a couple days. To be perfectly honest, I don't actually find the plot of this installment of Mobius 25 Years Later to be that much more interesting than the previous one. I find everyone to be a little too out of character, for one thing. However, it does at the very least provide a bit of closure to a story that was left wiiide open previously, so there's that.

Mobius 25 Years Later (Part One): Tempus Fugit

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley Colors: Jason Jensen

Last time on Mobius 25 Years Later, we left off with the timeline seeming to dissolve and rip itself apart while Sonic went back in time to fix the temporal and spatial instabilities of Mobius. Well, he fixed the threat of time coming to an end all right, but in the process somehow caused the timeline to skew wildly from how it was previously. In this new future, Shadow is a brutal and ruthless dictator, worship of Maria as an angelic guardian figure is officially sanctioned by his government, the Chaotix patrol the streets headed by King Shadow's chief enforcer Knuckles, and perhaps most bizarrely of all, Sally is married to Shadow as his queen. I have to note here that no explanation is given at all for how the timeline could have gotten messed up so badly - like, it doesn't really say anything about Sonic destabilizing specific events in the past, he just did something apparently, and stuff got messed up as a result. I'm personally not a fan at all of the idea of Shadow becoming so brutal like this, because it's just so out of character for who he's shown to become in the games (and in the comics coming up in a few issues), but at the very least there's the potential excuse of oh, well, this is a timeline where he didn't discover his true purpose in life and thus got led astray by darker influences or whatever. Regardless, things are very bad, and now Tails is on the scene, trying to figure out a way to fix it.

You see, he actually is able to remember the old timeline due to some kind of protective armband, and knows that this one isn't right. So he decides to go about recruiting some of his old allies to fix things, first starting with Knuckles. He walks in as Knuckles is instructing Lara-Su in her Guardian abilities, and Knuckles, once he realizes why Tails is here, ushers his daughter out grimly so they can talk alone. Tails tries to get Knuckles to listen to him, explaining that he took measures to protect himself, his wife Mina (remember? They got married in this timeline) and their kids from the time shift, and that he knows that everyone who was near the time machine when it freaked out still has memories of the other timeline. This merely pisses Knuckles off for some reason, and he yells at Tails to get out before he arrests him. Tails leaves the room dejectedly, but Lara-Su cheekily tries to cheer him up outside the door, clearly having overheard everything.

I already like this version of Lara-Su way better than the old one. The old one was weirdly whiny and selfish, while this one is immediately more assertive and ready to jump into action. As this is going on, we move to the dungeons beneath "Castle Mobius," where King Shadow is currently carrying out a rather… rough interrogation of Rotor, who's chained up to a wall. Shadow curtly acknowledges Rotor's strength of will in not "cracking" yet (it's not explained what information exactly he's trying to get out of him, but we can assume it relates to the timeline shift), and tells him he knows he will break eventually and leaves - and who is outside the cell to greet him but Lien-Da? She's apparently the one who captured Rotor for him, and she too remembers the old timeline, thanks to Cobar - we finally find out what she did when she confronted Rotor and Cobar back then!

Yeah, really don't like this version of Shadow. The juxtaposition of worshipping Maria as a gentle protective goddess, and Shadow's use of brutal torture tactics and authoritarianism is kind of… bizarre. A Legion mook runs up with information that Lara-Su has joined up with Tails, and Shadow orders Lien-Da to contact Knuckles to conduct an arrest of the two. Meanwhile, the two in question have managed to find Sonic, bedraggled and sitting next to a bunch of trash in a back alley, looking pretty awful. He, of course, is the same Sonic from the old timeline who went back to "fix" everything, and is horrified at how everything has turned out in this version of the future. It's once again worth noting that he sheds a few tears here, especially because this is around the time Sega started interfering more in the comics to make sure things were portrayed to their liking. There's a sketch version of the below page floating around somewhere showing Sonic crying substantially more than he is in the final product, which honestly, I don't know why Sega felt they had to force the artists to tone it back here, because I think if there's any circumstance where a normally cheerful and stoic person might truly lose it, it's losing their two children forever to the abyss of time.

Lara-Su urges the others to get up so they can go defeat King Shadow and save the day, but a sudden blinding light engulfs them. Sure enough, it's Knuckles, backed by what looks like half of Portal's police force, telling the three of them to surrender immediately as they're under arrest for treason…

The Chaotix Connection

Writer: R. Chacon and Ian Flynn Pencils: J. Axer Colors: Jason Jensen

This story is a bit bizarre - for one, it opens with a shot of Knuckles tied up and apparently coming to after being knocked out, only to immediately pull back a full day to show us what led up to this moment. That's a perfectly legitimate storytelling tactic, but it has to be done right for it to work, dammit, and the execution here is mostly just awkward and confusing. And for another, though someone is listed as the letterer for this story, very little of it is actually hand-lettered - the vast majority of it is machine-lettered. Seriously, out of the dozens and dozens of speech bubbles in this one story, which takes up half the issue's page span, only seven are hand-lettered (yes, I counted). I'm really not sure why this would be, nor why they bothered actually having someone letter only seven speech bubbles in the entire story when a computer was apparently doing that job perfectly well, but oh well. Anyway, here's the rundown - yesterday in Station Square, Rouge (sporting her Heroes getup) was snooping around for any juicy information when she got her hands on a nice little tidbit - namely, that Renfield T. Rodent is back. Remember him?

Aw, it's nice to see Sally and Sonic actually joking around with and teasing each other a bit. Things have been so frosty between them for so long, I forgot how nice it is to just see them being sweet and silly. The next day, Renfield's foreman oversees a delivery of slot machines to the new casino while Renfield himself watches from behind a screen, still sporting his capitalist tycoon grin and definitely seeming very shady as he talks to himself about putting on a grand show with this new scheme. The Chaotix and Rouge all arrive at the venue, and Rouge and Julie-Su nearly come to blows when Rouge insinuates that her only reason for coming is to show Knuckles that she's "gone legit." Knuckles breaks up the fight before it begins, and the group is let in early when they bluff to the guards that Renfield is expecting a meeting with them. They agree to split up and search for anything suspicious, checking in every few minutes to make sure none of them goes missing. Knuckles heads off on his own, and soon discovers an elevator that takes him to a secure room where the foreman is discussing the shipment with the help. When he hears Eggman's name mentioned, Knuckles knows this operation is rigged, so he leaps into action and begins to fight everyone present… alone. Seriously, man, couldn't have waited one whole minute to call in your backup? Speaking of the backup, Mighty in particular has decided it's prudent to check the food given what happened last time, while several of the others go for the slot machines as customers begin to file in.

Gotta love Mighty - no time to test anything scientifically, let's just shove potentially poisoned food into our mouths and see if we pass out! Knuckles, upstairs, finishes punching out the mooks and goes for the foreman, but when his fist makes a clanging noise against his nose he realizes that he's one of Eggman's auto-automatons. Things only get worse when said auto-automaton punches back, knocking him clean out. While the foreman ties him up and calls Renfield, Rouge, Vector, and Espio all check the slots, noticing that people seem to be acting weird while playing them. Sure enough, one glance at a screen later, the three of them are hypnotized as well. Knuckles wakes up with Renfield gloating over him, and naturally the rat immediately launches into a villainous monologue about how Eggman is paying him to use his fake slot machines to scan the brains of the patrons, allowing him to turn that data into a blueprint for what basically amounts to a Terminator. In fact, the whole casino is built on top of a factory that will start spitting out robots the moment the scans upload! Suddenly, the writers realize in horror that they only have two more pages to wrap this plot up, and so they go into overdrive figuring out a way to solve it in this limited amount of space.

I love the idea that Mighty just casually crunched up a whole factory and carried it around with him just to prove a point here. The police show up out of nowhere to arrest a fuming Renfield, and Julie-Su and Mighty explain that they knew something was wrong when Knuckles didn't check in, and even more hilariously, apparently on their way up here they just randomly passed the factory and Mighty was like "Yo, that doesn't fit the décor," hence him crunching it up. The president pops in out of the ether to congratulate the Chaotix on a job well done, and as Julie-Su and Rouge bicker some more, the curtain falls on one of the weirdest and most out of place stories we've experienced in some time. Bravo, Romy and Ian, we've officially learned that when you two collaborate, crap gets bizarre!

#nala reads archie sonic preboot #archie sonic #archie sonic preboot #sonic the hedgehog #sth 166 #writer: ian flynn #writer: romy chacon #pencils: tracy yardley #pencils: jeff axer #colors: jason jensen

[akaruta-kaito]

Growth

"Mou ichido!"

Kaito's hands glided along the piano keys swiftly; he fumbled a couple of notes, but each keystroke seemed more confident than the last. He'd progressed from scales to chords and arpeggios and reading sheet music, impressing his sensei with how quickly he picked up on each new skill the Bard taught him. In just a few days, they'd already met for several additional lessons that Kaito was all too happy to pay for.

"Sugoi desu wa, Kaito-kun," Mhalv'a stated afterwards, eliciting a snicker from the Au Ra. A vaguely annoyed expression crossed the Miqo'te's face. "... what? What are you laughing at?"

"You need to practice your Hingan more," Kaito teased. "You talk like a woman."

At the Raen's remark, the Keeper let out an indignant huff, though he managed to keep his composure otherwise. "Shizuka ni shinasai, omae," he clapped back.

The Au Ra couldn't help but laugh at his teacher's response. "Ooh, busting out the informal 'you,' huh?" he teased, wrapping an arm around Mhalv'a's shoulders; the Keeper's eyes narrowed in response, and he had to suppress an urge to hiss. "If you really wanna insult me, say somethin' like, 'Kutabare, konoyarou!'" he snarled, baring his teeth.

Narrowing his eyes slightly at Kaito, the Miqo'te asked, "And what does that mean?"

"Basically something like, 'Fuck off, you prick,'" Kaito explained with a grin. "I mean, the direct translation is probably softer sounding than that, but it's pretty effective with the right inflection, and Domajin are way too polite to use that kinda language normally, so it always sounds harsh."

Mhalv'a rolled his eyes and reached back to pluck the younger man's arm from his shoulder. "All right, this isn't meant to be Hingashigo lessons for Mal'valen," he stated in as stern a tone as he could muster despite his amusement at the situation. Little by little, Kaito had grown on the Keeper - and vice versa - and both were beginning to see one another as brothers, for better or for worse. "You've paid me quite a handsome amount of gil, and I intend to ensure that you do not leave this room dissatisfied."

"You comin' onto me, Maru-chan?" Kaito asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

With a wide-eyed look of disgust, the Keeper placed his hand on the Raen's face, then gave him a rough shove. "Enough," he growled. "Did you pick out a song you want to learn?"

That reaction caused Kaito to laugh loudly; it was just too much fun to tease someone as prudish and stuck-up as this Miqo'te seemed to be. Once his laughter died down though, the Au Ra reached into the satchel sitting beside the piano bench, then pulled out the sheet music he'd found. "Got it right here!" he exclaimed, grinning at his teacher.

Delicately, the Keeper placed his forefinger and thumb on the sheets, then plucked them from Kaito's hand so he could take a look. He nearly groaned at the song title alone, although as entertaining as he actually found the lyrics, he didn't want to let Kaito see his amusement. Best not to let on that he actually had a sense of humor, lest the Au Ra decide to try and get even closer. It was bad enough that he was being called "Maru-chan;" he wasn't terribly thrilled at the prospect of additional cutesy nicknames.

"This doesn't seem too challenging," the Miqo'te stated as he set up the sheet music. "Go ahead and try the introduction."

Pursing his lips, Kaito nodded, then began to play as instructed. Keeping his eyes on the sheet music - an actual song, not just chords and arpeggios - and avoiding looking at his hands was a challenge, but with all the practicing he'd done up until then, it didn't take him very long to adjust.

The two of them played together for some time, with Mhalv'a gently correcting little mistakes in posture and fingering, and Kaito replaying various sections over and over. By that point, their one bell lesson had gone far beyond that - the normally nocturnal Keeper had somehow been up all day working on this with the Au Ra, though he wasn't aware as he was still full of energy. Playing with Kaito reminded him why he'd become a Bard in the first place. The music lifted his spirits, reinvigorated him, and his apprehensions that the young Raen wouldn't fully commit to his lessons were proven very wrong. Playing the piano was practically all Kaito had done for the past week after his talk with Hinan.

And now, here he was, having gone from unsteady scales to playing an entire song in that time. Mhalv'a felt almost overjoyed by the boy's talent, not to mention proud that he could be the one to say that he'd taught Kaito everything he knew about music. Suddenly, being a teacher didn't seem like such a terrible job.

In time, the two were playing simultaneously, laughing and singing together - something that neither of them could have ever foreseen. Kaito was rather surprised by the fact that his teacher was willing to vocalize such vulgar lyrics, but it helped to remind him that Mhalv'a was just as much a regular person as he was. There was something very refreshing about getting someone who seemed uptight to loosen up and have some fun. Besides, the Miqo'te had a rather angelic singing voice that Kaito found far more soothing than he would have expected, so that was a nice bonus.

As they finished playing one last time, both paused, listening to the number of bells chiming on the chronometer. "Guess we should call it here, huh?" Kaito remarked upon hearing the eleventh strike.

"Are you certain? It's only eleven bells." Mhalv'a raised a brow slightly - it seemed odd that a Raen would want to turn in so early in the day.

"Yeah, at night,” Kaito responded.

Mhalv'a's eyes widened and his ears pinned back slightly - there weren't any windows in the studio Zheyn'a set up, so he'd had no idea so much time had passed. "Shite, I have to get back home. Hinan and Aomaho are going to be worried, my sister's going to interrogate me..." he huffed, standing quickly to gather his belongings. "Let me know when you want your next lesson. And no payment for the next one, I think you've overpaid me already."

Before Kaito could respond, Mhalv'a was running out the door to get back to his house. He was slightly taken aback by what his teacher said; he hadn’t overpaid, he was very sure about that. They'd had four official lessons for which he'd paid a total of two hundred thousand gil, and, in fact, he felt that he owed the Bard more just by virtue of the fact that they'd spent all day in that studio together.

Sinking a fang into his lower lip, Kaito turned back to the piano and pressed the G key, holding it for a few seconds. A warm smile crossed his lips as he placed both hands on the keys, then practiced the song one last time.

***

Meanwhile, in Garlemald...

"How many did he get away with?" 

"I couldn't say for certain, madam." The soldier peered at his superior, trying to get a bead on her emotional state. Unfortunately, there was no seeing past that mask she wore, and her tone remained level.

She paused briefly before continuing. "Original copies, all of them?" 

"And some duplicates and triplicates."

The superior was beginning to grow irritated. "Was there anything left? Anything he managed to drop?"

For a brief moment, the soldier was relieved - thankfully, he did have some good news. "Yes, madam. Nothing was dropped that we saw, but some of the more damning files were locked away in a hidden safe."

"And you're certain they haven't been taken as well?"

The soldier gave a resolute nod. "We checked earlier. Every one of them remains."

"Good... and do we know his identity now?"

At the question, the soldier reached into his armor and pulled out a file bearing a sketch of a young Au Ra man; he looked to be in his early to mid twenties, with messy hair and freckles. "Yuuyake Zora, also known as Kaito Akaruta. He fought in the Doman Rebellion alongside his siblings and was declared dead nine months after having gone missing," he explained, handing over the file.

"... and he went 'missing' because he stowed away on our damned ship..." the superior stated, her tone betraying her frustration. "How did he escape imprisonment?"

"That... we're not sure just yet..." the soldier stated, turning his eyes away shamefully. "One measure he was there, and the next, there was no sign of him."

The two stood silently as the superior officer considered the information she was given. "Have we any additional information about anyone related to him?" she finally asked.

"We do, in fact," the soldier responded. "It seems he's rejoined his siblings. Our sources inform us that he's been spending the majority of his time in Shirogane. Presently, he is living in a house which estate records say belongs to his elder brother, Aeluan Hoshinata, along with the other Akarutas and several others."

At this new information, the superior's stance changed - somehow, she almost appeared hopeful. "What others?"

"A number of Miqo'te, for starters," the soldier stated, flipping through more papers. He stopped on one in particular, and his eyes went wide. "Like... this one," he added, showing the file to his superior.

She looked over file for several measures, then lifted her head to regard the soldier once more. Somehow, despite the mask, he could feel his superior staring daggers at him. "Go and find the captain. We will coax out these pests and exterminate them," she ordered.

#ffxiv #rp story #kaito #mhalv'a

[parissa5258040]

WEEK 2: Studio Tutorial - Orthogonal Projection & AS1100 Standards

In Week 2 of Communications 1: Form and Scale, we were give Chapters 1 and 2 of Engineering Drawing to pre-read before class. This provided us with the basic knowledge about Australian standards and requirements needed when completing an orthogonal/engineering drawing. The book also introduced specific dimensions, symbols and methods used when constructing an engineering drawing.

During the studio I continued to use similar tools I learnt how to use in Week 1, these included: mechanical pencil, 0.1 and 0.5 felt tip pens, rubber, ruler, French curves, compass, T-square and circle guide. These tool were used to help me draw the task set for us in class.

TASK:

STAPLER (THIRD ANGLE ORTHOGONAL DRAWING)

I started with a freehand sketch of the stapler on a separate sheet of paper showing all sides, this allowed me to figure out which three side showed the most information and were best to use for my final drawing. After completing the rough sketch I was able to begin to measure the stapler and record the measurements needed to reproduce the object on the final sketch.

After finishing the draft sketch, I began to measure and draw the stapler onto the new sheet of A3 paper. I found the rough location of the drawing by carefully considering the size of the stapler, the boarder and title blocks locations.

I started to draw the stapler in pencil using the measurements I had just recorded, this was a much more difficult task as I originally thought. I had to consider a lot of round edges and curves that were not created from a perfect circle this involved me having to use French curves to get the approximate curve needed for the sketch. This was the hardest section to complete as there were many little details in which I had to consider and change when drawing the final shape, this was to ensure that I correctly replicated the 3D shape on a 2D platform.

After completing the sketch in pencil, I finalised the sketch by tracing over the pencil with a felt tip pen. This resulted in precise lines and a more accurate presentation of the stapler.

Next I ensured that I included all the correct measurements needed for the drawing, and made sure that all my dimensions and projection lines are to standard. I then gathered all the necessary information needed for the title box and ensure that my text was the correct size and spaced evenly.

Final Drawing:

Reflection:

Completing this task presented me with many problem and issues as the object in which I chose was more complicated than I had originally thought. I had to reconsider and change my initial way of measuring and recording as the stapler was round making it difficult to find the exact dimensions using a ruler. This week’s studio help me understand the time needed and the importance of precise and accurate measurements as just being a millimetre out can change the final shape of the drawing. I also learnt to take my time and be careful when using pen as once you draw something and make a mistake there is no going back. Overall I quite enjoyed this studio as it helped me further understand engineering drawing and will assist me with Project 1. 

#industrial design #week 2 #studio #unsw

[justgotham]

We always knew they meant New York," novelist, Lawrence Block, wrote in his intro to the first trade paperback of the DC Comics series, Gotham Central. Block was writing both about the inherent New-Yorkness to Bob Kane's initial vision of Batman's Gotham City and of Ed Brubaker and Greg Rucka's incarnation in Gotham Central.

Gotham Central, which debuted in single issues beginning in 2004, is maybe the most quintessentially New York comic book imagining of the city of bats and cats, robins and riddlers. It's a story not about how a boy billionaire with a grudge and an endless arsenal of super-weaponry handles someone like Mister Freeze, but about how the boys in blue of the Gotham City Police Department deal with them. There's something endemically and irrevocably New York about people running around in strange costumes while often-flawed cops do their best to keep a tight hold on a city that never sleeps.  

Ten years after Gotham Central first appeared in comic stores, Gotham, the Fox TV series very loosely based on Brubaker and Rucka's stories, found an even better way to make their Gotham City feel like New York: they filmed there.

And while having the literal New York City skyline to draw inspiration from helped, there was another part of Manhattan specifically that helped give each of Gotham's residents that undeniable New York feel: Broadway.

"I worked on Broadway," says Gotham's current costume designer, John Glaser. "Josh, my assistant, worked on Broadway. ... The painters and the sketch artists have all worked on Broadway. We actually approached each episode like a little Broadway show."

And what advanced techniques were brought from the Great White Way to the Dark Knight?

"Paint and tape," says Glaser. "I hate to say it, but paint and tape make things look the way that they should."

As it turns out, that's a very Broadway approach to costuming. Glaser learned from the best, having assisted under the late, great Patricia Zipprodt, who was the original costume designer for iconic Broadway shows like Fiddler on the Roof, Cabaret, Pippin, and the second longest running show in Broadway history, Chicago.

"Everything was painted, painted, painted, painted. I was a costume painter, so that's instilled in me," says Glaser. "The painting part, some people wouldn't do. Once we actually started to paint things in the first season that we were there and went, 'Oh, this stuff looks much better with the lighting, the dark scenery and the shafts of light.' We always made everything light at the top and dark at the bottom, ombré it down."

There are lots of little fun facts to be learned about the basic costumes and how they echo back to Batman comics, too. It's the little things. "On men's suits, we only used black buttons, no matter what suit it is," he explains. "Black buttons because in the comics all the buttons are black."

For Gotham's fifth and final season, there were creative alterations made to the costumes overall that informed the style of the show, each with specific purpose. "Because they are at war, we got rid of all jewelry," explains Glaser. "It's being melted down to make bullets. Without any jewelry, it kind of changes the look of the show. There are no earrings, there are no necklaces. We didn't want a lot of extraneous costume stuff, just what was really interesting in front of you."

Probably what most separates Gotham from Arrowverse shows or the Marvel Cinematic Universe is how the wardrobe team treats the supervillain costumes and suits. Those, too, get the Broadway treatment. Not at first, though. First, suits for characters like Firefly and Mister Freeze are crafted in Los Angeles. "It's like buying a car," according to Glaser. "They know the body's measured, they make an extra layer of the body for them to give them the right shape, they have the right fabrics, they have the right sculptors, the right fabricators."

But Glaser wasn't a fan of the exactness of these initial designs. "What I didn't like about that was that it looked like a movie costume. We actually took Firefly's costume and Mr. Freeze's costume, after they first wore them, and we started to paint them and age them, just because they didn't look like they were from Gotham. They looked like they were from a different world. We took them back, kept painting them and aging them, putting things on them and making them look more like they were from the city of Gotham."

Sometimes the newness of a costume could even be a problem, especially in Gotham's final season, where everyone is living even more rough than usual. "On Ivy's costume," Glaser uses as an example, "the top of it is flesh and it goes into fabric around her breast and we couldn't figure out how to make that transition without it looking like a skating costume."

So how do you solve that problem beyond paint and tape? "We took it to Izquierdo Studios and I was explaining to Martin Izquierdo what the problem was. He said, 'Alright, just go away for an hour.' We went away for an hour, and then when we came back he had cut, hacked, aged, and torn it, and it looked perfect. It was a dress that melted into her body — so it went from flesh, to fabric, back to skin and flesh, so you couldn't pinpoint whether it was a dress, whether it was her skin, or whether it was vines growing on her. It was vague, misty, and painted with lots of sparkle, so you could never pinpoint what it was. That was a very successful costume."

Beyond the desire to make Gotham feel like New York through the lens of a Broadway show, there was one other consistent challenge: working within the confines of the DC Universe. All live-action TV series that exist within the worlds of DC Comics have to accept that they are second banana in the DC hierarchy. The creators of Arrow had to scrub their Suicide Squad plotline when the film of the same name starring Margot Robbie and Will Smith was greenlit, for example. And so, too, Gotham had to contend with these challenges from a stylistic standpoint.

"There's a thing that Josh and I used to say," admits Glaser. "'If you can't tell what it is, then it's great.' If you can't know where it came from or if you can't pinpoint it, then there was never a problem."

Probably the most infamous struggle Gotham faced in the Batman canon relates to the Joker, in that Gotham simply could not have a character named "the Joker." That is why the twins, Jeremiah and Jerome, were created. And, even then, there was some conflict. "We sent a sketch and he [Jeremiah] had some purple in his suit," Glaser explains. "Warner Bros. said, 'No, you can't use purple.' The producers from Gotham talked with them and they let it pass. I think that was an area or a time when they started to loosen up a little bit, with us. We never got too close to the iconic look of anybody. We always danced around it."

One character from whom there was, surprisingly, no pushback at all was Harley Quinn. "The diamond shapes are painted on so that they kind of fade in and out, kind of ghost-like," reveals Glaser of the initial Harley design. "Every time that we saw her it would get a little more refined. When it started out it was like a dull red and a dull blue. By the time we finished, this is on different clothing, but, still, again, painting, it had become red and white, but because of what she does, we made it look like red blood and white."

You may also have heard that Gotham's final season involves a time jump allowing its audience to see something they've wanted since day one: Batman. And while it's too early yet to reveal everything about the first time we see actor David Mazouz in full Bat-regalia, Glaser did reveal one aspect to the costume that was mandated: "They insisted that the Batman logo be on the belt."

There's so much that goes into costuming a show, there could be a whole series just on the topic. Glaser talked with SYFY WIRE about so much: the muscle suits under the character's clothes, the way each character was built up to be taller and longer, and small details — like the custom made ties for all the men's suits, and how they changed from season to season. Even the background actors got their own story. "For every episode, we would pick a color," says Glaser. "Let's say there's a party scene, we would pick a color and we would pick a vague period and focus on that."

Most of these skills are ones that Glaser and his team learned, not from television, but from their time assisting with, designing, dressing, teching down, and rigging costumes on Broadway, all which helped make the Gotham City of Fox's Gotham the most quintessentially New York incarnation of the DC Universe yet.

#Jeremiah Valeska #Cameron Monaghan #Ecco #Francesca Root-Dodson #Bruce Wayne #David Mazouz

[quowreadspact]

I headed for the apartment.  Not far from the University.

Rose would be recuperating, hopefully, while grabbing and researching the various books pertaining to diabolic bargains.  My job would be figuring out how to draw up a quick, effective circle, using the tools I had at hand.  I’d also need a way to protect myself.

If Rose isn’t there it would bode very badly for Blake. I do wonder where the hell she went. 

No way was I letting this radiation get worse.

Thinking about tattoos gave me other ideas.

I debated the ideas until I’d reached the apartment.  I let myself in, and made my way up to my place.

With the walls being somewhat thin, I didn’t want to shout, so I did a patrol, walking around the perimeter, my eyes on the various mirrors.

No.  She wasn’t here.

Okay, that wasn’t a huge shock.  What were the rules?  She could only be around me or be in the Hillsglade House.

I checked the time.  The idea was to be there ‘tonight’.  Our deadline was midnight.

We still had to take the bound being to Conquest.

Rose and I had hours to get ready.  Hours to hammer out a good contract.  But too much of it was up in the air.

I fished in my pockets for the subway tickets I’d bought, placing them on the dining room table.

I’d been on the subway at eight fifty, I’d arrived at nine forty.  Thirty minute walk factored in…

Roughly an hour and a half, once I added additional walk time or other distractions.

Get this show on the road Blake. 

What was the latest I could possibly leave?  How long would the negotiation over the contract and the following ritual take?  How long would it take to get to Conquest afterward, with Pauz in tow, without having him declare the deadline past?

I ran through the numbers in my head as I pulled off my sweatshirt and t-shirt.

I got bleach from under the kitchen sink.

Zero idea if this would work, but I was operating without books.  Rose was the one with the reading material, and she was AWOL.

I laid out the shirt flat, smoothed out the wrinkles, and set to work.  A droplet of bleach on the underside of a glass, a nail, and gentle scratching of the fabric.

The bleach marked lighter lines in the fabric.  Lighter lines were joined by other lines, carefully measured, geometric patterns, shapes…

Bleach is a great idea! Opposite of stagnation and dirty things.  

Pauz was an imp of things foul and feral.  A being of wanton chaos, of overturned order.  He was weak enough that he could be subdued by ‘like’ elements – fur, blood, and shit, in his case.  It was why the rabbit circle had worked.  But Rose had told me, essentially, that the preferred way to go was to fight with opposing qualities.

Bleach, I hoped, or the aftermath of bleach, was ideally a material that opposed him.  Man made to contrast the focus on the natural, purifying, to contrast the focus on rot, foulness and stagnation.

I stuck with triangles bounded by circles, to lay out the design across the shirt.

Exactly. 

It took time, but that was okay.  Time meant Rose could get back to me, find me and give me the lowdown.  If she wrote up a contract to bind Pauz, I’d have to copy it over, which was more time.

When did I start worrying?  Seven thirty seemed like a safe time to leave, but how long did I have to take to copy the contract?

I didn’t really want to think about what happened if Rose didn’t show up.

I was starting to regret not figuring out more about the mirror world, or Rose’s interaction with it.

He just doesn’t have the time to research everything he needs to. That is why he really needs Rose. Jesus he isn’t gonna last without Rose at all.

I finished etching lines in the shirt, bullshitting something that looked like a magic circle, then started on a pair of black slacks.  The clock ticked on.  An early lunch with Tiffany and a short walk back had put the clock at twelve thirty as I’d made my way back.

I watched the clock hit two as I put the slacks down, the inside of the pants etched with an even denser image.  The coarser, thicker surface gave me more freedom, and I was getting a hang of the task.

I had no idea if it mattered or if it did any good.  I’d imagined that the framing of it and the way that the lines and triangles pointed towards the openings at the bottom of each leg would make it stronger, but now I wondered if it would only serve as a weak point.

When building a bridge, was it better to simply use the strongest elements available, or did one try to anticipate the stresses, accommodate the terrain?

No.  I was overthinking it.  Besides, it was done.

My hands hurt.  My knuckles were white and standing up against the skin where I’d been holding my hand in the same position, clutching the nail.

I clenched my fist, and felt the joints pop.  Still shirtless, chilled where the cool air had touched the sweat on my back, I headed for the bathroom, cranking the shower to ‘hot’.

Still no Rose huh. She could at least check up on him... 

While it heated up, I grabbed my one dress shirt from the closet and hung it up by the shower.  Humidity, steam, heat.

Hot water didn’t really kill germs.  Water hot enough to kill bacteria would generally be scalding.  But hot water could be symbolic, and as long as I was pulling countermeasures out of my ass for the upcoming confrontation with Pauz, I was going to treat myself to a second hot shower for the day.  Wash away the filth and radiation.

Maybe.

A hot shower helps mentally, if nothing else. 

When I was done the shower, I shaved for a second time.  I took my time grooming, trimming my nails and body hair, brushing my teeth, flossing, then taking far too long trying to tame my generally uncooperative hair.  The mop.

For long moments, I debated just shaving it off.

I reconsidered.

My enemy was all about challenging the natural order.  I embraced the trappings of civilization.  I used the file on the back of the nail clippers to fix up the rough edges of my nails as I paced nervously to the back of the apartment, then returned to the kitchen.

Grooming was baseline.

But the rest of the trappings of civilization would have to wait.  In boxer-briefs only, I headed for the toolbox.

Here comes Blake’s new look. 

Acrylic paint, watercolor?

No.  I didn’t trust the effects of the paint, didn’t trust that I wouldn’t have an allergic reaction.

I gathered up every pen in my place.  The clock on The Shitty Little Stove, as I’d come to unfondly regard it, told me it was three.

Some sort of markings or makeup esque thing? Makeup would do well I think actually. Go get some concealer and eyeliner. 

Keep it simple.

The pens in a pile, I drew a series of lines beside the still-angry wound on my hand, working around the chains of the locket.  One line for each pen.  I very carefully laid the pens down in order.

I waited a minute, taking the time to sketch out what I wanted to do.  My figures were horrible, but I only needed a basic sketch.

No time for anything complex…

Have to work in physical limitations…

Wetting my thumb-tip with my tongue, I ran it along each of the lines.

I picked out the winning pen.  The one that had dried most effectively, streaking the least.  Bold black lines.

Compass, protractor, some finangling to get the pen into the compass, and a pink nub of eraser ripped off a pencil

I drew a circle around my heart, off-center in my chest, using the eraser-nub with the compass so the little needle wouldn’t prick me.

Liver, pancreas, bellybutton…

Lines joined it, helped by a set-square, and each line was subsequently joined by an impression of cold metal against skin.

Three twenty in the afternoon.

Still no Rose.

She’d shattered two windows.

One frozen pond had taken the strength out of her.

Two windows, though… one after the other…

Basic circles but better than nothing.

Ah yes, Rose has done something like shattering windows before. Thank you for the reminder. Geeeez. You could have just shattered one, you show off. 

I hadn’t seen anything suggesting she was still there.  And if she’d destroyed the windows, she’d destroyed the very reflection that was allowing her to be there.  The way she’d described shattering the pond’s ice, she’d been shunted to another location.  Forced to the nearest safe ground.

So… why hadn’t she found her way back to me?

The nearest reflection was in enemy territory, and she is trapped? 

A triangle, carefully measured, not with right angles, but still very carefully drawn.  The lines didn’t match up, forcing me to make the ensuing line thicker and avoid it being broken up.

The line across the small of my back was harder, slower.  I cheated, leaning against the dining room table until I’d left an impression in my skin, then using the set-square to keep it straight.  Spent far too long trying to get the ruler in place again when the line wasn’t a hundred percent there, after I moved it.

The diagram called for a triangle across my back, pointing up at the nape of my neck.  I debated if I’d have time…

Then, seeing the residual ink on the set-square, I gutted the pen and soaked the edge of the metal ‘L’.  Very carefully, I pressed it against my back, rolling it back and forth to get it into the grooves and recesses.  I checked the end result, then did it again.

Four o’clock.

Legs, arms, hands, feet, including the soles.  Faster due to their location, but my speed at figuring out the process was balanced by the awkwardness of some of the angles, and the fact that I needed the use of the very limbs I was working on.

Rose hadn’t appeared to demand to know what the fuck I was doing to myself.

She hadn’t shown up, shrieked at seeing me in my underwear, drawing on myself.

I was now well past the point where I was worried.

You might have to do this alone Blake. Good luck, you’re gonna need a hell of a lot of it. 

Clothing…

I donned the t-shirt, smoothed out the wrinkles on the button-up shirt, and buttoned it up over the t-shirt.

No horrible burning.  Good.

I put on the hatchet-holster, then pulled the slacks on.  I’d placed open spaces at the knees, so I wouldn’t rub away the image or transfer too much bleach on my skin, but I still worried about the other areas where it might rub.

Not exactly top notch, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

Tie, yes.  I picked a red one.

Going out for another date Blake? Date with a demon?  But this is a good presentation to fight a demon of chaos and wildness and rot. 

I wished I had the goblin flute and the paper goblins, but they hadn’t been mine to keep.

I had to be selective in terms of what I brought, this time.  Only so many pockets.  I chose the basics.  Pens, cord, the hook-screws.

Five o’clock.  Five o’clock and I would take action.

I cooked some pork chops, brussel sprouts, and grilled up thick slices of sweet potato, more to keep myself busy than anything else.  Healthy body, covering all of the bases, to counteract the demon that upset the natural balance of things.

Four twenty.  I’d hoped it would take longer.

I fidgeted, then decided to bite the bullet.

The drawer in my bedroom whisked open.  I collected the book.  The only one I had.

Black Lamb’s Blood.

Fuck.

You were gonna have to read it anyway. 

This is fine! Probably. Probably not... 

I opened it, and I started reading, book open in my hands while I paced.

Halfway through the introduction, I stopped to go to the fridge and rescue another cupcake from the plastic container within.

I resumed reading, finishing the introduction.

I didn’t read the rest of the book.  I skimmed, looking, hoping for charts, for something concrete.

But it wasn’t a magical tome.  Not really.  There were no rituals within.  No charts, nor ingredients or diagrams.  No proper terminology for bullshitting contracts in an hour.

Not what I needed, even in the slightest.

I needed Rose.  I needed her help to establish a game plan.

Then what the hell is in it?????? 

I watched the last few minutes tick forward on the analogue clock of The Shitty Little Stove.

It ticked past five o’clock.  I watched until five oh one.

“Rose Thorburn,” I intoned.  “I summon you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker.

That disquieted me.

A vestige was fragile.

Not sure that would have worked anyway.

But yea this is scary. I really do not think she is gone for good though. Maybe for the rest of the arc? 

Rose had already been abused, hauled into a strange Conquest dimension, chained…

I fidgeted briefly, messing with the chain on my locket-hand.

“Rose Thorburn, by the tie that binds you to me and vice versa, I call you.”

Nothing.

“Rose Thorburn, you are me and I am you, one step apart, I call you.”

I’d had more luck with Leonard, my drunk ghost in a bottle.

“Rose Thorburn, by all your frustration with me, by the oaths I have sworn to you and the oaths you have sworn to me, I bid you to return to my side.

“Rose Thorburn…”

I didn’t know how to finish.

“God damn it, Rose, I need your help.  Don’t leave me hanging.”

I picked up the tome, started reading it again, then put it down.  Ten minutes later, nervous, I picked it up again.

I debated calling the lawyers for help.

Had they expected this?  Had they helped it happen?

Try google?  I know nothing will be on google. But he could bs something maybe from like. Quotes from other texts. Come on Blake you are super resourceful you can do this. 

It would be so fitting if they were somehow in league with Conquest, if they were orchestrating this entire thing to put me on this road.

I had to obey Conquest or he’d murder me and Rose.

Obeying Conquest put me on this road, forced me into a situation where I had to beg for help, accept the deal.  Working for another diabolist.

Where would that path take me?

But if I didn’t take the offer of help?  Where did I wind up?

Dead, probably.

Would the diabolists step in to save me?  They wanted me on board.  They were going to lengths.

I pulled on my gloves with care, the ink and locket in mind, alongside the cuts and gouge that hadn’t yet healed.

The coat was next.  Not quite a suit, but the coat was meant to be worn with a suit, and it looked good.  Suitlike, only it hung longer.  Only closer inspection would see the absence of the suit jacket underneath, or the t-shirt beneath the dress shirt.

I smoothed down some of the curls of blond hair that were escaping  their prison of hair styling glue, knowing they wouldn’t stay down.  I moved my mouth around, stretching my skin to make sure I didn’t have any patches of hair where I’d missed shaving.  Never mind that I’d shaved twice today.

Don’t panic now Blake, you’ve done well so far. And damn he is going all out. Next hes gonna pull out a top hat. 

If I was going to armor myself in my own self and identity, I’d damn well stick to my preference of being clean shaven.  I’d spent too many weeks with wispy teenaged beard growth while I’d been on the streets.  I was going to be the best Blake Thorburn I could imagine.  The sort of Blake who could look good in an almost-suit, but still pull off his button-up shirt and start working on framing a new art installation, or do prop work for the theater, or something.  I’d armor myself in my personal ideal, hold it up to give myself courage in a situation where I had very, very little.

The inked out magic diagrams across my skin couldn’t hurt either, as armor went.

Probably couldn’t hurt.

So much he doesn’t know. Poor Blake. 

I adjusted my tie.

I was procrastinating.  It was seven.  I had no idea what the evening had in store for me, now.

Rose had removed herself from the picture, Conquest was fucking with me by using that chain to remove her from my company, or something else entirely.

I filled my nicer backpack with essential supplies – the tome, the papers, some of the working pens, and other basic tools that it didn’t hurt to keep, slung it over one shoulder, and left.

You;re not gonna draft something now???? Okayyyy.... 

No dogs barked at me while I made my way to the subway.  I heard crows caw, but I couldn’t say if they were taunting me or just being ordinary crows.

On the subway itself, no fights broke out.  No disasters happened as a result of the radiation.  There was only the crowd, the late rush of people who had been working until dinnertime.

I hesitated as long as I could, waiting for the telltale Blake in Rose’s voice.

When the doors started to slide shut, I hurried through them.

I walked down suburb streets until I started seeing the telltale signs of Pauz’s influence.  Crows, and watching animals.  Every house had curtains drawn, every light on, otherwise.

The Dowghty house was the only one that had no lights at all.  Flocks of crows took off as I approached, but they didn’t attack me.

I reached into the backpack for the yellow lined paper and the tome, drew out a pen, and then tossed it aside before stepping onto the driveway.

Very cinematic prose here. The lack of conflict is ominous within a story that has so much of it.

I’d say final boss time, but this is  just a miniboss. 

The door opened as I knocked.  The inside was as cold as the outside.

Filthier, oddly more wilderness.

Stray branches, dirt, trekked in mud and snow, frozen in tracks.  Dung and offal, bones.

The smell was enough to make me want to gag.  Cloying, animal, dominating the senses until it felt like throwing up would be a relief, cleaner and less gross than enduring this.

I used the back of the tome as a surface to rest the paper on, making my way through the house.  Store-bought meat and the packaging for meat littered the floor in adjacent rooms.  Cats and rodents hissed and growled as I passed too close to their food.

He was in the room opposite the front door, at the far end of the house.

A broken old man, clearly malnourished to the point that he should be in a hospital.  His reactions were delayed as a cat hopped up into his lap to nibble at something that really didn’t look like it belonged on a dinner plate.  Not cooked, barely taken care of.  His arms were pocked with injuries where animals had nibbled on him and he’d been too slow to react.  Some looked infected.

He smelled like he’d shit himself, sitting there.

A table laid out for a banquet, except the banquet had gone to rot.  The guests remained, lurking at the edges of the room, on and under furniture, staring.

Pauz perched on the back of the chair, just behind Dowghty’s shoulder.

“It looks like it’ll be just me today,” I said.

“I know,” Pauz responded, confirming suspicions I hadn’t even allowed myself to voice.

What the hell did Pauz do to Rose? :(  I am excited to see how this will turn out. Also this poor fuckin dude omg. 

See you next weekend, or maybe earlier. 

#text #4.6 #collateral 4.6

[naomixmorgan]

introduction;;

I know i know I know I know, I change characters as much as I change my socks. Sue me. Muse problems is a thing, and the one I have is that I wanna play everyone. You know the usual drill, like, hmu, whatever you feel like. Info on this bby, Willow, under the cut.

Sexuality: about as straight as a circle. AKA, pansexual. She just appreciates people for who they are, not what parts or pronouns they use. 

I’m sure plenty of you are aware of the dead friend plot J has going on with Sydney, the bandwagon I kinda jumped myself onto because wow I really dig this. Alright, so, Willow is Valerie (the dead girl)’s twin sister. They were identical. Basically looked like mirror images. Except, Willow hasn’t been in town. AKA, she would just barely know anyone here. Why? Because her pretentious dads allowed her to enroll in boarding school. It was the school they both went to as teenagers and wanted at least one of their kids to carry on the legacy. So, the summer going into her freshman year, she was moved. The boarding school was up in New York, and she only came home for holiday things. So, AKA, we’re doing that... Holy shit she had a twin???? WHAAAAT???? kind of thing, yep. 

They travel in the summers, so nope, you probably wouldn’t see her much then. Sometimes during breaks too. 

Willow enjoyed the boarding school, she did, it was a home away from home. But she also loved being with her family. So, it was bittersweet for her. She always looked forward to things like Christmas and so on so she could come home and spend time with her wonderful family. 

She was especially close with Valerie, despite the girls being like night and day. Though, I guess you could say more like yin and yang; they got along so well with each other. Had a bond that one could only possibly have with the person you call your twin. And when she heard her beloved twin sister died, Willow swears part of her died too. She was devastated. Especially since with school and everything going on in New York, she couldn’t make it back for her sister’s funeral. She’s been devastated ever since, but she doesn’t really advertise it. Willow kinda suppresses her emotions about things. 

Here’s where her secret comes in. After her sister died, Willow wanted nothing more than to be home with her family, mourning around the people she loved the most. She wanted to transfer schools, and finish out the year in Spring Lake so she could be with people that made her feel slightly at ease during this rough time. However, as much as she wanted to come home, her dads kept pushing her to stay in the boarding school. Telling her it was good for her, that Valerie wouldn’t want her to change up her life over this, and other excuses. So, desperate times called for desperate measures. When her roommate was caught hiding marijuana in their room, Willow took the fall for it. Knowing the consequences. She was expelled. She hasn’t told her parents that it wasn’t actually her’s, because she knows they’d fight to get her back into her old school. Instead she uses the excuse that it was only once, she wanted to try it for artistic purposes. 

She’s enrolled in Spring Lake’s high school now. 

Willow is a total book worm. She looks to read novels, and even managed to get herself a little job in the local book store. It’s one of her favorite places to be because being in such a serene environment made it so she didn’t think too much about her sister. 

She also sketches from time to time. It’s just a little thing she caught onto when she was younger. She’s entirely self taught, and does it mostly to pass time with doodles and other things. Though part of her wants to teach herself how to watercolor paint. 

Small facts about my little bean. 

She’s mostly a ball of sunshine. Until she gets to know you. Then you can see all her sad parts. 

She’s in love with the poem book Milk & Honey. But, I mean, who isn’t.

Her favorite poet is Allen Ginsberg. 

Her favorite poem by him is obviously America, though she can rattle off way more. 

Her favorite Author is Stephen King. 

Her favorite of his novels is Joyland. Though many hold a special place in her heart. 

She adores the movie The Notebook. Simply because she likes to poke fun at it while she watches it. 

Her real favorite movie is Silence Of The Lambs. For reasons unknown. 

She binge watches Netflix regularly. Often rewatching How To Get Away With Murder; it’s her favorite TV show ;)

She wants to study Criminal Justice when she gets to college. That and english. 

Favorite color is plum purple. 

She has a pet hamster!! His name is Ginsey. I’m sure you can figure out why. If not, feel free to ask about it. 

She also has a ferret. Her name is Bonnie. 

I can keep going???? 

#intro #slhqintro #death tw #drugs tw

[mredwinsmith]

4 Simple Steps to Drawing from Life

Drawing from Life … Made Easy

One of my jobs here in Florida is teaching life drawing at the Naples Zoo. I alternate classes; one week I’ll teach drawing animals, and the other week I’ll show my students how to draw botanicals. In these classes, I teach people to truly observe and replicate.

For the purpose of this article, I will demonstrate the process I use for drawing from life. Whether you choose to put your skills to the test out in nature, or you decide to go with a photo to start, this method will help you develop as an artist.

And, it can be applied to any subject matter because, regardless of topic, the same theory is at the core: You must see things as basic shapes first, and then add tones and blending techniques for dimension.

To get started drawing from life, here are the basic materials you will need:

A sketchbook

A pencil (I use a mechanical pencil with soft lead)

A kneaded eraser

Blending stumps or tortillons

The Initial Sketch

  In this step, you learn the importance of angles. Above is an initial sketch of a bobcat. I manipulated the image of the drawing to be darker than what it really is, so it’s easier to see.

At this point in the process, draw lightly so you can easily make any needed changes. If you look closely at my bobcat sketch, you can see my “working lines” where I erased and made corrections.

You can also see where I drew the straight lines onto the drawing to show the angles of the form. In reality, objects are usually not as rounded and curved as you think. These straighter edges, helps make drawings look more realistic.

By drawing the angle lines in, it is easier to see the distances between shapes. For example, you can clearly see the distance between the legs and from the head to the leg in the bobcat sketch above.

As you draw, it’s always important to visually measure things. Ask yourself, “How far over, and how far up?” when drawing one shape to another.

Simple Line Drawing

  Now it’s time to look over the sketch to make it’s accurate. Double-check all the shapes of your subject to be sure they are the right size and placement. Then you can remove all the angle and working lines from the drawing with a kneadable eraser, which leaves a simple line drawing to build on.

At this point, you can analyze your subject and place the shadow areas into the drawing. In my drawing above, you can see that this helps describe the contours seen in the curved areas and muscle regions. And what’s more, at this stage, the dimension is already evident.

Applying “Color”

  This is the stage where the blending is applied with a stump or tortillon. This can establish the illusion of color in your drawings. For example, blending helped establish a sense of color for my bobcat drawing.Make sure you have enough graphite on the drawing before you start blending by building up your tones enough with the pencil first. Make your contours dark enough to still show through after blending.

Make sure you have enough graphite on the drawing before you start blending by building up your tones enough with the pencil first. Make your contours dark enough to still show through after blending.

When you are ready to blend, use a light touch so you do not rough up the paper. And, try to make the tones as smooth as possible.

Adding Details

  This is the finished drawing. Remember, this is sketching from life in a sketchbook, and not designed to be a framed piece. This bobcat is a lot looser than the illustrations I do for my books.

I added some background tones to make the Bobcat stand out. By doing this, you can see how the reflected light shows up along the edges. The darkness also gives the essence of depth behind the cat.

This is also the stage to add details. Note the spots where I added to the fur. Each area is different and follows the contours of the cat.

Studying the patterns and not placing them in too harsh is key at this step. In my sketch, the bobcat’s details vary in tone and have been blended out for softness. If I drew the spots at the same value dark and with the same shape, they would look like polka dots. If any areas of your subject become too dark or a little too unwieldy, use a kneaded eraser to gently lift out some highlights.

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Drawing from life is fun. The key is practice; so remember: The more you do, the better you will get. It takes time to build a skill. Be patient with yourself. Don’t hesitate to get going. Just grab your sketchbook, and get started. Try to have a small one handy at all times. You never know when a cool subject will appear right before your eyes!

Until next time!

Lee

  The post 4 Simple Steps to Drawing from Life appeared first on Artist's Network.

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